Teaching Morality in Antiquity : Wisdom Texts, Oral Traditions, and Images [1. Auflage] 9783161564802, 3161564804

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Orientalische Religionen in der Antike Ägypten, Israel, Alter Orient

Oriental Religions in Antiquity Egypt, Israel, Ancient Near East

(ORA) Herausgegeben von / Edited by

Angelika Berlejung (Leipzig) Joachim Friedrich Quack (Heidelberg) Annette Zgoll (Göttingen)

29

Teaching Morality in Antiquity Wisdom Texts, Oral Traditions, and Images

Edited by T. M. Oshima with Susanne Kohlhaas

Mohr Siebeck

T. M. OshiMa, born 1967; PhD in Assyriology from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel; 2008–10 Alexander-von-Humboldt fellow at the University of Leipzig in Germany; 2010–13 research fellow at the Friedrich-Schiller University in Jena (project of the German Research Foundation [DFG]); since 2015 DFG project at the University of Leipzig. susanne KOhlhaas, born 1986; 2016 MA in Assyriology from Leipzig University; 2011–15 research assistant at the Institute for ancient Near Eastern Studies at Leipzig University; 2016–18 research assistant at DFG project “Teaching Morality in Antiquity”.

ISBN 978-3-16-156480-2 / eISBN 978-3-16-156481-9 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-156481-9 ISSN 1869-0513 / eISSN 2568-7492 (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2018 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed on non-aging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface The eighteen articles collected in this volume are the results of the international workshop, “Teaching Morality in Antiquity: Wisdom Texts, Oral Traditions, and Images,” held at the Bibliotheca Albertina of the University of Leipzig between November 29th and December 1st, 2016 with the generous financial support of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft. During the workshop, we had fruitful discussions on diverse issues related to the theme “wisdom texts and morality”: biblical wisdom texts and their parallels from the ancient Egypt, ancient Mesopotamia, and the ancient Levant; moral messages and rhetoric in wisdom texts; the dissemination of wisdom teachings; teachings about the divine realm as the core of moral principles or human social order; visualization of divine authority; questions of theodicy; and modern analyses of ancient morality through the eyes of cognitive science. The first two articles by Jan Dietrich and Jan Assmann in Chapter I serve to introduce the volume and discuss broader issues of wisdom texts and their roles in moral teaching in antiquity. Three essays in Chapter II survey ancient Near Eastern wisdom genres of particular regions while another three essays in Chapter III look into the issue of the dissemination of wisdom teachings in the ancient world. Chapter IV is dedicated to the biblical Book of Job, and the articles in Chapter V discuss questions of theodicy in ancient Egypt and ancient Mesopotamia. Because of the low literacy, iconography played a significant role in the transmission of ideas in the ancient world; the two essays in Chapter VI discuss visual presentations of divine authority. The last chapter (VII) examines the roles of spiritual beings in the formation of human morality through the perspective of cognitive science. While the cognitive science of religion is usually not seen as a natural ally of biblical studies or theology, in recent years Ara Norenzayan and his colleagues have demonstrated the growing interest in the roles of religions in the formation of large societies. The studies by Yitzhaq Feder and Karolina Prochownik in this volume are not only justified by this work but contribute to this newer area of scholarly inquiry and conversation. We basically follow the abbreviation system of the SBL Handbook of Style. The abbreviations not listed in the SBL Handbook are found after the bibliography of each essay. As the workshop organizer, I would first like to thank the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft for financing the workshop. Thanks are also due the University of Leipzig, the Institute for Old Testament Studies – Theological Faculty, and the Bibliotheca Albertina for hosting our workshop and allowing us to use their facilities. I am also grateful to Prof. Angelika Berlejung, Dr. Judith Filitz, Mrs. Susanne Kohlhaas, and Mr. Tilmann Gaitzsch for their assistance and support during the preparation and the workshop itself. I am also grateful to all the participants of the workshop. I also want to note my gratitude to Dr. Noga Ayali-Darshan for sending her essay.

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Foreword

Mrs. Susanne Kohlhaas assisted me in editorial work and preparation of the indexes. Her work is greatly appreciated. Mr. Tilmann Gaitzsch, Ms. Lisa Kunze, and Ms. Sonja Wiedermann are also thanked. The ORA series editors, Professors Angelika Berlejung, Joachim Quack, and Annette Zgoll, are also thanked for their critical reading of the manuscripts and comments. Last but least, I would like to thank Dr. Henning Ziebritzki and Prof. Angelika Berlejung for their kind invitation to publish this volume in the series Orientalische Religionen in der Antike. Leipzig, February 2018 TMO

Table of Contents Preface ........................................................................................................................ V

I: Wisdom and Gods as the Foundation of Morality in Ancient World ... 1 JAN DIETRICH Wisdom in the Cultures of the Ancient World: A General Introduction and Comparison ................................................................................................................. 3 JAN ASSMANN Tugenden und Pflichten nach altägyptischen Morallehren ........................................ 19

II: Ancient Near Eastern Wisdom Texts ................................................. 39 YORAM COHEN Why “Wisdom”? Copying, Studying, and Collecting Wisdom Literature in the Cuneiform World ............................................................................................ 41 ALAN LENZI “Counsels of Wisdom” as “White-Collar” Wisdom in First Millennium Ancient Mesopotamia ................................................................................................ 60 HERBERT NIEHR Weisheit in den Königsepen aus Ugarit ..................................................................... 70

III: Comparative Studies of Ancient Near Eastern Wisdom Texts ......... 93 NOGA AYALI-DARSHAN “Do not Open your Heart to Your Wife or Servant” (Khasheshonqy 13:17): A West-Asiatic Antecedent and its Relation to Later Wisdom Instructions .............. 95 DANIEL BODI Two Animal Proverbs in Ahiqar and in Aesop on Human Relationships: Mercilessness and Sharing ...................................................................................... 104 ENRIQUE JIMÉNEZ An Almost Irresistible Target: Parodying the Theodicy in Babylonian Literature .. 124

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IV: Moral Teaching in the Book of Job ................................................ 135 EDWARD L. GREENSTEIN Proverbs and Popular Sayings, Real or Invented, in the Book of Job ...................... 137 DOMINICK S. HERNÁNDEZ The Expression of Moral Judgments through Imagery in Job and Ancient Near Eastern Literature ........................................................................................... 150 LUDGER SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER „Jetzt aber hat mein Auge dich geschaut“ (Ijob 42,5): Gibt es im Ijobbuch eine Lösung des Problems auf der Ebene des Bewusstseins? .................................. 164

V: Questions of Theodicy in the Ancient Near Eastern World ............. 173 ALEXANDRA VON LIEVEN „Ich habe nicht befohlen, dass sie Unrecht tun“: Das Theodizee-Problem im Alten Ägypten .................................................................................................... 175 THOMAS KRÜGER Morality and Religion in Three Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers ................... 182 T.M. OSHIMA When the Godless Thrives and a Wolf Grows Fat: Explaining the Prosperity of the Impious in Ancient Mesopotamian Wisdom Texts ........................................ 189

VI: Visual Demonstration of Divine Authority .................................... 217 IZAK CORNELIUS Communicating Divine Order and Authority: The Stela of Hammurapi of Babylon ............................................................................................................... 219 JUDITH E. FILITZ At the Threshold of Ritual and Theater: Another Means on Looking at a Mesopotamian Ritual ........................................................................................ 233

Tablet of Contents

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VII: Ancient Morality through the Perspective of Cognitive Science .. 251 YITZHAQ FEDER Morality Without Gods?: Retribution and the Foundations of the Moral Order in the Ancient Near East .......................................................................................... 253 KAROLINA PROCHOWNIK Gods and Goodness by the Rivers of Babylon: A Cognitive Scientific Approach to Ancient Mesopotamian Moral Theology ................................................................. 265

Index of Cited and Quoted Ancient Texts ............................................................... 289

Index of Personal Names ......................................................................................... 294

Index of Divine Names ............................................................................................ 297

Index of Place and Temple Names .......................................................................... 298

Subject Index ........................................................................................................... 300

I: Wisdom and Gods as the Foundation of Morality in Ancient World

Wisdom in the Cultures of the Ancient World A General Introduction and Comparison Jan Dietrich* In this article, I aim to present different aspects of wisdom typical for most ancient wisdom traditions, and I wish to compare these traditions across the cultures of the ancient Near East, including Greece. Such a comparison should be possible since wisdom is arguably a “global player” that can be found in the entire ancient world and beyond. I will focus on the most important strands of wisdom in the ancient world up to the Hellenistic period and the similarities between them. It falls beyond the scope of this article to examine wisdom in the Roman and late antiquity periods or to present historical developments within and differences between single wisdom traditions.

Social Settings and Images of Wisdom Scribal Family Schooling and the Image of the Father One of the main social settings of ancient wisdom is the family. Recent studies on Akkadian scribal schooling have shown that scribes usually came from scribal families and were educated in a familial context. This could either mean that the scribe was educated by the father or that the father sent his son to a scribe’s house to be educated there. In either case, the familial context of education in private houses is one of the main social settings of ancient wisdom; in regard to the Hebrew Bible, examples of this are the scribal families of Sheva (2 Sam 20:25; 1 Kings 4:3) and Shaphan (2 Kings 22:3; Jer 26:24; 36:11–12.20–21; 40:9; cf. 1 Chr 2:55).1 In Ugarit, the most important archives containing schooling material and wisdom texts were not found within the palace or temples but in private houses, such as the House of Yabninu, the House of Rašap-abu, the House of Rapānu, the House of Urtenu, and other residential buildings, such as the Lamaštu Archive, the Maison aux tablettes, or the private houses of the high priest and the Hurrian priest.2 As Alster (2008, 50) claims, regarding ancient Mesopotamia, it is “reasonable, therefore, to conclude that a much larger group then had access to the schools, not only temple officials and royal administrators, but also children of tradesmen, artisans and perhaps land owning farmers, although scribal art basically remained an urban phenomenon.” In connection to this, most Akkadian and

                                                                                                                          * I wish to thank Sarah Jennings (Aarhus) for improving my English. Cf. LUX 1992, 66. 2 Cf. COHEN 2013, 43–50. 1

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Egyptian wisdom instructions formulate their words within a framework that presents the fiction of an old father figure teaching his wise words to his “son,” the son being 3 either a biological son or a pupil. The Royal Court and the Images of Counselor and King As well as the temples, which also fostered scribal education, the wisdom tradition and the image of the wise was particularly connected with the royal court, the royal archives and the images of counselor and king as wise men; famous examples of this include the wise counselors Ahiqar and Ahitophel at Sennacherib’s and David’s courts respectively. It is possible that the collection of maxims also took place at the royal court. Prov 25:1 “These are other proverbs of Solomon that the officials of King Hezekiah of Judah copied”4 suggests that the recording and collecting of proverbs was conducted at the king’s court. The king needed his wise counselor since “in abundance of counselors there is victory” (Prov 24:6b).5 At the king’s court, the wise counselor belongs to the urban elite and can afford leisure – an elite view against the assumption that wisdom is craftsmanship and can be found among people of handicraft: 24

The wisdom of the scribe depends on the opportunity of leisure; only the one who has little business can become wise. 25 How can one become wise who handles the plow, and who glories in the shaft of a goad, who drives oxen and is occupied with their work, and whose talk is about bulls? (…) 34b How different the one who devotes himself to the study of the law of the Most High! (…) 4 He serves among the great and appears before rulers; he travels in foreign lands and learns what is good 6 and evil in the human lot. (Sirach 38:24–25.34b; 39:4)

The wise counselor or king is also appreciated in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. The Instruction of Merikare tells us: If you are skilled in speech, you will win, The tongue is [a king’s] sword; Speaking is stronger than all fighting, The skillful is not overcome.

(Merikare 32–33)7

In Mesopotamia, like in the Hebrew Bible with Solomon, the king himself may be termed a “wise ruler” (rubû emqu).8 Most famously, Ashurbanipal claims he has been bestowed with great wisdom by the gods: [Mardu]k, the sage of the gods, granted me broad understanding and far-reaching wisdom as a gift; Nabû, the scribe of everything, bestowed on me the precepts of his craft as a present; Ninurta and Nergal endowed my body with power, virility, and unparalleled strength. I learnt [the c]raft of the sage Adapa, the secret lore of all of the scribal arts.

                                                                                                                          3 Lux (1992, 60–63) presents arguments for the social setting of the Old Testament wisdom tradition, namely the gate’s council. For the institutional context of education in ancient Egypt, cf. BRUNNER 1957; QUACK 2002. For ancient Mesopotamia, cf. CHARPIN 2010, esp. 25–33. 4 NRSV. 5 NRSV. 6 NRSV; cf. LANG 1991, 187–88. I return to this idea below. 7 LICHTHEIM 1997, 62. 8 Regarding Nabonidus, cf. RÖLLIG 2003, 41–42.

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Wisdom in the Cultures of the ancient World

I am able to recognize celestial and terrestrial [om]ens and can discuss (them) in an assembly of scholars. I am capable of arguing with expert diviners about (the series) “If the liver is a mirror image of the heavens”. I can resolve complex (mathematical) divisions and multiplications that do not have a(n easy) solution. I have read cunningly written text(s) in obscure Sumerian and Akkadian that are difficult to interpret. I have carefully examined inscriptions on stone from before the flood that are sealed, stopped up, and 9 confused. (Asb. L4 i 15–22)

The Wisdom Canon and the Image of the Wise Another main context in which ancient wisdom literature appears is the canon. Of course, a religious canon of unalterable wisdom books that exclude others can only be found in the Old Testament. In the Hebrew Bible and the Apocrypha, the following poetic books focus on the theme of wisdom and employ a broad semantic field of wisdom words: Proverbs Job Ecclesiastes Jesus Sirach Wisdom of Solomon These books are all written in poetic form and represent collections of proverbs, instructions and laments. They are all poetic writings that employ the so-called parallelismus membrorum as their main means of expression. An “educational canon” 10 of wisdom books can also be found in ancient Egypt. Here, pChester Beatty (19th Dynasty; twelfth century B.C.E.) presents a list of highly appreciated instructions and laments which are ascribed to “wise men” (rḫw-jḫt):11 Is there one here like Hardedef? Is there another like Imhotep? None of our kin is like Neferti, Or Khety, the foremost among them. I give you the name of Ptah-emdjehuty Of Khakheperre-sonb. Is there another like Ptahhotep? Or the equal of Kaires? (…) Death made their names forgotten But books made them remembered!

(pChester Beatty IV vs. 2:5–3:11)

12

Like in the Hebrew Bible, this “didactic literature”13 is mainly an anthology of maxims and proverbs, instructions and laments that also employ the parallelismus membrorum

                                                                                                                          9

NOVOTNY 2014, 96. Cf. LIVINGSTONE 2007, 100. For this term, cf. J. ASSMANN 1991b, 476–77. 11 Cf. BRUNNER 1988. 12 LICHTHEIM 2006b, 177. 10

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as their main means of poetic expression. In both the Hebrew Bible and Egyptian literature, the texts are typically ascribed to wise persons from former times, either to Solomon in the Hebrew Bible or to wise men and kings in Egyptian literature. Regarding ancient Mesopotamia, an educational canon of wisdom texts is more difficult to grasp. Here, different approaches to defining Mesopotamian wisdom literature have been undertaken. W.G. Lambert (1960, 1), for example, terms wisdom a “misnomer” when applied to Mesopotamian literature. B. Alster (2008, 52–57), on the other hand, distinguishes between traditional and critical wisdom literature. This distinction is very similar to that offered by Hebrew Bible scholar M. Fox (2011), who distinguishes between positive wisdom (Proverbs) and negative wisdom (Ecclesiastes as “critical wisdom”). While these are distinctions according to key themes,14 they can be complemented by a “canonical” and contextual approach.15 Y. Cohen (2013, 14) argues that library catalogues and commentaries provide us with groupings of particular Mesopotamian texts, among them wisdom compositions: “By piecing this information together, it can be demonstrated that wisdom literature as such was understood by Mesopotamian scholars to be a select corpus (like other textual corpora such as omens).”16 In this way, “wisdom” may not be a misnomer when applied to Mesopotamian literature. In the next part of this article, I will aim to further define ancient wisdom, according to its main topics and contents.

Topics and Contents of Wisdom There seems to be a general consensus in folk philosophy about what wisdom is and how it is received. However, scholars disagree about the precise definition of wisdom and which aspects of wisdom are relevant to wisdom literature. The idea that folk philosophy could be wrong in its view of wisdom was already assumed by Socrates when he methodically disillusioned people who thought of themselves or others as wise. In my attempt to adopt a scholarly view and define ancient wisdom and ancient wisdom literature, I consider the following 10 topics and contents relevant. Wisdom is an expression of common morals. Instead of solving riddles and untying “knots,”17 proverbs usually express common insights and morals known and appreciated by all. This may sound strange to modern

                                                                                                                          13 In order to avoid the term “wisdom literature”, Miriam Lichtheim (1996) refers to Egyptian wisdom texts as “didactic literature.” 14 For a focus on themes in ancient Near Eastern studies, cf. BUCCELLATI 1981. 15 As well as themes, canon, and context, a fourth approach should also be added, namely the analyses of vocabulary and semantic fields, cf., e.g., WHYBRAY 1974. 16 See also Y. Cohen’s contribution in this volume, pp. 41–59. 17 Yet, the ancient Egyptian term for a proverb is “knot” (ṯs). For this, cf., e.g. JUNGE 1984; BRUNNER 1988, 62.

Wisdom in the Cultures of the ancient World

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ears – given that we encounter aspects of wisdom that differ from common sense18 – but a main aspect of the ancient wisdom tradition is the expression of common morals. These common morals seem to be natural, accessible to the people, written down for practical use, presented immethodically to the hearer, and ‘thin’ in the sense that they express already well-known morals.19 Virtues of decency such as diligence, modesty, and loyalty play a major role in daily work life and are therefore appreciated by common maxims.20 Although the concept of secret knowledge is present in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia (secrecy is denoted by the terms št3 in Egyptian or pirištu and niṣirtu in Akkadian),21 this concept of secret knowledge does not apply to the instructions and laments, which are, in principle, neither secret nor dependent on a mediator but instead, like the Hebrew wisdom scriptures, taught “democratically” to all people.22 Wisdom is skillful craftsmanship. It is important to consider that Pre-Socratic wisdom in all high cultures of the ancient world regarded specialized handicraft as well as ritual proficiency and divinatory skills as wisdom.23 It was not only judges and kings, scribes and counselors but also astronomers, architects, diviners, healers, and magicians who were regarded as being wise men and wise in their art of craftsmanship.24 Even Aristotle regarded wisdom as the perfection of skill (aretḗ téchnēs; Arist. e.N. 1141 a 12).25 In the Hebrew Bible, the workmen on the tabernacle, for example, are identified as wise men: And Bezalel and Oholiab and every man wise of heart in whom the Lord has put wisdom and understanding to know (how) to do the whole work in the construction of the sanctuary shall work in ac26 cordance with all that the Lord has commanded. (Exod 36:1)

Wisdom, therefore, is an art that can be learned and achieved through practice, endurance, and rich life experience. This said, the image of wisdom as craftsmanship often forms the basis of the other topics of wisdom to follow.27 Therefore, modern distinc-

                                                                                                                          18 Claiming that wisdom builds upon common sense does not imply that wisdom cannot reflect critically on common opinions. Although, in Greek philosophy, Isocrates insists that philosophy keep to common sense (dóxa), Socrates instead insists that philosophy reflect critically on common and often false opinions (pseudês doxa). Cf. KRANZ 1989, 575 and 579; PIETSCH 2007, 317. In the following sections, we will see that ancient Near Eastern wisdom traditions are also able to reflect critically on common sense. 19 Cf. GEERTZ 2000; LANG 1991, 178–85. 20 Cf. BOLLNOW 1962; LANG 2008, 182–83. 21 For Mesopotamia, cf., e.g., LENZI 2008, 23. 22 For the Old Testament, cf. SCHELLENBERG 2015, 126–30. 23 Cf., e.g., Homer Ilias 15:410–12; Plato Hipp. Minor 368b–d. See PIETSCH 2007, 316–17. 24 Cf. CURNOW 2010, 108–44. 25 Cf. FIGAL 2005, 1362. 26 My translation. Cf., e.g., MÜLLER 1977, 936. 27 For example, wisdom as encompassing knowledge: Since arts are performed skillfully only when relying on encompassing knowledge connected to the field of study concerned, encompassing knowledge is also included in any field of craftsmanship. This also applies to the other topics that follow in this article, namely wisdom as deep knowledge, wisdom acquired by hardship and life

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tions between craftsmanship, ritual and magical acts, deep wisdom, and rational science do not apply to ancient wisdom conceptions, which use wisdom terms such as Greek sophía, Hebrew ḥokmāh, Akkadian nēmequ or Egyptian rḫ to denote all of these “sub-systems of wisdom.” In Mesopotamia, the term ummânu not only means scholar but also craftsman, and, as well as the ummânu “specialists of various types including the āšipu (exorcist who recites incantations), kalû (lamentation singer), ṭupšarru (scribe or astronomer), bārû (diviner, haruspex), and asû (physician)” were also regarded as wise men.28 Wisdom has to be effective.29 The idea that wisdom has to be effective is already clear from the idea of wisdom as craftsmanship. On a general level, then, wisdom not only has to achieve and maintain the art of handicraft but also has to be effective in a way that a successful life can be achieved. Happiness (Greek eudaimonía) seems to be, in one way or another, the main backbone and purpose of most ancient conceptions of wisdom. As Proverbs 13:14 claims: “The teaching of the wise is a fountain of life, so that one may avoid the snares of death.”30 This “utilitarian” way of thinking is also present in the Egyptian instructions, often by using the word 3ḫ (“useful, utilitarian”).31 In the Instruction of Amenemope, the teacher says: “Give your ears, hear the sayings, Give your heart to understand them; It profits to put them in your heart, Woe to him who neglects them!”32 On a practical level, then, wisdom is an art of problem solving, like the Greek sophists (the “wise”) who claimed to command techniques of blissful lifestyles. King Ashurbanipal boasts: “I can resolve complex (mathematical) divisions and multiplications that do not have a(n easy) solution.”33 Therefore, wisdom is also eminent in the realm of law when legal disputes have to be solved. In this way, the king, being the highest judge, appears as the wisest of all men who has to enforce the law and solve legal disputes in a wise and thereby righteous way. In 1 Kings 3:28, it is said about Solomon:

 

                                                                                                                          experience as well as wisdom’s effectiveness. In our modern view of wisdom (influenced by Socrates’ critique of single craftsmanship as kinds of wisdom), we may not regard handicraft, ritual skills or divinatory capabilities as wisdom; however, the ancients did regard these capabilities as wisdom, and it is therefore important to keep the image of wisdom as a skillful art in mind when considering the aspects of wisdom that follow in this article. 28 HUROWITZ 2008, 66–67. In Jer 8:8, the court sages (‫ )חכמים‬seem to form a separate group next to prophets and priests. For the magical aspects of the wise figure Daniel, cf. MÜLLER 2009. 29 Cf. A. ASSMANN 1991, 17. 30 NRSV. 31 Cf. J. ASSMANN 1991b, 480–83. 32 Amenemope 3:9–12. LICHTHEIM 2006b, 149. 33 Asb. L4 i 21. NOVOTNY 2014, 96. Cf. LIVINGSTONE 2007, 100.

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All Israel heard of the judgment that the king had rendered; and they stood in awe of the king, because they perceived that the wisdom of God was in him, to execute justice.34

Likewise, in Isaiah 11, it is said that the spirit of wisdom shall rest upon the king so that he may judge with righteousness: 1

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. 2 The spirit of the LORD shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD. 3 His delight shall be in the fear of the LORD. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; 4 but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. 5 Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins. 35 (Isa 11:1–5)

Wisdom encompasses knowledge.36 Wisdom is not abstract knowledge of single objects but either a specialized craft or an encompassing knowledge. Gilgamesh learned “of everything the sum of wisdom” (Gilg. I 6).37 King Ashurbanipal boasts: “I myself, Ashurbanipal, learned the wisdom of Nabû, the art of the scribe in its totality; I followed the teachings of all the masters, as many as there are.”38 The Onomasticon of Amenope is meant to be “for learning all things that exist”.39 And, at the outset of his queries (Eccl 1,14a), Qohelet claims (in the disguise of Solomon): “I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun.”40 This seems to be a philosophical perspective in the sense that, according to Plato, the one who loves wisdom (the philosopher) loves knowledge in all fields of study.41 In ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt, the so-called Listenwissenschaft was a central part of understanding the world and the world’s order. As such, it is no wonder that the Egyptian “wisdom-term” for “instruction” (sb3yt) is also applied to encyclopedic listings (onomastica).42 Another example is Thutmose III. (18th dynasty, fifteenth century B.C.E.), who symbolizes creation’s order by presenting plants and animals from many parts of the ancient Near East on the walls of his ballroom in Karnak.43 In Mesopotamia, lexical lists could form a kind of glossary to encompass Sumerian words and their Akkadian counterparts or old and new cuneiform signs. For example, the 16th

                                                                                                                          34

NRSV. NRSV. 36 Cf. A. ASSMANN 1991, 15f. 37 GEORGE 1999, 1. 38 Prism A § 3. CHARPIN 2010, 199. 39 GARDINER 1968, 2*. 40 NRSV. Like a Greek philosopher, Qohelet wishes to grasp the totality (‫הכל‬/‫)כל־‬, cf. MÜLLER 2000. 41 “The lover of wisdom, too, we shall affirm, desires all wisdom, not a part and a part not.” (Plato Rep. 475b. Translation SHOREY 1937, 515. Cf. also KRANZ 1989, 579. Cf. also Heraclitus, Fragment 35.) 42 Cf. SCHNEIDER 2008, 45. 43 Cf., e.g., BEAUX 1990; KEEL/SCHROER 2008, 170 with fig. 137. 35

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tablet of the Urra-ḫubullu lexical list from the Louvre presents a list of stones, while a clay tablet from the British Museum sets old and new cuneiform signs against each other.44 In Genesis 2 of the Bible, Adam takes hold of the world by giving names to all the animals presented to him, and Hesiod, with the catalogues in his “Theogony,” aims to present about 300 gods, thereby giving godly names to almost all phenomena of the world.45 This interest in encompassing knowledge is, therefore, an integral part of the ancient wisdom tradition.46 Wisdom is deep knowledge.47 Wisdom is more than isolated knowledge about isolated objects.48 Wisdom requires a deeper knowledge that involves understanding the essential, basic substance of the world as well as acquiring life experience through joy and suffering. Already in the first two lines of the Gilgamesh epic, Gilgamesh is said to be “He who saw the Deep, the country’s foundation, [who] knew …, was wise in all matters!” (Gilg. I 1–2).49 This kind of deep wisdom allows the wise to see through man’s character and understand his ways; it is expressed beautifully in the frame narrative of the Egyptian Instruction of Kagemni: “The vizier had his children summoned, after he had understood the ways of men, their character having become clear to him.”50 Deep wisdom, as Bruno Snell (1924, 66; 1975a, 26) has shown, was also valued in ancient Greece. It was Heraclitus who first advocated deep wisdom and warned against acquiring isolated knowledge: “Much learning does not teach understanding (πολυµαθίη νόον οὐ διδάσκει)” (Fragment 40 = D.L. 9.1.1).51 Heraclitus also granted depth to the soul as the organ of thinking: “Of soul thou shalt never find boundaries, not if thou trackest it on every path; so deep is its cause (ψυχῆς πείρατα ἰὼν οὐκ ἂν ἐξεύροιο, πᾶσαν ἐπιπορευόµενος ὁδόν·∙ οὕτω βαθὺν λόγον ἔχει)” (Fragment 45 = D.L. 9.1.7).52 Wisdom is knowledge of the world’s order. The notion of wisdom as knowledge of the world’s order follows from the notion of wisdom as encompassing and deep knowledge. Although almost every god in ancient Mesopotamia can be labeled “wise,” wisdom is especially part of the god Enki/Ea and his son Asalluḫi/Marduk, who can both be called “wise of the gods” (apkal ilī)53 or

                                                                                                                          44

Cf. FINKEL/TAYLOR 2015, 16–22 with fig. 9. Cf. SNELL 1975b. 46 Aristotle is the first to distinguish between different kinds of wisdom: theoretical “wisdom” (sophía) and practical “knowledge” (phrónēsis). Cf. FIGAL 2005, 1363. 47 Cf. A. ASSMANN 1991, 16. 48 Piepmeier (1989, 131) states that “Weisheit ist eine Form nichtpropositionalen Wissens.” 49 GEORGE 1999, 1. 50 Epilogue of the Instruction of Kagemni. LICHTHEIM 2006a, 60. 51 Greek text and translation, HICKS 1972, 408–409. Cf. also GLADIGOW 1991, 66. 52 Greek text and translation, HICKS 1972, 414–15. Cf. also GLADIGOW 1991, 67. Cf. Psalm 64:7 according to the “heart” as the organ of thinking. 53 Cf., e.g., CAD A/2, 171–72. 45

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“master of wisdom” (bel nēmeqi)54 and who creates the world (Marduk) and allocates duties to gods and men (Enki/Ea).55 In Ugarit, it is mainly the creator god El who is termed “wise” (ḥkm).56 In ancient Egypt, Ma’at (m3ʿt) is not only a goddess but also both incarnate wisdom and world order, and kings and people have to know and conduct Ma’at to keep the world order going.57 Wisdom, in this sense, is creation knowledge.58 The world order is generally characterized by a connection between deeds and consequences, and being aware of this principle is fundamental to living a good life and acquiring wisdom.59 For Heraclitus and the stoics, therefore, it is wise to understand and to live in accordance with the world order (lógos).60 In the older parts of Proverbs in the Hebrew Bible, wisdom (ḥokmāh) is not identical with world order but denotes insight into the world order and living according to this insight.61 Later, in Proverbs 8, ḥokmāh is personified like Egyptian Ma’at and is created as God’s “sage” (Hebrew ʾāmôn; cf. Akkadian ummânu) and playmate (šaʿăšûʿîm), even before creation took place. Here, as well as in other texts, wisdom is “a constructive principle by which Yahweh allowed himself to be guided in the construction of the world.”62 Since ancient Near Eastern wisdom conceptions do not rely on sophistic relativism but on principles like Ma’at, kittum u mīšarum, ṣedeq wǝ ṣǝdāqāh,63 which all aim at virtues such as temperance, truthfulness, veracity, justice and righteousness, ancient Near Eastern wisdom resembles a philosophy of principles and virtues that can also be found in Plato.64 Wisdom is difficult to achieve.65 The idea that wisdom is difficult to achieve also seems to follow from the aspects of wisdom described above. Since it involves deep and encompassing knowledge, wisdom is acquired through life experience, often long and painful life experience, and it

                                                                                                                          54

Cf., e.g., SCHMID 1966, 85. Tellingly, the Akkadian text Ludlul bēl nēmeqi (“Let Me Praise the Lord of Wisdom”) refers to Marduk. For this text, see OSHIMA 2014. 55 Cf. e.g. WILCKE 1991, 259–60. Not only from ancient Greece, but also from Mesopotamia we know of myths about seven sages. In Mesopotamia, the seven mythical apkallu-sages “guarded the designs of the heavens and earth.” (HUROWITZ 2008, 65) 56 Cf. MÜLLER 1977, 923. 57 Cf. SCHMID 1966, 17–84; ASSMANN 1990. See also the contributions by Assmann and von Lieven in this volume, pp. 19–37 and 175–81 respectively. 58 Cf. J. ASSMANN 1991a, 243–45. 59 For the connection between deeds and consequences, cf., e.g., FREULING 2004. 60 Heraclitus Fragment 50; cf. FIGAL 2005, 1362. 61 “For everything there is a season” (Eccl 3:1). This is true not only for the Old Testament (cf. Prov 10:5 et al.; Sirach 4:20 et al.) but also for ancient Egypt (cf. pInsinger §6). 62 DELL 2000, 169. Another question deals with whether or not there was a wisdom tradition and a sapiental worldview typical only for wisdom literature. For this discussion cf. the articles in SNEED 2015. For an argument against this perspective, cf. also WEEKS 2010; SNEED 2011. For arguments for a modified traditional perspective, cf. SCHELLENBERG 2015. 63 Cf., e.g., SCHMID 1968/66. 64 For ancient Egypt, cf. e.g. JUNGE 2003. 65 Cf. A. ASSMANN 1991, 16.

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is therefore rarely obtained. However, although it is rare, wisdom is not restricted to the aristocratic upper class but can, in principle, be sought by all men. It is nevertheless restricted to those who work hard to acquire it. In the book of Proverbs (12:1), it is stated, “Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but those who hate to be rebuked are stupid.”66 And, in the apocryphal book of Jesus Sirach, the child is told the following about wisdom (Sirach 6:23–25): “Listen, my child, and accept my judgment; do not reject my counsel. Put your feet into her fetters, and your neck into her collar. Bend your shoulders and carry her, and do not fret under her bonds.”67 Wisdom is the striving for wisdom. Whilst one conception of wisdom claims that wisdom is difficult to achieve, another main strand within ancient philosophy claims it is entirely impossible for mankind to attain full wisdom. Wisdom can never be fully achieved, for it only pertains to the gods. It is only the striving for wisdom that pertains to mankind. This idea is held not only by Socrates, who distinguishes between godly wisdom (sophía) and mankind’s striving for wisdom (philo-sophía),68 but also by pre-Socratic philosophy and the wisdom traditions of the ancient Near East. In the Egyptian book of Thot, a dialogue is presented between Thot or an examiner “who praises knowledge/wisdom (ḥs-rḫ),” and a man “who loves wisdom/knowledge (mr-rḫ).”69 Already in the ancient Egyptian Instruction of Ptahhotep, the vizier remarks: “Don’t be proud of your knowledge, Consult the ignorant and the wise; The limits of art are not reached, No artist’s skills are perfect” (Ptahhotep 46–50).70 And in Proverbs 26:12, it is stated: “Do you see persons wise in their own eyes? There is more hope for fools than for them.”71 In the same way that Socrates criticizes the folk philosophical understanding of wisdom, the Hebrew prophets criticize people for their self-ascriptions of wisdom: “Ah, you who are wise in your own eyes, and shrewd in your own sight!” (Isa 5:21).72 Even the wisest of all, King Solomon, has to admit (according to the fiction in Eccl 7:23): “All this I have tested by wisdom; I said, ‘I will be wise,’ but it was far from me.”73 In ancient Greece, even before Socrates, Heraclitus states that “human manner has no understanding but the divine has ἦθος γὰρ ἀνθρώπειον µὲν οὐκ ἔχει γνώµας, θεῖον δὲ ἔχει” (Fragment 78).74 In another fragment, if historical, he highlights “that the wisest of men, if compared with a god, will appear a monkey, both in wisdom and in

                                                                                                                          66

NRSV. NRSV. 68 As Socrates says, mankind can only command a human wisdom (anthrōpíne sophía; Plato Apol. 20d); cf. FIGAL 2005, 1362. 69 Cf. SCHNEIDER 2008, 41. Cf. also JASNOW/ZAUZICH 2005, passim; IDEM 2014; QUACK 2007a; IDEM 2007b, and for a new monograph on Thot see STADLER 2009. 70 LICHTHEIM 2006a, 63. Counting after BRUNNER 1991, 111. 71 NRSV. 72 NRSV. 73 NRSV. 74 Greek text after DIELS 1951, 168. Cf. also HÖLSCHER 1991, 76. 67

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beauty and in everything else (ἀνθρώπων ὁ σοφώτατος πρὸς θεὸν πίθηκος φανεῖται καὶ σοφίᾳ καὶ κάλλει καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν)” (Fragment 83 = Plato Hipp. Major 289b).75 Thus, to acknowledge mankind’s limitations in its capability to achieve wisdom seems to be not only a Socratic idea but also an essential part of ancient wisdom in general. Wisdom is self-referential and critical.76 Wisdom involves not only living a good life but also reflecting on how this good life can be achieved; it takes its own conditions, methods, and values into account. Wisdom should certainly not be identified with either epistemology or a theory of science. Nevertheless, it considers the above-mentioned topics and contents in a referential and (self-)critical way.77 “Second Order Thinking” as the ability to reflect on reflection, to criticize and transcend the given, and to anticipate new realms by thinking “outside the box” therefore also belongs to ancient wisdom traditions. It is typically believed that this type of thinking started in ancient Greece, making ancient Greek philosophy the fountainhead of a “theoretic attitude.”78 However, I would like to suggest that we can trace the origins of critical and scientific thinking even further back to the wisdom traditions of the ancient Near East.79 The ancient “high cultures” of Egypt, Mesopotamia, and Israel not only had a great impact on ancient Greek history and culture but also witnessed their own breakthroughs in writing, science, and thinking – breakthroughs that occurred both prior and parallel to Athens. For this reason, ancient Israel, Egypt, and Mesopotamia should be included in (and not excluded from) the discussion of the emergence of theoretical and self-reflective thinking. For example, in the books of Job and Ecclesiastes, Ludlul bēl nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, the wise starts to think about wisdom – and to think critically about wisdom.80 In ancient Egypt, the Complaints of Khakheperreseneb, like the Dispute of a Man with His Ba and the Harper Songs, reveal a referential lament about traditional wisdom. In addition, this text demonstrates a self-referential – if ultimately unsuccessful – pursuit of artistic quality:

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FOWLER 1939, 365. Greek text by BURNET 1903. Cf. also HÖLSCHER 1991, 79. Cf. HAHN 1991, 52–53. 77 Like Socrates, who obviously presupposes epistemological assumptions without explaining them for their own sake, ancient Near Eastern wisdom texts also seem to presuppose epistemological assumptions. For Socrates’ epistemological perspective, cf. BENSON 2000. 78 Cf., e.g. ELKANA 1986; SCHIEFSKY 2012. For the term “theoretic attitude,” cf. DONALD 1993. In contrast, ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia are mainly disregarded as archaic forerunners (e.g. LARSEN 1987), while ancient Israel is regarded as “betwixt and between” these archaic cultures on the one hand and ancient Greece on the other (e.g. BELLAH 2011, 265–323). 79 Cf. DIETRICH 2017a. 80 For the last two, cf. the new editions by OSHIMA 2014. 76

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Would that I had unknown speeches, erudite phrases in new language which has not yet been used, free from (the usual) repetitions, not the phrases of past speech / which (our) forefathers spoke. I shall drain myself for something in it giving free rein to all that I shall say. For indeed whatever has been said has been repeated, while what has (once) been said has been said. There should be no boasting about the literature of the men of former times / or what their descendends discovered! (Khakheperreseneb r. 2–4)81

The author laments his own as well as his fellow people’s lack of originality.82 He strongly opposes a wisdom tradition that is characterized by the verb wḥm (“to repeat”). As such, in a self-referential manner and by thinking about wisdom critically, Khakheperreseneb aims at a speech that is “free of repetition (šwt m wḥmmyt)” (r. 2) and able to produce something “which is not repeated (m tmmt wḥmt)” (r. 7).83 The problematization of wisdom is thus an inevitable strand of the ancient wisdom tradition. Wisdom is fun. As a final point, it is worth considering that discussing wisdom and wisdom literature may have been part of a game played for fun and without any utilitarian aim.84 This is most obvious is some ancient Mesopotamian cases. For example, the so-called Early Dynastic collection of proverbs is a collection of insults against women, obviously written down and collected – from the perspective of the scribes – for entertaining rhetorical devices.85 Another example is the Dialogue of Pessimism, which offers a satirical stance on the ambiguities and absurdities of life. And, in the Edubba Literature, the composition Schooldays begins like a typical dialogue between father and son but then continues to describe how the son persuades his father to successfully “bribe” his teacher.86 Therefore, at least some examples of ancient scribal activities show that we have here “the first example of the common truth that literature may be worth studying for its own sake.”87 Being fun, wisdom has to be longed for, and the Eros of and for wisdom is not only highlighted in Plato’s Symposion but also in the ancient Near Eastern wisdom traditions. In Proverbs 8:17, it is stated: “I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently find me.”88 Given that wisdom is fun, or at least humorous, it is perhaps best to adopt a scientific perspective that retains the enjoyment of engaging with ancient wisdom. For this, we do not need not have wisdom ourselves – we do not

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SIMPSON 2003, 212. Cf. DIETRICH 2012, 87–92. 83 Transcriptions PARKINSON 1996. 84 Cf. already VON RAD 1970, 73 and, as a famous biblical example, Prov 8:22–31, cf. ibid, 205; DIETRICH 2017b. For ludic scribal practices in Egypt and Mesopotamia cf. CANCIK-KIRSCHBAUM/ KAHL 2018, 319–29. 85 For this and other examples, cf. ALSTER 2008, 56–57. 86 Cf. ALSTER 2008, 62. One clay tablet from the Old Babylonian period reveals that a pupil had to write down a tale (the Lazy Slave Girl) but then draws a caricature of his boring teacher on the back of the tablet (cf. FINKEL/TAYLOR 2015, 26 and 60 with fig. 12). 87 ALSTER, 2008, 63. 88 NRSV. 82

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need to be wise – we simply need to long for wisdom; since, as Socrates claims: “Those who are already wise no longer love wisdom.”89

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Plato Lysis 218a. Translation LAMB 1925, 53–55. Cf. Plato Symp. 204 about the gods neither engaging in philosophy nor searching for wisdom since they are already wise.

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SCHMID, H.H. (1966): Wesen und Geschichte der Weisheit: Eine Untersuchung zur altorientalischen und israelitischen Weisheitsliteratur, (BZAW 101), Berlin. – (1968): Gerechtigkeit als Weltordnung: Hintergrund und Geschichte des alttestamentlichen Gerechtigkeitsbegriffes, (BHT 40), Tübingen. SCHNEIDER, T. (2008): Knowledge and Knowledgeable Men in Ancient Egypt: Queries and Arguments about an Unsettled Issue, in: L.G. PERDUE (ed.), Scribes, Sages, and Seers: The Sage in the Eastern Mediterranean World, (FRLANT 219), Göttingen, 35–46. SHOREY, P. (1937): Plato in Twelve Volumes: Vol. 5: The Republic: Books 1–5, Cambridge, MA. SIMPSON, W.K. (2003): The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies, and Poetry, New Haven/London. SNEED, M.R. (2011): Is the “Wisdom Tradition” a Tradition?, CBQ 73, 50–71. SNELL, B. (1924): Die Ausdrücke für den Begriff des Wissens in der vorplatonischen Philosophie (σοφία, γνώµη, σύνεσις, ἱστορία, µάθηµα, ἐπιστήµη), (Philologische Untersuchungen 29), Berlin. – (1975a): Die Auffassung des Menschen bei Homer, in: B. SNELL (ed.), Die Entdeckung des Geistes: Studien zur Entstehung des europäischen Denkens bei den Griechen, Göttingen, 13–29. – (1975b): Die Welt der Götter bei Hesiod, in: B. SNELL (ed.), Die Entdeckung des Geistes: Studien zur Entstehung des europäischen Denkens bei den Griechen, Göttingen, 45–55. STADLER, M.A. (2009): Weiser und Wesir: Studien zu Vorkommen, Rolle und Wesen des Gottes Thot im ägyptischen Totenbuch, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 1), Tübingen. VON RAD, G. (1970): Weisheit in Israel, Neukirchen-Vluyn. WEEKS, S. (2010): An Introduction to the Study of Wisdom Literature, London/New York. WILCKE, C. (1991): Göttliche und menschliche Weisheit im Alten Orient: Magie und Wissenschaft, Mythos und Geschichte, in: A. ASSMANN (ed.), Weisheit, (Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation 3), München, 259–70. WHYBRAY, R.N. (1974): The Intellectual Tradition in the Old Testament, (BZAW 135), Berlin/New York.

   

Tugenden und Pflichten nach altägyptischen Morallehren Jan Assmann Einleitung: der Begriff Ma’at So wie die hebräischen Tugendlehren um den Begriff ḥoḥmah, kreisen die ägyptischen um den Begriff Ma’at. Während aber ḥoḥmah das Ziel der Unterweisung, nämlich „Weisheit“ bedeutet, bedeutet Ma’at das, worauf sich die Weisheit bezieht: etwas, für das es weder im Deutschen noch in irgendeiner anderen Sprache außer vielleicht im Persischen (aša) ein Wort gibt, und das wir mit Begriffen wie Wahrheit, Gerechtigkeit, Ordnung, Harmonie, Zusammenhang, Sinn, Verständigung, sogar „Nachhaltigkeit“ und Ähnlichem umschreiben können. Ma’at ist aber nichts, was einfach da ist und vom Weisen nur erkannt werden muss. Ma’at ist vielmehr eine normative und vor allem performative Kategorie, ein Imperativ, sie muss im Reden und Handeln verwirklicht werden. „Tu die Ma’at, sag die Ma’at“, so lautet das „schöne Wort, das aus dem Munde des Re – des Sonnen- und Schöpfergottes – kam“, so heißt es in den Klagen des Bauern.1 Die Ma’at ist nicht einfach da, der Welt etwa als Weltordnung mit der Schöpfung eingeschrieben, sondern muss im Kosmos vom Sonnengott täglich aufs Neue gegen Widerstände durchgesetzt und vom König auf Erden etabliert werden, damit der Mensch sie in seinem Tun und Sagen verwirklichen kann. Aus diesem dramatischen und performativen Charakter der Ma’at ergibt sich der Zusammenhang von Ma’at und Tugend. Unser Wort „Tugend“ hängt mit „taugen“ zusammen, es bezieht sich auf Taten, zu denen man fähig, Aufgaben, denen man gewachsen ist, Pflichten und Verantwortungen, die man übernehmen kann. Der Mensch muss durch Unterweisung dazu tauglich gemacht werden, die Ma’at im Tun – als Gerechtigkeit – und im Reden – als Wahrheit – zu verwirklichen. Beides aber, Ma’at-gemäßes Tun und Ma’at-gemäßes Reden, sind Formen gemeinschaftsfördernden, solidarischen, Verbindung stiftenden, „konnektiven“ Verhaltens. Ma’at ist das Prinzip sozialer Konnektivität. Als Sünde, äg. isfet, gilt alles, was diese Konnektivität zerstört. Lüge gilt als Inbegriff sprachlicher Unsolidarität, sprachlich diskonnektiven Verhaltens, und Habgier gilt als Inbegriff handelnder Unsolidarität, praktisch diskonnektiven Verhaltens. Der Lügner und der Egoist schließen sich nicht nur selbst aus der Gemeinschaft aus, sondern sie zerstören Gemeinschaft. Dahinter steht ein Menschenbild, das im Prinzip der Konnektivität die Grundlage des Lebens überhaupt sieht. „Der Mensch lebt, wenn ein anderer ihn leitet“2 oder „der Mensch lebt, wenn sein 1 2

ASSMANN 2006, 77. ASSMANN 2003, 59–73.

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Name genannt wird“3 sind ägyptische Sprichwörter, die dieses Menschenbild zum Ausdruck bringen. Als Einzelner ist der Mensch gar nicht lebensfähig bzw. kein Mensch im vollen Sinne. Erst in den Konstellationen des gesellschaftlichen Lebens kann er sich als Mensch verwirklichen. Was der Kirchenvater Tertullian von den Christen sagte, „fiunt, non nascuntur, Christiani“ – Christen werden gemacht, nicht geboren4 – das gilt im Alten Ägypten für den Menschen, d.h. für den Ägypter allgemein. „Menschen werden gemacht, nicht geboren“, und die Morallehren dienen diesem Ziel. Sie wollen den Zögling zum Menschen machen, indem sie ihm die Tugenden vermitteln, die ihn zum Tun und Sagen, zur aktiven und kommunikativen Herstellung von Ma’at tauglich machen. Nun sind aber die ägyptischen Vorstellungen vom wahren erfolgreichen Menschentum und den dafür nötigen Tugenden nicht zeitlos einheitlich. Es gibt verschiedene Lebenswege und vor allem verschiedene Epochen, in denen sich diese Vorstellungen wandeln. Auf diese Vielfalt kann ich hier nicht eingehen und greife drei besonders typische Menschenbilder mit ihren entsprechenden Tugenden heraus, die zugleich drei Epochen entsprechen: 1. die höfisch-bürokratischen Tugenden des Königsdiensts und das Alte Reich, auch wenn die Lehre des Ptahhotep, die dieses Menschenbild kodifiziert, vielleicht erst aus dem Mittleren Reich stammt, 2. die zivilen Tugenden in einem viel allgemeineren Sinn und das Mittlere und frühe Neue Reich, als sich die Idee von einem allgemeinen Totengericht in Ägypten durchsetzt 3. und die religiösen Tugenden der Frömmigkeit, die mit der Bewegung der Persönlichen Frömmigkeit aufkommen.

Die Tugenden des Königsdiensts Die Lehre des Ptahhotep, wenn nicht die älteste, dann auf jeden Fall die bekannteste, bedeutendste, klassische Unterweisung des alten Ägypten5 will den Zögling nach eigener Angabe zum Königsdienst erziehen. Der Weise Ptahhotep, dem die Lehre in den Mund gelegt ist, ist Wesir, also höchster Staatsbeamter unter König Asosi, einem König der 5. Dynastie. Er erbittet sich von seinem König die Gunst, seinen Sohn in der Lehre der Vorfahren unterweisen zu dürfen, um ihn sich als Gehilfen und Nachfolger zu assoziieren. „Dann werde ich ihm die Worte der ‚Hörenden‘ sagen, die Gedanken

3

Ibid., 73–78. TERTULLIAN, Apologeticus pro Christianis, Kap. 18; vgl. Ptahhotep 41: „Niemand ist weise geboren“, und „Man ist nicht weise von Geburt, sondern wird weise“, LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, Über den Zorn, 2.10.6. 5 JUNGE 2003. Vgl. QUACK 2005. 4

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der Vorfahren, die einst auf die Götter hörten.“6 Es geht also um die Tugenden, die zum Königsdienst tauglich machen. Dazu gehört in allererster Linie das Hören. Natürlich kommt für den Sohn, der im Königsdienst Karriere machen soll, alles darauf an, dass er auf die Lehre des Vaters hört. Es geht aber um viel mehr. Auch der Vater kann nur reden, weil er selbst gehört und sich in die Kette der Hörenden gestellt hat. Es geht beim Hören um das Eintreten in einen aus Erfahrungen vieler Generationen gespeisten Erinnerungsraum, ein kulturelles Gedächtnis, den „objektiven Geist“ (Hegel) der ägyptischen Kultur, den nur der Hörende vernehmen und an die Nachwelt weitergeben kann. Jedes Wort wird überliefert, keines geht verloren in diesem Lande in Ewigkeit. Ihnen gemäß werden gute Ratschläge erteilt und ihnen gemäß sprechen die Notablen. Das bedeutet, einen Mann zu unterweisen, um zur Nachwelt zu sprechen.

(Ptahhotep 512–17)

Wer nicht hören kann, scheitert im Leben. Der Tor aber, der nicht hört, für den wird nichts getan; Wissen sieht er als Unwissen an, Förderliches als Schädliches: Alles Schändliche tut er, so dass Klage geführt wird über ihn Tag für Tag. Er lebt von dem, woran man stirbt, seine verderbliche Nahrung ist Sprechen. Seine Verfassung darin ist den Fürsten bekannt, nämlich: lebendig tot zu sein Tag für Tag. Man geht vorüber an seinen Notlagen Wegen der Menge des ihm Widerfahrenden, Tag für Tag. Ein Sohn, der hört, ist ein Horus- (d.h. Königs-)diener, gut steht es um ihn, nachdem er gehört hat. Er wird alt und erreicht den Status eines „imachi“ und spricht in gleicher Weise zu seinen Kindern, indem er die Lehre seines Vaters erneuert.

(Ptahhotep 575–87)7

(Ptahhotep 588–92)

Wer taub ist für die Weisheit der Überlieferung, ist unfähig zu verständiger Rede. Seine törichten Reden sind nicht aus dem Hören gespeist und isolieren ihn im Kreise der höfischen, gebildeten Gesellschaft. Der Hörende dagegen wird in den Kreis der Königsdiener aufgenommen und erreicht den Status eines imachi. Dieser Ausdruck wurde immer mit Ehrwürdigkeit übersetzt, was einen eher trivialen Sinn ergibt. Es geht aber um viel mehr. Ein imachi ist jemand, der sich ein Grab anlegen kann, was im alten Ägypten immer vom König erlaubt und oft auch gestiftet wird. Um sich ein monumentales Grab anzulegen, in dessen Inschriften man zur Nachwelt sprechen kann, muss man ein Amt haben, und um ein Amt zu erhalten, muss man sich hörend in die

6 7

Ptahhotep 30–32. S. die meisterhafte Bearbeitung der Stelle durch SEIBERT 1967, 78–84.

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Tugendlehren des Königsdienstes initiieren lassen. Das Besondere der ägyptischen Morallehren liegt darin, dass immer die Todesschwelle mitgedacht ist. Die Lehren wollen den Zögling nicht nur zu diesseitigem Erfolg verhelfen, zu einem guten, gelingenden Leben, sondern sie wollen ihm auch und vor allem über die Todesschwelle hinweg helfen, indem sie ihm eine Fortdauer im sozialen Gedächtnis der Nachwelt und wo möglich auch im kulturellen Gedächtnis der Weisen sichern. Soziale Taubheit führt zu sozialem Tod, das rechte Hören dagegen zur Aufnahme in den Kreis der Kronräte und zum Fortleben als imachi, d.h. Grabherr. Die Tugend, die einen zum Hören tauglich macht, heißt „Schweigen“. Nur wer schweigen, das heißt, das Chaos der inneren Stimmen und Impulse bändigen kann, ist in der Lage, die Lehre aufzunehmen und umzusetzen. Das wird in der Lehre des Ptahhotep an einer Vielfalt typischer Situationen exemplifiziert und lässt sich im Begriff der Diskretion zusammenfassen. Takt, Höflichkeit, Verschwiegenheit, Respekt, nicht nur nach oben, sondern auch nach unten, niemanden verleumden, anschwärzen, nichts ausplaudern, keine unbedachten Ausbrüche von Zorn, Verachtung, aber auch Essgier, sexuellen Übergriffen und vor allem Habgier. Die Habgier wird in dieser Lehre als die kardinale Untugend überhaupt herausgestellt und geradezu als eine unheilbare Krankheit zum Tode angeprangert, weil sie – genau wie die soziale Taubheit den Toren – den Habgierigen aus der Gesellschaft isoliert und auch die engsten Bindungen zerstört: Sie ist eine schwere, unheilbare Krankheit, die man nicht behandeln kann. Sie entfremdet Väter und Mütter samt den Vollbrüdern, sie vertreibt die Gattin. Ein Erwählen ist sie von allem Schlechten ein Behältnis ist sie von allem Verwerflichen. Fortdauert (hingegen) der Mann, der der Ma’at entspricht und der fortgeht (stirbt) entsprechend seinem Gang. Er ist es, der dadurch ein Testament machen kann. Aber der Habgierige hat kein Grab.

(Ptahhotep 298–315)

Hier wird wieder mit den beiden Formen des Todes durch Isolation argumentiert: mit dem sozialen Tod durch Zerstörung der sozialen Bindungen, und dem endgültigen Tod durch das Fehlen eines Grabes, d.h. eines Ortes im Gedächtnis der Nachwelt. Die anschließende Maxime beleuchtet das Problem noch einmal konkreter: Sei nicht gierig bei der Teilung und verlange nichts, was nicht dein Anteil ist. Sei nicht gierig gegenüber deinen Angehörigen. Größer ist der Anspruch des Bescheidenen als der des Starken. Arm ist, wer seine Angehörigen hintergeht, er ist ausgeschlossen vom Austausch der Worte.

(Ptahhotep 316–23)

Hier ist speziell die Situation des Testaments und des Erbes ins Auge gefasst. Wie viele Familien haben sich nicht dabei schon zerstritten. Wer hier egoistisch auftritt, schließt sich vom Austausch der Worte, der sozialen Kommunikation aus, die die

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Grundlage eines guten Lebens ist. Noch deutlicher setzt die 5. Maxime Habgier und Tod in Beziehung: Groß ist die Ma’at, dauernd und wirksam, sie wurde nicht gestört seit der Zeit des Osiris.8 Man bestraft den, der ihre Gesetze übertritt, aber dem Habgierigen erscheint das als etwas Fernes. Die Gemeinheit rafft zwar Schätze zusammen, aber niemals ist das Unrecht gelandet und hat überdauert. Wenn das Ende da ist, dauert (allein) die Ma’at, so dass ein Mann sagen kann: ‚das ist die Habe meines Vaters‘.

(Ptahhotep Dév.84–98)9

Unrecht hat keinen Erfolg – auf die Dauer; keinen Bestand – über die Todesgrenze hinaus. Unrechtes Gut vererbt sich nicht. Nur ein im Sinne der Ma’at geführtes Leben bewirkt, dass die Nachkommen sich auf ererbten Besitz berufen können. Das Prinzip kommt auch in anderen Texten sehr deutlich zum Ausdruck: Wenn die Lüge fortgeht (stirbt), dann geht sie in die Irre. Sie fährt nicht über (ins Jenseits) mit der Fähre, sie kommt nicht voran. Wer durch sie reich wurde, hat keine Nachkommen, der hat keine Erben auf Erden. Wenn er mit ihr fährt, kommt er nicht an, sein Schiff macht nicht fest im Hafen.10

Die Pflichten nun, zu denen die Tugend den Menschen tauglich machen soll, ergeben sich aus dem, was die Grabherren in ihre Gräber schreiben. Hierfür ein einziges, typisches Beispiel aus dem Alten Reich: Ich bin aus meiner Stadt herausgegangen, ich bin aus meinem Gau herabgestiegen, nachdem ich die Ma’at getan habe für ihren Herrn und den Gott zufriedengestellt habe mit dem, was er liebt. Ich habe Gutes gesagt und Gutes wiederholt, ich habe Ma’at gesagt und Ma’at getan. Ich gab Brot dem Hungrigen und Kleider dem Nackten. Ich habe meinen Vater geehrt und wurde von meiner Mutter geliebt. Ich habe niemals etwas Schlechtes, Böses oder Boshaftes gesagt gegen irgendjemand, denn ich wollte, dass es mir gut ginge und dass ich ein imachi sei bei Gott und bei den Menschen für immer.11

8

Der Gedanke ist wohl, dass in der Zeit des Osiris die Ma’at tatsächlich gestört wurde (durch die Ermordung des Gottes von der Hand seines Bruders Seth); vgl. dazu CT VI 278d, wo es von den Feinden des Osiris heißt: „Sie haben gesagt, dass sie die Ma’at stören werden.“ 9 ZÁBA 1956, 24; FECHT 1958. Fecht hält den letzten Vers für deplatziert (aus der 6. Max.). 10 Die Klagen des Bauern, aus der 9. Klage, s. Assmann 2006, 94. 11 SETHE 1933, 203f.; ROCCATI (1982), §119. Vgl. auch die Inschriften des Ichechi, ibid., § 156.

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Worauf es ankommt, ist, sich bei Gott und Menschen angenehm zu machen, dadurch dass man die Ma’at sagt und die Ma’at tut: die Eltern ehren, die Zunge in Zaum halten, nur Gutes, gemeinschaftförderndes Reden und wohltätig sein – uralte Formeln, die immer wiederholt werden. Diese Inschrift steht in einem Grab aus dem Alten Reich, als mit dem Wort „Gott“ noch der König, der „große Gott“ gemeint war. Das wird sich in der Folge ändern, wie wir noch sehen werden.

Die zivilen Tugenden und die Idee des Totengerichts Ein Text aus dem späteren Reich, der unter dem Titel Die Klagen des Bauern bekannt ist, kann geradezu als eine Abhandlung über die Ma’at gelten.12 Das ist nun keine Lehre im strengen Sinne, sondern eine didaktische Erzählung. Der Plot der Geschichte ist kurzgefasst folgender: Ein Oasenbewohner, Repräsentant also nicht nur der sozialen Unterschicht, sondern auch noch der geographischen und kulturellen Peripherie des ägyptischen Reiches, ist auf der Reise in die Stadt seiner bescheidenen Habe beraubt worden und wendet sich an den zuständigen Magnaten und Großgrundbesitzer dieser Gegend, den Oberhofmeister Rensi, dem auch die Rechtspflege in diesem Gebiet obliegt. Der Oasenmann bringt nun seine Klage in so gewählten Worten vor, dass der Fürst den König von diesem ungewöhnlichen Auftritt unterrichtet. Der gibt die Anweisung, den beredten Oasenmann möglichst lange hinzuhalten, um ihm auf diese Weise noch weitere Reden von so wunderbarer Schönheit zu entlocken. Während der König unauffällig die Versorgung des Klägers und seiner Familie sicherstellt, wird dieser weisungsgemäß von Rensi hingehalten. Er muss naturgemäß die Nichtbehandlung seines Falles falsch auslegen. Da der Beamte zum Schweigen verpflichtet ist, drehen sich alle Vorwürfe um den Tatbestand schuldhafter Nichtintervention. Wer an verantwortlicher Stelle gegen das Unrecht nicht einschreitet, wird an ihm mitschuldig. Die neunte und letzte Klage gipfelt in dem orakelhaften Ausspruch Es gibt kein Gestern für den Trägen, es gibt keinen Freund für den, der für die Ma’at taub ist, es gibt kein Fest für den Habgierigen.13

Trägheit, Taubheit und Habgier erscheinen hier als die drei Gegenbilder der Tugend. Es sind drei Formen, sich sozial zu isolieren. Der sozial Taube, der sich nicht belehren lässt, klinkt sich aus der sprachlichen Kommunikation aus und hat daher keinen Freund, der ihn an der Hand nimmt und leitet. Der Habgierige, der nur an die eigene Bereicherung denkt, klinkt sich aus der Geselligkeit aus und kennt kein Fest, keine gesellige Verschwendung und Gemeinschaft. Taubheit und Habgier sind uns bereits aus der Lehre des Ptahhotep bekannt, Trägheit ist neu und verdient eine nähere Betrachtung, vor allem, was den Zusammenhang von Trägheit und Gestern, d.h. Vergangenheit angeht. Der Träge klinkt sich aus der Gegenseitigkeit des Handelns aus und kennt

12 13

ASSMANN 2006, 58–91. S. auch PARKINSON 2012. Vgl. ibid., 60.

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daher kein Gestern, keine Vergangenheit, keine Erinnerung, keine Verantwortung. An einer anderen Stelle dieses Textes heißt es: Ein guter Charakter kehrt zurück an seine Stelle von gestern, denn es ist befohlen: Handle für den, der handelt, um zu veranlassen, dass er wiederum handelt. Das heißt, ihm danken für das, was er getan hat. 14

Durch die Verbindung mit dem Gestern, d.h. die Betonung der Vergangenheit, wird der ägyptische Begriff der Reziprozität als des „Füreinander-Handelns“ zu einer Sache des Gedächtnisses. Handeln heißt sich erinnern, Nichthandeln vergessen. Der Untätige verliert das Gestern aus dem Auge und den Anspruch, den es an das Heute stellt. Hier geht es um Konnektivität in der Zeitdimension, um die Herstellung von Zusammenhang zwischen gestern, heute und morgen. Ich habe das als „iustitia connectiva“ bezeichnet.15 Durch dieses Prinzip der verknüpfenden Gerechtigkeit entsteht die moralische Zeit als eine Sphäre sozialer Kausalität, in der die Taten Folgen haben, das Gute sich lohnt und das Böse sich rächt, in der Menschen Verpflichtungen eingehen, Versprechen abgeben, Wohltaten vergelten und Pläne schmieden können. Ma’at ist die spezifisch ägyptische Konstruktion der moralischen Zeit. Die Lehre für Merikare, ein anderer Text dieser Zeit, spricht mit einem Terminus aus der Zimmermannssprache von der „Verfugung allen Handelns“.16 Unser Tun ist in das Tun der anderen so eingefugt wie ein Brett mit Nut und Feder in andere Bretter, so dass eine geschlossene Wand entsteht, ein Haus, in dem wir leben können, ein Haus, nicht des Seins, aber des Sinns. Ein anderer Text aus derselben Zeit lehrt „Handle für den Handelnden, damit er handelt“17, oder auch „Der Lohn eines Handeln liegt darin, dass für ihn gehandelt wird.“18 Im „Gespräch eines Lebensmüden mit seinem Ba“ (Pap. Berlin 3024) wird dieses Füreinander-Handeln mit dem Prinzip des sozialen Gedächtnisses verbunden: Zu wem kann ich heute noch reden? Man erinnert sich nicht des Gestern, man handelt nicht für den, der gehandelt hat heutzutage19

Gutes-Tun ist Arbeit an einem Zusammenhang, der zugleich sozial und zeitlich gedacht ist. Er hält die Gemeinschaft, aber auch die Zeit zusammen. Indem die Handlungen wie Nut und Feder ineinandergreifen, entsteht eine sinnerfüllte Zeit, in der sich das Gute lohnt und das Böse rächt. Noch Shakespeare verwendet dasselbe Bild aus der

14

ASSMANN 2006, 62. Ibid., 91. 16 Merikare P 123, s. dazu OTTO 1964/66, bes. 24; FECHT 1972, 131. Vgl. QUACK 1992, 75. 17 Bauer B1, 109–10; ASSMANN 2006, 62. 18 Stele des Königs Neferhotep, s. HELCK 1975, 29; ASSMANN 2006, 65. 19 Z. 115f. Diese drei Zeilen stehen im Text an herausgehobener Stelle. Sie bilden die mittlere Strophe eines „anaphorischen Strophenliedes“, dessen Strophen alle mit dem Satz „Zu wem kann ich heute (noch) reden?“ beginnen und das mit drei anderen Strophenliedern den ansonsten „prosaischen“ (oder besser gesagt: anders und schwächer geformten) Text lyrisch unterbricht. 15

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Zimmermannssprache, wenn er Hamlet sagen lässt: the time is out of joint, – „die Zeit ist aus den Fugen“ – solange nämlich das Böse, der Königsmord, nicht gerächt ist. In allen diesen Lehren und Ratschlägen ist die Todesschwelle einbezogen. Wer mit dem Tod nicht spurlos verschwinden will, muss sich an die Ma’at halten, die allein ein Leben nach dem Tode, im Gedächtnis der Nachgeborenen gewähren kann. Ma’at ist das Prinzip der Beständigkeit oder – um es mit einem derzeit beliebten Begriff zu bezeichnen – der „Nachhaltigkeit“. Das bringt dieser Text in einem wunderbaren Bild zum Ausdruck. Die Ma’at nimmt den, der sie im Leben verwirklicht hat, selbst an die Hand und geleitet ihn ins Totenreich: Die Ma’at aber wird ewig sein. Sie steigt an der Hand dessen, der sie übte, ins Totenreich hinab. Er wird begraben und vereint sich mit der Erde; sein Name aber wird nicht ausgelöscht werden auf Erden, sondern man gedenkt seiner wegen der Tugend.20

Von einem monumentalen Grab und vom Status eines wohlversorgten Grabherrn (imachi) wie ihn allein der Königsdienst vermitteln kann, ist hier nicht die Rede. Worauf es ankommt, ist ein Leben in Ma’at geführt zu haben. In der Lehre des Hordjedef wird dem Zögling ganz im Sinne des Alten Reichs geraten: Mache dein Haus im Westen trefflich und statte reichlich aus deinen Sitz in der Nekropole.21

Die Lehre für Merikare nimmt das auf und gibt ihm eine neue Wendung: Mache dein Haus im Westen trefflich und statte prächtig aus deinen Sitz in der Nekropole als ein Rechtschaffener (oder: durch Rechtschaffenheit) und als einer, der die Ma’at tut (oder: und durch das Tun der Ma’at), denn das allein ist, worauf das Herz eines Mannes vertrauen kann.

(Merikare P 127–28)22

Das wahre Grab wird nicht aus Stein, sondern durch das Tun der Ma’at erbaut. Dasselbe Prinzip betont auch ein Grabherr der 12. Dynastie auf seiner Grabstele: Das Denkmal eines Mannes ist seine Tugend, der mit schlechtem Charakter aber wird vergessen.

(Stele London UC 14333)23

Nicht das steinerne Grab allein, sondern die Tugend, der es als sichtbares Zeichen dient, sichert ein Nachleben im Gedächtnis der Nachwelt. Wer nach der Ma’at gelebt hat, den nimmt sie, wie wir gehört haben, bei der Hand und geleitet ihn ins Totenreich. Das Prinzip Ma’at und die entsprechenden Tugenden haben sich verbürgerlicht; daher spreche ich von zivilen Tugenden. Sie machen nicht den perfekten Hofbeamten, sondern den perfekten Mitmenschen aus, der sich durch seine Tugend – das ägyptische Wort heißt so viel wie Vollkommenheit – unvergesslich gemacht hat. 20

Bauer B1, 307–11 = B 2, 72–76; ASSMANN 2006, 113. POSENER 1952, 152ff. 22 Vgl. POSENER 1966, 343; FECHT 1958, 50f. 23 GOEDICKE 1962, 26, vgl. SCHENKEL 1964, 11f. 21

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Dabei ist aber in den bisher betrachteten Texten zwar von Tod und Nachleben, aber nicht von Unsterblichkeit und ewigem Leben in einem irgendwie gearteten Paradies die Rede. Die Lehren argumentieren immanent. Wer gut lebt, im Sinne der Ma’at, vergeht nicht, sondern bleibt als Grabherr im Gedächtnis der Nachwelt. Es ist das Urteil der Menschen, der Mit- und Nachwelt, das darüber entscheidet. Das ändert sich aber im Laufe des Mittleren Reichs mit dem Aufkommen der Idee des Totengerichts. Der früheste Text dieser Weisheitstradition, in dem explizit von einem Totengericht die Rede ist, ist die Lehre für Merikare, aus der wir bereits das Motiv von der Verfugung des Handelns und das Ideal des wahren, aus Ma’at und nicht aus Stein errichteten Grabes zitiert haben. So wie die Lehre des Ptahhotep, die zur Karriere im Königsdienst tauglich machen will, einem Wesir der 5. Dynastie in den Mund gelegt ist, ist die Lehre für Merikare einem König, und zwar einem verstorbenen König der 10. Dynastie in den Mund gelegt. Hier geht es also um die Tauglichkeit zum Königsamt. Das spielt in einer Zeit, in der die Zentralherrschaft zerfallen war und es nur noch um ein Teilreich ging. Das ist natürlich eine Fiktion; der Text stammt aus späterer Zeit. Neben vielen anderen Lehren, die dem jungen König erteilt werden, wird er auch gewarnt, mit der Todesstrafe sehr vorsichtig umzugehen. Töte nicht, heißt es, denn der „Ba“, die Seele, kennt die Wege im Jenseits. Dann folgt der Abschnitt, der erstmals in dieser Tradition vom Totengericht handelt: Die Richter, die den Bedrängten richten, du weißt, dass sie nicht milde sind, an jenem Tag des Richtens des Bedrückten, in der Stunde des Erfüllens der Vorschrift. Schlimm ist er, der als ein Wissender anklagt. Vertraue nicht auf die Länge der Jahre! Sie sehen die ›Lebenszeit‹ (ʿḥʿw) als eine Stunde an.24 Wenn der Mensch übrig bleibt nach dem ›Landen‹ werden ihm seine Taten als Summe (ʿḥʿw) vorgelegt. Das Dortsein aber ist ewig (nḥḥ). Ein Tor, wer tut, was sie tadeln. Wer zu ihnen gelangt ohne Übertretung, der wird dort sein als ein Gott, frei schreitend wie die Herren der Ewigkeit (nḥḥ).

(Merikare P 53–57)

Die Rede ist von einem Tribunal, vor dem sich jeder Mensch nach seinem Tod für seine Lebensführung verantworten muss. Auch der König muss damit rechnen, vor dem Totengericht angeklagt zu werden, wenn er etwa einen zu Unrecht Beschuldigten hinrichten ließ. Der Abschnitt ist in drei kurze Strophen gegliedert zu 5, 4 und 5 Versen. Die erste Strophe handelt vom Gericht, seiner Strenge und seiner Allwissenheit. Die mittlere Strophe führt das Thema Zeit ein. Der Mensch soll sich bewusst sein, 24 Vgl. damit pChester Beatty IV vso 6,7: »Jeder Mensch wird seine Lebenszeit in einer Stunde verbringen«. Brunner (1988, 229) übersetzt „(jedermann, ) sein Leben währt nur eine (kurze) Stunde“, aber die futurische Konstruktion verweist klar auf das Totengericht. Gemeint ist, dass jeder für die Gestaltung seines Lebens verantwortlich gemacht wird und sich nicht auf Schicksal und Veranlagung herausreden darf.

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einmal vor einem jenseitigen Richter für seine Handlungen Rechenschaft ablegen zu müssen. So wie seine ganze Lebenszeit zu einer Stunde, der Stunde des Gerichts, werden alle Handlungen zu einer Summe zusammengezogen. Die Wörter „Lebenszeit“ und „Summe“ lauten im Ägyptischen gleich und bilden ein Wortspiel. Die dritte Strophe stellt dem Thema der endlichen, auf eine Stunde reduzierbaren Lebenszeit die Ewigkeit im Jenseits gegenüber, die den im Totengericht Freigesprochenen als ein unsterblicher Gott erwartet. Unter den Aspekten des Gerichts und der Ewigkeit erscheint die Lebenszeit als eine Bewährungsfrist, in der sich sein Schicksal in Richtung Ende oder Ewigkeit entscheidet, je nachdem ob es ihm gelingt, in seiner Lebensführung den Tadel der Totenrichter zu vermeiden. Worauf es ankommt, ist, mit der Lebenszeit sorgfältig und verantwortungsvoll umzugehen. Ein gewisser Baki zitiert die Anfangsworte in dem Text seiner Grabstele aus der 18. Dynastie, aus dem die Bedeutung besonders klar hervorgeht, die die Idee des Totengerichts für die Lebensführung des Einzelnen gewonnen hat: Ich frohlocke beim Sagen der Ma’at, denn ich weiß, dass sie wertvoll („ach“) ist für den, der sie tut auf Erden von der Geburt bis zum „Landen“. Ein trefflicher Schutzwall ist sie für den, der sie sagt, an jenem Tage, wenn er gelangt zum Gerichtshof, der den Bedrängten richtet25 und den Charakter aufdeckt, den Sünder (jzftj) bestraft und seinen Ba abschneidet. Ich existierte ohne Tadel, so dass es keine Anklage gegen mich und keine Sünde von mir gibt vor ihnen, so dass ich gerechtfertigt hervorgehe, indem ich gelobt bin inmitten der Grabversorgten, die zu ihrem Ka gegangen sind.

Nach einer Rekapitulation seiner beruflichen Erfolge betont Baki nochmals ausdrücklich, dass er die „Gesetze der Halle der doppelten Ma’at“, also die Normen des Totengerichts, zur Grundlage seiner Lebensführung gemacht habe: Ich bin ein Edler, der über die Ma’at glücklich ist, der den Gesetzen der „Halle der beiden Ma’at“ nacheiferte, denn ich plante, ins Totenreich zu gelangen, ohne dass mein Name mit einer Gemeinheit verbunden wäre, ohne den Menschen Böses angetan zu haben oder etwas, das ihre Götter tadeln.26

Mit den „Gesetzen der Halle der beiden Ma’at“ bezieht sich Baki auf das 125. Kapitel des Totenbuchs, in dem ähnlich wie in der Tora das Gebotene und Verbotene im Sinne eines Kodex der Rechtfertigung ausbuchstabiert war. Während aber die Gebote der Tora sich als ein Kodex der Rechtfertigung auf das Volk Israel und sein diesseitiges Fortbestehen als Gottesvolk im Gottesbund beziehen, beziehen sich die Normen des 25

Zitat aus der Lehre für Merikare, vgl. o. DRIOTON 1922, 545–64; VARILLE 1954, 129–35; SPIEGEL 1935, 71–74; LICHTHEIM 1992, 103– 105; 128–33. 26

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Totenbuchs auf den Einzelnen und seine jenseitige Unsterblichkeit als ein Gott, „frei schreitend wie die Herren der Ewigkeit“. Der Kodex dieser Normen bestand in einer Liste von 82 Sünden, die der Tote vor den Richtern aufzusagen hatte, mit der Beteuerung, sie nicht begangen zu haben. Währenddessen – so stellt es das zugehörige Bild dar – wird sein Herz auf eine Waage gelegt und gegen ein Symbol der Ma’at (Wahrheit/Gerechtigkeit) abgewogen. Dabei kommt es darauf an, dass das Herz leichter als dieses Symbol – eine Feder – bleibt. Bei jeder Lüge würde die Waagschale mit dem Herzen sinken. Dieses Bild vom Totengericht mit der Waage lebt in der christlichen Ikonographie weiter, wo es in die Vorstellung vom Jüngsten Gericht übernommen wird. Was hier in 82 Sünden ausbuchstabiert ist, entspricht weitgehend den drei kardinalen Untugenden der Klage des Bauern: Trägheit, Taubheit und Habgier bzw. Handlungssünden – nicht töten, quälen, rauben, stehlen usw. – kommunikativen Sünden – nicht schreien, schimpfen, verleumden, lästern usw. – und Herzenssünden (denn das ägyptische Wort für Habgier wird mit dem Wort für „Herz“ gebildet) – nicht begehren, was einem nicht zukommt. Wie schon in der Lehre des Ptahhotep nehmen die kommunikativen Sünden gegen die Gebote der Diskretion, Aufgeschlossenheit, Achtsamkeit, Zurückhaltung, kurz: des „Schweigens“ und die Verurteilung sozialer Taubheit den größten Raum ein. „Ich war nicht taub gegen Worte der Wahrheit“ muss der Tote beteuern. Nach wie vor kommt es darauf an, sich in seiner Lebensführung bei Gott und Menschen angenehm zu machen. Jetzt aber, im Blick auf das Totengericht, wird klar, wer der Gott ist, der das Urteil der Menschen im Totengericht bestätigen und ratifizieren muss. Es ist nicht mehr der tote König in seiner Pyramide, sondern Osiris als Vorsitzender als jenseitigen Tribunals. Es sind aber nach wie vor die Regeln der Ma’at, also die von Generation zu Generation weitergegebene Weisheit der Vorfahren, die auf Erfahrung und nicht auf Offenbarung beruht. Der Gott tritt in Ägypten nicht als Gesetzgeber, sondern nur als Richter auf und richtet nach denselben Maßstäben, die auch die Menschen anwenden. Es sind die gleichen Tugenden, die den Lebenden zu Erfolg und Anerkennung und den Toten im Totengericht zur Rechtfertigung verhelfen. Seht, ich bin zu euch gekommen, ohne ein Unrecht, ohne einen Frevel, ohne etwas Böses, da ist kein Zeugnis gegen mich, da ist keiner, gegen den ich mich vergangen hätte. Denn ich lebe von der Ma’at, ich ernähre mich von der Ma’at. Ich habe getan, was die Menschen sagen und womit die Götter zufrieden sind. Ich habe Gott zufriedengestellt mit dem, was er liebt. Ich gab dem Hungrigen Brot, Wasser dem Dürstenden, Kleider dem Nackten, eine Fähre dem Schifflosen. Gottesopfer brachte ich den Göttern, Totenopfer den Verklärten dar.

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So rettet mich, so schützet mich, macht keine Anzeige gegen mich beim Großen Gott. Ich bin einer mit reinem Mund und reinen Händen.27

Das Ergebnis dieser Rechtfertigung aber ist die Aufnahme in die Götterwelt, die „Herren der Ewigkeit“. Der gerechtfertigte Tote aber geht „frei schreitend wie die Herren der Ewigkeit“ in das ägyptische Elysium ein, das „Binsengefilde“, wo man den Göttern nahe, mit Nahrung versorgt und für immer vom Tod erlöst ist. Das ist noch etwas ganz anderes als der Status des imachi in der Nekropole. Dass es das Herz ist, das im Totengericht auf die Waage gelegt wird und den ganzen Menschen vor dem Tribunal vertritt, erscheint mir hoch bedeutsam. Das Herz ist der Sitz sowohl der Tugenden als auch der Untugenden. Ptahhotep lehrt: Es ist aber das Herz, das seinen Besitzer macht zu einem Hörenden oder zu einem Nicht-Hörenden. Leben, Heil und Wohlergehen eines Mannes ist sein Herz. Der Hörende hört das, was gesagt wird, der das Hören liebt, tut, was gesagt wird.

(Ptahhotep, 534–54)

Der Mensch hört mit den Ohren, aber erst, wenn er mit dem Herzen dabei ist, kann er verstehen und das Gehörte in Tun umsetzen. Das Herz ist einerseits das Prinzip der Individualität, der Sitz der ganz persönlichen Triebe und Wünsche. Davon muss es sich aber freimachen, um sich mit den Tugenden zu erfüllen, die der Lehrer in es hineinlegen will. Das Herz muss gleichsam konvertiert werden. Ob das gelingt, erweist sich auf der Waage.

Die Tugenden der Frömmigkeit Die Geschichte der Ma’at lässt sich auch als eine Geschichte des Herzens erzählen, die in drei großen Stadien verläuft und als deren letztes Stadium das Ideal und Programm der Gottesbeherzigung als persönlicher Frömmigkeit auftritt.28 Diesen Weg möchte ich kurz nachzeichnen, weil er am einfachsten zum dritten Kapitel, den Tugenden der Frömmigkeit führt. Das erste Stadium ist das Ideal des „königsgeleiteten Menschen“. Hier ist vom Herzen noch gar nicht die Rede. Dieses Stadium kennzeichnet das Menschenbild des alten Reichs. Der Mensch – d.h. der Beamte, denn von anderen Menschen fehlen uns schriftliche Zeugnisse – versteht sich als Werkzeug und ausführendes Organ des königlichen Willens. Das Herz des Königs denkt und plant für alle. Das zweite Stadium ist das Ideal des „herzgeleiteten Menschen“. Es kennzeichnet das Menschenbild des Mittleren Reichs, in dessen biographischen Inschriften und literarischen Texten das Herz eine zentrale Rolle spielt. Die Beamten sagen von sich, dass es ihr Herz war, das sie zum Dienst für den König angetrieben habe. Der Loyalismus, die „Königsreligion“ des Mittleren Reichs, fordert den inneren Menschen: 27 28

HORNUNG 1979, 240. Vgl. QUACK 2013, 148–50. Vgl. ASSMANN 1993.

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Verehrt den König im Innern eures Leibes! Verbrüdert euch seiner Majestät in euren Herzen! Er ist Sia, der in den Herzen ist, seine Augen, sie durchforschen jeden Leib.29

Das ist der Anfang der Loyalistischen Lehre, die wir jetzt als die Lehre des Kairsu kennen. Der Beamte soll nicht nur Werkzeug, sondern dem König mit Herz und Hand ergeben sein. Auf den Charakter kommt es an, das moralische Profil, die inneren Tugenden. Sätze wie die folgenden liest man jetzt oft in den Grabinschriften. Mein Herz war es, das meinen Rang erhöhte,30 mein Charakter bewirkte, dass meine Spitzenstellung dauerte.31

Auf diesem Menschenbild baut die Idee vom Totengericht auf. Worauf es ankommt, um in dieser Welt voranzukommen und im Totengericht auf der Schwelle zur anderen Welt zu bestehen, ist die Ma’at-Konformität des Herzens. Das „Herz voll Ma’at“ tritt der Tote dem Richter gegenüber: Ich bin zu dir gekommen, indem ich dich und dein Wesen kenne und deine Gestalt (jrw) der Unterwelt verehre, wie du sitzt, die Ma’at dir gegenüber, und die Herzen richtest auf der Waage, während ich vor dir stehe, mein Herz voll Ma’at, keine Lüge in meinem Sinn.

(Stele London BM 142)32

„Sein Herz wurde als gerecht befunden auf der Großen Waage“ sagt Horus als Wägemeister, wenn die Prüfung bestanden wurde.33 Es geht um die Prüfung des Herzens. Das Herz ist jenes Sozial-Selbst, das der Mensch für sein Individual-Selbst einzutauschen hat und das den Ort darstellt, in den sich die Gesellschaft mit ihren Normen „konnektiven“, gemeinschaftsfördernden Verhaltens einschreibt. Das ist die Lehre des Mittleren Reichs. Das dritte Stadium ist das Ideal des gottgeleiteten Herzens. Das ist das Herz, in das sich nicht die Gesellschaft mit den Normen der Ma’at eingeschrieben, sondern das den Gott, d.h. seinen lenkenden Willen, in sich aufgenommen hat. Ein früher Text aus dem Neuen Reich, der noch ganz in der Tradition der älteren Lehre vom herzgeleiteten Menschen steht, lässt schon etwas von dieser neuen Konzeption anklingen: Mein Herz war es, das mich dazu antrieb, (meine Pflicht) zu tun entsprechend seiner Anleitung. Es ist für mich ein ausgezeichnetes Zeugnis, seine Anweisungen habe ich nicht verletzt, denn ich fürchtete, seine Anleitung zu übertreten und gedieh deswegen sehr. 29

POSENER 1976, 58–63 §2 (Text); 19f. Posener verweist auf SETHE 1961, 20: Er (Re) möge geben, dass die ḥ3tj-Herzen ihm Anbetung spenden, und die jb-Herzen ihn preisen in den Leibern". 30 Zu dieser formelhaften Wendung vgl. JANSSEN (1947), V 4 = SETHE 1959, 72.15; HERMANN 1940, 23*, 53*, 57*. 31 CG 20543, aus Dendera, vgl. SCHENKEL 1965, 114; LICHTHEIM 1992, 43f. 32 KITCHEN 1980, 218f. 33 pBM 10470 col.4, vgl. ASSMANN 2006, 149.

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Trefflich erging es mir wegen seiner Eingebungen für mein Handeln, tadelsfrei war ich durch seine Führung. [...] sagen die Menschen, ein Gottesspruch ist es (= das Herz) in jedem Körper. Selig der, den es auf den richtigen Weg des Handelns geführt hat!34

Hier weiß man noch nicht wer spricht, das Herz oder Gott durch das Herz. In späteren Texten, besonders in der Lehre des Amenemope aus der späteren Ramessidenzeit, wird das dann eindeutig zum Ausdruck gebracht. Mache dich schwer in deinem Herzen, festige dein Herz, steuere nicht mit deiner Zunge. (Zwar) ist die Zunge des Menschen das Steuerruder des Schiffes, (aber) der Allherr ist sein Pilot.

(Amenemope XX.3–6)35

Aber schon in der frühen 18. Dynastie, in der Zeit Thutmosis’ III., begegnet die Formel der Gottesbeherzigung im prägnanten Sinne: (Amun ist) Vater und Mutter für den, der ihn in sein Herz gibt, der sich abkehrt von dem, der an seiner Stadt achtlos vorübergeht Nicht kann in die Irre gehen, den er führt.36

In einem Gebetsostrakon aus der Zeit Amenophis’ II. lesen wir: Ich habe dich in mein Herz gegeben, weil du stark bist, ... (du) Beschützer (nḫw), siehe: ich habe keine Angst (snd) mehr.

(oKairo 12217 rto.)37

Ein anderer Text, der schon der 19. Dynastie angehört, verbindet die Wendungen der Gottesbeherzigung („sich Gott ins Herz setzen“) und der Gottesloyalität („auf Gottes Wasser handeln“) mit einer jener typischen Seligpreisungen, die hier explizit um einen Weheruf ergänzt wird. Ich will Lob spenden deinem schönen Angesicht, und deinen Ka zufriedenstellen Tag für Tag, denn ich habe mich auf dein Wasser gesetzt und mein Herz mit dir erfüllt. Du bist ein Gott, zu dem man rufen kann, freundlichen Herzens gegenüber den Menschen. Wie freut sich, wer dich in sein Herz gesetzt hat! Wehe dem, der dich angreift! Weil dein Zorn so gewaltig ist, weil deine Pläne so wirkungsvoll sind, weil deine Gnade so schnell ist.38

34

SETHE 1961, 974. GRUMACH 1972, 124–28. 36 ASSMANN 1975, 75.23–24 = ASSMANN 1983, Nr.165, TT 164. 37 POSENER 1975, 206/9. 38 Würfelhocker des Ramose, Kunsthandel, nach HERBIN 1980, 187 doc. 189. Ich verdanke die Kenntnis dieses Textes Pascal Vernus. 35

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Im Sinnhorizont der Persönlichen Frömmigkeit erfährt auch das alte Ideal des Schweigenden eine Umdeutung. Aus den Tugenden der Diskretion, Zurückhaltung, Selbstkontrolle, Gelassenheit, Höflichkeit und Achtsamkeit ist in der Lehre des Amenemope die eine Tugend demütigenden Gottvertrauens geworden. Die 4. Maxime stellt ihn dem „Heißen“als Gegenbild gegenüber: Der Heiße im Haus des Gottes, er ist wie ein Baum, der im Tempelgarten wächst. Einen kurzen Augenblick sprossen seine Triebe, sein Ende wird in dem Beet gefunden. Er wird weit weggeschwemmt von seinem Platz, die Flamme ist sein Begräbnis. Der wahre Schweigende, der sich abseits hält, er ist wie ein Baum, der im Beglänzten (Feld) wächst. Er prangt und verdoppelt seine Früchte, er ist im Angesicht seines Herrn. Seine Früchte sind süß, sein Schatten ist angenehm, sein Ende ist als Denkmal. 39

Nach wie vor geht es um Vergänglichkeit und Beständigkeit. Aber es ist nicht mehr die Ma’at, die Beständigkeit verbürgt, sondern Gott. In dieser Lehre heißt es auch am Ende der 6. Maxime: Segensreicher ist Armut in der Hand Gottes als Reichtum im Speicher. Besser Fladenbrote mit vergnügtem Herzen als Reichtum im Kummer.40

Gib Gott in dein Herz und setze dich in die Hand Gottes – das ist die Quintessenz dieser neuen Tugendlehre, die schon ganz in die Richtung der biblischen Maxime geht: die Furcht des Herrn ist der Weisheit Anfang. Nicht von Ungefähr sind ja bedeutende Teile dieser Lehre bzw. ihrer Vorlage in das Buch der Proverbien eingegangen. Anstelle zahlloser weiterer Stellen möchte ich abschließend einen einzigen Text in größeren Ausschnitten zu Wort kommen lassen, der die für die Ramessidenzeit typische Verbindung von Weisheit und Frömmigkeit besonders deutlich zum Ausdruck bringt: Es war einmal ein Mann aus dem südlichen Heliopolis, ein wahrer Schreiber in Theben; Zimut war sein Name von seiner Mutter her, genannt Kiki, gerechtfertigt. Den hatte sein Gott unterwiesen und ihn verständig gemacht in seiner Lehre, er hat ihn auf den Weg des Lebens gesetzt,

39

Übersetzung nach SHIRUN-GRUMACH 1991, 230. S. auch ANTHES 1970, 9–18; POSENER 1973, 129–35; ISRAELIT 1990; LAISNEY 2007, 72. Zum „Heißen“, vgl. QUACK 2011, 50–51, 58–61; ID. 2015, 71–80, bes. 74–76. 40 Vgl. SHIRUN-GRUMACH 1991, 232–32; LAISNEY 2007, 88–89.

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um seine Glieder zu bewahren. Der Gott hatte ihn schon als Kind erkannt. Nahrung und Kostbarkeiten wurden ihm zugewiesen. Da bedachte er nun bei sich, dass er sich einen Patron fände; und er fand Mut an der Spitze der Götter, Schicksal und Gelingen in ihrer Hand, Lebenszeit und Lufthauch stehen ihr zu Gebote. Alles, was sich ereignet, geschieht auf ihren Befehl. Er sagte: ich will ihr mein Vermögen und alle meine Einkünfte geben, denn ich erkenne ihre Macht mit meinen Augen, ihre einzigartige Wirksamkeit, dass sie mir die Angst verschwinden und böse Augenblicke ausbleiben lassen wird. Sie ist gekommen, Nordwind ihr voraus, da ich sie rief bei ihrem Namen. Ich bin ein Schwacher ihres Ortes, ein Armer und ein Pilger ihrer Stadt; dass ich über mein Vermögen verfüge, ist, damit sie reich wird und ich dafür den Lebensodem eintausche. Kein Einziger meines Hauses soll daran Anteil haben, sondern ihrem Ka soll es in Frieden gehören. (...) Ich habe mir keinen Schützer unter den Menschen genommen, Ich habe mir keinen [Patron] unter den Großen (gesucht). Kein Sohn von mir ist es, den ich gefunden habe, um [mir] das Begräbnis zu [veranstalten]. Das Begräbnis liegt in deiner Hand allein. Du bist auch die Geburtsgöttin, die für mich sorgt mit einer untadeligen Mumie, wenn es ans Sterben geht. (...) Ich freue mich über deine Stärke, weil du so viel größer bist als jeder andere Gott. Mein Herz ist erfüllt mit meiner Herrin und ich fürchte mich vor keinem Menschen. Ich verbringe die Nacht ruhig schlafend, denn ich habe einen Schützer. (…) Wer sich Mut zum Schützer macht, der kommt schon als Gelobter aus dem Mutterleib; dem ist Gutes bestimmt auf dem Geburtsziegel, der wird ein Grabherr sein. Wer sich Mut zum Schützer macht, wohl dem, der sich nach ihr sehnt!

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Kein Gott wird ihn niederwerfen als einen, der den Tod nicht kennt.41

Mit seinem Schritt einer Vermögensüberschreibung ist Kiki zum „Klienten“ der Göttin Mut geworden. Dass ein solcher Schritt für den Ägypter der Ramessidenzeit im Bereich des Möglichen lag, zeigt – ganz unabhängig von der Frage, wie viele ihn tatsächlich vollzogen – dass die Rede von der Gottheit als Patron, als Fluchtburg der Bedrängten, nicht als Metaphorik verstanden werden darf. Wir haben es hier mit einem realen Modell und einer existierenden Institution der Gott-Mensch-Beziehung zu tun. Man konnte sich durch Umbuchung seines Vermögens in das Patronat einer Gottheit einkaufen und zu ihrem Klienten werden.42 Es handelt sich hier ebenso wenig um eine Metapher wie etwa in der israelitischen Bundestheologie. Dort findet etwas genau Entsprechendes auf der politischen Ebene und im Modell des Vertrages statt. Nicht einzelne, sondern ein ganzes Volk institutionalisiert seine Beziehung zu einem Gott im Modell und in der Form des politischen Vertrages, der hier ebenso wenig wie in Ägypten das Patronat eine bloße Metapher ist. Das Modell des Bundes wird mit vielen Metaphern – der Ehe, der Sohnschaft usw. – umschrieben, ebenso wie in Ägypten das Modell des Patronats mit den Metaphern der Vaterschaft an den Waisen, Gattenschaft an den Witwen, Fluchtburg des Bedrängten, Hirte, Steuerruder usw. Das ändert aber nichts an der unmetaphorischen Realität der Institution. Der Beter, der Gott „Vater und Mutter“ nennt, hat natürlich leibliche Eltern in der Menschenwelt und kündigt auch mit der Anerkenntnis göttlicher Elternschaft die Beziehung zu ihnen nicht auf. Wenn er aber Gott als seinen Patron und Schutzherrn preist und hinzusetzt „ich habe mir keinen Patron unter den Menschen gesucht“, dann darf man davon ausgehen, dass hier wirklich die soziale zugunsten der religiösen Patronatsbeziehung aufgekündigt wird. Das Vertrauen, das der Fromme im wörtlichsten Sinne in die Gottheit „investiert“, wird den Menschen entzogen. Frömmigkeit bedeutet nicht eine Ausweitung, sondern eine Ersetzung der herkömmlichen Ma’at. An die Stelle der Ma’at tritt der Wille Gottes. An diesem Text lässt sich ziemlich deutlich sehen, auf welcher Art von Entscheidung – wofür und wogegen – die Frömmigkeit beruht. Es handelt sich nicht um die Entscheidung für die Göttin Mut im Gegensatz zu dem Gott Amun oder anderen Göttern. Sondern es geht vollkommen eindeutig darum, sich einen Patron nicht unter den Menschen, sondern unter den Göttern zu suchen, und nicht den eigenen Sohn und sonstige Angehörige zu Erben einzusetzen und mit dem Totendienst zu beauftragen, sondern die Göttin Mut und ihre Priesterschaft. Das heißt, dass sich im Horizont der Persönlichen Frömmigkeit zumindest ansatzweise zwei Sphären der Konnektivität herausbilden, und zwar die eine auf Kosten der anderen. Indem der Mensch zum Klienten Gottes wird, verblasst sein Interesse an menschlichen Patronen. Die sozialen Bindungen werden relativiert. Sie verlieren ihren religiösen, normativen Charakter. Wer sich in die Hand Gottes setzt, kann dem menschlichen Treiben mit Gelassenheit zusehen. So erklärt sich die unverkennbar quietistische Stimmung, die die Lehre des Amenemope durchzieht. 41

ASSMANN 1975, Nr.173. RITNER 2003, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2211-436X_cos_aCOSB_3_EG_B_2 (Stand 15.03. 2017). 42

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Die Religion stiftet eine neue Form und Dimension der Konnektivität. Die GottMensch-Beziehung wird hier zu einem sozialen Band, das den Einzelnen ebenso „konstellativ“ einbindet und ihn dadurch zur Person macht, wie es die Weisheit des Mittleren Reichs von der sozialen Einbindung des Einzelnen mithilfe seines hörenden und erinnerungsfähigen Herzens lehrte. Genau dieses Band ist gemeint, wenn Menschen des Neuen Reichs sagen, sie hätten sich Gott „ins Herz gesetzt“. Erfahrungen radikaler Vereinsamung, wie sie im Gespräch des Lebensmüden mit seinem Ba verarbeitet werden, sind in einer um diese Dimension göttlicher Konnektivität erweiterten Welt nicht mehr möglich. Wenn irgendwo, dann trifft hier A.N. Whiteheads berühmte Definition der Religion den Punkt: „Religion is what the individual does with his own solitariness.“

Bibliographie ANTHES, R. (1970): Die Funktion des vierten Kapitels in der Lehre des Amenemope: in: A. KUSCHKE/E. KUTSCH (Hg.), Archäologie und Altes Testament: Festschrift für Kurt Galling zum 8. Januar 1970, Tübingen, 9–18. ASSMANN, J. (1975): Ägyptische Hymnen und Gebete, Zürich. – (1983): Sonnenhymnen in thebanischen Gräbern, Mainz am Rhein. – (1993): Zur Geschichte des Herzens im alten Ägypten, in: J. ASSMANN/T. SUNDERMEIER (Hg.), Die Erfindung des Inneren Menschen. Studien zur religiösen Anthropologie, Gütersloh, 81–112. – (2003): Tod und Jenseits im Alten Ägypten, 2.Aufl. München. – (2006): Ma’at: Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im Alten Ägypten, München. BRUNNER, H. (1988): Altägyptische Weisheit, Zürich/ München. BURKARD, G. (1991): Die Lehre des Ptahhotep, in: O. KAISER (Hg.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments III: Weisheitstexte 2, Gütersloh, 195–221. DRIOTON, E. (1922): Contribution à l’étude du chapitre cxxv du Livre des Morts: Les confessions négatives, Recueil d’études égyptologiques dédiées à la mémoire de Jean-François Champollion, (Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études), Paris, 545–64. FECHT, G. (1958): Der Habgierige und die Ma’at in der Lehre des Ptahhotep (5. und 19. Maxime), (Abhandlungen der Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Kairo, Ägyptologische Reihe, 1), Glückstadt/Hamburg/New York. – (1972): Der Vorwurf an Gott in den Mahnworten des Ipuwer: Zur geistigen Krise der ersten Zwischenzeit und ihrer Bewältigung, (Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1972/1), Heidelberg. GOEDICKE, H. (1962): A Neglected Wisdom Text, JEA 48, 25–35. GRUMACH, I. (1972): Untersuchungen zur Lebenslehre des Amenope, (Münchner Ägyptologische Studien 23), Berlin. HELCK, W. (1975): Historisch-biographische Texte der Zweiten Zwischenzeit und neue Texte der 18. Dynastie (Kleine Ägyptische Texte), Wisbaden. HELCK, W. (1984): Die Lehre des Djedefhor und die Lehre eines Mannes für seinen Sohn, (Kleine Ägyptische Texte 9), Wiesbaden. HERBIN, F.R. (1980): Histoire du Fayum de la xviii.e à la xxx.e dynastie, Thèse 3e cycle, Paris. HERMANN, A. (1940): Die Stelen der thebanischen Felsgräber der 18. Dynastie, Glückstadt. HORNUNG, E. (1979): Das Totenbuch der Ägypter, Zürich. ISRAELIT, S. (1990): Chapter Four of the Wisdom Book of Amenemope, in: S. ISRAELIT (Hg.), Studies in Egyptology Presented to Miriam Lichtheim, vol. 1, Jerusalem, 464–84.

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JANSSEN, J.M.A. (1947): De traditioneele egyptische autobiografie vóór het Nieuwe Rijk. 2 Bde, Leiden. JUNGE, F. (2003): Die Lehre des Ptahhotep und die Tugenden der ägyptischen Welt, (OBO 193), Fribourg/Göttingen. KITCHEN, K.A. (1980): Ramesside Inscriptions III, Oxford. LAISNEY, V. P.-M. (2007): L’Enseignement d’Aménémopé, (Studia Pohl: series maior 19), Rom. LICHTHEIM, M. (1988): Ancient Egyptian Autobiographies Chiefly of the Middle Kingdom. (OBO 84), Fribourg/Göttingen. – (1992): Maat in Egyptian Autobiographies and Related Studies, (OBO 120), Fribourg/Göttingen. LUISELLI, M.M. (2010): Die Suche nach Gottesnähe: Untersuchungen zur Persönlichen Frömmigkeit in Ägypten von der Ersten Zwischenzeit bis zum Ende des Neuen Reiches, (Ägypten und Altes Testament Bd. 73), Wiesbaden. OTTO, E. (1964/66): Ägyptische Gedanken zur menschlichen Verantwortung, WO 3, 19–26 PARKINSON, R.B. (1991): The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant, Oxford. – (1998): The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Tales 1940–1640 BC, Oxford. – (2012): The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant: a Reader’s Commentary, (Lingua Aegyptia, Studia Monographica 10), Hamburg. POSENER, G. (1952), Le début de l’Enseignement de Hardjedef, REg 9, 109–17. – (1966): L’enseignement pour le roi Mérikarê, Annuaire du Collège de France 66, 342–45. – (1973): Le chapitre IV d’Aménémopé, in: Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 99, 129–35. – (1975): La piété personnelle avant l'âge amarnien, REg 27, 195–210. – (1976): L’enseignement loyaliste: Sagesse égyptienne du Moyen Empire, Genf. QUACK, J.F. (1992): Studien zur Lehre für Merikare, Wiesbaden. – (2005): Ein neuer Zugang zur Lehre des Ptahhotep?, WdO 35, 7–21. – (2011): From Ritual to Magic: Ancient Egyptian Forerunners of the Charitesion and their Social Setting, in: G. BOHAK/Y. HARARI/SH. SHAKED (Hg.), Continuity and Innovation in the Magical Tradition, Leiden/Boston, 43–84. – (2013): Concepts of Purity in Egyptian Religion, in: CHR. FREVEL/CHR. NIHAN (Hg.), Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Ancient Judaism, (Dynamics in the History of Religion 3), Leiden/Boston, 115–58. – (2015): Liebe und Gunst – zum Sinn des Ostrakons Borchardt 1, in: H. NAVRÁTILOVÁ,/ R. LANDGRÁFOVÁ (Hg.), Sex and the Golden Goddess II: World of the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs, Prag, 71–80. RITNER, R.K. (2003): Demotic Self-Dedication Texts (3.EG.B.2), in: W. HALLO (Hg.), Context of Scripture Online (http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/221-436X_cos_aCOSB_3_EG_B_2). ROCCATI, A. (1982): La littérature historique sous l’Ancien Empire Egyptien, Paris. SCHENKEL, W. (1964): Eine neue Weisheitslehre?, JEA 50, 6–12. – (1965): Memphis – Herakleopolis – Theben: die epigprahischen Zeugnisse der 7.–11. Dynastie Ägyptens, Wiesbaden. SEIBERT, P. (1967): Die Charakteristik: Untersuchungen zu einer ägyptischen Sprechsitte und ihren Ausprägungen in Folklore und Literatur, (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 17), Wiesbaden. SETHE, K. (1933): Urkunden des Alten Reichs, 2. Aufl., Leipzig. – (1959): Lesestücke zum Gebrauch im akademischen Unterricht, 3.Aufl. Neudr. Darmstadt. – (1961): Urkunden der 18.Dynastie, Nachdr. der 2. Aufl., Berlin und Graz. SHIRUN-GRUMACH, I. (1991): Die Lehre des Amenemope, in: O. KAISER (Hg.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments III: Weisheitstexte 2, Gütersloh, 222–50. SPIEGEL, J. (1935): Die Idee vom Totengericht in der ägyptischen Religion, (Leipziger ägyptologische Studien 2), Glückstadt. VARILLE, A. (1954): La stèle du mystique Béki (No 156 du Musée de Turin), BIFAO 54, 129–35. ZÁBA, Z. (1956): Les Maximes de Ptahhotep, Prag.

II: Ancient Near Eastern Wisdom Texts

Why “Wisdom”? Copying, Studying, and Collecting Wisdom Literature in the Cuneiform World Yoram Cohen The purpose of this essay is to try and understand why wisdom literature was copied, studied, and collected in the cuneiform world. It will be argued that this kind of literature was specifically cultivated in order to meet curricular, intellectual, and academic purposes.1 We will first see the use of wisdom literature in the scribal school setting, then discuss how it was collected and categorized, and, finally, see how wisdom literature was appreciated as part of the intellectual and academic world of Babylonia. Particular attention will be given to the Series of Sidu, a lost collection of wisdom compositions, and to the quotation of this work in learned contexts. As will be made clear by this discussion, Mesopotamian wisdom literature, although dismissed in the past by several scholars as an empty generic category, will be seen to have been recognized as a specific type of literature, or in other words a genre, even if, like other Mesopotamian literary genres, it did not gain a clear title or lacked a native definition.2

1 For a survey of the socio-historical background of the use of wisdom literature by Babylonian professionals, such as the exorcist, see BEAULIEU 2007. This essay is more focused on the development of the genre of wisdom and its perception and definition by its users. The author thanks Uri Gabbay for his critical reading of the paper. Note also: ETCSL = The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/). 2 Following Lambert’s seminal work, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (published in 1960), along with the publication of many new texts since, scholars have become increasingly worried about the lack of a proper definition of Mesopotamian wisdom literature. With no native designation to tell us which composition is “wisdom” and which is not, the result was that, according to some, every piece of literature that could not be properly categorized as a specific genre was defined as “wisdom.” The modern category of Mesopotamian wisdom literature was considered too broad and hence, to speak of “wisdom” in literature became senseless. The Assyriologist Herman Vanstiphout went as far as to call for “Wisdom Literature” to exit the stage; see discussion in greater detail, COHEN 2013, 7–19.

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Studying Wisdom Literature The Sumerian Proverb Collection is a modern title given collectively to over twenty individual collections of many short sentences in Sumerian.3 Despite the word Proverb in the title of the work, these collections contain not only proverbs but also instructions, sayings, and quotations from other works, notably Sumerian literature.4 The Sumerian Proverb Collection itself neither states its aim nor do the ancients tell us of the purpose of the collections. However, because the textual remains of the Sumerian Proverb Collection were documented on tablet formats recognized as the products of the Old Babylonian scribal school (in particular lenticular tablets but also other school formats), it was persuasively argued that this collection was used in scribal school training as part of the students’ acquaintance with the Sumerian language.5 This does not necessarily preclude its role in moral edification or didactic purposes. The proverbs and sayings of the Sumerian Proverb Collections which were studied in scribal schools in the Old Babylonian schools continued to be in circulation in one form or the other even after the Old Babylonian period and not only in Mesopotamia. The Sumerian proverbs (not all but a selection) were translated into Akkadian.6 A bilingual Sumerian-Akkadian proverb extract tablet, clearly a scribal exercise, dated to circa the first century B.C.E., at the very end of cuneiform civilization, illustrates best the continuity and durability as well as the purpose of this genre for over a period of almost 2,000 years.7 Once proverbs started to circulate outside of Mesopotamia, they were translated into languages other than Akkadian. We have examples of bilingual extracts of Akkadian and Hurrian proverbs (found at Ugarit) as well as Akkadian and Hittite proverbs (recovered from the archives of Hattuša; and see below).8 These were found in schooling contexts, together with other school texts such as lexical lists. 3 There are twenty-six proverb collections; see ALSTER 1997, whose edition is quoted throughout. Judging by the number of copies, we can surmise that some collections were more popular than others. The arrangement of the sentences within each collection rests on thematic and/or graphic (sign-form)/phonological relations between the sentences. The sequence in which the collections were learnt is not obvious. See TAYLOR 2005, 24–27. 4 See, e.g., GABBAY 2011. 5 See TAYLOR 2005 for a summary of views. N. Veldhuis (2000) sought to find in the Sumerian Proverb Collection a compendium that instructs students in the rudiments of Sumerian grammar. His view has been subject to debate, mainly because the proverbs exhibit less than common grammar, are full of recherché terms, and are many times intentionally ambiguous. These are not the materials that one starts to learn a language with, especially one, which, at least in the Old Babylonian period, was close to becoming extinct as a spoken language, WOODS 2006; ALSTER/OSHIMA 2006. Perhaps then Veldhuis’ view is to be somewhat modified, but nonetheless, from a comparative point of view, proverbs, or short sayings (sometimes such that nobody remembers their original meaning) are at the base of many schooling institutions. One may learn a proverb without a proper understanding of its meaning or a correct understanding of its grammatical forms but for the fact that it is a short sentence. Perhaps herein lies the durability of the study of proverbs in spite of all their difficulty. See ALSTER/OSHIMA 2006. 6 TAYLOR 2005. 7 FRAHM 2010. 8 COHEN 2013, nos. 6 and 7; COHEN, Forthcoming.

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Hence, we can see that, as in Babylonia, these proverbs served in scribal school settings at the fringes of the cuneiform world. Further evidence for the curricular setting of wisdom literature and not only proverb collections is found in a rather consistent selection of short Old Babylonian wisdom works that can be demonstrated to have served the curriculum. They are found grouped together on what we call compilation tablets (or Sammeltafeln), known to have been the products of scribes in the progress of their training.9 There are a few Old Babylonian wisdom compositions whose place in the curriculum can be traced. The wisdom composition the Ballad of Early Rulers appears on a compilation tablet that includes a Prayer for Marduk, a Praise to King Abi-ešuḫ (of the first dynasty of Babylon) and another wisdom work called Nothing is of Value. The wisdom piece Enlil and Namzitarra appears on the same tablet with Nothing is of Value, a lament-type composition, a literary letter, and a little known school composition.10 A collection of proverbs is also included on the same tablet as Nothing is of Value. The common thread of the Ballad of Early Rulers, Nothing is of Value, and Enlil and Namzitarra is their introduction of the so-called “vanity theme,” a wisdom trope that basically argues that life is short and all material wealth is fleeting. By force of the grouping of such works on the same tablets, we can posit that works which served in scribal training were organized along thematic principles, in other words, according to some generic definitions. Some of these works continued to serve in the scribal school after the Old Babylonian period.11 Their role can be determined thanks to their archival context (the fact that, for example, they were recovered with lexical lists) and to their scribal colophons. One example comes from the city of Emar. The wisdom composition Ballad of Early Rulers (in a bilingual version) was copied by Šaggar-abu, a member of the ZuBala family, who was active in the city’s scribal school. His colophon, which ends his copy of the wisdom piece, identifies him as a scribe and a diviner; he was also the copyist of another wisdom piece from the city, The Fowler (see below).12 It is likely that he or other members of his family at Emar copied another wisdom composition, Enlil and Namzitarra (in a bilingual version); see also below for this composition.13 To conclude, we can understand that although wisdom literature was valued for its moral, didactic, and literary qualities, it was conceived as part of the school curriculum and served an educational purpose.14 It gained further standing, as we will now discuss, when individual compositions were entered and organized together in literary catalogues. 9

The description here relies on ALSTER 2005 and KLEINERMAN 2011, 65. For Enlil and Namzitarra, see COHEN 2013, no. 3. 11 See VIANO 2016. 12 COHEN 2009, 169. 13 For the role of Sumerian and Babylonian disputation poems in schooling, see JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 15–16 and 121–24. For the genre as wisdom, see discussion below. 14 In this short survey, we have discussed the formative period of wisdom literature in the Old Babylonian period. However, it is to be noted that wisdom also continued to be used in the curriculum in the first millennium. E.g., Ludlul bēl nēmeqi is attested in 12 first-millennium school tablets; OSHIMA 2014, 6, 377–79; GESCHE 2000, 173 and 183. See also above, fn. 7. 10

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Creating an Ethos Old Babylonian literary catalogues list various compositions that were probably, at one stage or another, part of the school curriculum. The purpose of the catalogues is not entirely clear and debated, but it can be stated that they tend to organize various literary compositions according to genre.15 The Old Babylonian Catalogue at Andrews University gives a list of Sumerian curricular works, such as hymns, listed by their incipits.16 Lines 15–17 of the tablet list the following Akkadian compositions: [ši-me]-e mi-il-kam [lu-mu-u]n li-ib-bi […]-i mu-de-e ši-tu-lim

“[Hea]r the Advice” “[Grie]f of the Heart” “[…]…, Who Knows Counsel”

The first item can be identified with the wisdom composition Šimâ milka after its opening line. The Old Babylonian version of this composition is not known to us, but it is well-attested by manuscripts from Hattuša, Emar and Ugarit, as well as a first millennium manuscript from Kalhu/Nimrud.17 It seems likely that the two unknown Akkadian works mentioned directly below Šimâ milka were also wisdom or wisdomlike compositions. This is supported by what follows on the catalogue. After another title (which remains difficult to read) and a ruling line, come three more works – Sumerian wisdom compositions: the Counsels of Ur-Ninurta, the Instructions of Šuruppak, and The Farmer’s Instructions.18 It can be assumed that all were studied in the Old Babylonian scribal schools and were identified under curricular headings by their incipit. Therefore, we see that wisdom literature was not only studied in schools, but also catalogued and categorized as distinct. The purposeful collection and study of wisdom texts is mentioned in an explicit fashion by a very fragmentary composition, which has so far not garnered much attention in the discussion about wisdom literature. The tablet fragment KBo 12.128 found at Hattuša/Boğazköy originally held a collection of Akkadian-Hittite proverbs: on its left column (now almost completely lost) was the Akkadian text, which was translated to Hittite on its right column.19 Only one proverb, in its Hittite translation, is preserved in KBo 12.128. The rest of tablet, preserved only in the Hittite translation, is a first person oration directed to the listeners or readers of the work. I present here the whole Hittite text and its translation: 6ʹ 7ʹ 8ʹ 9ʹ 10ʹ

nukku karušten nu ištamašten nu DUMU.LÚ.U19.LULI kue ūttar piyan maḫḫan kittari n=at=za=kan ḫaddanaza arḫa aušten 15

The catalogues can be found in ETCSL 0.2.01–0.2.13. DELNERO 2010 questions the validity of the claim that the catalogues reflect the current curriculum, but see MICHALOWSKI 2013. 16 ETCSL 0.2.11; M. COHEN 1976; SALLABERGER 2010; MICHALOWSKI 2013, 18–19. 17 COHEN 2013, no. 1; NURULLIN 2014. 18 ALSTER 2005, 220–64; CIVIL 1994. 19 For an edition and a discussion, see LEBRUN 1980, 399–401; BECKMAN 1986; ARCHI 1995; COHEN 2013, no. 6B.

Why “Wisdom”? 11ʹ 12ʹ 13ʹ 14ʹ 15ʹ 16ʹ 17ʹ 18ʹ

n=at išḫiulaza ḫarten n=at kardit šekten n=at tuliyaza punušten n=at GIŠ.ḪUR-za aušten nu ˹anda˺ daruppten! na=at=za=kan šumedaza ...X.MEŠ-za šekten …x…

6ʹ 7ʹ–10ʹ 11ʹ 12ʹ 13ʹ 14ʹ 15ʹ 16ʹ–17ʹ 18ʹ

Be quiet now and listen! Observe with wisdom the matters which are placed in front of mankind, Maintain them according to the rule, And know them by heart. Inquire about them by means of an assembly, And observe them according to the ordinances. Collect (them) together, And know them for/by yourselves according to the …-s. …

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The speaker first requests silence and attention from his audience, as if in a live presentation of his oration. He wishes that his hearers learn with wisdom, Hittite ḫattatar (the translation of Akkadian nemēqu or tašīmtu) what concerns humanity – the proverbs given throughout the composition (all lost but one). These issues of concern are to be held according to išḫiul, “rule” or “regulation” (the Hittite word perhaps translating Akkadian riksu “rule, regulation” or rikistu “regulations”), and are to be learned by heart. They should be sought after in the tuliya, the Hittite “assembly” (undoubtedly Akkadian puḫru). The speaker continues, “You should observe these (concerns) according to the ordinances (GIŠ.ḪUR),” (l. 14ʹ),20 and concludes that matters of concern for humanity are to be collected together (l. 15ʹ) so that they can be studied by the hearers. The end of the composition is not well preserved (it is obvious that it ends here because the reverse side of the tablet is blank) and breaks rather abruptly. Nonetheless we can conclude that the speaker is requesting that wisdom be collected as texts in order to serve future generations of scholars. The collection of wisdom texts was already glimpsed in our discussion of the way these were listed in catalogues. This wisdom composition – once Akkadian but now only surviving as a Hittite translation – allows us to realize that the actual collection of wisdom was encouraged by the speaker to the hearers, but this voice no doubt reflects scribal interests rather than a genuine call to mankind. It tells us that among intellectual circles wisdom literature was treated seriously and valued beyond, or in addition to, its curricular aim. In other words, there was an ethos surrounding its use and study. Associating the origin of wisdom with the divine realm was another strategy to lend weight to the importance of wisdom literature. In the wisdom composition Šima milka, the opening verses tell us that Šūpû-amēlu received his wisdom, which he delivered to 20

The word which we translate here as “ordinances” is written in the Hittite column as a Sumerogram, GIŠ.ḪUR, usually argued by scholars to mean “wooden tablets” (e.g., WEEDEN 2011, 234–37; WAAL 2011); in this case at least there is no doubt it translates Akkadian uṣurtu, “ordinance, rule.” The barely preserved left column of the Akkadian text has a clearly visible [GI]Š.ḪUR.

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his son, from the god Enlil-banda, the “Enlil of Wisdom,” who is no other than Ea (ll. 1–4):21 šimâ milka š[a] Šūpû-amēli ša uzna iptû Enlilbanda emqa milka Šūpê-amēli ša uzna išrukuš(u) Enlilbanda Listen to the wisdom of Šūpû-amēlu, Whose ear Enlil-banda opened, (Listen to) the profound wisdom (of) Šūpû-amēlu To whom wisdom (lit. ear) Enlil-banda granted.

But what is the wisdom of Šūpû-amēlu? It consists of the proverbs, sayings, and useful advice or counseling that he will convey to his son throughout most of Šimâ milka, just like Šuruppak did for his son in the Instructions of Šuruppak. A recently published composition, The Scholars of Uruk, relates a quarrel between two scholars – a father and son.22 As the editor of the text Andrew George argues, the quarrel between the two is mirrored in geographical and divine domains: it represents the rivalry between the cities of Nippur and Ur and the relationship between Enlil and his son Sîn, portrayed as two scribes, obviously a senior and a junior. To our purposes, the text explains in a most explicit manner how wisdom was brought to the city of Uruk. It is the father-scribe who is speaking to his son, telling him as follows (ll. 44– 48):23 ušīmma anniamma uznam ana āliya išruk ina libbi mātiya nēmeqam dāriam ušabši ištu anūmīšuma apkallum iliamma ḫassum pîšu ipte ṭupšarrūtum(sic!) [an]a [ekur]ri āliya išlul šumeram mādam ina libbi ummānātiya uwallid He (Ea) decreed this (fate) and he bestowed wisdom upon my city, In the midst of my land, he established eternal wisdom, From then, the sage appeared and as the wise one spoke, He brought as booty the scribal art to the [temp]le of my city, He produced much Sumerian in the hearts of my populace.

We see that it is Ea who brought wisdom to Uruk by way of a human agent, his sage (the apkallum). Wisdom, discussed here as a distinct form of literature, is not explicitly mentioned, but it can be treated as a component of “eternal wisdom” (nēmequm dārium), by which practical knowledge of all sorts can be assumed. This type of knowledge was the scribal arts (ṭupšarrūtum), which was imparted by the language of the gods – Sumerian.24 The discussion of the divine origin of wisdom and its transmission by the antediluvian sages is a subject beyond the scope of our discussion, but it

21

COHEN 2013, 84–85. GEORGE 2009, no. 14. 23 Op. cit., n. 22. 24 GEORGE 2009, 106–12. 22

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needs to be kept in mind when coming to assess the function of wisdom literature.25 With that said, however, there is no doubt that wisdom literature made an effort to portray itself as being of great antiquity, even if not stated so explicitly. First, the prologues of some wisdom works, notably the disputation poems and the Instructions of Šuruppak, place the setting of the narrative in distant days, at the beginning of civilization.26 Secondly, the Sumerian origin of wisdom was emphasized by its writers and compilers as will be shown further in our discussion. Indeed, there is even some evidence of works, not exclusively wisdom compositions, that were written originally in Akkadian and then translated into Sumerian in order to bestow upon them prestige and antiquity.27

Wisdom Literature and the Series of Sidu We have touched upon the ways in which wisdom literature was offered a place beyond the confines of the scribal school classroom. Already in the Old Babylonian period it was collected and appreciated. It was also given a place of importance by the association of wisdom with the divine and with the Sumerian language. There is additional evidence that demonstrates that some wisdom compositions began to solidify into a bigger and perhaps stable collection. Although the sources are dated to the first millennium they can be considered rather safely to reflect intellectual trends of the mid-to-late second millennium. Generally speaking, we can recognize attempts to standardize professional literature, notably omen literature 28 but also belles lettres such as the Epic of Gilgamesh (under the authorship, real or otherwise, of Sîn-lēqi-unninni. Some of these works were designated in Sumerian as ÉŠ.GÀR and in Akkadian as iškaru. The term ÉŠ.GÀR/iškaru means “work-assignment,” but in literary contexts, it is translated usually as a “series” or “collection.” Hence, ÉŠ.GÀR dGIŠ.GÍN.MAŠ means the Series of Gilgamesh. A certain iškaru, a collection or a series, was called as ÉŠ.GÀR/iškar Sidu, after its alleged compiler, a person called Sidu (always written as SI-DÙ). As we will see, the series itself, made up of thirty-five “chapters” or “books,” was devoted to a variegated collection of wisdom compositions.29 Before turning to examine what the Series of Sidu consisted of, we need to see what is known about Sidu himself. To begin with, Sidu rather uniquely gives his own name to the series. Otherwise, works designated as a series are known by their protagonists (e.g. the Series of the Ox 25 See BEAULIEU 2007 for a discussion about the relationship between wisdom and its divine origin and wisdom literature. 26 VANSTIPHOUT 1990, 1992a and 1992b; JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 70–71. 27 Such may be the case of some Babylonian disputation poems; see with previous literature, JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 30, 54–57. For other genres, see GEORGE 2009, 106–10; VIANO 2016, 56–57. 28 One of the crucial pieces of the evidence for standardization of cuneiform literature is the colophon of the medical omens SA.GIG, which reported their organizing into a series at the times of Adadapla-iddina (the mid-eleventh century B.C.E.) by the scholar Esagil-kin-aplī. See FINKEL 1988. 29 The information and analysis of the Series of Sidu, unless stated otherwise, relies on LAMBERT 1962, 1974, and 1976; FINKEL 1986; FRAHM 2010.

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and the Horse, and the Series of Gilgamesh). Other than being the author or compiler of the series, he is mentioned in three scholarly sources, from which some information about him can be gleaned. The first source is the Catalogue of Texts and Authors (LAMBERT 1962), vi l. 13: [EŠ.GÀR] m SI-DÙ: šá pi-i m SI-DÙ la-bi-ri lúGALA lúU[M.ME.A NIPPU]Rki [The series of] Sidu: according to Old Sidu, the lamentation priest, the scho[lar of Nippu]r.

In this text, which lists works and their supposed authors or compilers, Sidu is mentioned along with other authors, notably, Sîn-lēqi-unninni, to whom the Series of Gilgamesh is attributed (ibid., vi, l. 10). 30 However, he was not the only scholar (ummânu) whose work we designate as wisdom to appear in the list of illustrious scholars. The author of the Babylonian Theodicy, Saggil-kīnam-ubbib is also mentioned, like Sidu, in the Catalogue of Texts and Authors.31 Less well-known figures are also identified in the Catalogue and again as authors of a subgenre of wisdom literature – the disputation poem. The Series of the Fox is said in the Catalogue to be written by Ibni-Marduk (vi l. 12), son of Ludumununna, a scholar from Nippur; the Series of the Poplar by Ur-Nanna, a scholar from Babylon (vi l. 14); and the Series of the Spider (and probably more disputation poems) by (probably descendants of) Šumulibši, a lamentation priest and scholar of Eridu (vii l. 3–4).32 The second source that mentions our scholar is the Uruk List of Kings and Sages (LENZI 2008), l. 14: [ina ṭar-ṣi m iš-bi]-dèr-ra LUGAL m SI-DÙ ša-niš mdEN.LÍL-DÙ um-man-nu [During the reign of Išbi]-Erra the king, Sidu, alternatively (known as) Enlil-ibni, was the scholar.

The Uruk List of King and Scholars links sages (apkallus) and scholars to Mesopotamian rulers. Ahiqar, for example, is named as the ummânu of King Esarhaddon, and Sidu is considered to be the ummânu of Išbi-Erra, an historical figure, the first king of Isin in the early Old Babylonian period.33 The name Sidu is given here its Akkadian rendering or learned interpretation – Enlil-ibni. This reading is also found in a name list from Nineveh, which goes back to the Kassite period, 5R 44 (iii, 35: mdSI-DÙ = md En-líl-ib-ni).34 This name list includes names of kings after the flood35 and, in addition, a large number of Sumerian names with their Akkadian readings or learned interpretations. Apart from Sidu, five more names in the list can be associated with the world of learning: either as authors or as ancestors of authors.36 Hence we can assume that they are the sages of the period after the flood. 30

For restoring Sidu’s city as Nippur, see FRAHM 2010, 172. He is called in this source as Esagil-kīn-ubba; see HEEßEL 2011, 194. 32 JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 111–13. 33 The association however between King Išbi-Erra and Sidu (if ever there was such an historical figure) is probably not historical in any sense. E. Frahm (2010) suggests that the association was purely literary: King Išbi-Erra is mentioned in the Sumerian Proverb Collection, parts of which are known to have been chapters of the Series of Sidu, see below. 34 See FRAZER 2016, with previous literature. 35 5R i 20, cited in CAD A/1, 78. 36 LAMBERT 1957, 5–6. 31

Why “Wisdom”?

49

The third source in which Sidu is found we will call here A Piece of Esoteric Babylonian Learning.37 This source is a very fragmentary composition of obscure purpose in which Sidu appears with other figures, all of whom are listed sequentially in a vertical column. This column literally cuts through a continuous text containing what appear to be sentences from a wisdom composition, although the composition itself cannot be identified. Here, Sidu is named SI-DÙ SUMUN-rù, “Old Sidu.” Apart from Sidu, other figures appear in the text. They are Burnaburiaš, Nazimurutaš, another name that currently defies reading, Taqiša the Nippurean, Kudurru the diviner, Muballiṭu, and a partly broken name (x-x-x-re-me-ni). It has been assumed that the list represents kings and scholars, but the identity of the figures and their relationship is difficult to clarify fully. The first two mentioned are Kassite kings: Burnaburiaš (1359–1333) and Nazimurutaš (1307–1282), who, although not the son of Burnaburiaš, viewed himself as his offspring.38 Nazimurutaš was documented as the king under whose rule tablets from seven Babylonian cities were collected.39 Hence, there may have been a tradition that saw him as a learned king who fostered learning.40 The rest of the list consists of scholars. But who are they? Taqiša the Nippurean is to be identified with Taqiš-Gula, a scholar who is mentioned in the Uruk List of Kings and Sages with King Abi-ešuḫ; he and another contemporary scholar by the name of Gimil-Gula are listed in the Uruk List right after Sidu.41 Perhaps Kudurru the diviner and Muballiṭu are corrupted names which can be identified with scholars known from elsewhere: Kudurru is perhaps a shortened name for Enlil-ban-kudurri, an incantation-priest mentioned in the Catalogue of Texts and Authors (vi, 6; LAMBERT 1962, 67); and Muballiṭu is perhaps Enlil-Muballiṭ, mentioned in a colophon of a medical text as a sage from Nippur in the times of the Isin king Enlil-bani.42 To conclude, the three sources we have examined demonstrate that Sidu was considered a lamentation priest of old times; that he was the ummânu of the first significant king of Mesopotamia after the fall of the Ur III dynasty, Išbi-Erra; and that he probably originated from the city of learning, Nippur. In the company of other venerated scholars, Sidu was an author celebrated as the compiler of an entire series devoted to wisdom literature. Having discussed the identity of Sidu, we can move to discuss his series. Knowledge about the series comes from three sources. It is mentioned in two NeoAssyrian library records or inventories, and, most importantly, its contents or chapters are listed in a small tablet from Nineveh.

37

LAMBERT 1974; REINER 2008; FRAZER 2013, 201–202. Thus in a kudurru from the times of Nazimurutaš; see PAULUS 2014, 326 (NM 2 = MDP 2, 86). 39 HEEßEL 2011. 40 See FRAZER 2013 and 2016. 41 The two also appear in the Catalogue of Texts and Authors. See LAMBERT 1974, 155; IDEM 1962, 75. 42 LENZI 2008, 150; LAMBERT 1957, 8. 38

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In the first Neo-Assyrian inventory, a discrete section lists texts in the ownership of a certain Aplâ.43 The Series of Sidu (l. 8´) is found there with other well-established genres. The complete inventory of Aplâ is presented below (I provided an extra column which identifies the genre of the entered work).

1´ 2´ 3´ 4´ 5´ 7´ 8´ 9´ 10´

Work [....] x x [...] MUR-GUD im-ru-u b[al-lu] SIG7 .ALAN nab-[ni-tum] d AN-ŠÁR a-[nu-um] ri-kis KASKAL UD AN dEN-LÍL DIŠ iq-qur DÙ-uš : bi-bil-a-ni ÉŠ.GÀR SI-DÙ ÉR-ŠÀ-ḪUN-GÁ-MEŠ M IBILA-a

Genre (lost) lexical list lexical list god-list celestial omens Omens Wisdom lament literature Aplâ (the owner of the tablet)

The second inventory also lists works presumably held originally in the library of some scholar, whose name however is missing. (Note that the number of tablets of each work in this scholar’s library is given). We cannot identify all the works, but the Series of Sidu (l. 8') precedes the Series of Gilgamesh.44

1´ 2´ 3´ 4´ 5´ 6´ 7´ 8´ 9´

Work 1 i[z-bu ...] 2 NA4.KIŠIB ḫal-tú 1 UD-mu DINGIR URU 3 kam-ma-a-ni 1 GIŠ.GIGIR m IB-nu-UD 1 GIŠ.ḪUR ma-a-da 1 ÉŠ.GÀR SI-DÙ 1 MIN DGIŠ.GÍN.MAŠ ˹40? e-gír-a˺-te

Genre Omens medico-magical omens(?) “academic texts” myth(?) omens(?)/wisdom(?) Wisdom Epic ˹40? one-column tabl˺ets

These two inventories demonstrate that the Series of Sidu was part of learned materials that made up a scholar’s collection: lexical lists, god-lists, omens of various sorts, myth(?), laments, and epic. Finally, K 1870 is a small tablet from Nineveh containing the contents of the Series of Sidu.45 The tablet provides a list of incipits of wisdom compositions, some of which can be identified, that made up the series. Originally, the tablet listed thirty-five wisdom compositions, but many titles are totally lost or otherwise incomplete. Even when complete, they resist identification.46 I present here the incipits of the works as they 43

K 14067+; LAMBERT 1976, 314. SAA 7, no. 49 (= FALES/POSTGATE 1992, 62); PARPOLA 1983, 12. 45 FINKEL 1986; CDLI P357081. Although the tablet is dated to the first millennium and found in the Assyrian capital, it was probably put to writing earlier and in Babylonia. We can well assume that it reflects the editorial tendencies that began in earnest during the Kassite period. 46 The identification of the wisdom compositions follows FINKEL 1986 and FRAHM 2010, unless specifically stated otherwise. 44

51

Why “Wisdom”?

appear in the tablet with the identification of the work and its complete opening sentence. Incipits

Identification

Complete sentence –

1

[...]-àm

–

2

[x]-x-[x]-du-ru

–

d

– d

3

[ en-l]íl šer7-da gu-la-˹ni˺

Sumerian Proverb Collection 3:93

en-líl-le šer7-da gu-la-ni šag4-gar-ra “Enlil’s greatest punishment is hunger.”

4

[ki] gul-la-ba

Sumerian Proverb Collection 2:1

ki gul-la-ba ki ḫe2-en-gul “In those places which have been destroyed, let more places be destroyed.”

5

˹a˺-numdum-ma-ke4

Bilingual Proverbs, LAMBERT 1960, 235, 23

a-numdum-ma-ke4 “Water of the lips.”

6

a sag-šè dù-a

7

e-el-lu ma-al-lu

The Song of the Plowing Oxen, CIVIL 1976; ETCSL 5.5.5

8

šu-i kù-zu-gin7

–

9

dub-sar pe-el-lá

Sumerian Proverb Collection, 2:54

dub-sar pe-el-lá lú-mu7-mu7-ma-kam “A disgraced scribe becomes an incantation priest.”

10

d

utu nam-lugal-la

Sumerian Proverb Collection, 3:83

d

11

usandu u4 20-kam

The Fowler, LAMBERT 1960, 22147

usandu ... u4 20-kam “The fowler...the 20th day...”

12

d

13

en-nun u4-zal-la

14

u4-u[l-l]í-a engar-ra dumu-a-˹ni˺

47

kù-sud lú gi al gi ˹ra˺

–

– e-el-lu ma-al-lu / alali “Hey (interjection).” –

utu gub-ba-ni nam-lugal mu-un-naan-šúm “By the time the sun is up, kingship is conferred.”

–

–

–

–

The Farmer’s Instructions, CIVIL 1994; ETCSL 5.6.3

ud-ul-ur11-ru dumu-ni “The old farmer (gave advice) to his son…”

The incipit is very similar to a fragment in LAMBERT 1960, 221 (ll. 1 and 6) and it is rather obvious that ARNAUD Emar 6, nos. 768, 769 and 769 also bear pieces of this composition. The relationship of the composition to the Old Babylonian Sumerian composition, The Fowler and His Wife is not entirely clear. See discussion below and also RUTZ 2013, 272–73; VIANO 2016, 313–14.

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15

˹é˺-gal du10-ga-a-ni

Bilingual Proverbs, LAMBERT 1960, 233, 1

[é-gal du10-ga-a-n]i an.na.gin7 nugam-da / ekallu qibīssu kīma qi[bīt d anim] “The palace – its command is like the command of An.”

16–33 lacuna 34

[...du]g bu ub da šu [...] d

–

35

ki en-ki geš-ḫur-ḫur˹ra˺

Ballad of Early Rulers, COHEN 2013, no. 2

36

[PA]P 35 DUB.MEŠ ÉŠ.GÀR SI-DÙ

– d

ki en-ki-ke4 geš-ḫur ḫur-ḫur-re / itti Ea uṣṣurāma uṣurātu “The fates are determined by Ea.”

[Tot]al: 35 tablets of the Series of Sidu 37

[DU]B.SAG.MEŠ! ina UGU ZI!-ḫi [(These are) the inci]pits extracted from (them).48

Once we investigate what the Series of Sidu was made up of, we discover that it collected thirty-five tablets of works, some of which were once discrete compositions. Of what can be identified, we can see that the series included at least seven “chapters” of proverb collections (ll. 3, 4, 5, 8?, 9, 10 and 15).49 It also included works that we recognize as independent compositions: the Song of the Plowing Oxen (l. 7), The Farmer’s Instructions (l. 14), The Fowler (l. 11), and the Ballad of Early Rulers (l. 35). These works all exist in a bilingual format.50 It is clear what place the Ballad of Early Rulers has in series since a well-defined wisdom motif (“the vanity theme”) occupies a central position in this work. However, it is not immediately obvious why the other works are included within Sidu’s collection. The Song of the Plowing Oxen holds its own native generic definition as an “Ululumama Song,” which can possibly be understood as a herder’s song.51 The work, however, is not as prosaic as it sounds; it contains stanzas of instructions or useful advice about plowing and agriculture and possibly articulations of wisdom, such as are found in the Instructions of Šuruppak or Šimâ 48

Following the reading of GABBAY 2014, 234, n. 48. The Sumerian Proverb Collections and the Bilingual Proverbs are counted together. When this catalogue was written the proverbs existed in a bilingual format. Nowadays, we have only pitiful remains of what were once whole collections of bilingual proverbs. Obviously as can be seen from the catalogue (and other sources; see TAYLOR 2005), the bilingual formats relied on the old Sumerian Proverb Collections. 50 Only the bilingual formats are given here: the Song of the Plowing Oxen: Middle Babylonian bilinguals; VIANO 2016, 56; a Neo-Assyrian bilingual fragment from the Kuyunjik collection; LIVINGSTONE 1980; The Farmer’s Instructions: a Neo-Babylonian bilingual from Sippar(?); CIVIL 1994, 10, 41–45; the Ballad: Sumerian, syllabic Sumerian and Akkadian copies from Emar and Ugarit; a Neo-Assyrian bilingual fragment from the Kuyunjik collection; COHEN 2013, no. 2; ALSTER 2005, 320–22; The Fowler: Emar bilingual manuscripts; VIANO 2016, 313–14. 51 This type of song was known in Akkadian as alāla; CIVIL 1976, 90; LIVINGSTON 1980; OPPENHEIM 1946. 49

Why “Wisdom”?

53

milka.52 The theme of agriculture is also shared with another work belonging to the Series of Sidu, The Farmer’s Instructions. The piece called The Fowler is not wellpreserved, so its content is not clear. If, however, it is related to the composition The Fowler and his Wife, the connection becomes clear; The Fowler and his Wife was a school text and was quoted in the Sumerian Proverb Collections.53 As E. Frahm (2010) points out, the catalogue of Sidu indicates that wisdom compositions and proverbs were not treated as two differentiated genres as they often are in modern discourse; rather, they could have been gathered together under one heading.54 Indeed, a tight generic definition of wisdom collapses in light of the contents of this series. We need to ask, nonetheless, why are all of these collected into one series? The reason is that all these compositions were not only considered as received wisdom but that they existed in a bilingual format, Sumerian with the Akkadian translation. It is by the force of this quality that these works were collected and cherished because they were considered the product of the scholar Sidu, one of the scholars and sages who mastered Sumerian, the very language of wisdom that was conveyed by the gods.55 It is certainly one reason that wisdom texts were cited in the genre of learned commentaries: they provided the keys for exegesis, as will be seen in the next section. Thus far, we have discussed the Series of Sidu, which collected bilingual works. However, library catalogues and other sources inform us that additional works that we call wisdom were collected or appreciated as a series. We have seen above how three series of disputation poems were attributed to illustrious authors in The Catalogue of Texts and Authors. Closely associated works are listed in a Neo-Assyrian tablet, Rm 618, which is a list of titles somewhat similar to the inventories we have seen above. In Rm 618, along with the Myth of Adapa and Enūma Anu Enlil (celestial omens), we find listed at least four wisdom and wisdom-related works: the Series of the Date Palm and the Tamarisk, the Series of the Poplar, the Series of the Ox and the Horse, and a Commentary to Ludlul bēl nēmeqi.56 In the Neo-Assyrian inventory that listed the Series of Sidu,57 there is also a section which brings a selection of works (the owner’s name is lost), among which is listed notably the Laws of Hammurabi.58 But one line above this entry we find another entry which reads Nam-zi-tar-[ra]. This title obviously refers to the Old Babylonian wisdom work known as Enlil and Namzitarra, which we have already discussed.59 The reference is probably to the bilingual version of the story (recovered from Ugarit and Emar); it survived into the first millennium, as we can assume because of its mention 52

CIVIL 1976, 88, ll. 62–65. VELDHUIS 2000, 72; VIANO 2016, 62–63. 54 FRAHM 2010, 169, n. 40: “That Mesopotamian scholars who created ‘Sidu’ put ‘proverbs’ and ‘wisdom texts’ together is an important point, often overlooked in modern discussions about the relationship between these two genres.” 55 See above The Scholars of Uruk, p. 48. 56 JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 116–21; see below for the Commentary to Ludlul bēl nēmeqi. 57 See above, pp. 51–52. 58 LAMBERT 1989; SAA 7, no. 56 (= FALES/POSTGATE 1992, 69). More works are listed in this section, but only one (the Advice to a Prince) was securely identified. 59 See above, p. 43. 53

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in the inventory, although all copies are lost today. It survived perhaps due to its Sumerian-Akkadian format, similar to the format of the compositions listed in the Series of Sidu. And lastly, consider KAV 142, a Neo-Assyrian tablet from Assur; it provides the names of three pieces among which is the disputation poem the Series of the Fox.60 To conclude, as was the case with the Series of Sidu, here, too, it can be seen how various wisdom works were collected and cherished; they were certainly not considered as common as medical texts or omens but without a doubt remained part of a scholar’s required reading.

Wisdom Literature and Learned Commentaries Learned commentaries are texts that were used by Babylonian scholars to explicate and exegete mostly omen literature by the use of learned lexical equations, sometime with the assistance of quotations of other texts, usually lexical lists.61 One of the texts used in commentaries is the Series of Sidu. In a tablet meant to explicate omens of the seventh tablet of the šumma izbu omen series, a certain verbal form appearing in a particular omen is explained by a proverb quoted from the series.62 qé-e-el : ḫe-pu-ú : KUD-DU : qé-e-el : KUD-DU : ḫe-pu-u lìb-bu-ú ṣu-uḫ-ḫu-tú kur-ban-né-e su-un-šú ma-li šá i-qer-ru-ba-am-ma i-ni ši-qa-an-ni a-qí-il-šú šá ina ÉŠ.GÀR m SI-DÙ E-ú “It is crushed (qēl)” (means) “it is broken (ḫepû)”; the form “it is crushed (KUD-DU)” (means) “it is crushed (qēl),” “it is broken (ḫepû),” as in, “the dripping-eyed – his lap is filled with earth-clods, (says), ‘Whoever approaches me and (mockingly says to my dripping eye), “Oh eye! Give me to drink,” I will crush him (a-qí-il-šú) (with earth-clods),’  ” which is what is said in the Series of Sidu.

The business of the commentary is to explain the form qēl, “(it is) crushed,” that appears in an izbu omen. It does so with lexical equations that in turn are justified as means of exegesis by quoting a proverb from the Series of Sidu. The proverb, only known from this source and here in Akkadian but probably originally in a bilingual form, see below, is the proof for the correct interpretation of the form.63 The Series of Sidu is utilized again in another commentary although this time to explain the nature or type of a medicinal plant.64 The plant in question is the daddaru, apparently of a peculiar smell, probably foul. The commentary brings a quote from the Series of Sidu in order to clarify the nature of the plant. In this case, part of the quote in the commentary can be compared to an actual saying that survived in the otherwise 60

JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 114–16. See FRAHM 2011; GABBAY 2016; Cuneiform Commentaries Project (http://ccp.yale.edu/). 62 FINKEL 2006; FRAZER 2017. 63 The reading and interpretation follows GABBAY 2009 and 2016, 228. The proverb seems to say that the dripping-eye fellow attacks those who mock him. The earth-clods in his lap, which were to disintegrate because of his endless tears, become unexpected weapons with which he will attack his detractors. 64 FINKEL 2005; FRAHM 2010, 168–69; GABBAY 2016, 69; JIMÉNEZ 2017b. 61

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Why “Wisdom”?

very fragmentary collection of Bilingual Proverbs, obviously once part of the Series of Sidu.65 First are the relevant lines from the commentary (ll. 4–6), followed by the saying from the Bilingual Proverbs. … gišda-ad-da-ri : […in]a ÍD tab!-ba-ši-i mu--ú-ka da-ad-da-ri te-ek-kel-mu-ú […ina l]i-ib-ba-ti-šú dad-da-ri ú-še-ṣi ina ÉŠ!.GÀR SI-DÙ qa-bi The daddaru plant: [“…when i]n the river you are found, your water (smells of) the daddaru plant;” Behold: [“… in] his wrath, he produced (a smell of) the daddaru plant,” it is said in the Series of Sidu. 19 20

íd-da-šè bí-gar-re-en-na a-zu ú-šà-lu-úb-zé-da

ina na-ri tab-ba-aš-ši-ma mu-ka da-ad-da-ru

21 22 23 24

an-ga-àm kiri6-šè gar-re-en-na-zu zú-lum-zu zé an-ga-àm

ap-pu-na-ma ina ki-ri-i tab-ši-ma su-lu-up-pa-ka mar-tum

In the river you are found and then your water (smells of) the daddaru plant; and again, when you are in the orchard, your dates are bitter.

The saying in the Bilingual Proverbs and, as it is quoted in the commentary, remains unclear to us, but nonetheless demonstrates how wisdom, just like lexical lists, can be utilized to clarify difficult words and terms. The Series of Sidu stands at the center of our attention, but it is not the only wisdom work to be quoted in these two commentaries. Ludlul bēl nēmeqi is cited twice in the first commentary as an exegetical source.66 The second commentary also quotes the Series of the Fox, again to explicate a name of a plant (l. 8).67 Apart from the mention of wisdom literature in commentaries, as demonstrated here, two commentaries were actually dedicated to serve wisdom compositions. The first text is a Commentary to Ludlul bēl nēmeqi,68 a work whose title in fact may have been mentioned in the Neo-Assyrian list Rm 618 (discussed above, p. 53), and the second is a Commentary to the Babylonian Theodicy.69 The function of both commentaries is to explain the many difficult and rare words in these wisdom compositions. To conclude, the Series of Sidu, as well as other wisdom works, was considered of sufficient value to be called upon by Babylonian exegetes in order to explain obscure lexical items in professional literature such as omens and medical texts. These works were in fact the only pieces of literature to be used in the genre of commentaries, which otherwise usually utilizes lexical lists to explicate words or phrases. The use of wisdom in commentaries, therefore, demonstrates how such wisdom works, although studied at school, were considered sources of knowledge.

65

K 4347+; LAMBERT 1960, 244, 19–24. FRAHM 2011, 102–103. 67 See fn. 60 and JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 39–40. 68 LENZI 2017; FRAHM 2011, 119. 69 JIMÉNEZ 2017c; FRAHM 2011, 120–21. 66

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Conclusion We have discussed in this paper the various uses and functions of what we call wisdom literature. At first, we recognized the role of the Sumerian Proverb Collections at the scribal school, but we quickly saw that it was not the sole wisdom composition found in scribal training. Other compositions such the Ballad of Early Rulers and Enlil and Namzitarra were also part of scribal schooling in the Old Babylonian period. We have also considered how this type of literature was collected: either piece next to piece on Sammeltafeln or by mention together in catalogues. By its very collection and preservation, wisdom literature established an ethos around itself. A halo of veneration was created around this type of literature, as we have seen in the short piece from Hattuša, re-enforced by figures such as Šupû-amēlu in Šimâ milka and by an emphatic concern over the divine nature of wisdom, as seen in the Old Babylonian composition The Scholars of Uruk. At the close of the second millennium we can detect some serious efforts to collect scholarly literature. For the most part, this literature included omen compositions, but it is generally recognized that the collection effort touched upon other types of literature, for example, epics. Part of the process of collecting also involved attributing particular works to specific authors. For example, the Epic of Gilgamesh was said to have been composed by the scholar Sîn-lēqi-unninni. In the case of wisdom literature, the illustrious scholar Sidu rather uniquely gave his name to an entire series of wisdom compositions, many of which can be identified. His series was part of the intellectual heritage of scribal lore in Mesopotamia, as the Neo-Assyrian inventories show us. But the Series of Sidu was not alone in reaching this position. Additional wisdom works, the Babylonian Theodicy and some disputation poems, were attributed with authorship and a considerable number of them were listed in inventories or lists. Wisdom literature did not stand alone in the Mesopotamian world of learning but rather closely communicated with other learned textual genres. Words or sentences from the Series of Sidu, the Series of the Fox, and Ludlul bēl nēmeqi were quoted in commentaries and thus engaged in Babylonian hermeneutics – a textual reflection of the active pursuit of knowledge and meaning among Babylonian scholars. Finding the use of wisdom literature in such exegetical works broadens our horizons regarding Mesopotamian thought. Knowledge was not limited to technical works, such as medical compositions, omen literature, or lexical lists. It could be found also in what we would simply call a genre of literature. Wisdom literature was a genre of a long and meaningful history with several complementary uses and purposes. Rather than solely maintaining an image of wisdom learnt exclusively for the sake of morally improving oneself, we should also think of wisdom as a means of achieving scribal education and erudition and, on a higher level, as a source of exegesis.

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Bibliography ALSTER, B. (1997): Proverbs of Ancient Sumer, Bethesda, MD. – (2005): Wisdom of Ancient Sumer, Bethesda, MD. ALSTER, B./T. OSHIMA (2006): A Sumerian Proverb Tablet in Geneva with Some Thoughts on Sumerian Proverb Collections, Orientalia 75, 31–72. ARCHI, A. (1995): “Pensavano” gli ittiti?, SEL 12, 13–19. BEAULIEU, P.-A. (2007): The Social and Intellectual Setting of Babylonian Wisdom Literature, in: R.J. CLIFFORD (ed.), Wisdom Literature in Mesopotamia and Israel, (SBLSymS 38), Atlanta, 3–19. BECKMAN, G. (1986): Proverbs and Proverbial Allusions in Hittite, JNES 45, 19–30. CIVIL, M. (1976): The Song of the Plowing Oxen, in: B.L. EICHLER (ed.), Kramer Anniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, (AOAT 25), 83–95. – (1994): The Farmer’s Instructions: A Sumerian Agricultural Manual, (Aula Orientalis Supplementa 5), Barcelona. COHEN, M.E. (1976): Literary Texts from the Andrews University Archaeological Museum, RA 70, 129–44. COHEN, Y. (2009): The Scribes and Scholars of the City of Emar in the Late Bronze Age, (HSS 59), Winona Lake, IN. – (2013): Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, (SBLWAW 29), Atlanta. – (Forthcoming): Mesopotamian Wisdom Compositions in Ugarit and the “Western Periphery,” in: H. NEUMANN (ed.), Literaturkontakte Ugarits, Münster. DELNERO, P. (2010): Sumerian Literary Catalogues and the Scribal Curriculum, ZA 100, 32–55. FALES, F. M./J.N. POSTGATE (1992): Imperial Administrative Records. Part 1: Palace and Temple Administration, (State Archives of Assyria 7), Helsinki. FINKEL, I.L. (1986): On the Series of Sidu, ZA 76, 250–53. – (1988): Adad-apla-iddina, Esagil-kīn-apli and the Series SA.GIG, in: E. LEICHTY/M. DE ELLIS/P. GERARDI (eds.), A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs, Philadelphia, 143–60. – (2005): Explanatory Commentary on a List of Materia Medica (no. 69), in: I. SPAR/W.G. LAMBERT (eds.), Literary and Scholastic Texts of the First Millennium B.C., (Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art 2), Madrid, 279–83. – (2006): On an Izbu VII Commentary, in: A.K. GUINAN et al. (eds.), If A Man Builds a Joyful House: Assyriological Studies in Honor of Erle Verdun Leichty, (Cuneiform Monographs 31), Leiden/Boston, 139–48. FRAHM, E. (2010): The Latest Sumerian Proverbs, in: S.C. MELVILLE/A.L. SLOTSKY (eds.), Opening the Tablet Box: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Benjamin R. Foster, (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 42), Leiden/Boston, 155–84. – (2011): Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries: Origins of Interpretation, (Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record 5), Münster. FRAZER, M. (2013): Nazi-maruttaš in Later Mesopotamian Tradition, Kaskal 10, 187–220. – (2016): An Elementary Late Babylonian Scribal Exercise Featuring Nazi-maruttaš, Kaskal 13, 175–83. – (2017): Commentary on Izbu 7 (CCP no. 3.6.3.A) [Online]. Cuneiform Commentaries Project. Available: http://ccp.yale.edu/P415763 [Accessed August 14, 2017]. GABBAY, U. (2009): Some Notes on an Izbu Commentary, NABU 2009, 69–71. – (2011): Lamentful Proverbs or Proverbial Laments, JCS 63, 51–64. – (2014): Pacifying the Hearts of the Gods: Sumerian Emesal Prayers of the First millennium BC, (Heidelberger Emesal-Studien 1), Wiesbaden. – (2016): The Exegetical Terminology of Akkadian Commentaries, (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 82), Leiden/Boston. GEORGE, A.R. (2009): Babylonian Literary Texts in the Schøyen Collection, (Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology 10), Bethesda, MD. GESCHE, P. (2000): Schulunterricht in Babylonien im ersten Jahrtausend v. Chr, (AOAT 275), Münster.

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HEEßEL, N.P. (2011): “Sieben Tafeln aus sieben Städten.” Überlegungen zum Prozess der Serialisierung von Texten in Babylonien in der zweiten Hälfte des zweiten Jahrtausends v. Chr., in: E. CANCIKKIRSCHBAUM/M. VAN ESS/J. MARZAHN (eds.), Babylon: Wissenskultur in Orient und Okzident, (Topoi: Berlin Studies of the Ancient World 1), Berlin, 171–95. JIMÉNEZ, E. (2017a): The Babylonian Disputation Poems: With Editions of the Series of the Poplar, Palm and Vine, the Series of the Spider, and the Story of the Poor, Forlorn Wren, (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 87), Leiden/Boston. – (2017b): Commentary on Therapeutic (CCP no. 4.2.W) [Online]. Cuneiform Commentaries Project. Available: http://ccp.yale.edu/P412240 [Accessed July 31, 2017]. – (2017c): Commentary on Theodicy (CCP no. 1.4) [Online]. Cuneiform Commentaries Project. Available: http://ccp.yale.edu/P404917 [Accessed July 31, 2017]. KLEINERMAN, A. (2011): Education in Early 2nd Millennium BC Babylonia: The Sumerian Epistolary Miscellany, (Cuneiform Monographs 42), Leiden. LAMBERT, W.G. (1957): Ancestors, Authors and Canonicity, JCS 11, 1–14. – (1960): Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford. – (1962): A Catalogue of Texts and Authors, JCS 16, 59–77. – (1974): A Piece of Esoteric Babylonian Learning, RA 68, 149–56. – (1976): A Late Assyrian Catalogue of Literary and Scholarly Texts, in: B.L. EICHLER/J.W. HEIMERDINGER/A.W. SJÖBERG (eds.), Kramer Anniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, (AOAT 25), Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn, 313–18. – (1989): The Laws of Hammurabi in the First Millennium, in: M. LEBEAU/P. TALON (eds.), Reflets des deux fleuves: volume de mélanges offerts à Andre Finet, (Akkadica Supplementum 6), Leuven, 95– 98. LEBRUN, R. (1980): Hymnes et prières hittites, (Homo religiosus 4), Louvain-la-Neuve. LENZI, A. (2008): The Uruk List of Kings and Sages and Late Mesopotamian Scholarship, JANER 8, 137–69. – (2017): Commentary on Ludlul (CCP no. 1.3) [Online]. Cuneiform Commentaries Project. Available: http://ccp.yale.edu/P394923 [Accessed July 31, 2017]. LIVINGSTONE, A. (1980): A Fragment of a Work Song, ZA 70, 55–57. MICHALOWSKI, P. (2013): From the Collections of an Old Babylonian Literary Connoisseur, RA 107, 15–22. NURULLIN, R. (2014): An Attempt at Šima milka (Ugaritica V, 163 and Duplicates); Part I: Prologue, Instructions II, III, IV, Babel und Bibel 7, 175–229. OPPENHEIM, A. L. (1946): Assyriological Gleanings IV, BASOR 103, 11–14. OSHIMA, T. (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers: Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14), Tübingen. PARPOLA, S. (1983): Assyrian Library Records, JNES 42, 1–29. PAULUS, S. (2014): Die babylonischen Kudurru-Inschriften von der kassitischen bis zur frühneubabylonischen Zeit: untersucht unter besonderer Berücksichtigung gesellschafts- und rechtshistorischer Fragestellungen, (AOAT 51), Münster. REINER, E. (2008): In Praise of the Just, in: M. ROSS (ed.), From the Banks of the Euphrates: Studies in Honor of Alice Louise Slotsky, Winona Lake, IN, 207–10. RUTZ, M. (2013): Bodies of Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Diviners of Late Bronze Age Emar and their Table Collection, (Ancient Magic and Divination 9), Leiden. SALLABERGER, W. (2010): Skepsis gegenüber väterlicher Weisheit: zum altbabylonischen Dialog zwischen Vater und Sohn, in: H.D. BAKER/E. ROBSON/G. ZÓLYOMI (eds.), Your Praise is Sweet: A Memorial Volume for Jeremy Black from Students, Colleagues and Friends, London, 303–17. TAYLOR, J. (2005): The Sumerian Proverb Collections, RA 99, 13–38. VANSTIPHOUT, H.L.J. (1990): The Mesopotamian Debate Poems: A General Presentation. Part I, Acta Sumerologica Japan 12, 271–318.

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– (1992a): The Mesopotamian Debate Poems: A General Presentation. Part II: The Subject, Acta Sumerologica Japan 14, 339–67. – (1992b): The Banquet Scene in the Mesopotamian Debate Poems, in: R. GYSELEN (ed.), Banquets d’Orient, (Res Orientales 4), 9–21. VELDHUIS, N. (2000): Sumerian Proverbs in their Curricular Context, JAOS 120, 383–99. VIANO, M. (2016): The Reception of Sumerian Literature in the Western Periphery, (Antichistica 9/Studi orientali 4), Venice. WAAL, W. (2011): They Wrote on Wood: The Case for a Hieroglyphic Scribal Tradition on Wooden Writing Boards in Hittite Anatolia, AS 61, 21–34. WEEDEN, M. (2011): Hittite Logograms and Hittite Scholarship, (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 54), Wiesbaden. WOODS, C. (2006): Bilingualism, Scribal Learning, and the Death of Sumerian, in: S.L. SANDERS (ed.), Margins of Writing, Origins of Cultures, (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Seminars 2), Chicago, 91–120.

“Counsels of Wisdom” as “White-Collar” Wisdom in First Millennium Ancient Mesopotamia Alan Lenzi* From an ancient Mesopotamian perspective “wisdom,” broadly considered, is not a literary genre or clearly demarcated cultural tradition.1 Rather, wisdom is a multifaceted, situationally-specific concept or amalgamation of concepts typically denoting someone’s (or some thing’s) possession of intelligence, cleverness, knowledge, knowhow, or skill that gives its possessor an advantage or success in whatever it is that they endeavor to do. The concept was deployed to describe a variety of people, places, and things usually in a positive manner, though a negative connotation is also attested when the outcome of wisdom’s use is deleterious from the perspective of the one describing it. For example, “wisdom” could describe an aspect of the intellectual capacity of an individual, as when king Assurbanipal is extolled in a letter from one of his scholars as “a descendent of a sage and (as) Adapa: you have surpassed the wisdom of the Apsu and the sum total of scholarship” (liblibbi ša apkalli u Adapa š[ū] tušātir nēmeqi Apsî u gimir ummânū[ti], PARPOLA 1993, no. 174: 8–9).2 In describing the king’s wisdom in this way the statement also attributes wisdom to a place: the Abzu, Ea’s watery domain.3 Ancient scholars also attributed wisdom to their own textual materials, such as the revealed scholarly corpora. For example, Assurbanipal colophon o describes kalûtu as “the wisdom from Ea, the lamenter’s corpus, the secret of the sage, which is suitable for appeasing the heart of the great gods” (nēmeq Ea kalûtu niṣirti apkalli ša ana nūḫ libbi ilī rabûti šūluku, HUNGER 1968, no. 328: 13–14). In fact, the entire scribal craft is itself sometimes identified as wisdom in Assurbanipal colophons and associated with the god Nabû or his grandfather Ea.4 All of these specific uses of the concept “wisdom” come from first millennium texts and derive their

* I wish to thank Dr. Takayoshi Oshima for inviting me to participate in this conference. I extend my gratitude to Prof. Annette Zgoll for several comments on earlier versions of this paper that sharpened my thinking. 1 For a very brief but recent survey of Assyriological scholarship on “wisdom literature,” see COHEN 2013, 7–19, 75–77, where he argues (against the majority view) for the continued usefulness of the term in a kind of scribal socio-cultural and literary curricular sense. For my own multiperspectival view of the category “wisdom” as applied to written texts, see ANNUS/LENZI 2010, xxxiv–xxxvi. 2 The intellectual capacity of an individual is also on display in the name Atram-ḫasīs, “Exceedingly Wise.” References to royal wisdom are easily multiplied. See, e.g., those listed in CAD E, 152; N/2, 162; and U/W, 370. 3 Two other examples are cited in CAD N/2, 162. 4 See HUNGER 1968, nos. 319, 320, 330, and 331.

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distinctive cultural cachet from a selection of associated ideas surrounding antediluvian antiquity, semi-divine sages, the Apsu, or Ea, the god of wisdom, magic, and secrecy. Such a derivation, however, need not be the case for all things described as wisdom, of course. Many gods are inherently wise.5 The wisdom that Gilgamesh brought back with him from his long journey in the Standard Babylonian epic’s prologue and wrote on a stele, despite the antediluvian veneer and garb of secrecy, is ultimately experiential and existential – success for living a mortal’s life.6 Sennacherib used “the skill of knowledgeable builders” (ina šipir šitimgallē enqūti) to build his palace.7 And in one case we find the wisdom of a woman – sometimes translated as “cunning”8 – depicted derogatorily in a letter to colleagues (oil pressers) as threatening and ultimately destructive: “the one who opens his mouth will have destroyed us with the wisdom of his wife” (ša pîšu ipattûni ina nēmeqi ša sinnissīšu uḫtalliqannāši).9 If we understand wisdom to be a multi-faceted, situationally-specific concept or conglomeration of concepts, as I have suggested, rather than merely a literary genre or tradition, then we are free to find wisdom’s various and ramified manifestations wherever our loose definition fits. (This, by the way, is precisely what we do today in our own everyday cultural contexts.) In the present essay, I examine the literary composition that W.G. Lambert called Counsels of Wisdom.10 If wisdom is defined as the possession of intelligence, cleverness, knowledge, know-how, or skill that gives its possessor an advantage or success in whatever it is that they endeavor to do, then the contents of Counsels of Wisdom clearly offer wisdom to those who would attend to its exhortations. Interestingly, the actual wording of the text itself never claims explicitly to be or offer wisdom. In fact, “wisdom” is never mentioned.11 That the text presents wisdom is nevertheless clear from its contents. The question is what kind.

5

References are multitudinous. See the texts cited in CAD E, 152; N/2, 161–62; and U/W, 369–70 for a representative selection. 6 See LENZI 2014, 27–35. 7 GRAYSON/NOVOTNY 2012, 185: vi 57. 8 See CAD N/2, 162. 9 For an edition of the letter, see POSTGATE 1974, 363–67. For another derogatory use of “wise,” see “The Fable of the Fox” I 77: “let them kill the cunning, crafty fox” (enqu muštēpišu lidūkū šēlebu; KIENST 2003, 36). For The Fable of the Fox, see now Jiménez 2017, 377–95 for additional witnesses. 10 LAMBERT 1960, 96–107, 311–15, 345–46. References to Counsels of Wisdom follow the line numbering of Lambert’s edition, though it is now outdated. The Akkadian text, when cited, generally follows T. Oshima’s unpublished text edition, now in an advanced state of preparation. I thank him for making this edition available to me. English translations are my own. 11 If K.13770 contains the beginning of the text, as Lambert suspected (LAMBERT 1960, 106–107, pl. 27), the text may begin with a scholar, who mentions wisdom: 1. um-ma-nu i-[ … ] 2. i-na né-meqí š[á … ], “A scholar … / With the wisdom that … .” If this is correct, then the text may very well characterize itself as wisdom from the beginning. Incidentally, Simo Parpola (1983, 450) suggests restoring line 1 as um-ma-nu DUMU!-[šú i-mal-lik], “a scholar [advises his] son.” Oshima’s collation now confirms the DUMU sign before the break (DUM[U; personal correspondence).

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Text, Genre, and Social Context of Transmission According to T. Oshima’s unpublished catalog of first millennium tablets bearing witness to Counsels of Wisdom, about a third of the witnesses are school exercise tablets. I surmise from this fact that the composition was part of the ancient scribal curricula in the first millennium B.C.E. and therefore impacted the socialization of the young, literate members of ancient Mesopotamian society, many of whom would have taken up positions serving the ruling elite.12 In what follows I argue that in its curricular setting Counsels of Wisdom perpetuated the literate professional’s place in society as a social group caught between the ruling elite, on whom the professional depended, and the common person, whose subsistence-level fate threatened the unheeding. The text advises the literate professional in the art of maintaining their precarious position between power and poverty through the exercise of discernment and discretion. This is the text’s wisdom, though never designated as such; it is a kind of white-collar, managerial wisdom.13 Before new (and still unpublished) manuscript witnesses came to light, Counsels of Wisdom’s genre and putative literary setting could only be inferred from the content of the composition and the vocative in line 81, mārī, “my son.”14 Based on this, the work was generally assumed to be a father’s advice to his son, who, as Lambert suggested, was perhaps being groomed to take over the father’s position as royal vizier. 15 We now know the composition marks the text, beginning in its third line, as direct speech, pâšu ī[puš], “he spo[ke up],”16 in which the speaker exhorts the young man to pay attention. The two broken lines before this would have identified the speaker in some way, perhaps including his name, and probably mentioned the young man as the addressee. The two incompletely preserved lines following line 3 characterize the value of the speech and again urge the young man to listen: … [which] will increase (your) [f]avor, … [list]en to my plan. It is prospero[us].

(4–5)

Though gaps remain in the passage, these hints confirm previous suspicions; Counsels of Wisdom is an Akkadian example of the instruction genre, known elsewhere in ancient Mesopotamia from the Sumerian Instructions of Šuruppak17 and Šimâ milka, also 12

For the most comprehensive study of first millennium scribalism, see GESCHE 2001. My reading is intentionally synchronic and ignores all questions of compositional history because a) there is no explicit, external textual evidence for different versions of the composition and b) diachronic textual questions that might arise from internal textual evidence do not seem substantively relevant to what amounts to a rhetorical and sociological interpretation. 14 The following has borrowed and adapted material from my unpublished encyclopedia article on Counsels of Wisdom (to appear in The Library of Wisdom: An Encyclopedia of Ancient Sayings Collections, edited by Walter Wilson and to be published by SBL Press). 15 LAMBERT 1960, 96. See likewise FOSTER 2007, 31 and, with less certainty, COHEN 2013, 120. 16 Brackets indicate restored text (i.e. what the tablet likely read before being damaged). Parentheses around words in translation are supplied for sense. 17 Also attested in fragmentary Akkadian translations, see LAMBERT 1960, 92–95 and ALSTER 2005, 48. 13

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known as the Instructions of Šūpê-amēli (COHEN 2013, 81–128). Like the former and unlike the latter, the young man never speaks in Counsels of Wisdom. The general identity of the addressee as “my son” 18 does not necessarily imply the speaker is the boy’s father. The text itself commands the addressee twice: “in your learning, read the tablet” (142, 154).19 It seems then that the addressee is best understood as a scribal student. As is well known, a Mesopotamian scribe often passed his craft on to his son. But he was not always the boy’s teacher. Instead, a scribe might apprentice his son to another scribe for the boy’s training.20 Thus, “my son” need not be read literally; it may only identify a young man in scribal training as the addressee. And the one speaking, whose identity is nowhere (yet) specified, is best understood as the teacher, whether the young man’s father or not. Lines 1–2 may have presented him as some ancient luminary of Mesopotamian literary tradition or simply an unnamed man; we do not know. In any case, the literary setting for the man’s speech is probably to be understood as the place of scribal training, which was often a domestic dwelling. As noted above, some of the tablets preserving Counsels of Wisdom indicate they were used in a scribal pedagogical context. Thus, the literary setting of the text and the actual social setting in which the text was sometimes used are quite similar.

Structure, Rhetoric, and Ideology Like other examples of instructions, Counsels of Wisdom provides few clues about its literary structure.21 After the introduction, the text moves sequentially through a number of topics but provides no reason for their order of presentation. A couple of previously unnoticed features in the text, however, may suggest how structure participates in the text’s rhetorical and ideological purpose. And in this way, we can glimpse its ideals of wisdom. The first feature is a thematic observation at structurally significant locations in the text: the first and last topics treated in Counsels of Wisdom present a parent-child relationship in the context of effective prayer: … father and mother who created you, [Pr]ovide [goo]d (food) for them that they will continually bless you. [The father] and mother (are) the gods of a house (var.: of a man). (With) prayers [some kind of evil?] will not approach you. 18

(7–10)

Also in line 3 of K.13770 (see fn. 11). Lambert positioned K.10652 incorrectly in his reconstruction with the result that he reconstructed too many lines. His line 159, which reads the same as 142 and 154, should have been equated with 154. 20 See ROBSON 2011: 564–65 for examples, which also indicate the domestic context of scribal training. Of course, a non-scribe could apprentice a son to a scribe for training. In such cases, obviously, the teacher was not the student’s father. 21 Lambert (1960, 96) observed that “[c]oncurring changes of metre and subject matter divide the work into short sections dealing with one topic each.” But, leaving aside the problematic nature of Akkadian poetic meter, new witnesses that have added to the available text do not support his proposal. 19

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[And (the god) Išme-k]arābu, son of Enlil-banda (= Ea), Will pray to Ea [for you?] (and) he will be suc[cessful?].

(165–66)

If the young man is the one praying in the first passage and directing his prayer to his parents, then Counsels of Wisdom creates a homology with two pairs that bracket the composition, the offspring (i.e., the young man and Išme-karābu) and his progenitor(s) (i.e., the human parents and Ea). The latter are, respectively, the addressee’s biological and mythological progenitors as well as domestic and professional divine patrons. Although we cannot be certain due to gaps in the text, one might tentatively suggest this structural homology creates a conceptual inclusio that signifies movement in the young man’s moral formation. The composition itself represents the first stage, which begins with proper filial reverence and continues with a sequence of admonitions. When the young man reaches the conclusion of the text and presumably has internalized its advice, he graduates so to speak: Išme-karābu effectively petitions Ea, his divine father and patron of scholarship, on behalf of the young man. The implication, on this reading, is that the young man will find professional success, moving in a sense from his parent’s house to Ea’s by way of the tablet house. The second feature was pointed out by Lambert, though he did not interpret it as I have. Lambert (1960, 96) believed that only one particular section of advice would have been exclusively applicable to a young man destined for a position of authority, namely, lines 81–92, which read: My son, if the prince takes a liking to you, (And) you are entrusted with his guarded seal, Open his treasury; enter therein. There is none besides you (who may). Countless possessions you will discover within. (But) don’t set your eye on anything! Don’t be tempted to defraud in secret. Afterwards, the matter will come to light,22 And that which you did in secret will be exposed. The prince will hear (about it), and he will give you a bad reputation. His bright countenance will become angry with you. And you – you will have cause to complain forever.

Alongside its distinctive content (i.e., this unit is the only one to mention the young man’s administrative future explicitly), two significant structural features support this passage’s prominence. First, the vocative in line 81 is the only place in the poem that the young man is directly addressed (aside, presumably, from the broken initial address). And second, this passage is in the middle of the composition. The speaker, it seems, addresses the young man directly here to renew his attention and in so doing marks the passage’s importance. Its textual centrality marks its conceptual significance within the composition. Namely, it demonstrates how self-discipline and self-control are absolute necessities to a would-be literate administrator. Administrative scribes working for authorities in the palace or temple (both bītu, “houses,” in Akkadian)23 22 23

The meaning of inneṣṣi, attested in an unpublished text, is uncertain. See the conclusion to the previous paragraph.

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would have to be highly trusted servants. Breaking this trust, says Counsels of Wisdom, would come at a heavy price, which could never be repaid. A scribe breaking trust is precisely the topic of “The Scholars of Uruk,” a new composition edited by Andrew George in CUSAS 10.24 In the opening lines of this paternal monologue to a wayward son, the father accuses his son of stealing and squandering property of the royal household. The father then describes the son as an ignorant, incompetent scribe. George (2009, 78) has reasonably argued that the household may be a metaphor for scribal education, and the young man’s moral failure signifies his failure as a scribe. Yet the alignment of domestic theft and scribal training is suggestive for our central passage in Counsels of Wisdom. In a positive and proactive manner, Counsels of Wisdom places the maintenance of trust and the fulfillment of one’s responsibility with integrity in the household of one’s lord at the heart of moral formation for the would-be literate administrator. One cannot be a good scribe and defraud the treasury of one’s employer, the text warns.25 The scribe is like a mid-level manager, who is privileged to work in the context of great wealth but threatened with destitution should he lose his job. “The Forlorn Scholar,” a well-known Neo-Assyrian letter from a neglected scholar to his (former) royal employer (PARPOLA 1987), provides evidence that this danger was more than hypothetical. Between and around the three passages treated above are sayings on a variety of topics, exemplified in the following topics and excerpts: The means to avoid and diffuse conflict: In the face of conflict, let (it) go; do not scheme.26 If it be your conflict, extinguish that which is inflamed. Conflict (is) a yawning pit.27

(36–38)

The treatment of adversaries: To the one who does evil to you return kindness. Hold out justice to the one who is villainous to you. To your enemy, let your mood be bright.

(42–44)

The importance of propriety in speech: Let your mouth be checked, your manner of speaking guarded.

(26)

Do not speak ridicule, an unsubstantiated opinion.

(28)

Do not slander; speak (only) a good word.

24

(127)

GEORGE 2009, no. 14. Since the scribal art was described as a secret in some texts and Ea’s house a treasury (lit. a secret) of the scribal craft (see LENZI 2008, 140–46), one might suggest that this central passage could have a second, metaphorical meaning, admonishing the scribe not to defraud or betray the scribal craft in some way. 26 CAD K, 173: “do not take sides.” LAMBERT 1960, 101: “pay no attention to it.” The sense most often seen in its use is “to plan.” 27 The rendering “yawning pit” comes from CAD Š/3, 405. Šeṭītu, “wide open,” is derived from šeṭû, “to spread out, lay out.” 25

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Advice about sex and marriage: Do not marry a prostitute, whose husbands are without number,28 (Nor) a priestess, who is dedicated to a god, (Nor) a devotee, whose intimates29 are many. She will not support you in your distress.

(72–75)

The necessity of showing kindness to those in need: Create assistance; be kind always. The reward of personal piety: Praise your god daily. Sacrifice (and) prayer fittingly accompany incense. You should make a voluntary offering to your god, This is fitting for divinity.

(65)

(135–38)

And following through on what one promises: If you have informed (someone), make good on the enterprise.

(152)

30

[Promising (and) reneging,] inspiring trust (and then) neglecting, [Promising to giv]e?31 (but) not giving (are) an abomination to Marduk.

(163–64)

In keeping with the house theme, one might suggest these sayings are about the young man in his own house, which is referenced explicitly in lines 17, 66, 71, 78, and 81. Although Lambert is correct that many of these sayings would be useful to anyone wishing to have a successful and prosperous life (1960, 96), Counsels of Wisdom has included them because they would be especially important for a literate administrator, whose discretion, good judgment, reliability, and reputation were the currency of professional success and insurance against ruin. Counsels of Wisdom clearly articulates the idea that the gods reward and punish individuals based on their behavior. This is foundational, as exemplified in a rhetorical unit placed late in the text (135–47) centered on cultic obligations. As von Soden

28 Foster (2005, 413) and Lambert (1960, 103) render with “legion” here. “Without number” is not literally accurate, since šār conveys a large number (3600). 29 The last half of the line, ša qerēbša maʾda, is difficult. Literally it means something like “whose approaching is much” or “whose being or becoming close, involved is much” (rather than “whose being approached is much”; so LAMBERT 1960, 314). I think the phrase as a whole implies that the woman is overly concerned with other matters or, more likely in light of the previous two lines, other people (human or divine), to be a good wife to the would-be husband. “Intimates” (following FOSTER 2005, 413) captures this interpretation well in English, since the other people could be friends (so CAD K, 526) or lovers (so FOSTER 2005, 413 and CAD Q, 233). 30 Lambert (2002) suggests a restoration, based on a letter he believes is quoting Counsels of Wisdom (for which see CAVIGNEAUX 2000, 217–20). Lambert’s restoration: [qa-bu-ú e-nu-ú] tuk-ku-lu na-du-[ú]; he translates: “to promise and then to renege, to lead on and then to abandon.” This restoration / citation is also quite close in wording to what we see in a dingir-šà-dab-ba, for which, see LAMBERT 1974, 280: 124 and now JAQUES 2015, 80: 124. 31 I am restoring [qa-bu-ú na-da-n]i here, which I owe to Oshima, who prefers now, however, to restore the beginning of this line as the previous one: [qa-bu-ú e-n]i.

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(1990, 164) points out, this unit clearly illustrates the do ut des principle that pervades ancient Mesopotamian religious practice. Note especially lines 139–141, which read: (As for) prayer, entreaty, and prostration: You will give him (i.e., the god) (but) a grain, and your income will be a talent, Then you will prosper in abundance with (your) god.

(139–41)

Lines earlier in the text in which the results of a non-cultic action are evaluated as pleasing, displeasing, or an abomination to a god provide further support for the importance of divinity (see lines 47, 48, 49, 59–60, 63–64, and 164) in the composition. A remarkable characteristic about Counsels of Wisdom, however, is how often it recommends an action or warns against a behavior with reference only to the practical consequence in the life of the young man.32 In addition to lines cited earlier, note, for example, the conclusion to a unit whose topic is still uncertain: [Cour]tiers and offic[ia]ls will scorn him. [He is beli]ttled in the mouth of his people; he will have an ill-repute.

(19–20)

Whether invoking the gods or the practical implications of an action or behavior, overall the text evinces an ethos of authority and a strong consequentialist outlook on matters both personal and professional. As already stated, wisdom is never mentioned in the text,33 though the speech to the young man is replete with it. Since the young man never speaks or replies or protests, Counsels of Wisdom implies there is no room for dialogue, critical reflection, or argument.34 The young man must accept the sayings as they are received and abide by them if he wants to flourish. If a scholar’s paraphrase of the text in a (rather poorly preserved) letter to the king is any indication, Counsels of Wisdom left a lasting influence on these scribal students, even as grown men long into their careers.35 Near the end of the scholar’s letter (rev. 9–10), in order to substantiate his claim that the ghost of the dead queen, whom the king had revered, has blessed the king in kind, the author of the letter writes: [p]alāḫ ilī damāqu ullad [p]āliḫ36 dAnunnaki balāṭu uttar37 Revering the gods gives birth to good fortune, The one who fears the Anunnaki augments life.

(PARPOLA 1993, no. 188, rev. 9–10)

32 This is not to suggest that the gods have been excluded from the moral reasoning process in topics treated in this manner. The gods are a conceptual foundation in Mesopotamian moral reasoning. Still, it is interesting that they are at times not explicitly mentioned and the consequences of an action are presented as the overt motivation for a specific behavior. 33 “Wise” (enqu) modifies the young man’s plan in line 25. See also K.13770: 2, where “wisdom” (nēmequ) is mentioned, probably to characterize the scholar’s words. 34 Contrary to Denning-Bolle’s assertion (1992, 128). 35 The letter is noted in LAMBERT 1960, 97 and edited in PARPOLA 1993, no. 188. The relevant lines are rev. 9–10. Another citation of the text was mentioned previously in fn. 30 above. 36 As noted by Parpola (1983, 132), the LAḪ sign can also be read liḫ, which seems preferable here (contra the reading used in PARPOLA 1993, no. 188, rev. 10) in light of the proposed allusion to Counsels of Wisdom. 37 Parpola (1993, 155 and 1970, 106) interprets the letter’s ú-tar as a form of târu, “to return.”

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These lines paraphrase Counsels of Wisdom line 143 in the first line and conflate lines 144 and 147 in the second: palāḫu damāqu ullad niqû balāṭu [u]ttar … pāliḫ ilī ul išêssu damāqu38 pāliḫ dAnunnaki urrak ūmū39

(143–44)

(146–47)

Reverence begets good fortune, Sacrifice augments life. … Good fortune will not miss the one who fears the gods. The one who fears the Anunnaki prolongs (his) days.

In any case, the paraphrase from memory is proof positive that the man’s scribal education continued to inform his thinking – even if he did not quite remember the sayings correctly. Such influence is precisely what his teacher would have hoped for.

Conclusion In conclusion, the program of Counsels of Wisdom was scribal centered. In its first millennium setting, the text reflected and simultaneously perpetuated within the scribal curriculum the values and social position of the successful scribe, who held a place above the common person but served under those in political and religious power. Counsels of Wisdom advises young men training for the scribal profession in the art of maintaining this precarious position by moving the young man from his parental house through the scribal house while educating him about the importance of integrity in the house of his future lord and self-control in the maintenance of his own. Thus, Counsels of Wisdom offers a distinctive form of managerial wisdom to future literate professionals.

Bibliography ALSTER, B. (2005): Wisdom of Ancient Sumer, Bethesda, MD. ANNUS, A./A. LENZI (2010): Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts 7), Helsinki. CAVIGNEAUX, A. (2000): Neue Texte historischen Inhalts aus den irakischen Grabungen von Babylon, BaghM 21, 213–48.

38

The paraphrase may be even more complicated. As Zgoll notes (2009, 580, n.68), Counsels of Wisdom 146–47 provide a close parallel to the paraphrase in the letter. Unpublished sources provide the final word in 146; compare LAMBERT 1960, 104 with CAD Š/2, 344. A couple of unpublished manuscripts insert a line between 146 and 147, which reads: . . . šalāmu uṣṣab, “. . . increases well-being.” 39 Unpublished sources disallow Lambert’s previous restoration at the end of the line: [ūmīšu] (1960, 105).

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COHEN, Y. (2013): Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, (SBLWAW 29), Atlanta. DENNING-BOLLE, S. (1992): Wisdom in Akkadian Literature: Expression, Instruction, Dialogue, Leiden. FOSTER, B. (2005): Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 3rd Edition, Bethesda, MD. – (2007): Akkadian Literature of the Late Period, (Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record 2), Münster. GEORGE, A. R. (2009): Babylonian Literary Texts in the Schøyen Collection, (Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology 10), Bethesda, MD. GESCHE, P. (2001): Schulunterricht in Babylonien im ersten Jahrtausend v. Chr., (AOAT 275), Münster. GRAYSON, A. K./J. NOVOTNY (2012): The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704– 681 BC), Part 1, (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 3/1), Winona Lake, IN. HUNGER, H. (1968): Babylonische und assyrische Kolophone, (AOAT 2), Neukirchen-Vluyn/ Kevelaer. JAQUES, M. (2015): Mon dieu qu’ai-je fait? Les diĝir-šà-dab(5)-ba et la piété privée en Mésopotamie, (OBO 273), Fribourg/Göttingen. JIMÉNEZ, E. (2017): The Babylonian Disputation Poems. With Editions of the Series of the Poplar, Palm and Vine, the Series of the Spider, and the Story of the Poor, Forlorn Wren, (Cultures and History of the Ancient Near East 87), Leiden. KIENST, B. (2003): Iškar Šēlebi: Die Serie vom Fuchs, (Freiburger Altorientalische Studien 22), Stuttgart. LAMBERT, W. G. (1960): Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford. – (1974): Dingir.šà.dib.ba Incantations, JNES 33, 267–322. – (2002): A Literary Citation, NABU, no. 12. LENZI, A. (2008): Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel, (State Archives of Assyria Studies 19), Helsinki. – (2014): Advertising Secrecy, Creating Power in Ancient Mesopotamia: How Scholars Used Secrecy in Scribal Education to Bolster and Perpetuate Their Social Prestige and Power, Antiguo Oriente 11, 13–42. PARPOLA, S. (1970): Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part I: Texts, (AOAT 5/1), Neukirchen-Vluyn/Kevelaer. – (1983): Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part II: Commentary and Appendices, (AOAT 5/2), Neukirchen-Vluyn/Kevelaer. – (1987): The Forlorn Scholar, in: F. ROCHBERG-HALTON (ed.), Language, Literature, and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner, New Haven, 257–278. – (1993): Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars, (State Archives of Assyria 10), Helsinki. POSTGATE, J. N. (1974): Taxation and Conscription in the Assyrian Empire, (Studia Pohl; Series Maior 3), Rome. ROBSON, E. (2011): The Production and Dissemination of Scholarly Knowledge, in: K. RADNER/E. ROBSON (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Cultures, New York, 557–76. VON SODEN, W. (1990): Weisheitstexte in akkadischer Sprache, 6. Ratschläge und Warnungen für rechtes und falsches Tun und Reden, in: W. RÖMER/W. VON SODEN (eds.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments III, Gütersloh, 163–68. ZGOLL, A. (2009): Die Toten als Richter über die Lebenden. Einblicke in ein Himmel, Erde und Unterwelt umspannendes Verständnis von Leben im antiken Mesopotamien, in: A. BERLEJUNG/B. JANOWSKI (eds.), Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt: Theologische, religionsgeschichtliche, archäologische und ikonographische Aspekte, (FAT 64), Heidelberg, 567–81.

Weisheit in den Königsepen aus Ugarit Herbert Niehr* Einleitung Am 14. Mai des Jahres 1929 wurden die ersten Tontafeln in Ras Schamra, dem antiken Ugarit, ausgegraben und viele andere sollten noch folgen. Mittlerweile liegen ca. 5000 Tontafeln aus dem spätbronzezeitlichen Ugarit vor, von denen über 2500 die babylonische Schrift und diverse Sprachen wie z.B. Sumerisch, Akkadisch und Hurritisch und ca. 2500 die ugaritische Schrift und Sprache aufweisen.1 Mit all diesen Tontafeln existiert ein Wissensspeicher von hervorragender Bedeutung aus dem spätbronzezeitlichen Ugarit, nicht zuletzt deshalb, weil auf einem Teil dieser Tontafeln die ältesten westsemitischen literarischen und religiösen Traditionen überliefert sind.2 Konzentriert man sich auf die mit ugaritischer keilalphabetischer Schrift beschrifteten Tafeln und die auf ihnen befindlichen Texte, so lässt sich feststellen, dass diese zu unterschiedlichen literarischen Gattungen gehören: Götterlisten, Rituale, Mythen, Epen, Omina, Orakel, Briefe, Rechtsdokumente, Wirtschaftexte sowie Schulübungen. Es fehlen jedoch völlig Weisheitstexte in ugaritischer Sprache, wohingegen auf den Tafeln in babylonischer Keilschrift mit den auf ihnen befindlichen Texten durchaus Weisheitstexte vorliegen, die der babylonischen Tradition entstammen.3 Im Einzelnen handelt es sich um die Werke Šimâ milka (auch bekannt als die Lehre des Šūpê-amēli), Ein Leben ohne Freude (auch bekannt als die Ballade der Frühen Herrscher), Enlil und Namzitarra, Der Leidende Gerechte (auch bekannt als Hymne an Marduk) sowie um zwei Fabeln und diverse Sprichwörter.4 * Die folgenden Ausführungen basieren auf einem Vortrag zur narrativen Ethik der Königsepen aus Ugarit an der Universität Stellenbosch im September 2013 und zum Verhältnis von Göttern und Menschen in diesen Epen am Corpus Christi College, Oxford, im Juni 2014. Für die Vorträge in Leipzig im November 2016 und in Mainz im Juni 2017 erfolgte eine Konzentration auf das Thema der Weisheit. Für ihre Mithilfe bei der Redaktion dieses Artikels danke ich meinen Tübinger Mitarbeiterinnen Janca Brenner und Susanne Maier. 1 Vgl. etwa MALBRAN-LABAT 1999 und SASSMANNSHAUSEN 2008, 265–68; 281–82. 2 Zur Wissenskultur in Ugarit vgl. den Überblick bei NIEHR im Druck. 3 Zur Gattung der Weisheitstexte vgl. den Artikel von J. Dietrich in diesem Band S. 3–18. 4 RS 15.10; 22.341+28.053; 22.439; 25.130; 23.034+//25.424; 25.234; 25.421; 25.460; 25.526A; 86.2210A; 94.2498. Die Texte sind publiziert, bearbeitet und kommentiert bei NOUGAYROL/LAROCHE 1955; NOUGAYROL 1968, 265–300; DIETRICH 1988, 88–89; 91–94; ID. 1991; ID. 1992; ID. 2012; DIJKSTRA 1993; KÄMMERER 1998, 104–13; 159–213; ARNAUD 2001; ID. 2007, 139– 93; OSHIMA 2011, 205–15; ID. 2016; COHEN 2013, 81–175. Zur babylonischen Weisheit in Ugarit vgl. u.a. KHANJIAN 1974, 139–210; ID. 1975; SMITH 1975; DIETRICH 1993, 48–67; ARNAUD 2001, 333– 34; MÁRQUEZ ROWE 2008, 99–107; GREENSTEIN 2012, 69–72; COHEN 2013, 31–33; 43–50.

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Was das Fehlen genuiner ugaritischer Weisheitstexte zu bedeuten hat, ist nicht ganz klar. Muss man aus diesem Umstand schließen, dass in Ugarit eine eigenständige Weisheitstradition völlig fehlte? Allerdings scheint eine solche Antwort doch etwas voreilig zu sein, da man sich die ugaritischen Texte im Hinblick auf weisheitliches Material durchaus genauer ansehen sollte. Insbesondere die beiden Königsepen des Kirta (KTU 1.14–1.16) und des Aqhatu (KTU 1.17–1.19) stellen vielversprechende Ausgangspunkte für die Frage nach Weisheit in Ugarit dar.

Weisheitliches Denken in den Königsepen Die beiden Königsepen aus Ugarit lassen ihre Hauptgestalten als mit weisheitlichen Qualifikationen ausgezeichnete Personen auftreten und demonstrieren auch im Detail weisheitliches Denken. Die Negation von Weisheit, d.h. Beispiele für die Torheit, fehlen natürlich auch nicht. In der gegenwärtigen Forschung gibt es bereits Untersuchungen zur Weisheit im Kirta-Epos5 und im Aqhatu-Epos6 bzw. es wird die Sicht vertreten, dass weisheitliches Denken beide Königsepen prägt.7 Unter Aufnahme dieser Ansätze soll im Folgenden der Bereich der Weisheit als grundlegend für die beiden Königsepen aus Ugarit dargestellt werden.8 Diese Auffassung hat ihren Hintergrund vor allem in der didaktischen Intention der Epen sowie in ihrer gesellschaftlichen Verortung am Königshof Ugarits.9 Beide Königsepen wollen ihre Adressaten zum Weltverständnis und zur Lebensbewältigung angesichts möglicher Krisen befähigen, um auf diese Weise ein gelingendes Leben zu ermöglichen. Im Hintergrund beider Epen steht die Vorstellung einer von den Göttern gestifteten Weltordnung, die der König zu seinem eigenen Wohlergehen und dem Wohlergehen des Landes und der Menschen zu etablieren und immer wieder zu realisieren hat.10 Im Kirta-Epos (KTU 1.14–1.16) Beginnen wir mit der Hauptgestalt des Epos, König Kirta, und fragen nach dem weisheitlichen Hintergrund dieser Gestalt. Generell kommt dem König im Alten Orient eine die Menschen überragende Relevanz zu, da er die entscheidende Mittlerposition zwischen Götterwelt und Menschenwelt innehat. Dies verhält sich auch im Falle des Königs Kirta nicht anders. Seine 5

Vgl. DIETRICH/LORETZ 1999a; LORETZ 2003, 337–67; 556–95; GREENSTEIN 2001. Vgl. etwa MÜLLER 1969, 89–94; MÁRQUEZ ROWE 2008, 97–99; NATAN-YULZARY 2012. 7 Vgl. GREENSTEIN 2012 und PARDEE 2014, 50–51. 8 Ich folge der Textausgabe DIETRICH/LORETZ/SANMARTÍN 2013. Zur Einführung und Übersetzung beider Epen vgl. bes. DEL OLMO LETE 1981, 137–424; ID. 2008, 133–43; DIETRICH/LORETZ 1990–1997, 1213–305; GREENSTEIN 1997; PARKER 1997; MARGALIT 1999; WYATT 1999; PERI 2004; COOGAN/SMITH ²2012, 26–95; NIEHR 2014, 237–96. 9 S.u. 3. 10 Zur Weltordnung im Alten Orient vgl. die immer noch hilfreiche Studie von SCHMID 1968; zu Ugarit vgl. ebd. 28–36; 39–42. 6

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besondere Rolle zeigt sich daran, dass Kirta als „Sohn des El“ und als „geliebter Knabe des El“ bezeichnet wird11 bzw. El als sein „Vater“12 gilt. Zudem ist ihm bereits zu Lebzeiten im Segen des Gottes El ein gutes Weiterleben im Jenseits in Aussicht gestellt.13 Ebenso ist es kein Geringerer als der höchste Gott El, der sich um die Heilung der Krankheit des Königs kümmert (KTU 1.16, v 1–vi 14).14 Das alles ändert aber nichts am exemplarischen Schicksal des Königs Kirta. Aus der altorientalischen Weisheitsliteratur ist der Typ des „leidenden Gerechten“ gut bekannt. Hier sind etwa die Literaturwerke Ludlul bēl nēmeqi und die Babylonische Theodizee aus Mesopotamien15 bzw. das Hiobbuch aus dem Alten Testament16 zu nennen. Dieses Motiv war, wie das Werk vom Leidenden Gerechten (auch bezeichnet als Hymne an Marduk, RS 25.460) zeigt, in Ugarit bekannt.17 Auch das Kirta-Epos zeichnet seine Hauptgestalt, König Kirta, als leidenden Gerechten.18 Zudem hat das Kirta-Epos mit der Kinderlosigkeit des Protagonisten und der Erhöhung des Gerechten durch die Götter eine thematische Parallele im hethitischen AppuMärchen.19 Dass Kirta als leidender Gerechter dargestellt wird, zeigt ein erster Durchgang durch die Erzählung. Von König Kirta wird erzählt, dass er seine Ehefrau und seine Nachkommenschaft verloren hatte und er deshalb zur Aufrechterhaltung der Dynastie und zur Sicherung seines Totenkultes göttlicher Hilfe bedarf (KTU 1.14, i 1–25). Hilfe wird ihm vom höchsten Gott des Pantheons in Ugarit, El, zuteil, der ihm in einem Traum eine Frau und Nachkommenschaft verheißt (KTU 1.14, i 35–iii 49). In der Tat wird Kirta auch beides zuteil (KTU 1.14, iii 50–1.15, iii 25). Da Kirta aber ein der Göttin Ascherah gemachtes Gelübde vernachlässigt hatte, kommt er an den Rand des Grabes, sodass sein glückliches Schicksal und das Weiterleben der Dynastie erneut in Frage gestellt sind (KTU 1.15, iii 25–30; 1.16, i 1–iv 17). Nachdem Kirta aber doch das Gelübde erfüllt und Heilung von El erfahren hatte, will er wieder zurück zur Wahrnehmung seiner Regierungsgeschäfte, bei denen ihn sein Sohn Yaṣṣubu vertreten hatte (KTU 1.16, v 1–vi 24).

11

KTU 1.14, i 40–41; ii 8–9; 1.15, ii 15–16; 20; 1.16, i 10; 20–21; ii 43–44; 48–49. KTU 1.14, i 41–43; ii 6; 23–24; iv 5–6. 13 KTU 1.15, iii 2–3; 13–14; s. dazu unten. 14 Vgl. dazu LEWIS 2013; ID. 2014; DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 18–20. 15 Vgl. dazu grundlegend LAMBERT 1960, 21–91 sowie zuletzt ANNUS/LENZI 2010 und OSHIMA 2014. 16 Vgl. dazu MÜLLER 1978 und SCHMID 2010. 17 Die Tafel RS 25.460 wurde in der Bibliothek des Prêtre Magicien auf der Akropolis gefunden. Diese Bibliothek weist einige Texte mit einem klaren Bezug zum Königshaus von Ugarit auf; vgl. KTU 1.101, 1.108, 1.113 und 1.114. Dies erklärt das Auftreten des babylonischen Textes RS 25.460 in dieser Bibliothek. Zu RS 25.460 in Ugarit vgl. bes. KHANJIAN 1974, 191–206; DIETRICH 1988, 91–94; ID. 1993, 62–67; ID. 2012; KÄMMERER 1998, 104–13; 160–63; ARNAUD 2007, 110–14; OSHIMA 2011, 205–207; COHEN 2013, 165–75. 18 Dazu bes. DE MOOR 1987, 223; DIETRICH/LORETZ 1999a; LORETZ 2003, 177–210; 570–71; GREENSTEIN 2012, 77–79. 19 Vgl. dazu SIEGELOVÁ 1971, 1–34 und HAAS 2006, 194–99. 12

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Dieser Sohn jedoch, will sich nicht mehr aus der Regierungsverantwortung zurückziehen und fordert daher seinen Vater auf, den Thron zu verlassen, da er die Regierungsgeschäfte, insbesondere die Sorge um die personae miserae, sträflich vernachlässigt habe. Infolgedessen verflucht Kirta seinen Sohn Yaṣṣubu, der deshalb für die Thronnachfolge nicht mehr zur Verfügung steht (KTU 1.16, vi 25–58). Somit ist Kirta wieder deutlich auf sein Schicksal des fehlenden Thronerbes zurückgeworfen. Die vierte Tafel des Epos fehlt allerdings, so dass wir nicht wissen, wie die Geschichte ausging. Grundsätzlich muss man einen guten Abschluss des Epos annehmen. Dies legt sich zum einen aus allgemeinen Erwägungen nahe, da die Königsepen als didaktische Werke mit einer Verortung am Königshof kaum königskritisch, d.h. mit einem Fluch über den Kronprinzen, hätten enden können. Zum andern dürfte auch der Lobpreis des Kirta, der sich bereits auf der zweiten Tafel des Werks befindet und der erzählerisch noch nicht eingelöst ist, hierauf hinweisen.20 Hier spricht der Gott El über König Kirta folgende Worte: „Hoch erhaben ist [Kirta] inmitten der rapiʾūma der Unter[welt], in der versammelten Schar des Ditanu.“

(KTU 1.15, iii 13–14; vgl. 2–3)

Dieser Lobpreis des Kirta wird innerhalb des Segensspruches des Gottes El über Kirta anlässlich seiner Hochzeit und in der Ansage der Geburt eines Sohnes und Thronfolgers zweimal vorgebracht. Die Nennung der rapiʾūma der Unterwelt und der versammelten Schar des Ditanu stellt dabei ein Zitat aus KTU 1.161, 2–10 dar, einem Ritualtext, der sich auf die Feiern anlässlich des Todes von König Niqmaddu IV. (ca. 1225/20 bis 1215 v. Chr.), dessen Totengeist nach der Beisetzung des königlichen Leichnams noch in die Unterwelt geleitet werden musste, bezieht.21 Der Sinn dieser Passage liegt darin, dass der Segen des Gottes El bereits zu Lebzeiten des Königs einen Erhöhungsprozess des Kirta antizipiert. 22 Eine weitere Antizipation in der Kirta-Erzählung verdankt sich dem Motiv des leidenden Gerechten. Nach der Geburt seiner Kinder lädt König Kirta auf göttliches Geheiß die Noblen seines Landes zu einem Gastmahl, bei dem es sich bereits um sein Leichenmahl handelt, ein (KTU 1.14, iv 2–28). Als diese zum Gastmahl versammelt sind, beweinen sie Kirta wie einen Toten und begraben ihn in ihren Herzen (KTU 1.15, v 12–15). Bis dahin ist von einer Krankheit des Kirta noch nichts verlautet, diese wird erst auf der folgenden Tafel deutlich gemacht (KTU 1.16, i–ii). Diese Eigenart der Gastmahlepisode  des Kirta-Epos lässt sich erklären als Rezeption eines Motivs aus dem um 1300 v. Chr. in Ugarit verfassten Weisheitstext ‚Der leidende Gerechte‘ (RS 25.460), der auch als Hymne an Marduk bekannt ist.23 Hierin sieht sich der leidende Gerechte bereits zu Lebzeiten als für die Bestattung vorbereitet und tot. Sein Gott Marduk bringt ihn aus der Unterwelt wieder zum Leben zurück 20

Zur Einlösung des Versprechens zur Stellung der Titmanatu s.u. Vgl. NIEHR 2012, 149–51. 22 Vgl. MERLO/XELLA 2001, 284–85 und generell zum Thema der rapiʾūma in der westsemitischen Königsideologie vgl. NIEHR 2017. 23 Zur Diskussion der Herkunft von RS 25.460 vgl. KÄMMERER 1998, 104–13; DIETRICH 2012, 188–91; 217–18 und COHEN 2012, 174. 21

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(Zeile 12–16).24 Dieses Motiv liegt auch der Klage der Noblen über Kirta zugrunde. In diesem Falle ist es El, der Kirta erlösen wird (s.u.). Über das Grundmotiv des leidenden Gerechten hinaus sind weitere Einzelzüge der Gestalt des Kirta ebenfalls als weisheitlich zu qualifizieren. Zunächst zeigt sich die Weisheit des Kirta im Bereich seiner Wünsche. Befragt vom Gott El, ob er ein Königtum wie das des El, Edelmetalle, Leibeigene und militärische Macht erhalten wolle, antwortet Kirta, er wolle einen Sohn erhalten und die Nachkommenschaft vermehren (KTU 1.14, i 35–ii 5). Dieser Wunsch nach Nachkommenschaft steht im Horizont der Thronnachfolge und auch der Sorge um den königlichen Totenkult. Hierüber wird die Ordnung aufrechterhalten, nicht über Reichtum und Militär. So erweist sich Kirta hier durchaus als ein weiser und idealer König.25 Des Weiteren folgt Kirta den Anweisungen der Götter El und Baʿal (KTU 1.14, iii 52–vi 35) und richtet sich damit nach der weisheitlichen Maxime des Gehorsams den Göttern gegenüber. Als jedoch Kirta einmal nicht den Göttern gehorcht, da er ein der Ascherah abgelegtes Gelübde (KTU 1.14, iv 32–53) nicht erfüllt hatte, verärgert er die Göttin (KTU 1.15, iii 25–30), was für ihn Lebensgefahr nach sich zieht. Erst durch die spätere Erfüllung des Gelübdes wird Kirta geheilt (KTU 1.16, v 1–9) und kann dann wieder auf den Thron gelangen. Der entscheidende Punkt dieser Gelübdepassage besteht nun nicht darin, dass Kirta die Anweisungen Els eigenmächtig überschritten habe.26 Dass Kirta sich an die Göttin Ascherah als Fürsprecherin wendet, um seinem Anliegen einen größeren Erfolg zu sichern, ist in seiner Situation durchaus verständlich.27 Die Tatsache jedoch, dass Kirta das der Göttin ablegte Gelübde nicht erfüllt hatte, zeugt von mangelnder Gottesfurcht,28 was umso mehr überrascht als er vorher den Anweisungen des Gottes El Folge geleistet hatte. Gehen wir nun auf die weiteren dramatis personae ein. Wie schon König Kirta wird seine Frau Hurriya als ideale Königin vorgestellt, da sie schön ist wie die Göttinnen Anat und Astarte (KTU 1.14, iii 39–44; vi 23–30), sie sich um die Hungernden und Dürstenden kümmert (KTU 1.15, i 1–2) und dem König gehorcht (KTU 1.15, v 1–vi 5; 1.16, vi 14–21). Darüber hinaus aber spielt Hurriya, die Königin und Mutter der Königskinder, im Unterschied zu ihren Kindern Yaṣṣubu und Titmanatu keine Rolle im Epos mehr. Die besondere Stellung von König Kirtas Sohn und Thronerben, Yaṣṣubu, als Kronprinz ist daran ersichtlich, dass er als Kleinkind von den Göttinnen Astarte und

24

Zu RS 25.460 s.o. die Angaben in Anm. 17. Vgl. damit aus dem Alten Testament den König Salomo, der um ein hörendes Herz und nicht um Reichtum bittet und der deswegen als weise gepriesen wird; 1Kön 3,2–15 und dazu KALUGILA 1980, 106–14. 26 So etwa GREENSTEIN 2000, 144; 150–51 und ID. 2012, 78–79. 27 Zum Gelübde des Kirta vgl. NIEHR 2013, 609–10 und ID. 2014, 249 Anm. 286. 28 Zum Zusammenhang von Gottesfurcht und Weisheit in Israel vgl. VON RAD 1970, 91–101. Allerdings schreibt von Rad (ebd. 95): „Der Satz, dass die Furcht des Herrn der Weisheit Anfang sei, war Israels Eigenstes.“ Dies ist sehr missverständlich, wie der Blick auf das Thema des Gehorsams zu den Göttern u.a. in Ugarit zeigt. 25

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Anat gestillt wird (KTU 1.15, ii 25–28).29 Sodann übernimmt er bereits als junger Mann stellvertretend für seinen erkrankten Vater den Thron (KTU 1.15, v 17–23). Angesichts dieser Qualitäten sollte man meinen, dass Yaṣṣubu mit Weisheit ausgestattet sei. Dem ist aber nicht so, wie die folgende Episode zeigt. Da Yaṣṣubu den mittlerweile genesenden Vater nicht mehr zurück an die Herrschaft lassen wollte, machte er ihm folgende Vorwürfe: „Wenn die Räuber rauben, sprichst du (nur) und Angreifer nimmst du auf. Du lässt deine Hände in Untätigkeit sinken: Nicht verschaffst du Recht der Witwe, nicht entscheidest du den Fall der Unglücklichen, nicht vertreibst du den Räuber vom Armen. Vor dir lässt du die Waise nicht essen, noch hinter dir die Witwe. Wie eine Schwester ist dir das Krankenbett, (wie) eine Verwandte das Siechenlager.“

(KTU 1.16, vi 43–52)

Kirta hat demzufolge das aus dem Alten Orient bekannte Ideal des „Königs der Gerechtigkeit“ (šar mēšarim) nicht ausgefüllt. Zumindest ist dies der Fall nach der Einschätzung seines machthungrigen Sohnes. Hiermit zeigt sich der Kronprinz Yaṣṣubu jedoch nicht von seiner weisheitlichen Seite. Denn sein Anspruch auf die Herrschaft ist deutlich: „Steig herab vom Königsein, König sein will ich, von deiner Herrschaft, thronen will ich.“

(KTU 1.16, vi 52–54)

Es ist in dieser Aufforderung nicht die Rede davon, dass der Kronprinz Yaṣṣubu das Amt besser ausfüllen werde als der amtierende und legitime König Kirta. Es geht ihm lediglich um den Anspruch der Macht. Dies steht in scharfem Kontrast zur Gestalt seines Vaters Kirta, der – wie oben gesehen – für sich keine Macht gewollt, sondern mit dem Wunsch von Nachkommenschaft die Fortdauer der Dynastie und seinen Totenkult im Blick gehabt hatte. Diese Interaktion zwischen König und Kronprinz endet mit dem Fluch des Königs Kirta über seinen rebellischen Sohn, mittels dessen die Götter Horanu und AstarteAngesicht-des-Baʿal angerufen werden, den Schädel des Yaṣṣubu zu brechen (KTU 1.16, vi 54–58).30 Yaṣṣubu hat somit über sein unkluges und die Weltordnung in Frage stellendes Verhalten seine eigene Zukunft zerstört. Klüger ist seine Schwester Titmanatu. Obwohl sie die jüngste der Nachkommen des Kirta ist, wird sie von El bereits früh als Erstgeborene deklariert (KTU 1.15, iii 16), worin sich ein Hoffnungselement der dynastischen Kontinuität manifestiert. Angesichts der Krankheit des Kirta und der Hilflosigkeit seiner Söhne wird Titmanatu zu ihrem Vater gerufen (KTU 1.16, i 28–45). Obwohl man ihr die Krankheit

29

Vgl. dazu das entsprechende ikonographische Motiv auf dem Elfenbeinrelief aus dem Königspalast von Ugarit bei CORNELIUS/NIEHR 2004, 60–61 Abb. 101a.b; 102 a.b; GACHET-BIZOLLON 2001, 28–36; EAD. 2007, 130–46; 275–81. 30 Vgl. dazu DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 26–27.

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ihres Vaters zunächst verheimlicht, lässt sie sich nichts vormachen (KTU 1.16, ii 17– 20). Leider wird darüber hinaus nichts mehr über sie erzählt, da die letzte Tafel des Epos verloren ist. Hier könnte die Übernahme der Herrschaft durch sie erzählt worden sein, da somit die Einlösung der Verheißung des Gottes El, sie zur Erstgeborenen zu machen, gegeben und zudem die Fortdauer der Dynastie und der gottgewollten Ordnung gesichert wären.31 Damit wäre zugleich auch König Kirta vollkommen rehabilitiert, so dass sich auch hierin die weisheitliche Grundausrichtung des Epos mittels der Erhöhung des Gerechten bestätigt. Ein weiterer Bezug zur Weisheit im Kirta-Epos liegt mit der Erzählung eines Aktes der sympathetischen Magie vor. Angesichts von Dürre und Not im Königreich des Kirta wird von einer unbekannten Person, vermutlich von einem Beschwörungsspezialisten, ein magischer Akt vollzogen sowie ein Gott mit der Bitte um Hilfe angesprochen: Er goß Öl in eine Schale und er sprach: „Durchziehe Erde und Himmel! Wende dich zu den Enden des Landes, schau zum Ende des Fruchtlandes. Für die Erde sei der Regen des Baʿal, und für das Feld der Regen des Höchsten. Angenehm sei für das Land der Regen des Baʿal, und für das Feld der Regen des Höchsten. Angenehm sei er für den Weizen in der Furche, im gepflügten Land wie Spezereien, auf den Furchen wie eine Krone.“

(KTU 1.16, iii 1–11)32

Nach diesen Blicken auf die menschlichen Protagonisten des Kirta-Epos sei im Folgenden die Götterwelt angesprochen. Der Gott El wird in den Mythen und Epen Ugarits als weise dargestellt. Er trägt deshalb den Titel lṭpn il dpid („der scharfsinnige und verständige El“).33 Damit wird El typologisch vergleichbar zum Gott Enki/Ea, der u.a. auch als Gott der Weisheit gesehen wurde.34 Im Kirta-Epos konkretisiert sich die Weisheit des Gottes El darin, dass er voraussieht und vorhersagt, was Kirta unternehmen soll, um eine Frau und Nachkommenschaft zu erlangen (KTU 1.14, ii 9–iii 49). Ebenso sagt er in seinem Hochzeitssegen den Kinderreichtum des Königs Kirta und das Geschick der Königskinder voraus: „Die Frau, die [du nimm]st, oh Kirta, die Frau, die du nimmst (in) dein Haus, [das Mä]dchen, das du betreten lässt deinen Hof, wird dir sieben Söhne gebären, 31

Vgl. zu dieser Annahme NIEHR 2014, 240. Vgl. dazu DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 24–25. 33 KTU 1.1, iii 21–22; iv 13; 18; 1.4, iv 58; 1.5, vi 11–12; 1.6, i 49–50; iii 4; 10; 14; 1.15, ii 13– 14; 1.16, iv 9; v 10; 23; 1.18, i 15; 1.24, 44–45. Vgl. zu diesem Epitheton bes. TROPPER /HAYAJNEH 2003 und RAHMOUNI 2008, 203–206, die allerdings den zweiten Bestandteil dieses Epithetons mit akkad. padû ‚gnädig sein‘ erklären will. 34 Zu Ea als Gott der Weisheit vgl. GALTER 1983, 95–103; zum Verhältnis von El und Enki/Ea vgl. LIPIŃSKI 1988; DIETRICH/LORETZ 1999b; TROPPER/HAYAJNEH 2003, 178–80. 32

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Weisheit in den Königsepen aus Ugarit und acht wird sie dir geben. Sie wird dir gebären den Knaben Yaṣṣubu, der die Milch der A[st]arte trinkt, der an den Brüsten der Jungfrau [Anat] saugt, den Ammen [ ].“

(KTU 1.15, ii 21–28).

Des Weiteren ist es El, der das Wesen Šaʿataqatu erschafft, als es darum geht, die tödliche Krankheit des Königs Kirta zu vertreiben und ihn zu heilen (KTU 1.16, v 10– 29). 35 Damit kommt El eine Stellung zu, welche sonst Kotharu-wa-Ḫasisu bzw. Ea/Enki eignet. Dies zeigt sich besonders deutlich im Motiv des Lehmabschneidens bei der Gestaltung der Šaʿataqatu, ein Motiv, welches auch in der in Ugarit belegten Babylonischen Theodizee auftritt. 36 Angesichts des Ausbleibens des Regens sowie des Auftretens des Hungers aufgrund der Krankheit des Königs Kirta wird einem Gott, den ein Beschwörer um Hilfe gebeten hatte, ein Wort des Gottes El mitgeteilt: „El hörte dein Wort [ ]. Wie El bist du weise, wie der Stier bist du scharf[sinnig].“

(KTU 1.16, iv 1–2)

Dieser Hinweis auf die Weisheit des Gottes El (ḥkm) steht in Übereinstimmung mit der auch im Baʿalzyklus ihm zugesprochenen Weisheit.37 Allerdings gewinnt die im Kirta-Epos dem unbekannten Gott zugeschriebene Weisheit ihre Relevanz nur in ihrer Relation zur Weisheit des Gottes El.38 Der Gott Baʿal nimmt anlässlich der Hochzeit des Königs die Rolle eines Fürsprechers ein, da er El um seinen Segen für den König bittet (KTU 1.15, ii 11–16). Im Unterschied zum Baʿal-Zyklus (vgl. KTU 1.3, iii 13–29) wird die Weisheit des Gottes Baʿal im Kirta-Epos nicht direkt angesprochen.39 Stehen El und Baʿal als die Repräsentanten des Pantheons von Ugarit auf Seiten des Königs, so verhält es sich anders mit der Göttin Ascherah, die aufgrund der Nichteinlösung des ihr abgelegten Gelübdes König Kirta mit Krankheit schlägt (KTU 1.15, iii 25–30). Als Letztes sei als ein weisheitliches Stilmittel im Kirta-Epos ein Tiervergleich angeführt: (Wie) die Kuh muht nach ihren Kalb, das freilaufende Vieh nach seinen Müttern, so klagen die Udumiter.

(KTU 1.15, i 5–7) 40

Dass hier ein Element aus der Klage vorliegt, schließt einen weisheitlichen Hintergrund nicht aus, da auch der o.g. Weisheitstext ‚Der Leidende Gerechte‘ (RS 25.460)

35

Vgl. dazu die in Anm. 14 genannten Angaben. Zu Ea als Schöpfergott, der die Menschen aus Ton bildet, vgl. GALTER 1983, 85–94. 37 KTU 1.3, v 30–31; 1.4, iv 41–43; v 3–4; vgl. dazu DIETRICH/LORETZ 1992. 38 Vgl. MÁRQUEZ ROWE 2008, 96. 39 Zur Weisheit des Gottes Baʿal vgl. XELLA 1997. 40 So GREENSTEIN 2012, 71–72, Anm. 14. 36

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Elemente aus dem Klagelied des Einzelnen in einen Weisheitstext integriert hat,41 und dies in der Episode vom Gastmahl des Kirta und der Klage seiner Noblen aufgenommen ist (s.o.). Im Aqhatu-Epos (KTU 1.17–1.19) Auch bei der Frage nach der Weisheit im Aqhatu-Epos liegt es nahe, mit den beiden Hauptgestalten der Erzählung zu beginnen. Danʾilu, der Vater des Kronprinzen Aqhatu, nach dem die Erzählung benannt ist, befindet sich in einer ausweglosen Situation, da ihm die Nachkommenschaft fehlt. In einem Inkubationstraum42 wird ihm von den Göttern Baʿal und El Nachkommenschaft für sein Königshaus zugesagt (KTU 1.17, i 1–47; ii 1-8), die er auch erhält (KTU 1.17, ii 26–46). Allerdings wird diese göttliche Gunst durch das Verhalten des Kronprinzen Aqhatu auch wieder verspielt, da sich dieser die Göttin Anat zur erbitterten Feindin macht und deshalb sein Leben verliert (KTU 1.17, vi 1–1.18, iv 42). König Danʾilu gelingt es, den Leichnam seines Sohnes ausfindig zu machen und zu bestatten (KTU 1.19, ii 56–iii 45). Die zum selben Zyklus gehörigen sog. rapiʾūma-Texte (KTU 1.20– 1.22) 43 lassen trotz ihres fragmentarischen Erhaltungszustands die Einlösung einer Zusage von Nachkommenschaft an Danʾilu erkennen. Ein erster weisheitlicher Zug des Epos begegnet in Danʾilus Darstellung als Lehrer bzw. Erzieher seines Sohnes Aqhatu. Als dieser den von Kotharu-wa-Ḫasisu gefertigten Bogen aus der Hand seines Vaters erhält, gibt ihm Danʾilu folgende Belehrung mit auf den Weg: „Das Erste deiner Jagd, oh Sohn, [bring], das Erste deiner Jagd, siehe, das E[rste] der Jagd in ihren44 Tempel [ ]!“

(KTU 1.17, v 37–39)

Es geht hierbei um den Tempel der Anat, die als Göttin der Jagd Anspruch auf den ersten Teil der Jagdbeute hat. Aqhatu wäre gut beraten gewesen, sich an die Weisung seines Vaters zu halten. Er tut dies jedoch nicht, was ihn in einen Konflikt mit der Göttin bringt, der ihn letztlich das Leben kostet. Noch mehr als im Kirta-Epos ist im Aqhatu-Epos das Thema der magischmantischen Weisheit von Bedeutung.45 Diese wird zunächst dem König Danʾilu zugeschrieben. Angesichts einer Dürre im Königreich beschwört Danʾilu die Wolken: Daraufhin Danʾilu, der Mann des Rapiʾu, beschwor die Wolken in der unheilvollen Hitze: „Den Frühregen sollen die Wolken regnen, während des Sommers soll der Tau tauen auf die Trauben.“

41

(KTU 1.19, i 38–42)

Vgl. KÄMMERER 1998, 104–105; 113. Vgl. dazu die Angaben bei NIEHR 2014, 271 Anm. 368. 43 Zur Zusammengehörigkeit beider Texte vgl. die Angaben bei NIEHR 2014, 296 Anm. 492 und 493. 44 Hier ist mit HERDNER 1963, 82 hklh zu lesen. 45 Dies hat bes. MÜLLER 1969 gezeigt. 42

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Der König richtet mit dieser Beschwörung jedoch nichts aus, da sich der Tod des Aqhatu als Katastrophe für die Vegetation des Landes auswirkt (vgl. KTU 1.19, i 28– 37; 42–48). Sodann übt Danʾilu einen Akt der sympathetischen Magie aus: Danʼilu trieb (ihn, d.h. den Esel) an, er umkreiste sein Gestrüpp. Einen Spross sah er im Gestrüpp, einen Spro[ss] sah er im Blattwerk. Den Spross umarmte und küßte er: „Oh dass sich doch ein Sp[ross] erheben möge aus dem Gestrüpp, ein Spross sich erheben möge aus dem Blattwerk. Oh Pflanze, es ergreife dich die Hand des Aqhatu, des Helden, sie lege dich inmitten des Speichers.“ Danʼilu trieb (ihn, d.h. den Esel) an, er umkreiste sein Brachland, er sah eine Ähre im Brachland, eine Ähre kam heraus aus dem ausgedörrten Land. Die Ähre [armte] und küßte er. „Oh dass sich doch eine Äh[re] erhebe aus dem Brachland, eine Ähre sich erhebe [aus dem aus]gedörrten Land. Oh Pflanze, es ergreife dich die Hand des Aqhatu, des Hel[den], sie lege dich inmitten des Speichers.“

(KTU 1.19, ii 12–25) 46

Allerdings ist auch dieser Akt der sympathetischen Magie nicht erfolgreich, da der Tod des Aqhatu immer noch ungerächt und der Leichnam des Kronprinzen noch nicht bestattet ist.47 Eine weitere magische Intervention des Königs liegt anlässlich seiner Verfolgung der mörderischen Raubvögel, die seinen Sohn Aqhatu getötet und verschlungen haben, vor: Beim Heben [seiner Augen da sah er, da erblickte er], in den Wolken [Adler. Er erhob] [seine Stimme] und rief: „Die Flü[gel der Adler] möge Baʿal zerbre[chen], Baʿal möge zerbrechen [ihre Schwingen]. Sie mögen herabfallen unte[r] meine Füße. Ich werde spalten [ihr Inneres und] werde schauen, ob es Fett gibt, ob es g[ibt] Knochen. Ich werde (ihn) beweinen und ihn begraben, ich werde (ihn) legen in die Grube der Götter der Unterwelt.“

(KTU 1.19, ii 56–iii 6)

In diesem Falle benötigt Danʾilu die Hilfe des Gottes Baʿal, um die Adler vom Himmel herab zu holen. Bei der dritten Wiederholung ist Danʾilu dann schließlich erfolgreich. 48

46

Vgl. dazu MÜLLER 1969, 91–93 und DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 23–24. So DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 24. 48 Vgl. dazu MÜLLER 1969, 93 und DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 24–26. 47

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Was die weiteren dramatis personae angeht, so wird Danʾilus Frau Danatiya als Mutter der Königskinder (KTU 1.17, ii 26–46) und als ihrem Mann gehorsam dargestellt (KTU 1.17, v 13–31), aber eine eigenständige Rolle kommt ihr im Unterschied zu ihren Kindern Aqhatu und Pughatu im Epos nicht zu. Damit steht sie auf dem gleichen Rang wie die Königin Hurriya im Kirta-Epos. Bei der oben schon genannten Zusage der Nachkommenschaft des Königs Danʾilu wird das Bild des idealen Sohnes gezeichnet: „Und es sei sein Sohn im Hause, ein Spross inmitten seines Palastes, der errichtet eine Stele seines Vatergottes, im Heiligtum ein Denkmal seiner Sippe, der aus der Unterwelt heraufsteigen lässt seinen Rauch, aus dem Staub den Beschützer seiner Nachkommenschaft, der schließt die Kinnlade seines Verächters, der den vertreibt, der ihm etwas antut, der ergreift seine Hand bei Trunkenheit, der ihn sich auflädt, [wenn] er gesättigt ist mit Wein, der verzehrt seinen Anteil (im) Tempel des Baʿal, [und] seine Portion (im) Tempel des El, der verputzt sein Dach am Tage des Schlammes, der wäscht sein Kleid am Tage des Schmutzes.“

(KTU 1.17, i 25–33)

Alle diese Pflichten werden von einem weisen Sohn erfüllt, der das Leben des alten Vaters, seinen Totenkult und damit auch die Fortdauer der königlichen Familie im Blick hat. Weisheit bedeutet an dieser Stelle, dass alle Anforderungen der Götter und der Könige, die diese an den Sohn und Rechtsnachfolger des Königs stellen, erfüllt werden.49 Auch wenn hier ein generelles Ideal der Vater-Sohn-Beziehung gezeichnet wird, so ist doch auch konkret zu sehen, dass im Aqhatu-Epos die beiden namentlich bekannten Kinder des Königs Danʾilu, der Kronprinz Aqhatu und seine Schwester Pughatu, genauso wie ihr Vater durch besondere Weisheit ausgezeichnet sind. So wird Aqhatu als ein Aufklärer dargestellt. Die Göttin Anat hatte den Wunsch, den von Kotharu-wa-Ḫasisu gefertigten und daher besonderen Bogen des Aqhatu zu besitzen. Dazu machte sie ihm ein scheinbar unwiderstehliches Angebot: „Fordere Leben, oh Held Aqhatu, fordere Leben, und ich werde es dir geben, Unsterblichkeit, und ich werde sie dir gewähren. Ich lasse dich zählen mit Baʿal die Jahre, mit den Söhnen Els wirst du zählen die Monate. Wie Baʿal wahrlich zum Leben bringt, bewirtet, den Lebenden bewirtet und ihm zu trinken gibt, man vor ihm spielt und singt, Liebliches rezitiert, so werde auch ich wieder beleben Aqhatu, [den H]elden.“

49

Zum Thema des Ahnenkultes in den Königsepen vgl. NIEHR 2016.

(KTU 1.17, vi 26–33)

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Aqhatu jedoch geht auf dieses Angebot nicht ein, da ihm mit der temporären Rückkehr zu den Lebenden etwas angeboten wird, was ihm als Königssohn ohnehin zusteht. Darüber ist aber nicht zu vergessen, dass er ein sterblicher Mensch ist. Deshalb antwortet er: „Betrüge mich nicht, oh Jungfrau, denn für einen Helden ist dein Betrug ein Auswurf. Ein Mann, als Zukunft, was wird er erhalten? Was kann ein Mann als sein Ende nehmen? Eine spsg-Schale50 wird ausgegossen [auf] (meinem) Haupt, eine verzierte Schale aus Obsidian51 über meinem Schädel. [ ] den Tod aller werde ich sterben, auch ich werde sicherlich sterben.“

(KTU 1.17, vi 34–39)

Wie bereits für König Kirta (KTU 1.16, i 1–23) ist auch für den Kronprinzen Aqhatu eine Unsterblichkeit nicht vorgesehen. Dieser Wesenszug eignet nur den Göttern und Aqhatu ist aufgeklärt genug, dieses zu wissen.52 Auf der anderen Seite untertreibt Aqhatu jedoch auch, da für ihn als Mitglied des Königshauses die letzten Dinge anders aussehen als bei einem normalen Sterblichen. Er wird als Mitglied des königlichen Hauses in die Gruppe der verstorbenen Könige, d.h. in die Gruppe der rapiʾūma, aufgenommen und hat damit Anrecht auf besondere Totenopfer.53 Aqhatu wird im gleichen Epos seitens der Göttin Anat dann auch mit dem Adjektiv „weise“ (ʿmq) belegt und als „weisester der Menschen“ bezeichnet (KTU 1.17, vi 45).54 Allerdings ist dies ironisch gemeint.55 Trotz der Erziehung durch seinen Vater Danʾilu agiert Aqhatu auch immer wieder auf eine wenig kluge Art. Entgegen dem Auftrag seines Vaters (KTU 1.17, v 37–39) hatte er die Erstlingsgabe an die Jagdgöttin Anat verweigert, er gehorcht der Göttin nicht und verspottet sie sogar (KTU 1.17, vi 34–40). All dies zieht ähnlich wie im Falle des Kirta, der das Gelübde der Göttin Ascherah missachtet hatte, tödliche Konsequenzen für ihn nach sich. Er muss diesen Mangel an Respekt vor der Göttin Anat, der letztlich ein Mangel an Gottesfurcht ist, mit dem Leben büßen. Die Schwester des Aqhatu, Pughatu, wird im Aqhatu-Epos qualifiziert als „Trägerin des Wassers, Sammlerin des Taus vom Vlies und Kennerin des Ganges der Sterne“ (KTU 1.19, ii 1–3; iv 36–38). Diese Qualifikationen sind in der Forschung mehrfach missverstanden worden, da man sie auf die hausfraulichen Fähigkeiten der Pughatu bezogen hat.56 Allerdings geht dies in die völlig falsche Richtung, da es sich um die magisch-mantische Weisheit der Pughatu handelt, die dieser wie schon ihrem Va-

50

Zu dem kostbaren zapzagi-Stein aus Anatolien vgl. NEU 1995. Zu ẓurru als ‚Obsidian‘ vgl. DIETRICH/LORETZ 2000, 211. 52 Zu dieser Passage vgl. bes. LORETZ 2003, 517–95; zum weisheitlichen Hintergrund vgl. MÁRQUEZ ROWE 2008, 97f und GREENSTEIN 2012, 73–74. 53 Zur privilegierten Zukunftserwartung der hethitischen Könige vgl. VAN DEN HOUT 1994. 54 Vgl. GZELLA 2007, 535 und GREENSTEIN 2012, 74. 55 So auch GREENSTEIN 2012, 74, der das Lob der Anat als ‚sarkastisch‘ qualifiziert. 56 So etwa bei CAQUOT/SZNYCER/HERDNER 1974, 445 mit Anm. m; DE MOOR 1987, 251; DIET2 RICH/LORETZ 1990–1997, 1290 Anm. 261; COOGAN/SMITH 2012, 31. 51

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ter Danʾilu eignet.57 Mit der Qualifikation „Trägerin des Wassers“ wird angespielt auf die Zubereitung von geweihtem Wasser auf dem Dach des Palastes bzw. des Tempels, ein Ritus, der in der Nachbarschaft Ugarits vor allem in den Reinigungsritualen aus Kizzuwatna gut belegt ist.58 Das Sammeln des Taues vom Vlies steht für eine divinatorische Tätigkeit, die etwa im Alten Testament an der Gestalt des Gideon deutlich wird (Ri 6,36–40). Das Kennen des Ganges der Sterne deutet auf ihre Fähigkeit in der Gestirnsdeutung, die ebenfalls in Ugarit anhand von Mond- und Gestirnsomina gut bekannt war und praktiziert wurde.59 Somit kennt sich Pughatu in der kosmischen Ordnung aus, die in Ugarit wie auch sonst im Alten Orient geprägt ist von einem Zusammenspiel von Mikrokosmos und Makrokosmos. Pughatu ist es auch, die als Erste das drohende Unglück erkennt (KTU 1.19, i 28–31) und ebenso eine Vision der Adler und Falken, die ihren Bruder Aqhatu getötet hatten, über dem Hause ihres Vaters hat (KTU 1.19, i 32–33). Aus diesem Grunde vergießt sie Tränen, da sie weiß, dass ein Unglück hereingebrochen ist, auch wenn Näheres erst durch die Boten bekannt gemacht wird. Auch hier ist es Pughatu, die am Kommen der Boten erkennt, dass ein Unheil (ʾin šlm) vorliegt (KTU 1.19, ii 27–28). Des Weiteren legt sie einen Zauber über die Zelte des Yaṭupanu, als sie auszieht, um den Mord an ihrem Bruder Aqhatu zu rächen (KTU 1.19, iv 59–60). Wie bei der Untersuchung des Kirta-Epos soll auch in diesem Fall nach der Darstellung der menschlichen Protagonisten ein Blick auf die Götterwelt erfolgen. Der Gott El ist auch im Aqhatu-Epos weise par excellence. Dies zeigt sich daran, dass er die moralische Schlechtheit seiner Tochter Anat durchschaut (KTU 1.18, i 15–19). Anders gelagert als die Weisheit des Gottes El ist die des Kotharu-wa-Ḫasisu. Dieser fertigt den Bogen des Aqhatu und wird bezeichnet als der „Gott mit den geschickten Händen“ (KTU 1.17, v 2–33). Hierin liegt eine Verwandtschaft des Kotharu-waḪasisu mit dem Gott Ea vor.60 Der Gott Baʿal tritt wie schon im Kirta-Epos als Fürsprecher für den König vor El auf und gibt den Rahmen für das Bild des idealen Sohnes vor (KTU 1.17, i 15–33). Dies wird im Folgenden von El, dem höchsten Gott, bestätigt (KTU 1.17, i 34–47). Dagegen wird die Göttin Anat nicht als weise dargestellt. Dies zeigt sich an zwei Handlungen der Göttin, die beide erfolglos verlaufen und kein gutes Bild von ihr abgeben. Zum einen versucht die Göttin, den Prinzen Aqhatu mit der vermeintlichen Gabe des ewigen Lebens zu täuschen (s.o. zu KTU 1. 17, vi 25–33). Allerdings wird sie deswegen von dem aufgeklärten Aqhatu der Täuschung überführt (KTU 1.17, vi 33–40). Dass diese Mordaktion an Aqhatu jedoch nicht dem Ideal einer weisen und umsichtigen Götterhandlung entspricht, zeigt sich zum anderen daran, dass die Göttin

57 Vgl. GINSBERG 31969, 153 Anm. 36; MÜLLER 1969, 94; GREENSTEIN 2000, 147–48; PERI 2004, 76 Anm. 4; NATAN-YULZARY 2012, 437–39; DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 26; NIEHR 2014, 288 Anm. 452; TOBOLOWSKY 2016, 104–109. 58 Vgl. dazu STRAUß 2006, 34–44. 59 Vgl. dazu DIETRICH/LORETZ 1990, 39–62; 87–204; PARDEE 2001, 226–27; 239–40; COOLEY 2013, 180–92. 60 Vgl. LIPIŃSKI 1988; DIETRICH/LORETZ 1999b; RAHMOUNI 2008, 156–58; DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 16–17.

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Anat den von ihr bewirkten Tod des Aqhatu sofort nach der Tat bereut (KTU 1.19, i 13–17). Umgekehrt zeigt jedoch die Antwort der Göttin Anat an Aqhatu, dass sie über ein Repertoire weisheitlicher Sentenzen verfügt: „Hüte dich vor mir, oh Aqhatu, Held, hüte dich vor mir und geh! Gib Acht auf mich! [ ] Sollte ich dich je treffen auf dem Pfad des Frevels, [ ] auf dem Pfad der Überheblichkeit. so lasse ich dich fallen [unter meine Füße], ich, dich, lieblichster, weisester der Menschen!“

(KTU 1.17, vi 41–45)

Dieser Mahnung liegt die weisheitliche Zweiwegelehre zugrunde, die davor warnt, den falschen Weg, der in den Untergang führt, zu beschreiten. 61 Sodann zeigt sich das Fehlen von Weisheit im Falle der Göttin Anat in ihrem Verhältnis zur kosmischen Ordnung. Hatte sich bei der Königstochter Pughatu deren Sensus für die kosmische Ordnung gezeigt, so verhält sich dies anders bei der Göttin Anat, die – nicht nur hier – als ihr Gegentyp gezeichnet wird. Anat glaubt, die kosmische Ordnung manipulieren zu können. Angesichts des geplanten Meuchelmordes am Kronprinzen Aqhatu bezieht sich die Göttin Anat auf ein Mondomen und will die Bedenken des Mörders Yaṭupanu mit folgendem Satz zerstreuen: „Wie soll sich nicht erneuern Yariḫu an [seinem linken Hor]n, an seinem rechten Horn an der [ ] Schwäche seines Hauptes?“

(KTU 1.18, iv 9–10)

Zum Vergleich hiermit ist das Mondomen KTU 1.163, 4 (= RIH 78/14,4) zu nennen, welches für den Fall der Lichtschwäche des Mondes, das Fernbleiben von feindlicher Bedrohung aussagt.62 Der gewaltsame Tod des Königssohnes bringt nicht nur – wie bereits gesehen – die Natur in Unordnung, er tangiert auch das Verhältnis von Makro- und Mikrokosmos. Im Unterschied zu den Gestirns- und Mondomina aus Ugarit63 geht es hier jedoch nicht um die Auswirkungen der Gestirne auf das Schicksal etwa des Königshauses, sondern um die kosmische Störung, die der Tod des Kronprinzen nach sich ziehen würde. Anat glaubt, sich darüber hinwegsetzen zu können. Abgesehen von Einzelzügen zeigt sich eine weisheitliche Grundausrichtung auch in der Anlage des Aqhatu-Epos, da diese von enormen Kontrastierungen auf der Ebene der Themen (z.B. Tod – Leben; Dürre – Vitalität) und der Gestalten (z.B. Anat als schlechte Tochter – Pughatu als gute Tochter; Yaṭupanu als Mörder – Pughatu als Rächerin) durchzogen ist. Dies führt zur Erkenntnis: „Throughout the story the narrator demonstrates to his audience that wisdom and righteousness are advantageous, while violence leads to destruction.“64 Dies zeigt auch auf der Ebene der Dramaturgie

61

Vgl. auch GREENSTEIN 2012, 74. Vgl. dazu DIETRICH/LORETZ 1990, 168–69; 174–80. 63 Vgl. dazu die Angaben in Anm. 59. 64 NATAN-YULZARY 2012, 448. 62

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die weisheitliche Zielrichtung des Epos, die deutlich auf einen didaktischen Zweck der Erzählung verweist. Schließlich ist die Rezeptionsgeschichte des Danʾilu anzusprechen. Diese lässt sich im Alten Testament in einem doppelten Traditionsstrang ausmachen. Im Buch Ezechiel werden Daniel sowie Noah und Ijob in einem thematischen Zusammenhang genannt, da sie ihre Kinder gerettet haben (Ez 14,14; 20). Des Weiteren wird die sprichwörtliche Weisheit des Daniel genannt (Ez 28,3). In diesen beiden Passagen steht die Figur des aus dem Aqhatu-Epos bekannten Königs Danʾilu aus Ugarit im Hintergrund.65 Bei diesem Auftreten des Daniel im Buch Ezechiel sind zwei Dinge auffällig. Zum einen steht die hier gewählte Namensform dnʾl sehr nahe an der in Ugarit gebräuchlichen Form.66 Zum andern spielt das Thema der Rettung der Kinder des Daniel eine Rolle, woran deutlich wird, dass auch die Erzählung der sog. rapiʾūma-Texte (KTU 1.20– 1.22) aus Ugarit, die hiervon berichten, dem Ezechielbuch – und zwar in der Kombination mit dem Aqhatu-Epos – bekannt gewesen sein muss.67 Bei der das Buch Daniel bestimmenden Figur des königlichen Exulanten Daniel am babylonischen Königshof, die ihn als Weisen und Visionär darstellt, wird eine weitere Tradition aus Ugarit betont. Hierbei geht es um die magisch-mantische Weisheit des Danʾilu aus der ugaritischen Epik, die in der Gestalt des Daniel aufgenommen und eigenständig akzentuiert wird.68 Es ist möglich, dass sich diese Ausgestaltung der Danielfigur einem anderen Transmissionsweg als verdankt als dem, der der Rezeption des Daniʾlu im Ezechielbuch zugrundeliegt.

Auswertung und Ausblick Aus dem bislang zu den Epen des Kirta und des Aqhatu Gesagten ergeben sich folgende Einsichten und Ausblicke: 1 Bislang sind keine ugaritischen Weisheitstexte im eigentlichen Sinne gefunden worden. Desungeachtet gibt es das Phänomen weisheitlichen Denkens, welches sich auch in den Texten in ugaritischer Sprache zeigt, insbesondere in den Erzähltraditionen Ugarits, vor allem in den beiden Königsepen. Hierin werden die Könige Kirta und Danʾilu als Weise par excellence vorgestellt, ebenso sind einige ihrer Kinder wie Titmanatu und Pughatu weise, Aqhatu allerdings nur in eingeschränkter Weise. Hiervon hebt sich die Gestalt des Kronprinzen Yaṣṣubu ab, der der Versuchung des Ungehorsams seinem Vater gegenüber erlegen ist. In ähnlicher Weise verhält sich der Kronprinz Aqhatu der Göttin Anat gegenüber. Beide bedrohen mit ihrem 65

So zuerst vorgebracht von DUSSAUD 1931, 77. Vgl. zuletzt z.B. DAY 1980; MARGALIT 1980; BORDREUIL 2007; GREENSTEIN 2012, 73; HOLM 2013, 244–48. 66 Vgl. SPIEGEL 1945, 310–23 und BORDREUIL 2007, 570. 67 Vgl. BORDREUIL 2007, 570–71, der daraus allerdings nicht die Konsequenzen für die rapiʾūmaTexte zieht. 68 Vgl. etwa MÜLLER 1969, 85–94; MASTIN 1995, 163–69; HOLM 2013, 243–51. Unberechtigt ist die daran bei O’CONNOR 2006, 280–82 geäußerte Skepsis.

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Verhalten die göttliche Ordnung und werden deshalb verflucht bzw. mit dem Tode bestraft. 2 Was die Götterwelt angeht, so sind in ihr wie bei den Menschen Weisheit und auch Torheit anzutreffen. Die beiden göttlichen Hauptagenten, El und Baʿal, sind ohne Einschränkung in ihrem Denken und Handeln weise; dies gilt auch für Kotharuwa-Ḫasisu, der allerdings die den König Kirta rettende Figur der Šaʿataqatu nicht schafft, sondern dies El überlässt. Davon sind zu unterscheiden die Göttinnen Ascherah und Anat. Diese zeichnen sich eher durch einen Mangel an Weisheit aus: Ascherah zürnt wegen der nichterfüllten Gelübdes und bestraft deshalb Kirta mit dem Tode und Anat ist in ihrer Begierde zu unbeherrscht bzw. sie handelt vorschnell beim Tode des Aqhatu. 3 Für das Verständnis der Weisheit in den Königsepen ergibt sich folgender Sachverhalt. Auch wenn weder das Kirta- noch das Aqhatu-Epos als Weisheitsliteratur im engeren Sinne bezeichnet werden können, so werden doch der Weisheit und dem Leben nach weisheitlichen Maximen viel Raum gegeben. Dies hängt damit zusammen, dass der Sitz im Leben der Königsepen aus Ugarit im Bereich der politisch-belehrenden Literatur zu finden ist. Für die vergleichbare hethitische Literatur hat A. Gilan (2015, 330) deren Bestimmung als „für die Erziehung der Prinzen, für andere Mitglieder des königlichen Hofs und Amtsträger in der Administration sowie für die Belehrung zukünftiger Könige“ herausgearbeitet.69 Eine derartige Bestimmung lässt sich auch für die beiden Königsepen aus Ugarit ansetzen.70 Die Grenze zur Unterhaltung ist bei dieser Art von Literatur allerdings fließend, 71 was auch für die Königsepen aus Ugarit gilt, die in gleicher Weise didaktische und unterhaltende Zwecke verfolgen. Hierzu hat M. Liverani (1970, 869) geäußert: „… i poemi di Keret e di Aqhat devono aver fatto il loro ingresso nel mondo palatino perché narravano storie che in quello ambiente piacevano per le loro consonanze con l’ideologia del re-eroe.“ 4 Mit dieser literaturwissenschaftlichen Verortung der Königsepen wird des Weiteren deutlich, dass es weder im Kirta- noch im Aqhatu-Epos um die Diskussion bestimmter Einzelsituationen in der Geschichte Ugarits geht.72 So hat man etwa an die erstmalige Thronbesteigung durch eine Frau gedacht, die mit diesen Epen legitimiert werden sollte.73 Dem ist allerdings mit vollem Recht widersprochen worden.74 Grundsätzlich sind diese und ähnliche Aktualisierungsbestrebungen im Hinblick auf die Königsepen nicht aufrechtzuerhalten, da es in ihnen um die bleibenden Grundlagen des Königtums und nicht um Tagespolitik geht.

69

Vgl. GILAN 2015, 65–177 und 331–38 zu den Konkretionen in der hethitischen Literaturgeschichte. 70 Vgl. etwa DEL OLMO LETE 2008 und NIEHR 2016, 393. 71 Vgl. GILAN 2015, 330. 72 So auch PARDEE 2014, 49–50. 73 So etwa KORPEL 1998, 107–108; 110. 74 So von SMITH/PITARD 2009, 11–12.

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5 Der Bezug zur Weisheit der Königsepen lässt sich auch im Hinblick auf ihre Verfasserschaft weiter vertiefen. Der in den Kolophonen genannte Ilimilku75 ist als ihr ‚Schreiber‘ (sāpiru) anzusprechen, wobei diskutiert wird, ob er nach älteren Vorlagen oder nach Diktat gearbeitet hat, und er dabei diese Vorgaben weiter ausarbeitete.76 Plausibel ist die Annahme, dass Ilimilku bis dahin tradierte Erzählungen verschriftlichte und sie somit in fester Form über den mündlichen Vortrag hinaus konservierte.77 Deutlich ist des Weiteren auch, dass Ilimilku zudem der Verfasser eines mythisch-magischen Textes aus dem Hause des Urtenu ist (KTU 1.179)78 und er den Titel eines tʿy trägt, über den er sich als ‚Beschwörer‘ ausweist.79 Darüber hinaus war auch schon sein Lehrer, Attenu, ein Beschwörer.80 Damit kommt die magisch-mantische Weisheit ins Spiel, die – wie gesehen – in den Königsepen eine bedeutende Rolle spielt. 6 Des Weiteren ist für Ilimilku zu sehen, dass dieser im Rahmen seiner Schreiberausbildung die babylonische Keilschrift und Literatur studiert hat. Dies geht neben allgemeinen Erkenntnissen zur Schreiberausbildung in Ugarit81 auch daraus hervor, dass Ilimilku als Verfasser von babylonischen Texten ausgewiesen ist. 82 Damit liegt die Annahme nahe, dass er im Laufe seiner Ausbildung in der babylonischen Gelehrsamkeit auch mit den in Ugarit verbreiteten Weisheitstraditionen Mesopotamiens in Kontakt gekommen ist.83 7 Die Königsepen stellen nur einen kleinen Bestandteil der Literatur Ugarits dar. Im Rückblick auf die Vergangenheit kann mit ihrer Lehre die Zukunft gestaltet und bewältigt werden. Über die Königsepen und ihre didaktische und unterhaltende Funktion hinaus sind deshalb in Ugarit grundsätzlich auch die Rituale anzusprechen, da diese der Praxis der Etablierung und Beibehaltung der Weltordnung dienten.84 Hinzu kommen die Bereiche der Gebete, der Mantik und der Omendeutung,85 denen ebenfalls eine wesentliche Relevanz für die Deutung und Aufrechterhaltung der Weltordnung zukommt.

75

Vgl. KTU 1.4, viii linke Seite; 1.6, vi 53–57; 1.16, vi linke Seite. Zur Diskussion um die Verfasserschaft der Mythen und Epen aus Ugarit vgl. etwa KORPEL 1998, 91–105; CURTIS 2013’ PARDEE 2014. 77 Vgl. auch PARDEE 2014, 52. 78 Dazu CAQUOT/DALIX 2001 und zuletzt DEL OLMO LETE 2014b, 99–102. 79 Zur Funktion eines tʿy vgl. KTU 1.169 sowie dazu DIETRICH/LORETZ 2011, 49 und ROCHEHAWLEY/HAWLEY 2013, 252–53. 80 Vgl. VAN SOLDT 1989 und ROCHE-HAWLEY/HAWLEY 2013, 252. 81 Vgl. VAN SOLDT 1995; HAWLEY 2008; MÁRQUEZ ROWE 2008, 102–106; COHEN 2013, 31–34; 64–72. 82 Vgl. VAN SOLDT 1991, 27–29; DALIX 1996; MÁRQUEZ ROWE 2008, 104–108; PARDEE 2014, 38–42. 83 Zu diesen Texten s.o. die Angaben in Anm. 4. Zur Schule in Ugarit, sowie ihrem Curriculum und zur Relevanz der Weisheitsliteratur vgl. COHEN 2013, 31–33; 64–72 . 84 Vgl. dazu de TARRAGON 1980; ID. 1989; PARDEE 2000; ID. 2002; DEL OLMO LETE 2014a. 85 Vgl. dazu DIETRICH/LORETZ 1990; NIEHR 2008, 253–57; DEL OLMO LETE 2014b. 76

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8 Über diese an Sprache und Text gebundenen Medien hinaus wird in der Wissenskultur Ugarits die Weltordnung aufgrund der Sakralisierung der Landschaft mit ihren Göttersitzen im Norden (Sitz des Baʿal), Osten und Südosten (Sitz des El) und Westen (Sitz des Yammu) 86 sowie aufgrund der Urbanistik der Stadt mit dem ‚sanctuaire aux rhythons‘ im Zentrum, dem Palast im Westen und den Tempeln im Osten auch erlebbar.87 Ebenso ist die Ikonographie mit herausragenden Bildwerken zum Thema, wie bspw. der Stele des Baʿal au foudre,88 der sog. El-Stele89 und dem Elfenbein-Relief aus dem Palast90 zu nennen.

Bibliographie ANNUS, A./A. LENZI, (2010): Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts 7), Winona Lake, IN. ARNAUD, D. (2001): Textes de bibliothèque, in: M. YON/D. ARNAUD (Hg.), Études Ougaritiques I. Travaux 1985–1995, (Ras Shamra-Ougarit 14), Paris, 333–37. – (2007): Corpus des textes de bibliothèque de Ras Shamra-Ougarit (1936–2000) en sumérien, babylonien et assyrien, (Aula Orientalis Supplementa 23), Barcelona. BORDREUIL, P. (2007): Noé, Dan(i)el et Job en Ézékiel XIV,14.20 et XXVIII,3: entre Ougarit et Babylonie, in: J.-M. MICHAUD (Hg.), Le royaume d’Ougarit de la Crète à l’Euphrate: Nouveaux axes de recherche, (Collection Proche-Orient et Littérature Ougaritique 2), Sherbrooke (Québec), 567–78. CAQUOT, A./M. SZNYCER/A. HERDNER (1974): Textes Ougaritiques I: Mythes et Légendes, (Littératures anciennes du Proche-Orient 7), Paris. CAQUOT, A./A.-S. DALIX (2001): Un texte mythico-magique (no. 53), in: M. YON/D. ARNAUD (Hg.), Études Ougaritiques I. Travaux 1985–1995, (Ras Shamra-Ougarit 14), Paris, 393–405. COHEN, Y. (2013): Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, (SBLWAW 29), Atlanta. COOGAN, M.D./M.S. SMITH (22012): Stories from Ancient Canaan, Louisville. COOLEY, J.L. (2013): Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East: The Reflexes of Celestial Science in Ancient Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and Israelite Narrative, (History, Archaeology, and Culture of the Levant 5), Winona Lake, IN. CORNELIUS, I./H. NIEHR (2004): Götter und Kulte in Ugarit, (Zaberns Bildbände zur Archäologie), Mainz. CURTIS, A. (2013): Ilimilku of Ugarit: Copyist or Creator?, in: Ph.R. DAVIES/Th. RÖMER (Hg.), Writing the Bible: Scribes, Scribalism and Script, Durham, 10–22. DALIX, A.-S. (1996): Exemples de bilinguisme à Ougarit: Iloumilkou: la double identité d’un scribe, in: F. BRIQUEL-CHATONNET (Hg.), Mosaïque de langues, mosaïque culturelle: Le bilinguisme dans le Proche-Orient ancien, Paris, 81–90. DAY, J. (1980): The Daniel of Ugarit and Ezekiel and the Hero of the Book of Daniel, VT 30, 174–84. DIETRICH, M. (1988): Marduk in Ugarit, Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici sul Vicino Oriente antico 5, 79–101. – (1991): Der Dialog zwischen Šūpē-amēli und seinem ‚Vater‘: Die Tradition babylonischer Weisheitssprüche im Westen, UF 23, 33–68. 86

Vgl. dazu die Angaben in NIEHR im Druck. Vgl. dazu die Angaben in NIEHR im Druck. 88 Vgl. dazu CORNELIUS/NIEHR 2004, 46 Abb. 71. 89 Vgl. dazu CORNELIUS/NIEHR 2004, 45 Abb. 68. 90 Vgl. dazu die Angaben in Anm. 29. 87

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– (1992): „Ein Leben ohne Freude…“: Studie über eine Weisheitskomposition aus den Gelehrtenbibliotheken von Emar und Ugarit, UF 24, 9–29. – (1993): Babylonian Literary Texts from Western Libraries, in: J.C. DE MOOR/W.G.E. WATSON (Hg.), Verse in Ancient Near Eastern Prose, (AOAT 42), Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn, 41–67. DIETRICH, M./O. LORETZ (1990): Mantik in Ugarit: Keilalphabetische Texte der Opferschau – Omensammlungen – Nekromantie, (Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syrien-Palästinas 3), Münster. – (1990–1997): Mythen und Epen in ugaritischer Sprache, in: O. KAISER (Hg.), Mythen und Epen, (TUAT III), Gütersloh, 1089–317. – (1992): Die Weisheit des ugaritischen Gottes El im Kontext der altorientalischen Weisheit, UF 24, 31–38. – (1999a): Keret, der leidende „König der Gerechtigkeit“: Das Wortpaar ṣdq //yšr als Schlüssel zur Dramatik des Keret-Epos (KTU 1.14, I 12–21a), UF 31, 133–64. – (1999b): Das ugaritische Gottesattribut ḥrš „Weiser, handwerklich Tüchtiger“: Eine Studie über die Götter El, Ea/Enki, Ktr-w-ḫss und Hyn, UF 31, 165–73. – (2000): Das Mobiliar für El: Kunstwerke aus Metall und Stein in KTU 1.4, I 29–37, UF 32, 203–17. – (2011): Sprecher und Gegner in den Schlangenbeschwörungen KTU 1.169 (RIH 78/20) und KTU 1.178 (RS 92.2014), UF 43, 41–51. – (2012): ša Marduk adallal, „Die ‚Heilkraft‘ von Marduk preise ich“: Ein ugaritischer Leidender und sein Verhältnis zu Marduk – RS 25.460 neu interpretiert, in: H. NEUMANN (Hg.), Wissenskultur im Alten Orient, (Colloquien der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 4), Wiesbaden, 183–223. DIETRICH, M./O. LORETZ/J. SANMARTÍN (2013): Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani und anderen Orten, Dritte erweiterte Auflage/The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places, Third, Enlarged Edition, (AOAT 360/1), Münster. DIJKSTRA, M. (1993): The Akkado-Hurrian Bilingual Wisdom-Text RS 15.015 Reconsidered, UF 25, 163–71. DUSSAUD, R. (1931): Brèves remarques sur les tablettes de Ras Shamra, Syria 12, 67–77. GACHET-BIZOLLON, J. (2001): Le panneau de lit en ivoire de la cour III du palais royal d’Ougarit, Syria 78, 19–82. – (2007): Les ivoires d’Ougarit, (Ras Shamra-Ougarit 16), Paris. GALTER, H. (1983): Der Gott Ea/Enki in der akkadischen Überlieferung: Eine Bestandsaufnahme des vorhandenen Materials, (Dissertationen der Karl-Franzens-Universität Graz 58), Graz. GILAN, A. (2015): Formen und Inhalte althethitischer historischer Literatur, (Texte der Hethiter 29), Heidelberg. GINSBERG, H.L. (³1969): The Legend of King Keret, (BASORSup 2–3), New Haven. GREENSTEIN, E.L. (1997): Kirta, in: S.B. PARKER (Hg.), Ugaritic Narrative Poetry (SBLWAW 9), Atlanta, 9–48. – (2000): The Role of the Reader in Ugaritic Narrative, in: S.M. OLYAN/ R.C. CULLEY (Hg.), “A Wise and Discerning Mind”: Essays in Honor of Burke O. Long, (Brown Judaic Studies 325), Providence, 139–51. – (2001): The Ugaritic Epic of Kirta in a Wisdom Perspective, in: Y. HOFFMAN (Hg.), Studies in Judaica (Teʿuda XVI-XVII), Tel Aviv, 1–13; XI–XII. – (2012): Wisdom in Ugaritic, in: R. HASSELBACH/N. PAT-EL (Hg.), Language and Nature: Papers Presented to John Huehnergard on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday, (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 67), Chicago, 69–89. GZELLA, H. (2007): Some Penciled Notes on Ugaritic Lexicography, BO 64, 527–67. HAAS, V. (2006): Die hethitische Literatur: Texte, Stilistik, Motive, Berlin/New York. HAWLEY, R. (2008): Apprende à écrire à Ougarit: une typologie des abécédaires, in: C. ROCHE (Hg.), D’Ougarit à Jérusalem: Recueil d’études épigraphiques et archéologiques offert à Pierre Bordreuil, (Orient et Méditerranée 2), Paris, 215–32. HERDNER, A. (1963): Corpus des Tablettes en Cunéiformes Alphabétiques découvertes à Ras Shamra-Ugarit de 1929 à 1939, (Mission de Ras Shamra 10), Paris.

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HOLM, T.L. (2013): Of Courtiers and Kings: The Biblical Daniel Narratives and Ancient Story Collections, (Explorations in Ancient Near Eastern Civilizations 1), Winona Lake, IN. VAN DEN HOUT, TH. P.J. (1994): Death as a Privilege: The Hittite Royal Funerary Ritual, in: J.M. BREMMER /TH.P.J. VAN DEN HOUT/R. PETERS (Hg.), Hidden Futures: Death and Immortality in Ancient Egypt, Anatolia, the Classical, Biblical and Arabic-Islamic World, Amsterdam, 37–75. KÄMMERER, Th. (1998): šimâ milka: Induktion und Reception der mittelbabylonischen Dichtung von Ugarit, Emār und Tell el-ʿAmārna, (AOAT 251), Münster. KALUGILA, L. (1980): The Wise King: Studies in Royal Wisdom as Divine Revelation in the Old Testament and Its Environment, (Coniectanea Biblica Old Testament Series 15), Lund. KHANJIAN, J. (1974): Wisdom in Ugarit and in the Ancient Near East with Particular Emphasis on Old Testament Wisdom Literature, Diss. Claremont. – (1975): Wisdom, in: L.R. FISHER (Hg.), Ras Shamra Parallels: The Texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible II (AnOr 50), Rom, 371–400. KORPEL, MC.A. (1998): Exegesis in the Work of Ilimilku of Ugarit, in: J.C. DE MOOR (Hg.), Intertextuality in Ugarit and Israel, (OTS 40), Leiden, 86–111. LAMBERT, W.G. (1960): Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford. LEWIS, TH.J. (2013): The Shaʿtiqatu Narrative from the Ugaritic Story about the Healing of King Kirta, JANER 13, 188–211. – (2014): The Identity and Function of Ugaritic Shaʿtiqatu: A Divinely Made Apotropaic Figure, JANER 14, 1–28. LIPIŃSKI, E. (1988): Ea, Kothar et El, UF 20, 137–43. LIVERANI, M. (1970): L’epica ugaritica nel suo contesto storico e letterario, in: ACCADEMIA NAZIONALE DEI LINCEI (Hg.), Quaderno 139: Atti del Convegno Internazionale sul Tema: La poesia epica e la sua formazione, Rom, 859–73. LORETZ, O. (2003): Götter – Ahnen – Könige als gerechte Richter: Der „Rechtsfall“ des Menschen vor Gott nach altorientalischen und biblischen Texten, (AOAT 290), Münster. MALBRAN-LABAT, F. (1999): Langues et écritures à Ougarit, Sem 49, 65–101. MARGALIT, B. (1980): Interpreting the Story of Aqht, VT 30, 361–65. – (1999): The Legend of Kirta, in: W.G.E. WATSON/N. WYATT (Hg.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, (Handbuch der Orientalistik I/39), Leiden, 203–33. MÁRQUEZ ROWE, I. (2008): Scribes, Sages, and Seers in Ugarit, in: L.G. PERDUE (Hg.), Scribes, Sages, and Seers: The Sage in the Eastern Mediterranean World, (FRLANT 219), Göttingen, 95– 108. MASTIN, B.A. (1995): Wisdom and Daniel, in: J. DAY/R.P. GORDON/H.G.M. WILLIAMSON (Hg.), Wisdom in ancient Israel: Essays in honour of J.A. Emerton, Cambridge, 161–69. MERLO, P./P. XELLA (2001): Da Erwin Rohde ai Rapiuma ugaritici: antecedenti vicino-orientali degli eroi greci?, in: S. RIBICHINI/M. ROCCHI/P. XELLA (Hg.), La Questione delle Influenze vicinoorientali sulla Religione greca. Stato degli Studi e Prospettive della Ricerca. Atti del Colloquio Internazionale Roma, 20–22 maggio 1999, Rom, 281–97. DE MOOR, J.C. (1987): An Anthology of Religious Texts from Ugarit, (NISABA 16), Leiden. MÜLLER, H.-P. (1969): Magisch-mantische Weisheit und die Gestalt Daniels, UF 1, 79–94. – (1978): Das Hiobproblem: Seine Stellung und Entstehung im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament, (EdF 84), Darmstadt. NATAN-YULZARY, S. (2012): Contrast and Meaning in the ʾAqhat Story, VT 62, 433–49. NEU, E. (1995): Hethitisch zapzagi-, UF 27, 395–402. NIEHR, H. (2008): Texte aus Ugarit, in: B. JANOWSKI/G. WILHELM (Hg.), Omina, Orakel, Rituale und Beschwörungen, (TUAT.NF 4), Gütersloh, 243–57. – (2012): Bestattung und Nachleben der Könige von Ugarit im Spiegel von Archäologie und Literatur, in: A. LANG/P. MARINKOVIČ (Hg.), Bios – Kultus – Immortalitas: Zu Religion und Kultur – Von den biologischen Grundlagen bis zu den Jenseitsvorstellungen. Beiträge der interdiszi-plinären

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Kolloquien vom 10.–11. März 2006 und 24.–25. Juli 2009 in der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München, (Internationale Archäologie 16), Rahden, 145–56. – (2013): Königtum und Gebet in Ugarit. Der König als Beter, das Gebet für den König und das Gebet zum König, in: A. GRUND/A. KRÜGER/F. LIPPKE (Hg.), Ich will dir danken unter den Völkern: Studien zur israelitischen und altorientalischen Gebetsliteratur: Festschrift B. Janowski, Gütersloh, 603–22. – (2014): Mythen und Epen aus Ugarit, in: B. JANOWSKI/D. SCHWEMER (Hg.), Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen, (TUAT.NF 8), Gütersloh, 177–301. – (2016): Ahnen und Ahnenkult in den Königsepen aus Ugarit, in: L. HIEPEL/M.-TH. WACKER (Hg.), Zwischen Zion und Zaphon: Studien im Gedenken an den Theologen Oswald Loretz (14.01.1928– 12.04.2014), (AOAT 438), Münster, 379–400. – (2017): Die rapiʾūma/rephāʾîm als konstitutives Element der westsemitischen Königsideologie: Herkunft – Rezeptionsgeschichte – Ende, in: L.C. JONKER/G. KOTZÉ/CHR. MAIER (Hg.), Congress Volume Stellenbosch 2016, (VTS 177), Leiden/Boston, 143–78. – (im Druck): Wissenskultur in Ugarit, in: B. JANOWSKI/D. SCHWEMER (Hg.), Wissenskultur (TUAT.NF 9), Gütersloh. NOUGAYROL, J. (1968): Choix de textes littéraires, in: J. NOUGAYROL/E. LAROCHE/CH. VIROLLEAUD /C. SCHAEFFER, Nouveaux textes accadiens, hourrites, et ugaritiques des archives et bibliothèques privées d’Ugarit: Commentaires des textes historiques (première partie), (Ugaritica 5 = Mission de Ras Shamra 16), Paris, 265–324. NOUGAYROL, J./LAROCHE, E. (1955): Tablette bilingue accado-hourrite, in: J. NOUGAYROL (Hg.), Textes accadiens et hourrites des Archives Est, Ouest et Centrales, (Palais Royal d’Ugarit 3), Paris, 311–24. O’CONNOR, M. (2006): The Human Characters’ Names in the Ugaritic Poems: Onomastic Eccentricity in Bronze-Age West Semitic and the Name Daniel in Particular, in: ST.E. FASSBERG/A. HURVITZ (Hg.), Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives, Winona Lake, IN, 269–83. DEL OLMO LETE, G. (1981): Mitos y leyendas de Canaan según la tradición de Ugarit, Madrid. – (2008): Mythologie et religion de la Syrie au IIe Millénaire av. J.C. (1500–1200), in: G. DEL OLMO LETE (Hg.), Mythologie et religion des Sémites Occidentaux II: Émar, Ougarit, Israël, Aram, Phénicie, Arabie, (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 162), Leuven, 23–162. – (2014a): Canaanite Religion According to the Liturgical Texts of Ugarit, Second English Edition, thoroughly Revised and Enlarged, (AOAT 408), Münster. – (2014b): Incantations and Anti-Witchcraft Texts from Ugarit, (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 4), Boston/Berlin. OSHIMA, T. (2011): Babylonian Prayers to Marduk, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 7), Tübingen. – (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers: Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14), Tübingen. – (2016): A Babylonian Marduk Prayer found at Ugarit (RS 94.2498), UF 47, 221–50. PARDEE, D. (2000): Les textes rituels, (RSOu XII), Paris. – (2001): Ugaritic Science, in: P.M.M. DAVIAU/J.W. WEVERS/M. WEIGL (Hg.), The World of the Aramaeans III: Festschrift P.-E. Dion, (JSOTS SS 326), Sheffield, 223–54. – (2002) Ritual and Cult at Ugarit, Leiden. – (2014): L’autorité littéraire au XIIIe siècle av. J.-C? ʾIlîmilku d’Ougarit: scribe/auteur?, in: M. GOREA/M. TARDIEU (Hg.), Autorité des auteurs antiques: Entre anonymat, masque et authenticité, (Homo Religiosus Série II/13), Turnhout, 35–56. PARKER, S.B. (1997): Aqhatu, in: S.B. PARKER (Hg.), Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, (SBLWAW 9), Atlanta, 145–216. PERI, C. (2004): Poemi ugaritici della regalità, (Testi del Vicino Oriente antico 5/1), Brescia. VON RAD, G. (1970): Weisheit in Israel, Neukirchen-Vluyn.

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RAHMOUNI, A. (2008): Divine Epithets in the Ugaritic Alphabetic Texts, (Handbuch der Orientalistik I/93), Leiden. ROCHE-HAWLEY, C./HAWLEY, R. (2013): An Essay on Scribal Families, Tradition, and Innovation in Thirteenth-Century Ugarit, in: B.J. COLLINS/P. MICHALOWSKI (Hg.), Beyond Hatti: A Tribute to Gary Beckman, Atlanta, 241–64. SASSMANNSHAUSEN, L. (2008): Babylonische Schriftkultur des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. in den Nachbarländern und im östlichen Mittelmeerraum, Aula Orientalis 26, 263–68. SCHMID, H.H. (1968): Gerechtigkeit als Weltordnung, (Beiträge zur historischen Theologie 40), Tübingen. SCHMID, K. (2010): Hiob als biblisches und antikes Buch: Historische und intellektuelle Kontexte seiner Theologie, (SBS 219), Stuttgart. SIEGELOVÁ, J. (1971): Appu-Märchen und Ḫedammu-Mythos, (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 14), Wiesbaden. SMITH, D.E. (1975): Wisdom Genres in RS 22.439, in: L.R. FISHER (Hg.), Ras Shamra Parallels: The Texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible II, (AnOr 50), Rom, 215–47. SMITH, M.S./ W.T. PITARD (2009): The Ugaritic Baal Cycle II: Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU/CAT 1.3–1.4, (VTS 114), Leiden/Boston. VAN SOLDT, W.H. (1989): ʾAtn prln, ʾAttā/ēnu the Diviner, UF 21, 365–66. – (1991): Studies in the Akkadian of Ugarit: Dating and Grammar, (AOAT 40), Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn. – (1995): Babylonian Lexical, Religious and Literary Texts and Scribal Education at Ugarit and its implications for the alphabetic literary texts, in: M. DIETRICH/O. LORETZ (Hg.), Ugarit: Ein ostmediterranes Kulturzentrum im Alten Orient: Ergebnisse und Perspektiven der Forschung I: Ugarit und seine altorientalische Umwelt, (Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syrien-Palästinas 7), Münster, 171–212. SPIEGEL, S. (1945): Noah, Danel, and Job touching on Canaanite Relics in the Legends of the Jews, in: S. LIEBERMAN et al. (Hg.), Louis Ginzberg Jubilee Volume: On the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, English Section, New York, 305–55. STRAUß, R. (2006): Reinigungsrituale aus Kizzuwatna, Berlin/New York. DE TARRAGON, J.-M. (1980): Le culte à Ugarit d’après les textes de la pratique en cunéiformes alphabétiques, (Cahiers de la Revue biblique 19), Paris. – (1989): Les rituels, in: A. CAQUOT/J.-M. DE TARRAGON/J.-L. CUNCHILLOS, Textes Ougaritiques II, (Littératures anciennes du Proche-Orient 14), Paris, 125–238. TOBOLOWSKY, A. (2016): Where Doom is Spoken: Threshing Floors as Places of Decision and Communication in Biblical Literature, JANER 16, 95–120. TROPPER, J./H. HAYAJNEH (2003): El, der scharfsinnige und verständige Gott: Ugaritisch lṭpn il dpid im Lichte der arabischen Lexeme laṭīf und fuʾād, OrNS 72, 159–82. WYATT, N. (1999): The Story of Aqhat, in: W.G.E. WATSON – N. WYATT (Hg.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, (Handbuch der Orientalistik I/39), Leiden, 234–58. XELLA, P. (1997): La «sagesse» de Baal, in: B. PONGRATZ-LEISTEN/H. KÜHNE/P. XELLA (Hg.), Ana šadî Labnāni lū allik. Beiträge zu altorientalischen und mittelmeerischen Kulturen. FS W. Röllig, (AOAT 247), Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn, 435–46.

III: Comparative Studies of Ancient Near Eastern Wisdom Texts

“Do not Open your Heart to Your Wife or Servant” (Khasheshonqy 13:17) A West-Asiatic Antecedent and its Relation to Later Wisdom Instructions Noga Ayali-Darshan* Miriam Lichtheim (1983) has discussed at length the question of whether the demotic Egyptian Instruction of Khasheshonqy betrays any signs of the influence of WestAsiatic wisdom literature. The composition consisting of a narrative frame story about Khasheshonqy, an imprisoned priest, and his sapiential instructions to his son, is reminiscent of both local (Egyptian) and external texts.1 While the affinities with the former are natural, Lichtheim adduces two arguments in favour of non-Egyptian influence: a) the monostichtic format of the sayings in the instructions’ part, which – like other Egyptian demotic instructions composition – reflects elements of West-Asiatic sapiential thought; and b) the occurrence of around eight similar sayings in one of the later recensions – Syriac, Armenian, and Slavonic – of the originally-Aramaic Wisdom of Ahiqar and the Instruction of Khasheshonqy.2 The latter finding is commensurate with the fact that most of the texts thought to be associated with the sayings of the Wisdom of Ahiqar – Tobit, Esarhaddon’s letter (HARPER 1896, no. 4033), Ben Sira, and the talmudic literature, for example – are indeed closer to the later recensions than the fifth-century B.C.E. Elephantine Aramaic Ahiqar text (GREENFIELD 1995, 50). Jonas Greenfield (1990, 199) thus concluded: “It has been recognized that the corpus of sayings attributed in antiquity to Ahiqar was larger than that which has reached us

* I would like to thank Dr. Takayoshi Oshima for kindly inviting me to take part in this volume. I am also grateful to Professors Nili Shupak, Yoram Cohen, and Joachim F. Quack, the editor of the ORA series, for their useful comments. 1 According to the private names set in the composition, the terminus post quem is the Saite (Twenty-Sixth) dynasty. While the principal manuscript belongs to the late Ptolemaic period, some parallel sayings date to the beginning of the early Ptolemaic period: see QUACK 2011, 386–87; IDEM 2015, 113 for further parallels. 2 Her first argument was challenged by Hagen (2005, 153–55) in light of earlier Egyptian monostichic compositions, i.e. the pRamesseum II of the Middle Kingdom period and the “Prohibitions” of the New Kingdom period. Her second argument was rejected by HOUSER WEGNER 2001 and RITNER 2003, 497–99. However, as outlined in fn. 13 below, their criticism against her is not unproblematic. For the Aramaic origin of the Wisdom of Ahiqar, see GREENFIELD 1978; KUTSCHER 1970; LINDENBERGER 1983, 16–20; IDEM 1985, 481–82; and below. 3 REYNOLDS 2003, 4, lines 4–6.

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in Aramaic from Elephantine. Authentic sayings that were part of that corpus are also found in the Syriac and Armenian versions of Ahiqar.” Lichtheim’s hypothesis received further support from Joachim F. Quack’s (2011) demonstration that the Egyptian translation of the Wisdom of Ahiqar – yet to be published in full – also more closely resembles the later versions than the Elephantine manuscript, thus also bearing affinities with several sayings in the Instruction of Khasheshonqy noted by Lichtheim. Since the Egyptian text of Ahiqar contains unique details not found in other versions, additional similarities between these two wisdom works may also come to light in the future.4 Following upon the work of these scholars, the present paper focuses on a WestAsiatic precedent to one of the sayings adduced as evidence that the Instruction of Khasheshonqy depends partially on the Wisdom of Ahiqar.

Khasheshonqy and Ahiqar Embedded in a much older West-Asiatic text popular amongst the scribes, as we shall see below, the following sayings from Khasheshonqy cautions against telling secrets to one’s wife or servant: Do not open your heart to your wife (m-ir wn ḥ3ṱ.k r t3y.k ḥmt); what you have spoken to her belongs to the street. (Khasheshonqy, 13/16) Do not open your heart to your wife or servant (m-ir wn ḥ3ṱ.k r t3i.k ḥmt p3i.k sḏm-ʿš); open it to your mother, the woman is a basket. (Khasheshonqy, 13/17, 18)5

The compiler of Khasheshonqy appears to have had before him a doublet of the saying, the first asserting that women characteristically engage in gossip, the second that a mother is less likely to gossip than a wife or servant. The paragraph focusing on women, the mail servant here is awkward. As Lichtheim noted, the following Armenian recensions of Ahiqar contain a close parallel to this instruction: Son, do not reveal your secret words to your wife. For she is weak and small of soul, and she reveals it to the powerful, and you are despised. (Ahiqar, Armenian Recension A 74) Son, condescend to your wife; but do not reveal your secrets to her: for she cannot keep a word in her heart, but reveals it to her neighbors; for she is stunted in mind and small of spirit, and is unable to endure. (Ahiqar, Armenian Recension B 74) 6

4

QUACK 2011. For the Egyptian version of Ahiqar, see ibid and the bibliography cited in fns 5 and 6 therein. 5 GLANVILLE 1955, 32–33; THISSEN 1984, 26. All scholars agree that “basket” (ʿrʿr.t) in this context carries the sense of “discretion.” As Dieleman (1998, 14) notes, it “probably means that the mouth of the mother will be closed as a sealed basket.” This interpretation makes the saying even closer to the simile in Šimâ milka. See below. The English translation follows LICHTHEIM 1983, 78, with modifications.

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Here, too, two versions of this saying exist. Both replace the metaphor of “opening the heart” in the protasis with a simple description of revealing secrets, also omitting the reference to the servant as well. While both also adduce female irresponsibility in the apodosis, the first links this with being humiliated by the powerful, the second to being the object of the neighbours’ gossip. According to Lichtheim (1983, 20), these sayings are “not as verbally close as the previous ones, but the thoughts are identical and not commonplace, and therefore likely to have had a shared source.” As much as this is true of the affinities between the aphorisms in the demotic Egyptian Instruction of Khasheshonqy and the Armenian text of Wisdom of Ahiqar, a third saying that circulated many years earlier in Syria not only shares the same theme – found in other texts from the Roman period7 – but also expresses it in the same terms.

Šimâ milka Entitled Šimâ milka, “Hear the Advice,” on the basis of the incipit, like other Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Israelite sapiential texts this contains a collection of sayings (i.e. advice) delivered by a father to his son. 8 This composition appears to have been very popular amongst scribes of the “Levantine Crescent” – Ugarit, Emar, and Hattuša – during the second half of the second millennium, as evinced by the numerous Akkadian copies (most likely the language in which it was originally written) and its translation into a local language. Its popularity may have derived from the irony or vanity theme at its end, which recurs in other works found in the same archives. The paucity of copies preserved in Mesopotamia itself – to date, only the title has been found in an Old Babylonian catalogue (ETCSL 0.2.11:15) – makes it difficult to determine whether this or other parts of the extant composition attest to a local tradition or whether it

6

The English translation follows CONYBEARE/HARRIS/LEWIS 1913, 32, 62. For a more recent edition, see MARTIROSYAN 1969. Unfortunately, I had no access to this edition. My thanks go to Shlomi Efrati for his comments. 7 Outside Egypt, cf., for example, m. Aboth 1:5; Aboth R. Nat. 15:5. For the previous different attitude – negative towards foreign women and a positive towards legal wives – in both Egyptian and biblical sapiential works, see SHUPAK 2011. For the trend towards objectifying women in Demotic texts as a whole in response to a local sociological situation, see DIELEMAN 1998. The wisdom sources that reflect daily life such as those dealt with in this paper must be distinguished from those that depict disasters, such the prophecy of calamity in Mic 7:5 (which relates to all the family rather than just the wife) or commitment to the enemy, as in the account of Samson and Delilah in Judges 16, in which the literary genre directly affects the understanding of the texts (pace HUROWITZ 2007, 47–48). 8 It is also known today as the Advice of Šūpê-amēli. For joint editions, see DIETRICH 1991, 33‒ 68; 1993, 52‒62; SEMINARA 2000, 487‒529; KÄMMERER 1998, 176–207; COHEN 2013, 81–128; NURULLIN 2014, 175–229.

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was compiled in toto in Mesopotamia. No doubt exists over the warm welcome it was given by the Syrian scribes, however. 9 One of the sayings instructs the son how to relate to his wife and maidservant in the following terms: To your beloved woman (ana aššati) // another version: maidservant (ana amti)10 //, do not open your heart (ē taptâšši libbaka). “Submit!” (she will say). Even if she is angry, hold (your) gift in your sealed store-house …11

Here, the heart is likened to a store-house, whose opening up is tantamount to distributing its wares (secrets) indiscriminately. The metaphor continues from the protasis through to the apodosis (much longer than cited above), asserting that opening one’s heart leaves a man at the mercy of the female members of his household.

Šimâ milka and Khasheshonqy At first glance, the three sayings – written in three languages – all appear to embody a general patriarchal perspective. The substantive and terminological correspondences between two of the three and close provenance of the third allow us to make a further suggestion, however. As Lichtheim noted, the prohibition against telling one’s beloved wife one’s innermost thoughts is unusual, most Egyptian (and other ancient) aphorisms cautioning against doing so to a stranger.12 In regard to the verbal aspect, similar terminology is found in the protasis of both Šimâ milka and Khasheshonqy. 9

For its entry in an Old Babylonian catalogue, see SALLABERGER 2010. In addition, Nurullin (2014) identified a Neo-Assyrian exemplar of Šimâ milka, found at Nimrud (Kalhu). For the definition of the “Fertile Crescent,” see SINGER 2006, 744. For the debate regarding whether the works (or parts of them) were composed in Mesopotamia or Syria, see the opposing opinions of COHEN 2013 and SEMINARA 2000. 10 This variant is found in an Ugaritic manuscript recently published by ARNAUD 2007, 150, 168. Included in Cohen’s edition, it is absent from earlier ones. 11 The English translation follows COHEN 2003, 90–91, ll. 65–67 (proverb II.vi). 12 Cf. MK Instruction of a Man to his Son 19: “Speech – it is the echo of fire … There is no one with hasty speech who is free of [...; there is no] stinking one to whom the belly is opened. (wn n.f ẖt)”; NK Instructions of Amenemope 21: “Do not empty your belly (šw ẖt) to everyone, and thus destroy (other people’s) respect of you; broadcast not your words to others, nor join with one who bares his heart” (English translation: LICHTHEIM 2006, 159); early NK Instruction of Any 20:7: “Do not reveal your heart to a stranger (imi.k wṯs ib.k); he might use your words against you” (ibid., 140). Alternatively, in several cases, royal officials boasted that others wished to open their hearts before them (sr n wb3 n.f ib: Urk. IV 538, 14; 1129, 5; 1169, 13). The Mesopotamian, biblical, and postbiblical literary corpora customarily contain similar instructions to guard one’s tongue and refrain from speaking. Outside Egypt, the Elephantine version of Ahiqar is worth noting: “Do not reveal your [xxx] in front of your [fr]iends ( ‫[יך אל תגלי קדם ]רח[מיך‬...] ); let your name not become light in front of them” (IX [= 53], 141). Lindenberger (1983, 261) proposes emending to “your [secrets]” (‫)]סתר [יך‬, thus linking the saying with the Armenian version, arguing that “in one version of the Arm[enian] (Arm # 74) the ‘friend’ has become a ‘wife.’  ” Later scholars suggest reading “sins” ( ‫ )חטא‬or “poverty” ( ‫)עני‬, each of which occurs in other sayings in the Wisdom of Ahiqar.

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As either textual variant or alternative version, it places the wife on a par with the servant – male or female, the latter being absent in the Armenian version. The relationship between the latter and the beloved wife is totally different legally and personally, the two not customarily being linked together or serving as substitutes. The divulging of secrets is depicted by the metaphor of opening the heart, this too being absent in the Armenian version. Since Egyptian texts make use of closelycorresponding metaphors describing the belly and heart as containers that can be emptied and filled, this metaphor suits the Egyptian context very well.13 As Jewish sapiential works indicate, however, this meaning is not self-evident, the metaphor also possibly signifying imbibing rather than divulging.14 Some Egyptian texts also testify to other meanings of this metaphor, such as cleverness (Wb 1, 290.21).15 With respect to the apodosis, although the reason adduced in Khasheshonqy differs from that in Šimâ milka, interestingly both versions of the Armenian Ahiqar cite the reason given in Šimâ milka (fear of humiliation, in Arm A) as well as that in Khasheshonqy (apprehension lest the whole neighbourhood know his secrets in Arm B).

Šimâ milka, Ahiqar, and Khasheshonqy In light of the fact that several of the sayings in the Instructions of Khasheshonqy – including the one under discussion here – appear to rest on one of the recensions of the 13 Cf. the examples in fn. 12; SHUPAK 1983, 293–96, 299–300. In Khasheshonqy itself this metaphor is found elsewhere in relation to a stranger (e.g., 14/8). The Egyptian narratival literature contains two specific references to “opening the heart” in a negative sense in the context of the beloved wife: the demotic Setne II (3:10) recounts that the protagonist refused to disclose his secret to his wife and son, and the Ramesside Tale of the Two Brothers (10:3–4) that the hero “opened his heart” and revealed his secret to his wicked wife (wpi n.s ḥ3ty.f). For the link between the latter episode and other West-Semitic sources, see AYALI-DARSHAN 2017b. Irrespective of this issue, it is worth noting here Quack’s response to Houser Wegner (2001)’s attempt to dismiss Lichtheim’s premise due to existence of earlier Egyptian precedents: “Even if the concept in itself is not unattested elsewhere in Egyptian literature, the fact of the closely similar formulation in Khasheshonqy and Ahiqar should be explained, and there is nothing inherently implausible in using formulations found in foreign texts to illustrate concepts that as such are also at home in Egypt – it would even make more sense to take over ideas that are compatible with Egyptian traditions than totally strange ideas” (QUACK 2011, 386). 14 Cf. 1QHa XVIII 31: “I bloom as a lily, and my heart is opened to the eternal spring ( ‫ולבי נפתח‬ ‫ ;”)למקור עולם‬1QHa XXII 4:12: “You have opened my heart to Your understanding ( ‫פתחתה לבבי‬ ‫( ”)לבינתכה‬PARRY/TOV 2005, 51, 63); 1QS11:15: “Blessed are you, O my God, who has opened to knowledge the heart of Your servant ( ‫( ”)הפותח לדעה לב עבדכה‬PARRY/TOV 2004, 41); b. Ber. 17a: “Open my heart to Your Torah ( ‫ ;”)פתח לבי בתורתך‬an addendum to Birkat hamazon: “The Mer(ciful) will open our heart to his Torah ( ‫( ”)הרמ’ יפתח לבינו לתורתו‬Cambridge, University Library, T-S Collection, NS, 153, 69). 15 Cf. KITCHEN 1996, II, 91: “(Ramesses II is …) open-hearted (wb3 ib) like ‘South of his Wall’ (= Ptah), he is one as sage as the majesty of Thoth”; “(Ay is …) open-hearted (wb3.n.f ib) to the one who confided in him, one who abandoned falsehood in order to do Maat” (MURNANE 1995, 119); cf. also Urk. VII, 52:20 (242).

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Wisdom of Ahiqar, the existence of a second-millennium West-Asiatic precedent requires that the correspondences between the three texts be explained. The millennium time-gap between Khasheshonqy and Šimâ milka precluding the former’s direct dependence upon the latter (or vice versa), other sources circulated in the region that have or have not survived may thus serve as mediators.16 A good candidate might be the Wisdom of Ahiqar – which originated in the region of Syria in the eighth–sixth centuries B.C.E. and spread throughout numerous Near Eastern and Mediterranean societies, including Egypt.17 To date, scholars have traditionally sought textual precursors for this work in Mesopotamian literature.18 In light of its Syrian provenance, however, many others surely existed in earlier works popular in that region. Not surprisingly, we indeed find at least one further example of unique pair of sayings in Šimâ milka (lines 61–62, Cohen’s edition) echoed in one of the versions of Ahiqar, Ben Sira, and mediaeval Arabic and Hebrew instruction texts (but with no representation in Khasheshonqy).19 In our present case, while the Armenian recension of Ahiqar differs in its terminology from the formulation of the saying cited in Khasheshonqy and Šimâ milka, scholars have already observed the authenticity of the former and its affinity with Khasheshonqy. We may thus tentatively suggest that the aphorism in Khasheshonqy and its more abstract parallel in the Armenian recension of Ahiqar attest to its existence in one of the principal version of Ahiqar. The precedent in Šimâ milka, very popular in the scribal schools of the second millennium B.C.E., verifies its earlier existence in Syria. The forthcoming publication of the Egyptian translation of Ahiqar, which constitutes another new textual witness to the latter, may shed further light on this proposal.

Bibliography ALBRIGHT, W.F. (1918): The Babylonian Sage Ut-Napistim rûqu, JAOS 38, 60–65. ALSTER, B. (2005): Wisdom of Ancient Sumer, Bethesda, MD.

16

Cf. QUACK 1994, 207–12. During the New Kingdom period, many elements are known to have spread from West Asia to Egypt, primarily in the realm of mythology. Likewise, the vanity theme so prominent in the sapiential literature studied in the Levantine scribal schools (see above) appears to make its way thence to Egypt, where it occurs in sapiential and funerary literature – only to vanish again at the end of this period: see AYALI-DARSHAN 2017a; COHEN 2017; and cf. SHUPAK 2014, 256. The opposite direction of transmission – from Egypt eastward – is also visible, the best commonlyaccepted example being the Instruction of Amenemope and Proverbs. Here, too, a first-millennium Aramaic mediator has been suggested: see AYALI-DARSHAN 2017a and the bibliography cited therein. While the spreading of ideas may thus have taken place during the whole of this timeframe, in both directions, in our present case the evidence appears to point more certainly to a mediator. 17 For the origin of Ahiqar and its traces within various societies, see the bibliography cited above; KOTTSIEPER 1990; BRIQUEL CHATONNET 2005; NIEHR 2007; WEIGL 2010; BLEDSOE 2015, 23–72. 18 In addition to the scholars cited above, see, for example, ALBRIGHT 1918, 64; LAMBERT 1960, 96; MCKANE 1970, 151–60; ALSTER 2005, 43; PARPOLA 2005; BODI 2011; OSHIMA 2017. 19 AYALI-DARSHAN 2018.

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ARNAUD, D. (2007): Corpus des textes de bibliothèque de Ras Shamra-Ougarit (1936–2000) en sumérien, babylonien et assyrien, (AuOrSup 23), Barcelona. AYALI-DARSHAN, N. (2017a): II. Literature: Egyptian and Levantine Belles-Lettres: Links and Influences during the Bronze Age, in: P.P CREASMAN/R.H. WILKINSON (eds.), Pharaoh’s Land and Beyond: Ancient Egypt and its Neighbors, Oxford, 195–205. – (2017b). The Background of the Cedar Forest Tradition in the Egyptian Tale of the Two Brothers in the Light of West-Asian Literature, Ä&L 27, 183–93. – (2018). The Sequence of Sir 4:26–27 in Light of Akkadian and Aramaic Texts from the Levant and Later Writings, ZAW 130, 436–49. BLEDSOE, S.A. (2015): Wisdom in Distress: A Literary and Socio-Historical Approach to the Aramaic Book of Ahiqar, PhD diss., Florida State University. BODI, D. (2011): The Aramaic Proverbs of Aḥiqar and Some Akkadian and Hebrew Parallels, in: MC. BORNES-VAROL/M S. ORTOLA (eds.), Aliento: Corpus anciens et bases de données, Nancy, 13–25. BRIQUEL CHATONNET, F. (2005): L’histoire et la sagesse d’Ahiqar: fortune littéraire de l’histoire d’un dignitaire araméen à la cour assyrienne, in: J.-L. BACQUE-GRAMMONT/A. PINO/S. KHOURI (eds.), D’un Orient l’autre. Actes des 3e Journées de l’Orient, Bordeaux, 2-4 octobre, 2002, Louvain (Cahiers de la société asiatique, nouvelle série IV), 17–40. COHEN, Y. (2103): Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, (ed. A. GEORGE; WAW 29), Atlanta. – (2017): Les neiges d’antan: “Early Rulers” and the Vanity Theme in Mesopotamian Wisdom Literature and Beyond, Antiguo Oriente 15, 13–35. CONYBEARE, F.C./J.R. HARRIS/A.S. LEWIS. (1913): The Story of Aḥiḳar from the Aramaic, Syriac, Arabic, Armenian, Ethiopic, Old Turkish, Greek and Slavonic Versions, 2nd ed., Cambridge. DIELEMAN, J. (1998): Fear of Woman? Representations of Woman in Demotic Wisdom Texts, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 25, 7–46. DIETRICH. M. (1991): Der Dialog zwischen Šūpē-amēli und seinem “Vater”: Die Tradition babylonischer Weisheitssprüche im Westen, UF 23, 33‒68. – (1993): Babylonian Literary Texts from Western Libraries, in: J.C. de MOOR/W.G.E. WATSON (eds.), Verse in Ancient Near Eastern Prose, (AOAT 43), Neukirchen-Vluyn, 52‒62. GLANVILLE, S.R.K. (1955): Catalogue of Demotic Papyri in the British Museum 2: The Instructions of ˁonchsheshonqy (British Museum Papyrus 10508), I: Introduction, Transliteration, Translation, Notes and Plates, London. GREENFIELD, J.C. (1978): The Dialects of Early Aramaic, JNES 37, 93–99. – (1990): Two Proverbs of Ahiqar, in: T. ABUSCH/J. HUEHNERGARD/P. STEINKELLER (eds.), Lingering over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran, Atlanta, 195–201. – (1995): The Wisdom of Ahiqar, in: J. DAY/R.P. GORDON/H.G.M. WILLIAMSON (eds.), Wisdom in Ancient Israel: Essays in Honour of J.A. Emerton, Cambridge, 43–52. HAGEN, F. (2005): “The prohibitions”: a New Kingdom didactic text, JEA 91, 125–64. HARPER, R.H. (1896): Assyrian and Babylonian Letters belonging to the Kouyunjik Collections of the British Museum, Pt. IV, London. HOUSER WEGNER, J. (2001): Cultural and Literary Continuity in the Demotic Instructions, PhD. diss., Yale University. HUROWITZ, A. (2007): The Wisdom of Šūpê-amēlī – A Deathbed Debate between a Father and Son, in: R.J. CLIFFORD (ed.), Wisdom Literature in Mesopotamia and Israel, (SBLSymS 38), Atlanta, 37–51. KÄMMERER, T.R. (1998): Šimâ milka: Induktion und Reception der mittelbabylonischen Dichtung von Ugarit, Emār und Tell el-’Amārna, (AOAT 251), Münster. KITCHEN, K.A. (1996): Ramesses II, Royal Inscriptions (Ramesside Inscriptions Translated & Annotated II), Cambridge, MA. KOTTSIEPER, I. (1990): Sprache der Ahiqarsprüche, (BZAW 194), Berlin.

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KUTSCHER, E.Y. (1970): Aramaic, in: T.A. SEBOEK (ed.), Linguistics in South West Asia and North Africa, (Current Trends in Linguistics 6), Paris, 365–66. LAMBERT, W.G. (1960): Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford. LICHTHEIM, M. (1983): Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature in the International Context: A Study of Demotic Instructions, (OBO 52), Göttingen. – (2006): Ancient Egyptian Literature II: The New Kingdom, Berkeley. LINDENBERGER, J.M. (1983): The Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar, Baltimore. – (1985): Ahiqar, in: J.H. CHARLESWORTH (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Garden City, 2:479–507. MARTIROSYAN, A.A. (1969): Patmutʻiwn ew khratkʻ Khikaray Imastnoy: Hayakakan khmbagrutʻyun [History and Proverbs of the Wise Ahikar], Erevan (Armenian with French and Russian summaries). MCKANE, W. (1970): Proverbs: A New Approach, (OTL), Philadelphia. MURNANE, K. (1995): Texts from the Amarna Period in Egypt (WAW 5), Atlanta. NIEHR, H. (2007): Aramäischer Ahiqar: Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit (NF 2/2), Gütersloh. NURULLIN. R. (2014): An Attempt at Šimâ milka (Ugaritica V, 163 and Duplicates). Part I: Prologue, Instructions II, III, IV, in: L. KOGAN/N. KOSLOVA/S. LOESOV/S. TISCHENKO (eds.), Babel und Bibel 7: Annual of Ancient Near Eastern, Old Testament, and Semitic Studies, Winona Lake, IN, 175–229. OSHIMA, T.M. (2017): How “Mesopotamian” was Ahiqar the Wise? A Search for Ahiqar in Cuneiform Texts, in: A. BERLEJUNG/A.M. MAEIR/A. SCHÜLE (eds.), Wandering Arameans: Arameans Outside Syria, Textual and Archaeological Perspectives (Leipziger Altorientalische Studien 5), Wiesbaden, 141–67. PARPOLA, S. (2005): Il retroterra assiro di Ahiqar, in: R. CONTINI/C. GROTTANELLI (eds.), Saggio Ahiqar: Fortuna e trasformazioni di uno scritto sapienziali. II testo più antico e le sue version, Brescia, 91–112. PARRY, D.W./E. TOV. (2004): The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. Vol. 1: Texts concerned with Religious Law, Leiden. – (2005): The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. Vol. 5: Poetic and Liturgical Texts, Leiden. QUACK. J.F. (2004): Die Lehren des Ani: Ein neuägyptischer Weisheitstext in seinem kulturellen Umfeld, (OBO 141), Freiburg/Göttingen. – (2011): The Interaction of Egyptian and Aramaic Literature, in: O. LIPSCHITS/G.N. KNOPPERS/M. OEMING. (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Age: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, Winona Lake, IN, 375–401. – (2014): [Review of] John D. RAY, Demotic Ostraca and Other Inscriptions from the Sacred Animal Necropolis, North Saqqara, Or, 110–17. REYNOLDS, F. (2003): The Babylonian Correspondence of Esarhaddon and Letters to Assurbanipal and Sin-Šarru-Iškun from Northern and Central Babylonia, (State Archives of Assyria 18), Helsinki. RITNER, R.K. (2003): The Instruction of ˁOnchsheshonqy (P. British Museum 10508), in: W.K. SIMPSON (ed.), The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies, and Poetry3, New Haven, 497–529. SALLABERGER, V. (2010): Skepsis gegenüber väterlicher Weisheit: zum altbabylonischen Dialog zwischen Vater und Sohn, in: H.D. BAKER/E. ROBSON/G. ZÓLYOMI (eds.), Your Praise is Sweet: A Memorial Volume for Jeremy Black from Students, Colleagues and Friends, London, 303–17. SEMINARA, S. (2000): Le Istruzioni di Šūpē-amēlīʼ, UF 32, 487‒529. SHUPAK, N. (1993): Where can Wisdom be Found?: The Sage’s Language in the Bible and in Ancient Egyptian Literature, (OBO 130), Göttingen. – (2011): Straightening the Crooked Stick: The Boundaries of Education in the Ancient Egyptian Wisdom Tradition, Maarav 61, 251–70.

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– (2014): Female Imagery in Proverbs 1–9 in the Light of Egyptian Sources, VT 61, 310–23. SINGER, I. (2006): The Hittites and the Bible Revisited, in A. M. MAEIR/P. DE MIROSCHEDJI (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday, Winona Lake, IN, 2:723–56. THISSEN, H.J. (1984): Die Lehre des Anchscheschonqi (P. BM 10508): Einleitung, Übersetzung, Indices, Bonn. WEIGL, A. (2010): Aramaische Achikar-Sprüche aus Elephantine und die alttestamentliche Weisheitliteratur, Berlin.

Abbreviations: Urk. IV: SETHE, K. and W. HELCK (eds.), Urkunden der 18. Dynastie, Ableitung IV. Heft 1–22, Leipzig 1906–58. Urk. VII: K. SETHE, Historisch-biographische Urkunden des Mittleren Reiches, Abteilung VII, Heft 1, Leipzig 1935. 1QHa: Hodayota scroll from Cave 1 of Qumran.

Two Animal Proverbs in Ahiqar and in Aesop on Human Relationships Mercilessness and Sharing Daniel Bodi Introduction Among several animal proverbs found in the Aramaic Ahiqar papyrus dating from the fifth century B.C.E., there are two epigraphically relatively well-preserved ones that have a direct connection with Greek fables both being found in Aesop’s collection. The first one, no. 92 is about the lion and the stag, and the second one, no. 93 about a donkey that adopts the behavior of a lion by refusing to carry its burden and the nefarious consequences of this attitude. The paper will first analyze the Ahiqar animal proverb no. 92 illustrating the cruel nature of human relationships which is usually compared to Aesop’s Greek fable about the lion and the stag and to the Latin saying, homo homini lupus. However, the Aramaic proverb can be compared to other animal proverbs from the ancient Near East, like the Assyrian proverb about the mice, the mongoose and the snake. The latter, however, has a slightly different sense and is an example of the so-called gallows humor (Galgenhumor). Old Babylonian Mari texts also provide a series of animal proverbs including some about lions showing that this genre is present in the Northwest Semitic domain since the OB times. We will try to establish the probable translation of the Aramaic proverb no. 93 about the donkey refusing to carry its burden while reviewing different approaches, methods and suggestions made by scholars in determining its meaning, giving priority to the context. The Ahiqar papyri containing the story and the proverbs often have the opening and closing lines either completely obliterated by destruction or damaged by humidity. This necessitates a considerable scholarly work in supplying the missing words by consulting all available ancient translations (Syriac, Greek, Ethiopic, Armenian, Slavic, Arabic, Turkish, Romanian and others), making comparisons with proverbs from Akkadian, Hebrew, Greek and Arabic traditions, and taking into accounts the adaptations and subsequent life of these proverbs in the Western literary tradition like the fables of Jean de La Fontaine (1621–1695) “Le Cheval et l’Âne.” In our research, we follow the stance that the story and the proverbs of Ahiqar the Aramean probably had an Akkadian precursor.

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The Ahiqar Fable of the Lion and the Stag Ahiqar’s maxim no. 92 reads as follows:1 ] ‫( אריא יהוה מסמה לאילא בסתר סוירא והו‬183) ‫( ודמה יאשד ובשרה יאכל הא כן פגעהם זי ] אנ[ שא‬184) (183) ʾryʾ yhwh msmh lʾylʾ bstr swyrʾ whw […] (184) wdmh yʾšd wbśrh yʾkl. hʾ kn pgʿ-hm zy [ʾn]šʾ. (183) “The lion hides/makes himself invisible for the stag, in the secrecy of the lair, and he [springs on it and seizes it] (184) and its blood he sheds and its flesh he eats. See, such is the meeting of hu[mans].”

The translation of the proverb depends on the way one understands some of its key terms, e.g., msmh; bstr swyr; wdmh yʾšd// wbśrh yʾkl; hʾ hn; and pgʿ-hm zy [ʾn]šʾ. Below, I am going to discuss these terms in turn. msmh There are three major propositions concerning the meaning of the term msmh: 1: msmh from the root smʾ/smy. JASTROW 1975, 999 gives an example from b.Keth 68a of a D-stem ptc, mesammēʾ where a beggar makes himself blind, in order to simulate blindness he ties up his eye (‫)חמסמח את עינו‬. Since Aramaic ‫ סומא‬means “blind,” the verb ‫מסמה‬, is in effect a D-stem ptc; it should be something like “make (oneself) invisible” (with final h not taken as 3ms suffix but standing for ‫‘ א‬ʾ’ or ‫‘ י‬y’of the root). The D-stem transitivizes a verb and mesammēh would literally mean “blinding” or “making the stag blind” hence “makes himself invisible” or “hiding from someone.” The single reference in JASTROW 1975, 966 to Targum Cant. 5:7, ‫ סומ‬which in D-stem sayyēm ‫ סיים‬also means “to blind,” might represent some personal variation of the translator, probably an ad hoc denominative spelled with a yod just to convey the presence of a vocalic syllable, not of any etymological root-related consonant. Moreover, JASTROW 1975, 980 on ‫[“ סימא‬hidden] treasure” reinforces the idea that the primary meaning of this word is “hide” and that “blind” is just a semantic derivative. L. Kogan2 has found no basic Semitic vocable to convey “blind” and “blindness” except that known in Hebrew ʿiwwēr, Arabic, Ugaritic and other WS idioms (ʿwr). This might mean that the basic meaning of Aramaic SMY (h cannot be the third radical, it is either ʾaleph or yod), is “to hide,” and that the meaning “blind” is just a derived meaning of the internal passive, i.e. “he to whom all is hidden.” Any rapprochement of this kind, however, remains inevitably subjective. This is why one has to find cases of parallel semantic evolution, namely from “hide” to “blind,” whereby etymological polysemy 1

PORTEN/YARDENI 1993, 49, no. 92, ll. 183–84: (183) “The lion would LIE IN WAIT for the stag in the concealment of a HIDING PLACE and he […] (184) and his blood he will shed and his flesh he will eat. Behold, thus is the meeting of the [individ]ual = (mankind).” GRELOT 2001, 526: “Le lion flaire le cerf sous le couvert de l’ombre, et il saute dessus et le saisit, puis il verse son sang et mange sa chair: voilà comment se fait la rencontre des hommes.” 2 KOGAN 2011, 230, section 7.4.5.

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(two meanings that evolved from one basic word) would constitute supportive evidence. Already A. Ungnad (1911, 70) was undecided about the root, stating, “Was ‫מסמה‬ bedeutet, ist unklar. Von ‫‘ מסי‬blind sein’ oder ‫‘ סם‬Gift’ abzuleiten?” The latter option was followed by scholars listed under the following point. 2: Grelot derives msmh from the root smm, “flairer (to scent, sniff out).”3 One may compare Arabic šamma “to smell” and BH sammîm “spice” used as incense,4 where Hebrew s and Arabic š go back, i.e. correspond to the same PS phoneme /ś/. This meaning is followed by Lindenberger5 (assuming that smh is a by-form of *smm) “catches the scent of.” But these words have a known cognate in Aramaic sammāʾ(JA/Syr), “drug, pigment, poison.” Moreover, according to Blau (1977, 67– 119 [99]) in this specific word, given Arabic š, Hebrew would display ś and Aramaic would display s, therefore, they are not necessarily related. 3: Ginsberg (1969, 428) renders msmh with “to lie in wait,” so also Porten–Yardeni (1993, 49) “lie in wait for,” and translates it in Hebrew with ‫[ ארב‬ʾārab] “lie in wait” as in Ps 10:9. They follow Joüon (1934, 85.) who translates with “guetter” “lie in wait for,” tentatively relating it to Arabic šaʾama from the root šʾm “to be unlucky, cause bad luck to befall someone”; the problem is that the Arabic root šʾm differs from smʾ/y.6 bstr swyr “in the secret/concealment of a lair”7 For the first word cf. JA/Syr sitrāʾ, “secret, secrecy,” and BH sēter, “secret, hiding place.” Cf. 1 Sam. 25:20 where Abigail intercepts David, bǝsēter hāhār “by the covert, hidden side of the mountain.” This secret spot spun some rabbinic speculations about Abigail as a “scarlet woman” using her charms in her negotiation with David. In this way they turn the tables, David the aggressor, meets Abigail, perceived as a female predator, deploying her charms and using the device of secrecy;8 swyrʾ is understood as “lair, den,” from context. In the lacuna Grelot restores “and he springs on it and seizes it,” which seems probable. hʾ hn “see, such is,” or “just so” Lindenberger (1983, 61) makes a pertinent rapprochement with Aesop’s fables: “This phrase introduces what could be loosely termed the ‘moral’ of the saying, the explicit application to human affairs… It is similar to the concluding Οὕτως houtōs-clause in many of Aesop’s fables.” Cf. below Aesop’s fable of the deer and the lion.

3

GRELOT 1961, 181 n. 9; IDEM 1972, 435 n. f.; IDEM 2001, 526. BDB, 702, “perfume.” 5 LINDENBERGER 1983, 60; 229 n. 82. 6 For other proposals see, HOFTIJZER/JONGELING 1995, vol. 2, 791; COWLEY 1923, 235 “to devour.” 7 HOFTIJZER/JONGELING 1995, 780. 8 BODI 2013, 79–95. 4

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pgʿ-hm zy [ʾn]šʾ “their meeting, that of humans” The end of this animal proverb has a significant feature of syntax: the genitive relationship expressed with double relative pronouns. The anaphoric possessive suffix – hm 3mpl “their” is followed by the relative pronoun zy introducing the genitive. The rest of the Ahiqar proverbs usually express the genitival relationship by the use of the construct state, avoiding the circumlocution with the relative pronoun zy. “This case is the only exception in the (Ahiqar) proverbs.”9 This feature might be significant and point to an Akkadian precursor of this proverb. The use of an anaphoric/prospective possessive pronoun followed by the relative pronoun is one of the standard ways of expressing a genitival relationship in Akkadian: uzun-šu ša wardim literally “his ear, the one of the slave” meaning “the slave’s ear.”10 This Aramaic proverb compares the predatory character of human relationships to the lion’s catching its pray and devouring it. In the Hebrew Bible the situation exemplified by this proverb is found elaborated in a supplication for deliverance from an enemy, likened to a predator in Ps 10:9 “like a lion in his lair (kǝʾaryēh bǝsukōh), he lies in wait to seize the lowly (yeʾǝrōb laḥaṭōp ʿānî).” Notice the use of comparative (dimyōn) in order to introduce the metaphor of the enemy like a lion hiding in a secret place, ready to tear in Ps 17:12 “He is like (dimyōnô) a lion eager to tear (kǝʾaryēh yiksôp liṭrōp), like a young lion dwelling in secrecy (wǝkikǝpîr yōšēb bǝmistārîm).” This would confirm a connection between wisdom and poetry, where in the composition of psalms references are made to traditional wisdom elements. Furthermore, in the Hebrew Bible, one finds the gradation of going from bad to worse in Amos 5:19 in the description of the Day of Yhwh: “(18) Why do you want the day of Yhwh? It is darkness, not light; (19) as if someone fled from a lion, and was met by a bear; or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall, and was bitten by a snake. (20) Is not the day of Yhwh darkness, not light?” The repetition of the same phrase in vv 18 and 20 shows the presence of the so-called “secondary inclusion,”11 indicating that in the middle a proverb or a proverbial locution is quoted. The lion, bear and snake all refer to Yhwh who is paradoxically presented as a predator, bringing about an unavoidable disaster upon his own people.12 For the Ahiqar saying, the Latin expression homo homini lupus, “a man is a wolf for another man,” captures its sense.13

9

LINDENBERGER 1983, 61. For various genitival constructions in Akkadian see, BODI 2001, 79 n. 5 § 29. 11 For the secondary inclusion in the Gilgamesh Epic see, BODI 2010, 37–38. 12 HEINTZ 2015, 160 n.16, who compares it to Erra IV 75–86, “He who has not died in the struggle will die in the destruction, him who has not died in the destruction, the enemy will plunder. Him whom the enemy has not plundered, the thief will kill. Him whom the thief has not killed, the king’s weapon will hit,” etc. 13 A contemporary version of this saying comes from the movie “Margin Call” (2011) with Kevin Spacey: “A trader is a wolf for another trader.” 10

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Sumerian and Akkadian Animal Fables as Examples of Gallows Humor While no direct precursor for this Ahiqar fable has been found or suggested yet, there are one Sumerian and one Neo-Assyrian proverb that could be adduced as expressing a somewhat similar idea. 1. The Sumerian Proverb am-da kar-ra-ĝu10-ne immal2-e gaba ba-an-ri-en “Once I had escaped the wild bull, the wild cow confronted me.”14

This Sumerian saying expresses a similar idea to that found in an English proverb: “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.” 2. The Neo-Assyrian Proverb of the Mouse, the Mongoose, and the Snake The same type of gallows humor is found in a Neo-Assyrian proverb of the mouse, the mongoose and the snake. piʾāzu la-pa-an šik-ke-e ina ḫur-ri ṣēri e-ru-ba um-ma mušlaḫḫu iš-pur-an-ni šul-mu “A mouse, out of the way of a mongoose, entered a snake’s hole. He said, ‘A snake-charmer sent me, Greetings!’  ”15

Aesop’s Fable of the Stag and the Lion in a Cave Right from the first edition of the Ahiqar’s proverb by Sachau (1911) the Aramaic proverb no. 92 was compared with Aesop’s fable of the Stag and the Lion: Ἔλαφος καὶ λέων ἐν σπηλαίῳ. Ἔλαφος κυνηγοὺς φεύγουσα ἐγένετο κατά τι σπήλαιον, ἐφ' ᾧ λέων ἦν κατοικούµενος, καὶ ἐνταῦθα εἰσιοῦσα καὶ νοµίζουσα κρυβῆναι συνελήφθη ὑπὸ τοῦ λέοντος καὶ ἀναιρουµένη πρὸς ἑαυτὴν ἔφη· Δειλαία ἔγωγε ἥτις ἀνθρώπους φεύγουσα ἐµαυτὴν φηρίῳ παρέδωκα. Οὕτως οἱ τῶν ἀνθρώπων παῖδες διὰ φόβον ἐλάττονος κινδύνου ἑαυτοὺς εἰς µεῖζον κακὸν ἐµβάλλουσιν. The Stag and the Lion A stag was running away from some hunters and found himself at a cave which was the home of the lion. The stag went inside, thinking that he could hide there, but the lion attacked him. As he was being mauled to death by the lion, the stag said to himself, “What a fool I was! By running away from men, I handed myself over to this wild beast! The same is true of human beings: fearing a lesser danger, they throw themselves into even worse disaster.16

14

The Sumerian proverb is referred to according to the line numbers in ETCSL (= The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature – Oxford) http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/proverbs/c.6.1.02.html #c6102.A.2.94.157. Note ALSTER 1997, 64, SP 2.94. Cf. also KRAMER 1959, 125. For the reading immal2 instead of Alster’s šilam, see VELDHUIS 2002, 69–74. 15 LAMBERT 1960, 216–17, ll. 19–20. 16 Greek text in CHAMBRY 1926, 104 and English translation in GIBBS 2002, available online: http://www.mythfolklore.net/aesopica/oxford/ no. 459. PERRY 1952, 351, no. 76.

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The point or the focus of Aesop’s fable is different from that in the Ahiqar saying.17 The Greek one is more of a Galgenhumor “Gallows Humor” of the type we find in the Neo-Assyrian fable of the mongoose, the mouse, and the snake, as well as in some Sumerian fables. The Greek fable describes a situation of going from bad to worse. However, the same animals appear in both Aesop’s fable and in Ahiqar so that the possibility of dependence or assimilation of some elements should not be excluded.

Ahiqar Proverb no. 93 (ll. 184b–186a) Before we establish our own translation of the Ahiqar Aramaic proverb no. 93, we may start with the text established by B. Porten and A. Yardeni followed by their translation: ‫ אריה‬.‫(* מלוכת\ מלונת‬184b) ‫( שבק חמר ולא יסבלנהי ינשא בות מן כנתה ]וינ[ שא‬185) [ .. ‫מובלא זי לא זיל]ה‬ ‫( וטעון גמלא יטעננהי‬186a) “*(184b)…a lion…[his load] (185) an ass left and would not bear it. He shall bear shame from his colleague. [And (OR: And if) he will c]arry the burden which is not hi[s…] (186a) and (OR: then) the load of the camel one will load (on) him.”*18

The first word in the opening line has two possible readings. B. Porten and A. Yardeni proposed to read ‫ מלוכת\מלונת‬where the word mlwkt stands for “sovereignty, royalty” while the alternative mlwnt means “the shed” (cf. in modern Hebrew the related word mlwn “hotel”). However, B. Porten did not offer a translation of the opening line and begins with the second word “lion.” Noticing the problem with the opening line, J. Lindenberger (1983, 61) suggested that the statement about the lion might be unrelated: “If the asterisk is misplaced, (cf. line 93, where this is obviously the case) the reference to the ʾryh could belong to the conclusion of previous saying”. However, this is improbable because the entire proverb is bracketed by a double ʾaleph sign, here rendered with (*). In 1912, M. Seidel offered the following translation of this proverb: “If someone abandons a donkey and does not feed it, he will acquire reproach from his companion.”19 He proposed this translation in light of the double connotation of the verb sbl in ‫ יסבלנהי‬which can either mean “to carry, to support” or “to feed, to nourish.” This translation should be discarded for two reasons. First, the verb sbl appears in Biblical Aramaic in Ezra 6:3 where it means “to carry” or “to lift” even if the object that is carried mentioned in this verse is uncertain: ʾuššōhî mǝsôbǝlîm means either “let its foundations be supported/lifted” as in the French rendering of the TOB: “les fondations sont levées,” or as NRSV has it, “burnt offerings are brought.” The term

17

LINDENBERGER 1983, 60. PORTEN/YARDENI 1993, 49. “*” renders a double ʾaleph sign in the text. 19 SEIDEL 1912, 294–95: “Wer einen Esel verläßt und ihn nicht ernährt, empfängt Schimpf von seinem Genossen.” 18

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mǝsôbǝlîm is parsed as a Poʿlēl passive participle.20 Second, in the immediate context of the Ahiqar proverb, sbl corresponds to nśʾ and seems to be a synonym with “to carry.” One approach followed by scholars in determining the meaning of the Ahiqar Aramaic proverbs is to find corresponding terms in Biblical Aramaic as in the example just mentioned, or to look for dynamic equivalents in Biblical Hebrew, as in the case of the following example. The expression ‫[ ינשא בות מן כנתה‬ynśʾ bwt mn knth], “he shall bear shame from his comrade,” used in the Ahiqar proverb corresponds to an expression found in Ps. 15:3: ‫ֹלא־נ ָ ָ֥שׂ ְא ח ְֶר ָ֗פּ ה עַל־ ְק ֽר ֹב ֹו‬, “nor takes up a reproach against his neighbor.” Here one can quote the translation by D. Baneth, being influenced by Seidel’s previous understanding of the verb sbl. In 1914 he proposed the following translation of the proverb:21 “If someone abandons a donkey and does not feed it (‫)יסבלנהי‬, he will take a burden from another (who feeds it); it will carry an extra (or foreign) burden (besides its own) and thus have to carry a camel’s burden.”

However, the subsequent research did not follow the interpretation of the verb sbl in the meaning “to feed, to nourish.” The meaning “to lift, to carry” was deemed to be more appropriate in this context. In 1913, J. Epstein proposed his translation of the proverb:22 “The one who leaves a donkey and does not burden it, will bear reproach on account of the (donkey’s) companion, for it bears a burden that does not belong to it (is not appropriate)…and burdens it with a camel’s burden.”

By letting the donkey roam free the entire burden falls on another donkey. In order to elucidate the proverb’s reference to “a camel’s burden,” Epstein adduced a series of Talmudic references showing that in rabbinic times, the burden of a camel was considered to be twice the load of a donkey. The passage in Mishnah Baba Meṣia 80a deals with unlawfully overloading an animal. If a man hires an ass and stipulates what kind of load he is going to carry with it, and how much weight he is going to make it carry but ends up increasing its load he is liable. “By how much must he increase it in order to be liable? Symmachus said on R. Meir’s authority: by a sǝʾâ (‫ )סאה‬in the case of a camel, and three qabs in the case of an ass” (Sûmekûs ʾômer miššûm Rabbi Mēʾîr seʾâ

20

BDB, 1103. WILLIAMSON 1985, 71, sbl, Akkadian verb zabālu means “to carry, to deliver” from which comes also the idea “to support, to maintain” hence his translation “let its foundations be retained.” 21 BANETH 1914, 297: “Vernachlässigt jemand einen Esel und füttert ihn nicht (‫)יסבלנהי‬, so wird dieser eine Last nehmen von einem anderen, [der ihn füttert]; er wird also eine fremde Bürde tragen [ausser der eigenen] und so eine Kamelladung zu tragen haben.” 22 EPSTEIN 1913, 228: “Wer ein Esel läßt und ihn nicht belastet, wird Schande davontragen, wegen (‫ )מן‬dessen (des Esels) Genossen, den er eine Last, die nicht ihm gehört (geziemt), tragen läßt…und mit einer Last des Kamels beladet.”

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lǝgāmāl šǝlōšâ qabîn laḥamôr), where a qab is a measure of capacity, one sixth of a seʾâ.23 The following rabbinic story illustrates Epstein’s explanation of the notion of “shame” that the Ahiqar proverb mentions, associated with unfinished task. “R. Hamma son of R. Hanina said: Whoever performs a task without finishing it and another comes and completes it, Scripture ascribes it to the one who completed it as though he had performed it” (b. Soṭa 13b). Moreover, in Sifrê Bamidbar § 135, there is a rabbinic saying, lpwm gmlʾ šḥnʾ, “in accordance with the camel – the burden.” Another rabbinic reference shows that it was a mashal or a proverb. Bereshit Rabbah ch. 19 (beginning) in the name of Rabbi Ishmael: mšl hdywṭ ʾwmr “a mashal said by the common person,” and the passage quoted below from b. Ketubot 67a kdʾmry ʾynšy, “as the people say.” This proverb is found in the Syriac version of Ben Sirach 36:20. “Did not Nakdimon b. Gorion, however, practice charity? Surely it was taught: It was said of Nakdimon b. Gorion that, when he walked from his house to the house of study, woolen clothes were spread beneath his feet and the poor followed him behind and rolled them up! (i.e. taking the stuff away with them). If you wish I might reply: he did it for his own glorification (i.e. such gifts are not regarded as proper charity, because they do not have a single purpose, there is an aspect of double duty, giving charity and deriving personal glorification in public through such an ostentatious act). And –if you prefer I might reply: He did not act as he should have done (i.e. in accordance with his means), as people say, ‘In accordance with the camel is the burden’ (‫[ )לפום גמלא שחנא‬lǝpûm gamlaʾ šiḥnāʾ] (i.e., The richer and the greater the man the more is expected of him).” (b. Ketubot 67a)

Furthermore, H. Ginsberg’s translation dating from 1950 (3rd edition 1969) should also be mentioned: “…a lion…An ass which leaves [its load] and does not carry it shall take a load from its companion and take the b[urde]n which is not its [own with its own] and shall be made to bear the camel’s load.”24

Just like all his predecessors, Ginsberg did not know how to connect the initial mention of the lion with the rest of the proverb. At the end of the line (184b), P. Grelot suggested that the term (ṭʿwnh) “his load” should be restored as the object of the verb šbq “to leave” at the beginning of the following line (185). The probability that we should restore the word ṭeʿûnāʾ, “load,” +h (suffix “his”) is increased by the mention of the same word at the end of line 186a wṭʿwn, “one will load.”25 In 2001 P. Grelot offered his revised translation of this proverb where he tried to connect the mention of the lion with the rest of the proverb:

23

JASTROW 1975, 1307. GINSBERG 1950, 1969, 428. 25 GRELOT 1961, 178–94; IDEM 1972, 107. See also JASTROW 1975, 542. 24

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“(ʾAleph) (1984b) [As] a lioness passed by, (185) a donkey left [his burden] and did not carry it: he will carry a burden heavier than [the one by] his comrade and will carry a burden that was not his (186a) and [it is] with the camel’s burden that he will be burdened (ʾAleph).”26

For the restored word (ṭʿwnh) “his load” in line (184b) which appears at the end of line (186a) (‫ )יטעננהי‬yṭʿnnhy, “he will be laden,” one can adduce a biblical parallel from Gen. 45:17: ‫ְכוּ־ב ֹאוּ אַ ְ֥רצָה כְּנָ ֽעַן׃‬ ‫ו ַ֤יּ ֹא ֶמר פּ ְַרע ֹ ֙ה ֶאל־י ֹו ֵ֔ס ף ֱא ֥מ ֹר ֶא‬ ֖ ‫ל־אַח יָך ֣ז ֹאת ע ֲ֑שׂוּ ַטֽעֲנ ֙וּ ֶאת־בּ ִ ְ֣ע י ְר ֶ֔כ ם וּל‬ ֶ֖ “And the Pharaoh said to Joseph, ‘Say to your brothers, do this, load (ṭaʿanû G-stem imperative 2mpl) your beasts and go to the land of Canaan.’  ”

The Targum Onqelos uses the same Aramaic word as the Hebrew one. P. Grelot’s restoration of (ṭʿwnh) “his load” is followed by most scholars. In the final line (186a), the word yṭʿnnhy “he will be laden,” literally “he (the driver?) will load him,” it is uncertain which verbal stem occurs. In later Aramaic ṭʿn has this meaning in Pǝʿal (G-stem) and Paʿel (D-stem) in Jewish Aramaic, as well as in Afel (Syriac). The verb could also be read as an internal passive. Lindenberger further points out the synonymous parallelism and chiastic structure of the last two clauses: nśʾ // ṭʿn and mwblʾ // ṭʿwn. In spite of this features, the saying as a whole might not necessarily be poetic. Finally, he offers his own translation without connecting the lion with the rest of the proverb:27 “…the lion…The ass abandons his load and will not carry it. He will be shamed by his fellow and will carry a burden which is not his own; he will be laden with a camel’s load.”

The term knth [kinatah] “companion, colleague, comrade, associate” here probably refers to the fellow donkey. The Aramaic term that also appears in Biblical Aramaic (Ezra 4:7), is derived from Akkadian kinātu, kinattu where, however, it refers mainly to a human companion. Lindenberger28 still thinks that in the expression “his fellow” “his” could refer either to the donkey’s driver or to an animal companion. Elsewhere in the proverbs the term knt (line 163) and in other Imperial Aramaic texts always refers to a person, but Syriac shows examples of the non-personal use of the word.29 The ambiguity of the term knth, “his companion, associate,” used for a donkey but usually referring to humans, heightens the metaphor contained in this animal proverb, purporting to offer a critical assessment of human relationships. In the expression in the Ahiqar proverb, ‫“ ינשא בות‬he will bear shame,” the translation of bwt is not certain. It is taken here following M. Seidel as an etymological equivalent of Jewish Aramaic and Syriac bhttʾ, and of Hebrew verb bwš and noun bošet, “shame.” Bwt would be masculine, the final -t belonging to the radical, contrast

26

GRELOT 2001, 526: “[Comme] une lionne passait 185 un âne délaissa son [fardeau] et ne le soulevait plus : il portera un faix supérieur à [celui de] son congénère et il portera le chargement qui n’était pas le sien 186a et [c’est] de la charge du chameau [qu’]on le chargera (ʾAleph).” 27 LINDENBERGER 1983, 62. 28 Ibid., 63. 29 Ibid., 63. KAUFMAN 1974, 64, 145, 157.

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feminine bhttʾ. The word vocalization is uncertain, possibly *bawt (cf. *mawt “death”) or *bût.30 The expression used in the Ahiqar proverb, ‫ינשא בות מן כנתה‬, “he will bear the shame of his comrade,” closely parallels Hos. 10:6b: ‫שׂ ָר ֵ ֖א ל ֵמ ֲעצ ָֽת ֹו‬ ְ ִ ‫שׁנ ָ ֙ה ֶאפ ַ ְ֣ר י ִם י ִ ָ֔קּ ח ְוי ֵ֥ב ֹושׁ י‬ ְ ‫ ָבּ‬, “Ephraim shall be put to shame, and Israel shall be ashamed of its counsel.” In this verse wǝyēbōš occurs in parallelism with šǝnâ, both meaning “shame,” though here the Hebrew expression uses lāqaḥ literally, “take/acquire the shame.” The Hebrew phrase is close enough and is a fitting parallel to the Aramaic expression. The Ahiqar proverb contains an idiomatic expression: ‫[ זי לא זיל]ה‬zî lāʾ zîlah] “which is not his own.” This idiom is also found in an Aramaic papyrus AP 3:15 zy lʾ zyln “which does not belong to us.”31 In 1990, I. Kottsieper offered the following translation of the proverb: 32 “[The death] of a lion. […] The one who leaves an ass to roam and does not feed it, who takes a burden from its comrade; [he ta]kes a burden, that does not belong to [it] [and adds it to its own burden] so that it carries a camel’s load!”

My own translation tries to incorporate the initial mention of the lion with the rest of the proverb: (ʾAleph) (184b) “[With] the royalty of a lion (185) a donkey abandoned his [burden] and did not carry it; he will bear the shame of his comrade and will carry a burden that is not his, (186a) with a camel’s load one will load him (ʾAleph).”

In my understanding of the beginning of the proverb, the donkey adopted the behavior of a lion, and with the royal bearing of a lion he threw away his burden. Metaphorically, it reflects the behavior of humans who refuse to assume their place and rank in society. As seen from the Mari proverb quoted below, in the ancient Near East the lion was perceived as the exact opposite of a load-bearing and work-performing animal.

The Mari Proverb about the Lion Who Does Not Labor Animal proverbs are found in the Mari texts from the Old Babylonian times, dated more precisely to a period between 1815 and 1760 B.C.E. Being in the North-West Semitic geographic, cultural and linguistic area, Mari proverbs are particularly pertinent for the study of Aramaic and Hebrew wisdom traditions. In one Mari letter probably addressed to Yasmaḫ-Addu (A. 2826) by Išar-Līm, a proverb is used while quoting the sheikh’s initial order mentioning the lion and the cultivators. The text reflects the antagonism between two choir leaders at the warlord’s court (ll. 22–23):

30

LINDENBERGER 1983, 62. COWLEY 1923. 32 KOTTSIEPER 1990, 19: “[Der Tod] eines Löwen. […] Der ein Esel laufen läßt und ihn nicht versorgt, der nimmt eine Last von seinem Kollegen; [er ni]mmt eine L[as]t, die nicht [ihm] gehört [zu seiner eigenen Last hinzu] so daß er eine Kamelslast trägt!” 31

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nēšum (UR.MAḪ) ul irriš errēšī ušakla “A lion does not plow, he hinders the plowmen.”33

A. Finet compared this Mari proverb with a Sumerian one about the aurochs or wild bull (Bos primigenius) that could not be tamed and set to agricultural work. Both the lion and the aurochs are symbols for nobility and power. am-e niĝ2-gig ĝešapin-na-kam “As for the aurochs, he is taboo for the plow!”

(SP 3.14)

ĝeš

am-e apin-na du8-du8-u3 “As for the aurochs, he is ever free from the plow!”

(SP 5.6)34

Išar-Līm grasped the meaning of the proverb and its application to him by his overlord Yasmaḫ-Addu. He was compared to a hinderer of cultivation while his adversary Ilšu– ibbīšu though spreading calumnies was supposed to be a good laborer and appeared as the responsible and competent manager of the task he was ordered to perform. The proverb displays the stylistic feature of terseness, simple diction and employs the juxtaposition of words of the same root irriš-errēšī. Such a feature is typical of a mnemonic device. Moreover, the two statements are coordinated by an asyndeton. The general statement of this proverb is taken from the observation of an experience in the life of the laborers in the field. When a lion appears roaming around the field, the laborers flee and stay away from the field from fear of lion’s attack. As a result the labor in the field is not done properly.35

Interpretation of the Ahiqar Proverb no. 93 As seen from the above review of scholarly research on the Ahiqar proverb no. 93, the references to biblical and Talmudic parallels as well as to Akkadian, Syriac, Jewish Aramaic cognates was helpful in determining the individual meaning of words or expressions. The overall interpretation or meaning of the proverb, however, is less assured. The study by M. Weigl suggested having recourse to the well-established principle of paying attention to the immediate context.36 In this particular case the contextual approach appears to be the most helpful one. Ahiqar proverb no. 90 describes how, in his behavior, the scorpion follows his own nature, from which he will not be de-

33

The cuneiform text was initially edited by JEAN 1948, 53–78, further collated by G. Dossin and republished by Finet (1958–1960, 17–32). DURAND 2006, 32. The verb irriš is a G-stem present 3ms from erēšum B (G i/i) “to plow, to cultivate,” “to seed by drilling seed into a furrow by means of a seederplow,” (CAD E, 285); it corresponds to Heb. ḥāraš “to plow, cut,” (BDB, 360), Ug. ḫrṯ, Ar. ḫaraṯa; errēšī “laborers,” oblique pl. case from the noun errēšum “cultivator, tenant farmer,” (CAD E, 304); ušakla (CAD K, 103), kalû 9, šuklû, “to hinder, to keep someone from doing something,” and renders the proverb in the following manner: “a lion does not do farm work – rather he keeps the farm laborers (from doing their job).” 34 ALSTER 1997, 82 and 122 respectively. Cf. also, GORDON 1958, 11–12; FINET 1974, 42. 35 MARZAL 1976, 40. 36 WEIGL 2010.

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terred; no. 91 is too damaged to be reconstructed; no. 92 describes the homo homini lupus nature of human relationships by the fable of the lion who lies in an ambush and kills the stag. The nature of the lion is to be sly and cruel to its fellow animals, a trait of character also found in humans. In light of this homologous series of animal fables, the proverb no. 93 on the donkey who adopts the royal bearing of the lion and refuses to carry his burden probably teaches the necessity of assuming one’s proper place in society and doing one’s assigned share of the work, to remain faithful to one’s nature like the scorpion and not to try to behave like a lion or someone else. The series of these animal proverbs in Ahiqar seem to deal with the nature of human relationships. Ahiqar Proverb no. 90: “The scorpion […] (181) [finds] bread and will not e[a]t [it] [but] a bad thing (he will eat), and for him it is better than what one would feed [him].” Proverb no. 91 (too damaged to be translated). Proverb no. 92: (183) “The lion hides/makes himself invisible for the stag, in the secrecy of the lair, and he [springs on it and seizes it] (184a) and its blood he sheds and its flesh he eats. See, such is the meeting of hu[mans].” Proverb no. 93: (ʾAleph) (184b) “[With] the royalty of a lion (185) a donkey abandoned his [burden] and did not carry it; he will bear the shame of his comrade and will carry a burden that was not his, (186a) with a camel’s load one will load him.” (ʾAleph)

The proverb no. 93 about the donkey that behaves like a lion and refuses to carry his burden describes the consequences of refusing to assume one’s place, responsibilities and assigned role in society. One who refuses to bear his own load might end up having to bear an even heavier burden. The comparison with the behavior of a lion who does not labor seems to be a topos of ancient Near Eastern wisdom as found in one Old Babylonian letter from Mari quoted above (A. 2826). The helpfulness of the contextual approach is seen when compared with the various scholarly proposals for emendation or filling in the missing words ad sensum, or by educated guesses. One such example is P. Grelot’s proposal in 1972 where he suggested translating the beginning of the proverb in the following way:37 “I lion [prowled, whereupon] a donkey abandoned [his load] (mlṣṣ ʾryh mwblh//šbq ḥmr)…”

Here the term mlṣṣ is supplied from the Arabic laṣaṣ, “to engage in robbery, brigandage,” with recourse to Syrian Arabic dialect talaṣṣaṣa, “to prowl, to steal, to maraud.” In light of the contextual approach one sees how the animal proverbs juxtapose two types of human relationships. Instead of the mercilessness and cruelty between humans of the “dog eat dog” type, the proverb of the donkey and the camel’s load teaches responsibility and assuming one’s proper place and rank in the community of humans.

37 GRELOT 1972, 107 no. 10: “Un lion [maraudait, alors] un âne abandonna son [fardeau] et il ne le transportait plus ….”

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The Connection with Aesop’s and Plutarch’s Fables A variation of the same theme is found in Aesop’s fable of the horse who refused to help carry part of a donkey’s heavy load. When the donkey collapsed and died under the weight, the owner forced the horse to carry not only the donkey’s load, but the hide of the dead animal as well. There are several variant versions of this fable. Here are two of them: Version A: The Horse and an Ass: “A man had a horse and an ass. Once when they were on the road, the ass, during the journey, said to the horse: ‘Take some of my burden, if you care for my life.’ The horse ignored him; exhausted from fatigue the ass fell and died. Then the master placed all the burden on the horse, even the donkey’s hide. And the horse said sighing: ‘Ah, unlucky me, what happened to me; Not wanting to carry a light burden, now I carry everything and the hide on top.’ This fable shows that if the great ones collaborate with the small ones, they will both ensure their survival.” 38 Version B: The Ass and the Mule: “A muleteer set forth on a journey, driving before him an ass and a mule, both well laden. The ass, as long as he traveled along the plain, carried his load with ease, but when he began to ascend the steep path of the mountain, felt his load to be more than he could bear. He entreated his companion to relieve him of a small portion, that he might carry home the rest; but the mule paid no attention to the request. The ass shortly afterwards fell down dead under his burden. Not knowing what else to do in so wild a region, the muleteer placed upon the mule the load carried by the ass in addition to his own, and at the top of all placed the hide of the ass, after he had skinned him. The mule, groaning beneath his heavy burden, said to himself: ‘I am treated according to my deserts. If I had only been willing to assist the ass a little in his need, I should not now be bearing, together with his burden, himself as well.’  ” 39

Inspired by Aesop’s Greek fable, H. Gressmann attempted to emend Ahiqar’s Aramaic proverb in the light of it:

38 (A) Ἴππος καὶ ὄνος. Ἄνθρωπός τις εἶχεν ἵππον καὶ ὄνον. Ὁδευόντων δέ, ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ εἶπεν ὁ ὄνος τῷ ἵππῳ· Ἆρον ἐκ τοῦ ἐµοῦ βάρους, εἰ θέλεις εἶναί µε σῶν. Ὁ δὲ οὐκ ἐπείσθη· ὁ δὲ ὄνος πεσὼν ἐκ τοῦ κόπου ἐτελεύτησε. Τοῦ δὲ δεσπότου πάντα ἐπιθέντος αὐτῷ καὶ αὐτὴν τὴν τοῦ ὄνου δοράν, θρηνῶν ὁ ἵππος ἐβόα· Οἴµοι τῷ παναθλίῳ, τί µοι συνέβη τῷ ταλαιπώρῳ; µὴ θελήσας γὰρ µικρὸν βάρος λαβεῖν, ἰδοῦ ἅπαντα βαστάζω, καὶ τὸ δέρµα. Ὁ µῦθος δηλοῖ ὅτι τοῖς µικροῖς οἱ µεγάλοι συγκοινωνοῦντες οἱ ἀµφότεροι σωθήσονται ἐν βίῳ. (Chambry 141 (http://mercure.fltr.ucl.ac.be/Hodoi/concordances/esope_101a150_tot/lecture/ 41.htm) (consulted 13/03/2016). 39 (B) Ὄνος καὶ ἡµίονος. Ὀνηλάτης ἐπιθεὶς ὄνῳ καὶ ἡµιόνῳ γόµους ἤλαυνεν. Ὁ δὲ ὄνος, µέχρι µὲν πεδίον ἦν, ἀντεῖχε πρὸς τὸ βάρος. Ὡς δὲ ἐγένοντο κατά τι ὄρος, ὑποφέρειν µὴ δυνάµενος παρεκάλει τὴν ἡµίονον µέρος τι τοῦ γόµου αὐτοῦ προσδέξασθαι, ἵνα τὸ λοιπὸν αὐτὸς διακοµίσαι δυνήσηται. Τῆς δὲ παρ' οὐδὲν θεµένης αὐτοῦ τοὺς λόγους, ὁ µὲν κατακρηµνισθεὶς διερράγη. Ὁ δὲ ὀνηλάτης ἀπορῶν ὅ τι ποιήσει, οὐ µόνον τοῦ ὄνου τὸν γόµον τῇ ἡµιόνῳ προσέθηκεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν ὄνον ἐκδείρας ἐπεσώρευσε. Καὶ ἣ οὐ µετρίως καταπονηθεῖσα ἔφη πρὸς αὑτήν· Δίκαια πέπονθα· εἰ γὰρ παρακαλοῦντι τῷ ὄνῳ µικρὰ κουφίσαι ἐπείσθην, οὐκ ἂν νῦν µετὰ τῶν φορτίων αὐτοῦ καὶ αὐτὸν ἔφερον. Οὕτω καὶ τῶν δανειστῶν ἔνιοι διὰ φιλαργυρίαν, ἵνα µικρὰ τοῖς χρεώσταις µὴ παράσχωσι, πολλάκις καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ κεφάλαιον ἀπολλῦσιν. http://mythfolklore.net/aesopica/chambry/141.htm (consulted 20/09/2016). PERRY 1952, 392 no. 181.

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“…lion…[while?] the donkey abandoned it and did not carry it, he (i.e., the donkey’s owner) took the burden from its (dead?) companion and [pla]ced the lo[ad] upon it, that did not belong to [it], and so it had to carry the camel’s load too.”40

However, the Aramaic Ahiqar proverb makes no mention of the owner or of a dead companion. The Greek historian Plutarch (46–120 C.E.), in his Morals, has a version featuring an ox and a camel. He refers to it in the course of his discussion on “The Rules for the Preservation of Health” saying that excessive exertions of the mind and incessant intellectual pursuits may put the rest of the body in distress. “But, as the ox said to his fellow-servant the camel, when he refused to ease him of his burthen, ‘It won’t be long before you carry my burthen and me too’: which fell out to be true, when the ox died. So it happens to the mind, when it refuses that little relaxation and comfort which it needs in its labor for a little while after a fever or vertigo seizes us, and then reading, discoursing, and disputing must be laid aside, and it is forced to partake of the body’s distemper.”41

In the fables of Jean de La Fontaine (1621–1695) “Le Cheval et l’Âne” (livre VI, fable 16), one finds a beautiful poetic rendition of the version A of Aesop’s fable about the horse and the ass.42

The Transmission of the Fable from the Ancient Near East to Ancient Greece According to M. Trédé, it seems that Greece borrowed the animal proverbs and fables from the ancient Near East in the eighth century B.C.E. This is confirmed by the presence of the first Greek fable in Hesiod’s Works and Days, a composition that has close links with ancient Near Eastern wisdom sources.43 However, a massive use of animal fables begins with the work associated with Aesop. He is a Greek fabulist whose historicity cannot be ascertained. This feature is comparable to Homer, the legendary bard of the Greek heroic epics, the Odyssey and the Iliad, and to Ahiqar the wise Aramean counselor of Assyrian kings associated with the story and the proverbs under his name,

40

GRESSMANN 1929, 457: “…Löwe…[weil?] der Esel es unterlassen und nicht getragen hatte nahm er (d. h. sein Herr), die Bürde von seinem (toten?) Genossen und [leg]te ihm die La[st] auf, die nicht [sein] war, und so mußte er auch die Tracht des Kamels tragen.” For criticism of this emendation, see LINDENBERGER 1983, 230 n. 92. 41 http://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/plutarch-the-morals-vol-1 (consulted on 20/09/2016). 42 LA FONTAINE 2002, 194–95: “En ce monde il se faut l’un l’autre secourir. Si ton voisin vient à mourir, c’est sur toi que le fardeau tombe. ‘Un Âne accompagnait un Cheval peu courtois, celui-ci ne portant que son simple harnois, et le pauvre Baudet si chargé qu’il succombe. Il pria le Cheval de l’aider quelque peu: Autrement il mourrait devant qu’être (1) à la ville. La prière, dit-il, n’en est pas incivile: (2) Moitié de ce fardeau ne vous sera que jeu. Le Cheval refusa, fit une pétarade; (3) Tant qu’il vit sous le faix mourir son camarade, Et reconnut qu’il avait tort. Du Baudet, en cette aventure, on lui fit porter la voiture, (4) et la peau par-dessus encor.’ [(1)avant d’être; (2)impoli; (3)ruade; accompagnée de pets (4)la charge des charrettes].” 43 TRÉDÉ 2005, 842; WEST 1997, 319 and 502–505.

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or Moses associated with the Torah and Hebrew legal traditions. These are basically famous legendary figures of Antiquity to whom the traditions have associated different literary genres, but about whose precise historical existence nothing can be said with any degree of certainty.44 Such figures should probably be explained as an ancient way of “canonizing” certain literary tradition and making a particular genre authoritative. Beginning with the fifth century B.C.E., Aesop’s fables stand for a particular genre of short stories with animals as protagonists that may contain a teaching and a moral. The name of Aesop appears in the fifth century B.C.E. in the work of an Athenian author of satires, Aristophanes (448–380), who designates the fable as Aesop’s creation (Wasps, v. 1466) as well as in Herodotus (485–425 B.C.E.), (Histories II, 134) who states that Aesop, the fabulist, comes from Thrace, a region close to the Black Sea. Ever since, Aesop is perceived as the father of the genre called fable. According to Plato, Socrates would have put in verse form some of Aesop’s fables (Phaedon, 61b).45 The Greek and Latin references collected by Ben Edwin Perry in Aesopica (1952: 211–241), allow for a number of observations. For Aristotle (384–322 B.C.E.) and other subsequent philosophers, the fables, as a popular literary genre, giving speech to animals and making them utter paradoxical sayings, were initially foreign to the Greek world. Originally, the fables were transmitted orally. The first collection of historically attested Aesop’s fables was composed two hundred years after his death, in the fourth century B.C.E. by Demetrios of Phaleron, belonging to the school of Aristotle. This collection was lost but it generated numerous versions. The most important one is the collection called Augustana,46 with more than 500 fables, all in prose. Perry calls “Aesopic” any fable that has been associated with Aesop by tradition or is written in his style (p. viii). Perry’s collection lists 471 Greek fables. Once the fables became Greek and were collected and written down as prose compositions they were appreciated as an exercise in logic and political reflection.47 Philostratus (172–250 C.E.), the sophist, argued that the fable merits to be taken seriously as a discourse that tells the truth as long as it admits that it is false. Philostratus was aware that by assuming the role of the humans, the animals in the fables stand for particular human traits that become types. He identified four such types: the royal 44

BODI 2015. Beginning with the fifth century B.C.E. a number of legendary elements are associated with Aesop’s imaginary biography. Some pretend that he was a slave on Samos and others that he was a counselor of the famous King Croesus from Lydia, in Asia Minor. Alexis of Thurium, a comic poet from 350 B.C.E., and Plutarch a Greek biographer and historian of the first and second centuries C.E., in his Banquet of the Seven Sages depict him in a dialogue with the Athenian legislator, Solon (640–559 B.C.E.) and with other famous Greek sages. The Life of Aesop dating from the first century C.E. tells an episodic, highly fictional version of his life, including the traditional description of him as a strikingly ugly slave (δοῦλος) who by his cleverness acquires freedom and becomes an adviser to kings and city-states. 45 Phaedon 61b: “After that, I considered, that a true poet ought not only to make discourses in verse but likewise fable (µύθους). Now finding myself not disposed to invent new fables (µύθους), I applied myself to those of Aesop, and turned those into verse, that came first into my mind.” 46 ZEFIROPOULOS 2001. 47 TARDIEU 2001/2002, 603.

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(βασιλικά [basilika]), the simple (ευήθη [euēthē]), the astute (κοµψα [kompsa]), and the inane (ακέραια [akeraia]). Under these four human character traits one recognizes the four main animal protagonists of Aesop’s fables, the lion, the wolf, the fox and the donkey.48 Aesop did not write all the fables nor invented all those that are attributed to him. It is probable that the tradition at the moment of writing down various animal stories that circulated in an oral form, presenting some common features, placed them under Aesop’s patronage using his name. When studying Aesop’s fables one should mention those that are traditionally attributed to him49 but also take into the account the work entitled the Life of Aesop.50 The G recension of this work dating from the first century C.E., and the numerous versions and elaborations of his fictional biography in Greek, from the fourth century onwards, show how it was revised in order to preface Aesop’s fables. In the Greek context the fable has a different role than in the Semitic one. Throughout the centuries, in the Greek world the fable keeps changing its social setting and appeal. It acquires a subversive role as a satire of the established social order and thwarted human relationships. Yet even in the Greco-Roman world, the fable continues being closely associated with teaching and education. The non-Greek character of the fables, their capacity to thrive in popular circles and their role in criticizing social order are also traits that appear in the Life of Aesop in the G text. This work traces a historical geography of the fable, following the different places where the legendary author of the fables is supposed to have lived and travelled. It also reflects the different roles, settings, and social contexts the fable held in the Greek world and society. In this text Aesop starts in Phrygia, in west central part of Asia Minor, land of slaves, his initial homeland. Then other regions are mentioned like the island of Samos in the Aegean where Aesop was sold as a slave. There he enters in contact with a professional philosopher running a school in Samos. Entrusted to negotiate a peace treaty between Samos and Croesus, the king of Lydia, the former slave assumed the role of a vizier and a diplomat. He was commissioned to compose for the king stories and fables (λόγυς και µύθουϛ [logous kai muthous]) “that are read even today” and to deposit a collection in the palace library. The romanticized fictional biography of Aesop’s Life makes him travel to Babylonia and Egypt, stages of the fable’s travel through the then inhabited world as a mirror for princes (Fürstenspiegel) and wisdom for kings. It finally brings Aesop to Delphi, the cultural and religious center of Greece, where he is transformed into a precursor of Socrates. As the opposition to his subversive teachings mounts, he is forced to commit suicide. Aesop’s end, both tragic and heroic, underlines the social function of the fable as a critique of the established order and power. Placed under the aegis of Aesop, a slave, the fable serves to educate and instruct the weak and the oppressed while through its moral it denounces the foibles of the rich and powerful. The Life of Aesop also contains episodes de-

48

Ibid., 608. CHAMBRY 1925/1926, 1927; LOAYZA 1995. 50 What follows is based on Perry (1952, 211–41) and Tardieu (2001–2002, 603–13; 2002–2003, 581–68). 49

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scribing the way he commits a sacrilege, deriding the production and scope of Aesop’s fables which was deemed incompatible with proper academic creation and teaching. The Life Aesop carries a warning: the one who through reason and wisdom calls into question the establishment by criticizing its order and human relationships as unjust and oppressive, may expect to face fierce opposition that may lead him to a forced suicide. In ancient Greece the socially weak one tells fables; this genre is used by the lower social strata. It is the literature of the low, of the oppressed and the slaves. It is a traditional popular wisdom that criticizes the established order and the failings of the powerful. M. Tardieu (2002–2003, 604) points out the relatively limited number of testimonies to the use of fables from the late Hellenistic and Roman times. Among the Stoic, Epicurian and various Platonic philosophers, there is practically no reference to the fables. This is paradoxical in view of the fact that at that time Aesop’s fables were an obligatory part of the curriculum in learning how to read and write, the grammar, rhetoric, and acquiring civil morals. Plotinus (205–270 C.E.) does not refer to them, neither do the late Hellenistic Greek philosophers like Proclus of Constantinople and Damascius, both from the fifth century C.E. Along with the contempt of these philosophers for a minor genre suited mainly for the education of children, was the fact that the Life of Aesop in the episodes dealing with his stay on Samos (§§ 28–100), contains a satire of the professionals of education, the philosophers and the grammarians. The consequence was a collective rejection of Aesop’s fables, relegating them to school exercises of early childhood. The Roman teacher of rhetoric Quintilian (30–96 C.E.), in his Institutes of Oratory places Aesop’s fables just barely above the children stories of young nannies (fabulis nutricularum), and limits their influence to unrefined and uneducated persons (animos rusticorum et imperitorum).51 Some philosophers of the fifth century C.E., like Macrobius in (Somnium Scipionis I 1:10), go even further by emitting a negative judgment about the fable taxing it of being an outright lie, favoring falsehood by using falsity (falso per falsum). In the myth about the day when wisdom was distributed, the god Hermes gave to his rich devotees various arts and disciplines like philosophy, astronomy, music, epics, and rhetoric. Since he gave everything away there was nothing left for poor Aesop. Hermes told him to take for himself what he has learned from his nannies on the Olympus, the art of telling stories (µυθολογία [mythologia]). Aesop’s fables represent what is left in the house of wisdom once all other aspects of philosophy were given away. The apparent ostracism that befell Aesop’s fables in the Greco-Roman world in late Antiquity seems to continue, although at a smaller scale, but for the same reasons, among the Church Fathers. The corpus established by Perry does not mention any other textual witness than the Christian apologist of Syrian origin, Tatian (120–173 C.E.). In his Discourse to the Greeks (§ 34 = test. 51 Perry), Tatian qualifies Aesop as a “liar” (ψευδολόγος [pseudologos]), because his fable is defined in the rhetorical tradition as a “false discourse” (λόγος ψευδής [logous pseudēs]) construed in the image of truth (second century C.E., Aelius Theon, test. 103 Perry). Basil, the bishop of Cesarea (329–379 C.E.), mentions the fable of the crayfish and its mother. Aesop’s 51

PERRY 1952, testimonies 97–98.

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fables appear in Jerome (347–420 C.E.) who, however, confounds their titles but they are not mentioned by Origen and Augustin. A study of Christian authors in late Antiquity faced with the Classical Greek and late Hellenistic cultures, draws a list of quotations from the classics but does not mention a single fable of Aesop.52 The educated Christians, converted to the new faith do not seem to appreciate any more than the Greco-Roman philosophers the continuous provocations of the Life of Aesop and his fables.53

Conclusion Two animal proverbs in the Aramaic Ahiqar, nos. 92 and 93 are found among Aesop’s animal fables, attesting to some form of borrowing. The proverb about the lion and the stag was repeated in a straightforward manner in Aesop with little modification. The second Ahiqar proverb no. 93 about the donkey refusing to bear its burden made the emphasis on assuming one’s responsibility and place in society. In Aesop’s, Plutarch’s and Jean de La Fontaine’s animal fables, however, a significant modification occurred stressing the necessity of mutual help and sharing. Aesop’s fables are the connecting link between the Aramaic Ahiqar and the subsequent Western tradition of animal fables. The passage of the proverbs from the ancient Near East to the Ancient Greece often entailed the amplification and elaboration of their meaning.

Bibliography ALSTER, B. (1997): Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections, vol. I and II, Bethesda, MD. BANETH, D. H. (1914): Bemerkungen zu den Achikarpapyri, OLZ 17/7, 295–99. BLAU, J. (1977): ‘Weak’ Phonetic Change and the Hebrew śîn, HAR 1, 67–119. BODI, D. (2001): Petite grammaire d’akkadien à l’usage des débutants, Paris. – (2006): Une locution proverbiale à Mari, El-Amarna et dans la Bible, JA 294, 39–52. – (2010): The Demise of the Warlord: A New Look at the David Story (Hebrew Bible Monographs 26), Sheffield. – (2011): The Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar and Some Akkadian and Hebrew Parallels, Aliento 2, 13– 25. – (2013): The Numerical Sequence x/x+1 in Aramaic Ahiqar Proverbs and in Ancient Near Eastern Literature, Aliento 4, 17–43. – ed. (2013): Abigail, Wife of David and Other Ancient Oriental Women (Hebrew Bible Monographs 60), Sheffield. – (2015): Traditional Claims of an Illustrious Ancestor in Craftsmanship and in Wisdom, in: A. ARCHI (ed.), Tradition and Innovation (57th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, University of Rome - La Sapienza, July 4–8, 2011), Winona Lake, IN, 311–20. – (2015): Cross-Cultural Transformations of Animals Proverbs (Sumer, Mari, Hebrew Bible, Aramaic Ahiqar and Aesop’s Fables), Aliento 6, 61–112. 52 53

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CHAMBRY, E. ed. (1925–1926): Ésope, Fables, Paris. COWLEY, A. (1923): Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century BC, Oxford (1967 reprint: Osnabrück). DORIVAL, G. (2000): Les Chrétiens de l’Antiquité face à la culture classique et à l’hellénisme, Revues des Sciences Religieuses 74, 419–36. DURAND, J.-M. (2006): Dictons et proverbes à l’époque amorrite, JA 294, 3–38. FINET, A. (1958–1960): Une lettre de récrimination au vice-roi de Mari, Iasmaḫ-Addu, Annuaire de l’Institut de Philologie et d’Histoire Orientales et Slaves 15, 17–32. – (1974): Citations littéraires dans la correspondance de Mari, RA 68, 35–47. GIBBS, L. (2002): Aesop’s Fables (World’s Classics), Oxford. (http://www.mythfolklore.net/ aesopica/oxford/). GINSBERG, H.L. (1969): Aramaic Proverbs and Precepts, in: J. B. PRITCHARD (ed.), Ancient Near Texts Relating to the Old Testament, (3rd ed.), Princeton. 427–30. GOODWIN, W.W. (1987): Plutarch’s Morals, Boston. GORDON, E.I. (1958): Sumerian Animal Proverbs and Fables: ‘Collection Five,’ JCS 12, 1–21; 43–75. – (1968): Sumerian Proverbs. Glimpses of Everyday Life in Ancient Mesopotamia, New York. GRELOT, P. (1961): Les Proverbes araméens d’Aḥîqar, RB 68, 178–94. – (1972): Documents araméens d’Égypte, (Littératures anciennes du Proche-Orient 5), Paris. – (2001): Les Proverbes araméens d’Aḥîqar, RB 198, 511–28. GRESSMANN H. (1929): Altorientalische Texte zum Alten Testament, Berlin. HEINTZ, J.-G. (2015): Prophétisme et alliance: Des Archives Royales de Mari à la Bible hébraïque, OBO 271), Fribourg/Göttingen. HOFTIJZER, J./K. JONGELING (1995): Dictionary of North-West Semitic Inscriptions, 2 vols., Leiden. JASTROW, M. (1975): A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babvli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature, New York. JEAN, CH.-F. (1948): Lettres de Mari IV, transcrites et traduites, RA 42, 53–78. JOÜON, P. P. (1934): Notes grammaticales, lexicographiques et philologiques sur les papyrus araméens d’Égypte, MUSJ 18, 1–89. KAUFMAN, S. A. (1974): The Akkadian Influence on Aramaic, (Assyriological Studies19), Chicago. KOGAN, L. (2011): Proto-Semitic Lexicon, in: E. WAIGAND (ed.), The Semitic Languages, (Handbuch zur Sprach- und Kommunikation-Wissenschaft 36), Berlin. 179–258. KOTTSIEPER, I. (1990): Die Sprache der Ahiqarsprüche, (BZAW 194), Berlin. KRAMER, S. N. (1959): History Begins at Sumer, Garden City. DE LA FONTAINE, J. (2002): Fables, (Preface J.-C. Darmon), Paris. LAMBERT, W. G. (1960): Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford. LINDENBERGER, J. M. (1983): The Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar, Baltimore. LOAYZA, D. ed. (1995): Ésope, Fables, Paris. MARZAL, A. (1976): Gleanings from the Wisdom of Mari, (Studia Pohl 11), Rome. PERRY, B. E. (1952): Aesopica: A Series of Texts Relating to Aesop or Ascribed to him or Closely Connected with the Literary Tradition that Bears his Name. Vol. 1, Greek and Latin Texts / Collected and Critically Edited, in Part Translated from Oriental Languages, with a Commentary and Historical Essay, Urbana. PLUTARCH: Morals, (Translated from the Greek by Several Hands. Corrected and Revised by W. W. Goodwin, Boston, 1878). PORTEN, B./A. YARDENI eds. (1993): Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, Newly Copied, Edited and Translated into English. 3: Literature, Accounts, Lists, Jerusalem. SACHAU, E. (1911): Aramäische Papyrus und Ostraca au seiner jüdischen militärischen Kolonie zu Elephantine, 2 vols., Leipzig. SEIDEL, M. (1912): Bemerkungen zu den aramäische Papyrus und Ostraka aus Elephantine, ZAW 32, 292–98. TARDIEU, M. (2001–2002): Ésope grec, juif, manichéen, Annuaire du Collège de France 102, 603–13.

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– (2002–2003): Vie et fables d’Ésope, de l’Égypte à l’Asie Centrale, Annuaire du Collège de France 103, 581–89. TREDE, M. (2009): Ésope, in: J. LECLANT (ed.), Dictionnaire de l’Antiquité, Paris. UNGNAD, A. (1911): Aramäische Papyrus aus Elephantine, Leipzig. VERDHUIS, N. (2002): dnin-ka6; immal/šilam; and še21.d, JCS 54, 67–77. WEIGL, M. (2010): Die aramäischen Achikar-Sprüche aus Elephantine und die alttestamentliche Weisheitsliteratur, (BZAW 399), Berlin/New York. WEST, M. L. (1997): The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth, Oxford: Clarendon. WILLIAMSON, H. G. M. (1985): Ezra, Nehemiah, (Word Biblical Commentary 16), Waco, TX. ZEFIROPOULOS, C. A. (2001): Ethics of Aesop’s Fables: The Augustana Collection, Leiden.

An Almost Irresistible Target Parodying the Theodicy in Babylonian Literature Enrique Jiménez The poem that has come to be known as the Babylonian Theodicy is probably the most learned composition in the long history of Mesopotamian literature. Its complexity lies, on the one hand, in its highly sophisticated structure and, on the other, in its peculiar lexicon. Structurally, the poem consists of twenty-seven stanzas, all of which contain exactly 11 lines that begin with the same syllable. When read vertically, the twentyseven first syllables form an acrostic stating the name and profession of the poem’s author (the exorcist Saggil-kīn-ubbib). This structure alone forces the poet to use the Akkadian lexicon creatively: thus, the common adverb kīšāma, “certainly,” is written kāšāme for the first and only time in the Theodicy’s ka-strophe (line 208);1 and in line 275 the Akkadian conjunction u is strangely written ú on the requirement of the acrostic. The Theodicy is composed in the same 2||2 meter that is used in most Akkadian poetry;2 however, when compared with other Akkadian poems, the use of this meter in the Theodicy stands out for its homogeneity. This homogeneity can be seen at two levels: at the level of the strophe, parallelism between the two lines of a couplet is far more common in the Theodicy than anywhere else in Akkadian literature.3 At the level of the verse, almost every line of the Theodicy has four metric feet divided by a caesura; three-foot verses, which are very common in other texts, are almost entirely absent from the Theodicy.4 This extreme regularity was also evident to ancient scribes, since in some of the Babylonian manuscripts of the text each verse is divided into four boxes, each containing one metrical foot.5 Each of these metrical units usually consists of a single word, although genitive chains and other phrases also occur. Elsewhere in 1

The word is subsequently explained as kīšāma in the commentary, BM 66882+ rev 13′ (edited in JIMÉNEZ 2017b). 2 On the 2||2 verse, see JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 72–76, with further bibliography. 3 According to DONALD 1966, 315, no fewer than 62% of the Theodicy is written in parallel stichoi. In other wisdom poems the percentage is considerably lower (46% in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, 48% in the Šamaš Hymn), whereas in narrative poetry parallelism is far less common (33% in Erra and Išum V, 24% in Gilgameš XI, 20% in Enūma eliš IV). 4 Only three lines in the Theodicy seem to have three feet (LAMBERT 1960, 66), which represents only around 1% of the preserved lines of the poem. This figure contrasts e.g. with the 17% of 1||2 verses in Enuma eliš (LAMBERT 2013, 24), and the 12.5% of Ludlul bēl nēmeqi I. 5 This is, in fact, the main piece of evidence for the argument that the emic conception of the Akkadian verse included its division into four units.

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Akkadian poetry, the meter forces Akkadian poets to some succinctness, which occasionally makes it difficult to understand what exactly is meant. This effect of the Akkadian meter on the poetic diction finds its epitome in the Theodicy: in this poem, meaning often bears the brunt of the structural and formal constraints.6 Paraphrasing Kurt Witte’s famous definition of Homeric language as “ein Gebilde des epischen Verses,”7 it is no exaggeration to state that the poetic diction of the Theodicy is merely a creation of its meter. The distinct lexicon of the Theodicy further contributes to the complexity of the poem. First, the poet occasional uses recherché words to replace common nouns. Thus, the learned word qadmu, literally “former,” is used in line 276 instead of the common ilu, “god”; the regular divine names Enlil and Ea are replaced by the obscure Narru and Zulummar in lines 276–77. In both cases the substitutions are not motivated by the meter, but simply by the desire of the author to use a more elevated language. More frequently, the impression of elevated language is achieved by means of common words with specialized meanings, which are elsewhere unusual or unattested. Thus, the word šibqū, which usually has negative connotations in Akkadian (“plot” or “trick”),8 is repeatedly used in the Theodicy with a neutral meaning (“plan,” in lines 82 and 265). The verse “Pay attention to me, my friend, learn my plot!” (utaqqam-ma ibrī limad šibqīy[a], line 265) must have sounded as startling to Babylonian ears as “An awful rule, and right supremacy” (The Taming of the Shrew V.ii.108) does to a modern English audience. The difference, however, is that the language of the Theodicy is deliberately made strange, archaizing but not archaic. These two lexical hurdles (rare words and common words with rare meanings) are the reason why the Theodicy is one of the very few literary texts from ancient Mesopotamia that received an ancient commentary.9 Admittedly, one of the main concerns of the commentary was to establish that, whenever mentioned, every time the word “sage” (mūdû) appeared in the text, it referred to the “scribe.”10 However, the commentary also represents a serious attempt to understand the difficult text of the Theodicy: the exegete who composed it found himself in many a quandary when confronted 6

As stated by W. G. Lambert (1960, 65–66), “[t]he difficulties which the work [sc. the Theodicy] presents at a first reading are due largely to the constricting influence of metre. Some of the lines are epigrammatic to the extent that their meaning only becomes clear after careful study.” 7 WITTE 1913, 2214. 8 See KIENAST 1999, 57 and IDEM 2003, 19. 9 On the commentary on the Theodicy (BM 66882+), see the edition by JIMÉNEZ 2017b, with further bibliography. Only three other Akkadian literary texts received commentaries: Enūma eliš, Ludlul bēl nemeqi, and the Prayer to Marduk 2 (CCP 1.1, CCP 1.3, and CCP 1.5, respectively). The two commentaries on Enūma eliš are only marginally concerned with philological matters (see FRAHM/JIMÉNEZ 2016). In the case of the exegetical treatises on Ludlul bēl nēmeqi and the Prayer to Marduk 2, the rare lexicon used by both poems meant that philology is the main focus of their commentaries. 10 In fact, the equation “  ‘sage’ means ‘scribe’  ” is given no fewer than five times in the commentary: BM 66882+ obv 3 and rev 9′ (mūdû, “sage”), 12′ (emqu, “wise”), 17′ (palkû, “wide-open,” referring to the intelligence), and 19′–20′ (kitmusu, “heaper”). Compare also rev 10′: “  ‘fowler’ (usandû) means ‘scribe.’  ” On the interest of the scribes to identify themselves as the “wise” men, see FRAHM 2011, 120.

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with some of the poem’s words. Whereas for uncommon words he could simply adduce evidence from synonym lists,11 in the cases of common words with specialized meanings he could only offer alternative interpretations and leave the question open. Thus, in rev 9′ (collated): [mu-d]u-u : tup-šar-ri : [m]u-du-u : d⸢é*-a⸣ ⸢:⸣ ⸢uz⸣*-na-ka dIDIM u ddam-ki-an-n[a apkal nēmeqi o o o o] “[Sag]e” (refers to a) scribe; “[s]age” (refers to) Ea, (as in the line) “Your ears are Ea and Damkin[a, scholar(s) of wisdom …]”

In this entry, the exegete was confronted with a common word, “sage” (mūdû). What he tried to explain, therefore, was not its meaning, but rather to whom it referred, i.e. the tenor of the metonym. It may refer to the scribe, he argued: as mentioned above, such adjectives are often said to be predicated of the scribal art in this commentary. However, it might also be a metonym for the god of wisdom, Ea, who, in a line from a syncretistic hymn to Ninurta cited by the exegete, is said to be the “ears” (uznu, which in Akkadian also means “intelligence”) of that god.12 The commentary thus gives evidence for two alternative interpretations, and the question is left unsettled. The entry on the word mūdû shows that the language of the Theodicy was obscure also for the Mesopotamians, at least by the second half of the first millennium B.C.E.,13 and that they also struggled to understand its meaning and allusions. Its complex syntax, rare vocabulary and neologisms surely contributed to its popularity among the scribal elite, a popularity that is most readily seen in the large number of manuscripts in which the text is preserved and in the interest of the exegetes in identifying themselves as the “sage” often mentioned in the text. As far as can be ascertained, the Theodicy did not play a role in elementary education:14 it is therefore no surprise that it is hardly ever quoted in Mesopotamian letters15 and commentaries.16 It was a text reserved exclusively for initiates.17 The Theodicy was composed at a time when learned literature was in vogue. The text’s ancient title, viz. its incipit (āš[i]š [o o o] gana luqbīka, “Collector [of wisdom]! Come, let me talk to you!”), is mentioned in a paragraph of the Catalogue of Texts and 11

See e.g. BM 66882+, 16, which quotes “in vertical” Malku IV 194–98. The quoted line, previously unidentified, is KAR 102+ obv 21′ (edition in ANNUS 2002, 205): uznā(GEŠTUmin)-ka dé-a ddam-ki-na apkal(ABGAL) né-me-qí [o o o o], “Your (sc. Ninurta’s) ears are Ea (and) Damkina, scholars(s) of wisdom […].” 13 On the composition date of the commentary on the Theodicy, see JIMÉNEZ 2017b. 14 Not a single extract from the Theodicy has ever been identified on elementary school tablets, a fact that contrasts with the frequency with which similar poems, such as Ludlul bēl nēmeqi and the Counsels of Wisdom, are cited: see the index in GESCHE 2001, 806–20. 15 Line 68 may be quoted in SAA 10, 196 rev 14 (see PARPOLA 1983, 130); the poorly preserved § xvi may be cited in SAA 10, 294 rev 30 (see JIMÉNEZ 2014, 103–104). 16 Not a single certain quotation from the Theodicy has yet been detected in Mesopotamian commentaries. 17 This complexity finds a close parallel in the Book of Job, whose obscure language led 12thcentury scholar Abraham ibn Ezra to the conclusion that the book was a Hebrew translation from an original in some other language: this explains, he argued, why “it is difficult to interpret it, as it often happens with translations” (GÓMEZ ARANDA 2004, 22). 12

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Authors, according to which the poem was composed during the time of king Adadapla-iddina (1068–1047 B.C.E.).18 This information is also given in the Uruk List of Kings and Scholars, a text in which scholars from the past are paired with kings under whose reign they ostensibly worked, and according to which Esagil-kīn-ubbib, author of the Theodicy, was the scholar of king Adad-apla-iddina.19 The reign of this monarch, which was politically rather unimportant, was something of a golden age for Mesopotamian literature: according to Mesopotamian traditions, the scholar Esagilkīn-apli, who compiled the extensive Diagnostic Handbook and other large series that form the exorcistic corpus, was also a contemporary of this king.20 More scholarly activities took place during the Adad-apla-iddina’s reign, since some first-millennium colophons claim to be copies of texts dated to his reign.21 It is important to stress that the data pointing to that king’s reign as a period of high literary activity comes from documents written several centuries after his time: this fact shows that the time of Adad-apla-iddina must have been perceived as period of scholarly effervescence also in later Mesopotamian traditions. The Theodicy was therefore an extraordinarily sophisticated poem that, according to the Mesopotamian records, was composed in a golden age of literature. As such, it was probably accorded the status of a classic in the eyes of most Babylonian scholars. Mature scribes would surely have been familiar with the strange diction of the poem, which must have thus become “an almost irresistible target of parody.”22 As was argued in detail in JIMÉNEZ 2017a (68–108), Babylonian disputation poems – texts in which two normally inarticulate rivals engage in a verbal duel to determine which is the better – frequently borrow phrases from “serious” Akkadian literature with parodic purposes. Given the status of the Theodicy as the learned text par excellence inherited from a time of intense scholarly activity, it comes as no surprise that the majority of these parodic quotations do in fact use that poem.

18

LAMBERT 1962, 66 § v lines. 1–2 (the text is partially restored, but the restoration seems certain). See also LAMBERT 1960, 66–67; OSHIMA 2014, 121–24; and JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 318–19. 19 W.20030/7 (MAYER/VAN DIJK 1980, no. 89) line 17. Lines 16–18 of the List mention three near namesakes, Esaggil-kīn-apli, Esagil-kīn-ubbib, and Esaggil-kīnu-ubbaLU, who are said to have lived under the reigns of (1) a king whose name is broken, (2) Adad-apla-iddina, and (3) Nebuchadnezzar I, respectively. As discussed by BEAULIEU 2007, 13–15, the passage is probably corrupt. The first known duplicate of the List of Kings and Scholars has recently been identified (JIMÉNEZ forthcoming), but unfortunately this section is missing from it. 20 See FINKEL 1988, HEEßEL 2010, and FRAHM 2018. 21 E.g. K 3561+ (+) K 6141+ (see AL RAWI/GEORGE 2006, 36). See also BRINKMAN 1968, 141 and fn. 854. 22 To borrow the expression used by SENS 2006, 246 for Homeric poems.

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The verses quoted from the Theodicy in disputation poems are:23 Theodicy 1 (47) āš[i]š | [o o o] || gana | luqbīka Collector [of wisdom]! Come, let me talk to you! muṣṣālu | muṭappilu || gana | luqbīka Cantankerous slanderer! Come, let me talk to you! Palm and Vine 31′ (JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 250) [o o] x | šumsuku || gana | [luqbīka] [You, …] despicable! Come, [let me talk to you]! Series of the Poplar II 19′ (JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 174) Theodicy 31–32 kurum | saḫḫīya || ana nišbê | nis[ânni] kurunnu | napšat nišī || ṭapāpiš | rūq[anni] The produce of my meadows is not enough to satiate me, Beer – the (grantor of) life to mankind – does not suffice to quench me. kīma nissaba | ana māti || aparras | teʾûta kurunna | napšat nišī || uqāš | kala dadmē Like the grain goddess, I dole out sustenance to the country, Beer – the (grantor of) life to mankind – I bestow upon all inhabited lands Palm and Vine 13′–14′ (JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 248) Theodicy 50–51 aggu | lābu || ša ītakkalu | dumuq šīri akkimilti iltî | šupṭuri || ubil | maṣḫassu The savage lion that devours the choicest meat, Did he offer flour to assuage the wrath of a goddess? šēlebu | u barbaru || ša iššukū | dumuq šīri pâ ēda | iššaknū-ma || imtaḫḫarū | šamaš u enlil Fox and Wolf, which bite the choicest meat, Came to an agreement and addressed Šamaš and Enlil. Series of the Fox §Z obv 13–14, see also Series of the Fox §H 7′ (LAMBERT 1960, 206–207) Theodicy 185–86 mālil | erqi || naptan rubî | u[o o] mār kabti | u šarî || ḫarūbu | uk[lassu] He who ate vegetables, [devours] a princely banquet, (Whereas) the son of the noble and the rich, carobs are his sustenance. mālil | erqi || u x [o o o o] dā⸢liḫ⸣ | issê || ad[a o o o o] He who eats vegetables, … […] He who muddies the clay pit, I s[hall …] Donkey rev 12′-13′ (LAMBERT 1960, 210, collated)

23

The same caveats observed in JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 79–82 apply also here, and the same minimalist approach is adopted: only phrases of at least two distinctive words that are attested in only two texts (namely the borrowing text and the lending text), and nowhere else, are included.

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[…] … anzūzi mālil a[rqi …] […] … The anzūzu-spider, who eats veg[etables …] K 19551, 3′ (Series of the Spider [?]) (JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 317) Theodicy 265–66 utaqqam-ma | ibrī || limad | šibqīy[a] uṣur | nussuqa || siqar | atmêya Pay attention to me, my friend, learn my plan! Heed the choice expression of my words! (gana ||) m[ilk]a | muḫrā-ma || limdā | šibqīya ammēni | ina puḫur nammašti || taṭpilā | aḫāmeš Come, take my ad[vi]ce, learn my plan! Why do you revile each other among the creatures? Series of the Spider 26–27 (JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 306)

The exact parodic component of these quotations has been discussed in detail in Jiménez (2017a, 82–89). For present purposes, it is enough to state that, as pointed out by Dentith (2000, 39), “[t]he greater the historical distance which divides us from parodic literature, the harder it becomes to reconstruct with any confidence the discursive dispositions, or even the specific targets, from which parody emerges and towards which it is aimed.” Whereas in some cases it is clear how these quotations may have been seen as amusing,24 in most instances the detection of the parodic element depends on criteria that are not objectifiable. Given the fragmentary state of preservation of both the Theodicy and, especially, of the Babylonian disputation poems, the number of clear quotations that can be found between the two corpora is remarkable. What is even more striking – and would seem to prove beyond reasonable doubt that one text quotes from the other – is the fact that, in all cases, the borrowed phrases occupy the same half of the verse and half of the couplet as they did in the original. Thus, if limad šibqīya occupies the second half of the first verse of a couplet in Theodicy line 265, it is in this very position that it appears in the borrowing text, Series of the Spider line 26. Similarly, kurunnu napšat nišī represents the first hemistich of the second verse of the couplet in both the lending and the borrowing texts, namely Theodicy line 32 and Palm and Vine line 14′, respectively. In other words, in nearly all cases of unmistakable intertextual borrowings the phrases appear in the same exact horizontal (i.e. in the verse) and vertical (i.e. in the stanza) position as in their hypotext. This same phenomenon occurs in Greek parodies of Homeric epics. Whenever Greek parodic poems borrow material from the Iliad or the Odyssey, they do not normally cite entire verses. More frequently one finds segments of verses borrowed from Homer, combined with “material that has been stitched together from more than a single source.”25 This technique can be readily illustrated by an “altogether typical line”26 of the Batrachomyomachia, a parodic poem that narrates the wars between 24

For instance, the wolf and the fox, both scavengers, are said to eat “the choicest meat,” whereas in reality they would eat anything. 25 SENS 2006, 229. 26 As described in VINE 1986, 384, whose analysis is followed here.

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mice and frogs using Homeric formulae and motifs. The line in question, Batr. 240, is κείµενον ἐν δαπέδῳ λίθον ὄβριµον, ἄχθος ἀρούρης, “A massive rock, burden of the earth, which was lying on the ground.” The line is in fact a patchwork formed by stitching together three stock phrases that occur more than once in Homeric poems. Interestingly, the Batrachomyomachia borrows from its model not only the formulae, but also their metrical position. Thus: κείµενον ἐν δαπέδῳ λίθον ὄβριµον, ἄχθος ἀρούρης – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – || ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏓

Batrachomyomachia 240

κείµενον ἐν δαπέδῳ: ὁ δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἐννέα κεῖτο πέλεθρα, – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – || ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏓

Odyssey XI, 577

χερσὶν ἀπώσασθαι λίθον ὄβριµον, ὃν προσέθηκεν – ⏑ ⏑ | – – | – || ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏓

Odyssey IX, 305

ἀλλ᾽ ἧµαι παρὰ νηυσὶν ἐτώσιον ἄχθος ἀρούρης – – | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ || ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏑ ⏑ | – ⏓

Iliad XVIII, 104

In these lines one finds the exact same situation of the parodies of the Theodicy: only part of the original verse is cited; however, the cited part appears in the same position that it occupies in the hypotext. What is the purpose of parodying a text as central to Mesopotamian culture as the Theodicy? According to Russian formalism, parody “lays bare the literary device” and exposes it for what it is: simply a literary convention.27 This does not mean that later generations considered the language of the Theodicy affected or artificial: in fact, acrostic poems were still composed during the first millennium B.C.E.,28 and the 2||2 meter was current until the end of cuneiform culture.29 The disputation poems’ lighthearted use of the style and phraseology of this classic work of Babylonian literature is therefore better interpreted in Bakhtinian terms: parody is an “authorized transgression” of the rules, which “has the paradoxical effect of preserving the very text that it seeks to destroy, even if the hypotext remains only ‘under erasure.’  ”30 As stated in a circular letter of the Paris School of Theology in 1444, “we permit folly on certain days so that we may later return with greater zeal to the service of God.”31 The position of the Theodicy as a superlatively learned poem, written by a celebrated ancient scholar during a golden age of Mesopotamian belles lettres and reserved only for scribes who had reached the peak of their art, meant that it was almost inevitable that it came to be parodied by the very tradition that hallowed it.

27

See SHKLOVSKY 1990 [1925], 149; MOST 1997, 32; and PUEO 2002, 143–44. On acrostics in Babylonian literature, see LAMBERT 1960, 67; SOLL 1988; BRUG 1990; and HUROWITZ 2002, 331–32. As discussed by these authors, acrostic hymns written in honor of Ashurbanipal (668–631 B.C.E.) and Nebuchadnezzar II (604–562 B.C.E.) are known. 29 The 2||2 meter, which is already attested in the Sargonic period (LAMBERT 2013, 17–34), is used in Neo-Assyrian poetry, as well as in texts that were composed in the second half of the first millennium, such as the Story of the Poor, Forlorn Wren (JIMÉNEZ 2017a, 327–73). 30 DENTITH 2000, 36. 31 Cited by BAKHTIN 1985 [1964], 75. 28

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– (forthcoming): Young Anu-bēlšunu. Two Rare Tablets from Hellenistic Uruk. KIENAST, B. (1999): Ea’s Warnung vor der Sintflut: Zur List im Alten Orient, in: H. VON SENGER (ed.) Die List, Frankfurt am Main, 50–79. – (2003): iškar šēlebi: Die Serie vom Fuchs, (Freiburger Altorientalische Studien 22), Stuttgart. LAMBERT, W.G. (1960): Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford. – (1962): A Catalogue of Texts and Authors, JCS 16, 59–77. – (2013): Babylonian Creation Myths, (Mesopotamian Civilizations 16), Winona Lake, IN. MAYER, W.R./J.J.A. VAN DIJK (1980): Texte aus dem Reš-Heiligtum in Uruk-Warka, (Baghdader Mitteilungen Beih 2), Berlin. MOST, G.W. (1997): Die Batrachomyomachia als ernste Parodie, in: W. AX/R. F. GLEI (eds.), Literaturparodie in Antike and Mittelalter, Trier, 27–40. OSHIMA, T. (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers. Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14), Tübingen. PARPOLA, S. (1983): Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal. Part II: Commentary and Appendices (AOAT 5/2), Neukirchen-Vluyn. PUEO, J.C. (2002): Los reflejos en juego. Una teoría de la parodia, Valencia. SENS, A. (2006): Τίπτε γένος τοὐµον ζητεῖς; : the «Batrachomyomachia», Hellenistic epic parody, and early epic, in: F. MONTANARI/A. RENGAKOS (eds.), La poésie épique grecque: Métamorphoses d’un genre littéraire, Genève, 215–48. SHKLOVSKY, V. (1990 [1925]): The Novel as Parody: Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, in: Theory of Prose, (Translated by Benjamin Sher with an Introduction by Gerald L. Bruns), Illinois, 147–70. SOLL, W.M. (1988): Babylonian and Biblical Acrostics, Biblica 69, 305–23. VINE, B. (1986): Batr. 240: Toward the Stylistic Analysis of the “Batrachomyomachia”, Mnemosyne 39, 383–85. WITTE, K. (1913): Homeros. B) Sprache, Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 8, 2213–47.

Abbreviations BM

Siglum of cuneiform tablets in the general collection of the British Museum

CCP

Cuneiform Commentaries Project (http://ccp.yale.edu). The record for each tablet can be accessed using the CCP number as the URL path, e.g. http://ccp.yale.edu/1.4 for CCP 1.4

Counsels of Wisdom Wisdom poem containing a series of moral precepts, edited by Lambert (1960, 96–107) Enūma eliš

Epic poem that narrates the the theogony leading to the coronation of Marduk as king of the gods, cited after the edition by Lambert (2013, 3–144)

Erra and Išum

Epic poem featuring Erra and Išum, cited after the edition by Cagni (1969)

Gilgameš

Epic poem narrating the adventures of Gilgameš, cited after the edition by George (2003)

K

Siglum of cuneiform tablets in the Kuyunjik collection of the British Museum

KAR

= Ebeling (1919/1923)

Šamaš Hymn

Literary hymn to the god Šamaš, cited after the edition by Lambert (1960, 121– 138)

An Almost Irresistible Target

133

Ludlul

Akkadian poem about the misfortune that befell a pious man, Šubši-mešrêŠakkan, and his eventual redemption by Marduk. Edited by Lambert (1960, 21–62), George & al Rawi (1998, 187–201), and Oshima (2014)

Malku

Lexical list of synonyms, cited after the edition by Hrůša (2010)

SAA

State Archives of Assyria (series)

Theodicy

Akkadian dialogue poem that discusses divine justice, edited by Lambert (1960, 62–91) and Oshima (2014)

W

Excavation siglum of tablets from Uruk (modern Warka)

IV: Moral Teaching in the Book of Job

Proverbs and Popular Sayings, Real or Invented, in the Book of Job Edward L. Greenstein In ancient times, as today, people use proverbs or well-known sayings in order to strengthen an argument or to support a point they are making.1 Sometimes the proverb or epigram is given in the form of good advice. There are many ancient Near Eastern examples of this function from a slew of Egyptian texts, known as “instructions”; from a number of Mesopotamian instruction texts; from the Aramaic proverbs of Ahiqar;2 and from the biblical book of Proverbs and others in which this literary form abounds – especially Psalms, Qohelet, and Job. Proverbs and epigrams convey conventional wisdom in pithy form. They are often embedded within other forms of discourse,3 as they are in the book of Job.4 In the present study, I will be looking at a number of the wise sayings incorporated into Job, observing that in some passages, the sayings are invented for a particular rhetorical purpose. It is difficult to propose a single definition of the proverb; but the scholar of cognition, Richard Honeck, delineates the following five features: 1. a proverb is popular – people know and use it; 2. a proverb usually contains a figurative or metaphorical element; 3. it is concise; 4. it often entails wordplay, rhyme, or assonance; 5. it usually involves some comparison or contrast. Some well-known examples in contemporary English are: “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”; “Money talks” (money is a powerful influence);5 “The truth hurts”; “Look before you leap”; and “A stitch in time (fixing a problem as soon as it develops) saves nine (avoids further complications and effort)”.6 Proverbs meeting most if not all of these criteria are found in abundance in the ancient Near East and in the Hebrew Bible. In Mesopotamia they were collected into assemblages or lists by scribes.7 Out of context, the meaning of these proverbs is sometimes obscure. However, proverbs or wise sayings were often incorporated into 1

E.g., WILLIAMS 1981, 27; ALSTER 1996, 6. For Egyptian “instructions”, Mesopotamian instruction texts, and Ahiqar’s Aramaic proverbs, see SPARKS 2005, 66–73; 58–60; and 76–77 respectively. 3 E.g., FONTAINE 1982. 4 See, e.g., GREENSTEIN 2007a. See further IDEM 2012, esp. 71–72 and the references therein to studies on embedded wisdom sayings in ancient Near Eastern literature. For the complex of questions concerning such embedding, see NIDITCH 2014. 5 Compare the Hebrew saying: baʿal hammēʾā(h) hūʾ baʿal haddēʿā(h), “The one who has money is the one who holds sway.” 6 HONECK 1997; cf. MIEDER 2004, esp. 1–16. 7 See esp. ALSTER 1996. Cf. also Y. Cohen’s contribution in this volume, pp. 41–59. 2

138

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letters or literary texts in which the context helps to interpret the saying, at least in its present usage.8 With regard to the use and function of traditional sayings in the Hebrew Bible, Fontaine (1982) well illustrates the embedding of sayings and the adaptation of their meaning to their contexts. Since we know ancient sapiential sayings from literary sources, it is difficult to be sure that this or that proverb or aphorism was popular – that it circulated among people before it was written down and transmitted by authors and scribes.9 However, some wise sayings are explicitly attributed to the common folk. Note, for example, that two proverbial sayings are quoted in the Babylonian Theodicy, and both are expressly said to be traditional sayings. Not coincidentally, both are adduced not by the complaining sufferer but by his friend, who in advising piety seeks to buttress his contentions with the voice of tradition. Tradition has the weight of authority. Both sayings cited in the Theodicy display some features of a proverb: they are concise, they employ assonance, and they are figurative – using a concrete image to convey a general idea. One saying is nāri ḫubur eberri, “I shall cross the River Ḫubur,” i.e., people have always expressed an awareness of the inevitability of death;10 the other is šar-mi mešrū illaku īdāšu, “The king is the one at whose side walks wealth”.11 In a similar way the book of Samuel (1 Sam 24:13) adduces the pithy saying, mērǝšāʿīm yēṣēʾ rešaʿ, “Out of wicked ones comes wickedness,” as “an ancient proverb” – mǝšal haqqadmōnī.12 The Hellenistic Jewish sage Ben Sira asserts that “those who understand sayings become wise themselves / and pour forth apt proverbs” (18:29), and he assigns the preservation of wise sayings to the scribe, who is responsible for pondering the proverbs and for transmitting them. The speakers in the Book of Job, both in the prose and poetic sections, make use of proverbial sayings. These are often employed in order to add moral or epistemological support to an assertion or argument. A few of the wise or gnomic sayings seem to have parallels elsewhere in biblical literature or in other cultures. Such sayings could well be traditional and orally transmitted. Others may have been reformulated or invented by Job’s interlocutors. I shall maintain that in chapter 12 and probably elsewhere, Job almost certainly invents wisdom sayings, apparently to mock those adduced by his companions and to undermine their moral and epistemological status. The supposed wisdom cited by Job’s interlocutors is called into question by the in-your-face instance of a righteous sufferer like Job. The righteous are not supposed to suffer.13 The uncertain status of traditional wisdom provides one of the many tensions that underlie the dialogues in Job.14 As Williams (1981, 35) explains, a proverb is meant to describe the

8

E.g., ALSTER 1996, 6ff. E.g., MILLER 2011, 22–23. 10 OSHIMA 2013, 10, 18, line 17. 11 Ibid., 17, 25, line 282. For a fine study of the poetics of the Babylonian Theodicy, see the article by E. Jiménez in this volume, pp. 124–33. 12 See, e.g., TSUMURA 2007, 570–71. Held (1985, 95) compares the Akkadian formula in Mari kīma tēltim ullītim ša ummāmi, “like the people’s saying of old.” 13 GREENSTEIN 2009. 14 GREENSTEIN 2011. 9

Proverbs and Popular Sayings

139

normal case. The case of Job challenges and clashes with the norm, leaving Job no honest recourse but to contradict or parody conventional wisdom. Perhaps the clearest instance of a proverb’s use and subversion in Job concerns Bildad’s quotation of a proverb in 18:5–6. Job’s interlocutor wants to impress upon Job that the traditional principle of just retribution is in force. Bildad gives a version of a Hebrew proverb known to us from Prov. 13:9 (and cf. 20:20; 24:20). The traditional aphorism, in a figurative expression, reads: [9] The light of the righteous shines, / But the lamp of the wicked wanes.

: ‫שׁ ִ ֣עים י ִדְ ָעְֽך‬ ָ ‫שׂ ָ ֑מח ו ְֵנ֖ר ְר‬ ְ ִ ‫יקים י‬ ֥ ִ ִ‫[ אוֹר ־ צַדּ‬9]

Bildad adapts this piece of traditional wisdom by elaborating it with reference only to the situation of the wicked (Job 18:5–6): [5] The light of the wicked does too wane, / And the flame of his fire fails to glow; [6] The light goes dark in his habitation, / And his lamp goes out on him.15

: ‫שּׁוֹ‬ ֽ ‫שׁ ִ ֣ביב ִא‬ ְ ‫שׁ ִ ֣עים י ִדְ ָ ֑עְך וְֹלא ־ ֝י ִ ַ֗גּהּ‬ ָ ‫[ ַגּ֤ם ֣אוֹר ְר‬5] :‫ָשְׁך בְּאָה ֳ֑לוֹ ְ֝ונ ֵ֗רוֹ עָלָ ֥יו י ִדְ ָעְֽך‬ ֣ ַ ‫[ ֭אוֹר ח‬6]

Bildad’s focus on the negative side of the saying alone may be calculated to serve as a warning to Job, whom his companions perceive to be sliding into blasphemy. 16 In any event, Job picks up on Bildad’s argumentative use of the aphorism and pits it against reality, formulating his response as a rhetorical question, which implies that the actual situation is well-known to his companions (Job 21:17–18): [17] How often does the lamp of the righteous wane, / And their ruin overcome them? Does He dispense disaster17 in His anger? [18] (How often) are they like straw in the wind, And like chaff that a wind sweeps away?

‫ידם‬ ָ ‫[ כּ ָ ַ֤מּה׀ נֵר ־ ְר‬17] ֑ ָ ‫שׁ ִ ֤֮עים י ִדְ ָ֗עְך ְוי ָ֣ב ֹא ע ֵָל֣ימוֹ ֵא‬ :‫֝ ֲח ָב ִ֗לים יְחַלֵּ ֥ק ְבּ ַאפּֽוֹ‬ :‫[ ִיֽהְי֗ וּ כּ ֶ ְ֥תבֶן ִל ְפנֵי ־ ֑רוּ ַח וּ֝ כ ְ֗מ ֹץ ְגּנָבַ ֥תּוּ סוּפָ ֽה‬18]

In making his response to Bildad, Job, too, focuses only on the fate of the wicked. However, Job in effect calls into question the entire system of thought by which justice is meted out to the righteous and the wicked. He accomplishes this by citing another piece of conventional wisdom, using the image of the wicked as chaff whom the deity will sweep away, and then turning it on its head by formulating it not as an assertion but as a rhetorical question, the presupposed answer to which is the opposite of the assertion. The figure of the wicked as straw that is blown away is known to us from its use in Psalms, which is a rich repository of wisdom sayings (e.g., THOMPSON 1974, 111–12):18

15 The verb translated here “goes out” is the same as “wane” in the preceding verse. My renderings of Job belong to a full annotated translation that is under contract with Yale University Press. 16 17

Cf. HARTLEY 1988, 272.

The masculine plural ‫ חבלים‬would appear to represent the collective abstract noun “disaster,” in accordance with a typical feature of Joban language; see GREENSTEIN 2007b, 92–93; IDEM 2013a, 340–41. 18 Cf., e.g., GUNKEL-BEGRICH 1998 [1933], 293–305; SABOURIN 1974, 369–88; PERDUE 2007, 151–60.

140

Edward L. Greenstein

Not so the wicked – they are rather like chaff that the wind whisks away.19

:‫שׁר ־ תִּ דְּ פֶ ֥נּוּ ֽרוּ ַח‬ ֶ ‫א‬$ ‫שׁ ִ ֑עים ִכּ֥י ִאם ־ ֝ ַכּ ֗מּ ֹץ‬ ָ ‫ֹלא ־ כֵ ֥ן ה ְָר‬ (Ps. 1:4)

Let them be as chaff in the wind, with YHWH’s angel repelling (them).

: ‫דּוֹחֽה‬ ֶ ‫ְהו֣ה‬ ָ ‫ִיֽהְי֗ וּ כּ ְ֥מ ֹץ ִל ְפנֵי ־ ֑רוּ ַח וּ ַמל ַ ְ֖אְך י‬ (Ps. 35:5)

Bildad’s use of a traditional wisdom saying is typical of Job’s friends, who want to lend the weight of authority to their arguments (GREENSTEIN 2007a). A parade example of such a usage is Eliphaz’s preaching to Job in 5:17–18: [17] Happy is the mortal whom God reproves – Do not reject Shaddai’s discipline. [18] For once He inflicts pain, He binds up; Once He strikes, His own hands heal.

:‫שׁדַּ֗ י אַל ־ תִּ ְמאָ ֽס‬ ַ ֝ ‫וּמוּס֥ר‬ ַ ‫שׁ ֵ ֣רי ֭ ֱאנוֹשׁ יוֹכ ֶ ִ֣חנּוּ ֱא ֑לוֹ ַהּ‬ ְ ‫[ ה ִֵנּ֤ה ַא‬17] :‫[ ִכּ֤י ה֣ וּא יַכ ִ ְ֣איב ְויֶח ָ ְ֑בּשׁ ֝י ִ ְמ ַ֗חץ ְוי ָ ָ֥דיו תִּ ְרפֶּ ֽינָה‬18]

Eliphaz composes this counsel from two different tenets of orthodox wisdom. This first is that it is prudent to accept the infliction of suffering from the deity because it is a sign of divine affection and concern for the victim – it is meant to prevent the recipient from incurring additional pain by misbehaving, like a parent disciplining a child. Compare the following advice from Proverbs (3:11–12): [11] YHWH’s discipline, O my son, do not reject; / And do not despise his reproach. [12] For it is the one YHWH loves he reproves, / Like a father the son he favors.

: ‫מוּסר ֭ י ְהוָה ְבּ ִנ֣י אַל ־ תִּ ְמ ָ ֑אס וְאַל ־ ֝תָּ ֗ק ֹץ בְּתוֹ ַכחְתּֽ וֹ‬ ֣ ַ [11] : ‫יוֹכי ַח וּ֝ ְכ ָ֗אב ֶאת ־ בֵּ ֥ן י ְִרצֶ ֽה‬ ָ ‫[ ִכּ֤י אֶ ֥ת ֲא ֶ ֣שׁר י ֶ ֱא ַ ֣הב י‬12] ֑ ִ ‫ְהו֣ה‬

Essentially the same wisdom idea is represented in Ps. 94:12: [12] Happy is the man whom you discipline, O Yah, Whom you instruct with your teaching.

:‫תּוֹרתְ ָך֥ תְ ַל ְמּ ֶדֽנּוּ‬ ָ ‫שׁר ־ תְּ יַסּ ֶ ְ֣רנּוּ ָי֑הּ ֽוּ ִמ‬ ֶ ‫שׁ ֵ ֤רי׀ ה ֶ ַ֣גּבֶר ֲא‬ ְ ‫[ ַא‬12]

The language of this verse, which manifests some resemblance to Job 5:17 and Prov. 3:11,20 supports the notion that Eliphaz’s instruction to Job draws on widely circulated wisdom. The same analogy by which divine affliction functions like parental discipline is employed in Deuteronomy, another biblical text that is known for its affinity to wisdom:21 [8:5] You will know in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, YHWH your God disciplines you.

‫שׁ ֶאת ־ בְּנ֔ וֹ‬ ֙ ‫שׁר יְי ֵ ַ֥סּר ִאי‬ ֶ ֨ ‫[ ְוי ָדַ ע ָ ְ֖תּ עִם ־ ְלב ֶ ָ֑בָך ִ֗כּי ַכּ ֲא‬8:5] ‫ֹלהיָך ְמיַסּ ֶ ְֽר ָךּ‬ ֖ ֶ ‫י ְהוָ ֥ה ֱא‬

It will be noted that the verb yissēr ‘to discipline’, which was used in each of the verses above, is employed here as well. The second tenet of orthodox wisdom that is expressed by Eliphaz in Job 5:17–18 is the idea that the same deity that inflicts suffering also relieves suffering, using the image of wounding and healing. A similar image occurs in the Akkadian poem of the 19

For some insightful commentary, see SCHAEFER 2001, 6–7. The Psalms verse and Job 5:17 begin with the phrase “Happy (‫ )אשרי‬is the man ( ‫ אנוש‬,‫;”)גבר‬ Psalms uses the verb ‫“ יסר‬to discipline,” which is cognate to the noun mūsār “discipline” in both Job 5:17 and Prov. 3:11. 21 WEINFELD 1972, 244–319. 20

Proverbs and Popular Sayings

141

pious sufferer found at Ras Shamra, ancient Ugarit. The Babylonian god Marduk is both the one who afflicts and then restores the individual: “(I will praise the god Marduk) who has stricken me (imḫaṣanni) and (then) had compassion on me.”22 The classic biblical expression is in Deut. 32:39b, where Moses declaims in the name of YHWH: [39b] I make to die and I make to live. I strike and I heal – and no one can save from my hand.23

: ‫אָמית ַו ֲא ַח ֶ֗יּה ָמ ֙ ַחצְתִּ ֙י ַו ֲא ִנ֣י ֶא ְר ָ֔פּא וְאֵ ֥ין ִמיּ ִ ָ֖די ַמצִּ ֽיל‬ ֣ ִ ‫[ ֲא ִנ֧י‬39b]

Here we find the same pair of antonyms that serve the poet in Job 5:18: māḥaṣ “to strike, wound” (note the use of the cognate verb in the Akkadian passage) and rāpāʾ “to heal.” Eliphaz would also seem to be drawing his language from the poetry of Hosea, which serves elsewhere (e.g., Job 4:3; Hos. 7:15) as well as a source for the Joban poet:24 [6:1] Come, let us turn back to YHWH. For He rips apart but then heals us; / smites, but then binds us up.

[6:1] :‫לְכ ֙וּ ְונ ָ֣שׁוּבָה ֶאל ־ י ְה ֔ ָוה ִכּ֛י ה֥ וּא ט ָ ָ֖רף ְוי ְִרפּ ֵ ָ֑אנוּ ַיְ֖ך ְוי ַ ְחבּ ְֵשֽׁנוּ‬

Here we find the two verbs of healing that are used by Eliphaz – rāpāʾ “heal” and ḥābaš “bind (a wound).”25 In Hosea, however, the two verbs of injury are different – the verb hikkā is a more banal synonym of the exclusively poetic māḥaṣ “to strike”; but the verb ṭārap “tear apart” connotes the activity of a wild animal. In the dialogues of Job, Job’s companions would never ascribe predatory or violent behavior to the deity; that is Job’s provocative tack (see, e.g., 10:16; 16:9, 12). In any event, it is clear that Eliphaz’s wisdom is meant to echo the tradition and thereby invoke its prestige. 26 Similarly, in Job 5:6–7 Eliphaz produces an argument in proverbial form the traditional character of which is suggested by its resemblances to verses in Psalms and in Second Isaiah.27 The figuration is shared, and so is some of the language (indicated in bold type):

22 COHEN 2013, 168, line 34´. Cf. GREENSTEIN 2017, 145–46. This Ras Shamra text appears to be based on a precursor to the extensive Babylonian poem Ludlul bel nēmeqi (Let Me Praise the Lord of Wisdom); COHEN 2013, 172. For the two sides of Marduk in that Babylonian composition, see OSHIMA 2014, 34–47. 23 For the extensive and often parodic use of Deuteronomy 32 in the book of Job, see GREENSTEIN 2013b. 24 See GREENSTEIN 2007b, 93–94. 25

In Ludlul V 2, the (non-cognate) Akkadian verb ṣummudu “to bind” is similarly used of healing a wound; see OSHIMA 2014, 317. 26

Cf. HABEL 1976. Cf. for the general principle that multiple attestations suggest the presence of an independent saying: WESTERMANN 1995, 9. 27

142

Edward L. Greenstein

[6] For suffering does not stem from the dust, Nor does travail grow from the ground. [7] But a human is born to travail,28 / As “sons of Resheph” (arrows)29 fly up high.

:‫[ ִכּ֤י׀ ֹלא ־ י ֵ ֵ֣צא ֵמע ָָפ֣ר ָ ֑אוֶן וּ֝ ֵמ ֲאדָ ָ֗מה ֹלא ־ יִצְמַ ֥ח ע ָָמֽל‬6] ‫שׁף יַג ְִבּ֥יהוּ עֽוּף‬ ֶ ‫יוּלּ֑ד וּ ְבנֵי ־ ֶ֝ר‬ ָ ‫[ כִּ ֽי ־ ֭ ָאדָ ם ְלע ָ ָ֣מל‬7]

[4] No one summons another in justice, / or litigates in honesty; One relies instead on nothing, / and speaks falsely; Conceiving travail/misfortune, / and giving birth to evil/suffering.

‫מוּנ֑ה בּ ָ֤טוֹ ַח עַל ־ תֹּ֙ה ֙וּ‬ ָ ‫שׁ ָ ֖פּט ֶבּ ֱא‬ ְ ִ‫[ ֵאין ־ ק ֵ ֹ֣רא ְב ֶ֔צדֶ ק וְאֵ ֥ין נ‬4] :‫ְהוֹל֥יד ָ ֽאוֶן‬ ֵ ‫שׁוְא ה ָ֥רוֹ ע ָ ָ֖מל ו‬ ָ ֔ ‫וְדַ בֶּר ־‬

(Job 5:6–7)

(Isa. 59:4)

In other instances, it is not clear whether Job’s companions are adducing popular sayings or are inventing aphorisms in a proverbial style in order to convey or buttress their points (see GREENSTEIN 2007a). An otherwise unknown and apparent invention by Zophar is Job 11:12: [12] But a hollow man will be filled with heart, When a wild ass30 is born to a human.

: ‫אָדם יִוָּלֵ ֽד‬ ֥ ָ ‫[ ו ִ ְ֣אישׁ ֭נָבוּב יִלּ ֵ ָ֑בב ו ַ ְ֥עי ִר ֝ ֶפּ ֶרא‬12]

This piquant verse is philologically challenging, but the above rendering is fully founded and requires no departures from the received text.31 The reader of the Hebrew will observe that this verse manifests all the features of a proverb, including figurative language, comparison, pithiness, and assonance.32 A prominent feature of the dispute between Job and his companions revolves around the ability to cite wisdom sayings for support. Bildad makes a special point of quoting age-old wisdom for the rhetorical purpose of sealing an argument with what is, to his mind, incontrovertible evidence of its truth. A relatively elaborate example, with an introductory flourish, is found in Job 8:8–12. In this instance Bildad’s quotation of apparently proverbial expressions mimics Job in 6:5–6. [8] Just inquire of the former generations, and consider 33 the deep-wisdom of our ancestors;34

‫בוֹתֽם‬ ָ ‫ישׁוֹן ְ֝וכוֹ ֵ֗נן ל ֵ ְ֣ח ֶקר ֲא‬ ְ ‫[ כִּ ֽי ־‬8] ֑ ‫שׁאַל ־ ֭נָא ל ְ֣ד ֹר ִר‬ ‫[ כִּ ֽי ־ תְ ֣מוֹל ֭ ֲאנַחְנוּ וְֹל֣ א נ ָ ֵ֑דע ִכּ֤י ֵ ֖צל י ֵ ָ֣מינוּ ֲעלֵי ־ אָ ֶֽרץ‬9] ‫יוֹצ֥אוּ ִמלִּ ֽים‬ ִ ‫[ הֲֹלא ־ ֵ ֣הם י֭ וֹרוָּך יֹ֣א ְמרוּ ָלְ֑ך וּ֝ ִמ ִלּ ָ֗בּם‬10]

28 Or through revocalizing: yōlīd “gives birth (to travail)”; compare Job 15:34–35; Ps. 7:15. Either reading is possible; see, e.g., GRAY 2010, 159. 29 Resheph is a Canaanite god of pestilence and is sometimes depicted with arrows, symbolizing his afflictions; he is dubbed “Lord of the Arrow”; see, e.g., XELLA 1995; SEOW 2013, 437–38. Compare Ps. 76:4. Others interpret “sons of flame,” i.e., sparks, comparing Ps. 78:48 and/or Song 8:6; see MÜNNICH 2013, 228–33. But see the echo of the image of arrows in Job 6:4. 30 There are two consecutive terms for “ass”; one is likely an explanatory gloss on the other; so, e.g., HARTLEY 1988, 198–99; SEOW 2013, 613–614. Without recognizing the gloss, several commentators have read into the verse the inapt expression ‫“ פרא אדם‬wild man”; e.g., DHORME 1967, 163. 31 See, e.g., DHORME 1967, 163; HARTLEY 1988, 196, 198–199; GOOD 1990, 78–79. 32 Cf., e.g., HARTLEY 1988, 198–99. 33 Reading bōnēn for kōnēn with the Syriac translation and others. For philological notes on this passage with some bibliography, see GREENSTEIN 2007a, 64–65. 34 Reading “our ancestors” (‫)אבותינו‬, which makes sense, for “their ancestors,” which does not. The final mem is a ligature of what should be nun and waw – a well-known scribal phenomenon; cf. an even clearer instance at Job 15:18.

Proverbs and Popular Sayings [9] For we are only yesterday and have no knowledge; For our days on earth are but a (fleeting) shadow. [10] They will surely instruct you, they’ll tell you; Out of their hearts they will utter words:35 [11] “Can papyrus grow without marshland? “Can a canebrake thrive without water? [12] “While yet in the flower, it cannot be plucked; “And it withers even sooner than grass.”

143

‫שׂגֶּה ־ אָ ֥חוּ ְבלִי ־ מָ ֽי ִם‬ ְ ִ ‫[ ֲה ִיֽגְ ֶאה ־ ֭גּ ֹ ֶמא בְֹּל֣ א ב ָ ִ֑צּה י‬11] ‫[ ע ֶ ֹ֣דנּוּ ֭ ְב ִאבּוֹ ֹל֣ א י ִ ָקּ ֵ ֑טף ְו ִלפ ְֵנ֖י כָל ־ ח ִ ָ֣ציר י ִיבָ ֽשׁ‬12] (Job 8:8–12)

The metaphor embodied in this proverb comprises a conventional image: the righteous are plants that grow splendidly because they are well watered, while the wicked are plants that wither because they lack a nourishing source (see especially Jer. 17:5–8; Ps. 1:3–4).36 The metaphor derives from the underlying concept that the deity is the source of life (e.g., Jer. 17:13; Ps. 36:10) and, by extension, wisdom is a source of nourishing water (e.g., Prov. 10:11; 13:14; 14:27; 16:22). The plant cut off from its source and therefore withering is, as the reader will surmise, a figure for the impious.37 Bildad’s quotation of what appear to be proverbial expressions seems to mimic Job in 6:5–6: [5] Does a wild ass bray (when it’s) in the meadow? Does an ox low (when it’s) at its feed? [6] Can the insipid be eaten without salt? Is there any taste in the juice of chubeza?38

‫שׁא ִא֥ם יִגְעֶה ־ ֝שּׁוֹר עַל ־ ְבּלִילֽוֹ‬ ֶ ‫[ ֲה ִיֽנְהַק ־ פֶּ ֶ֥רא ֲעלֵי ־ ֶ ֑ד‬5] ‫ֵאָכ֣ל ֭תָּ פֵל ִמ ְבּלִי ־ ֶ ֑מלַח ִאם ־ י ֶשׁ ־ ֝ ַטעַם בּ ִ ְ֣ריר ַח ָלּ ֽמוּת‬ ֵ ‫[ ֲהי‬6]

Job adduces images from the fields in order to explain his characterization of the two sides of the dialogue: Job complains only because he is afflicted; but his companions provide arguments devoid of taste, devoid of reason. Of course, the latter metaphor, in a well-known technique of Joban poetics, capitalizes on the double sense of Hebrew ṭaʿam as both “taste” and “reason.”39 I am suggesting that Bildad’s production of a set of proverbial-sounding sayings aims to compete with and outstrip Job in his demonstration of wisdom. Bildad believes to be enhancing the conviction of his proverbial production by attributing it to preceding sages – “our ancestors.” Job, however, is not to be outdone. An unshaken believer in his own cause, he produces a long string of wisdom sayings, some perhaps quasi-authentic but most probably unique and invented for the present purpose, in order to demonstrate that he, as he says (Job 12:3), is in no way inferior to his friends in wisdom. And he can prove it in the same way that they have been trying to prove it – by rattling off a long series of sapiential sounding sayings, many of them recapitulating some of the points his com35 For the heart (mind) as the seat of speech, see, e.g., Ps. 19:15; 49:4; Prov. 24:2; and especially Qoh. 5:1, where we have a locution similar to the one used here. Contrast, e.g., SEOW 2013, 532. 36 For finer distinctions among the specific images, see WEISS 1984, 135–63. 37 For a more complete literary reading of Job 8, see GREENSTEIN (forthcoming). 38 A Middle Eastern herb, the flower of which is tasty. The Hebrew word (read ḥelmīt) is known from ancient Alalakh; MILLARD 1969. 39 Cf., e.g., the double meaning of tiqwā as “cord” and “hope” in Job 7:6; for discussion, see GREENSTEIN 2013c, 186–87.

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panions had made to him. In other words, Job is demonstrating that he can make the same arguments as his companions, if he would so wish; and he is formulating them in proverbial form, as though that would lend them additional power. However, Job’s mock quotation of proverbial sayings is not a sincere effort to display wisdom through aphorisms but rather a mockery of his friends’ efforts, which he regards as false.40 The parodic nature of his show of wisdom is made clear in 12:7–8, where the object of the parody – Deut. 32:7 – is apparent. He is also mocking Bildad’s invocation of the sages of old in Job 8:8. Here is the entire parody (i.e. Job 12:2–25) with translation and notes.41 It will be followed by some commentary and then a conclusion. ‫[ ֭ ָא ְמנָם ִכּ֣י ַאתֶּ ם ־ ָ ֑עם ְ֝ו ִע ָמּ ֶ֗כם תָּ ֥מוּת ָחכְמָ ֽה‬2] ‫[ גַּם ־ ִל֤י ֵל ָ֨בב׀ כְּ ֽמוֹ ֶ֗כם ֹלא ־ נ ֵֹפ֣ל אָנ ִֹכ֣י ִמ ֶ ֑כּם ְו ֶאת ־ ִמי ־ אֵ ֥ין כְּמוֹ ־ אֵ ֽלֶּה‬3] ‫שׂ ֗חוֹק צ ִַדּ֥יק תָּ מִ ֽים‬ ְ ֝ ‫שׂ ֤ח ֹק ל ְֵר ֵ֨עהוּ׀ ֶא ְה ֶ֗יה ק ֵ ֹ֣רא ֭ ֶל ֱאלוֹ ַהּ וַ ֽיַּע ֲֵנ֑הוּ‬ ְ [4] ‫שׁ ֲא ָנ֑ן ֝נָ ֗כוֹן ל ְ֣מוֹעֲדֵ י ָ ֽרגֶל‬ ַ ‫שׁ ֣תּוּת‬ ְ ‫[ ל ִַפּ֣יד ֭בּוּז ְל ַע‬5] ‫שׁ ָל֤יוּ א ֹ ָה ִ֨לים׀ ל ְ֥שׁ ֹדֲ דִ֗ ים ֭ ֽוּ ַבטֻּחוֹת ְל ַמ ְר ִגּ֣יז ֵי ֵ ֑אל ַל ֲא ֶ ֤שׁר ה ִ ֵ֖ביא ֱאל֣ וֹ ַהּ ְבּי ָדֽ וֹ‬ ְ ִ ‫[ י‬6] ‫שּׁ ַ֗מי ִם ְויַגֶּד ־ לָ ְך‬ ָ ‫שׁאַל ־ ָנ֣א ְבה ֵ֣מוֹת וְת ֶ ֹ֑ר ָךּ וְע֥ וֹף ֝ ַה‬ ְ ‫[ וְ ֽאוּ ָ֗לם‬7] ‫[ ֤אוֹ ִ ֣שׂי ַח ל ָ ָ֣א ֶרץ וְת ֶ ֹ֑ר ָךּ וִי ַספּ ְ֥רוּ ֝ ְל ָ֗ך דְּ ֵג֣י ַה ָיּ ֽם‬8] ‫שׂתָ ה זּ ֹֽאת‬ ְ ‫[ ֭ ִמי ֹלא ־ י ַ ָ֣דע ְבּכָל ־ ֵ ֑אלֶּה ִכּ֥י י ַד ־ ֝י ְה ֗ ָוה ָ ֣ע‬9] ‫שׂר ־ אִ ֽישׁ‬ ַ ‫[ ֲא ֶ ֣שׁר ֭ ְבּי ָדוֹ ֶ ֣נפֶשׁ כָּל ־ ָ ֑חי ְ֝ו ֗רוּ ַח כָּל ־ ְבּ‬10] ‫[ הֲֹלא ־ ֭א ֹז ֶן ִמ ִלּ֣ין תִּ ב ָ ְ֑חן ְ֝ו ְֵחך ֣א ֹכֶל י ִ ְטעַם ־ לֽוֹ‬11] ‫ְבוּרה ֝לוֹ עֵצָ ֥ה וּתְ בוּנָ ֽה‬ ִ ‫[ בִּי‬12] ֑ ָ ‫[ ֭ ִעמּוֹ ָחכ ָ ְ֣מה וּג‬13] ‫ישׁים ָחכ ָ ְ֑מה ו ְ֖א ֹ ֶרְך י ִ ָ֣מים תְּ בוּנָ ֽה‬ ִ֥ ‫שׁ‬ ‫[ ֵ ֣הן ֭ י ַהֲרוֹס וְֹל֣ א יִבּ ֶָנ֑ה יִס ְ֥גּ ֹר עַל ־ ֝ ִאישׁ וְֹל֣ א יִפּ ֵָתֽ ַח‬14] ‫שׁ ְלּ ֵ֗חם ְו ַ ֖י ַהפְכוּ אָ ֶֽרץ‬ ַ ‫[ ֵ ֤הן יַע ְ֣צ ֹר בּ ַ ַ֣מּי ִם ְוי ָ ִ֑בשׁוּ ִ֝וי‬15] ‫שׁגֶּ ֽה‬ ְ ‫שׁ ָיּ֑ה ֝לוֹ שׁ ֹגֵ ֥ג וּ ַמ‬ ִ ‫[ ֭ ִעמּוֹ ֣ע ֹז וְתוּ‬16] ‫מוּסר ְמל ִָכ֣ים פּ ֵ ִ֑תּ ַח ַויּ ֶ ְא ֥ס ֹר ֝ ֵאז֗ וֹר ְבּ ָמתְ נֵיהֶ ֽם‬ ָ ‫מוֹל֣יְך יוֹע ִ ֲ֣צים‬ ִ [17] ֣ ַ [18] ‫שׁוֹל֑ל וְ ֽשֹׁפ ִ ְ֥טים י ְהוֹלֵ ֽל‬ ‫שׂפָה ְלנֶ ֱא ָמ ִנ֑יםו ַ ְ֖טעַם ז ְ ֵק ִנ֣ים י ִקָּ ֽח‬ ָ ֭ ‫[ ֵמ ִ ֣סיר‬20] ‫שׁוֹל֑ל ו ֵ ְ֖אתָ ִנ֣ים יְסַלֵּ ֽף‬ ָ ‫מוֹל֣יְך כּ ֹ ֲה ִנ֣ים‬ ִ [19] ‫ִיקים ִרפָּ ֽה‬ ֵ [21] ֣ ִ ‫יבים וּ ְמ ִז֖י ַח ֲאפ‬ ֑ ִ ִ‫שׁוֹפְ֣ך ֭בּוּז עַל ־ נְד‬ : ‫שׂ ִגּ֣יא ֭ ַלגּוֹי ִם וַ ֽי ְ ַאבּ ֵ ְ֑דם שׁ ֵ ֹ֥ט ַח ֝ ַלגּוֹ ִ֗ים ַויַּנ ְֵחֽם‬ ְ ‫[ ַמ‬23] ‫שְׁך וַיּ ֵ ֹ֖צא ל ָ֣אוֹר ַצלְמָ ֽוֶת‬ ֶ ֹ ‫[ ְמג ֶַלּ֣ה ֭ ֲע ֻמקוֹת ִמנִּי ־ ֑ח‬22] ‫אשׁי עַם ־ ה ָ ָ֑א ֶרץ ַ֝ויּ ַתְ ֵ֗עם בּ ְ֣ת ֹהוּ ֹלא ־ ָד ְֽרך‬ ֣ ֵ ‫[ ֵמ ִ֗סיר ֭ ֵלב ָר‬24] ‫שּׁכּֽוֹר‬ ִ ‫שְׁך וְֹלא ־ ֑אוֹר ַ֝ויּ ַתְ ֵ֗עם ַכּ‬ ֶ ֹ ‫שׁשׁוּ ־ ֥ח‬ ֲ ֽ ַ‫[ י ְמ‬25] [2] Truly you are people-of-intelligence,42 And with you wisdom will die. [3] I have a heart just like you. I fall no lower than you. And who doesn’t have such (sayings) as these?:43 [4] “One who laughs at calamity and disaster,44 40

For the parodic character of this part of Job’s discourse, see GREENSTEIN 2011, 45–46. For a philological analysis of vv. 4–6 in particular, see GREENSTEIN 2013d, 299–303. 42 There is likely a play on the Egyptian word for intelligence, ʿam; GREENSTEIN 2007a, 68 n. 17. 43 The deictic pronoun “these” signals a quotation to follow; see GREENSTEIN 2005. 44 This verse and the next two are notoriously difficult and make no sense if read according to the received text. My reconstruction is guided by the parallelism, as well as the context. For śǝḥōq read ṣōḥēq in conformity with the participle that follows in the next line. For lǝrēʿēhū I read lǝrāʿā(h) and for ʾehye(h) I read hōwā(h) “disaster” (see Isa. 47:11). I am indebted to my teacher H L. Ginsberg for most of the reconstruction of this passage. 41

Proverbs and Popular Sayings

145

“Calls out to Eloah and is answered – “The laughter of the completely righteous45 – [5] “He shows contempt for catastrophe,46 “At a time of devastation47 is at ease. “He is firm when the foot might stumble.48 [6] “Tents49 are tranquil at a time of marauders,50 “Secure at a time of those who aggravate God – “At whatever the hand of Eloah has wrought.” [7] Rather, ask the behemoth – and it will instruct you.51 Or the fowl of the sky – and it will tell you. [8] Or converse with the earth52 – and it will instruct you; And the fish of the sea will recount to you. [9] Who does not know all these things – “That the hand of YHWH has done this?” 53 [10] “In whose hand is the breath of all life, “The spirit of all human flesh. [11] “You see, an ear examines words, “As a palate tastes food:54 [12] “In the elderly is wisdom, “And length of days is intelligence.55 [13] “With him56 are wisdom and might; “His are good counsel and intelligence. [14] “He can destroy so it cannot be rebuilt;

45

Compare the phrase “laughter of the fool” in Qoh. 7:6. Read lǝpīd; cf., e.g., SEOW 2013, 631. For pīd “catastrophe,” see Job 30:24 and 31:29 as well as Prov. 24:22. 47 For the notoriously difficult lǝʿaštūt, I read lǝʿēt šēt, “at the time of devastation”; for šēt (written with aleph), see, e.g., Lam. 3:47 and compare the cognate šōʾā(h) in Prov. 3:25. For the spelling without aleph, compare the spelling of śǝʾēt “grandeur”, spelled without aleph, in Job 41:17 and of rǝʾēm “wild ox”, spelled without aleph in Job 39:10. The resulting sense recalls the advice of Prov. 1:33b. 48 Compare Prov. 25:19; for the phrase and the construction of the preceding line, compare Deut. 32:35. 49 Of the righteous. 50 “At a time of” is mentally supplied from the preceding lines. 51 A parody of Deut. 32:7, in which the teaching of the elders is recommended. 52 The animals of the earth are likely meant. 53 Job is making a direct quotation of Isa. 42:20: “so that they will see and know and observe and learn that the hand of YHWH has done this, that the Holy One of Israel has created it” – otherwise, Job would not be using the personal name of the Israelite God. The present passage seems to draw many images and expressions from Isaiah 41–45; see the notes below. 54 “Taste” also connotes reasoning; see Job 6:6. From here through v. 24 is another string of mock wisdom sayings. 55 Compare Eliphaz in 15:9–10. 56 God. There is no immediate antecedent because the sayings are excerpted from their putative sources. 46

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“He can close a man in so it cannot be reopened.57 [15] “He can hold back the water so that (things) dry up; “Then he can release them so they convulse the earth. 58 [16] “With him are power and sage knowledge; “His are the mistaken and the misleader.59 [17] “He causes counselors to go barefoot,60 “And judges he turns mad. [18] “The girdles61 of kings he loosens, “And removes62 the strap on their loins. [19] “He causes priests to go barefoot, “And the stalwarts he leads to ruin.63 [20] “He removes language from orators,64 “And takes sense away from elders. [21] “He heaps contempt on leaders,65 “As the belt of (their) armor66 he slackens. [22] “He uncovers the depths of darkness, “And brings deep-shade into light.67 [23] “He elevates nations, then disperses them;68 “He extends nations, then deports them.69 [24] “He removes the heart70 from the landed folk’s heads,71 “Causing them to stray in a trackless waste.72 [25] “They grope in darkness without light,73 “As he causes them to stray like a drunkard.”74

57

Job turns Eliphaz’s traditional saying of 5:18 into a negative. Job parodies Eliphaz’s beneficent image of divine rain-giving in 5:10; see also Isa. 41:18; 42:15; 44:3, 27. 59 Literally, “the one who causes others to be mistaken.” This is a very negative type, who trips up the blind (Deut. 27:18) and corrupts the upright (Prov. 28:10). Job may be parodying what Eliphaz says of God’s outsmarting the wise in 5:14–15. 60 A sign of desolation; see Mic. 1:8 and compare Isa. 20:2. 61 Reading mōsar (see Job 39:5; Jer. 2:2; Ps. 107:14) for mūsar “discipline, instruction”. 62 Reading wayyāsar for wayyeʾsōr “and he girds”, which conveys the contrary sense. Compare Isa. 45:1. Ironically, “remove” puns on “bind”. 63 Compare Prov. 21:12. 64 Reading naʾmānīm for neʾĕmānīm “the faithful”; cf. Jer 23:31. 65 Compare Ps. 107:40a. 66 See Job 41:7. 67 Compare Job 28:3, 11. Job would seem to be parodying Zophar in 11:7–8. 68 More precisely, leading them into exile or oblivion. 69 The verb hinḥā nearly always connotes a supportive guidance. Here Job appears to be using it ironically – leading away into exile. Others, basing themselves on some of the ancient translations, read wayyanīḥēm “he leaves them aside, abandons them.” 70 Mind, courage. 71 Their chiefs – a rich wordplay. 72 Identical to Ps. 107:40; cf. Isa. 42:16. 73 Compare Deut. 28:29. 58

Proverbs and Popular Sayings

147

The long litany of proverbial type sayings, some of them paralleled in the words of Job’s companions and/or in known wisdom and prophetic sources in the Hebrew Bible (see the references in the footnotes), are broken up from a discourse perspective in two ways. On the one hand, Job’s voice introduces the quotations (vv. 2–3, 7–9a), making clear that it is Job’s object to demonstrate his prowess in controlling (and producing) wisdom in the form of aphorisms, quoted and invented. On the other hand, obvious parodies such as those one finds in vv. 7–8 make clear that the entire litany is parodic. This is evident as well in the instances where Job, who is clearly at odds with his companions, seems to say almost the same things that they do (see especially vv. 12ff.). Compare this latter part of Job 12 with such doxologies as Eliphaz’s in Job 5:9– 16, which Job parodies in 9:5–10 as well. As said above, what Job achieves is twofold: he demonstrates his own expertise in traditional wisdom; but he also shows the ineffectual character of wisdom, which is incapable of accounting for a case of innocent or unjust suffering, such as that of Job’s. As I’ve argued elsewhere, Job makes use of the forms of wisdom in order to undermine it.75 We see, therefore, that the proverbial saying, a conventional sign of wisdom that gains its authority from its age-old use and its mastery by society’s elders, is shown by Job, in his use of it, to be neither truly helpful in terms of wisdom – in a word, not really wisdom; and that its reputation for being the province of the elders is far from their exclusive domain – Job can recount wise sayings, real and real-sounding, at will. And, as Eliphaz had indicated to him, Job is not as old or senior as his friends (15:9– 10). In fact, this piece of Eliphaz’s wisdom is one that Job singles out for mimicry (12:12). Conventionally proverbs are employed rhetorically in order to add authority. Job in his discourse in chapter 12 removes the basis from that practice. The proverb may illustrate, it may concretize. But it does not convey wisdom in and of itself.

Bibliography ALSTER, B. (1996): Literary Aspects of Sumerian and Akkadian Proverbs, in: M.E. VOGELZANG/H. L.J. VANSTIPHOUT (eds.), Mesopotamian Poetic Language: Sumerian and Akkadian, Groningen, 1–21. COHEN, Y. (2013): Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, ed. A.R. George, (SBLWAW 29), Atlanta. DHORME, E. (1967): A Commentary on the Book of Job, H. Knight (trans.), London. FONTAINE, C.R. (1982): Traditional Sayings in the Old Testament: A Contextual Study, Sheffield. GOOD, E.M. (1990): In Turns of Tempest: A Reading of Job with a Translation, Stanford. GRAY, J. (2010): The Book of Job, ed. D.J.A. CLINES, Sheffield. GREENSTEIN, E.L. (2005): The Extent of Job’s First Speech, in Sh. VARGON et al. (eds.), Studies in Bible and Biblical Exegesis, 7, Presented to Menachem Cohen, Ramat-Gan, 245–62 [Hebrew with English abstract]. – (2007a): ‘On My Skin and in My Flesh’: Personal Experience as a Source of Knowledge in the Book of Job, in: K.F. KRAVITZ/D.M. SHARON (eds.), Bringing the Hidden to Light: Studies in Honor of Stephen A. Geller, Winona Lake, IN, 63–77.

74 75

Compare Isa. 19:14, where it is said of Egypt. GREENSTEIN 2011.

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– (2007b): Features of Language in the Poetry of Job, in: T. KRÜGER et al. (eds.), Das Buch Hiob und seine Interpretationen, Zurich, 81–96. – (2009): The Problem of Evil in the Book of Job, in: N.S. FOX et al. (eds.), Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, Winona Lake, IN, 333–62. – (2011): Wisdom in the Book of Job–Undermined, in: SH. YONA/V.A. HUROWITZ (eds.), Wisdom, Her Pillars are Seven: Studies in Biblical, Post-Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Wisdom Literature, Beer-sheva, Israel, 41–50 [Hebrew with English abstract]. – (2012): Wisdom in Ugaritic, in: R. HASSELBACH/N. PAT-EL (eds.), Language and Nature: Papers Presented to John Huehnergard on His Sixtieth Birthday, Chicago, 69–89. – (2013a): The Invention of Language in the Poetry of Job, in: J.K. AITKEN et al. (eds.), Interested Readers: Essays on the Hebrew Bible in Honor of David J.A. Clines, Atlanta, 331–46. – (2013b): Parody as a Challenge to Tradition: The Use of Deuteronomy 32 in the Book of Job, in: K. DELL/W. KYNES (eds.), Reading Job Intertextually, (LHBOTS 574), New York and London, 66– 78. – (2013c): Some Metaphors in the Poetry of Job, in M. L. GROSSMAN (ed.), Built by Wisdom, Established by Understanding: Essays on Biblical and Near Eastern Literature in Honor of Adele Berlin, Bethesda, MD, 179–95. – (2013d): Three Philological Notes on the Book of Job in M. AVIOZ et al. (eds.), Zer Rimmonim: Studies in Biblical Literature and Exegesis Presented to Professor Rimon Kasher, Atlanta, 297– 308 [Hebrew]. – (2017): The Book of Job and Mesopotamian Literature: How Many Degrees of Separation? in: Z. ZEVIT (ed.), Subtle Citation, Allusion, and Translation in the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield, UK/Bristol, CT, 143–58. – (forthcoming): Bildad Lectures Job: A Close Reading of Job 8, in J.B. COUEY/E. JAMES (eds.), Close Readings of Biblical Hebrew Poems, New York/Cambridge. GUNKEL, H. and J. BEGRICH (1998 [orig. 1933]): Introduction to Psalms: The Genres of the Religious Lyric of Israel, J.D. NOGALSKI (trans.), Macon, GA. HABEL, N.C. (1978): Appeal to Ancient Tradition as a Literary Form, ZAW 88, 53–72. HARTLEY, J.E. (1988): The Book of Job, (NICOT), Grand Rapids, MI. HELD, M. (1985): Marginal Notes to the Hebrew Lexicon, in: A. KORT/S. MORSCHAUSER (eds.), Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry, Winona Lake, IN, 93–103. HOFFMAN, Y. (1980): The Use of Equivocal Words in the First Speech of Eliphaz, VT 30, 114–18. HONECK, R.P. (1997): A Proverb in Mind: The Cognitive Science of Proverbial Wit and Wisdom, Mahwah, NJ/London. MIEDER, W. (2004): Proverbs: A Handbook. Westport, CT. MILLARD, A.R. (1969): What Has No Taste? (Job 6:6), UF 1, 210. MILLER, R.D. II (2011): Oral Tradition in Ancient Israel, Eugene, OR. MÜNNICH, M.M. (2013): The God Resheph in the Ancient Near East (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 11). Tübingen. NIDITCH, S. (2014): Twisting Proverbs: Oral Traditional Performance and Written Context, in A. BRENNER-IDAN (ed.), Discourse, Dialogue, and Debate in the Bible: Essays in Honour of Frank Polak, Sheffield, 125–35. OSHIMA, T. (2013): The Babylonian Theodicy, (State Archive of Assyria, Cuneiform Text 9), Helsinki. – (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers: Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14), Tübingen. PERDUE, L.G. (2007): Wisdom Literature: A Theological History, Louisville/London. SABOURIN, L. (1974): The Psalms: Their Origin and Meaning, enlarged ed., New York. SCHAEFER, K. (2001): Psalms, (Berit Olam), Collegeville, MN.

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SEOW, C.-L. (2013): Job 1–21: Interpretation and Commentary, (Illuminations), Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK. SPARKS, K.L. (2005): Ancient Texts for the Study of the Hebrew Bible: A Guide to the Background Literature, Peabody, MA. THOMPSON, J.M. (1974): The Form and Function of Proverbs in Ancient Israel, The Hague. TSUMURA, D.T. (2007): The First Book of Samuel, (NICOT), Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK. WEINFELD, M. (1972): Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, Oxford. WEISS, M. (1984): The Bible from Within: The Method of Total Interpretation, Jerusalem. WESTERMANN, C. (1995): Roots of Wisdom: The Oldest Proverbs of Israel and Other Peoples, J.D. CHARLES (trans.), Louisville. WILLIAMS, J.G. (1981): Those Who Ponder Proverbs: Aphoristic Thinking and Biblical Literature, Sheffield. XELLA, P. (1995). Resheph, in: K. VAN DER TORN et al. (eds.), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, Leiden/New York/Köln, 1324–29.

The Expression of Moral Judgments through Imagery in Job and Ancient Near Eastern Literature Dominick S. Hernández* Introduction Moral judgments – understood to be conclusions regarding proper conduct – pervade the first two rounds of dialogue in the book of Job (chapters 1–21). These moral judgments are predominantly directed in two ways. On the one hand, Job – reasoning from personal experience – makes moral judgments about God’s conduct. This is particularly evident in 9:20–24, where Job accuses God of being an unjust judge and coddling the wicked with worldly blessings. On the other hand, Job’s friends make moral judgments concerning Job’s character based upon traditional wisdom that is rooted in their ancient Near Eastern cognitive environment. Though not categorically identical, there are indeed discernible commonalities regarding what is considered proper conduct of the divine and humankind in ancient Near Eastern compositions (i.e. texts from ancient Egypt, ancient Mesopotamia, the ancient Levant) and Job. An examination of this literature demonstrates that a variety of ancient Near Eastern compositions, ranging from Mesopotamia to Egypt, used similar imagery and rhetoric to express these judgments. Reading these compositions alongside the dialogues of Job provides an illuminating backdrop for biblical images and language. In this work, I examine select imagery and rhetoric from Job and a variety of ancient Near Eastern compositions, and provide examples of how shared imagery and rhetoric are used to make moral statements that relate, for the most part, to the doctrine of just retribution endorsed by Job’s friends. There are numerous examples of this, but I will mainly focus on Zophar’s speech in chapter 20, comparing its rhetoric to several ancient Near Eastern compositions. I will conclude with hermeneutical suggestions concerning how reading Job in its ancient Near Eastern literary context sheds light on Zophar’s inclusion of Job among the wicked.

* Some material in this paper stems from research incorporated into my doctoral dissertation entitled “  ‘Will the Lamp of the Wicked Wane?’ The Prosperity of the Wicked in the Book of Job and other Ancient Near Eastern Literature,” submitted under the supervision of Professor Ed Greenstein, Bar-Ilan University. I would like to thank Professor Ed Greenstein, Jose Quintana, and Catherine Merrifield for reading drafts of this paper and providing thoughtful comments. All other translations from Hebrew are my own except for the phrasing of Job 8:8–10 which draws on a pre-publication version of a Job translation by Edward L. Greenstein (under contract with Yale University Press). I accept full responsibility for any deficiencies in this chapter.

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Job’s Friends Judge Job Job’s companions broach the topic of just retribution prior to overtly indicting him as wicked by appealing to ancient wisdom,1 encouraging Job to consider the findings of previous generations regarding divine justice. Their logic is that it is not good enough to rely on individual subjective experience; rather, the authorities of tradition and communal memory are better mediums of truth.2 Bildad, for example, asserts in 8:8– 10 that Job and his friends are but novices in regard to the wisdom they can learn from those who have come before them:3 [8] Inquire of the former generations, and determine the deep-wisdom of their ancestors; [9] For we are only yesterday and we do not know; for our days on earth are but a shadow. [10] They will surely instruct you, they will tell you; out of their hearts they will put forth words.

‫שׁאַל נָא לְד ֹר ִרישׁוֹן וְכוֹנֵן ְל ֵח ֶקר ֲאבוֹתָ ם‬ ְ ‫[ כִּי‬8]

‫אָרץ‬ ֶ ‫[ כִּי תְ מוֹל ֲאנַחְנוּ וְֹלא נֵדָ ע כִּי צֵל י ָ ֵמינוּ ֲעלֵי‬9]

‫[ הֲֹלא הֵם יוֹרוָּך י ֹא ְמרוּ לְָך וּ ִמ ִלּבָּם יוֹצִאוּ ִמלִּים‬10]

Ancient Wisdom: The Basis of Moral Judgments – 8:8–10 Bildad appeals to the ancient wisdom of previous generations in a manner that echoes the traditional ancient Near Eastern custom of establishing authority and wisdom, with the intent of encouraging Job to turn back to God. This appeal to ancient wisdom is not only repeated by Job’s other companions (cf. 15:10, 17–19; 20:4–5), but it is also apparent elsewhere in biblical literature (e.g., Deut. 32:7).4 These reoccurring appeals to ancient wisdom suggest that this concept was a part of the theological tradition of Ancient Israel. Traditional Wisdom in the Song of Moses For example, the Song of Moses is strikingly similar to Bildad’s appeal to tradition in 8:8–10. In Deut 32:7, Moses is depicted as encouraging the Israelites to depend upon traditional wisdom by commanding: [7] Remember the days of old. Consider the years of past generations. Ask your father, and he will tell you – your elders and they will instruct you.5

1

‫שׁאַל אָבִיָך ְויַגֵּדְ ָך‬ ְ ‫שׁנוֹת דּ ֹר וָד ֹר‬ ְ ‫[ זְכ ֹר י ְמוֹת עוֹלָם בִּינוּ‬7] ‫זְ ֵקנֶיָך וְי ֹא ְמרוּ ָלְך‬

For a thorough discussion on an appeal to ancient tradition, see HABEL 1976, 253–71. SEOW 2013, 520. 3 See GERALD 1985, 83, 85; LONGMAN III 2012, 157; CRENSHAW 2011, 72. Job seemingly agrees; see 12:12. Cf. 15:18, 20:4. 4 HABEL 1976, 256–57; GREENSTEIN 2007, 63–66. 5 The final sentence of this translation is from GREENSTEIN 2012 a, 72. 2

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The rhetorical similarities are conspicuous between Deut 32:7 and Job 8:8–10. Bildad, like Moses, commands inquiring of the previous generations ( ‫שׁאַל נ ָא לְד ֹר ִרישׁוֹן‬ ְ ‫)כִּי‬, emphasizes the importance of the ancestors ( ‫) ֲאבוֹ ָתם‬, and is confident that the seeker will receive valuable information from them ( ‫)הֲֹלא הֵם יוֹרוָּך י ֹא ְמרוּ לְָך‬. In this manner, Bildad is depicted as sharing this view of ancient wisdom with Moses. However, Bildad’s similar terminology perhaps foreshadows the inapplicability of ancient wisdom in Job’s situation, leading Job to suggest that it is best to gain understanding through one’s experience.6 Traditional Wisdom in the Ancient Near East Bildad’s appeal to ancient wisdom is similar to other references apparent in extrabiblical ancient Near Eastern literature. It is particularly evident in those compositions set in the distant past in which younger people are expected to heed the instruction of their forefathers. For example, the proverbs section of the Instructions of Šuruppak is prefaced with the introduction:7 In those days, in those far remote days; In those nights, in those faraway nights; In those years, in those far remote years; In those days, the intelligent one, the one of elaborate words, the wise one, who lived in the country; The man from Šuruppak, the intelligent one, the one of elaborate words, the wise one, who lived in the country; The man from Šuruppak, gave instructions to his son… (Lines 1–6)8

This text exemplifies the common practice of appealing to the antiquity of traditional wisdom, such as that found in ancient maxims and proverbs.

6 Greenstein (ibid., 66–67; 72) contends that Job makes use of Deut 32:7 to form the appeal to ancient tradition in Job 8:8–10. According to Greenstein, the poet of Job intentionally adapts lines from Deuteronomy 32 here and in other sections of Job, and uses this classic teaching in order to parody the concept of ancient wisdom. The goal of the parody is to demonstrate that traditional wisdom is ineffective in this situation, and to suggest it is best to gain understanding through one’s experience. Whether one accepts the parody of Deut 32 in Job or not, it is clear that Job indeed argues that experience is a better foundation for understanding his circumstances than ancient wisdom. Job’s unawareness of the heavenly scene of the prologues, as well as the impending whirlwind speeches and epilogue, cause him to develop a reason for his suffering based upon his personal experience. This personal experience assures Job that his friends are misguided by their reasoning that is derived from traditional wisdom. Thus, Job diverts attention from the impractical tradition of his friends to a pragmatic experiential perspective. This is particularly evident in 21:6–34, where Job challenges his companions’ claims that the life of a righteous person is carefree, while the wicked experience misfortune. According to Job, human experience simply does not correspond with this assertion. 7 The depiction of Šuruppak giving instructions to his son, Ziusudra, in the distant past suggests that the audience was to identify with Ziusudra in recognizing the instruction as authoritative and receiving these “practically-oriented counsels intended to prepare any man to live a prudent life in society, in particular, preparing him to take control of his own household…” (ALSTER 2005, 33). Similarly, Job’s friends provide instruction to him, suggesting that he should recognize their counsel as authoritative since it is based in distant times (8:8–10; 15:10, 17–19; 20:4–5). 8 ALSTER 2005, 56–57.

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It is, therefore, not surprising that this same type of appeal to ancient tradition would appear throughout the dialogues of Job, portraying Job’s friends as steeped in the common theologies of their day. Accordingly, when Job’s companions appeal to traditional wisdom, they are, in fact, representing an approach used by many cultures in the ancient Near East and beyond. According to Job’s friends, the further they could trace back their knowledge, the wiser they were, and the more authority they had to speak to Job’s situation.9 Including Job among the Wicked Appealing to ancient wisdom is not the only literary device shared between Job and extra-biblical compositions. As the dialogue progresses, and the accusations of Job’s friends intensify, it becomes increasingly evident that Job’s companions are using rhetoric and imagery shared with other ancient Near Eastern compositions to include Job among the wicked. Examining the passages that treat the fate of the wicked in Job alongside extra-biblical compositions reveals that the dialogues of Job are notably familiar with the rhetoric and imagery of other ancient Near Eastern wisdom literature.

Zophar’s Imagery in the World of the Ancient Near East The resemblance between Job and the ancient wisdom compositions is particularly evident in Job 20, where Zophar uses rhetoric shared with ancient Near Eastern literature to make moral judgments against the impious, and depict the punishment of the wicked. More specifically, several ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian compositions echo Zophar’s language concerning admonitions against abusing the weak for material gain, and the ephemerality of unlawful possessions. For example, the Egyptian didactic text, the Instructions of Amenemope,10 like Zophar, illustrates the fate of the wicked, who perpetually desire to obtain ill-gotten gain by exploitation of the weak. In both texts, the illicit acquisition of gain is figured as the swallowing of rotten food, which the consumer will eventually vomit. When Zophar’s imagery is examined in light of Amenemope and excerpts from other ancient

9 This appeal to ancient wisdom in Mesopotamia was apparently coupled with the eudemonistic idea that happiness was contingent upon one’s tendency towards proper action. As succinctly summarized by Bottéro (1992, 188), the Mesopotamians reasoned: “If I am in trouble, it is because I am punished. If I am punished, it is because I must have forgotten some obligation or have violated some divine prohibition.” 10 Hereafter referred to as Amenemope. For editions, see LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:147–63. Lichtheim’s 1976 version is reprinted in COS I, 115–22. All quotations are taken from Lichtheim with consultation of PRITCHARD 1969, 421–25. The similarities between this ancient Egyptian composition and Proverbs, particularly Proverbs 22:17–24:22, have been well noted for many years. See, for example, FOX 2008, 421; LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:147; WASHINGTON 1994, 135–45; EMERTON 2001, 431–65; SPARKS 2005, 70–71. S. Tower Hollis (2009, 105) dissents in her assessment concerning the relationship between Amenemope and Proverbs. Hollis suggests that though Amenemope “was likely known to the ancient Israelites, any relationship [to Israelite literature] would have been indirect.”

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Near Eastern literature, it becomes evident that corresponding imagery appears in the book of Job to address comparable theological issues. This is particularly evident as it pertains to emphasizing Zophar’s unique goal of portraying God’s intimate involvement in divine retribution. Cautions against Exploiting the Disadvantaged In Amenemope, poverty is not necessarily considered misfortune and is preferable to obtaining ill-gotten gain. In fact, the ideal person, according to this teaching, is humble and content with a meager amount of material goods.11 Therefore, the renouncing of illegitimate gain and deception is a theme that pervades the work.12 In the case of immoral behavior, conventional wisdom applies with regard to consequences. For example: The boat of the greedy is left ˂in˃ the mud, While the bark of the silent sails with the wind… Guard your tongue from harmful speech, Then you will be loved by others. You will find your place in the house of god, You will share in the offerings of your lord.

(10.10–11)

(10.21–11.3)13

A most explicit statement is found in 17.5: 14 Do good and you will prosper.

In this manner, Amenemope shares the paradigm of reward that Job’s friends exhort throughout their speeches. Bildad (8:8–10), Eliphaz (15:10, 18–19), and Zophar (20:4– 5) base the foundation of their claims pertaining to retribution upon ancient tradition, which asserts that wisdom is old and consequently impeccable. Though Amenemope does not decidedly rely upon ancient tradition per se, the vestiges of the system of just retribution in accordance with traditional wisdom, which appear in the aforementioned lines, are key to understanding the approach to the behavioral guidance outlined in the composition. Straightaway in Amenemope, there is an exhortation to refrain from brazenness toward the vulnerable:

11

See especially 9.5–8, 16.11–14, and 26.8–14. According to M. Lichtheim (2006, 2:146–47), there are two basic themes within the composition: 1) “the depiction of the ideal man, the ‘silent man’ and his adversary, the ‘heated man,’ and 2) an “exhortation to honesty and warnings against dishonesty.” 12 See for example, “God hates the falsifier of words, he greatly abhors the dissembler.” 10.11–12. Ibid., 2.154. 13 Ibid., 2:153. 14 Ibid., 2:156. A. Loprieno and H. Washington suggest that the belief in a connection between properly behaving and earthly success begins waning towards the end of the Ramesside era in which Amenemope was composed. See LOPRIENO 2003, 101. Whereas the concept of divine retribution may not be as prevalent in Amenemope as it is in some biblical literature, the aforementioned quotations demonstrate that there are remnants of this paradigm in Amenemope.

The Expression of Moral Judgments Beware of robbing a wretch, Of attacking a cripple; Don’t stretch out your hand to touch an old man, Nor ⌈open your mouth⌉ to an elder.

155

(2.4–7)15

Amenemope similarly calls for respecting the defenseless: Do not move the markers on the border of the fields, Nor shift the position of the measuring-cord. Do not be greedy for a cubit of land, Nor encroach on the boundaries of the widow.

(7.11–15)16

Zophar raises the same concern for the weak and needy in Job 20:10 and 19 through stating the consequences of the wicked that abuse them: [10] His sons will repay 17 the poor; his hands 18 will return his wealth. [19] Because he oppressed and abandoned the poor; he seized a house he did not build.

‫שׁ ְבנָה אוֹנוֹ‬ ֵ ָ‫[ ָבּנָיו י ְַרצּוּ דַ לִּים ְוי ָדָ יו תּ‬10] ‫[ כִּי ִרצַּץ ָעזַב דַּ לִּים ַבּי ִת ָגּזַל וְֹלא י ִ ְבנֵהוּ‬19]

Comparable admonitions exist in Akkadian wisdom compositions found at Ugarit and elsewhere. Šimâ milka19 more explicitly incorporates an aspect of traditional wis-

15 Amenemope teaches that profit is obtained when one is not striving to seize control of possessions. For example, see: “Do not grasp and you’ll find profit” (6.15), as well as “Do not strain to seek increase, what you have let it suffice you” (9.14–15). Working honestly is the way one should obtain goods: “Plow your fields and you’ll find what you need, you’ll receive bread from your threshingfloor” (8.17–18). The humble are to be content with what they have without perpetually striving for possessions: “Do not rejoice in wealth from theft, nor complain of being poor” (10.6–7). LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:151–53. 16 Ibid., 2:151. 17 I read the word ‫ י ְַרצּוּ‬from ‫ רצה‬II with A. Hakham to mean “to replace, restore” (HALOT, 1282) while recognizing that a wordplay could exist between the roots ‫ רצה‬and ‫“ רצץ‬to crush,” which subsequently appears in v. 19. HAKHAM 1984, 155 [Hebrew]; SEOW 2013, 852. 18 R. Gordis (1943, 343) argues that the word ‫ יד‬in this context is better translated as “offspring.” He bases this argument upon 1) the sons of the evil-doer being explicitly mentioned in 10a, 2) the claim that ‫ יד‬could not refer to the dead person’s hand (v. 11), and 3) the Talmud’s usage of the word “knee” to mean “offspring.” Seow disagrees and is not convinced that ‫ יד‬can mean “offspring” particularly because the parallels Gordis cites are unconvincing. Seow suggests that ‫ יד‬is a natural extension of the wicked’s being. Seow (2013, 852) states that “[t]he second line elaborates the first, explaining why the children of the wicked will end up being in their sorry state. The sons of the wicked are at the mercy of the poor as payback.” Regardless of whether the phrase ‫ ידיו‬refers to the wicked person’s hand or his offspring the same sense prevails, ill-gotten gain must be returned to its rightful owner and does not remain in the possession of those who have attained it by participating in unlawful activity. J. Hartley (1988, 305) sums up the sense in its theological context stating, “as just retribution, the evildoer’s massive wealth will go back to those from whom he has coerced it (cf. 5:5).” 19 Also commonly known as the “Instructions of Šūpê-amēli.” Quotations and transliteration of Šimâ milka taken from COHEN 2013, 84–101, compared with, HUROWITZ 2007, 37–51, Hurowitz’s translation is located on pp. 45–51. See also Y. Cohen’s contribution in this volume, pp. 41–59.

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dom,20 and bears similar instructions to those that are found in Amenemope and Job. In this composition, a father commands his son to reject exploitation: My son do not plunder from those who grind flour (for food rations), Impoverish neither young nor old.

(Lines 57–58)21

The proverbial expressions preserved in the Sammeltafel found at Ugaritic further instruct against taking advantage of the needy, stating: One should not treat the weak contemptuously, The cripple may overtake the runner,22 The rich may beg the poor.

(Lines 32´–37´)23

Similarly, the sufferer in the Babylonian Theodicy observes the immoral person who takes advantage of the weak, and persecutes the powerless by depriving them of their vital resources: They [evil people]24 also humiliate the pitiable man who does no harm. They empty the grain-bin, the food of a weak man. They destroy the helpless and trample upon the powerless.

(Lines 268, 272, 274)25

Another example of this concern for the less fortunate in the ancient Near East is apparent in the Ugaritic Epic of Kirta.26 Toward the end of the composition, after Kirta has been in declining health, stricken with illness by the goddess Asherah, his eldest son, not knowing that he has been healed, attempts to usurp his throne. In stating the reasons that Kirta should abdicate the throne, his son blames him of the following misconduct: You don’t pursue the widow’s case, You don’t take up the wretched’s claim. You don’t expel the poor’s oppressor.

20

For example, see lines 68–69, which state, “Since the days of old, (thus) our ancestors established, our fathers shared counsel…” COHEN 2013, 91. 21 Ibid., 88–89. 22 This echoes the Babylonian Theodicy, line 76: “A cripple went up above me; a fool moved forward away from me.” OSHIMA 2014, 155. 23 COHEN 2013, 137. See also ALSTER 2005, 325–26. Line 39´ consequently states, “this is the fate of the sound person.” This might suggest that the emphasis of lines 33–37 in context is upon the potential that there could be a future turn of events that might suddenly make the fortunate needy. This idea is strikingly present in a bilingual Sumerian/Akkadian proverb found at Ugarit, which states “A son of a wealthy man stretches out his hand toward the son of a poor man.” ALSTER 2005, 326. What is particularly interesting about this proverb is the emphasis placed upon the children of the rich and the poor, thereby reverberating with Job 20:10. 24 OSHIMA 2014, 129. 25 Ibid., 164–65. 26 For the Epic of Kirta, see H. Niehr’s contribution in this volume, pp. 70–91.

The Expression of Moral Judgments You don’t feed the orphan who faces you, Nor the widow who stands at your back.

157

(Column VI, Lines 45–50)27

Though these claims against Kirta prove false, and he subsequently curses his son,28 it is evident that oppression of society’s less fortunate is depicted as a breach of civility that is worthy of reproof. According to Amenemope, there are indeed consequences for one who commits evil by exploiting the weak. He who does evil, the shore rejects him, Its floodwater carries him away.

(4.12–13)29

Such a person is carried off in a flood similar to the flowing waters that carry off the wicked and their possessions in Job 20:28:30

27

GREENSTEIN 1997, 41. See also idem 2012 b, 79–80, where he notes the connection between the accusations in Kirta and Eliphaz's subsequent allegations against Job in 22:6–9. 28 GREENSTEIN 1997, 10. 29 LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:150. 30 This reading understands ‫ יִגֶל‬coming from ‫“ גל"י‬to depart.” BDB, 162. This suggests that the possessions of the wicked departed (i.e. are removed) from their custody as divine retribution. However, what is particularly interesting is how several commentators initially concede to a straightforward reading of v. 28a, which they subsequently change in light of the information they are presented with as they continue reading in v. 28b. When the reader comes upon the word ‫נִגָּרוֹת‬, a term relating to a stream, the expected parallelism with v. 28a is foiled. For example, Hartley (1988 304, fn. 30) states that v. 28a “may be translated ‘the possessions of his house will be taken into exile.’  ” Nonetheless, Hartley is compelled to change this reading to reflect the parallelism with ‫נִגָּרוֹת‬, stating that “in light of the second line it is quite possible to interpret this line [v. 28a] as describing the rush of flooding waters.” This equivocation provokes the question as to whether both of these readings – one which suggests that the possessions of the wicked’s house are carried off, and the other which indicates that a stream of water removes the houses of the wicked – should be equally understood in this context. What is displayed throughout the commentaries on this verse is that readers are compelled to readjust – that is, retrospectively pattern – their interpretation of what is communicated in v. 28 based upon ensuing revealed information. See SMITH 1968, 10–14, for an explanation of retrospective patterning. In this specific case, retrospective patterning provides two tenable readings of v. 28, one which focuses on the removal of the wealth of the wicked, and another which depicts the house of the wicked being destroyed by a flood. Both of these readings present consequences that coincide with just retribution theology and have been broached throughout the dialogues of Job. The idea that both readings may be intended is intimated by Seow (2013, 862) in his observation that an originally conservative orthography would have facilitated a word play between ‫ י ְבוּל‬and yebel. His observation is not only correct for the putative yebel, but rather all of the words related to the flow of liquid composed of the characters ‫י ב ל‬. Judgment by way of water calls to mind the common ancient Mesopotamian river-ordeal that is potentially alluded to in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, tablet IV, line j: “On the bank of the River, where the judgement of people is examined.” OSHIMA 2014, 103. Oshima concisely explains this judicial procedure stating that “through a river-ordeal, the ancients not only proved a person’s innocence or guilt as such, but they also examined whether this person still carried sins that had not been cleared by the gods” (308). For a thorough discussion of this line, see OSHIMA 2014, 307–14, note on j.

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[28] The possessions of his house are taken away; flowing waters in the day of his wrath.31

‫[ יִגֶל י ְבוּל בֵּיתוֹ נִגָּרוֹת בְּיוֹם ַאפּוֹ‬28]

In light of these excerpts, it is apparent that Zophar’s theology has affinities with diverse ancient Near Eastern literature which deems the exploitation and impoverishment of the poor to be a morally problematic issue. Further analysis of Zophar’s speech and comparable ancient Near Eastern literature reveals that it is more than simply literary or theological motifs that are shared. These compositions also use similar imagery to communicate their respective theological objectives. This is notably the case between Zophar and Amenemope in terms of how they both use the imagery of swallowing and vomiting to demonstrate that illicit gain will not remain in the possession of the wicked. The Ephemerality of Illicit Possessions Like Zophar in Job 20:10, Amenemope upholds the claim that the unethical deeds of the immoral financially affect the next generation. In agreement with Zophar, neither the exploiter nor his children will be able to maintain their ill-gotten possessions: His wealth will be seized from his children’s hands, His possessions will be given to another.

(8.7–8)32

Corresponding to this warning, Amenemope discourages the goal of setting one’s heart upon obtaining wealth. Those who dishonestly obtain physical possessions will surely lose them: If riches come to you by theft, They will not stay the night with you. Comes day they are not in your house, Their place is seen but they’re not there; Earth opened its mouth, leveled them, swallowed them, And made them sink into dat.33 They made a hole as big as their size, And sank into the netherworld; They made themselves wings like geese, And flew away to the sky.

(9.16–10.5)34

The thematic correspondence between this section and Job 20:18, 21, where Zophar claims that the wicked will not ultimately prosper, is conspicuous. 31 The phrase ‫ בְּיוֹם ַאפּוֹ‬refers to a period of time in which God’s judgment is executed. See Isa 13:13; Zeph 2:2–3; Ps 110:5; Lam 1:12; 2:1; 2:21–22. With regard to the phrase ‫ בְּיוֹם ַאפּוֹ‬in 20:28 Good (1990, 263) states, “  ‘On the wrathful day’…refers, it seems, to God’s angry intervention…” 32 LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:152. 33 The term dat is rendered as “underworld” in PRITCHARD 1969, 422. 34 LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:152–53. Seow (2013, 838) notes that Zophar’s comments harmonize with the ancient Egyptian view, which suggests that “any success that the wicked may have is only temporal, whereas Truth, Ma’at, the Egyptian term for moral order, transcends the present reality of evil.” For translations and meanings of Ma’at, see SMELIK 1999, 534–35. See also the contributions by Dietrich, Assmann and von Lieven in this volume, pp. 13–18, 19–37, and 175–81 respectively.

159

The Expression of Moral Judgments [18a] He will return his profit and will not swallow it… [21b] Therefore, his prosperity35 will not flourish.

... ‫שׁיב יָגָע וְֹלא י ִ ְבלָע‬ ִ ‫[ ֵמ‬18a] ‫טוּבו‬ ֹ ‫[ ֵאין ָשׂ ִריד לְאָכְלוֹ עַל כֵּן ֹלא יָחִיל‬21b]

The reference to swallowing in v. 18 is particularly significant in that Zophar’s claim regarding the wicked having to return their possessions also appears in Amenemope. The imagery of swallowing and subsequent vomiting that is shared by Amenemope and Job is used by Zophar to emphasize a core principle of the just retribution theory. Zophar relies upon traditional wisdom to contend that the wicked cannot retain illgotten gain in their possession. Imagery of Swallowing in Amenemope The imagery of swallowing in Amenemope is introduced by a simple admonition to stay away from the property of a poor person: Do not covet a poor man’s goods, Nor hunger for his bread.

(14.5–6)36

It is clear that the poor man’s goods in the first line of this statement correspond to the poor man’s bread in the second line. The poor man’s goods, which are metaphorically referred to as food, are assumed to be the subject throughout the rest of the chapter. The wicked man cannot “swallow” the poor man’s goods, that is, keep them in his possession, because obtaining this type of gain by exploiting the poor is repulsive: A poor man’s goods are a block in the throat, It makes the gullet vomit.

(14.7–8)37

This statement depicts imagery nearly identical to that of Job 20:15 in which the wicked person is forced, in that case by God, to vomit up the ill-gotten gain: [15] The wicked person swallowed wealth and God made him vomit it; God casts it out from his belly.

‫שׁנּוּ ֵאל‬ ֶ ‫[ ַחי ִל ָבּלַע ַוי ְ ִק ֶאנּוּ ִמ ִבּטְנוֹ י ִֹר‬15]

The imagery connected to illicit gain and eating continues in Amenemope and likens the lying person to a hungry deceiver who erroneously follows the cravings of his insatiable belly: He who makes gain by lying oaths, His heart is misled by his belly.

(14.9–10)38

The belly of the deceitful person unremittingly longs for more and more “bread” just like the greedy overeater depicted by Zophar in 20:23.

35

See the usage of the word ‫ טוּב‬in reference to prosperity in Gen 24:10 (‫) ְוכָל טוּב ֲאדֹנ ָיו ְבּי ָדוֹ‬. LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:154. 37 Ibid., 154–55. 38 Ibid., 155. 36

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[23] If, 39 the wicked were to fill his belly (i.e. with ill-gotten gain), God would send the divine wrath upon him…

‫שׁלַּח בּוֹ חֲרוֹן ַאפּוֹ ְוי ַ ְמטֵר ָעלֵימוֹ ִבּלְחוּמוֹ‬ ַ ְ ‫[ יְהִי ְל ַמלֵּא ִבטְנוֹ י‬23]

The intemperate person in Amenemope can only put bread into his mouth and yet, cannot ingest (maintain) his gain. As soon as the evildoer swallows, he vomits and is left without anything: The big mouthful of bread – you swallow, you vomit it, And you are emptied of your gain.

(14.17–18)40

Not only is the act of regurgitation here similar to that in Job 20:15, but the imagery also corresponds to Job 20:18 in that the evildoer cannot keep any of his possessions figuratively down. He cannot enjoy his wealth and is eventually stripped of everything (Job 20:26, 28).

Zophar’s Imagery in Context: Two Observations After reviewing traditional wisdom, the theology of just retribution, rhetoric, and imagery in Job and ancient Near Eastern texts, there are several observations that lend insight into how one might be able to read Job’s companions’ claims, especially Zophar’s. I will consider two notable issues in light of the excerpts surveyed above. Job’s Wealth Understanding the book of Job as part of the larger corpus of ancient Near Eastern literature might lead to a previously unforeseen conclusion with regard to Job’s wealth. Zophar uses well-known imagery from this environment to make a moral judgment against Job, accusing him of having obtained his former possessions through exploitation of the defenseless. Zophar does not simply make a general speech about the perceived fate of the wicked in chapter 20, but he indicts Job as one of them, implying that Job approached life as an evildoer prior to his retribution. The evidence for Zophar’s claim, according to the theology of just retribution, lies in the fact that Job is devoid of his possessions. In presenting the wicked person as one who has lost his possessions (i.e., by way of vomiting them up), Job’s friend seems to be suggesting that he may have dishonestly obtained his former wealth. The usage of shared imagery with Amenemope by Zophar, which suggests that anyone who is devoid of wealth lost it because it was ill-gotten, depicts one of the main disputes between Job and his companions as to whether it is possible to judge one’s 39

Clines (1989, 477), appealing to Driver, contends that ‫ יְהִי‬can only mean “may it be.” Therefore, the poet must be indicating a wish expressing that the following actions would happen to the ungodly. This is certainly a reasonable suggestion, which maintains the retribution theme. However, the jussive can also be understood in a conditional or potential sense (GKC § 109h–i). This suggests that the phrase can also express a provisional action – that is to say, “If, upon filling his belly…” – and does not necessarily have to express a wish. 40 LICHTHEIM 2006, 2:155.

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moral character based upon personal circumstances.41 Though a loss of wealth could potentially be a consequence of attaining ill-gotten gain, it does not follow that a loss of wealth necessarily implies that wealth was ill-gotten.42 Zophar is drawing an exaggerated conclusion based upon his preconceived view of justice, and what this looks like in terms of financial prosperity, not factoring in the variable of human experience. Reference to the temporary wealth of the wicked is an occasion in which well-known imagery is used to further convey Zophar’s strict adherence to the theology of just retribution despite his faulty conclusion. Just Retribution in Job Comparable imagery in Job and ancient Near Eastern compositions is not always used by their respective authors for the same purpose. In the case of Job, Zophar distinctly uses imagery shared with Amenemope to emphasize one of his own most significant theological convictions. This is seen clearly in Job 20, where Zophar stresses his belief that God alone renders specific, retributive justice to evildoers. Zophar’s use of rhetoric and imagery for his own, distinct theological purposes is particularly evident through the imagery of swallowing and vomiting. In Amenemope, the earth swallows the ill-gotten gain in order to communicate that illicit goods do not last. When an evildoer tries to swallow the possessions of a poor person, he somewhat mysteriously cannot keep them down. There is no specific agent causing the evildoer to vomit in the context of this statement. In Job, however, the wicked strive to swallow their illicit possessions and God is explicitly stated to be the cause of the vomiting. According to Zophar, it is exclusively God who brings justice in causing the wicked to lose their gain (vv. 15, 23, 28b, 29).

Conclusion Analysis of Zophar’s speech in light of ancient Near Eastern texts further corroborates his ardent belief in just retribution theology and squarely places Zophar in the ancient Near Eastern cognitive environment. The major theological emphases of Job’s friends are expressed through similar imagery to that which is found in Amenemope and other ancient Near Eastern compositions. This facilitates a better understanding of the basis for the moral judgements Job's friends place on him. According to them, Job is indeed the one responsible for all of the disasters that befell him, and for God enacting personal retribution against him.

41

For the issue of ill-gotten wealth in ancient Mesopotamian wisdom texts, cf. Oshima’s contribution in this volume pp. 189–215. 42 For and elaboration on the illogical conclusions of Job’s companions see GREENSTEIN 2009, 338.

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Bibliography ALSTER, B. (2005): Wisdom of Ancient Sumer, Bethesda. BEAULIEU, P.A. (2007): The Social and Intellectual Setting of Babylonian Wisdom Literature, in: R.J. CLIFFORD (ed.), Wisdom Literature in Mesopotamia and Israel, (SBLSymS 36), Atlanta, 3–19. BOTTÉRO, J./Z. BAHRANI/M. VAN DE MIEROOP trans. (1992): Writing, Reasoning and the Gods, Chicago. BOTTÉRO, J./T.L. FAGAN trans. (2001): Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia, Chicago. CLINES, D.J.A. (1989): Job 1–20, (WBC 17), Dallas. CRENSHAW, J.L. (2011): Reading Job: A Literary and Theological Commentary, Macon. COHEN, Y. (2013): Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, (SBLWAW 34), Atlanta. EMERTON, J.A. (2001): The Teaching of Amenemope and Proverbs XXII 17–XXIV 22: Further Reflections on a Long–Standing Problem, VT 51, 431–65. FOSTER, B. (1974): Wisdom and the Gods in Ancient Mesopotamia, Or 13, 344–54. FOX, M.V. (2008): The Formation of Proverbs 22:17–23:11, WO 38, 22–37. GERALD, J.J. (1985): Job, (IBC), Louisville. GOOD, E.M. (1990): In Turns of Tempest: A Reading of Job, with a Translation, Stanford. GORDIS, R. (1943): A Note on YAD, JBL 62, 341–44. GREENFIELD, J.C. (1999): Apkallu, in: K. VAN DER TOORN (et al eds.), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible 2nd ed., Leiden, 72–74. – (1997): Kirta, in: S.B. PARKER (ed.), Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, (SBLWAW 9), Atlanta, 9–48. – (2007): On My Skin and in My Flesh: Personal Experience as a Source of Knowledge in the Book of Job, in: K.F. KRAVITZ/D.M. SHARON (eds.), Bringing the Hidden to Light: Studies in Honor of Stephen A. Geller, Winona Lake, 63–77. – (2009): The Problem of Evil in the Book of Job, in: N.S. FOX/D.A. GLATT-GILAD/M.J. WILLIAMS (eds.), Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, Winona Lake, 333–62. – (2012 a): Parody as a Challenge to Tradition: The Use of Deuteronomy 32 in the Book of Job, in: K.J. DELL/W. KYNES (eds.), Reading Job Intertextuality, (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 574), London, 66–78. – (2012 b): Wisdom Written in Ugaritic, Beit Mikra 57, 72–91 [Hebrew]. HABEL, N.C. (1976): Appeal to Ancient Tradition as a Literary Form, ZAW 88, 253–71. HACKHAM, A. (1984): Job, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. HARTLEY, J.E. (1988): The Book of Job, (NICOT), Grand Rapids. HOLLIS, S.T. (2009): Egyptian Literature, in: C.S. EHRLICH (ed.), From an Antique Land: An Introduction to Ancient Near Eastern Literature, Lanham, 77–136. HUROWITZ, V.A. (2007): The Wisdom of Šûpê–amēli, in: R.J, CLIFFORD (ed.), Wisdom Literature in Mesopotamia and Israel, (SBLSynS 36), Atlanta, 37–54. – (2008): Tales of Two Sages–Towards an Image of the “Wise Man” in Akkadian Writings, in: L.G. PERDUE (ed.), Scribes, Sages, and Seers: The Sage in the Eastern Mediterranean World, Göttingen, 64–94. JACOBSEN, TH. (1976): The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, New Haven. LENZI, A (2008): Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel, (State Archives of Assyria Studies 19: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project), Helsinki. LICHTHEIM, M. (2006): Ancient Egyptian Literature Volumes 1–3, (COS I), Berkely. LONGMAN III, T. ed. (2012): Job, (Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms), Grand Rapids. LOPRIENO, A. (2003): Theodicy in Ancient Egyptian Texts, in: A. LAATO/J.C. DE MOOR (eds.), Theodicy in the World of the Bible, Leiden, 27–56. OSHIMA, T. (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14), Tübingen.

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PERDUE, L.G. (1991): Wisdom in Revolt: Metaphorical Theology in the Book of Job, (JSOTSup 112), Sheffield. – (2008): Introduction, in: L.G. PERDUE (ed.), Scribes, Sages, and Seers: The Sage in the Eastern Mediterranean World, Göttingnen, 1–34. PRITCHARD, J.B. ed. (1969): Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament 3rd ed., Princeton. REINER, E. (1961): The Etiological Myth of the ‘Seven Sages’, Or 30, 1–11. SEOW, C.L. ed. (2013): Job 1–21: Interpretation and Commentary, (Illuminations), Grand Rapids. SMITH, B.H. (1968): Poetic Closure: A Study of How Poems End, Chicago. SPARKS, K. (2005): Ancient Texts for the Study of the Hebrew Bible: A Guide to the Background Literature, Peabody. VAN DER TOORN, K./B. BECKING/P.W. VAN DER HORST eds. (1999): Dictionary of Dieties and Demons in the Bible, 2nd edition, Leiden. WASHINGTON, H.C./D.L. PETERSEN eds. (1994): Wealth and Poverty in the Instruction in Amenemope and the Hebrew Proverbs, (SBLDS), Atlanta.

„Jetzt aber hat mein Auge dich geschaut“ (Ijob 42,5) Gibt es im Ijobbuch eine Lösung des Problems auf der Ebene des Bewusstseins? Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger Das Ijobbuch endet nicht in der Aporie Die Geschichte Ijobs endet nicht in der Aporie. Am Ende der Erzählung wird der Protagonist wiederhergestellt: „JHWH wendete das Geschick Ijobs, als er für seinen Freund Fürbitte einlegte, und JHWH mehrte den Besitz Ijobs auf das te“ (42,10). Ijob bekommt erneut sieben Söhne und drei Töchter. Er sieht seine Kinder und Kindeskinder und stirbt am Ende hochbetagt und satt an Lebenstagen. Die IjobErzählung stellt auf dieser Ebene eine klassische Rettungserzählung dar, wie wir sie vor allem aus den Klage- und Dankpsalmen kennen: Ein Mensch gerät in eine lebensbedrohliche Not, wendet sich klagend und bittend an Gott und wird am Ende aus der Not gerettet. In der Abfolge von Klage- und Dankpsalm liegt der Sache nach dieses Schema vor, aber auch in vielen anderen Büchern, wie etwa dem Buch Exodus oder dem Buch Judith. Das besondere Profil des Ijobbuches bestünde dann darin, dass die Klage und Bitte als ein komplexer Diskurs zwischen Ijob, seinen Freunden und Gott entfaltet wird, wobei zentrale Sinngehalte der biblischen Tradition wie etwa die Gerechtigkeit Gottes und die gerechte Weltordnung in einer Weise problematisiert werden, wie wir es in vergleichbaren Texten des Alten Testaments in dieser Form nicht oder nur kaum finden. Hinzu kommt, dass die Klage des Leidenden in Richtung einer Anklage Gottes verschärft wird und mit einigen ihrer Aussagen sogar in die Nähe einer Leugnung der Existenz Gottes gerät (vgl. 9,11; 23,8f). In Anschlag zu bringen ist ferner die dialogische Form der Auseinandersetzung. Das Thema wird in Rede und Gegenrede unter starker emphatischer Beteiligung der Dialogpartner erörtert. Mit gegenseitigen Vorwürfen und Unterstellungen wird nicht gespart. Zwischen Ijob und seinen drei Freunden kommt es am Ende des Dialogs zum Zerwürfnis. Die Frage, die sich angesichts dieses Befundes stellt, lautet: Wozu der ganze diskursive Aufwand des Dialogteils, wenn am Ende eine vergleichsweise einfache und aus anderen Texten des Alten Testaments bekannte Lösung präsentiert wird? „Wir wissen wohl, das ist kein rechter Schluss“ – so heißt es im Epilog des Parabelstücks „Der gute Mensch von Sezuan“ von Bertolt Brecht. In Anspielung an dieses Wort schreibt Felix Gradl am Ende seines Ijob-Kommentars: „Der Schluss des Buches wirkt

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für viele Menschen eher als Provokation denn als Versöhnung. Oft genug wurde er mit Prädikaten wie ‚kitschig‘ und ‚happy end Hollywood like‘ bedacht.“1 Vor diesem Hintergrund möchte ich eine Deutung des Ijobbuches zur Diskussion stellen, die ich erstmals in meinem kleinen Kommentar präsentiert habe.2 Der Schlüsselsatz zum Verständnis des Buches findet sich nach meiner Auffassung in 42,5: „Vom Hörensagen nur hatte ich von dir gehört, jetzt aber hat mein Auge dich geschaut.“

Die zwei Lösungen des Ijobbuches Auf der Ebene des Endtextes präsentiert das Ijobbuch zwei Lösungen. Ich nenne sie eine äußere und eine innere Lösung. Die äußere Lösung findet sich in der Rahmenerzählung. Hier wird Ijob, wie bereits gesagt, in einem äußeren Sinn wiederhergestellt, und zwar so, wie es um ihn am Anfang der Erzählung bestellt war. Die innere Lösung wird uns am Ende des Dialogteils präsentiert, in der Schlussrede Ijobs. Sie kulminiert in dem bereits zitierten Wort: „Vom Hörensagen (wörtlich: ,vom Hören des Ohres‘) nur hatte ich von dir gehört, jetzt aber hat mein Auge dich geschaut“ (42,5). Bereits am Ende des Dialogteils also ist Ijob mit sich und seiner Lage versöhnt. Die Auseinandersetzung zwischen ihm, seinen Freunden und Gott ist damit beendet. Klaudia Engljähringer hat in ihren „Studien zur Dynamik der Dialoge des Buches Ijob“ darauf hingewiesen, dass sich Ijob, der „Dulder“, wie er in der Rahmenerzählung gezeichnet wird, und Ijob, der „Rebell“, wie er uns im Dialogteil entgegenkommt, näher stehen, als es zunächst den Anschein hat: „Mit 42,6 kommt die Gestalt Ijobs, wie sie der Redeteil profiliert, genau dort an, wo der Ijob der Rahmenerzählung zu finden ist: Er ist mit Gott und mit seiner schrecklichen Lage versöhnt.“3 Auch Robert Gordis spricht hinsichtlich der Schlussrede Ijobs von Versöhnung: „This is more than submission – it is reconciliation.“4 Der entscheidende Punkt ist demnach, dass uns am Ende des Dialogteils eine Lösung präsentiert wird, die ohne die äußerliche Wiederherstellung Ijobs auskommt. Damit liegt meines Erachtens eine theologische Antwort auf die Frage nach dem Leid vor, die deutlich über die im Epilog präsentierte Lösung hinausgeht. Die theologischen und anthropologischen Aspekte und Konsequenzen dieser Lösung sind folgende: 1. Gott greift nicht in das Geschehen ein. In vielen Psalmen und Rettungserzählungen des Alten Testaments greift Gott ein und wendet das Geschick der Bedrängten. Im Dialogteil des Ijobbuches ist das nicht der Fall. In diesem Sinne tut Gott nichts. Er hält lediglich zwei lange Reden, in denen er – vor allem in Form rhetorischer Fragen – Ijob die Welt erklärt. Auf jede der beiden Reden reagiert Ijob mit einer kurzen Antwort. Er wird in zwei Schritten zu einer doppelten Erkenntnis geführt: Im Anschluss an die 1

GRADL 2001, 345. SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER 2007, 42015. 3 ENGLJÄHRINGER 2003, 195. 4 GORDIS 1965 (Phoenix Edition 1978), 304. 2

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erste Gottesrede zur Selbsterkenntnis (40,4: „Siehe, ich bin zu gering. Was kann ich dir erwidern?“), im Anschluss an die zweite Gottesrede zur Gotteserkenntnis (42,2: „Ich habe erkannt, dass du alles vermagst. Kein Vorhaben ist dir verwehrt“). 2. Die Gottesreden führen Ijob also zu einer doppelten Einsicht. Aufgrund dieser Einsicht revidiert er sein bisheriges Sprechen zu und über Gott: „Fürwahr, ich habe geredet, ohne zu verstehen, über Dinge, die zu wunderbar für mich und unbegreiflich sind“ (42,3). Ihm wird ein Wissen zuteil, das er zuvor in dieser Form nicht besaß. In der zweiten Antwort Ijobs spielt das Wortfeld „erkennen“ eine wichtige Rolle. Viermal kommen Worte mit der Bedeutung „erkennen, einsehen, verstehen“ ( ‫)דעת בין ידע‬ vor. An die Stelle eines rettenden Handeln Gottes tritt ein Wissen, das dem Bedrängten zuteil wird. Dieses Wissen wendet seine Not. Wir können es ein „rettendes Wissen“ nennen. 3. Schwierig wird es, wenn das Wissen inhaltlich näher bestimmt werden soll. Wir berühren damit die Frage nach der Funktion der Gottesreden, und zwar nach dem Verhältnis von Lokution und Illokution. In der Forschung wird die Frage diskutiert, was das Entscheidende an den Gottesreden sei: der Inhalt der Rede, also das, was Gott sagt, oder die Tatsache, dass er spricht. Steht also, um die Unterscheidung von J.L. Austin aufzugreifen, die Lokution oder die Illokution im Vordergrund. Die Lokution kann wahr oder falsch sein, die Illokution dagegen gelingt oder misslingt. Meines Erachtens darf das eine nicht gegen das andere ausgespielt werden. In jedem Fall haben die Gottesreden im Unterschied zu den Reden der Freunde eine Wirkung auf Ijob ausgeübt, die ihn offensichtlich zu jenem Einverständnis (zurück-)geführt haben, das er ganz zu Beginn der Erzählung, im Prolog, bereits einmal eingenommen hatte (vgl. 1,21). So gesehen können die Gottesreden als ein gelungener Sprechakt bezeichnet werden. Ich möchte an dieser Stelle darauf hinweisen, dass zum Verständnis der Gottesreden die Unterscheidung von propositionalem und nichtpropositionalem Wissen hilfreich sein könnte. Wolfgang Wieland hat in seiner Interpretation der Dialoge Platons auf diese wichtige Unterscheidung aufmerksam gemacht. 5 Demnach gibt es Wahrheiten, die sich nicht in Form von Aussagesätzen (propositiones) objektivieren und vermitteln lassen. In Bezug auf das Buch Ijob heißt das: Das Buch Ijob gibt keine Antwort auf die Frage nach dem Leid, aber es erzählt von einem Weg, der zu einer Antwort führt. Bindet man Wahrheit – wie es in exegetischen Kreisen gern geschieht – ausschließlich an Aussagen, dann endet das Buch Ijob in der Tat in der Aporie. Rechnet man jedoch auch mit Wahrheit in Form nichtpropositionalen Wissens, dann endet das Buch Ijob keineswegs in der Aporie. Vor dem Hintergrund dieser Unterscheidung kann das Ijobbuch als ein Plädoyer für die Anerkennung nichtpropositionalen Wissens verstanden werden. Ijob wird durch die Gottesreden zu einer Erkenntnis geführt, die ihm auf der Ebene des von den Freunden vermittelten Wissens nicht zugänglich war. Dem entspricht, dass Ijob einige Male auf die Grenzen menschlicher Rede hinweist: „Dass ihr endlich schweigen wolltet; das würde Weisheit für euch sein“ (13,5). „Eure Merksätze sind Sprüche aus Staub“ (13,12; vgl. 12,3 u.a.). Man kann die Reden der Freunde als 5 WIELAND 1982, 21999; besonders in § 13: Propositionales und nichtpropositionales Wissen (ID. 224–36).

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„hoffnungslos richtig“ bezeichnen. – Vielleicht mit der einen Ausnahme, dass sie in zunehmendem Maße davon ausgehen, dass Ijob schuld auf sich geladen habe, was vom „allwissenden“ Erzähler zurückgewiesen wird.

Konsequenzen für das biblische Gottes- und Menschenbild Setzt man nun eine verbreitete diachrone Perspektive voraus, nämlich die, dass die Rahmenerzählung (*1,1–21; *42,12–17) eine ältere Form des Ijobbuches repräsentiert und dass der Dialogteil später hinzugefügt wurde,6 dann gewinnt die im Dialogteil präsentierte Lösung noch einmal ein besonderes Profil. Sie lässt sich als eine gezielte theologische Arbeit am biblischen Gottes-, Welt- und Menschenbild verstehen. Wie lässt sich diese beschreiben? Voluntative und anthropomorphe Aspekte des Gottesbildes werden zurückgedrängt. Gott greift nicht in die Welt ein, um ihre natürlichen Abläufe zu ändern. Die rhetorischen Fragen der Gottesreden wollen zu der Einsicht führen, dass Gott als Schöpfer der Welt und als Herr der Tiere (38,1–39,30) in der Schöpfung in verborgener Weise gegenwärtig ist und dass er in seinem Kampf gegen das Böse die Ordnung der Welt gegen das andrängende Chaos aufrecht erhält (40,6–41,26). Die Einsicht in diese gleichbleibende dynamische Ordnung der Welt führt bei Ijob zur entscheidenden Wende. Das Einzige, was sich dieser Konzeption zufolge ändert, ist also das Bewusstsein des Protagonisten. Diese Änderung ist allerdings im Hinblick auf das verhandelte Problem von entscheidender Bedeutung. Im Umkehrschluss heißt das: Das sogenannte Theodizeeproblem ist ein solches mangelnder Einsicht. Nicht die Abwesenheit Gottes, nicht die Tatsache, dass er nicht eingreift, sind das Problem, sondern die mangelnde Einsicht Ijobs, sein getrübtes Bewusstsein. In der Theologie wird seit vielen Jahren der personale und geschichtliche Aspekt des biblischen Gottesbildes als eine besondere Stärke des jüdisch-christlichen Glaubens hervorgehoben, gewöhnlich in emphatischer Abgrenzung von philosophischmetaphysischen Konzeptionen eines unveränderlichen Wesens Gottes, wie sie etwa in der platonisch-philosophischen Tradition anzutreffen sind. Dass Gott sich von der Not der Menschen berühren lässt, dass er in die Geschichte und das Leben seines Volkes und der Menschen rettend eingreift, bestimmt in hohem Maße die Signatur des biblischen Gottesbildes. Diese Linie weiter ausziehend sprechen einige Theologien bewusst von einem Mitleiden Gottes, von einer Compassio Dei (J. B. Metz u. a.).7 Gott ist ein Gott der Geschichte und des Bundes. Er steht der Welt nicht apathisch wie ein deistischer „erster Beweger“ gegenüber. Dies sind zweifelsohne zentrale Züge des biblischen Gottesbildes. Die Schattenseiten dieser Konzeption sind allerdings nicht zu übersehen. Denn es stellt sich sogleich die Frage, warum Gott in dem einen Fall eingreift und in einem anderen Fall nicht. Sie bündeln sich letztlich in der Frage: „Wo war Gott?“ Im Ijobbuch wird ein solcher Fall konstruiert: Der Protagonist Ijob, ein 6

Einen Überblick über die verschiedenen diachronen Modelle habe ich gegeben in ZEN2016, 417–30, insbesondere 422–26. 7 Einen Überblick und eine Diskussion zu diesen Ansätzen findet sich bei TÜCK 2016.

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Gerechter, der leiden muss, stellt Fragen, die auf der Grundlage der von den Freunden vertretenen, biblisch gut bezeugten Theologie nicht beantwortet werden können. Bei der Theologie der Freunde handelt es sich bekanntlich um eine Theologie, die im Mainstream des Alten Testaments bestens bezeugt ist. Zu Recht wird in der Forschung die Frage gestellt, was die Freunde eigentlich falsch machen, wo doch das, was sie sagen, im Kontext des „Alten Testaments“ weitgehend richtig ist. Um ihre Theologie zu retten, deuten sie den Fall Ijob um: Mit zunehmender Empörung unterstellen sie, dass Ijob schwere Schuld auf sich geladen habe; deshalb müsse er leiden: „Ist nicht groß deine Bosheit, ohne Ende dein Verschulden?“ hält ihm Elifas in seiner letzten Rede vor. In den Gottesreden wie im Epilog wird allerdings nirgends gesagt, dass Ijob leiden musste, weil er schuldig geworden sei. Das heißt, im Dialogteil kommen die Aporien der von den Freunden vertretenen Theologie deutlich zum Vorschein. Am Ende wird die „Gottesrede“ der drei Freunde unmissverständlich kritisiert. Im Epilog sagt JHWH zu Elifas von Teman: „Mein Zorn ist entbrannt gegen dich und deine beiden Freunde, denn ihr habt nicht recht von mir (oder: „zu mir“) geredet wie mein Knecht Ijob“ (42,7). Das heißt nun aber nicht, dass das Ijobbuch insgesamt in der Aporie stecken bleibt, und zwar auch nicht der Dialogteil. Aporetisch bleibt die Theologie der Freunde und das von ihnen vorausgesetzte und verteidigte Gottesbild. Ein Hauptmerkmal dieses Gottesbildes besteht darin, dass sie das Ergehen Ijobs mit einem Handeln Gottes in Verbindung bringen und ein Eingreifen Gottes in Aussicht stellen, wenn sich Ijob entsprechend verhält. Der Dialogteil verfolgt offensichtlich die Absicht, die Aporien dieser Theologie vor Augen zu führen, um die Lösung des Problems auf eine andere Ebene zu verlagern, nämlich auf die Ebene des menschlichen Bewusstseins. Das Thema wird – so könnte man sagen – aus Gott ausgelagert und in das Bewusstsein des Menschen hinein verlegt, in diesem Fall in Ijob. Damit wird eine Perspektive eröffnet wird, die es Ijob ermöglicht, aus der Not herauszufinden, ohne dass sich äußerlich etwas ändert. Mit anderen Worten, es stellt sich die Frage: Was kann der Mensch machen, wenn nichts mehr zu machen ist? Wenn er also weder auf Gott einwirken kann noch seine Not – in einem äußeren Sinn – beheben kann? Die Antwort, die der Dialogteil gibt, lautet: er kann zu einer rettenden Einsicht finden. Er kann auf eine Ebene des Bewusstseins gelangen, auf der sein Leid in einem neuen Licht erscheint und ihn nicht mehr im Kern seiner Existenz erschüttert. Es findet also eine Akzentverschiebung von einer theologischen hin zu einer anthropologischen „Lösung“ der Theodizeefrage statt.8

Psalm 73: „bis ich eintrat in das Heiligtum Gottes“ Eine allseits anerkannte literar- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Position zur Entstehung des Ijobbuches gibt es nicht. Ich kann hier die unterschiedlichen Modelle nicht einzeln vorstellen, geschweige denn diskutieren. Für meine Fragestellung reicht die Feststellung, dass auf der Ebene des vorliegenden Endtextes zwei Lösungen des Ijob-

8

Vgl. zu dem ganzen Komplex auch RATSCHOW 2016.

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Problems präsentiert werden, die in einer gewissen Spannung zueinander stehen, die sich aber offensichtlich nicht ausschließen, sondern ergänzen. Das eine Modell, von dem ich vermute, dass es das ältere ist, löst das Problem auf der Ebene eines äußeren Geschehens: Die Lösung erfolgt durch ein Handeln Gottes. Dieses Modell und das damit verbundene Gottesbild gehören zum Hauptstrom biblischer Theologie. Das zweite, meines Erachtens jüngere Modell, verlagert die Lösung des Problems in das Bewusstsein des Menschen. Aufgrund einer Gottesrede, die ihm die Ordnung der Schöpfung vor Augen führt, findet Ijob zu einer Einsicht, aufgrund derer er die Auseinandersetzung für beendet erklärt, ohne dass äußerlich etwas geschehen ist. Gott ändert sich nicht, was sich ändert, ist das Bewusstsein des Menschen. Auch dieses Modell findet sich in einigen Texten des Alten Testaments. Es wäre einmal interessant, unter diesem Gesichtspunkt die biblische Literatur systematisch durchzugehen. An dieser Stelle möchte ich lediglich auf Psalm 73 verweisen, wo sich eine dem Ijobbuch analoge Konstellation findet: Ausgangspunkt ist der Satz: „Gott ist gut für Israel, für alle, die reinen Herzens sind“ (Ps 73,1). Der Beter hat sein Herz rein gehalten; entgegen der Aussage von Vers 1 ging es ihm dabei jedoch gar nicht gut, sondern schlecht: „Fürwahr, umsonst bewahrte ich lauter mein Herz und wusch meine Hände in Unschuld. Und doch war ich alle Tage geplagt und wurde jeden Morgen gezüchtigt“ (Ps 73,13f). Die Krise wird dadurch überwunden, dass der Beter „im Heiligtum Gottes“ zu einer Einsicht geführt wird: „Ich dachte nach, um dies zu begreifen, Mühsal war es in meinen Augen, bis ich eintrat in Gottes Heiligtum und einsah, wie es mit ihnen (scil. den Frevlern) zu Ende geht“ (Ps 73,16f). Im Rückblick auf seine Krise bekennt der Sprecher, dass er damals, also vor dieser ihm zuteil gewordenen Einsicht, „ein Tor ohne Einsicht war“ (Ps 73,22). Auch in diesem Fall wird die Krise nicht durch ein Eingreifen Gottes überwunden, sondern durch eine neu gewonnene Einsicht, die dem Sprecher zuteil wurde. Zu dieser Einsicht gelangte er allerdings nicht aufgrund eigener Bemühungen, sondern aufgrund einer Art von Offenbarung. In diesem Sinne dürfte die Angabe „bis ich eintrat in Gottes Heiligtum“ zu verstehen sein.9

Die Elihu-Reden: Gott spricht, doch der Mensch hört ihn nicht Werfen wir abschließend noch kurz einen Blick auf die Elihu-Reden. Sehr wahrscheinlich wurden sie noch einmal später in den Dialogteil eingefügt. Es gibt eine Reihe von Indizien, anhand derer sich zeigen ließe, dass sie auf die Gottesreden hinführen. Sie stehen also nicht so disparat im Kontext, wie oft behauptet wird. Sie bestätigen die von mir vorgelegte Deutung des Dialogteils, da sie in aller Deutlichkeit auf die Aporie hinweisen, in der die Auseinandersetzung zwischen Ijob und seinen Freunden geendet hat. Elihu distanziert sich sowohl von den Freunden als auch von Ijob. Den Freunden hält er entgegen: „Ich bin euch aufmerksam gefolgt, doch seht, keiner hat Ijob widerlegt, keiner von euch ihm zu entgegnen vermocht“ (32,12). Zu Ijob sagt er: „Sieh, da bist du nicht im Recht, sage ich dir, denn Gott ist größer als der

9

Vgl. SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER 2009, 387–402.

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Mensch“ (33,12). Deutlich ist in jedem Fall, dass Elihu den Anspruch erhebt, Neues und Anderes sagen zu wollen, als das, was bisher gesagt wurde. Da er noch jung an Jahren ist, relativiert er das Modell der Erfahrungsweisheit und profiliert demgegenüber das Modell der Offenbarungsweisheit. Er versteht sich als ein vom göttlichen Geist inspirierter Theologe, der nicht aus sich selbst, aus eigener Überlegung heraus, sondern – wie ein Prophet – ganz aus dem Geist Gottes heraus spricht (vgl. 32,7–9.18– 22). Zwei inhaltliche Aspekte, die auf die Gottesreden zusteuern, möchte ich hervorheben: 1 Er verweist (in der unmittelbar auf die Gottesreden zusteuernden vierten Rede) auf die Wunder der Natur, in denen Gott auf geheimnisvolle Weise erkannt werden kann. Dabei führt er Beispiele an, die später in den Gottesreden wieder aufgegriffen werden (36,26–37,24). Was die Erkennbarkeit Gottes anbelangt, so differenziert Elihu. Er betont die Unergründlichkeit und Unerforschlichkeit Gottes (36,26; 37,5; 37,23), hält aber daran fest, dass er erkannt werden kann und deshalb Aussagen über Gott und sein Handeln möglich sind. Er vergleicht Gott mit einem Licht, das hinter den Wolken verborgen ist (37,21). 2 Elihu entwickelt eine differenzierte Theorie von der verborgenen Anwesenheit Gottes. Auch hier gibt er sich als Vertreter einer jungen, spirituell ausgerichteten Theologie zu erkennen. Gott spricht in verborgener Weise, doch der Mensch achtet nicht darauf. Auch bei Elihu lässt sich eine anthropologische Wende in der Theologie erkennen. Das Problem und damit auch die Lösung des Problems werden in den Menschen verlegt, in seine Wahrnehmung, in sein Bewusstsein: „Denn einmal redet Gott und zweimal, man achtet nicht darauf. Im Traum, im Nachtgesicht, wenn tiefer Schlaf auf die Menschen fällt, im Schlummer auf dem Lager, da öffnet er der Menschen Ohr und schreckt sie auf durch Warnung ... seine Seele vor dem Grab zu retten ...“ (33,14ff). Die These lautet also: Gott spricht, doch der Mensch hört ihn nicht. Die traditionelle in den Psalmen breit belegte Position lautet: Der Mensch ruft, doch Gott hört nicht: „Mein Gott, ich rufe bei Tag, doch du gibst keine Antwort; und bei Nacht, doch ich finde keine Ruhe“ (Ps 22,3). In dem von Elihu vertretenen Modell, bei dem also Gott spricht, der Mensch ihn aber nicht hört, besteht die Aufgabe des Menschen nicht darin, auf Gott einzuwirken und ihn zum Eingreifen zu bewegen, sondern darin, an sich selbst zu arbeiten: seine eigene Hörunfähigkeit zu erkennen und zu beheben. Elihu zielt offensichtlich auf eine Art sensitives Erwachen. Der Mangel liegt im menschlichen Bewusstsein, nicht bei Gott: „Hör dir dies an, Ijob! Steh still, um die Wunder Gottes zu betrachten!“ (37,14). – Bei der alternativen Konzeption, also dort, wo Gott nichts sagt und nichts tut, besteht die Aufgabe des Menschen darin, auf Gott einzuwirken und ihn zum rettenden Eingreifen zu bewegen: „Blick doch her, gib mir Antwort, JHWH, mein Gott, erleuchte meine Augen, damit ich nicht im Tod entschlafe, damit mein Feind nicht sagen kann: Ich habe ihn überwältigt, damit meine Gegner nicht jubeln, weil ich wanke“ (Ps 13,4f). Das Modell, das Elihu vertritt dürfte das jüngere und theologisch wohl reflektiertere Modell sein. In jedem Fall repräsentiert es eine anthropologisch gewendete Theologie. Hier ist deutlich die Absicht zu erkennen, das Ijob-Problem einer Lösung zuzuführen. Die

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Reden Elihus sind in diesem Sinne als ein Plädoyer für die Plausibilität der Gottesreden zu verstehen. Entsprechend wird Elihu im Epilog – im Unterschied zu den anderen drei Freunden – von Gott nicht getadelt.

Schluss In der christlichen Frömmigkeits- und Spiritualitätsgeschichte kennen wir, vereinfachend gesprochen, zwei Modelle des Verhaltens im Leid: Das eine Modell versucht durch Gebet und Handeln (u. a. Opfer und rechtes Verhalten) auf Gott einzuwirken, um ihn zu bewegen, einzugreifen und aus der Not zu retten. Dieses Modell setzt auf eine Wandlung in Gott. Ein zweites Modell setzt umgekehrt auf eine Wandlung im Leidenden. Es sieht die Lösung des Problems in einer Transformation des menschlichen Bewusstseins. Der Mensch soll zu einer Einsicht geführt werden, die über das, was ihm bisher als plausibel erschien, hinausgeht. Das zweite Modell findet sich vor allem in jenen Traditionen, die in eine mehr oder weniger „geistig“ oder „mystisch“ zu nennende Richtung gehen. Ein klassisches Beispiel dafür ist das „Buch der göttlichen Tröstung“ von Meister Eckhart. Darin zeigt Eckhart, dass der Leidende letztlich nicht durch Menschen getröstet werden kann, sondern nur dadurch, dass er in Gott, und das heißt: in den göttlichen Grund seines eigenen Lebens hineinfindet.10 Bei diesem Modell tritt das klassische Bittgebet zurück; es spielt im Grunde keine Rolle mehr. Im konkreten Leben können beide Modelle nebeneinander bestehen. So auch im Ijobbuch. Die Akzente können unterschiedlich gesetzt werden. Im Alten Testament finden sich deutliche Hinweise darauf, dass mit diesem Thema gerungen und an ihm gearbeitet wurde. Das Buch Ijob ist eines der bekanntesten Beispiele dafür.

Bibliographie ENGLJÄHRINGER, K. (2003): Theologie im Streitgespräch, Studien zur Dynamik der Dialoge des Buches Ijob, (SBS 198), Stuttgart. FREVEL, C./Zenger, E. (Hg.) (92016): Einleitung in das Alte Testament, Stuttgart. GORDIS, R. (1965; Phoenix Edition 1978): The Book of God and Man: A Study of Job, Chicago/London. GRADL, G. (2001): Das Buch Ijob, (NSK.AT 12), Stuttgart. RATSCHOW, L. (2016): Erfahren oder Erkennen? Die Anfechtung Gottes durch Hiob in Abhebung vom Testament Hiobs, in: L. RATSCHOW/H. VON SASS (Hg.), Die Anfechtung Gottes: Exegetische und systematisch-theologische Beiträge zur Theologie des Hiobbuches, (ABG 54), Leipzig, 195– 232. SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER, L. (2007, 42015): Ein Weg durch das Leid: Das Buch Ijob, Freiburg i.Br.

10

Vgl. dazu SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER 2018.

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– (2009): Bis ich eintrat in die Heiligtümer Gottes (PS 73,17): Ps 73 im Horizont biblischer und theologischer Hermeneutik, in: R. ACHENBACH/M. ARNETH (Hg.) „Gerechtigkeit und Recht zu üben“ (Gen 18, 19): Studien zur altorientalischen und biblischen Rechtsgeschichte, zur Religionsgeschichte Israels und zur Religionssoziologie: Festschrift für Eckart Otto zum 65. Geburtstag, Wiesbaden, 387–402. – (2018): Das Buch Ijob und Meister Eckharts Buch der göttlichen Tröstung, in: M. ROESNER (Hg.), Subjekt und Wahrheit: Meister Eckharts dynamische Vermittlung von Philosophie, Offenbarungstheologie und Glaubenspraxis, Leuven. TÜCK, J.-H. (2016): Gottes Augapfel: Bruchstücke zu einer Theologie nach Auschwitz, Freiburg i.Br. WIELAND, W. (1982, 21999): Platon und die Formen des Wissens, Göttingen.

V: Questions of Theodicy in the Ancient Near Eastern World

„Ich habe nicht befohlen, dass sie Unrecht tun“ Das Theodizee-Problem im Alten Ägypten Alexandra von Lieven Eine jede religiöse Kultur muss sich dem Problem stellen, wie das Böse1 in die Welt kam und wie Gott oder die Götter dies zulassen können, mit anderen Worten, dem Problem der Theodizee. Die Antwort, die die betreffende Kultur darauf gibt, hat wiederum einen profunden Einfluss auf die Morallehre und die etwa in Weisheitstexten propagierte Art einer korrekten Lebensführung. Das Alte Ägypten bildet hier keine Ausnahme.2 Nach ägyptischer Vorstellung war der Kosmos grundsätzlich positiv bewertet und vom Göttlichen durchdrungen.3 Allerdings waren die altägyptischen Götter im Mythos keineswegs immer untadelige Lichtgestalten.4 Die stärker abstrahierten theologischen Vorstellungen, die letztlich auch in den Weisheitslehren durchscheinen, sofern diese überhaupt stärker religiöse Elemente enthalten, nehmen aber mit wenigen Ausnahmen keinen Bezug auf die mythischen Viten konkreter Götter, sondern sprechen auffälligerweise meist nur von einem namenlosen „Gott“ im Singular.5 Gemeint sein dürfte dabei der Sonnen- und Schöpfergott als höchste und allumfassende Gottheit, definitiv gesagt wird dies jedoch nicht und es gab durchaus auch die Forschungsmeinung, dass „Gott“ in den Weisheitslehren den König oder den jeweiligen Ortsgott bezeichne.6 Tatsächlich ist es nämlich so, dass in den älteren Weisheitslehren das religiöse Element sehr gering ausgeprägt ist und auch nicht wirklich von Morallehre gesprochen werden kann. Eher stehen da schon die persönliche Karriere und das soziale Ansehen des Lehrempfängers als hauptsächlich erstrebenswertes Ziel im Mittelpunkt.7 Das ändert sich merklich ab dem Neuen Reich (ca. 1550–1000 v. Chr.), wenn mit der Lehre des Ani8 erstmals wirklich stärker religiöse Themen auftreten. Doch auch hier handelt es sich immer noch mehr um Ratschläge zu konkreten Handlungen, etwa das Verbot, Orakel zu fälschen oder sich zu nah an die Prozessionsbarke des Gottes zu 1

KEMBOLY 2010; QUACK 2015. OTTO 1951; FECHT 1972; SITZLER 1995; LOPRIENO 2003; MORENZ 2010. 3 VON LIEVEN 2004; FISCHER-ELFERT 2008. 4 VON LIEVEN 2015. 5 Für die Ausnahmen (Amenemope, Brooklyner Weisheitstext, Großes demotisches Weisheitsbuch (d.h. pInsinger und Parallelen, wo sogar explizit von Horus und Seth sowie der Rebellion gegen Re die Rede ist)) s. QUACK (in Druck a). 6 BARTA 1976. 7 Zu den religiösen Elementen durch die Zeiten s. immerhin MIOSI 1982. 8 QUACK 1994. 2

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drängen, da dieses ihm unangenehm sei. Vermutlich steht auch hier letztlich die Angst vor Orakelmanipulation im Hintergrund, denn gerade die juristisch relevanten Orakel bedienten sich ja der Bewegungen der Prozessionsbarke des jeweiligen Gottes.9 Wirklich allgemeinere religiöse und ethisch relevante Aussagen finden sich eigentlich erst in den demotischen Weisheitslehren ab der Spätzeit, namentlich im großen demotischen Weisheitsbuch, bekannt unter dem Namen seines besterhaltenen Textzeugen, pInsinger aus dem 1. Jh. v. Chr.10 Dieser Text schreibt Gott einen großen Handlungsspielraum zu; warum er so oder so entscheidet, bleibt ihm überlassen. Man könnte dies eine sehr reife Weltsicht nennen, die sich nicht anmaßt, Gottes Handeln in der Welt verstehen und in irgendwelche menschlichen Maßstäbe pressen zu wollen. Es wird abschließend auf diesen sehr bemerkenswerten Text näher einzugehen sein. Wie jedoch gehen andere Texte als die als Gattung auch sehr spezifischen Weisheitslehren mit dem Problem der Theodizee um? Der wohl berühmteste Text zu diesem Thema ist fraglos der Sargtextspruch 1130.11 Er ist auf einigen Särgen der Mitte des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr., also des Mittleren Reiches, bezeugt, sprachhistorische Indizien legen jedoch eine Entstehung bereits im 3. Jahrtausend, also im Alten Reich, nahe. Im Text spricht der Allherr, d.h. der Sonnen- und Schöpfergott selbst: „Ich will euch die vier guten Taten berichten, die mein eigenes Herz getan hat im Inneren der Umringlerschlange, wegen des Wunsches, die Falschheit zum Schweigen zu bringen. Vier gute Taten habe ich getan im Inneren des Horizonttores: Ich habe die vier Winde geschaffen, damit jeder in seiner Zeit atmen kann, das ist eine davon. Ich habe die große Flut geschaffen, damit der Arme so mächtig ist, wie der Reiche, das ist eine davon. Ich habe jeden Menschen wie seinen Genossen geschaffen, ich habe nicht befohlen, dass sie Unrecht tun. Es sind ihre Herzen, die zerstören, was ich gesagt habe. Das ist eine davon. Ich habe ihre Herzen dazu gebracht, den Westen nicht zu vergessen, wegen des Wunsches, dass Gottesopfer den Göttern der Gaue dargebracht werden, das ist eine davon.“

Der Text stellt also klar, dass der Schöpfer die Welt gut geschaffen hat, so dass alle Menschen Luft und Nahrung haben und gleich sind. Drei der vier guten Taten beziehen sich auf die Position des Menschen in der Welt und das Verhältnis zueinander im gesellschaftlichen Kontext. Lediglich die vierte Tat bezieht sich auf die Götter, die offenbar von den menschlichen Opfern abhängig sind. Um zu garantieren, dass sie diese auch regelmäßig erhalten, ist es so eingerichtet, dass die Menschen den Westen, also das Totenreich, nicht vergessen können. Die Vorstellung, dass die menschliche Sterblichkeit dazu dient, die Menschen den Göttern gefügig und opferwillig zu machen, ist fraglos interessant. Da dies als gute Tat bezeichnet wird, ist der Tod als solcher hier aber offenbar nicht negativ bewertet, er ist auch keine explizite Strafe, wie dies in der Bibel gesehen wird. Dies mag an der in älterer Zeit potentiell positiven 9

VON LIEVEN 2016. Edition: PLEYTE 1899; HOLWERDA 1905; VOLTEN 1941; QUACK (in Druck b), zum beschädigten Anfang zuletzt COLLOMBERT 2016, Übersetzung: HOFFMANN/QUACK 22018, 272–308. 11 Edition: DE BUCK 1961, 461c–71e, Bearbeitung: BACKES 2005, 119–23, 424–29; KAPLONY 2005; SHERBINY 2017, 563–80. 10

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Sicht der Ägypter auf den Tod als eine besondere Art von „Leben“ liegen. So ganz geheuer war er aber auch in dieser Zeit nicht, denn sonst hätte man ja nicht die Notwendigkeit des Opferns gesehen. Hier ist wohl die Diskrepanz zwischen der theoretischen positiven religiösen Interpretation und der real traumatischen Erfahrung des Todes zu sehen. Letztere kann natürlich auch durch keine noch so hoffnungsvolle Theologie schöngeredet werden. Die drei erstgenannten Taten hingegen bewegen sich rein in der diesseitigen Sphäre und ihre positive Wertung liegt auf der Hand. Die Welt wurde also diesem Text zufolge von Gott grundsätzlich gut eingerichtet. Die Erklärung für ihren dennoch suboptimalen Zustand findet sich als gedanklicher Einschub am Ende der rein auf die Menschen bezogenen Dreierreihe: nicht der Schöpfer ist dafür verantwortlich, sondern die Menschen selbst! Sie haben explizit gegen seine Befehle gehandelt und die ursprünglich gute göttliche Ordnung zerstört. Dieser Gedanke, der den Schöpfer letztlich von aller Verantwortung freispricht und diese allein dem Menschen aufbürdet, wird hier nicht weiter ausgeführt, doch ein anderer Text, diesmal vermutlich im Mittleren Reich entstanden, aber erstmals um 1330 v. Chr. im Grab des Tutanchamun auf einem der goldenen Schreine bezeugt, führt dies in mythischer Erzählung weiter aus. Im sogenannten Buch von der Himmelskuh 12 wird das Zustandekommen des gottesfernen Istzustandes der Welt mit einer Rebellion der Menschheit gegen den alternden Sonnengott13 erklärt. Der letzte Bearbeiter Erik Hornung hat seiner Edition daher den passenden Untertitel „Eine Ätiologie des Unvollkommenen“ gegeben. 14 In diesem Text wird zwar nicht unmittelbar die Theodizeefrage angesprochen, doch wird indirekt eine Antwort darauf gegeben, die auch die kurze Aussage im Sargtextspruch 1130 über die Menschen, die das Werk des Schöpfers verdarben, weiter erhellt. Im relevanten ersten Teil des Buches von der Himmelskuh, das offenbar aus mehreren ursprünglich wohl nicht zusammengehörigen Teilen zusammengesetzt ist, wird berichtet, dass der Sonnengott Re davon erfährt, dass die Menschen einen Aufstand gegen ihn planten. Nach einer Beratung mit den anderen Göttern wird das Sonnenauge als Hathor ausgeschickt, die Menschen zu strafen. Als sie jedoch Freude am Blutrausch äußert, empfindet Re Mitleid mit den Menschen und rettet sie mit einer List. Allerdings reut ihn dieser Entschluss auch wieder, da er die Menschen und ihr Verhalten letztlich doch leid ist. Bei einem weiteren Götterrat wird entschieden, dass Re sich auf den Rücken der in eine Kuh verwandelten Himmelsgöttin Nut zurückziehen soll. Er entfernt sich also von den Menschen, unter denen er zuvor gelebt hatte. Nun aber geschieht etwas Interessantes, leider in den Details durch schlechte Texterhaltung verunklärt. Die Menschen, jedenfalls ein Teil von ihnen, sehen, dass Re sich von ihnen zum Himmel entfernt hat und sind darüber offenbar besorgt. Sie versuchen, ihn zur Rückkehr zu bewegen, indem sie sich anerbieten, seine Widersacher unter ihresgleichen zu Fall zu bringen. Re geht nicht auf dieses Ansinnen ein, sondern 12

HORNUNG 21991. Zu diesem Mythenkomplex insgesamt s. SMITH 2000 mit weiterführender Diskussion. 14 Das ist allerdings eine moderne Sicht auf den Text, die originale Intention war wohl eher, eine Ätiologie für die herausgehobene Position des Gottes Thot zu geben, der mit dem Ritualisten identifiziert wurde, s. dazu QUACK 2009, 296f. 13

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bleibt den Menschen fern, was konkret zu Finsternis in der Welt führt. Offenbar ist damit die Nacht gemeint, denn im nächsten Satz ist vom Wiederhellwerden am Morgen die Rede. Als es jedoch Morgen geworden ist, zeigt sich, dass die Menschen dennoch gegen ihresgleichen vorgegangen waren und einander gegenseitig töteten. Der Sonnengott sagte daraufhin „Hütet euch! Zurück, ihr Mörder! Fern sei das Gemetzel [von euch]. So entstand das Gemetzel unter den Menschen (ḫw.w=čn ḥ3.w=čn šʿ.tỉw ḥri̯ šʿ.t [r=čn ḫp]r šʿ.t pw m rmč.w).“ Hier wird also klar gesagt, dass die Menschen das Gebot des Schöpfers, nicht zu töten, übertraten, nachdem er selbst zuvor davor zurückgeschreckt war, sie zu töten. Mit anderen Worten, der Sonnengott verkörpert hier ein ethisches Ideal, das die Menschen jedoch vorsätzlich missachten. Einmal in die Welt gebracht, so muss man wohl schließen, bestehen Mord und Totschlag weiter. Es ist bemerkenswert, dass sowohl der Sargtextspruch 1130, als auch das Buch von der Himmelskuh die Verantwortung für das Grundübel des gegenseitigen Gemetzels ganz klar den Menschen zur Last legen. Dies ist quasi der ägyptische „Sündenfall“, in der Folge müssen die Menschen also lediglich die Konsequenzen ihres eigenen Fehlverhaltens tragen. Diese Sicht passt gut in die generelle ägyptische Geisteshaltung, denn diverse Unbillen des Lebens wie Krankheiten und Unglücksfälle konnten als direkte göttliche Strafe für konkretes Fehlverhalten eines konkreten Individuums gedeutet werden. Die Agenten dieser Bestrafung werden in zahlreichen Texten explizit als Boten der Götter bezeichnet.15 Damit stellt sich auch bei solchen Fährnissen nicht die Frage, wie Gott dergleichen zulassen kann. Es handelt sich eben um eine göttliche Strafe für entsprechende Vergehen des Menschen, mithin also um ein gerechtfertigtes Schicksal. Diese Sicht von der göttlichen Gerechtigkeit zeichnet eigentlich die meisten ägyptischen Texte aus. Die Ägypter haben hier ganz offenkundig auf das Prinzip der Ma’at, also der Wahrheit und rechten Weltordnung, vertraut, die ja nicht umsonst die Tochter des Sonnengottes ist und von der es heißt, dass er von ihr lebe.16 Umso verblüffender und beunruhigender sind da die Paradoxa der Weisheitslehre des pInsinger (1. Jh. v. Chr.). Auch dieser Text gibt natürlich im Stile einer typischen ägyptischen Weisheitslehre Anweisungen für ein gutes und korrektes Leben. Doch am Ende jedes Abschnittes werden diese dann in der Weise relativiert, dass zugegeben wird, dass es auch anders sein kann. Da heißt es etwa:17 „Mancher ist in seinem Herzen weise, aber sein Leben ist hart. Mancher ist zufrieden mit dem Schicksal, mancher ist zufrieden mit seinem Wissen. Es ist nicht (notwendigerweise) ein Weiser im Charakter, der davon lebt. Es ist nicht (notwendigerweise) ein Tor in seiner Erscheinung, dessen Leben hart ist. Der Gott legt das Herz auf die Waage gegenüber dem Gewicht. Er erkennt den Frevler und den Mann Gottes an seinem Herzen. Fluch und Segen sind im Charakter, der ihm gegeben wurde. Die Gebote, die Gott befohlen hat, sind es, die im Charakter positiv wirken. Das Schicksal und das Geschick, das kommt – es ist der Gott, der es leitet.“ (5,3–11) „Mancher lebt von wenig, um zu sparen, und wird doch arm. Mancher kann nichts, und das Schicksal gibt Reichtümer. Es ist nicht (notwendigerweise) der sparsame Weise, der ein Vermögen(?) findet. Es 15

VON LIEVEN 2000, 50–55. ASSMANN 1990. Für Ma’at s. auch Assmanns Beitrag in diesem Band, S. 19–37. 17 Alle Zitate nach HOFFMANN/QUACK 22018, 272–308. 16

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ist auch nicht (notwendigerweise) der Verschwender, dem Armut zuteil wird. Der Gott gibt Reichtümer im Überfluss ohne Einkommen. Aber er erzeugt auch Armut in der Börse ohne Ausgaben. Das Schicksal und das Geschick, das kommt – es ist der Gott, der es lenkt.“ (7,13–19)

Letztlich hängt also alles nur von Schicksal und Geschick (š3y und sḫne) ab, die jedoch eben nicht zufällig sind, sondern Gottes Wille.18 Dieser Wille aber ist frei und offenbar nicht an die Logik eines einfachen Tun-Ergehen-Zusammenhanges gebunden. Diese Sicht ist vollkommen neu, entspricht aber natürlich der Beobachtung im Leben, dass es eben nicht immer gerecht zugeht. Der Abschnitt über das Wiegen des Herzens wirkt fast nach einer Prädestination durch die ursprüngliche Zuteilung eines eben so oder so gearteten Charakters, letztlich also wiederum einem göttlichen Willensakt, freilich bereits bei der Erschaffung des jeweiligen Individuums. Das freilich eröffnet ganz automatisch das Theodizee-Problem, das die traditionellen ägyptischen Texte eigentlich recht eindeutig gelöst hatten, in voller Härte. Dem allerdings scheint sich weder die Lehre des pInsinger noch ein anderer Text wirklich explizit gestellt zu haben. Allerdings gibt pInsinger am Schluss doch einen Einblick, wie sich der Autor ganz persönlich die Lösung des Problems vorgestellt hat: „Das Vergehen, das ich unwissentlich begangen habe, dafür bitte ich um Vergebung. Ich habe zum Gott gerufen, dass er mir gnädig sei … Er wird Sorge um die Rückstände restlos beseitigen.“ (35,4–6)

Man wird darin am ehesten die Kapitulation des Menschen vor der Unergründlichkeit des göttlichen Ratschlusses sehen. Der Weise kann nur einerseits ein moralisch untadeliges Leben zu führen versuchen, wo er dennoch unwissentlich und unwillentlich sündigt, vertraut er auf die göttliche Gnade. Dem kann man sicher auch aus dem Abstand von mehr als zwei Jahrtausenden nur zustimmen.

Bibliographie ASSMANN, J. (1990): Ma’at: Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im Alten Ägypten, München. BACKES, B. (2005): Das altägyptische „Zweiwegebuch“: Studien zu den Sargtext-Sprüchen 1029– 1130, (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 69), Wiesbaden. BARTA, W. (1976): Der anonyme Gott der Lebenslehren, Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 103, 79–88. BUCK, A. DE (1961): The Egyptian Coffin Texts VII, (OIP 87), Chicago. COLLOMBERT, PH. (2016): Contribution à la reconstitution des premières pages du Papyrus Insinger, in: S.L. LIPPERT/M. SCHENTULEIT/M.A. STADLER (Hg.), Sapientia Felicitas: Festschrift für Günter Vittmann zum 29. Februar 2016, (Cahiers Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne 14), Montpellier, 51–65. FECHT, G. (1972): Der Vorwurf an Gott in den „Mahnworten des Ipu-wer“ (Pap. Leiden I 344 recto, 11,11–13,8; 15,13–17,3): zur geistigen Krise der ersten Zwischenzeit und ihrer Bewältigung, Heidelberg.

18

QUAEGEBEUR 1975, spez. 141–42; QUACK 2016.

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FISCHER-ELFERT, H.-W. (2008): Weiteres zur Göttlichkeit der Natur – Fragmente eines späthieratischen Lexikons (Pap. Hal. Kurth Inv. 33 A–C (Halle/Saale)), Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 135, 115–30. HOFFMANN, F./J.F. QUACK (22018): Anthologie der demotischen Literatur, (Einführungen und Quellentexte zur Ägyptologie 4), Berlin. HOLWERDA, A.E.J. (1905): Suten-xeft: le livre royal, (Monumens égyptiens du Musée dʼAntiquités des Pays-Bas à Leide, Livr. 34, supplement), Leiden. HORNUNG, E. (21991): Der ägyptische Mythos von der Himmelskuh: Eine Ätiologie des Unvollkommenen, (OBO 46), Freiburg/Göttingen. KAPLONY, P. (2005): Die Apologie des Schöpfers (CT Spruch 1130): neue Aspekte, in: KH. DAOUD/SH. BEDIER/S. ABD EL-FATTAH (Hg.), Studies in Honor of Ali Radwan 2, (Supplément aux Annales du Service des Antiquités de lʼEgypte 34), Kairo, 73–80. KEMBOLY, M. (2010): The Question of Evil in Ancient Egypt, London. VON LIEVEN, A. (2000): Der Himmel über Esna: Eine Fallstudie zur Religiösen Astronomie in Ägypten am Beispiel der kosmologischen Decken- und Architravinschriften im Tempel von Esna, (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 64), Wiesbaden, 50–55. – (2004): Das Göttliche in der Natur erkennen. Tiere, Pflanzen und Phänomene der unbelebten Natur als Manifestationen des Göttlichen (mit einer Edition der Baumliste P. Berlin 29027), Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 131, 156–72, Taf. XX–XXI. – (2015): Antisocial Gods? On the Transgression of Norms in Ancient Egyptian Mythology, in: R. NYORD/K. RYHOLT (Hg.), Lotus and Laurel – Studies on Egyptian Language and Religion in Honour of Paul John Frandsen, (Carsten Niebuhr Institute Publications 39), Kopenhagen, 181– 207. – (2016): Das Orakelwesen im Alten Ägypten, Mythos 10 n.s., 17–30. LOPRIENO, A. (2003): Theodicy in Ancient Egyptian Texts, in: A. LAATO/J.C. DE MOOR (Hg.), Theodicy in the World of the Bible, Leiden/Boston, 27–56. MIOSI, F.T. (1982): God, fate and free will in Egyptian wisdom literature, in: G.E. KADISH/G.E. FREEMAN (Hg.), Studies in Philology in Honour of Ronald James Williams: A Festschrift, (The Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities Publications 3), Toronto, 69–111. MORENZ, L.D. (2010): Der existentielle Vorwurf - an wen ist er adressiert? Überlegungen anläßlich einer Neubearbeitung der Admonitions, Lingua Aegyptia 18, 263–67. OTTO, E. (1951): Der Vorwurf an Gott: zur Entstehung der ägyptischen Auseinandersetzungsliteratur, Vorträge der Orientalistischen Tagung in Marburg, Fachgruppe Ägyptologie, 1950, Hildesheim. PLEYTE, WILLEM (1899): Suten-xeft: le livre royal; papyrus démotique Insinger, (Monumens égyptiens du Musée dʼAntiquités des Pays-Bas à Leiden; Livr. 34), Leiden. QUACK, J.F. (1994): Die Lehren des Ani: Ein neuägyptischer Weisheitstext in seinem kulturellen Umfeld, (OBO 141), Freiburg/Göttingen. – (2009): Erzählen als Preisen: Vom Astartepapyrus zu den koptischen Märtyrerlegenden, in: H. ROEDER (Hg.), Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen I: Der Fall Ägypten, München, 291–312. – (2015): „Sage nicht: »Der Frevler gegen Gott lebt heute«; auf das Ende sollst du achten!“: Gedanken der spätägyptischen Literatur zum Problem des Bösen in der Welt, in: B. EGO/U. MITTMANN (Hg.), Evil and Death: Conceptions of the Human in Biblical, Early Jewish, Early Christian, Greco-Roman and Egyptian Literature, Berlin/New York, 377–409. – (2016): Schicksalsvorstellungen im späten Ägypten, Mythos 10 n.s., 43–59. – (in Druck a): Ethik und Lebensführung: demotische Quellen, in: H. ROEDER (Hg.), Handbuch Altägyptische Religion, (Handbuch der Orientalistik), Leiden. – (in Druck b): Neue Fragmente des demotischen Weisheitsbuches. Mit einer Kollationierung der alten Fragmente, in: K. RYHOLT (Hg.), The Carlsberg Papyri 11: Demotic Literary Texts from Tebtunis and Beyond, (Carsten Niebuhr Institute Publications), Kopenhagen. QUAEGEBEUR, J. (1975): Le dieu Égyptien Shaï dans la religion et l’onomastique, (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 2), Leuven.

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SHERBINY, W. (2017): Through Hermopolitan Lenses: Studies on the So-called Book of Two Ways in Ancient Egypt, (Probleme der Ägyptologie 33), Leiden/Boston. SITZLER, D. (1995): „Vorwurf gegen Gott“: ein religiöses Motiv im alten Orient (Ägypten und Mesopotamien), (Studies in Oriental Religions 32), Wiesbaden. SMITH, M. (2000): P. Carlsberg 462. A Fragmentary Account of the Rebellion against the Sun God, in: P.J. FRANDSEN/K. RYHOLT (Hg.), The Carlsberg Papyri 3: a Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies, (Carsten Niebuhr Institute Publications 22), Kopenhagen, 95–112. VOLTEN, AKSEL (1941): Das Demotische Weisheitsbuch: Studien und Bearbeitung, (AAeg 2), Kopenhagen.

Morality and Religion in Three Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers Thomas Krüger The Problem In this short paper I will examine the relation between morality and religion in three “Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers” (cf. OSHIMA 2014), namely Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, the Babylonian Theodicy and the Old Babylonian Man and His God. With “morality” or “morals” (or “ethics”), I am referring to the rules of interaction between all human beings or between the members of a group of human beings, especially such rules which set limits to arbitrary and selfish behaviour, and to the convictions that support these rules. Moral or ethic rules and convictions are more binding than rules and convictions of taste and etiquette, but there is no sharp distinction. I will also refrain from drawing a distinction between intrinsically motivated “morals” and extrinsically motivated “ethics,”1 because I find it difficult to establish such a distinction from what the texts say. Moreover, with “religion” (or “piety”) I am referring to the rules of interaction between human and divine beings and to the convictions that support these rules. These definitions leave open whether also divine beings in their interactions among themselves or in their interactions with human beings behave or should behave according to the rules of human morals. These definitions also leave open whether it is relevant to the interactions between divine and human beings whether the involved human beings on their part behave according to the rules of human morals in their interactions with other human beings or not. These are the very questions which I would like to ask the texts in what follows: – Do the gods behave morally in their interactions with humans? And should they do so? – Do the gods promote inter-human morality? And should they do so?

Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi, 13th–8th centuries B.C.E.(?) Following an introductory hymn to Marduk, the speaker, Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan, describes his former distress, which is now finished thanks to Marduk’s intervention. The gods had forsaken him. They did not respond to his prayers. The omens they gave 1

See, e.g., WALTON 2006, 149.

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him were obscure, or they gave him no omens at all. Incantations were ineffective. The gods turned away from him. As a result, he lost his social standing, his posts and 2 his possessions. All that made him sick. His prayers were not heard. I invoked my god, but he did not raise (lit.: gave) his face towards me; I prayed to my goddess, but she did not raise her head (lit.: her head does not become high). The diviner could not determine the condition by means of extispicy, the dream-interpreter could not reveal my verdict through his maššakku-powder. I prayed to the Zāqīqu-daemon, but it did not hear me (lit.: open the ears), the incantation-priest could not release the divine wrath in the (incantation)-rituals. (II 4–9)

This behaviour of the gods would be intelligible in the opinion of the speaker if he had not fulfilled his religious duties: Like someone who has not regularly done libation to the god (var.: gods); (who) has not blessed (lit.: called) the goddess during the meal-offering; (who) neither (has) displayed the mark of respect nor made obeisance; (who), in his mouth, entreaty and supplication (have) ceased; (who) (has) abandoned the (feast) day of the god (var.: gods) and neglected the festival; (who) (has) been remiss and disregarded their (i.e. gods’) rites; (who) (has) not taught his people to revere and to be attentive to (the gods); (who) ate his (i.e. the god’s) bread without blessing his god; (who) (has) abandoned his goddess, and (has) never brought maṣḫatu-flour-offering; (who) (has) forgotten his lord as if he became mad; (who) (has) lightly sworn honourable oath to (lit.: of) his gods – to (such people) I became equal. (II 12–22)

However, the speaker is not aware of any such religious offenses: (But) I myself (have) been mindful of entreaty and supplication, supplication was (my) essence (lit.: wisdom, common sense), offering was my religious practice. The day of revering the god (var.: gods) was the joy of my heart, the day of procession of the goddess was benefit and profit. My pleasure was (reciting) the king’s benediction (i.e. prayers for the king), and the joyful song about him was indeed for (my) goodness (i.e. was something good for me). I instructed my land to keep the rites of the god (var.: gods), I taught my people to honour the name of the goddess. I made the praise for the king equal to that for the god, I made the folk know respect for the palace. (II 23–32)

The text seems to presuppose that the gods should actually reward people for worshipping them. Thus also in the inter-human realm a lord should reward his subordinates for their loyalty. So it can be said that, according to the speaker, the gods are morally obliged to pay humans back appropriately for their good deeds and good conduct with regard to religion. However, there is no indication in the text that good religious conduct also includes good moral conduct in the inter-human realm – perhaps except for loyalty to the king.

2 All translations of passages from Ludlul bēl nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy are taken from OSHIMA 2014.

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Although he believes that the gods should treat him better because of his piety, the speaker does not doubt their righteousness, but rather his own piety. Perhaps he did not do what the gods expected of him out of ignorance, or he did something which seemed good to him, but was false and wicked in the eyes of the gods: I indeed believed that these things (would) satisfy the god (var.: gods). (However) what is (i.e. seems) good for oneself is a crime for the god (var.: gods), and what is (i.e. seems) bad in one’s mind is good for his god (var.: gods). Which (person) could know the plan of the gods in the heavens? Who could comprehend the counsel of the gods of the Deep-Water? How could mankind know the way of the god (var.: gods)?

(II 33–38)

In view of the limitations of human knowledge, it seems more plausible to the speaker to assume that he himself has made a mistake out of ignorance, than to assume that the gods do not act properly. What follows in the text seems to prove him right. When Marduk turns back to the speaker, the restoration of the speaker appears to begin with Marduk forgiving his sins. This is suggested by the decipherable words in lines III 58 ff.: “my crime” (58), “the punishment” (59), “my offence” (60), “my negligence” (61) and “my curse” (62), as well as by III 66: “He made the wind carry away my negligence.” It is also indicated by IV 4´´´–6´´´: The one who does not fear [his] (personal) g[od ... the one who does not fear [his] (personal) [goddess ... the one who is negligent to Esagil shall see my example ...

From the preserved passages of the text we do not know what exactly the religious offenses of the speaker were. Perhaps this is not really important for the main statement of the text. Those who feel badly treated by the gods, though they have always fulfilled their religious duties, are not to blame the gods, but themselves, even if they do not know exactly what they have done wrong. Then there is at least the chance that the angry gods will calm down and turn back to the sufferer, as the introductory hymn to Marduk, the Lord of Wisdom, says: Let me praise the lord of wisdom, the jud[icious] god, the one who is furious by night (but) lenient by day ...

(I 1–2)

His severe punishment is harsh for a moment, (but) once he shows compassion, soon he becomes like (lit.: turns into) a mother ...

(I 17–18)

3

When he commands, he makes him to commit (lit.: have) sins, on the day of his pious offering, penalty and crime are pardoned ...

(I 23–24)

Thus, in the course of the text, it becomes clear that Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan’s first impression that the gods did not reward him for his piety was wrong. His suffering was a punishment by the gods, or especially by Marduk, for his religious offenses, which he was not aware of. The gods have been quite fair to him according to the standards of human morality. They treated him according to his behaviour in the field of religion. ⸢i⸣-qab-bi-ma gíl-la-ti uš-raš-šú. ANNU/LENZI 2010, 31 translate “He speaks and imputes guilt” (with note: “Lit., ‘makes one acquire guilt.’ ”). This understanding would match the following line 24 (ibid., “But on the day of his justice liability and guilt are absolved.”). 3

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However, the gods seem not to be interested in whether his behaviour towards other people has been morally right or wrong. At least, this is not expressly mentioned.

The Babylonian Theodicy, 12th–10th Centuries B.C.E.(?) In this conversation between a sufferer and his friend, the friend repeatedly exhorts the sufferer to perform his religious duties (in the form of rituals, prayers, and sacrifices). For such piety is rewarded by the gods with well-being and prosperity: The one who serves the god has (his) protective-sp[irit], the one, who is in danger but (nevertheless) honours the goddess, amasses wea[lth].

(21–22) ?

In (response to) supplication, the furious pre-eminent being (i.e. divine being) will ret[urn ]; the friendly goddess will return in (response to) beseeching; they (i.e. the gods) have mercy on the buried and misguided one (in response) to (their) p[rayers]. (39–41)

To that the sufferer answers that those who do not care about their religious duties are doing well (48ff.). On this point the friend replies that the well-being of such wicked people is not of long duration (59ff.). Against that, the sufferer invokes his own experience: from his youth he has been pious, and yet he has never gotten ahead in life: In my youth, I sea[rched] for the reasoning of the god, with the mark of respect and benedictions, I sought the goddess. I bear a yoke as a corvée which (brought) no gain (var.: wisdom), (but) the god has imposed (on me) poverty instead of riches. A cripple went up above me; a fool moved forward away from me; (while) rascals have moved up (in society), I have fallen (so) low (in society).

(72–77)

In view of this experience of the sufferer, the friend has to admit that the order or the plan of the gods is not really understandable: Like the centre of the heavens, the plan of the god is dis[tant], the command of the goddess is not hea[rd] ... The divine mind is as remote as the centre of the heavens, comprehending it (lit.: its competence) is very difficult; people cannot understand.

(82–83) (256–57)

These arguments are repeated and varied several times during the conversation. As the debate goes on, it becomes increasingly clear that the experience of reality is morally ambivalent: there are events that appear to be good and fair from a moral point of view, but there are also events that conflict with the idea of a moral world order – and not infrequently an event can be interpreted in both ways. At a point of the conversation, the sufferer even contemplates to abandon his piety and morality, and to procure wealth with violence: I will disregard cultic duties of the god, [I will t]rample on the rites. I will slaughter a bull calf, I will consume the foods/bread(-offering). I will walk a great distance, I will get (to) distant places.

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I will open a barrier (of the canals) and send a fl[ood]. Like a robber, [I will] roam over countryside. From house to house, I will go (lit.: enter), I will drive away hunger; I will roam around from one place to another, I will pr[owl] the streets. Wretchedly, I will en[ter?] inside [ ...

(135–42)

But he seems to realize that he would thus only increase the injustice in the world he complains about. Shortly before its end, the dialogue takes a surprising turn. In his last speech, the friend notes that the gods have created men morally imperfect: The king of the pre-eminent (ones) (i.e. the gods) Narru (= Enlil), the creator of the numerous (i.e. people), the noble Zulummaru (= Ea), the one who pinches off their (people’s) clay, the queen, the one who shapes them (people), the mistress Mami, gave twisted speech to humankind: They (also) bestowed upon them (i.e. on mankind) lies and falsehood for all time. (Therefore) they (i.e. the people) proudly speak of the well-being of the rich: “The king is the one at whose side wealth walks.” Men treat the pitiable (man) badly like a thief, they behave towards him maliciously; they plan his murder. 4 Falsely all the bad things were taught to him (i.e. to the sufferer) because he has no guidance; they will make him fall down like a powerless (man); they will extinguish him like glowing ashes. (277–86)

It is not possible here to enter into the discussion on the understanding of these statements.5 I understand it as a concession by the friend that the gods, as creators of men, are at least co-responsible for the wrongdoing of people, and thus also for the injustice they have done to the sufferer. Reality is ambivalent. Sometimes the pious and the righteous are successful, and sometimes the godless and the wicked. Equally ambivalent are divine and human beings. Sometimes they are righteous and pious, and sometimes they are wicked and godless. That is why there is nothing left for the pious and righteous, when they are in distress, but to hope that gods, humans and circumstances can change for the better – even if one can not rely on it. Thus are the last words of the sufferer and the entire poem: May the god who forsook me establish help (for me). May the goddess who d[eserted me] have mercy on me. May the shepherd (i.e. the human king), my Sun, gui[de] the people [back] to the gods.6 (295–97)

As in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, in the Babylonian Theodicy it is expected that the gods reward piety. In the course of the discussion, however, it becomes increasingly clear

4

sar-ri-iš ka-la lum-nu šu-ḫu-zu-šú áš-šú la i-šu-ú i-ri-tú. Oshima’s (2014, 167) translation follows von Soden (1990, 157). Oshima (2014, 370) mentions the different translation by Foster (2005, 921): “They make him suffer every evil because he has no wherewithal(?).” 5 Cf. OSHIMA 2014, 133–43. 6 Oshima reads the last word of the line li-saḫ-[ḫir]. Note JIMÉNEZ 2017 in which he offers a different restoration of the last word li-lab-⌈bi⌉-[ib], “may he give long life.”

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that they do not do so, or at least not always. In addition, in the Babylonian Theodicy the gods are also expected to promote inter-human morality. But they do not do even that, or at least they do not always do it (cf. 267ff., the section can be referred to both the people and the gods). This gives morality a certain autonomy. People should behave morally even if they do not profit from it. Whoever chooses to live morally, like the suffering and his friend, can hope to be supported by people (especially the king) and by the gods (especially Shamash?). But they can not rely on it. This is because neither morality nor piety can guarantee success in life. Therefore it remains open at the end of the poem whether the gods or the king responded to the petition of the sufferer.

The Old Babylonian A Man and His God, 17th century B.C.E.(?) The relationship between religion and morality is once again differently understood in the Old-Babylonian poem A Man and His God. Here the question is not so much how human suffering can be justified, but what consequences the experience of suffering and of its relieve by the gods should have. At the end of the poem the god connects his promise to heal the sufferer with an exhortation to piety and charity: Your disease is under control ... The years and days you were filled with misery are over ...

(48–49)

The path is straight for you, mercy is granted you. You must never, till the end of time, forget [your] god Your creator, now that you are favored ...

(55–57)

I will see to it that you have long life. So, without qualms, do you anoint the parched, 7 Feed the hungry, water the thirsty ...

(61–63)

Suffering can teach piety by showing humans their dependence on circumstances that they do not control. And suffering can teach humanity – which is the foundation of morality – by sensitising humans for the suffering of others. So in confronting people with unexplainable and uncontrollable suffering, the gods can contribute to their religious and moral progress.

7

Translation following FOSTER 2005, 149–50.

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Bibliography ANNUS, A./A. LENZI (2010): Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts 7), Helsinki. FOSTER, B.R. (2005): Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 3rd ed., Bethesda, MD. JIMÉNEZ, E. (2017): Commentary on Theodicy, (CCP no. 1.4, http://ccp.yale.edu/P404917), accessed June 27, 2017, Cuneiform Commentaries Project. OSHIMA, T. (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers: Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14), Tübingen. VON SODEN, W. (1990): Weisheitstexte in akkadischer Sprache, in: O. KAISER, (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments III, Gütersloh, 110–88. WALTON, J. H. (2006): Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament: Introducing the Conceptual World of the Hebrew Bible, Grand Rapids.

When the Godless Person Thrives and a Wolf Grows Fat Explaining the Prosperity of the Impious in Ancient Mesopotamian Wisdom Texts T.M. Oshima* Introduction According to the ancient Mesopotamian Weltanschauung, prosperity and good health were considered rewards for piety to the gods, whereas adversities were considered punishment for a person’s misdeeds, misconduct, or neglect of cultic duties. Modern scholars commonly refer to this principle as “Tun-Ergehen-Zusammenhang” or “the law of retribution.”1 As van der Toorn (2003, 61) succinctly explains, this principle was based more on popular experience than on any established dogma: What the gods love by instinct is a respectful attitude and acts of philanthropy; what they abhor is anti-social behaviour. Pleasure and repulsion, the two principles that move the gods to action, correspond with the human appraisal of right and wrong. According to the traditional theology of the Mesopotamian scholars the doctrine of retribution is a law of nature, so to speak, that does not require an act of disclosure on the part of the gods. It can be known from observation, extrapolation, and speculation on the principle of similarity. Divine retribution is Erfahrungswissen, knowledge from experience. “When you look at humankind as a whole,” according to the scholar who voices the tenets of tradition in the Babylonian Theodicy, you will find that “he who looks to his gods has a protector, the humble man who fears his goddess accumulates wealth.”2 It is the common view of ancient Near Eastern wisdom traditions that retribution belongs to the realm of visible facts; it is no secret that needs to be revealed. The cause-and-effect model of retribution creates the collective conviction that a happy life is the consequence of correct behaviour, and that suffering is on principle merited.

* The present article is a result of a very stimulating exchange with Dr. Y. Feder during and after the workshop, “Teaching Morality in Antiquity: Wisdom Texts, Oral Traditions, and Images.” I would like to thank him for our discussion. I would like to thank also Professors A. Lenzi and F. Ueberschaer for their careful reading of my earlier manuscripts and insightful remarks. I am also grateful to Dr. Alison Gruseke for editing my manuscript. All errors of omission or commission are mine alone. 1 For this concept, see e.g., VAN DER TOORN 1985; GÖRG/LANG 2001, 931–34; LÖHNERT 2011– 13; BERLEJUNG 2015. For psychological analysis of “Tun-Ergehen-Zusammenhang,” see WIDENGREN 1936, 174. W.G. Lambert (1958, 190) suggested that such a perception of “all personal and collective suffering” as the divine punishment goes back to the Babylonian concepts of divine authority. 2 Babylonian Theodicy lines 18 and 21–22. For the Babylonian Theodicy, see fn. 6 below.

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This belief is a not unique to the ancient Mesopotamian world-view; it can be observed in many world cultures, ancient or modern.3 What is unique to ancient Mesopotamia is the fact that there, among other things, one finds the earliest documentation for this world-view. Thus one discovers this view already expressed in a wisdom text dated no later than early in the second millennium. This belief was maintained throughout the long history of ancient Mesopotamia. The cuneiform texts which were studied by ancient scribes in the Hellenistic and Parthian periods (i.e. in the second half of the first millennium B.C.E.) still express the same teaching. In principle, the ancient Mesopotamians trusted in the correctness of divine judgement as expressed in the following Sumerian proverb: Who compares with justice? It creates life! If wickedness exerts itself, how will Utu (the sun-god) succeed? (ALSTER 1997, 6, SP 1, 1.1–1.2)

At the same time, cuneiform texts reveal that the ancients were well aware that people’s prayers and their offerings brought to the gods were not always rewarded with the expected prosperity and good health. Despite their piety, people often suffered adversities which they took to be punishment for offences against the gods. They were baffled by these seemingly unmerited punishments.4 The paradox became all the more evident when they witnessed godless and malicious people amassing wealth and enjoying good health – despite their mistreatment of the pious poor. Such a clear discrepancy between the traditional wisdom handed down from generation to generation and experienced reality could potentially lead people to skepticism about the validity of ancient wisdom, or worse, it could plant doubts in their minds about the correctness of divine judgement altogether.5 Precisely these questions found expression in the ancient Babylonian poem now known as the Babylonian Theodicy.6 The main protagonist, apparently a young scribal apprentice, repeatedly complains that, despite his piety – as demonstrated by reciting prayers, performing rituals, and bringing offerings to the gods – he remains impoverished.7 He also laments that godless and evil people, who often mistreat the pious poor, nevertheless move up in society and amass wealth. He even goes so far as to 3

See, e.g., MURDOCK 1980; BOYER 2001; BARRETT 2004; JOHNSON 2005. See also contributions by Y. Feder and K. Prochownik in this volume, pp. 253–64 and 265–87 respectively. 4 For the issue of unmerited sufferings in ancient Mesopotamian literature, see, e.g., VON SODEN 1965; MÜLLER 1978; SITZLER 1995; SPIECKERMANN 1998; VAN DER TOORN 2003; UEHLINGER 2007; GERHARDS 2011; FINK 2012; MITTERMAYER 2013: COHEN 2015; BERLEJUNG 2015. See also T. Krüger’s contribution in this volume, pp. 182–88. Because the question of unmerited sufferings is the subject of other cuneiform wisdom texts, namely the Sumerian Man and his God, the Babylonian Man and his God, Marduk Praise from Ugarit (Ugaritica 5, no. 162), and Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, I am not going to discuss this topic as such in the current essay. For succinct descriptions of these poems and further references, see OSHIMA 2014, 19–28. 5 Most recently COHEN 2015. 6 For a recent edition of the Babylonian Theodicy with further references, see OSHIMA 2014. For the ancient commentary to the poem, see JIMÉNEZ 2017b. See also E. Jiménez’s contribution in this volume, pp. 124–33. 7 VAN DER TOORN 2003, 70; OSHIMA 2014, 125–27.

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express his wish to emulate the way of life of those he calls the “godless fools.” No doubt, many people in antiquity – as in modern times – would agree. Some modern scholars have interpreted the claims made by the sufferer of the Babylonian Theodicy as a reference to the social changes caused by the arrival of new people in Babylonia (ALBERTZ 1981; VAN DER TOORN 2003, 109–10)8, or at least as a call to abandon the values based on traditional wisdom (BUCCELLATI 1981, 37; cf. COHEN 2015). In either case, such views would have been regarded as a challenge to the established authorities of the palace and the temples, which ruled society and determined its social order. Judging from wisdom texts contemporary with the Babylonian Theodicy (i.e. the late second millennium or the first half of the first millennium B.C.E.), it seems that ancient thinkers9 did not really question traditional wisdom.10 Despite the paradox, ancient thinkers encouraged people to continue to demonstrate their piety to the gods

8

Yet, as Cohen (2015, 256–58) observes, Albertz’s interpretation has no philological ground. Cf. also SPIECKERMANN 1998, 329, fn. 2. 9 A word of caution is in order about the use of the term “thinker” in this essay. By the term “thinker,” I do not mean “philosopher,” as ancient Mesopotamians did not develop a descriptive philosophy comparable to Greek philosophy. Instead, I use the term to refer to both illiterate and literate people who sought guidance for their daily lives or explanations for phenomena seemingly unexplainable by the traditional wisdom. In studies of ancient Mesopotamia, the English term “scribe” is normally used in order to refer to the literate elites engaged in scholarly activities. See, e.g. LENZI 2008 and VAN DE MIEROOP 2015. Although I agree with this practice in principle, I call attention to the fact that, in ancient texts, the Akkadian term ṭupšarru “scribe” was used to denote a very wide range of literate people including administrators whose main responsibilities were writing correspondences, keeping records, preparing contracts, and so forth. See CHARPIN 2010; LUUKKO 2007. Although, as van der Toorn (1991, 72) puts it, “the future scribes … received a general education in humanities,” it is hard to believe that the normal, merely administrative scribe would engage himself in critical thinking about the fundamental nature of truth. Alternative terms used in the modern literature instead of “scribe” are “specialist,” “scholar,” or indeed the Akkadian term “ummânu (i.e. scholar, specialist).” As Lenzi (2008) has shown, people called ummânu “specialist” were responsible for maintaining and transmitting the traditional body of knowledge, which was believed to have had a divine origin. As seen in the ancient Catalogue of Texts and Authors (LAMBERT 1962), ummânus were also credited with being the authors of various literary texts. Charpin (2010, 236–37) demonstrates that they were also the real “authors” of royal inscriptions. And they were responsible for giving advice to the kings. See OSHIMA 2013, xxxvii–xlvii. As seen below, Sidu, who systemized various wisdom texts, and Saggil-kīna-ubbib, the author of the Babylonian Theodicy, were both, in fact, ummânus. The ummânus were the driving force of literary production and the guardians of traditional knowledge. Yet, since many authors remained anonymous, with the exception of rare examples (like Saggil-kīna-ubbib), it is impossible to attribute specific ideas to a particular person. Moreover, although some maxims are credited to certain legendary or historic persons, e.g. the Instructions of Šuruppak or the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta (see below), as Alster (2005, 33 and 223) observes, most of the maxims collected in various collections of proverbs probably have their origins in pre-historic times, or, like many modern proverbs, they were originally mere popular sayings. In other words, Mesopotamian wisdom texts may not necessarily be the product of scholarly activities. Following Lambert (1960, 7 and passim), for this reason, I use the term “thinker,” though it is rather vague, because it does not have the problems that “scribe” or ummânu may connote. The term “thinker” is also meant to imply the anonymity of the authors of ancient texts. 10 See, e.g., BERLEJUNG 2015.

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by reciting prayers and bringing offerings to them, and, of course, continuing to obey the traditional wisdom teachings. One may wonder, then, how the ancient thinkers rationalized the paradoxical confrontation of traditional wisdom with experienced reality. What was their explanation for the unrewarded piety of the righteous, and the frequent success of the impious? In this short essay, I propose to examine Sumero-Akkadian wisdom texts carefully, in particular the Babylonian Theodicy referred to above, and to argue that the ancient Mesopotamian thinkers skilfully avoided tackling a most fundamental issue: the question of theodicy, i.e. whether the gods’ judgement was correct or not, by simply appealing to the superiority of divine over human judgement.11 To undergird this claim, they argued that human beings had no ability to understand divine wisdom because it was as remote from them as the center of Heaven. This strategy meant, however, that they had to accept one shortcoming of traditional wisdom: it seems they came to realize that material wealth was not the real blessing that rewarded piety, but rather that the real blessing was access to truth – i.e., wisdom itself. Thus, they taught that humankind could gain insight into divine wisdom by means of rituals, prayers, and offerings. First, I discuss some exemplary wisdom texts that refer to traditional teachings on well-being as the reward for piety. This section will be followed by a close examination of the lessons contained in the Babylonian Theodicy.

Sumero-Babylonian Wisdom Texts Teaching the Value of Piety A Very Brief Overview of Sumero-Babylonian Anthologies of Maxims Before discussing the traditional beliefs about wealth and health, I would like to give a very brief overview of the ancient Sumero-Akkadian genre of proverb anthologies. The cuneiform scripts are known, alongside Egyptian hieroglyphs, as one of the oldest known writing systems in human history. The oldest cuneiform texts are roughly dated to 3300 B.C.E.12 Ancient people initially used cuneiform scripts as a tool to record administrative activities. Yet as early as 2600–2500 B.C.E. cuneiform signs were being used to write down literary texts as well. Among the earliest we find an anthology of maxims known to modern scholars as the Instructions of Šuruppak.13 The Instructions of Šuruppak was originally composed in Sumerian, but it was later translated into Akkadian and Hurrian. The earliest exemplars of the Instructions of 11

Berlejung (2015) observes that the ancient Mesopotamians did not really ask the so-called theodicy question. I suspect that the belief in the difference between the divine moral standard and the human one probably was the reason why the Babylonians never asked the question of theodicy. For the submissive attitude of humankind towards supernatural beings based on the divine superiority, see BERGER 1967, 57. 12 E.g. SCHMANDT-BESSERAT 1996. 13 ALSTER 2005, 31–220. In academic writing, “Šuruppak” is often written “Šuruppag” following the Sumerian tradition. See, e.g., http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text= c.5.6.1&display= Crit&charenc=gcirc# (accessed on 10 August 2017).

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Šuruppak are those found at Abu Ṣalabīkh and Bismaya (ancient Adab), both in Sumer – i.e., modern southern Iraq. The copies date to the Early Dynastic period, more specifically, the mid third millennium B.C.E. Based on palaeography, however, the majority of the Sumerian exemplars of this text are dated much later, to ca. 1900–1800 B.C.E. The Akkado-Hurrian translation and Akkadian unilingual versions were probably then prepared between the fourteenth to twelfth centuries B.C.E.14 In addition, there are other collections of precepts and admonitions which Assyriologists customarily call “instructions” or “counsels.” Other examples of Sumerian instructions are the texts now known as the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta and the Sumerian Counsel of Wisdom.15 The Šimâ milka, otherwise known to modern scholars as the Instructions of Šūpê-amēli, is a Babylonian text, although its exemplars have been found mainly on the periphery of the Babylonian cuneiform culture, i.e. at Emar, Hattuša, and Ugarit.16 Further examples of this genre from the later periods are the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom, the Counsel of the Pessimist, and the Advice to a Prince, all of which are in Akkadian.17 In addition to these “instructions,” as early as the late third millennium or early second millennium B.C.E., thousands of Sumerian proverbs, which had been orally transmitted from generation to generation, were collected and put in writing.18 Over two millennia, these short sayings were studied and transmitted to future generations by the ancient scribes. In the process of transmission, many Sumerian texts were translated into Akkadian and other languages.19 Akkadian speakers also added to the corpus.20 Although the tradition of ancient Mesopotamian collections of precepts and admonitions stretched over more than two millennia, the essence of many of the individual maxims remained the same over time. The main purpose of these “instructions” was to teach any free man in society how to run his household, how to avoid provoking resentment in other people, and how to maintain his dignity and credibility.21 Some pre14

Note BM 50522+52767+52946+77468, (Alster’s MS Akk2), Middle Babylonian MS in the British Museum tablet collections. A second Akkadian unilingual MS, VAT 10151, was found at the first millennium Assur. 15 ALSTER 2005, 221–64. 16 For the most recent edition with previous references, see COHEN 2013, 81–128. 17 LAMBERT 1960, 96–107; 108–109; and 112–15 respectively. For the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom, see Lenzi’s contribution in this volume, pp. 60–69. For its transmission and history of scholarship, see LENZI forthcoming. 18 E.g. ALSTER 1997; ALSTER/OSHIMA 2006. For the latter, see also KLEIN 2014. Alster (1997, xvi) observes that many manuscripts of the Standard Sumerian proverb collections are dated to the Isin-Larsa period (circa 1900–1800 B.C.E.). 19 It seems that ancient thinkers from the first millennium regarded Sidu, a Nippurian lamentation priest, as the “author” of various wisdom texts that include proverb collections. For Sidu’s “authorship” of various wisdom texts, see Y. Cohen’s article in this volume, pp. 41–59. 20 See, e.g., a collection of Akkadian unilingual proverbs in LAMBERT 1960, 214–20. 21 E.g., ALSTER 2005, 26; COHEN 2013, 81 The identity of the speaker of the Instructions of Šuruppak remains unknown, since no known version of this text reveals the author’s name. Its Early Dynastic versions merely state that these precepts were given by a man from the city of Šuruppak to his son. The later exemplars claim that these instructions were given to Ziusudra (Akkadian Uta-napištim), the Mesopotamian flood hero, by his

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cepts were meant for a more specific audience. For example, the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom was meant for scribal trainees, while the audience for the Advice to a Prince was probably the Assyrian crown princes.22 Teaching the Value of Piety In this section, I am going to discuss various Sumero-Akkadian “instructions” dealing with the value of human piety. As I will show below, the basic principle, “piety brings prosperity and health,” was maintained throughout the long history of ancient Mesopotamia. The Instructions of Šuruppak is the oldest known anthology of precepts and admonitions. By combining manuscripts of different periods and states of preservation, Alster (2005) has recovered about 290 lines belonging to the Instructions of Šuruppak. Roughly speaking, the maxims in the Instructions of Šuruppak can be divided into three groups: 1) warnings about inflicting damage on another person’s body or property (e.g. murder, causing injuries to other people, rape, theft, burglary, causing property damage), which find parallels in ancient Near Eastern law codes 23; 2) precepts and admonitions about pro- and antisocial conduct, including guidance about social behavioral codes; and 3) practical advice on handling one’s lands, rearing animals, and managing a workforce.24 Only a very small portion of the poem – 7 lines out 290 lines in total – contains maxims with religious content, and the great majority of the ethical advice concerns societal norms. In short, the Instructions of Šuruppak is a text essentially secular by nature. Nevertheless, maxims of a religious nature are found in lines 69–72 and lines 140– 42 in the Old Babylonian version of the Instructions of Šuruppak. The former section concerns the protection of the Sun-god, and the latter speaks of the benefit of prayers25 and the negative aspects of curses and careless speech. Clearly, the question of divine retaliation does not play a significant role in the Instructions of Šuruppak. More compelling is the fact that there is no reference to religious aspects in the preserved porfather. Because the speaker is identified as the son of Ubartutu, a legendary ruler of Šuruppak, it is possible that he himself was a ruler of Šuruppak as well. See ALSTER 2005, 32–33. In fact, later cuneiform texts take Šuruppak as be a royal name instead of a toponym, hence Ziusudra appears as the son of Šuruppak. GLASSNER 2005, 57–58; GEORGE 2003, 154–55. However, no instruction in the poem really indicates the royal character of its recipient. Thus, Alster (2005, 33) observes that “these [sayings] are practically oriented counsels intended to prepare any man to live a prudent life in society, in particular, preparing him to take control of his own household, not specifically the royal throne.” Given the many statements of practical advice on how to handle one’s lands, rearing animals, and managing a workforce, one may speculate that male estate owners were the intended audience of these precepts. It is also worth noting that, although a large number of the manuscripts of this ancient text suggest its popularity among the ancient scribes, there is no internal evidence indicating that it was intended for the training of scribes or courtiers. ALSTER 2005, 33, fn. 12. As Taylor (2005, 13– 38) has observed, the same is true for the Mesopotamian proverbs generally. 22 LAMBERT 1960, 97; 110–11 respectively. 23 SELZ 2002. 24 ALSTER 2005, 33–35. 25 For an anthropological approach to Akkadian prayers, see, LENZI 2011.

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tions of the Early Dynastic versions of the Instructions of Šuruppak. However, as Alster (2005, 31) observes “it would be a mistake to interpret this as reflecting a secular way of thinking in opposition to religious thought. On the contrary, in the texts of the third and early second millennia B.C.E., religious precautions are mentioned just like other types of practical advice regarding human behavior.”26 As to the two above-mentioned sections (i.e. lines 69–72 and lines 140–42) dealing with religious matters, the latter text contains a maxim concerning prayers that is of interest for us: Words of prayers are an abundant year; a prayer is cool water that soothes the heart (of the angry gods); uttering curses and careless speech (attract) the (negative) attention of the land. (ALSTER 2005, 81, Instructions of Šuruppak lines 140–42)

The first line succinctly states that prayers to the gods are a key to well-being. The second line explains the raison d’être of prayers, namely that they can help people to 26

A similar conclusion might be drawn from first-millennium texts. E.g., Šurpu, an incantation recited during a ritual cleansing of one’s sins, describes a sinner as the one (REINER 1958, 13–14): Who has eaten what is taboo to his god, who has eaten what is taboo to his goddess Who said ‘no’ for ‘yes’, who said ‘yes’ for ‘no’ …

(II, 5–6)

He scorned the god, despised the goddess, His sins are against his god, his crimes are against his goddess. He is full of contempt against his father, full of hatred against his elder brother. He despised his parents, offended the elder sister …

(II, 33–36)

He entered his neighbor’s house, Had intercourse with his neighbor’s wife, Shed his neighbor’s blood …

(II, 47–49)

Note also an incantation also recited during another cleansing ritual, Lipšur Litanies (REINER 1956, 137): If So-and-So, son of So-and-So, has sinned, may he be absolved, may he be wiped clean; if he was negligent, if he committed errors, ditto (i.e. may he be absolved, may he be wiped clean); if he committed an assault, if he committed murder, ditto; if he unwittingly broke a taboo to his god, if he had intercourse with the priestess of his god, ditto; if he had intercourse with the wife of his friend. (81–84) if he swore oaths, if he, by oaths, .. [ … ], if he swore by his god, if he brought up trifles before his god, if he violated an interdict, if he brought his washwater before his god, if he swore to (his) friend and companion, if he swore true and false oaths, if he swore heavy and light oaths, if he swore aware of what he was doing or swore unwittingly. (91–95) As evidenced by the incantations cited above, the reciters do not make any categorical distinction between serious crimes, sins, and mere taboo-breaches. Instead, as the reciters of these incantations put it, any “actions” of the penitents that “were displeasing to his god” were considered to be offenses against the gods.

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be reconciled with angry gods. The third line is an admonition against cursing and careless speech that could cause problems with other people. Because these sections are not preserved in the Early Dynastic versions of the Instructions of Šuruppak, it is impossible to know how early these teachings might date. However, note the following Sumerian proverb: Offerings bring pleasure, lamentation dissolves sins, sacrifices add life.

(ALSTER 1997, 279, SP 26, Section A, 12)

Given this Sumerian proverb describing similar results of prayers, one may surmise that, although the text is known only from a tablet dated to the early Old Babylonian period, it represents a well-established belief going back to the late third millennium B.C.E. The benefits of fulfilling religious obligations are best articulated in the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta:27 A man who knows how to respect the affairs of the gods, who fulfills the offerings to the gods, who ...... (and) offers sacrifice, to whom the name of his god is precious who stays away from maliciousness and curse, who goes straight to the place of gods, what he has lost will be restored days will be added to his life, years will abound in addition to the years he has been assigned his descendants will experience good health his heir will pour water libations for him. [His] god will look favourably upon him, [he (his god) will] listen to his prayer and he will prosper, he will look after him. But the man who does not observe the affairs of the gods, who does not fulfill the offerings to the gods, to whom prayers are not (held) dear, to whom maliciousness and curse are not abominable to whom the name of his god is not precious, the days when he lives will not be prosperous, his descendants will not experience good health, his heir will not pour water libations for him, his descendants will not experience long-lasting health. Has a man who does not respect his god ever gained or seen success? These are instructions of the gods. (ALSTER 2005, 228–31, Instructions of Ur-Ninurta, lines 19–37)

This text states that a pious person who always respects the gods and observes cult obligations will thrive because the gods will protect him/her, while impious people 27

Ur-Ninurta was the sixth king of the Isin Dynasty (c. 1920–1900 B.C.E.) who seized the royal throne upon the death of his predecessor, Lipit-Ištar (c. 1920), and exercised power for 28 years. Yet, like the Instructions of Šuruppak, there is no internal textual evidence that positively relates the poem to the court of Ur-Ninurta. It is also possible that the authorship of Ur-Ninurta is pseudepigraphic.

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who neglect cultic obligations and do not hesitate to commit crimes will not prosper. It further warns that the lives of the godless will be cut short, and their offspring will not enjoy long, healthy lives. Stated briefly, it teaches that piety to the gods is the key to prosperity. The teaching that prosperity and health are rewards for piety – as demonstrated by performing rituals, reciting prayers, and bringing offerings – prevailed throughout the long history of ancient Mesopotamia. Anthologies of maxims known from first millennium manuscripts28 still teach the importance of constantly demonstrating one’s devotion. The best example is Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom lines 125–37 (LAM29 BERT 1960, 105): Every day, worship your god, (with) offering (and) benediction, (they are) worthy of incense offering. You shall present free-will offerings to your god; this is proper to godhead. (In virtue of your) petition, beseeching, and mark of respect, (for each) grain you give to him (the god), he will repay you a talent, but more (importantly), you will be prosperous with the god. In your learning, examine writings. Reverence begets blessing, offering prolongs vigor, and a supplication absolves sins. Blessing will not fall short of the one who reveres 30 the gods, the one who reveres Anunnaki-gods will prolong (his) days.

A similar teaching is given in yet another anthology of maxims, Counsels of a Pessimist, lines 11–13 (LAMBERT 1960, 109): [Y]ou shall offer prayers to the god, may your free-will offering be permanently (brought) to the god, your begetter, to the goddess of your city, you shall bow down always, so that she will give you offspring.

It seems that this teaching was still widely accepted in the seventh century B.C.E., because similar expressions are quoted in a letter addressed to the Assyrian king Esarhaddon (680–669) as follows: Fear of the gods creates blessing, fear of the Anunnaki-gods extends life.

(PARPOLA 1993, 154, no. 188, rev. 9–10)

28 Although these texts are only attested on first millennium manuscripts, it is very likely that they were composed as early as the second half of the second millennium B.C.E. See, e.g., LAMBERT 1960, 97. It is, however, also possible that these precepts and admonitions are based on orally transmitted proverbs because maxims are often derived from popular sayings. See, e.g., MIEDER 1993, 194. 29 Line numbers are based on my forthcoming edition of the poem. Lambert (1960, 104) assigns line numbers 135–47 to this section. The earliest manuscripts of the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom are dated to the seventh century B.C.E. Paleographic evidence indicates that it was still studied by ancient scribes during the Hellenistic and even Parthian periods. See ibid. 30 The Akkadian term for “to be/become afraid, revere” is palāhu. In addition to its primal meaning, this term signifies “to worship, respect.” See, e.g., CAD P, 41–45.

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The next Sumero-Akkadian bilingual proverb known from the first millennium likewise speaks of the benefits of performing the rituals as follows:31 When you take good care of (your god), your god is yours; when you do not take good care of (your god), your god is not yours.

(LAMBERT 1960, 227, col. ii lines 23–26)

This proverb does not reveal what exactly was meant by the phrase “your god is yours.” In order to understand its significance, we must look into another ancient proverb, known from a scribal exercise dated to 1900–1800 B.C.E.:32 A man without a god does not procure much food, does not procure a little food; going out to a river, he does not catch a fish; going out to a field, he does not catch a gazelle. For a great matter, he does not fit; when running, he does not reach (his goal). (Yet,) if his god becomes favourable towards him, anything that he names will be provided for him. (ALSTER 1997, 309, UET 6/2, nos. 251–52)

This proverb states that if one loses his god he will fail in everything he undertakes, but if one holds fast to his god, his wishes will be fulfilled. The phrase “your god is yours” cited in the preceding text probably corresponds to the same idea as “to have a god” alluded to in the present text, both expressions signifying, “to prosper.”33 By combining these proverbs, one may conclude that ancient Mesopotamians believed that human devotion, constantly demonstrated by means of rituals, prayers, and offerings, caused the gods to stay with people and to provide them with divine protection and material riches. The following short Akkadian text, written around the thirteenth century B.C.E., confirms this interpretation: I have been seeking (and) looking for divine things. The man whose god finds him (for his piety) is short of nothing.

31

(LAMBERT 1975, 223)34

Although this proverb is known from a collection of proverbs which is commonly known as “Assyrian Collection” by modern scholars, as Lambert (1960, 225) observes, it is very likely that it has its origin in the second millennium Babylonia, most likely in the second half of the second millennium B.C.E. 32 Given the fact that this proverb is also cited in the Hendursaga-Hymn and also referred to in the Sumerian Man and His God, line 9 (ALSTER 1997, 467–68), although we know it only from the Old Babylonian exemplars of various literary texts, it is very reasonable to believe that the proverb probably has a much older origin. 33 See JACOBSEN 1976, 155–56. 34 For a photograph of the seal impression, see GORDON 1939, V, no. 31. For the date of the seal, STIEHLER-ALEGRIA DELGADO 1996, 94–97, and 176 no. 11.

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Instead of referring to cultic obligations or to care for the gods, this text speaks of “searching for a god.” The Akkadian expression ila or bīt/ašar ili šeʾû (very often in Gt-stem, i.e. šiteʾʾû) or saḫāru, literally “to seek a god or temple,” actually signified “to be assiduous or solicitous towards a god or temple” and, by extension, simply “to worship.”35 Thus, Adda-guppi, the mother of king Nabonidus (555–539), did not mean that she roamed all over Babylonia when she stated in her stele that: I am Adda-guppî, the mother of Nabonidus, the king of Babylon, worshipper of Sîn, Nikkal, Nusku, Sadarnuna, my gods, who, since my childhood, sought after their godhead. Because, in the year 16 th of Nabopolassar, the king of Babylon, Sîn, the king of the gods became angry with his city and his house and ascended to Heaven, the city and people in it suffered destruction. I (therefore) sought after the shrines of Sîn, Nikkal, Nusku, and Sadarnuna, worshipped them, and I hold on the hem of (the robe of) Sîn, the king of the gods; and day and night, every day, I ceaselessly sought after his great godhead. (SCHAUDIG 2001, 502 and 510, col. i 1–13)

What she actually meant was that she was a devotee of Sîn, Nikkal, Nusku, and Sadarnuna. Likewise, the text engraved on a Kassite cylinder seal cited above shows that, when a person worships a god, the god will find him/her and provide anything he/she needs. Because ancient Mesopotamian thinkers did not leave behind any descriptive philosophical writings, we cannot confirm this with certainty, but this text suggests that ancient Mesopotamian thinkers believed that the true reward for a person’s piety was the gods’ directly attending to them as their wards, and that wealth and health followed as a consequence of the gods’ continuing presence. Although this teaching that “piety brings prosperity” prevailed for over two thousand years in ancient Mesopotamia, it is evident that it was not uncritically accepted by everyone. Already in the early second millennium, ancient Mesopotamians questioned this principle. For example, criticism found expression in the following ancient Sumerian proverb: Be it that a wolf is eating, Utu (Sun-got) might look at him (and say): “as far as he praises [m]e, he will grow fat.”36 (ALSTER 1997, 133, SP 5B.71)

Most likely, the message of this proverb is that even Utu, the Sun-god, the supreme judge, might allow even a wolf to prosper – probably a symbol of a treacherous and ferocious person – provided that it showed him piety.37 This saying probably represents a tongue-in-cheek criticism against people’s ritual-oriented moral reasoning.38 35

MAYER 1976, 135–37, esp. fns 27–28. See also CAD Š/2, s.v. šeʾû. I follow the interpretation of COHEN 2015, 259–60 with fn. 73. ETCSL (t.6.1.05: 5.x6) offers a translation similar to this: “Imagine a wolf is eating. Utu looks down on it and says: ‘Provided you praise me, you will grow fat’  ” (accessed on 10 August 2017). Cf. KLEIN/SAMET 2012, 114, fn. 28. Alster (1997, 405) translates differently, “Utu, watching a wolf eating (said), ‘How long will you praise [m]e?’ ‘Till I grow fat!’ (said the wolf).” Cf. KATZ 2006, 116–17, fn. 199. 37 See COHEN 2015, 260. 38 Another example of criticisms against the ritual oriented moral thinking found its expression in a first-millennium poem, Dialogue of Pessimism lines 59–61 (LAMBERT 1960, 146–49): 36

Do not sacrifice, sir, do not sacrifice. You can teach your god to run after you like a dog, a relentless god will ask of you rites or anything you have.

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Needless to say, ancient people also inveighed against antisocial or criminal acts. As seen below, ancient maxims also exhort their audiences to moral conduct. Very interestingly, ancient people apparently believed that, alongside piety to the gods, moral integrity could also help people achieve prosperity.

Prosperity in Virtue of Prosocial Attitudes in Mesopotamian Maxims A recurring theme in ancient Mesopotamian maxim anthologies is the warning against malevolent or careless speech. The Instructions of Šuruppak is no exception. Note, e.g., lines 134–38 (ALSTER 2005, 80): An insult breaks only the skin, but envy kills. Shouting, the liar tears up garments. Insults encourage malice. Speaking arrogantly is like fire, an herb that makes the stomach sick.

Unlike the majority of the sayings in the Instructions of Šuruppak, these are adages without precept. Yet, the message is clear: one should avoid envious, deceitful, or boastful speech, because it causes harm to the one speaking. We may surmise that such advice was given because resentful or careless speech was considered antisocial or non-ethical. However, it seems that morality was not the only rationale behind such advice. Note lines 103–108 (ALSTER 2005, 75–76): He whose mouth (speaks) pleasant (words) recites words well, (but) he who has a harsh mouth carries a (litigation) document. The “honey-mouth” gathers sweet herbs. The boaster reached (out for) his (empty) leather-made money bag. The haughty one brought an empty bag, (and) the false accuser put emptiness in it.

It is rather intriguing that the Instructions of Šuruppak does not see pleasant speech as a means to maintain good relationships with other people. Neither does it view boastful speech, arrogance, and false accusations as antisocial behavior as such. Instead, it teaches that, while a careful tongue might help people gain prosperity, boastful or false talk will cause them to lose their means.39 Ancient thinkers apparently recommended prosocial behaviors, not only because they could smooth human-human relationships, but also because they could advance one’s prosperity. At the same time, they warned against antisocial conduct because it held the potential both to negatively affect hu-

For interpretation of this line, see GREENSTEIN 2007, 60. As Cohen (2015, 260) observes, it is very likely that the main purpose of these sayings was to criticize the divine retribution model “because they say that eventually what the gods are interested in are rites and sacrifices, regardless of the believer’s behavior.” For interpretation of this section, see SAMET 2008. 39 One may wish to take the material benefit of careful speech and the hazard of boastful or false talk in it as a figure of speech referring to their positive or negative effect on human relationship respectively. Even so, it is still a very interesting choice of words.

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man-human relationships and also to endanger one’s prosperity. It seems that the Instructions of Šuruppak had a rather egocentric aim. Evidently, ancient thinkers believed that both demonstration of piety and prosocial conduct could increase one’s wealth. This notion might appear peculiar to the eyes of modern people, but teaching about prosperity as a natural result of prosocial behavior recurs frequently in ancient Mesopotamian wisdom texts. A similar notion about the correlation between one’s morality and one’s wealth is again expressed in the opening section of the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom, a collection of precepts and admonitions known only from first millennium manuscripts:40 A sage [gives] hi[s] son [instructions]. With wisdom th[at … ] ........ [..(.)] “Come, [my] son, [devo]te (yourself)?”, he sp[oke], “to the command th[at] will inc[rease] [w]ell-being,” “lea[rn] my advice, [list]en to my instruction, it is very prosper[ous].” (LAMBERT 1960, 106–107, Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom lines 1–5)

Although, as discussed above, Counsels of Wisdom lines 125–37 speak of the benefits a person might gain as a result of his piety, the great majority of the instructions in the poem, i.e. 133 lines out of 151 lines in total,41 are secular by nature. It recommends following prosocial forms of behavior: maintaining ethical conduct, observing social behavioral codes, and avoiding crimes. Observing cultic obligations and demonstrating one’s piety were not the only sources for well-being and prosperity as promised in the prologue of the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom. The author(s) also believed that prosocial conduct and the observation of social codes could secure people’s prosperity. From this, we can deduce that ancient Mesopotamians might have seen a person’s prosperity not only as a sign of the gods’ close attention to them, but also as a mark of their personal integrity. For them, the observation of prosocial norms and social behavioral codes was not only a tool for maintaining social order and smoothing human relationships, but also a means toward gaining and securing prosperity. Materialistic aims are also hinted at in the epilogue of Šimâ milka. Like the Instructions of Šuruppak, it consists of advice given by a father, Šūpê-amēli, to his son. Just as the teachings of the man of Šuruppak are predominantly secular in nature, so are the instructions given by Šūpê-amēli. They include practical advice on how to handle one’s lands, how to rear animals, and how to manage a workforce. In addition, these instructions contain precepts and admonitions about pro- and antisocial conduct, and guidance about codes of social behavior. Here too, advice of a religious nature is rare; examples can be found in lines 32 and 59 (COHEN 2013, 87 and 89): You will suffer the punishment (delivered) from (your) god.

(line 32)

Do not mock the god whom you have not provided with provisions.

(line 59)

40

The translation used here is based on my forthcoming edition of the Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom. Based on unpublished manuscripts, I have positively identified that K 13770 (LAMBERT 1960, pl. 27) is the beginning of the poem. 41 The initial 5 lines are the prologue to the instructions.

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In the epilogue of Šimâ milka, the son, after hearing his father’s instructions, replies with the objection that no matter how many riches a man amasses during his lifetime, the things he is able to take with him to the netherworld are few indeed: “My father, you built a house, you elevated high the door; sixty cubits is the width of your (house). But what have you achieved? Just as much as [your] house’s loft is full so too its storage room is full of grain. (But) upon the day of your death (only) nine bread portions of offerings will be counted and placed at your head. From your capital (consisting of) a thousand sheep, (only) a goat, a fine garment – that will be your own [sha]re. From the money which you acquired either bribes or taxes (will be left). Few are the days in which we eat (our) bread, but many will be the days in which our teeth will be idle, few are the days in which we look at the sun, but many will be the days in which we will sit in the shadows. The netherworld is teeming, but its inhabitants lie sleeping. Ereshkigal (netherworld goddess) is our mother and we her children. At the gate of the netherworld, blinds have been placed, so that the living will not be able to see the dead.” (COHEN 2013, 98–101, Šimâ milka lines 133´–46´)

The poem ends with the theme of the vanity of human life, a frequently recurring theme in Sumero-Akkadian literature.42 The son replies to his father: no matter what a man does, everything is in vain. However, it is not clear why, after hearing the father’s teachings, the son should object by referring to the vanity of human existence – and in particular to the wealth accumulated during a person’s lifetime – unless the teachings that Šūpê-amēli gave were supposed to help his son amass riches. If that be so, it is very likely that ancient people believed they could prosper, not only by observing practical advice on the management of one’s estate, but also by paying heed to maxims dealing with how to conduct oneself in society. Put differently, the epilogue of Šimâ milka hints at the ancient belief in the correlation between one’s prosocial or ethical behavior and one’s prosperity. It is, however, intriguing that the son of Šūpê-amēli rejects the value of riches as such and brands them as “vain.” I do not think that the epilogue of Šimâ milka was meant to challenge the value of the father’s ethical teaching, i.e., that of traditional wisdom. It is more likely that the son’s criticism of his father’s accumulated wealth was intended to underline the insignificance of human power, most notably its limitation to a person’s lifetime.43 It is, however, possible that 42

COHEN 2013, 115. In Enlil and Namzitarra, although Enlil offered gifts for his piety, Namzitarra did not receive it and went home empty handed. In its Old Babylonian version, Namzitarra requests a prebend in the temple in Nippur, the temple of Enlil. I.e. to his personal benefit, Namzitarra preferred the general welfare of the temple of Enlil in Nippur. Yet, in the Emar version, this prebend section is omitted. Cohen (2015, 267, fn. 96) believes that the omission of the prebend request by Namzitarra reflected the realization of vanity of any material riches allowing the “vanity theme” fully developed. According to him “Namzitarra rejects all material goods because everything is deemed as worthless.” Incidentally, the notion of the powerlessness of humankind or its insignificant existence compared to the 43

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a realization of the powerlessness of humankind or the insignificance of human existence – versus the greatness of ever-lasting divine authority – might have led some ancient Mesopotamian thinkers to a clearer realization of the wicked side of affluence, and thence a critique of the very notion of prosperity as the divine reward for human piety. Such criticism finds its expression in the Babylonian Theodicy discussed below.

The Skeptic of the Traditional Wisdom The Protagonist of the Babylonian Theodicy44 Various cuneiform texts also refer to complaints about the discrepancy between the traditional teaching that “piety brings prosperity” and the experienced reality of godless prosperity. One’s daily prayers and offerings were not always answered with wellbeing, and the paradox became more noticeable when godless people or criminals amassed riches. Such a situation could frustrate people and even lead them to question the value of their devotion and the fairness of the gods’ judgement. The so-called “sufferer,” who is the main protagonist of the Babylonian Theodicy, is the personification of such frustration concerning this ancient teaching. He is the utmost skeptic regarding the justice of divine judgement in all cuneiform literature. The Babylonian Theodicy was probably composed late in the second millennium or early in the first millennium by a Babylonian thinker, Saggil-kīna-ubbib.45 The Babylonian Theodicy is a poem in the form of a dialogue between two learned men. The primary protagonist is customarily called the “sufferer” because he claims that, while godless fools and impious rascals amass wealth, the true worshipper of the gods – clearly an allusion to himself – fails to gain material prosperity. He thus insists that he is a victim of unjust divine judgement. He also professes that worshipping the gods is to no avail. For example, in lines 70–77, the sufferer states as follows: Those who do not seek a god go the way of success, (while) someone who thinks of [a goddess] could become poor and impoverished. In my youth, I sea[rched] for the reasoning of the god, I sought the goddess with the mark of respect and benedictions. I have been bearing a yoke as a corvée which (brought) no gain, (but) the god has imposed (on me) poverty instead of riches. A cripple went up above me; a fool moved forward away from me; (while) rascals have moved up (in society), I have fallen (so) low (in society).

Throughout the poem, he refers to all kinds of discrepancies between the traditional teachings and experienced reality, and thus he repeatedly expresses his distrust of the greatness of ever-lasting divine authority already found its expression in a Sumerian proverb “even the tallest man cannot reach the heavens with his hands…” which is also quoted in the Sumerian Bilgamesh and Humbaba. See fn. 59 below; and ALSTER 1997, 436, note for SP 17, Sec. B 2. Note also other Sumerian texts known as níĝ-nam nu-kal, “nothing is of value,” in IDEM 2005, 267ff and COHEN 2013; IDEM 2015. 44 For the translation of the Babylonian Theodicy, see OSHIMA 2014. 45 Ibid., 121–25.

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correctness of the gods’ judgement. Often the sufferer complains that people respect godless criminals for their wealth, even as they maltreat the pious poor. See, e.g. lines 265–75: Pay heed to me, my friend, learn my ideas, be mindful of the chosen word(s) of my speech. They (people) extol the word of the important (man), who knows how to murder (people), they also humiliate the pitiable (man) who does no harm. They take good care of the criminal whose abominations are m[any], they send away the righteous one who pays atten[tion to] the will of deity. They fill the tr[easury] with the gold of a wrongdoer, they empty the grain-bin, the fo[od] of a weak man. They strengthen the man of authority, whose every (act) is cri[me]. they destroy the helpless and trample upon the powerless. And (as for me), the weak one, a rich man keeps persecuting me.

In this section, the sufferer claims that people respect rich but wicked men and help them further amass wealth, while they mistreat a poor but decent person. His claims made in this section suggest that the sufferer had previously regarded both piety and integrity as keys to prosperity. This notion of human prosperity agrees with the teachings found in the ancient Mesopotamian anthologies of precepts and admonitions, as discussed in the previous sections. In the mid-section of the poem, the sufferer expresses his intention to act as a robber and criminal, just like the godless fools that he so despises. See, e.g., Babylonian Theodicy lines 133–43: I will abandon the house . [ … I will want no property . [ … I will disregard cultic duties of deity, [I will t]rample on the rites. I will slaughter a bull calf (meant for the god), I will consume the food-offering (by myself). I will walk a great distance, I will get to distant places. I will open a barrier (of the canals) and send a fl[ood]. Like a robber, [I will] roam over the countryside. I will enter house after house, I will drive away hunger; I will roam around from one place to another, I will pr[owl] the streets. Wretchedly, I will en[ter?] inside [ … Distant, good-fortune, .. [ …

Apparently, the sufferer has come to understand that neither rituals nor integrity or morality are of any avail. Thus, he not only promises to abandon his religious duties but also openly declares his willingness to commit crimes to gain wealth. Such statements, even if not carried out, are nothing less than a head-on challenge to both religious regulations and secular laws, and they represent a clear case of defiance against the social order.46 Uehlinger (2007, 157–58) observes that, “anders als in den zuvor behandelten Dichtungen [namely the Sumerian Man and his God, the Babylonian Man and his God, Marduk Praise from Ugarit (Ugaritica 5, no. 162) and Ludlul bēl nēmeqi]

46

WEINFELD 1988, 223.

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ist der Klagende der Theodizee nicht nur kein Gerechter, sondern offensichtlich auch kein Frommer mehr …” Because modern scholars generally agree with the sufferer’s critique of traditional wisdom, they take the sufferer to be the winner of the dispute between the two speakers of the poem.47 Some scholars have even gone so far as to argue that the sufferer’s claims of the injustice of divine judgement was a reflection of specific social and ethnic changes that ancient Mesopotamians faced under the Amorite kings when newcomers gained power and wealth and, as a consequence, the power of people who had previously belonged to the upper class declined.48 Y. Cohen (2015, 244) succinctly outlines the previous scholarly position that, In the Kassite period and the following era, the so-called Post-Kassite period, skeptical if not wholly nihilistic attitudes questioning the system of divine retribution of reward and punishment were introduced in contemporary wisdom literature compositions, such as Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, the Babylonian Theodicy, and the Dialogue of Pessimism. In the Babylonian Theodicy, the Friend [i.e. the second speaker] expresses the traditional view of divine retribution but the Righteous Sufferer questions this received wisdom.

The Personification of the Traditional Wisdom The Second Protagonist of the Babylonian Theodicy In Mesopotamian literature of the first millennium, one does, occasionally, find sustained doubts being expressed about the validity of traditional wisdom. One hypothesis is that, in this period as well, the texts might reflect social changes. For example, Jacobsen (1977, 215) explains that: It is a well-known fact that, as a civilization grows old, its basic values are in danger of losing their hold upon the individuals who participate in it. Skepticism, doubt and indifference begin to undermine the spiritual structure, which comprises the civilization. Such skepticism toward all values, utter negation of the possibility of a ‘good life’ begins to make its appearance in Mesopotamian civilization in the first millennium B.C. This skepticism has found expression in a long dialogue between a master and his slave; it is known as the ‘Dialogue of Pessimism.’49

Cohen (2015, 259) also argues that, while traditional teachings about the validity of divine retribution continued to exist, one also finds “a serious questioning of divine retribution and antagonistic or nihilistic points of view” in ancient Mesopotamian literature of the first millennium. Buccellati (1981, 37) goes so far as to suggest that “the [Babylonian] Theodicy includes a specific call to reject the established religion.”50

47

For the previous scholarship, see OSHIMA 2014, 135–37. The most notable example is ALBERTZ 1981. Van der Toorn (2003, 84–86) also offers an interpretation in the same vein albeit more cautiously. Spieckermann (1998, 329–30, fn. 2) utterly dismisses such Albertz’s understanding of the poem. 49 For the Dialogue of Pessimism, see LAMBERT 1960, 143–49; FOSTER 2005, 923–26. 50 Note also BUCCELLATI 1972, 173–75. 48

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It is, however, difficult to believe that ancient people, particularly the scribes and thinkers who faithfully studied and transmitted ancient wisdom from generation to generation, suddenly came to reject traditional teachings about the correctness of divine judgement. It is important to remember that, in general, they believed that scribal lore was, as a whole, handed down from the gods.51 Such challenges could not only weaken the belief in their gods and undermine the foundations of the social order, but they could also diminish the thinkers’ own authority and credibility as the learned elites in Mesopotamian society. For example, Mattingly (1990, 327) criticizes Buccellati (1981) by claiming that “[Buccellati’s] suggestion is too modern and not in keeping with the sufferer’s acquiescence in the poem’s conclusion.” He further suggests that the ancient poems dealing with the so-called righteous sufferer motif – including the Babylonian Theodicy – were actually composed in order to “affirm the trustworthiness of the traditional dogmas” (ibid., 326).52

51

CAVIGNEAUX 2005; VAN DER TOORN 2007, 214–51; LENZI 2008; OSHIMA 2013, xlvi–xlvii, fn.

175. 52 Denning-Bolle (1992, 141) observes that, in addition to the odd line, “each stanza in the friend’s argumentations contains one or two lines which express an axiom or some timeless truth around which the rest of the stanza revolves.” She calls the essential point of the friend’s argument the “pivotal point.” For odd lines, see OSHIMA 2014, 117–20. Such an example of a pivotal point is Babylonian Theodicy line 17:

“I shall cross the river Hubur,” (so) it has been said since ancient time. As Denning-Bolle recognizes, the phrase “it has been said since ancient time” hints that this was a timeless saying. Another example is line 281–82 cited below. Given the phrase “they proudly speak,” one may speculate that it was a saying current in antiquity. See E. Greenstein’s observation on the line in p. 138 of this volume. Although, because she does not list them, we cannot know exactly which lines Denning-Bolle identifies as “pivotal points,” her general observation is correct. Each stanza in which the friend speaks contains a line or two lines whose wording is very different from the rest of the lines in it. These lines often use metaphoric terms or expressions which seem out of context. These phrases, needless to say, often create obstacles for interpretation of the poem. For example, the friend repeats the thesis that the gods’ mind/plan is remote like the center of Heaven (lines 82 and 256). This saying is also known from other cuneiform texts (see fn. 59 below), i.e. it might be a well-known proverb, although it has no typical introductory phrase indicative of a proverb (e.g. a phrase like “it is said by people,” “since ancient time, it is said”). Another example is line 236: The grass of his leg will soon be lost. This line refers to the ephemeral wealth of the godless. Clearly “grass” symbolizes evanescence. Another example is line 215: [ … ] the brick-basket is extended to a faraway place. It is not at all clear why a brick-basket is relevant to the argument of divine justice; perhaps it is a quotation of a previously unrecognized ancient proverb in which the brick-basket probably symbolized losing one’s rational mind (in this section, the friend speaks of the sufferer’s lost reasoning). I suspect that all the phrases with the so-called pivotal points are proverbs which the friend (i.e. author) used in order to strengthen his arguments. Proverbs are an effective device to undergird the correctness of one’s argument but they have no value when one does not recognize their proverbial significance. See, e.g., MIEDER 1993. This analysis might be further supported by the fact that the friend is

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How, then, did the ancient thinkers cope with new realities, particularly with historical events that devastated their society and challenged the traditional values that they held so dear? How did they explain piety that was not rewarded with wealth? How did they justify adversities suffered by pious people? How could they maintain their trust in divine justice, even when they witnessed godless and malicious people amassing riches? Answers to these questions are found in the speech made by the “friend,” the second speaker of the Babylonian Theodicy.53 In the next section, I will show that the friend is the personification of traditional wisdom and that it is with him, not with the complaining sufferer, that the author of the Babylonian Theodicy really identifies.54 This interpretation is reinforced by the fact that its author, Saggil-kīna-ubbib, as identified in the acrostic that runs through the poem, calls himself “the one who worships the gods and the king.”55 The author’s trust in the gods and in the palace is thus the warp through which was woven the arguments contained in the Babylonian Theodicy.56 Throughout the poem, the friend of the sufferer tries to comfort the sufferer and urges him to keep faith in the gods. Occasionally, the friend replies sharply to the sufferer’s blasphemous speech. For example, each time the sufferer expresses his wish to abandon his religious obligations and to commit crimes in order to amass riches, the friend criticizes such impious expressions of on the part of the sufferer, for example, lines 212–14: You make your clever mind go astray [ … ] . wisdom you drove away [you (have) scorned] guidance and slandered laws.

Another example is line 255: (Because) your heart is angered, you turn to the god with disrespect. actually the personification of traditional wisdom as shown below. Such a figure is more likely to use proverbs (ibid.). Note the proverbs quoted by the friends of Job in Book of Job. For the latter, see Greenstein’s article in the present volume, pp. 137–49. As Mattingly (1990) observes, Job’s “comforters” are really personifications of the traditional wisdom that Job calls into question. In the end, God declares that Job is correct. 53 Modern scholars customarily call the second speaker of the poem the “friend” because the sufferer addresses him as “my friend” or “my colleague,” i.e. he is a friend of the sufferer. See, e.g., OSHIMA 2014, 127. 54 MATTINGLY 1990, 327. 55 The Babylonian Theodicy consists of 27 strophes of 11 lines each. Notably, all the sentences in a single strophe begin with the same sign. When these 27 signs in all are read from the beginning to the end, they form an acrostic which reads (OSHIMA 2014, 121): a-na-ku sa-ag-gi-il-ki-[i-na-a]m-ub-bi-ib ma-áš-ma-šu ka-ri-bu ša i-li ú šar-ri I am Saggil-kīnam-ubbib, an incantation-priest, the one who worships the gods and the king. The acrostic also reveals that he was a priest, a man of religion. Incidentally, I have argued elsewhere that, unlike the previous interpretations, the sufferer ultimately comes to accept the position of the friend, i.e. the friend is the winner of the debate. See ibid., 134–43, esp. 142–43. 56 Cf. also ibid., 142–43.

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Obviously, the friend believes that the riches of other people and their greed have corrupted the sufferer’s faith and have engendered in him a sinful and criminal attitude. Nonetheless, by and large, the friend remains patient with the sufferer and simply repeats his insistence on the need for piety. The friend repeatedly speaks of the enduring principles of wisdom.57 Throughout, the friend repeatedly argues that the prosperity of the godless is not permanent (lines 59–65; 188–98; 235–38) and that rituals are important as the means to obtain divine blessing (lines 19–22; 39–44; 66; 79–81; 84–88; 212–20; 239–42). He also states that humankind is unable to see the truth because the divine judgement/plan is inaccessible to human understanding (lines 82–83; 256–64). He reiterates these three theses steadily throughout the poem. In lines 45–55, the sufferer claims that wild animals, namely the wild ass and the lion, which symbolize powerful but sinful people, show no piety to the gods but still enjoy good food.58 To the sufferer’s argument, the friend replies as follows, lines 59– 66: I[n the steppe], look at the perfect (animal) of the steppe, the wild ass: the arrow will bring down the one who trampled all the cultivated meadowland. Come, look carefully at the lion, the attacker of livestock, which you mentioned (earlier), (for) the crime which the lion committed, a pit opened up for it. The one who is assigned wealth, the rich man who piled up treasures, like the Fire-God, the ruler will burn (him) before his time. Do you wish to go the way these have gone? Always seek the ever-lasting blessing of favour of the gods.

The friend claims that rich and powerful people, like wild animals, might enjoy wealth for a short while, but that their prosperity will not last. Moreover, he warns that because of their sinful actions, the king will punish them with death. See, e.g. 235–39: The prosperity of the rogue you have desired, (but) “the grass of his leg will soon be lost,” the villain who has no god may gain possession, but a killer with his weapon pursues him. If you do not seek the will of the god, what is your gain?

Controverting the prevailing belief in the connection between good fortune and divine blessing, the sufferer claims that he has been mistreated by the gods. In reply, the friend explains that, because the gods’ will and judgement are remote, like the center of Heaven – i.e., they are different from and superior to our thoughts – we thus cannot comprehend them. For example, lines 256–57: 57

BOTTÉRO 1977, 30 and 35; DENNING-BOLLE 1992, 141. In ancient Mesopotamian literature, animal similes, in addition to suggesting savageness and extraordinary strength or bravery, were often used to convey three beliefs: 1) the lack of moral thinking on the part of sinful people; 2) the lack of knowledge of divine order or the ability to comprehend it; and 3) extreme inhumane adversities that befall sinners, see LENZI 2012; OSHIMA 2018. Sinners are often cursed to remain outside of human society like lions or wild asses. See OSHIMA ibid. Given these uses, one may see the animal similes in the Babylonian Theodicy as a reference to a godless but powerful person who recognizes no moral categories. 58

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The mind of a god is as remote as the center of the heavens, comprehending it is very difficult; people cannot understand.59

When the sufferer persists in claiming that there is no justice in the gods’ judgement because he himself has not gained material prosperity but rather has been mistreated by unfaithful rascals, the friend, in his concluding speech (lines 276–86), presents a new argument: the ultimate reason for the sufferer’s plight, as well as for his doubts and his envy, lies in the very nature of humanity. He claims that both human disbelief and suffering are rooted in humanity’s own deceitful nature, lines 276–86: The king of the pre-eminent divine beings, Narru (=Enlil), the creator the numerous (i.e. people), the noble Zulummaru (=Ea), the one who pinches off their (people’s) clay, the queen, the one who shapes them (i.e. people), the mistress Mami (mother-goddess), gave twisted speech to humankind: They (also) bestowed upon them lies and falsehood for all time. Therefore, they proudly speak of the well-being of the rich: “The king is the one at whose side wealth walks.” Men treat the pitiable man badly like a thief, they behave towards him maliciously; they plan his murder. Falsely all the bad things were taught to him (i.e. to the sufferer) because he has no guidance; they will make him fall down like a powerless man; they will extinguish him like glowing ashes.

It has been noted that, in Mesopotamian mythology, the gods themselves frequently lie, deceiving other gods and humankind. Thus, for example, Lambert (1995, 35) observes, “that lying should have been given to the human race as an enjoined norm is not surprising when the gods themselves in myths also lied.” It seems, however, that the author of the Babylonian Theodicy had a rather different view of the deceitfulness of human nature. A careful reading of the friend’s speech reveals that he views humanity’s deceitful nature and its lies as being the reason why humans respect a wealthy, godless man. By contrast, throughout the poem, he consistently ascribes correctness, justice, and everlasting truth to the gods. In short, the friend regards deceitfulness and lying as a human trait. Moreover, the friend apparently believes that lies and deceitfulness not only prevent people from learning the truth, but also cause their sufferings. If my interpretation of the poem is correct, it seems that, through the mouth of the friend, the author of the Babylonian Theodicy is criticizing the popular view of wealth

59

As Greenspahn (1994) and Samet (2010) correctly observe, the motif “being remote like the center of the heavens” is based on the Sumerian proverb “even the tallest man cannot reach the sky with his hands …” (ALSTER 1997, 237–38, SP 17, B 2//266, SP 22, vi 38–48). It is a declaration of the superiority of the divine power and the insignificance of human beings. The superiority of God’s wisdom as compared with Heaven is also expressed in the words of Zophar in Job 11: 7–9: “Can you find out the deep things of God? Can you find out the limit of the Almighty? It is higher than the heavens – what can you do? Deeper than Sheol – what can you know? Its measure is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea.

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as the reward for piety, branding it as a false belief. He asserts that this false belief is the very reason for the plight of many people. If prosperity is not the reward for one’s piety, what then is the benefit of worshipping the gods? Did the author of the Babylonian Theodicy believe that piety was worthless? In the poem, the friend refers to various advantages of observing rituals. His position is in agreement with traditional wisdom discussed above, i.e., the friend also sees divine protection and a long and comfortable life as the rewards for one’s demonstration of piety to the gods. Divine protection as the blessing found its expression in lines 39–41: In (response to) supplication, the furious pre-eminent divine being will ret[urn?]; the friendly goddess will return in (response to) prayers; they (i.e. the gods) have mercy on the buried and misguided one (in response) to (their) p[rayers].

The friend repeatedly warns the sufferer that material prosperity gained by impious behavior will eventually be taken away, and that rich but godless rascals will ultimately perish. By the same token, he also insists that the pious person will always receive sustenance. See, e.g., lines 219–20: Follow the tradition of the god, keep his cultic rites, [your head] shall be lowered. (Then) be ready for well-being.

Another example is found in lines 240–42 and follows the friend’s warning against the wealth of the godless (lines 235–39), cited above: The one who bears the yoke of the god is indeed thin, but his meal is regularly (served). Seek constantly after the gratifying divine wind, you shall regain at once what you have lost at the harvest time.

The friend recommends that the sufferer should respect the gods in order that they will grant him everlasting blessing. However, in the last example, the friend does not promise affluence as the reward for piety; instead, he argues, although pious persons might not gain riches, the gods will secure their basic needs for daily life. A humble but unworried life is indeed congenial, but it seems that it is not all that the Babylonian Theodicy promises for continuing to show devotion. Unlike the traditional wisdom discussed above, the author of the Babylonian Theodicy, through the mouth of the friend, asserts that the real reward for constant demonstrations of piety is the richness of wisdom, which the gods allow people to access as a reward for their devotion. The friend clarifies this point as follows, lines 82–87: Like the center of the heavens, the god’s plan is dis[tant], the goddess’ command is not hea[rd], (but) the numerous (i.e. human beings) are duly acquainted with rituals. Their (human) efforts, to the people [ … ] . the god .. [ … ] they were taught the path of the goddess. [ … ] Their (people’s) reasoning is close [ … ]

Despite the lacunae in this section, the friend’s position is clear: no matter how difficult the divine plan and commands may be for human beings to fully comprehend, by observing the correct rituals, people can gain insight into the truth. The friend repeat-

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edly argues that the gods’ plans and judgement are remote, like the center of the heavens – that is to say, they are not only different from but also superior to the thoughts of humankind, and no human being can have full access to them. This thesis is repeated in various other ancient Mesopotamian wisdom texts, as well.60 Through the mouth of the friend, the author argues that humankind is flawed by its very nature, and, by the determination of the great gods – and much like the wild animals – humanity lacks the ability to understand truth. Just as lions or wild asses, people seek wealth by any means possible and do not hesitate to commit crimes. However, humanity is by no means without hope, because humans are duly acquainted with ritual. The author of the Babylonian Theodicy claims that, by virtue of piety demonstrated through ritual observance, prayers, and offerings, humankind can gain insight into the gods’ secrets and wisdom. That distinguishes people from wild animals. Thus, the author of the Babylonian Theodicy sees rituals as vehicles for gaining access to the realm of divine wisdom.

Conclusion The notion of human prosperity as a divine reward for piety prevailed throughout the long history of ancient Mesopotamia. Various Sumero-Akkadian wisdom texts promise riches as the reward for one’s piety and prosocial actions. Ancient thinkers were also well aware of the vanity of humankind. Compared to the long-lasting divine powers that regulated the universe, the significance of humankind was minuscule and its pride in vain. The latter belief also found expression in Šimâ milka, which concludes with the so-called vanity theme.61 Given the epilogue of Šimâ milka, one may conclude that this realization of the ultimate futility of human accomplishment developed into a recognition of the dangers of regarding prosperity as the reward for human piety.62 Thus, in the words spoken by the friend, who is the poem’s second character but perhaps the protagonist with whom the author truly identifies, the Babylonian Theodicy did not completely deny the traditional view of human prosperity. It did, however, warn against drawing false conclusions, such as by criticizing divine justice, or abandoning religious practice and ethical behavior. For the author of the Babylonian Theodicy, then, godless people, like wild animals, are not only ignorant of the truth but lack the very ability to comprehend moral principles. Given the friend’s last speech in lines 276–86 cited above, the author apparently attributes human moral incompetence to the falsehood and deceit that have been endemic to humankind since its creation. He further identifies lies and falsehood as the reasons people often show high regard for wealthy but impious people while wishing, like them, to amass riches without respecting the gods. Thus, the author relates animal dull-wittedness to human maliciousness and greed. He also identifies this particularly 60

OSHIMA 2014, 57–60. See above. 62 Note the omission of the prebend in the Middle Babylonian version of Enlil and Namzitarra. See fn. 43 above. 61

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human brand of animal-like thought as the true source of humanity’s suffering. According to him, the gods do not judge people unfairly. Alleged divine injustice is actually an illusion derived from the human misconception of material prosperity. A person’s standing should not be measured by riches and prosperity, because such false belief leads people to their demise. Instead of wealth as the reward for human piety, the Babylonian Theodicy promises insight into truth – specifically, the wisdom possessed by the gods. However, although the poem was well known among Mesopotamia’s learned elites and was even parodied,63 I rather doubt that the thesis put forward by the author of the Babylonian Theodicy was widely accepted by its ancient audience. Instead, most Mesopotamians probably continued to adhere to the ancient teaching that wealth and long life were indeed the rewards for piety. The Babylonian Theodicy offers only an explanation for one of two questions about the justness of divine judgement – namely, why piety was not rewarded with prosperity. And it proffers only a partial answer to the unmerited adversity experienced by the pious. The ultimate reason for the suffering of the righteous in ancient Mesopotamia is left unexplored in the Babylonian Theodicy. It is the subject of other texts, namely the Sumerian Man and his God, the Babylonian Man and His God, and Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and its forerunner from Ugarit. That question needs to be discussed in another study on the problem of theodicy in ancient Mesopotamia.64

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SPIECKERMANN, H. (1998): Ludlul bēl nēmeqi und die Frage nach der Gerechtigkeit Gottes, in: S.M. MAUL (ed.): Festschrift für Rykle Borger, (Cuneiform Monographs 10), Groningen, 329–41. STIEHLER-ALEGRIA DELGADO, G. (1996): Die kassitische Glyptik, (Münchener Vorderasiatische Studien XVIII), München/Wien. TAYLOR, J. (2005): The Sumerian Proverb Collections, RA 99, 13–38 VAN DER TOORN, K. (1985): Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia: A Comparative Study, (Studia Semitica Neerlandica 22), Assen/Maastricht. – (2003): Theodicy in Akkadian Literature, in: A. LAATO/J.C. DE MOOR (eds.), Theodicy in the World of the Bible, Leiden/Boston, 57–89. – (2007): Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible, Cambridge MA. UEHLINGER, C. (2007): Das Hiob-Buch im Kontext der altorientalischen Literatur- und Religionsgeschichte, in: T. KRÜGER et al. (eds.), Das Buch Hiob und seine Interpretationen: Beiträge zum Hiob-Symposium auf dem Monte Verità vom 14.–19. August 2005, (ATANT 88), Zürich, 97–163. WEINFELD, M. (1988): Job and its Mesopotamian Parallels – A Typological Analysis, in: W. CLAASSEN (ed.), Text and Context, Old Testament and Semitic Studies for F. C. Fensham, (JSOTSup 48), Sheffield, 217–26. WIDENGREN, G. (1936): The Accadian and Hebrew Psalms of Lamentation as Religious Documents: A Comparative Study, Uppsala.

VI: Visual Demonstration of Divine Authority

Communicating Divine Order and Authority The Stela of Hammurapi of Babylon Izak Cornelius Introduction Divine Kingship, Order and Wisdom According to the so-called Sumerian King List, “kingship descended from heaven,”1 indicating that it was of divine origin.2 The kings of ancient Mesopotamia were responsible for maintaining the divine order as Michalowski (1990, 62) puts it: “… the authority to dispense justice is a royal prerogative and it is divinely sanctioned.” Divine order and authority were important aspects of wisdom in the ancient Near East. Wisdom was also an attribute of kings, especially when related to justice, which they established. The kings who issued the first written laws are also described as wise, as with Lipit-Ištar, “the wise shepherd … in order to establish justice in the land.”3 The same is true of Hammurapi of Babylon. He is: “the one who is steeped in wisdom” “wise one, the organizer, he who has mastered all wisdom” “with the wisdom that Ea allotted to me”

(LH 153)4 (LH 7–10; 215–18) (LH 3169–70)

Images and Texts The aim of this contribution is to discuss material imagery as the embodiment of divine order and authority. In what way did the kings use material imagery as a representational strategy to communicate divine order and authority? Only one case study or monument will be dealt with here – the stela of king Hammurapi of Babylon.5

1

http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section2/tr211.htm (accessed 4 April 2017). On the whole issue of divine kingship see BRISCH 2008; HILL, JONES and MORALES 2013; and SELZ 2014–16. 3 ROTH 1997, 25. 4 All citations from the Stela of Hammurapi (which will be designated by the abbreviation LH = Laws of Hammurapi) are from the texts and translations of RIME 4.03.06.add21 (Laws of Hammurapi) (FRAYNE 1990b) following its numbering system; cf. for other texts and translations ROTH 1997 and in COS II, 335–53; RICHARDSON 2000; and VIEL 2005. 5 On Hammurapi, who ruled 1792–1750 B.C.E. (the middle chronology), see KLENGEL 1991; SASSON 1995; VAN DE MIEROOP 2005; CHARPIN 2012 and BRYCE 2016, 7–32. 2

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Detailed attention will be given to the visual imagery (iconography), or rather material imagery, with the emphasis on its materiality.6 Mitchell (2015) emphasized what has been called the pictorial turn, moving from texts to images to images as objects. Because the material imagery did not merely constitute illustrations or “art” in the modern sense of the word, but served a specific function and could serve as a medium of communication, it could be used to inform (viz. “teach”) about divine authority and divine order. Through material imagery the kings who were “touched by the gods”7 communicated ideologies and values linked to divine authority and divine order as they applied to humankind – for example, that the king is the protector and guarantor of the divine order, the enforcer of the divine will. Both images and texts should be studied in conjunction, a “combined analysis of textual sources, visual images and other material and contextual evidence produces a more differentiated picture than focussing either on images or on texts alone.”8 To quote I. Winter: “the visual repertoire can provide information which can be either complementary or distinct from that surmised from textual sources,”9 and “[t]he visual and the verbal interact with complexity: sometimes in parallel harmonies, sometimes in counterpoint, sometimes with apparent subversion of one by the other; and for this reason, there is progress to be made by observing the variances as well as the homologies in both rhetoric and representational strategy.” 10 Texts and images are separate vehicles of communication, differing in the nature of their transmission, but this does not mean that there is a clear categorical division between image and text.

The Hammurapi Stela Discovery The Hammurapi stela, now on display in the Louvre in Paris (Louvre Sb 8 11), was found in three pieces in the Elamite capital Susa in Western Iran by a French team in December 1901 and January 1902,12 but the information on the exact find spot is vague.13 It is also not exactly clear how the stela landed up in Susa, and whether it was indeed taken as booty by the Elamite king Shutruk-Nahhunte I in the twelfth century 6

YONAN 2011. WINTER 2008. 8 ASHER-GREVE/GOODNICK WESTENHOLZ 2013, 9. 9 WINTER 2009, 72. 10 WINTER 2008, 76. 11 ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016. 12 SCHEIL 1902, 11–12. 13 See the maps in SOUTZO 1911, 72 and HARPER/ARUZ/TALLON 1992, fig. 41. Other discussions of the stela appear in DRIVER and MILES 1952, 28; SCHLOSSMAN 1981–82, 166–67; BÖRKER-KLÄHN 1982, 166–67 (with lit.) Num. 113; KLENGEL 1991, 185–92; HARPER/ARUZ/TALLON 1992, 159–60, figs. 41, 44–45; ELSEN-NOVÁK/NOVÁK 2006; BRAUN-HOLZINGER 2007, 167–68: AB 10 Tafel 68; COLLON 2007, 61; BAHRANI 2008, 114–20; FELDMAN 2010; CHARPIN 2012, 152–54; BAHRANI 2014, 181–89. Three other fragments were also found, SCHEIL 1908, 81–84, pl. 9 and ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, 52–53. 7

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B.C.E.14 It is often presumed and assumed that it was this ruler who took the Hammurapi monument because of the whole cache of objects found at Susa associated with him.15 It should be kept in mind that some of the objects could belong to the category of gift exchange or even local manufacturing and not only booty. 16 Some of these objects were indeed seized by Shutruk-Nahhunte, such as the famous stela of NaramSin (Louvre Sb 4).17 On this famous stela there is an Elamite inscription in which the king informs its readers that he struck down Sippar and carried off the stela to Elam and set it up as dedication to the god Inshushinak.18 Description The impressive Hammurapi stela, a 2.25-metre high monolithic pillar with a circumference 1.65 m on top and 1.90 at the bottom, should be studied in its totality as text and image together. The text, which Feldman (2010, 152) describes as “exquisitely incised,” is also an artifact and its archaic script has esthetic value. 19 On the upper side of the stela there is a relief (a picture field 65 cm high and 60 cm wide) which needs to be studied independently20 with two figures standing out (KEEL 1980: Abb. 390; SCHROER 2008, Abb. 525 = Fig. 1). There is strong plasticity in the rendering of the figures; the highly polished hard black diorite with its almost metallic sheen makes the figures shine. On the right is a sitting figure and on the left a standing one, which already says Fig. 1: Law Stela of Hammurapi (© Stiftung BIBLE+ORIENT) something about their social relationship, a kind of hierarchy. Both are dressed in long robes, with their right shoulder and right arm exposed, with long beards, indicating both figures are clearly male. The one on the left wears a rounded cap with wide brim; the left arm is bent horizontally across the waist, the right hand raised in front of the mouth with palm turned inwards. The figure on the right sits on a chair without a backrest, the feet resting on a scalloped pattern. The upper body is shown frontally, the head, eyes and lower body in profile; three rays emanate from both shoulders; the left hand is a clenched fist, the right stretches forward and holds two objects. On the head is a coni14

On Shutruk-Nahhunte see HENKELMANN 2011–13. This is the king quoted by Kevin Kline in the Hollywood movie The Emperor’s Club (2002). 15 See HARPER/ARUZ/TALLON 1992, 159–82 (catalogue The Royal City of Susa); the list in POTTS 1999, Table 7.9 and CRAWFORD 2007, 19. 16 HARPER/ARUZ/TALLON 1992, 159. 17 Ibid., 166–68; BÄNDER 1995. 18 KÖNIG 1965, 76 = FELDMAN 2007, 275. 19 BAHRANI 2014, 183. 20 As is done by ELSEN-NOVÁK/NOVÁK 2006 and FELDMAN 2010.

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cal cap with four curved horns in profile.21 The figure on the right is clearly a deity because of the horned crown.22 The rays are attributes of the sun god Utu/Shamash, as on cylinder seals (KEEL 1980: Abb. 9; SCHROER/KEEL, Abb. 250 = Fig. 2).23

Fig. 2: Seal with the sun god rising (© Stiftung BIBLE+ORIENT)

There is a damaged part on the upper right, but a drawing in DEIMEL 1930, 3 shows what looks like a sundisk. The seat on the stela is reminiscent of a temple facade and this image is found in depictions of other deities.24 The footstool represents mountains; the sun god rises from the underworld between the mountains, with his attribute, a saw.25 The saw is interpreted as a key or the first rays of the sun which cut through the darkness. According to K. Slanski (2012, 106), a saw is used to open the mountains at daybreak and sunset and (even better) to separate truth from falsehood. Interpretation The god on the stela is beyond doubt Utu/Shamash26 (the Sumerian and Akkadian names of the Mesopotamian sun god), “Great Judge of Heaven and Earth” (CAD 3, 32). The sun god is the god of justice because the sun disperses darkness (evil) and reveals all.27

21

FELDMAN 2010, 155. BOEHMER 1972–75, 432. 23 For the iconography and role of the sun god see BOEHMER 1965, 71–86 with images; COLLON 1982, 81–87; IDEM 1986, 138–39; JANOWSKI 1989, 30–98; BRAUN-HOLZINGER 1996, 326–27; SCHROER/KEEL 2005, Abb. 249–53; HERLES 2006, 254–61; COLLON 2007, 57–64 and KURMANGALIEV 2011; and IDEM 2012. Unique is an imported Akkadian seal cylinder seal from a 7th century B.C.E. tomb in Jerusalem (KEEL 2007, Abb. 154), the only one of its kind found to date in the southern Levant. It shows the enthroned sun god flanked by two servants. Keel (2007, 277–78) talks of “Recht und Gerechtigkeit,” the “vizier on the right” or the “vizier on the left” of the sun god responsible for justice. 24 METZGER 1985, 171–72:734, Tafel 79:734. 25 CAD 17, 175 and KURMANGALIEV 2011, 617, Abb. 2–7, cf. Fig. 2. 26 KURMANGALIEV 2011, 618 and Abb. 8; cf. on Shamash CAD 17/1, 337 and KREBERNIK 2011, 599–611. 27 Cf. CHARPIN 2013, 66–67. 22

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Much ink has been spilled describing and identifying the two objects in the hand of the god. These are not the laws the god is presenting, but a circular and a long straight object. On a monument of the oldest lawmaker Ur-Namma,28 the king stands on the left side offering a libation to the seated moon god of Ur, in Sumerian Nanna, who holds what is clearly a measuring line or tape and a (measuring) rod or stake (KEEL 1980, Abb. 180 = Fig. 3).

Fig. 3: Stela of Ur-Namma (© Stiftung BIBLE+ORIENT)

These represent surveyor’s tools for laying straight lines. Over time the “measuring rod and tape” changed into a rod-and-ring.29 The so-called “Investiture” of king ZimriLim or Yaḫdun-Lim on a wall painting from the palace in Mari shows the king standing before the goddess Ishtar (Louvre AO 1982630). She steps on a lion and is heavily armed as a war goddess. Whether the goddess actually hands the symbols to the king is debatable, although he reaches out to them. The rod-ring (on the Mari painting the rod is white, the ring red) symbolizes divine order and the deities hold these in the presence of the rulers as their representatives of divine order on earth. No king ever holds these objects in visual/material form, as this was the prerogative of the deities – as on the so-called Sippar Shamash Sun Tablet (BM ME 91000 = KEEL 1980, Abb. 239 = Fig. 4).

28

CANBY 2001. COLLON 2007, 63. Cf. on the objects BRAUN-HOLZINGER 1996, 243; SLANSKI 2007 and WIGGERMANN 2006–2008. 30 SCHROER 2008, Abb. 434. 29

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Fig. 4: Sun Tablet of Sippar (© Stiftung BIBLE+ORIENT)

The objects are a divine gift.31 This is totally different from kings holding lead-ropes with captives.32 On the Annubanini rock relief the goddess Ishtar holds a ring and on a rope captives with nose rings.33 It is obvious that one can identify the person standing to the left with a king, namely with Hammurapi himself. He is wearing a broad-rimmed cap, adopted from earlier Neo-Sumerian times as with rulers such as Gudea of Lagash.34 A diorite head – also found at Susa (Louvre Sb 9535) – is often identified as possibly that of Hammurapi himself, but it probably predates Hammurapi because of the style of the beard and hair.36 The gesture is that of the raised hand and can be described as nīš qātim, a prayer gesture.37 A monument in the British Museum (ME 22454) is a relief with a dedication by an official to the goddess Ashratum on behalf of the king.38 To the left could be the king with a cap and raised right hand. The raised hand gesture is somewhat clearer on a three-dimensional terracotta of a standing man from Kish (Louvre AO 1040539). In the Louvre there is a statuette of a person kneeling made of bronze with gold covering said to come from Larsa, wearing a cap, hand in front of the mouth,

31

ORNAN 2005, 11–12 uses this as an indication of the incongruity between text and image. ORNAN 2007. 33 CORNELIUS 2009, fig. 1. 34 BOEHMER 1980–83, esp. 205. 35 HARPER, ARUZ, and TALLON 1992, 175–76, No. 113; ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, fig. 14. 36 SCHLOSSMAN 1981–82, 155–56, figs. 18–20. It has even been compared with the world-weary appearance of the pharaohs Sesostris III and Amenemhet III (SCHLOSSMAN 1981–82, 156, fig. 21). 37 GRUBER 1980, 66. On the gesture see also FRECHETT 2012. 38 SCHLOSSMAN 1981–82, fig. 46; ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, fig.15; and text in FRAYNE 1990a, 359– 60. 39 SCHLOSSMAN 1981–82, fig. 45. 32

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with a dedicatory inscription: “for the god Martu for the life of Hammurapi king of Babylon” (Louvre AO 15704).40 Two other stelae – also from Susa – have a similar composition to that of the Hammurapi stela, but are totally different in other respects.41 Sb 7 is more open, less crowded than the Hammurapi scene. Above a new element, a disk with an 8-pointed star and 8 rays, there is left a headless figure, but he is offering a libation to a seated god holding a ring/rod (SUTER 2012, fig. 10.5 = Fig. 5). It is in southern Mesopotamian style of the late third millennium and could have been carried off by the Elamite invader Kindattu (ca. 2005 B.C.E.), who conquered the city of Ur, or it could have been erected when the city was under Mesopotamian control. The other stela is exceptional, as it has been recut. A new worshipper from the eighth century was added to the god from the twelfth century B.C.E. The scene shows a man approaching an enthroned god, between the two is an incense burner. Above there is a disk with an 8-pointed star.42 It might be that the stelae surmounted sets of laws, but one will never know. Fig. 5: Stela from Susa with sundisk (with thanks to the author) What is known is that other rulers also erected stelae with laws. Lipit-Ishtar wrote: “when I established justice in the lands of Sumer and Akkad, I erected a stela.”43 Presumably this was done in the Enlil temple Ekur in Nippur, where fragments of a stone stela that could be the original of the monument of Lipit-Ishtar have been found.44 An early nineteenth century B.C.E. stamped mud-brick from Susa (Louvre Sb 1574645) states: “Addaḫushu the shepherd of the god Shushinak set up a stela with prices in the market place.” Unfortunately, such complete stelae have not been found and in this regard the Hammurapi monument remains unique.

40

SCHLOSSMAN 1981–82, fig. 43; ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, fig. 16; and text in FRAYNE 1990a, 360. BÖRKER-KLÄHN 1982, 167–169 with lit., Num. 114; HARPER/ARUZ/TALLON 1992, 169–71, 181–82; ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, fig. 23, 25. 42 Cf. also Louvre Sb 10 (PÉZARD/POTTIER 1926, 43, Num. 10 = BÖRKER-KLÄHN 1982, 170, Num. 115) with a standing figure with the ring and rod and above a moon crescent and an 8-pointed star and 8-ray sundisk. 43 ROTH 1997, 34. 44 Ibid., 35 note 1. 45 BÖRKER-KLÄHN 1982, 167 Num. T2113; ROTH 1997, 7; ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, 24. 41

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The Message of the Hammurapi Stela Imagery What did the imagery on the stela convey to the ancient observer, or to the literate few or illiterate masses? The scene on the stela evolved from the genre of the “presentation scene” (“die Einführungsszene”), where someone is being led into the presence of the deity.46 On the Hammurapi stela there is no intermediary intercession; the king stands directly in front of the deity.47 The king has entered sacred space; the space of the sacred and the profane has become merged.48 He is in the direct presence of the deity. There is direct eye contact between king and god; he faces the god “eye to eye.”49 Elsen-Novák and Novák (2006, Abb. 4) illustrate the compositional axes: the eye contact, but also the action of the hands, in this case from god to king. The deity is stretching out his hand towards the king. Hammurapi is not exactly receiving the rodring from the god. The left elbow is even touched by the ring. K. Slanski (2012, 106) describes this as an icon of righteous kingship sanctified by the gods and communicates the balance of power between palace and temple that prevailed for nearly 2000 years. Slanski (ibid.) further observes that “What is important here is not so much the emblem in and of itself, but the entire composition: the god of justice is displaying to the pious king the tools for laying just foundations (justice as something straight), an image that complements Hammurapi’s claim in the Prologue to have ‘been called by the gods to establish just ways in the land.’  ” To summarize: The image is a monumental statement of the king as the deputy of the god, the guarantor of divine order and authority on earth.50 A seal which seems to be very close to the image on the Hammurapi stela is the cylinder seal Berlin VA 3330 (MOORTGAT 1966, 36, 111, Num. 305 = Fig. 6). Here the king is also directly facing the seated deity holding the “ring-rod”.

Fig. 6: Seal with king and god (drawing by Renate van Dijk-Coombes) 46

COLLON 1986, 59–87; HAUSSPERGER 1991 and BRAUN-HOLZINGER 2007, 156–59. U. Seidl (2001, 120–21) asks whether the king is before the god or a representation of the cult statue of the god. 48 BAHRANI 2014, 184. 49 WINTER 2008, 83 and BAHRANI 2014, 184. 50 BRYCE 2016, 17. 47

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Prologue and Epilogue What did the 3,641 lines of cuneiform text on the stela communicate? The nonjuridical sections, the so-called “prologue” and “epilogue”51 of 282 and nearly 500 lines of text respectively, are important. “… justice (mīšarum) in the land to make prevail, the wicked and the evil to destroy, that the strong the weak not oppress, like Šamaš to the black-headed ones to rise, the land to illuminate.” (LH 32–44)

He is the mighty king (šarrum dannum), the sun(-god) of Babylon,52 who spreads light over the lands of Sumer and Akkad (LH 281–87). Then there is the section following the Laws: “These are the decisions of justice that Hammurapi the able king established.”

(LH 3144–48)

The erection of the monument is described as follows: “My precious pronouncements upon my stela I have inscribed, and before the statue of me, the king of justice, I set it up.” (LH 3217–21)

The monument is called a narû, an erected stone, a stone document displayed publicly or before the deities.53 The stela was set up ina maḫar ṣalmīya.54 I. Winter (2009, 79– 80) argued that the phrase does not refer to a physical statue of the king, but to the image on the stela itself, the laws being set up in the presence of his image as king of justice. So, he inscribed the laws on the stela, their validity confirmed by his image, a special image with a name, šar mīšarim, “king of justice.” The image is charged with power, serving as a substitute of the king, demonstrating and communicating to the viewers in a very clear way the divine authority of the king. K. Slanski (2012, 107) points out that “each time such an image is viewed, it is as if the scene depicted is being performed.”55 In this case the medium (the stela) is the message.56 Justice became materialized in stone.57 The monument was erected in the city of Babylon, within the Esagila (LH 3206 and 3210), that is the temple of the great god Marduk of Babylon.58 Or it may have been placed in the Ebabbar temple (LH 3626), that is in Sippar, the city of the sun-god.59 Because of its power, the engraved image may not be removed (LH 3235).60

51

DRIVER/MILES 1952, 36–41; RIES 1983, 18–30 and HUROWITZ 1994. The term dUTU=šamšu is here translated sun(-god) although it is normally translated “solar disk.” See, e.g. ROTH 1995, 80 and FRAYNE 1990b. 53 CAD N, 364; HUROWITZ 1994, 13; cf. SLANSKI 2003; SEIDL 2011–13, 133–37; WORTHINGTON 2011–13, 131–33 esp. 132. 54 Cf. DRIVER/MILES 1952, 284. 55 Assmann (1992) discusses the laws as part of performative writing. 56 MCLUHAN 1967. 57 BAHRANI 2014, 185. 58 For Esagila, see GEORGE 1993, 139: 967. 59 For Ebabbar, see GEORGE 1993, 70: 97. 60 Cf. uṣurtu in CAD U/W, 292a = “may my relief not have any defacer.” 52

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But there is more: “Let any wronged man who a lawsuit has before the statue of me, the king of justice, come and my stela inscribed let him have read aloud to him.” (LH 3240–48)

M. Roth (2002) has shown that this is not urging the wronged man to bring his lawsuit before king Hammurapi for legal remedy, but to Hammurapi’s stela, where he can find solace. This again indicates the importance of the object in itself with its special imagery. Perhaps a stela was placed in a public place (such as the market place, as the text cited above has it), for everyone to see and to be read to the illiterate. The visual message was communicated and clear even to the illiterate: Hammurapi the king of justice and the god of justice protect the people.61 One stela stood in Nippur in Kassite times, as shown by J. Finkelstein (1969), and more fragments were found at Susa, so one can assume that stelae stood in the major cities as a visible expression of his power and authority.62 The monument addresses two audiences:63 on the one hand, the wronged person, but also future audiences, who will read its message: “In the future days at any time may any king who in the land should appear the pronouncements of justice that upon my stela I inscribed, observe the judgments that I rendered and the verdicts of the land that I gave, may he not alter, nor my engraved image remove.” (LH 3296–311)

Hammurapi is the king of justice to whom Shamash has granted the truth (LH 3332–35). If the future ruler does not change my pronouncements, or change my engraved image, then may the god Shamash lengthen his reign (LH 3344–57). But if he should change my pronouncements, alter my engraved image, erase my inscribed name (LH 3360–80), then he will have to bear the wrath of the deities of Mesopotamia. 64 Then various curses linked to twelve different deities follow (LH 3387–641): “May Enlil, whose command cannot be countermanded, curse him, and may they swiftly overtake him!” (LH 3636–41)

Function of the Stela The monument was set up in the late 1750s B.C.E.65 and for nearly 600 years the stela stood somewhere in Babylonia; the monument was in the public domain. Sources are known to record the laws, prologue and epilogue of the composition. These range from those contemporary with the time of Hammurapi through to the middle of the first millennium, and come from a variety of sites, such as Sippar. The scribes in schools studied and copied the Laws; there is a bilingual Sumero-Akkadian manu-

61

ROTH 1997, 73. MICHALOWSKI 1990, 62. 63 VAN DE MIEROOP 2005, 110. 64 Assmann (1992, 52) remarks that there are three blessings and a hundred lines of curses. 65 BRYCE 2016, 19. 62

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script.66 An Old Babylonian letter makes reference to a stela (narû) on which wages are inscribed.67 A text from sixth-century Sippar even informs us that a scribe copied the Prologue from the stela, perhaps even travelling to Susa to see for himself? 68 So, the Hammurapi monument was well known. Then the monument was taken to Susa by some Elamite conqueror. It was not destroyed, but deliberately abducted, kidnapped, an indication perhaps of the importance of the monument for the conqueror and which he wanted to keep under his control? It was not only mere war booty that was taken, but a “transfer of power” that took place.69 This is a large heavy stone monument of four tons that had to be carried over a long distance from Babylonia to Susa (nearly 500 km). And then it was perhaps set up in the capital of the conqueror in Susa to further enhance and embody in visual form his authority to the Elamite viewers, as it had been with Hammurapi? Perhaps it was displayed by the Elamite rulers to legitimize their dynasty as the successors of the Kassites?70

Conclusions The Hammurapi monument with its fairly simple image – only two figures, but very strong symbolism as indicated – communicated the message that Hammurapi, through his image šar mīšarim “king of justice,” has divine authority. It informed even the illiterate, and perhaps also educated the masses, who saw on this public monument how authority (seen as “legitimate power”71) functions, how the world works, and the place and role of everyone in it. Text and image should be studied in conjunction. The so-called “prologue” and “epilogue” on the stela also emphasise that Hammurapi is a wise king, the šar mīšarim “king of justice” and that he has divine authority.

Bibliography ANDRÉ-SALVINI, B. (2016): Le Code de Hammurabi, Paris. ASHER-GREVE, J.M./J. GOODNICK WESTENHOLZ (2013): Goddesses in Context: On Divine Powers, Roles, Relationships and Gender in Mesopotamian Textual and Visual Sources, (OBO 259), Fribourg/Göttingen. ASSMANN, J. (1992): Inscriptional Violence and the Art of Cursing: A Study of Performative Writing, Stanford Literature Review 8, 43–65. BAHRANI, Z. (2008): Rituals of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia, New York. – (2014): The Infinite Image: Art, Time and the Aesthetic Dimension in Antiquity, London. 66

ROTH 1997, 74; ANDRÉ-SALVINI 2016, 46–51; FELDMAN 2007, 277. ROTH 1997, 5–6. 68 FADHIL 1998. 69 BONNET/BRICAULT 2016, 182. 70 HARPER/ARUZ/TALLON 1992, 122. 71 LAUNDERVILLE 2003, 2, 280. 67

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BÄNDER, D. (1995): Die Siegesstele des Naramsîn und ihre Stellung in Kunst- und Kulturgeschichte, (Beiträge zur Kunstgeschichte103), Idstein. BOEHMER R.M. (1965): Die Entwicklung der Glyptik während der Akkad-Zeit, (Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie 4), Berlin. – (1972–75): Hörnerkrone, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 4, 431– 34. – (1980–83): Kopfbedeckung, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 6, 203–10. BÖRKER-KLÄHN, J. (1982): Altvorderasiatische Bildstelen und Vergleichbare Felsreliefs, (Baghdader Forschungen 4), Mainz am Rhein. BONNET, C./L. BRICAULT (2016): Quand les dieux voyagent: cultes et mythes en movement dans l’espace méditerranéen antique. Genève. BRAUN-HOLZINGER, E.A. (1996): Altbabylonische Götter und ihre Symbole, Baghdader Mitteilungen 27, 235–359. – (2007): Das Herrscherbild in Mesopotamien und Elam: Spätes 4. bis frühes 2. Jt. v. Chr., (AOAT 342), Münster. BRISCH, N. ed. (2008): Religion and Power: Divine Kingship in the Ancient World and Beyond, (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Seminars 4), Chicago. BRYCE, T. (2016): Babylonia: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford. CANBY, J.V. (2001): The “Ur-Nammu” Stela, (University Monograph 110), Philadelphia. CHARPIN, D. (2012): Hammurabi of Babylon, London/New York. COLLON, D. (1982): Catalogue of the Western Asiatic Seals in the British Museum: Cylinder Seals II: Akkadian, Post Akkadian, Ur III Periods, London. – (1986): Catalogue of Western Asiatic Seals in the British Museum: Cylinder Seals III: Isin-Larsa and Old Babylonian Periods, London. – (2007): Iconographic Evidence for Some Mesopotamian Cult Statues, in: B. GRONEBERG/H. SPIEKERMANN (eds.), Die Welt der Götterbilder, Berlin, 57–84. CORNELIUS, I. (2009): Aspects of the Iconography of the Warrior Goddess Ištar and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecies, in: M. NISSINEN/C.E. CARTER (eds.), Images and Prophecy in the Ancient Eastern Mediterranean, (FRLANT 233), Göttingen, 15–40. CRAWFORD, C.L. (2007): Collecting, Defacing, Reinscribing (and Otherwise Performing) Memory in the Ancient World, in: N. YOFFEE (ed.), Negotiating the Past in the Past: Identity, Memory, and Landscape in Archaeological Research, Tucson, 10–42. DEIMEL, A. (1930): Codex Ḫammurapi, Rome. DRIVER, G.R./J.C. MILES (1952, 1955): The Babylonian Laws, Oxford. ELSEN-NOVÁK, G./M. NOVÁK (2006): Der “König der Gerechtigkeit”: Zur Ikonologie und Teleologie des ‘Codex’ Ḫammurapi, Baghdader Mitteilungen 37, 131–55. FADHIL, A. (1998): Der Prolog des Codex Hammurapi in einer Abschrift aus Sippar, in: XXXIVème Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale: 6–10 VII 1987 Istanbul: Kongreye sunulan bildiriler, Ankara, 717–29. FELDMAN, M.H. (2007): Darius and the Heroes of Akkad: Affect and Agency in the Bisitun Relief, in: J. CHENG/M.H. FELDMAN (eds.), Ancient Near Eastern Art in Context: Studies in Honor of Irene J. Winter by her Students, Leiden, 265–93. – (2010): Object Agency? Spatial Perspective, Social Relations, and the Stele of Hammurabi, in: S. STEADMAN/J. ROSS (eds.), Agency and Identity in the Ancient Near East: New Paths Forward, London, 148–65. FINKELSTEIN, J.J. (1969): The Hammurapi Law Tablet BE XXXI 22, RA 63/1, 11–27. FRAYNE, D.R. (1990a): Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 B.C.), (Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia 4), Toronto. – (1990b): RIME 4.03.06.add21 (Laws of Hammurapi) Composite, http://cdli.ucla.edu/ search/archival_view.php?ObjectID=P464358 (accessed 13 April 2017).

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FRECHETT, C.G. (2012): Mesopotamian Ritual-prayers of “Hand-lifting” (Akkadian šuillas): An Investigation of Function in Light of the Idiomatic Meaning of the Rubric, (AOAT 379), Münster. GEORGE, A.R. (1993): House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia, Winona Lake. GRUBER, M.I. (1980): Aspects of Nonverbal Communication in the Ancient Near East, Rome. HARPER, P.O./J. ARUZ/F. TALLON eds. (1992): The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Treasures in the Louvre, New York. HAUSSPERGER, M. (1991): Die Einführungsszene: Entwicklung eines mesopotamischen Motivs von der altakkadischen bis zum Ende der altbabylonischen Zeit, München/Wien. HENKELMANN, W.F.M. (2011–13): Šutruk-Naḫḫunte, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 13, 369–72. HERLES, M. (2006): Götterdarstellungen Mesopotamiens in der 2. Hälfte des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr., Münster. HILL, J.A./P. JONES/A.J. MORALES eds. (2013): Experiencing Power, Generating Authority: Cosmos, Politics, and the Ideology of Kingship in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, Philadelphia. HUROWITZ, V.A. (1994): Inu Anum ṣīrum: Literary Structures in the Non-Juridical Parts of Codex Hammurabi, (Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 15), Philadelphia. JANOWSKI, B. (1989): Rettungsgewißheit und Epiphanie des Heils, (Wissenschaftliche Monographien Zum Alten Und Neuen Testament 59), Neukirchen-Vluyn. KEEL, O. (1980): Altorientalische Bildsymbolik und das Alte Testament, Zürich. – (2007): Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus, Göttingen. KLENGEL, H. (1991): König Hammurapi und der Alltag Babylons, Zürich. KÖNIG, F.W. (1965): Die elamischen Königsinschriften, Graz. KREBERNIK, A. (2011): Sonnengott A. I., Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 12, 599–611. KURMANGALIEV, A. (2011): Sonnengott B. I., Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 12, 617–20. – (2012): Darstellung des Sonnenuntergangs, in: H.D. BAKER/K. KANIUTH/A. OTTO (eds.), Stories of Long Ago: Festschrift für Michael D. Roaf, (AOAT 397), Münster, 285–99. LAUNDERVILLE, D. (2003): Piety and Politics: The Dynamics of Royal Authority in Homeric Greece, Biblical Israel, and Old Babylonian Mesopotamia, Grand Rapids. MCLUHAN, M. (1967): The Medium is the Message, London. METZGER, M. (1985): Königsthron und Gottesthron, (AOAT 15), Kevelaer. MICHALOWSKI, P. (1990): Early Mesopotamian Communicative Systems: Art, Literature, and Writing, in: A.C. GUNTER (ed.), Investigating Artistic Environments in the Ancient Near East, Washington, D.C., 53‒69. VAN DE MIEROOP, M. (2005): Hammurabi of Babylon: A Biography, Oxford. MITCHELL, W.J.T. (2015): Image Science: Iconology, Visual Culture, and Media Aesthetics, Chicago. MOORTGAT, A. (1966): Vorderasiatische Rollsiegel: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Steinschneidekunst, Berlin. ORNAN, T. (2005): The Triumph of the Symbol: Pictorial Representation of Deities in Mesopotamia and the Biblical Image Ban, (OBO 213), Fribourg/Göttingen. – (2007): Who is Holding the Lead Rope?, Iraq 69, 59–72. PÉZARD, M./E. POTTIER (1926): Catalogue des antiquités de la Susiane: Mission J. de Morgan, Paris. POTTS, D.T. (1999): The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Iranian State, Cambridge. RICHARDSON, M.E.J. (2000): Hammurabi’s Laws, London. RIES, G. (1983): Prolog und Epilog in Gesetzen des Altertums, München. ROTH, M.T. (1997): Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor, (SBL Writings from the Ancient World 6), Atlanta. – (2002): Hammurabi’s Wronged Man, JAOS 122/1, 38–45.

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SASSON, J.M. (1995): King Hammurabi of Babylon, in: J.M. SASSON (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, New York, 901–15. SCHEIL, V. (1902): Textes élamites-sémitiques, 2 série, (Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse 4), Paris. – (1908): Textes élamites-sémitiques, 4 série, (Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse 10), Paris. SCHLOSSMAN, B.L. (1981–1982): Portraiture in Mesopotamia in the Late Third and Early Second Millennium B.C. Part II: The Early Second Millennium, AfO 28, 143–70. SCHROER, S. (2008): Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern II, Fribourg. SCHROER, S./O. KEEL (2005): Die Ikonographie Palästinas/Israels und der Alte Orient: Eine Religionsgeschichte in Bildern I, Fribourg. SEIDL, U. (2001): Das Ringen um das richtige Bild des Šamaš von Sippar, ZA 91, 120–32. – (2011–13): Stela A.II, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 13, 133–37. SELZ, G. (2014–16): Vergöttlichung, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 14, 545–48. SLANSKI, K.E. (2003): The Babylonian Entitlement narûs (kudurrus): A Study in Their Form and Function, (ASOR 9), Boston. – (2007): The Mesopotamian “Rod and Ring”: Icon of Righteous Kingship and Balance of Power between Palace and Temple, in: H. CRAWFORD (ed.), Regime Change in the Ancient Near East and Egypt: From Sargon of Agade to Saddam Hussein, (Proceedings of the British Academy 136), Oxford/New York, 37–59. – (2012): The Law of Hammurabi and Its Audience, Yale Journal of Law & the Humanities 24/1, Article 3, 97–110. Available at: http://digitalcommons.law.yale.edu/yjlh/vol24/ iss1/3. SOUTZO, M.-C. (1911): Recherches Archéologiques, 4 série, (Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse 12), Paris. SUTER, C.E. (2012): Kings and Queens: Representation and Reality, in: H. CRAWFORD (ed.), The Sumerian World, New York, 201–26. VIEL, H.-C. (2005): The New Complete Code of Hammurabi, München. WIGGERMANN, F.A.M. (2006–2008): Ring und Stab, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 11, 414–21. WINTER, I.J. (2008): Touched by the Gods, in: N. BRISCH (ed.), Religion and Power: Divine Kingship in the Ancient World and Beyond, (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Seminars 4), Chicago, 75–101. – (2009): Art in Empire: The Royal Image and the Visual Dimensions of Assyrian Ideology, in: On Art in the Ancient Near East Volume I: Of the First Millennium BCE, Leiden, 71–108. WORTHINGTON, M. (2011–13): Stela A.I, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 13, 131–33. YONAN, M. (2011): Toward a Fusion of Art History and Material Culture Studies, West 86th: A Journal of Decorative Arts, Design History, and Material Culture 18, 232–48.

At the Threshold of Ritual and Theater Another Means on Looking at a Mesopotamian Ritual Judith E. Filitz* The threshold between ritual and theater1 is a fluid one. Although it seems to be easy to define actions as being either ritual or theater, there are many phenomena that are not fixed exclusively on one side of this border. However, the question of definition seems to depend on the perspective of the observer. For example, Holy Communion as a part of the Roman Catholic mass is a ritual for all communicants as well as for the priest, but it can also be viewed as theater for observers who are not familiar with or participating in the rite. Are these aspects mutually exclusive or two sides of the same coin? Is it possible to look at a Mesopotamian ritual – in the following, the Babylonian Akītu-procession of the first millennium B.C.E.2 – and ask, whether there are moments that belong to the realm of theater and whether the use of terms like staging or role is warranted for an analysis of ancient actions? Furthermore, if theater as used in a modern, European perspective is mostly associated with education, what can be said about the communication of knowledge3 concerning the Akītu-procession? To find a way through the jungle of terms, their meanings and associations, a closer look at the terminology might be fruitful. Although what is meant by theater may seem obvious, it will be clear that there is no sure singular definition. A description of the spring Akītu-Festival for Marduk in first millennium Babylon will follow, with a special focus on the aspects of corporality, multi-sensual ostentation, event, and representation, all of which can also be associated with theater. In this context, the question of the Akītu-procession as a medium of communication will be raised. Because performing traditions of antiquity are often associated with the Greek forms of tragedy

* I would like to thank Takayoshi Oshima for the invitation to participate in the conference and for the opportunity to present my paper in this context. The propounded aspects of the Akītuprocession are part of a larger analysis of the Babylonian ritual, which will be presented explicitly in my dissertation project. I also thank Sandy Rogers for editing my text. 1 To avoid the misconception of the existence of only one, universal and ahistoric understanding of “theater,” in certain cases, the term will be set in italic, i.e. theater. 2 The term “Akītu,” now used for the whole festival, refers originally to a house outside the city, where sacrifices were offered to Marduk. In the following, the topographical names and their locations are used referring to GEORGE 1992. 3 Although the focus of this conference proceedings is on teaching morality, here, this aspect will not be taken into account. The question of what the Mesopotamians understood by morality cannot be presented sufficiently. Thus, the emphasis will be the question of knowledge transfer, which appears to be a part (albeit not the only one) of education.

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and comedy as well as the satyr play, Greek and Mesopotamian perspectives will be put side by side in a brief excursus. At the end, it will be questioned whether the Mesopotamian ritual was, among other things, a medium of knowledge.

Ritual and Theater: A Closer Look at Terminology Looking at definitions of the term “ritual” reveals a huge intermediate space between rituals as institutional actions (e.g., the Roman Catholic mass) and the ritualization of everyday actions (e.g., teeth brushing). 4 In the following, rituals are understood as the conscious, targeted, and symbolic actions of several participants, which are characterized by a standardization of its outer appearance, by its repeatability, and by the ostentation of physical movements that serve to establish order.5 This applies to the Akītuprocession, which can therefore be named a ritual. Rituals and rites are often defined in different ways, so for the purpose of this article, the term “rite” refers to the particular actions and the term “ritual” alludes to the entirety of all rites belonging to a larger complex.6 During the last decades, terms belonging to the semantic fields of “theater” and “performance” are used in an inflationary manner in humanities, particularly in contexts of the social sciences as well as that of theology or religious studies. Scholars tend to label phenomena from historical or contemporary ritual contexts with terms such as “theater” as well as “role,” “performance,” “staging,” “scene,” “screenplay,” “actor,” “audience,” and, of course, “cultic drama” or “ritual drama.” Although, this may sound interesting and even convincing, it leads to the problem that it is often not clear what is meant by these terms. In many cases, they refer to a modern, bourgeois, and European (or Western) understanding of what is called theater.7 This means that 4

Cf. BROSIUS/MICHAELS/SCHRODE 2013, 13. Because the focus is on the Akītu-procession, here, the question of the borderline of both aspects is not of interest. 5 For definitions, see, among others, BROSIUS/MICHAELS/SCHRODE 2013, 13–15; RAO/KÖPPING 2008, 5–7; STOLLBERG-RILINGER 2013, 7–17; DÜCKER 2007, 29–30. 6 For example, the recitation of a prayer at a processional station is one rite of the whole ritual of the Akītu-procession. For an opposing perspective see, for example, GRIMES 2010, 6–9. 7 This applies more to the English term, because the meaning differs from the German one. While in English, the term “theater” is used in a narrow way linked to the closed institutional theater, based on textual dramas, the German “Theater” can also refer in a broader sense to social actions of everyday life. Cf. FISCHER-LICHTE 2016, 29. As a result, “theater” and “performance” are then distinguished in a way that “theater” leads to the concrete form of art, while “performance” can refer to performance art as well as to aspects of social behavior etc. In German, “theater” and “performance” are not separated in this way, thus they both may reference to elements of everyday life, e.g., political or religious actions as well as social interactions. Clear definitions, like the attempt of FISCHERLICHTE 2016 in distinguishing “theatralicity” and “performativity” are hardly helpful. Terms belonging to the lexical field of “performance” would be mainly used to focus on the self-reference of actions as well as on their reality establishing power. In contrast, terms with a word root in “theater” (like, e.g., “theatralicity”) would refer to the cultural conditioned phenomena of the European tradition and emphasize primarily staging and ostentation of actions and behavior. Nonetheless, both would refer to cultural actions and try to analyze them from different perspectives. See FISCHER-

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one expects a special, mostly darkened room with a stage for the active actors and seats for the passive spectators. Furthermore, a piece of literature, the written play, is staged by a director and performed by actors, who make believe that they ‘are’ the roles they play. In many cases, theater is reduced to its narrative.8 The roles are individuals with their own specific character, which develops during the play. At the end, there is a moral massage for the spectators that should make them reflect on a particular issue of the play. Mostly, these ideas and associations of theater are said to be Greek and therefore have a historical origin and are valuable. That the ancient Greeks invented theater and thus all European ideas on this cultural form might be rooted in Greek tragedy is a very common claim.9 However, things are never that easy, and the phenomenon called theater is much more complicated due to its historicality. Looking at the Greek traditions, it is striking that they are mainly reduced to one form, i.e. tragedy and interpreted from a modern point of view, overlooking analyses of it as an ancient phenomena of the Aegean world and the Greek polis.10 For example, concerning modern forms from the beginning of the last century on, there are many ideas of theater that do not require a darkened room, a strict distinction between actors and audience, a script, a director, or a moral message.11 Therefore, it is a misinterpretation to reduce even modern theater to one limited form of acting in the European or Western context and much more to do so of ancient phenomena. In many cases, researchers prefer the terms “performative” or “performance,” but they are also problematic due to the fact that they have different meanings in disciplines such as linguistics, anthropology, philosophy, the science of art, or gender stud-

LICHTE 2016, 29. However, both aspects are not unique features and, therefore, seem to be interchangeable. 8 Perhaps this mirrors a preference of myth to ritual in the discussion linked to the myth-andritual-school. 9 Cf. KOTTE 2014, 54–57 and 59. This is indicated by the esteem concerning Attic traditions, for example, when a description of the history of theater from the perspective of religious studies starts with a presentation of the cult of Dionysus in Athens. Cf., e.g., ZIMMERMANN 2005, 210–11. In many cases, this is a more literary approach. Cf. KOTTE 2012, 220. Greek tragedy is not the theater par excellence (neither in ancient Greece nor in general), but one form, which is like comedy and satyr play – in comparison to other ancient phenomena – particularly characterized by its institutionality. Furthermore, it is problematic if research literature refers mainly to Aristoteles’s Poetic, which primarily presents his ideas about tragedy (which is mostly, but inclusively, interpreted as value judgment by the ancient author towards comedy) and focuses primarily on the myth as a collocation of occurrences (Aristotle, Poet., 6: FUHRMANN 2005, 18–25). On doing so, aspects of performance in terms of presentation take a backseat. 10 Thus, Greek traditions appear as the main origin of Western artistic theater, which is a circular argument. Institutional theater is rooted in Greek tragedy and therefore, one can only find familiar elements in the ancient tradition, which legitimates their own tradition in turn. By doing so, all foreign elements, such as the rigid looking masks, the chorus, or the ancient gods, are ignored. This questionable handling can also be seen by the example of current productions of Greek dramas at various theater-houses. See, e.g., PILZ 2007, 4–7. 11 Of course, variant traditions are not reduced to one period, but can be found in all times, for example in the Middle Ages. For an anthropological approach to the relationship between different kinds of European traditions belonging to the realm of theater, see BAUMBACH 2012.

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ies.12 Therefore, the term “performance” has a wide semantic field and can mean any human action.13 In the context of rituals, it only indicates that a ritual or rite is put into effect. Thus, while theater is mostly understood too narrowly, the definition of “performance” is getting out of hand. To avoid the Eurocentric pitfall of claiming only one specific tradition as the theater par excellence, it is advisable to avoid both terms. When necessary in the following analysis of the ancient phenomena, I will use “theatric” instead of “theater”14 while referring to specific aspects of the Greek traditions15 and “performing” instead of “performance” when focusing on elements of the Mesopotamian (or general aspects of the Greek) ritual. However, all of these terms are contaminated and there seems to be no terminology that is free of European ideas and prejudices. Nevertheless, it is important to be aware of these Eurocentric and colonial implications associated with naming non-modern and non-European phenomena as performances or theater. A distinct problem is the so-called ritual or cultic drama, especially in ancient cultures. This is a common idea, as, for example, Nielsen shows in her book Cultic Theatres and Ritual Dramas. She defines ritual drama as a “dramatic performance with a plot taken from the myth of the god in whose honor it was enacted as a ritual during the festive liturgy, often with the active participation of the worshippers.” 16 Accordingly, it is a combination of ritual and myth with the focus being on the myth, as the terminology shows. By doing so, on the one hand, rituals are reduced to their plot and their performing aspects appear to be secondary. On the other hand, this also leads to those myths and texts that do not bear any indications of ritual acting such as the Baʿal-Cycle or the Aqhat Epic being labeled as ritual dramas.17 This term stresses the plot and hence the literature and loses sight of the oral, performing character of rituals.18 Interpreting the plot as the crucial aspect is due to a modern understanding of Greek theater, in which myths played a central role. By using terms like “cultic drama,” these implications are conveyed and imposed on phenomena that neither should nor can be described in this anachronistic way. The property, heterogeneity, and otherness of ancient events – and even of Greek tragedy and comedy – are wiped out in behalf of

12

See among others KERTSCHER/MERSCH 2003, 7–10. Cf. FISCHER-LICHTE 2016, 37–44 and KOTTE 2013, 146–55. 13 This creates the problem that, if everything is a performance, nothing is a performance. 14 This is preferred, because the other term, theatrical, bears indeed a negative connotation meaning something like affected, assumed or showy. See Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. theatrical. 15 This includes the whole phenomenon and is not to be reduced to the literary dimension of drama. 16 NIELSEN 2002, 12. 17 Cf. NIELSEN 2002, 39–46. 18 Beside ritual dramas, Nielsen (2002, 16) names cultic theaters, which is defined as “a purely religious structure, situated in a sanctuary and intended for the accommodation of worshippers at cultic ceremonies.” Coming from an archaeological background, this seems to be obvious. Nevertheless, again, her understanding of scenic or performing actions are affected by a European idea of theater. By assuming that non-actors needed a place for watching the actions implies a spatial distinction between actors and participants that is common but inconclusive.

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a homogenous, simplified, and Eurocentric way of analysis. Talking about rituals should never fall into this Eurocentric and colonial trap.19 Nevertheless, there seems to be a common border concerning the research subjects of both categories of theater studies (performance studies respectively) and ritual studies in the analysis of the phenomena of ancient cultures. Andreas Kotte suggests looking at the relationship of ostentation and consequences for distinguishing between rituals and traditions of theater.20 While the latter has no or only little consequences, rituals bear a high amount of positive or negative consequences from an emic perspective. This differentiation recalls the distinction of illusion and reality, which is often associated with the poles of theater and ritual.21 Nevertheless, speaking about consequences bears no appraisal of either aspect in terms of pretense and authenticity. Both have in common a high amount of ostentation and include performing actions. Therefore, questions on how to analyze rituals and the traditions of theater can crossfertilize. In many research projects, this is already apparent, though not as much as possible in Biblical and ancient Near Eastern studies. By taking this threshold seriously, aspects of ancient rituals become visible, which might be overlooked if the analysis is reduced to the official’s actions and categories such as time, space, narration, participants, and so on, as is the case in many studies. It leads to a closer look at the corporality, the ostentation, the event, and the representation of ancient rituals. In the following, the Babylonian Akītu-procession will be described through the lens of these four categories. As a result, the Akītu-procession can be seen as a medium of commu19 There have also been suggestions of the Akītu-procession as some form of a cultic drama, though they are found mainly in older academic literature. In most cases, the thesis is based on the texts KAR 143 (the so-called Marduk-ordeal: LIVINGSTONE 1989, 82–86 [no. 34]) and K 3476 (ibid., 92–95 [no. 37]), although both texts are very difficult to understand in both language and content. One important exponent of this theory was Pallis, who combined the Mesopotamian Akītu-festival with Egyptian, Indian, and especially Greek traditions as well as with some thoughts about the Native American culture he calls primitive. See PALLIS 1926, 149–306. With this, he was not able to see the distinct characteristics and aspects of the Akītu-procession and interpreted it from a Western point of view. 20 Cf. KOTTE 2012, 15–60. Kotte, who is a scholar in theater studies, tries to find a definition, which is less conventional and narrow. He postulates that theater, resp. scenic processes, is a question of relation between ostentation or highlighting and consequence. As a basis, he chooses the holistic play of children or animals in which reality and play coincides. From this phenomenon, he analyzes variations of highlighting and consequences. The more an action is presented ostentatiously and the less it has any consequences on the participants, the more it can be called a scenic process. The conservative, European tradition with its darkened room fulfills both criteria. The actors on an illuminated stage are highlighted and there are no serious ramifications, neither for the actors nor the spectators. By taking these criteria as the both axes of a chart, one sees two extremes and many coordinates in between. The two extremes are: 1) the painting or picture, which leads to an ossification of the processes without any form of real sequels and 2) death as the ultimate consequence without any form of play. Between these extreme poles, there are many varieties of combinations and gradations of ostentation and consequences, and this relationship helps to analyze human processes and actions. On this chart appear many contemporary as well as historical rituals. Furthermore, this idea implies that the decision of naming a phenomenon theater or scenic depends on the particular context and perspective, for example, an emic or etic one. 21 See for example RAO/KÖPPING 2008, 11–18.

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nication of knowledge between all participants (not only the officials), and this will lead to a brief examination of the Greek tragedy as both cases deal with a procession as a critical public action for its particular culture in antiquity.

A Short Description of the Akītu-Festival and its Procession The Akītu-procession was part of an eleven-day urban festival of the same name in the ancient Near East and took place twice during these days.22 Because the Akītu-festival had a long and multi-variant tradition in Mesopotamian culture, the focus must be confined to a specific time and space, which in this context is first millennium Babylon. Unfortunately, the extant sources for the Akītu-festival in Babylon of the era are rather meager. Therefore, it is necessary to collect all available sources and attestations of the festival of the first millennium B.C.E. in the ancient Near East. Some of the sources come from other Mesopotamian regions such as Uruk and Assyrian cities as well as from different epochs, including the Hellenistic period, which differ from the eras of the ancient Near Eastern empires. Altogether, one must accept the sources’ varying regions, ages, and genres.23 Due to the high stability and loyalty of ancient cultic rites in this area, one can, with due care, use these sources to expand the picture of the Babylonian Akītu-procession.24 The Akītu-festival for Marduk in Babylon was celebrated twice a year: once on the first days of the month Nisannu25 and then again at the beginning of the month of Tašrītu.26 As the one Akītu-festival is in spring and the other in autumn, both dates range around the equinoxes and reference two prominent times of the year. Both festivals differ in the rites until the 7th day; the spring Akītu-festival has a stronger connection to the myth of the so-called battle of chaos, which finds its Babylonian expression in the mythic conflict of Marduk and Tiāmtu (Tiamat) as told in Enūma eliš, the Babylonian Creation Epic.27 Beginning on the 8th day and especially concerning the proces-

22

For descriptions and interpretations of the whole festival (including the procession) see, e.g., TOORN 1991, 331–44; COHEN 1993, 400–53; PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994 with reviews by GEORGE 1996 and LAMBERT 1997; BIDMEAD 2002. For Hellenistic Akītu-Festival, see LINSSEN 2004, 71–86. For Assyrian Akītu-Festival, ZGOLL 2006 and PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 2015, 416–26. For the aspects of visibility and invisibility in the context of the Akītu-Festival see ZGOLL 2007. 23 These are, for example, ritual texts, royal inscriptions, cultic commentaries, chronicles, letters, myths and epics, omens, and others. For an overview of important sources, see ZGOLL 2006, 72–75. 24 This is an accepted procedure and is based in the thesis that ancient Near Eastern rituals have a high amount of stability during hundreds (and thousands) of years. In this case, texts from the Hellenistic period contain reliable information on former cultic practices; the same applies to a MiddleAssyrian text. Cf., e.g., ZGOLL 2006, 14–16. 25 The first month in the Babylonian calendar, corresponding to March–April in our calendar. 26 The seventh month in the Babylonian calendar, corresponding to September–October in our calendar. 27 The rites of the autumn Akītu-Festival, which were held primarily outside the city, dealt with the role of the king and a reconciliation with his gods. For a reconstruction of the rites see AMBOS 2013. VAN DER

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sion, they are similar to each other, and, therefore, the sources that describe the Tašrītu-Akītu can also be used to shed light on the rites in Nisannu.28 Nevertheless, in the following, the focus is on the spring Akītu-festival in Nisannu. It focused on the elevated role of kingship, both Marduk’s role as king of the gods and the role of the human king. In Babylon, the kingship of Marduk was celebrated by recalling the primeval events as recounted in Enūma eliš.29 This can be understood as the backgroundmyth for the festival: Marduk’s victory over Tiāmtu, his enthronement as king over the gods, and his creation of the known earth with Babylon and his temple Esagila as its center. Through this celebration, the sovereignty of the human king in Babylon as well as the political role of the city was consolidated. Tabel 1: Selected main actions during the spring Akītu-Festival day 1–7 5

8

8–10 11

12

important actions · preparing rites for the day · arrival of Nabû from Borsippa with a feast in the evening at the Uraš-Gate · rites of the king · beginning of the procession: from Esagila (assembly of the gods; decreeing of destinies) up to KÁ.SIKIL.LA · ritual of harû at KÁ.SIKIL.LA · procession from KÁ.SIKIL.LA via Ay-ībur-šabûstreet and Ištar-lamassi-ummānīša-street up to the Ištar-Gate by chariot and by foot; by boat to the Akītu-house · stay in the Akītu-house · return: from the Akītu-house to Esagila (same route) · decreeing of destinies in Esagila · resting · return of the guests

status non-public public non-public non-public

semi-public public

non-public public non-public non-public probably public

As the focus is on the performing aspects, the public actions, particularly the two processions, are important. The acts of the first seven days were primarily non-public rites, except the arrival of Marduks’s son Nabû30 from Borsippa on the fifth day and the feast at the Uraš-Gate, the southern city-gate of Babylon. This was celebrated in the evening by all humans, with the slaughtering of animals, fumigation, and torches for illuminating the darkness.31 The other rites of the first days took place inside the tem-

28

This is indicated by ABL 956 (see PARPOLA 1993, no. 253) and AO 6459 Obv. 14f. (see LINS2004, 185, 188). 29 See KÄMMERER/METZLER 2012; LAMBERT 2013. 30 For Marduk, see OSHIMA 2007, 348–60; GRONEBERG 2004, 86–108. For Nabû, see POMPONIO 1978; GRONEBERG 2004, 118–30. 31 See VAT 13834+14038 in PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994, 244–46 [no. 13].

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ple and dealt with its cleansing and purification as well as the role of the king.32 On day eight, Marduk and his divine guests, the cult images of other gods, went out of the temple and walked in procession through Babylon towards the Ištar-Gate, located at the northern part of the city of Babylon. Therefore, they probably left the temple area through the KÁ.SIKIL.LA, the eastern gate of the temple Esagila, where the king had to present the harû-ritual.33 Afterwards, the procession took the route via the streets Ayībur-šabû and Ištar-lamassi-ummānīša, which lead to the north of the city.34 Thanks to a Neo-Assyrian description of the procession35 as well as to some omens,36 we know that the statues were transported by horse-chariots and by foot. At several stations such as the street or at the river, the procession stopped and cultic texts were recited. The group of gods and humans passed through the Ištar-Gate and went on a ship37 to reach the Akītu-house. In Babylon, this cannot be located with certainty, but it was probably not far away from the northern city wall.38 They spent some days in the Akītu-house and returned to the city on the 11th day, taking the same route as before.39 The procession came to a close with Marduk ascending his seat in the temple Esagila and all the divine guests going home. The procession itself was a public ritual and, as some letters show, it was possible for non-officials to join it.40 It is obvious from various sources that the Akītu-Festival, including the procession, was a time of joy and happiness.41

32

The actions of the first days are mainly reconstructed by the Hellenistic text Racc. 127ff. (see LINSSEN 2004, 215–37). They include among others the production and destruction of two wooden figurines on the 3rd resp. 6th day, a recitation of the whole seven tablets (!) Enūma eliš on the 4th day, the ritual cleaning of the temple and the king’s so-called negative confession and humiliation on the 5th day as well as the preparation of the cult images for the procession on the 7th day. On day 8, the procession started inside the temple, and with every station, it entered more and more the public sphere. 33 For the ritual see ZGOLL 2006, 34–37. Because the actions take place before as well as inside Esagila, the rite is understood as semi-public. 34 For a description of the Babylonian topography see GEORGE 1992. 35 See K 1356 in PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994, 207–209 [no. 2], which is a description of an image that was created and placed on a bronze door of the Neo-Assyrian Akītu-house by Sennacherib showing Aššur’s going to war against Tiāmtu. 36 See the processional omens, PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994, 262 and 265 [no. 8], lines 90–93. 37 In Assyria, no boat is attested. VAT 16435 is a Middle-Assyrian text referring to Babylon. 38 There has not been any distinct identification of the Babylonian Akītu-house yet, as the attempts are not convincing. See, e.g., SCHMIDT 2002 and KOSE 2004. The Neo-Assyrian Akītu-house was located outside the inner city, but was still in the agricultural belt, although it was (symbolically) named bīt akīt ṣēri, which means “Akītu-house of the steppe” and associates the house with the realm of chaos. See PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 2015, 420. 39 This is shown by PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994, 41; 221–27 [no. 7], I 9. Cf., also, ZGOLL 2006, 40. AO 6465 from Seleucid Uruk steers in this direction, cf. ZGOLL ibid, 42–43. 40 See, for example, ABL 842 (PARPOLA 1987, no. 131), ABL 971 (COLE/MACHINIST 1998, no. 60), and YOS 3,9 (KIENAST 1998, 24f. no 17) whereas the latter refers to another procession in the month of Adarru. 41 This is testified among others by GE III 31–34 (see GEORGE 1999, 24); BM 121006+127889 VI 6–11 (THOMPSON 1931, 36); K 9876+ 12f. (PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994, 228–32 [no. 8]) and by an

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Corporality, Multi-sensual Ostentation, Event, and Representation Looking at the already named categories of corporality, multi-sensual ostentation, event, and representation brings more information about the public part of the procession into view. At first, some thoughts on corporality, ostentation, and the event are presented. Afterward, the focus will be on the aspect of representation, asking whether there might be some form of communication and knowledge transfer. For all rituals, corporality is a fundamental aspect and, in this context, there are two key facts. First, without physical and sensual perception, there is no ritual. In the public procession, there are many visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile stimuli. Secondly, the co-presence of all participants is of high relevance and appears as an indispensable presupposition for ostentation, event, and representation. Co-presence is not reduced to the main actors such as the gods, the king, or the priests but also refers to the audience and bystanders. Both groups, actors and spectators, are mutually dependent and bring each other into being. However, they are not static. If laypeople walk behind the procession, they become actors. Those who walk in the procession can also become spectators, as they observe the bystanders. Nevertheless, social order becomes a bodily experience. However, to distinguish between actors and spectators, professionals and non-professionals respectively, does not include an allocation of activity or inactivity, because only the entirety of all present participants brings the procession into being. Although persons such as the king, the priests, and members of the cultic personnel were more engaged in the organization and practical application of the ritual than others, all participants are responsible for the success of the unique procession. Consequently, there is a high amount of contingency and unavailability as well as the danger of failure.42 In addition to co-presence, there are moments of stressed corporality in the procession such as – from an emic perspective – the cult images as the bodies of the gods, clothed in special dresses. 43 There are omens showing that the appearance of the divine images was observed in detail and understood as a sign of the future of the land. Furthermore, there are prescribed physical actions of the functionaries, which led the attention to the body as, for example, the taking of Marduk’s hand as the starting signal of the procession. The second category is ostentation. It is beyond debate that processions in general have a high order of ostentation, and this specifically applies to the Akītu-procession. Herein, a distinction of actors and spectators is found, which is manifested locally, gesturally, aurally, and with material attributes.44 Concerning space, this is indicated by walking the embellished route through Babylon and the use of the decorated chari-

inscription of Nebuchadnezzar (VAB 4, no. 29 5f.: LANGDON 1912, 196f). See also ZGOLL 2006, 12– 13. 42 That the cultic personal was aware of this general danger can easily be seen by the processional omens as well as by ritual texts recited at the procession stations. 43 See, for example, SBH VIII (VAT 663, see COHEN 1993, 449). For a description of the Mesopotamian cult images see BERLEJUNG 1998. 44 KOTTE 2012, 21–31.

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ots and boats as well as other aspects. Therefore, the public street appears to be the most important exposed site of the ritual, which was, together with the ship, renovated and decorated by the Neo-Babylonian kings Nabopolassar (626–605) and Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562) to amaze the citizens of the city.45 The design of the Ištar-Gate still visualizes the impressiveness of this royal implementation. Ostentation via gestures are, for example, the king’s hand-taking of Marduk as well as the actions of the cultic actors called kurgarrû,46 who seems to have “played a battle” (tūšāri mēlulu).47 Maybe, this was a form of a dance with drumbeats and shouts associated with happiness.48 This is already a part of the aural ostentation, and alongside the drums, music is often mentioned by the texts. For Gilgamesh, joyful music (nigûtu) and the sound of the alû-drums are the typical elements of the Akītu-festival.49 Furthermore, there were many prayers and chants sung by other actors, called assinnu at different stations of the procession.50 Fumigation also generated olfactory ostentation and made the sacred space become a more sensual and bodily experience. Finally, there were ostentations through the use of cultic objects such as standards, symbols, sacrifices, and means of carriage like the embellished chariots and boats. From the etic perspective, the cult images can also be named here. Moreover, the ostentation is exalted by the stressed bodies of the officials as well as, from an emic perspective, the cult images as bodies of the gods. The third aspect concerns the question of whether the procession might have been an event for the participants, no matter if they were officials or non-officials. The main characteristic of an event is its distinctive and non-reproducible presence. An event can be planned but is not calculable. Within its uniqueness, it is experienced in one single moment, and it is not possible to repeat an event.51 Because there are no clear or detailed ancient testimonies about individual experiences of the procession, one can only speak of possibilities and evidence and, in reference to the Akītu-procession, there seem to be many of them. Due to its uniqueness as a result of the communion of all participants and the location of the procession outside of the everyday routine at a special time in the year with the included possibility for having a “meet and greet” with the gods, there is a fertile breeding ground for an event. However, if the procession ever became an event for anyone lies out of the possibilities of research. There-

45 This is known by the inscriptions of Nebuchadnezzar, for example, by those from Wadi Brisa (see DA RIVA 2012). 46 Cf. PELED 2015. 47 See K 3476, 29´. 48 Cf. CAD M/2, 16–17 s.v. mēlulu. 49 See GE III 31–34 (GEORGE 1999, 24). 50 See K 9876+19534. In another context, assinnu and kurgarrû are linked to some form of gender transformation concerning the cult of Ištar (see below), which also might lead to the realm of ostentation. 51 Concerning the idea of an event, cf. MERSCH 2002; IDEM 1997, 20–37; see also FILITZ 2018.

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fore, the idea of the Akītu-procession as an event remains in the area of hypotheticals.52 The time and space of the Akītu lead the festival out of the realm of everyday life into a sphere of holiness and offer some assumptions about an event. This includes the fixed date of the Akītu-Festival at the beginning of the year and the special stations of the procession between Esagila and the Akītu-house. In addition, it was possible to see and walk with the gods, which are normally hidden behind the temple walls. The gods come to the people and come into sight. In this way, the vertical and the horizontal dimensions of the cosmos were intersected in the middle of the city, and this became a physical experience by walking with the gods. As this did not take place secretly but on the public street attended by the Babylonians and their guests, this convergence could be experienced by everyone. For a short time, there was the possibility to be part of this theophany. Furthermore, one could see important persons such as the king. The clothing and visible corporality of the gods and the elites stressed their status, especially above laypeople. Moreover, one could catch a glimpse of the future of the land by observing the statues, as the omens show. The atmosphere with odors, music, actions, and happiness as well as the physical and material ostentation and especially the decorated means of transportation might have made the procession a special and unique experience. At least, the rites evoking the recreation of the cosmic order lie beyond the realm of everyday life. Although it is not likely that the ritual was interpreted as an event by the ancient participants, there are many aspects of the Akītu-Festival which center the ostentation and the singularity of the procession. From a modern perspective, this can serve as fertile breeding ground for an event. The last of the named categories is representation. This refers not only to substitution but, in this context, to the realization of an ideal value or condition, in the case of the Akītu-Festival, the realization of order. The value is said to be absent but becomes simultaneously present. According to this, representation during the Akītu-procession appears in four forms of order: cosmic, religious, political, and social. In this context, Enūma eliš, the Babylonian Creation Epic, as the narrative behind the Akītu-Festival is very important. The myth is not only about Marduk gaining victory over his chaotic enemy Tiāmtu but also about him becoming king over the other gods and creating the whole cosmos with Babylon and Marduk’s temple Esagila in and as its center.53 In this way, the cosmic order, which is established in the myth and revolves around Marduk’s dominion, is reinstated every year by the festival’s rites. The myth of Marduk’s status as divine king and his residence in the concrete Babylonian temple Esagila focus on his supreme position in the pantheon, thus referring to the religious order. Marduk, vanquisher of Tiāmtu and creator of the cosmos, is the 52

The perspective of the event helps to focus more on the experiences of all participants; usually, the description of the Akītu-procession is reduced to the officials and misses the (also literal) standpoint of the bystanders and spectators, as if they were not of vital significance of the ritual. 53 Enūma eliš appears as one of many and different versions of the so-called battle of chaos or Chaoskampf (available in written form), which thematize the divine kingship and the way of its presence in the cosmos.

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main god and the divine king, and, as a result, his cultic adoration, including his priesthood in Esagila, is of high importance. The latter enables the maintenance and carrying out of the rites every year. Along with the consolidation of Marduk’s reign over the gods is the confirmation of the king’s sovereignty over Babylon, and this implies the political order. Due to many rites dealing with the role of the king and his legitimation by Marduk, the political system of Babylonian monarchy as well as the positive valuation of urbanity is sanctioned. Furthermore, the cosmic order with its idea of space leads to the political realm, because Babylon is presented as the center of the world and the center of the south Mesopotamian cities. This can easily be seen by the fact that people and deities from other regions such as Borsippa came to the city as guests during the period of the Akītu-Festival. Besides this cosmic, religious, and political order, the Akītu-procession creates social structure. Those coming together and praising Marduk at the beginning of the year form a social group. They are connected with the collective past through ritual and tradition and bond together as a society for the following year. As citizens of Babylon celebrated together with persons from neighboring cities, the social group for the procession, and thus the social structure, was not limited to Babylon. Of course, this order includes the low position of the non-professionals alongside and in contrast to Marduk, the king, and the official priests. Moreover, orders of gender are sanctioned as the cult images go out in pairs of divine husband and wife, supporting this idea of social coexistence.54 In summary, the representation during the Akītu-Festival focuses on the order concerning religion, cosmos, politics, and society. The procession does not appear as an academic discourse but as a public and visual exposition of power and order and at the same time as its creation and re-creation. Pongratz-Leisten (1994, 5) identified the procession as “Popularisierung von Theologie” (popularization of theology). At the same moment, by becoming a part of the procession, the order was physically experienced by all participants. Within the ritual, a new reality is created, which enables safe and secured life until the next Akītu-festival.

The Akītu-Procession as a Medium of Communication Within the Akītu-procession, there seems to be verbal and non-verbal communication of knowledge that is oriented toward everyday life. This knowledge concerns all four aspects of representation and comes out as an immanent and physical experience of order during the public procession. While the assinnu, as one important cultic actor, proclaims at the processional station of the river that the nations are on their knees

54

However, walking in procession as a divine couple is not attested for every Akītu-festival. For example, in Uruk, a procession is known in which gods and goddesses walked separately (see KAR 132: LINSSEN 2004, 201–208). However, this also presents social order, namely the one of biological sex.

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because of Bēl’s (Marduks’s) setting forth,55 all human participants kiss the ground at Nabû’s “welcome evening” on the 5th day and experience the hierarchy in a physical way.56 With these values, it provides and legitimates certain protocols for everyday actions, namely that people live and act in accordance with the communicated systems of order.57 The correctly performed ritual recalls and recreates the cosmic order so that its continued existence is guaranteed. The focus on Babylon and specifically on Marduk’s temple communicates that the participants are inside the world’s center and this stabilizes the political status of Babylon. It also includes the political system of monarchy in that the human kingship is consolidated during the Akītu-festival and its procession. Furthermore, the importance of Marduk and his priesthood is communicated as a fundamental condition for the existing cosmos and its order and thus of the life of any given individual. The latter is constituted in the concrete urban society of ancient Babylon with its hierarchies concerning family, profession, origin, gender, status, etc. These values of politics, religion, and society are presented and represented, created and re-created, but there is no space for the discussion of the values. From the officials’ and professionals’ point of view, these given values are fixed, and they form the reliability of the tangible order. They are legitimated by the responsible institution, which postulates that the values date back to primeval times and therefore appear as indispensable for the participant’s regular life. This knowledge transfer grants the citizens of Babylon an orientation point and a stable framework in which they can lead their lives for the next year until the next Akītu-festival. From a perspective of function, the Akītu-procession uses aspects of corporality, ostentation, event, and representation to install, communicate, and stabilize these values. Excurses: Mesopotamian Akītu-Festival and Greek Tragedy By this example, a difference in the Mesopotamian and Greek traditions becomes visible, leading back to the question of performing and theatric traditions in a European setting. In ancient Athens, the political idea of democracy enables the current discussion of questions about the polis in a public assembly of all citizens.58 This can also be found in one aspect of the Great Dionysia, known to us up from the fifth century B.C.E. as tragedy, satyr play, and comedy. These theatric forms were joint projects of the Attic polis, in which, for example, a leader of the choir called χορηγός paid the ordinary citizens who constituted the important chorus. By using mythical or historical motifs of the collective memory, tragedy opened a space for communication within and regarding the polis, about political topics and the meaning of Attic democracy.59 Therefore, “it is no coincidence that democracy and tragedy were born at the same 55

K 9876+19534, 7. VAT 13834+14038, 16´. Although this was not part of the Akītu-procession, it is similar to it due to its public character and the belonging to the whole Akītu-Festival. It is likely that similar actions took place during the walk from Esagila to the Akītu-house resp. on the return. 57 Cf. DÜCKER 2007, 51 and 57: Values in general can be seen in contexts of acting. 58 Of course, one must keep in mind that the status of being an Attic citizen was reduced to free men. 59 Cf. WILES 2000, 48–65; GOLDHILL 2000, 60–88. 56

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historical moment.”60 These theatric forms had their sociological setting in the Attic festival for the god of ambiguity, Dionysus. The Great Dionysia began with the transport of the cult image of Dionysus to the city and a great procession to his altar accompanied by some cultic hymns. These hymns are the dithyrambs, which are said to be one root of tragedy, and it is interesting that a public procession provides their ritual background.61 On the following day, the competitions of tragedies and satyr plays began. Even though only a few of the stories enacted in these plays are known, it is recognized that they dealt with important aspects of Greek life and culture. Here, one can see a negotiation of the common values and ideals with the involvement of all citizens. Greek theatric traditions appear as “a fundamental factor in the politicization of the Athenian citizen, in putting political reflection in the public domain”62 which includes an educational dimension. Although, in Babylonia, there was also the participation of a large group of officials and non-officials in the public ritual, fixed values and systems of order were communicated without any form of argumentation by the citizens. This aspect seems to depend on the political system of monarchy. This appears as one reason why there is no form of ritual in ancient Mesopotamia that is close to the Greek institutional theatric traditions.63 Nevertheless, both have a high amount of corporality, ostentation, and representation and may bear the possibility for an event. Additionally, the Mesopotamian Akītu-Festival as a ritual and Greek tragedy differ concerning the consequences. While the fundamental order of life is secured for the next year during the AkītuFestival, Greek tragedy has less fundamental and unmediated ramifications on the polis.

Conclusion It has been shown that there are aspects of corporality, multi-sensual ostentation, event, and representation that make the public parts of the Mesopotamian Akītu-procession come close to the threshold of ritual and theatric forms. Different from the ancient Attic tradition, there is no public discussion on these values but rather an installation of givens concerning cosmic, political, religious, and social order. The public rites during the procession are not only a recollection of these values but a re-creation and 60 61

WILES 2000, 48. For the ambiguity of the question of origin, see KOTTE 2013, 33–43. See also IDEM 2012, 220–

26. 62

GOLDHILL 2000, 65. He claims the aspect of teaching to be the reason for Plato to ban theater from his ideal polis, while preferring philosophy as privileged medium of knowledge transfer. 63 This applies to the genuine Mesopotamian rituals and traditions. With the triumph of Hellenism, Babylon also got a theater-building, which had different construction phases until into Parthian Period. It is likely that the term bīt tāmaratu (É IGI.DU8.MEŠ), attested in the astronomical diaries, may refer to it, the more so as it appears to be a rendering of the Greek theatron as it can be translated as “house of observation”. The building seems to be linked to the Greek (not Babylonian) inhabitants of Babylon and was used for political announcements as well as other uses. Cf. VAN DER SPEK 2001, 445–56 and POTTS 2011, 239–51.

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hence a stabilization of the urban system. Thus, a knowledge transfer as well as an internalization of the various systems of order take place. This does not happen only as an intellectual activity but is also a sensual and physical experience. It enables the citizens of Babylon to continue their lives within the familiar structures. In this way, one may speak of “teaching morality” in the public Akītu-procession, as it taught the Babylonians to respect the given systems of order. From a political point of view, this reduces the risk of uprisings. However, due to the character of rituals, the hazard of change can never be eliminated totally. There is always the possibility that rituals cannot re-create order at all but rather lead to a destruction of it. How then should we deal with the use of theater-terms for analyzing rituals such as the Akītu-procession? Perhaps it is better to utilize them with caution due to their modern, Eurocentric, and colonial implications. This specifically applies to terms like “stage,” “role,” and “drama.” But this should not prevent the use of the categories of theater or performance studies, which draw attention to the high amount of ostentation even in Ancient Studies. Although there is no ancient Near Eastern phenomenon like the institutional Greek form of tragedy and although there is no adequate name for it in the particular languages, this does not prevent the examination of similarities as seen, for example, in the processes of ostentation.64 Although the situation of extant sources regarding ancient Near Eastern and Israelite or Judean rituals are meager, there are hints about their performing and characteristics of ostentation for officials and nonofficials in concrete rituals and rites. Well-known examples for the possibility of using actions associated with ostentation and even transformation in Mesopotamia are the cultic actors assinnu and kurgarrû, who are linked to Eanna and the cult of Ištar by the poem of Erra and Išum 65 and whose genders are said to be transformed by the goddess herself.66 It also seems to be important to focus not only on the officials and professionals but much more so on the non-official and non-professional participants who play a conspicuous role in creating rituals like the Akītu-procession.67 By making use of these categories and by looking at the processes behind the terms, the description of a particular phenomenon will gain new dimensions and ancient events will become more vibrant.

64

Cf. KOTTE 2014, 56. See FOSTER 2005, 880–911. 66 Erra-Epic, IV 52–59. At the end, it is not clear whose gender is altered: the assinnu’s only or those of both. For an interpretation of this passage preferring a transformation only of the assinnu see PELED 2014, 288–96. It can be seen that Inanna/Ištar is ascribed to have powers in preserving and destroying the world order, manifested among others in the capability to alter genders. See further MAUL 1992; BEUGER 2018. 67 Of course, the source situation causes difficulties; nevertheless, by taking into account more seriously texts such as letters, the non-professionals can be looked at in another light. 65

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Bibliography AMBOS, C. (2013): Der König im Gefängnis und das Neujahrsfest im Herbst: Mechanismen der Legitimation des babylonischen Herrschers im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. und ihre Geschichte, Dresden. BAUMBACH, G. (2012): Schauspieler: Historische Anthropologie des Akteurs I: Schauspielstile, Leipzig. BERLEJUNG, A. (1998): Die Theologie der Bilder: Herstellung und Einweihung von Kultbildern in Mesopotamien und die alttestamentliche Bilderpolemik, (OBO 162), Fribourg/Göttingen. BEUGER, C. (2018): Maskerade im 1. Jt. v. Chr. in Mesopotamien, in: A. BERLEJUNG/J.E. FILITZ (eds.), The Physicality of the Other: Masks from the Ancient Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 27), Tübingen, 211–30. BIDMEAD, J. (2002): The Akītu Festival: Religious Continuity and Royal Legitimation in Mesopotamia, (Gorgias Diss. NES 2), Piscataway. BROSIUS, C./A. MICHAELS/P. SCHRODE (2013): Ritualforschung heute – ein Überblick, in: C. BROSIUS /A. MICHAELS/P. SCHRODE (eds.), Ritual und Ritualdynamik: Schlüsselbegriffe, Theorien, Diskussionen, Göttingen, 9–24. COHEN, M.E. (1993): The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East, Bethesda, MD. COLE, S.W./P. MACHINIST (1998): Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Priests to Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, (State Archives of Assyria 13), Helsinki. DA RIVA, R. (2012): The Twin Inscriptions of Nebuchadnezzar at Brisa (Wadi Esh-Sharbin, Lebanon): A Historical and Philological Study, (AfO Beihefte 32), Vienna. DÜCKER, B. (2007): Rituale: Formen – Funktionen – Geschichte, Stuttgart. FILITZ, J.E. (2018): Of Masks and Men: Thoughts on Masks from Different Perspectives, in: A. BERLEJUNG/J.E. FILITZ (eds.), The Physicality of the Other: Masks from the Ancient Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 27), Tübingen, 3–27. FISCHER-LICHTE, E. (2016): Performativität: Ein Einführung, (Edition Kulturwissenschaft 10), Bielefeld. FOSTER, B.R. (2005): Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 3rd ed., Bethesda, MD. FUHRMANN, M. (ed.) (2005): Aristoteles: Poetik, Griechisch/Deutsch, Stuttgart. GEORGE, A.R. (1992): Babylonian Topographical Texts, (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 40), Leuven. – (1996): Studies in Cultic Topography and Ideology, BO 53 (1996). – (1999): The Epic of Gilgamesh: The Babylonian Epic Poem and Other Texts in Akkadian and Sumerian, London. GOLDHILL, S. (2000): Greek Drama and Political Theory, in: C. ROWE/M. SCHOFIELD (eds.), The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Political Thought, Cambridge, 60–88. GRIMES, R.L. (2010): Ritual Criticism: Case Studies in Its Practice, Essay on Its Theory, Waterloo. GRONEBERG, B. (2004): Die Götter des Zweistromlandes: Kulte, Mythen, Epen, Düsseldorf/Zürich. KÄMMERER, T.R./K.A. METZLER (eds.) (2012): Das babylonische Weltschöpfungsepos Enūma Elîš, (AOAT 275), Münster. KERTSCHER, J./D. MERSCH (2003): Einleitung, in: J. KERTSCHER/D. MERSCH (eds.), Performativität und Praxis, München, 7–15. KIENAST, B. (1988): KASKALII ana GIR ša PN šakanu, WO 19, 5–34. KOSE, A. (2004): Kritische Bemerkungen zum vermeintlich gefundenen Bīt Akītu von Babylon, Baghdader Mitteilungen 35, 39–57. KOTTE, A. (2012): Theaterwissenschaft: Eine Einführung, Köln/Weimar/Wien. – (2013): Theatergeschichte: Eine Einführung, Köln/Weimar/Wien. – (2014): Interdisziplinäre Offenheit als Fluch und Chance, in: G. BAUMBACH et al. (eds.), Momentaufnahme Theaterwissenschaft: Leipziger Vorlesungen, (Theater der Zeit Recherchen 117), Berlin, 51–62. LAMBERT, W.G. (1997): Processions to the Akītu House, RA 91l, 49–80. – (2013): Babylonian Creation Myths, (Mesopotamian Civilizations 16), Winona Lake, IN.

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LANGDON, S.H. (1912): Die neubabylonischen Königsinschriften, (Vorderasiatische Bibliothek 4), Leipzig. LINSSEN, M.J.H. (2004): The Cults of Uruk and Babylon: The Temple Ritual Texts As Evidence for Hellenistic Cult Practices, (Cuneiform Monographs 25), Leiden. LIVINGSTONE, A. (1989): Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea, (SAA 3), Helsinki. MAUL, S.M. (1992): kurgarrû und assinnu und ihr Stand in der babylonischen Gesellschaft, in: V. HAAS (ed.), Außenseiter und Randgruppen: Beiträge zu einer Sozialgeschichte des Alten Orients, (Xenia 32), Konstanz, 159–71. MERSCH, D. (1997): Ereignis und Aura: Zur Dialektik von ästhetischem Augenblick und kulturellem Gedächtnis, Musik & Ästhetik 3, 20–37. – (2002): Ereignis und Aura: Untersuchungen zu einer Ästhetik des Performativen, Frankfurt am Main. NIELSEN, I. (2002): Cultic Theatres and Ritual Drama: A Study in Regional Development and Religious Interchange between East and West in Antiquity, (Aarhus Studies in Mediterranean Antiquity IV), Aarhus. OSHIMA, T. (2007): The Babylonian God Marduk, in: G. LEICK (ed.), The Babylonian World, London/New York, 348–60. PALLIS, S.A. (1926): The Babylonian akîtu Festival, (Historisk-filologiske meddelelser 12/1), Copenhagen. PARPOLA, S. (1987): The Correspondence of Sargon II I: Letters from Assyria and the West, (State Archives of Assyria 1), Helsinki. – (1993): Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars, (State Archives of Assyria 10), Helsinki. PELED, I. (2014): assinnu and kurgarrû Revisted, JNES 73, 283–97. PILZ, D. (2001): Ohne Gott und Sonnenschein, Theater der Zeit 62/1, 4–7. POMPONIO, F. (1978): Nabû. Il culto e la figura di un dio del Pantheon babilonese ed assiro, (Studi Semitici 51), Rome. PONGRATZ-LEISTEN, B. (1994): Ina Šulmi Īrub: Die kulttopographische und ideologische Programmatik der akītu-Prozession in Babylon und Assyrien im 1. Jahrtausend v.Chr., (Baghdader Forschungen 16), Mainz. – (2014): Religion and Ideology in Assyria, (Sources and Monographs on the Ancient Near East 6), Boston/Berlin. POTTS, D.T. (2011): The politai and the bīt tāmartu: The Seleucid and Parthian Theatres of the Greek Citizens of Babylon, in: E. CANCIK-KIRSCHBAUM/M. VAN ESS/J. MARZAHN (eds.), Babylon: Wissenskultur in Orient und Okzident, Berlin/Boston, 239–51. RAO, U./K.P. KÖPPING (2008): Einleitung: Die „performative Wende”: Leben – Ritual – Theater, in: K.P. KÖPPING/U. RAO (eds.), Im Rausch des Rituals: Gestaltung und Transformation der Wirklichkeit in körperlicher Performanz, (Performanzen 1), Berlin, 1–35. SCHMIDT, J. (2002): Das Bīt Akītu von Babylon: Mit einem Beitrag von Brigitte Finster, Baghdader Mitteilungen 33, 281–330. STOLLBERG-RILINGER, B. (2013): Rituale, Frankfurt am Main. THOMPSON, R.C. (1931): The Prisms of Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal: Found at Niniveh, 1927–8, London. VAN DER SPEK, R.J. (2001): The Theatre of Babylon in Cuneiform, in: W.H. VAN SOLDT (ed.), Veenhof Anniversary Volume: Studies Presented to Klaas R. Veenhof on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, Leiden, 445–56. VAN DER TOORN, K. (1991): The Babylonian New Year Festival: New Insights from the Cuneiform Texts and Their Bearing on Old Testament Study, in: J.A. EMERTON (ed.): Congress Volume: Leuven 1989 (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 43), Leiden, 331–44. WILES, D. (2000): Greek Theatre Performance: An Introduction, Cambridge. ZGOLL, A. (2006): Königslauf und Götterrat: Struktur und Deutung des babylonischen Neujahrsfestes, in: E. BLUM/R. LUX (eds.), Festtraditionen in Israel und im Alten Orient, (Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 28), Gütersloh, 11–80.

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– (2007): Schauseite, verborgene Seite und geheime Deutung des babylonischen Neujahrsfestes: Entwurf einer Handlungstheorie von „Zeigen und Verbergen“, in: B. STRECK (ed.), Die gezeigte und die verborgene Kultur, Wiesbaden, 165–89. ZIMMERMANN, B. (2005): Theater I: Religionsgeschichtlich, Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart 8, Tübingen, 209–11.

VI: Ancient Morality through the Perspective of Cognitive Science

Morality Without Gods? Retribution and the Foundations of the Moral Order in the Ancient Near East Yitzhaq Feder Introduction Is it possible to be moral without the existence of God(s)? This age-old question has been revisited with renewed urgency in recent years in both public and academic discourses. The question itself can be explored from multiple perspectives – biological, psychological and philosophical to name a few – with a wide range of implications. The aim of the present essay is to explore some of these implications and attempt to find a point of connection between modern scientific discussions of this topic, specifically as found in current literature on evolutionary theory and cognitive science of religions, with that found in ancient Near Eastern documents. Necessarily, each of these radically different points of departure demands its own appropriate approach. Cognitive scientific research tends to represent an etic (or analytic) perspective, seeking an “objective” vantage point taken from outside lived experience, whereas textual interpretation involves an emic (or phenomenological) perspective, reflecting experience from within the life-situation of human beings. These different approaches will be elaborated upon in the following sections.

Morality from an Evolutionary Perspective As part of the broader project of seeking a naturalistic evolutionary explanation for all aspects of human behavior (especially those which are ostensibly unique to humans in the animal kingdom, such as religion and defined moral norms), much attention has been given to the role of moral intuitions. In particular, the assumption that selfpreservation constitutes the most basic drive of organisms has raised the problem of altruistic behavior. If natural selection has privileged selfishness as the key to survival, how can the existence of non-selfish behavior be explained? Several solutions have been offered to this puzzle, such as kin-selection, group-selection and “reciprocal altruism.”1 Leaving aside the merits of these various approaches, let it suffice to recognize that these theories bear a common denominator, as pointed out by the pioneer 1 SOBER/SLOAN WILSON 1998. For an insightful application of these theories to biblical evidence, see KAZEN forthcoming.

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of reciprocal altruism theory, Robert Trivers (1971, 35): “Models that attempt to explain altruistic behavior in terms of natural selection are models designed to take the altruism out of altruism.” This evolutionary perspective has cast new light on the old philosophical question: Are humans moral by nature? As will be seen in the following discussion, the answer given to this question will have far-reaching implications on numerous issues, including the role of religion in the emergence and maintenance of cooperative (i.e. moral) human societies. To start with the more pessimistic assessment, as argued by Thomas Huxley (known as “Darwin’s Bulldog”) already in 1894: “Let us understand, once and for all, that the ethical progress of society depends, not on imitating the cosmic process, still less in running away from it, but in combating it.”2

This position has been vigorously endorsed by more recent advocates of “selfish gene” theory, as articulated by Richard Dawkins (1976, 3): “Be warned that if you wish, as I do, to build a society in which individuals cooperate generously and unselfishly towards a common good, you can expect little help from biological nature. Let us try to teach generosity and altruism, because we are born selfish.”

These sobering claims regarding human nature have been parried by a formidable array of evidence from primatology, game theory, and developmental psychology.3 In particular, the distinguished primatologist Frans de Waal has insisted that the foundations for human moral intuitions, including empathy and fairness, can be found in other animals, especially chimpanzees and bonobos.4 Clearly, these diametrically opposed positions have important implications for the source of morality, specifically the role of socialization in moral development. According to the view that morality is unnatural, it is society that must impose a “conscience” (e.g. the Freudian superego) by a process of “internalization,” usually through the agency of a child’s care-givers.5 In the other account, morality represents an innate predisposition. The purpose of societal rules is merely to reinforce these intuitions, lest individuals submit to their self-interested passions. In turn, these two positions will determine the role of the belief in moral gods in the emergence of cooperative societies. The fundamental dichotomy regarding the naturalness of moral intuitions and its ensuing implications for the present discussion can be mapped schematically as follows:

2

HUXLEY 1989, 83. DE WAAL et al. 2014. 4 E.g. DE WAAL 1996; IDEM 2013. A similar view underlies the influential “moral foundation theory” of Jonathan Haidt (2012, 131–49). See also ROTTMAN/YOUNG 2015. 5 See EMDE/JOHNSON/EASTERBROOKS 1987. 3

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Source of morality

Function of beliefs in supernatural policing

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This debate is already taken up in Plato’s Republic. Socrates’ interlocutor Glaucon advocates the position of the unnaturalness of morality, suggesting the need for social checks on individual behavior. He offers the story of the magical ring of Gyges to prove that righteousness is a mere façade: “Now, no one, it seems, would be so incorruptible that he would stay on the path of justice or stay away from other people’s property, when he could take whatever he wanted from the marketplace with impunity, go into people’s houses and have sex with anyone he wished, kill or release from prison anyone he wished, and do all the other things that would make him like a god among humans. Rather his actions would be in no way different from those of an unjust person, and both would follow the same path. This, some would say, is a great proof that one is never just willingly but only when compelled to be. No one believes justice to be a good when it is kept private, since, wherever either person thinks he can do injustice with impunity, he does it.”6

These claims have been tested by modern experimental psychologists, who have received mixed results. Summarizing the findings of Dan Ariely (2008), Jonathan Haidt writes (2012, 97): “People didn’t try to get away with as much as they could. Rather, when Ariely gave them anything like the invisibility of the ring of Gyges, they cheated only up to the point where they themselves could no longer find justification that would preserve their belief in their own honesty.”

In other words, people tended to cheat, but only to the extent they could preserve their own self-image of being honest. A related line of research pertains to experiments which tested the effects of surveillance (or even just the thought of being watched elicited by posters of eyes) on behaviors such as charitable giving and littering. 7 This principle has served as a central argument for the pro-social effects of religious belief, as elucidated in particular by the work of Ara Norenzayan (2013, 23): “We saw that social monitoring is a powerful motivator in prosocial interactions. But it can only go so far. It depends on the actual or implied presence of others; it also depends on keeping track of others’ reputations, which is severely limited by group size. As the number of interactions increase, 6 7

PLATO 1992, 36 [360c]. For a review of these studies, see NORENZAYAN 2013, 19–23, but cf. FEHR/SCHNEIDER, 2010.

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anonymity creeps back into the situation and reputational mechanisms break down … If watched people are nice people, watchful deities – Big Eyes in the Sky – could encourage cooperation, even when no one is watching.”

According to Norenzayan and fellow proponents of “Big God Theory,” the belief in morally-concerned supernatural entities performs an essential function in ensuring cooperative behavior in large-scale societies. In a recent programmatic outline of this framework, they emphasize that evolutionary pressures favor groups characterized by “[b]elief in, and commitment to, powerful, all-knowing, and morally concerned supernatural agents who are believed to monitor social interactions and to reward and sanction behaviors in ways that contribute to the cultural success of the group, including practices that effectively transmit the faith. Rhetorically, we call this ‘Big Gods’, but we alert readers that we are referring to a multidimensional continuum of supernatural agents in which Big Gods occupy a particular corner of the space. By outsourcing some monitoring and punishing duties to these supernatural agents, prosocial religions reduce monitoring costs and facilitate collective action, which allows groups to sustain ingroup cooperation and harmony while expanding in size.”8

This citation includes a significant caveat (italicized), a subtle backtracking from earlier formulations, that the supernatural agents do not necessarily need to be “Big Gods”.9 While infelicitous for a framework known by this name, this adjustment is well-advised, as will be seen presently.

Supernatural Retribution and Folk Theories of Illness As can be seen, the “Big Gods Theory” and similar frameworks in the cognitive science of religions take a functionalistic perspective: How does supernatural policing facilitate the maintenance of social cooperation? Yet this perspective does little to illuminate how these beliefs operate on the ground, that is, how they were actually experienced. The weakness of such a perspective is that it insufficiently addresses what motivates actual human behavior, including the attempts of individuals to make sense of their condition. For this reason, by way of example, a functionalist approach offers little assistance in understanding literature on theodicy.10 Before examining the testimonies of ancient Near Eastern texts, it will be a helpful to introduce an intermediate step, bridging the etic and emic approaches, to examine notions of supernatural retribution within the framework of folk theories of illness. A convenient point of departure is George P. Murdock’s Theories of Illness (1980, 17– 21), based on a survey of 139 ancient and modern cultures. The following is a brief summary of Murdock’s typology of natural and supernatural causes of disease:

8

NORENZAYAN et al., 2016, 6, emphasis added. WATTS et al. 2015. 10 As pointed out by Prochownik in this volume, pp. 265–87. 9

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Characterization Illness is a physiological consequence of normal activities that have gone awry (dietary mistakes, climate, accidents, old age). Illness is the automatic consequence of an act or experience, brought about by impersonal forces. The agent causing the illness is a personalized supernatural being. A malicious human being uses covert, magical means to make a person ill.

Note that the last three of these “theories of disease” could be viewed as “theories of retribution,” serving as explanations for suffering, especially disease. Importantly, there is no need for “Big Gods” to carry out such retribution. As a salient example, in his fieldwork among the Baktaman tribe of Papua New Guinea, Fredrik Barth (1987, 133) was struck by the manner in which the fear of witchcraft served to enforce social order: “If you think that irritation or anger in alter may lead to acts that cause sickness and death to yourself, it makes good sense to be observant of the other’s moods and wishes and to be considerate of his interests.”

Similarly, Evans-Pritchard (1976, 54–55) comments in reference to the Azande of Africa that “witchcraft is a powerful corrective to uncharitable impulses”; a person will watch his behavior to avoid accusations of witchcraft (or being its victim), since “it is generally only those who make themselves disliked by many of their neighbors who are often accused of witchcraft and earn reputations as witches … It is better to earn no man’s enmity, since hatred is the motive in every act of witchcraft.” A similar relation between illness and retribution can be found in the ritual literature of the ancient Near East. The transgressions involved are various, including offenses against gods and humans, as well as taboo violations. In several compositions, such as Šurpu and Dinger.šà.dab5.ba incantations, the patient is treated in part by the recital of litanies which focus on an unknown sin. For example, Šurpu II consists of a litany which spans the whole gamut of transgressions. The patient is described as one Who has eaten what is taboo to his god, who has eaten what is taboo to his goddess Who said ‘no’ for ‘yes’, who said ‘yes’ for ‘no’… He scorned the god, despised the goddess, His sins are against his god, his crimes are against his goddess. He is full of contempt against his father, full of hatred against his elder brother. He despised his parents, offended the elder sister… He entered his neighbor’s house, Had intercourse with his neighbor’s wife, Shed his neighbor’s blood

11

REINER 1958, 13–14.

(Šurpu II, lines 5–6, 33–36; 47–49)11

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This catalog of transgressions (excerpted from a much longer list) is strikingly similar to Glaucon’s characterization of what a person might do if granted the power of invisibility. As functionalist accounts of supernatural policing suggest, here we see that the Babylonian notions of cosmic retribution could be expected to keep humans’ behavior in check. While the gods feature prominently in this tablet, it is interesting to note that Tablet III focuses on the notion of māmītu (oath-curse) as the agent of retribution, suggesting an automatic mechanism of retribution.12 This ambivalence between theistic and mechanistic depictions of retribution – characteristic of divinatory, ritual and wisdom genres in particular – will be discussed further below. Rather than blame circumstances or divine caprice, these texts reflect attempts by which the individual takes responsibility by assuming guilt. The phenomenology of this perspective is expressed vividly by Paul Ricoeur (1967, 31): “This anonymous wrath, the faceless violence of Retribution, is inscribed in the human world in letters of suffering. Vengeance causes suffering. And thus, through the intermediary of retribution, the whole physical order is taken up into the ethical order; the evil of suffering is linked synthetically with the evil of fault; the very ambiguity of the word ‘evil’ is a grounded ambiguity grounded in the law of retribution … If you suffer, if you are ill, if you fail, if you die, it is because you sinned. The symptomatic and detective value of suffering with regard to defilement is reflected in the explanatory, etiological value of moral evil.”

The ambiguity of the word “evil” (in the original French: mal) is grounded in the blurred distinction between “good” and “bad” as referring to the (physiological) state of well-being of the individual (thriving/suffering) and “good” and “bad” as moral evaluations (right/wrong). According to the conventional ancient Near Eastern worldview, the lexical ambiguity of these terms is motivated by an existential relationship between morality and well-being. This is the moralized landscape that these texts take as their point of departure. A similar perspective informs Mesopotamian wisdom compositions such as Ludlul bēl nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy. In Ludlul, the protagonist compares his fate to one who has neglected his obligations to the gods: Like someone who has not regularly done libation to a deity; and has not evoked a she-deity during the meal offering… that entreaty and supplication have ceased from his mouth; and abandoned the (feast) day of a deity and neglected the festival. (Ludlul bēl nēmeqi II, 12–16)13

The same presumption, that fulfilment of cultic obligations guarantees wellbeing, informs the Babylonian Theodicy (lines 21–22; 219–20). Yet the sufferers in these poems deny their guilt of these offenses. In fact, this failure of divine justice undermines the cosmic order itself, leading the sufferer in the Babylonian Theodicy to entertain thoughts of moral nihilism:

12

FEDER 2010, 127–35. Adapted translation based on ANNUS/LENZI 2010, 35 and OSHIMA 2014, 87. Regarding the question of the “deity” and “she-deity” implied by this passage, see the thoughtful discussion of OSHIMA ibid., 146–49. 13

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I will disregard cultic duties of (any) deity, [I will t]rample on the rites. I will slaughter a bull calf, I will consume the foods/bread(-offering). (Babylonian Theodicy lines 135–36)14

In other words, the seeming absence of cosmic justice leads the protagonist to take up Glaucon’s position: if there is no just system of retribution, then what is the purpose of being good? However, these expressions of skepticism need to be understood in the context of the compositions in which they are situated. While it may be true that the question of theodicy troubled Babylonian scholars from an early period (COHEN 2015), these two compositions seem to employ skepticism as a rhetorical tactic to neutralize dissent from the conventional belief in the inscrutability of the gods. As Oshima (2014, 76; cf. 2018) writes: “The recognition of the remoteness and inscrutability of the divine mind was … the rationale put forward by the ancient thinkers in order to ‘explain’, without calling into question the whole system of divine rule, that could not otherwise be explained in orthodox Mesopotamian belief, namely the frequent experience, despite one’s devotion, of seemingly unrewarded piety and of seemingly unmerited adversity.”

Retribution Schemes as Theories of Illness: Theoretical Implications Let us now subject this conception, especially as reflected in Mesopotamian incantation literature, to Murdock’s typology of causes of illness. It may be noted that the Mesopotamian litanies are an eclectic batch which see no necessity to determine whether the remote cause (mechanism) of the patient’s suffering is divine anger, witchcraft, a violated curse, etc. Obviously, this indeterminacy is motivated largely from the difficulty of identifying the agent of retribution, but it nevertheless indicates an ambivalence regarding the question of remote causes. Far more important is the immediate cause, namely the misbehavior of the patient.15 Fortunately for the patient, the ritual means for removing these threats and reconciliation with the gods were taken to be just as automatic. For example, Šuila prayers are frequently accompanied by assurances that they will be accepted (formulated by the passive N-stem iššemme “will be heard”16). A biblical analogy can be found in the Priestly source of the Pentateuch, 14

Adapted from OSHIMA ibid., 156–57. My discussion has drawn upon the analytical distinction between “proximate” and “absolute” causes of disease found in medical anthropological literature, e.g. the stimulating discussion of LAST 1993, 642–46. However, note that Last identifies “proximate” causes with the question of “how?” (e.g., witchcraft, curse, etc.) and “absolute” causes with the question of “why?” (specifically “why me?”). In contrast, for the purposes of this discussion, I would suggest that the sin that causes disease in the ancient Near Eastern conception is the more direct cause and nevertheless pertains to the “why” question, whereas the precise mechanism by which this “retribution” takes place is more remote and, in many cases, ambiguous. To avoid confusion, I have substituted therefore a distinction between the “immediate” cause (transgression) and the “remote” cause, i.e. the specific mechanism of retribution. See also LEGARE et al. 2012. 16 See FRECHETTE 2012, 156–59; 243–45. 15

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where the transgressor who has brought an expiatory offering is assured that he has “been forgiven (nislaḥ).”17 To the extent that the causes of suffering are attributed to an impersonal causality, these views could be characterized as based on pseudo-medical and even protonaturalistic theories. Elsewhere I have argued that ancient Near Eastern and biblical notions of pollution were viewed in part as folk conceptions of infectious disease, whereby the experiential fact of interpersonal transmission of disease was articulated in the pre-scientific idiom of pollution.18 A similar view has already been voiced by Edward Green (1999, 13–14) in relation to African notions of pollution: “Pollution … is not so mystical when examined closely. In the anthropological sense, pollution denotes a belief that people will become ill as a result of contact with, or contamination by, a substance or essence considered dangerous because it is unclean or impure … They involve an impersonal process of illness through contact or exposure. Polluted individuals are not singled out for illness or misfortune by a human or superhuman force; they typically become polluted from mere contact, from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Similarly, the notion of misdeeds as a cause of suffering is represented in the terminology of taboo. In particular, the Sumerian term níg.gig (sometimes translated “abomination”) literally means “ill thing,” implying both harmfulness (Akkadian maruštu) and offensiveness.19 To the extent that these conceptions aim to explain the etiology and epidemiology of disease, these theories can be characterized as folk medicine. To the extent that they appeal to impersonal proximate causes – and not to a theistic framework involving punishing gods, they can be viewed as proto-naturalistic.20 Indeed, one may observe that Murdock’s distinction between “natural” and “mystical” causes of disease – both caused by an impersonal, automatic causality – is dependent on the determination that the latter is “supernatural,” a distinction which is imposed by his own Western perspective. Importantly, the conventional ancient Near Eastern conception attributes suffering to the inevitable consequence of improper human behavior, such that moral norms are built into the cosmos. This moralization of the natural world is inextricably 17 See FEDER 2010, 155–56. It is hardly surprising that the passive form of this verb is unattested elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (as it would hardly occur in ordinary speech or literature), representing an idiosyncrasy of ritual jargon. 18 FEDER 2013; IDEM 2016. 19 GELLER 2002; DURAND 2015. 20 Here one may compare G.E.R. Lloyd’s balanced (if not depreciating) assessment of the Hippocratic authors. While disparaging their treatments, he nevertheless credits them with the negative achievement of persuasively arguing that the traditional healers’ appeals to the gods were “unnecessary and superfluous” (1979, 57). He elaborates: “The claim for superior rationality [of the Hippocratics] had to rely on the notion that bile and phlegm are visible substances and the sort of substances that could cause disease – whereas the Gods (you assumed a priori) could not or would not” (1990, 51). A modern analogy would be the difference between ingesting garlic as a natural antibiotic versus placing it under one’s pillow. Leaving aside empirical evidence, the former is consistent with accepted modes of biophysical causality as opposed to the latter. Accordingly, in an admittedly loose sense, an ancient account which attempted to explain disease as resulting from automatic causation could be viewed as naturalistic, at least in potential.

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tied to the widespread moral realism assumed throughout the ancient world which – contrary to the moral relativism discussed in modern philosophy – assumes that moral norms are self-evident and hence subject to cosmic justice.21 One may note that this worldview takes for granted the existence of universally accepted moral norms as part of the “natural order.” This folk conception is diametrically opposed to the presumed unnaturalness of human moral intuitions advocated by some modern thinkers, discussed above. In a previous article (FEDER 2010), I showed that texts that depict retribution as a mechanical process in ancient Near Eastern documents should not be viewed as fossilized remnants of a primitive, animistic worldview that preceded a belief in personalized gods. An influential expression of this latter view was Klaus Koch’s notion of a “schicksalwirkende Tatsphäre” (autonomous cause-effect dynamic) found especially in wisdom literature, which represents an archaic, pre-theistic Israelite worldview.22 Rather, the depiction of retribution as a depersonalized process reflects a tendency of ritualists, diviners, and authors of wisdom texts to focus on immediate causes (human misdeeds), while “bracketing out” remote causes (divine orchestration).23 While this complex topic surely warrants further extensive investigation, let it suffice for the purposes of this essay to note that the variant depictions of retribution as correlated with different genres cannot be properly understood as only a function of historical development, in isolation from sociological (i.e. the Sitz im Leben represented by different genres) and psychological factors.24

Conclusions: The Meaning of Disease This tendency to explain suffering in moralistic terms – and the broader assumption of underlying cosmic justice, seemingly universal to the world’s religions – remains an enigma. From a simple rationalistic perspective, it is difficult to understand why people persistently believe in cosmic justice despite abundant experiential evidence to the contrary.25 Moreover, cognitive scientists of religions have struggled to suggest a naturalistic explanation for this prevalent tendency, e.g. as a by-product of an otherwise functional cognitive mechanism. For example, Nicolas Baumard and Coralie Chevallier (2012, 77) write:

21

A similar type of moral realism informs numerous narratives in the Hebrew Bible, such as the deluge which punished sinful behavior even before the divine revelation of Sinai (see further BURNSIDE 2011, 73–76; HAYES 2015, 25–28). 22 KOCH 1955; 1983. 23 This tendency can also be found in narrative and prophetic literature, especially in relation to certain themes, such as bloodguilt (see FEDER 2010, 135–49 for examples from Hittite and biblical sources). 24 One may compare here the recognition that humans tend to be pluralistic in their explanatory schemes, such that scientific (naturalistic) and supernatural explanations are not taken as contradictory (e.g. LEGARE et al. 2012). 25 This point is discussed poignantly by KUGEL 2011, 131–53.

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“Religious concepts are thought to ‘hack’ mental systems that are also used in non-religious contexts and ‘tweak’ their usual inferences … In a similar vein, the way our moral sense works could very well make the human brain receptive to cultural beliefs in immanent justice.”

However, if this pervasive belief in the fairness of the universe is based on the human need to find meaning in experience, one wonders if physicalist appeals to the features of the “human brain” offers the correct level of explanation to address this problem. In other words, it may be necessary to focus more on meaning-producing (narrative) aspects of human cognition26 – formulated in the currency of “symbolic culture” rather than physiology – to address such issues.27 Whereas functionalist approaches tend to assume that the evolution of this “intuition” (i.e. the belief in supernatural policing) serves an adaptive function in facilitating prosocial behavior, a phenomenological account reveals the pervasiveness of the human need to make sense of one’s fortune in moral terms. It is this underlying psychological need which underlies various types of explanatory schemes, both personalized and impersonal. Taken in isolation from this fundamental psychological need, the appeal to “Big Gods” as the agents for policing moral behavior appears as a deus ex machina with comparatively little explanatory force.

Bibliography ANNUS, A./A. LENZI (2010): Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Prayer of the Righteous Sufferer, (SAACT 7), Winona Lake, IN. ARIELY, D. (2008): Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces that Shape our Decisions, New York. BARTH, F. (1987): Ritual and Knowledge among the Baktaman of New Guinea, Oslo. BAUMARD, N./C. CHEVALAIR (2012): What Goes Around Comes Around: The Evolutionary Roots of the Belief in Immanent Justice, Journal of Cognition and Culture 12, 67–80. BRUNER, J. (1990): Acts of Meaning, Cambridge, MA. BURNSIDE, J. (2011): God, Justice and Society: Aspects of Law and Legality in the Bible, Oxford, UK. COHEN, Y. (2015): The Problem of Theodicy – The Mesopotamian Perspective, in: J.-M. DURAND/L. MARTI/T. RÖMER (eds.), Colères et repentirs divins: Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, le 24 et 25 avril 2013, (OBO 278), Friebourg/Göttingen, 243–70. DAWKINS, R. (1976): The Selfish Gene, Oxford. DURAND, J.-M. (2015): Tabou et transgression: Le sentiment de la honte, in: J.-M. DURAND/M. GUICHARD/T. RÖMER (eds.), Tabou et transgressions, Fribourg/Göttingen, 1–18.

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BRUNER 1990. Here one may contrast the genetic (and perhaps also the epigenetic) inheritance system(s) with the symbolic inheritance system, as discussed by JABLONKA/LAMB 2005. To illustrate this difference in perspective: Baumard and Chevallier (2012, 77) view these notions of immanent (cosmic) justice as based on “intuitions” rather than “beliefs” in order to explain why their college student participants only had “fragmented ideas” (incoherent schemes) of how this retribution works. However, one may reinterpret their findings and argue that notions of cosmic justice should be viewed as products of reflective thought, though often lacking philosophical rigor. Accordingly, these findings indicate a conflict resulting from participants’ attempts to seek meaning in experience which are incompatible with accepted cultural explanatory schemes (i.e. Western science). 27

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EMDE, R./W.F. JOHNSON/M.A. EASTERBROOKS, (1987): The Do’s and Don’ts of Early Moral Development: Psychoanalytic Tradition and Current Research, in: J. KAGEN/S. LAMB (eds.), The Emergence of Morality in Young Children, Chicago/London. EVANS-PRITCHARD, J. (1976): Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic Among the Azande, Oxford. FEDER, Y. (2010): The Mechanics of Retribution in Hittite, Mesopotamian and Biblical Sources, JANER 10, 119–57. – (2013): Contagion and Cognition: Bodily Experience and the Conceptualization of Pollution (ṭum’ah) in the Hebrew Bible, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 72, 151–68. – (2016): Disgust, Disease and Defilement: The Experiential Basis for Akkadian and Hittite Terms for Pollution, Journal of the American Oriental Society 136, 99–116. FEHR, E./F. SCHNEIDER (2010): Eyes Are on Us, But Nobody Cares: Are Eye Cues Relevant for Strong Reciprocity? Proceedings of the Royal Society B 227, 1315–23. FRECHETTE, CH.G. (2012): Mesopotamian Ritual-prayers of “Hand-Lifting” (Akkadian Šuillas): An Investigation of Function in Light of the Idiomatic Meaning of the Rubric, (AOAT 379), Münster. GELLER, M.J. (2002): Taboo, in Reallexikon der Assyriologie 12, Berlin, 394–95. GREEN, E.C. (1999): Indigenous Theories of Contagious Disease. Walnut Creek. HAIDT, J. (2012): The Righteous Mind, New York. HAYES, C. (2015): What’s Divine about Divine Law? Early Perspectives, Princeton/Oxford. HUXLEIY, T.H. (1989): Evolution and Ethics, in: J. PARADIS/G.C. WILLIAMS (eds.), Evolution & Ethics: T.H. Huxley’s Evolution and Ethics with New Essays on its Victorian and Sociobiological Context, Princeton, NJ, 57–144. JABLONKA, E./M. LAMB (2005): Evolution in Four Dimensions: Genetic, Epigenetic, Behavioral, and Symbolic Variation in the History of Life, Cambridge, MA. KAZEN, T. (forthcoming): Emotional Ethics in Biblical Texts: Cultural Construction and Biological Bases of Morality, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel. KOCH, K. (1955): Gibt es ein Vergeltungsdogma im AT, ZTK 52, 1–42. – (1983): Is there a Doctrine of Restribution in the Old Testament? in: J.L. CRENSHAW (ed.), Theodicy in the Old Testament, Philadelphia-London, 57–87. KUGEL, J.L. (2011): In the Valley of the Shadow: On the Foundations of Religious Belief, New York. LAST, M. (1993): Non-Western Concepts of Disease in: W.F. BYNUM/R. PORTER (eds.), Companion Encyclopedia of the History of Medicine, Vol. 1, London, 634–60. LEGARE, C.H. et al. (2012). The Coexistence of Natural and Supernatural Explanations Across Cultures and Development, Child Development 83, 779–93. LLOYD, G.E.R. (1979): Magic, Reason and Experience, Cambridge. – (1990): Demystifying Mentalities, Cambridge. MURDOCK, G. P. (1980): Theories of Illness: A World Survey, Pittsburgh, PA. NORENZAYAN, A. (2013): Big Gods: How Religion Transformed Cooperation and Conflict, Princeton/Oxford. NORENZAYAN, A. et al. (2016): The Cultural Evolution of Prosocial Religions, Behavioral and Brain Sciences 39, 1–19. OSHIMA, T. (2014): Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers: Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, (ORA 14), Tübingen. – (2018): Morality and the Minds of Gods: Divine Knowledge and Human Ignorance in Mesopotamian Prayers and Didactic Literature, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 6/4, 386–430. PLATO (1992): The Republic, G.M.A. GRUBE/C.D.C. REEVE (trans.), Indianapolis. REINER, E. (1958): Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and Akkadian Incantations, (AfOB 11), Graz. RICOEUR, P. (1967): E. BUCHANAN (trans.), The Symbolism of Evil, New York. ROTTMAN, J./L. YOUNG (2015): Mechanisms of Moral Development, in: J. DECETY/T. WHEATLEY (eds.), The Moral Brain: A Multidisciplinary Perspective, Cambridge, MA, 123–42. SOBER, E./D. SLOAN WILSON (1998): Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior, Cambridge, MA.

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TRIVERS, R. (1971): The Evolution of Reciprocal Altruism, Quarterly Review of Biology 46, 35–57. F. (1996): Good Natured: The Origins of Right and Wrong in Humans and Other Animals, Cambridge, MA. – (2013): The Bonobo and the Atheist: In Search of Humanism among the Primates, New York. DE WAAL, F. et al. (2014): Evolved Morality: The Biology and Philosophy of Human Conscience, Leiden. WATTS, J. et al. (2015): Broad Supernatural Punishment but Not Moralizing High Gods Precede the Evolution of Political Complexity in Austronesia, Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 282 (1804), 20142556. DE WAAL,

Gods and Goodness by the Rivers of Babylon A Cognitive Scientific Approach to Ancient Mesopotamian Moral Theology Karolina Prochownik Introduction The goal of this paper is to apply a cognitive scientific approach to the link between religion and morality in ancient Mesopotamia. This is motivated by a belief that using tools and concepts from the cognitive science of religion (hereafter also referred to as CSR) can contribute to our understanding of why certain moral religious themes emerged and were culturally successful in antiquity. In line with this objective, my examination will be informed by cognitive scientific and psychological research on the topic. Morality and religion are both broad and ambiguous notions that can refer to a great variety of phenomena. Before proceeding with my inquiry I need to explain how I understand these key terms in the paper. In the psychological literature “morality” often refers to specific features of human judgments or actions. Most broadly, it can refer to psychological mechanisms and processes involved in normative thinking (judgments about what should and should not be done), or normative behavior (behavior that follows social norms).1 Another relevant sense of morality is more specific and refers to normative content in terms of particular domains that normative judgments or behaviors fall into.2 In the literature such “moral domains” have traditionally been fairness and harm,3 but more recently also loyalty, sanctity, and authority.4 Another frequent criterion used to distinguish “moral” norms from others is normative convic1

In the CSR literature on the topic this is often referred to as “prosocial behavior” or “prosociality” (see, for instance, SHARIFF/NORENZAYAN 2007; PYYSIAINEN/HAUSER, 2010; PRESTON/RITTER 2013). Sousa/Prochownik (2014) proposed to distinguish different types of prosocial behavior based on the type of social norms at stake. For instance, some norms explicitly prescribe behaviors that are aimed at bringing advantage to another person. In that case we could speak of altruistic and mutualistic norms. Altruistic norms prescribe behaviors that benefit a recipient but do not benefit an addressee of the norms, while mutualistic norms prescribe behaviors that benefit both a recipient and an addressee of these norms. Altruistic and mutualistic prosociality could be also understood as forms of cooperation as far as the latter is understood broadly as “social behavior that is beneficial to the recipient,” BAUMARD/ANDRÉ/SPERBER 2013, 60. 2 BERNIŪNAS/DRANSEIKA/SOUSA 2016. 3 TURIEL 1983; NUCCI/TURIEL 1993. See also BAUMARD et al. 2013 for a more recent approach. 4 HAIDT 2012.

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tion – moral norms are perceived as authority-independent and general in scope, which situates them in contrast to mere conventions which are authority-dependent and local in scope.5 In the light of these distinctions, immoral behavior is a behavior that violates norms which fulfill the former criteria. Another piece of the puzzle concerns how to understand religion. A general trend in the CSR literature is to examine specific religious phenomena in terms of underlying psychological processes and components (e.g., intuitions or cognitive biases underlying particular types of beliefs or behaviors widely recognized as religious).6 Likewise, my inquiry here will be narrowed down to specific religious representations – supernatural agents associated with moral norms.7 In particular, I will examine three types of cultural themes assuming such an association: (1) beliefs that supernatural agents are morally interested (i.e. they are concerned with and possess privileged knowledge about human normative violations and norm compliance); (2) beliefs that supernatural agents reinforce moral norms by inflicting punishment or bestowing rewards in response to past behaviors of believers; (3) theodical beliefs – featuring a theme of a person experiencing misfortune, in spite of following normative standards set by the supernatural agents. Joining all these pieces together, in this paper I will examine the question about how these different types of moral religious themes became culturally successful in ancient Mesopotamia due to their link with normative thinking and normative behavior. In my search of the answer, I will confront two cognitive scientific accounts which propose that different psychological and cultural evolutionary processes have shaped this link. In accordance with this objective, the structure of the paper will be as follows. First, I will characterize different cognitive and cultural evolutionary approaches to the link between religion and morality that are present in CSR, and review the most important evidence that has been presented in their favor (I will focus on two perspectives which I will respectively call “cultural epidemiology” and “cultural adaptationism”). Second, I will provide an overview of popular moral religious themes in an ancient Mesopotamian theological system (I will focus on three types of such beliefs as characterized above). Third, I will apply the cognitive scientific approaches to explain the cultural recurrence of these moral religious themes via connections with normative thinking and normative behavior. Finally, I will draw some conclusions, including the evaluation of how these different cognitive explanations fit this historical case study.

5

BERNIŪNAS et al. 2016; TURIEL 1983. For instance, social psychologist Ara Norenzayan (2010, 59) writes that religion “simply points to a family resemblance category of converging set of cultural byproducts, rooted in innate psychological tendencies that constrain and channel, though do not wholly determine, the transmission and survival of certain beliefs and practices.” 7 Supernatural agents in CSR are often understood as representations which violate our natural expectations about the world, see BOYER 2001. I do not wish to say that I define religion by belief in such agents, but that I focus on one aspect of a very broad set of phenomena which I find most suitable for achieving my intended objective. 6

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Cognitive Approaches to the Link between Religion and Morality The cognitive science of religion is a discipline that uses theories and methods from cognitive and evolutionary sciences to explain religious phenomena.8 It particularly focuses on the examination of unconscious factors such as intuitive inferences or cognitive biases underpinning religious thought and behavior.9 One of the most relevant fields of research in CSR focuses on explaining religion by linking it with morality (either normative thinking or normative behavior). Theories that make this link can be divided into adaptationist approaches, which claim that the link between religion and morality is the functional result of selective biological or cultural evolutionary processes, and epidemiological approaches which deny the adaptive character of this link and explain it in terms of cultural evolutionary processes of attraction. I restrict the area of focus of the paper to adaptationist and epidemiological explanations of moral religions considered as results of cultural evolutionary processes.10 These CSR-based approaches postulate different cultural evolutionary processes and distinct psychological mechanisms as engaged in the process of the cultural emergence and spread of moral religions. Below I will briefly characterize these approaches, the research that has been presented to support them, and the main differences between them. According to cultural adaptationism moral religious beliefs are cultural adaptations to large-scale cooperation that were selected for by processes of inter-group competition and conflict.11 A decisive explanatory role in the selection process is granted to a specific type of beliefs in supernatural agents associated with moral norms – so called Big Gods (omniscient, powerful, morally interested, and punitive deities). 12 It is claimed that beliefs in these moralistic supernatural agents effectively triggered supernatural monitoring and punishment mechanisms among believers, which enhanced within-group cooperation (e.g., people who were afraid of punitive supernatural watchers cheated less, and thus made better cooperators). As a consequence, according to cultural adaptationist theories, groups which adopted beliefs in Big Gods outcompeted others in terms of survival, growth, and military success, and their beliefs became culturally successful. The proposed explanation grants a decisive role to cultural evolutionary process of cultural selection (moral religious beliefs were selected for their group-beneficial functions), and psychological mechanism of supernatural punishment (fear of punishment by Big Gods enhanced cooperation among believers, and contributed to the cultural success of their groups). This approach has been supported

8

See, e.g., BARRETT 2007. XYGALATAS 2014. 10 In this paper, I ignore biological adaptationist approaches as these characterize general or crosscultural patterns in religious thought and behavior, and appear to be less useful for examining particular cultural cases of religions. Note that, by “cultural evolution,” I refer broadly to changes and stability of cultural representations (i.e. moral religious beliefs) over time. 11 NORENZAYAN et al. 2016, 4–5. 12 NORENZAYAN 2013. The theory is also colloquially known as the “Big Gods Theory,” see for instance Feder this volume, pp. 253–65. 9

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by a body of psychological research on the role of supernatural monitoring and supernatural punishment in cooperative behavior.13 The first line of evidence associating moral “Big God” religions and prosocial behavior is based on studies using behavioral measures of cooperation – in particular, economic games. In this type of research the participants’ religiosity is measured and correlated with the outcomes of cooperation games. For instance, Henrich, Ensminger, McElreath, Barr, Barrett, Bolyanatz, and colleagues (2010) found a positive relationship across culturally different groups (including hunter-gatherers, pastoralists and horticulturalists) between adherence to world religions (Christianity and Islam) and a tendency to divide resources equally in two anonymous economic games (the Dictator Game and Ultimatum Game). The positive correlation between religion and prosocial behavior was also established in a study carried out among members of Israeli kibbutzim who played a Common-Pool Resource Game.14 In particular, participation in collective rituals in a synagogue was positively associated with more cooperative outcomes in the game (i.e. removing less money from the common pool). Also, Ahmed (2009) reported that pupils of Muslim theology in madrasah schools were more prosocial than secular science students when playing the Public Goods Game and Dictator Game in India. Along similar lines, Soler (2012) found a positive relationship between higher levels of religious commitment (i.e. involvement in costly religious activities) and generosity among Afro-Brazilian Candomblé religious group members playing the Public Goods Game. Another important body of evidence comes from priming studies.15 Priming in CSR is an experimental procedure aimed at the activation (typically unconsciously) of religious thinking. In order to examine how religious thoughts affect prosocial behavior, participants of the studies are exposed to (religious) primes, and subsequently subjected to various tasks measuring cooperative behavior. In one famous priming study, Shariff and Norenzayan (2007) primed a group of participants with religious words such as “spirit, divine, God, sacred, prophet,” asking them to make up sensible sentences featuring these words (ibid., 804). Another group was exposed to words related to secular institutions like “civic, jury, court, police, contract” (ibid., 805). Finally, a control group was presented with some neutral words. Subsequently, each participant in each group played anonymously in a Dictator Game. The researchers reported some significant results: people in the religious prime condition tended to share money more or less equally between themselves and another player (on average, they shared twice as much as participants in the neutral prime condition); secular primes had the same 13 Here I will discuss some of the most influential psychological evidence which have been frequently cited by cultural adaptationists in support of their claims, e.g., NORENZAYAN et al. 2016; NORENZAYAN/HENRICH/SLINGERLAND 2013; NORENZAYAN 2013. 14 SOSIS/RUFFLE 2003. 15 For a review see SHARIFF/WILLARD/ANDERSEN/NORENZAYAN 2016. An advantage of priming over correlational studies in showing a link between religion and prosocial behavior is that the latter cannot exclude the possibility that another factor accounts for the obtained results. Priming experiments have been claimed to provide evidence for a positive relationship between prosocial religions and prosocial behavior in causal terms and thus to be empirically stronger than correlational studies, e.g., NORENZAYAN et al. 2016, 10.

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positive impact on prosocial behavior as religious primes.16 As a plausible explanation, they proposed that cues of supernatural and social monitoring could activate concerns about one’s reputation and enhance cooperation among strangers (ibid., 807–808). There have been many other priming studies reporting the positive relationship between induced religious thinking and different measures of prosociality – generous behavior, less cheating, or tendency to punish. For instance, Randolph-Seng and Nielsen (2007) found that people primed with religious words tended to cheat less. Piazza, Bering, and Ingram (2011) demonstrated a similar effect of an imagined supernatural presence on cheating in children. McKay, Efferson, Whitehouse, and Fehr (2011) reported that religious priming significantly contributed to the tendency to punish unfairness among those participants who had donated to religious institutions in the past. Pichon, Boccato, and Saraglou (2007) primed participants with positive religious notions, and discovered that this augmented how much people cared about charity.17 Malhotra (2008) found that being asked on a Sunday positively affected the tendency to respond to charity requests among religious believers (the so called “Sunday effect”). In a similar vein, Xygalatas (2013) reported that people tended to play more cooperatively in a Bargaining Game when playing in a temple than when playing in a restaurant. Moreover, there is also some evidence on the effects of surveillance cues on prosocial behavior.18 For instance, Haley and Fessler (2005) presented people with visual cues of the presence of others (eyespots) or another unrelated prime and asked them to play the Dictator Game. They found that people in the eyespots condition shared almost twice as much money as their counterparts in the control condition. Bateson, Nettle, and Roberts (2006) primed people in a real-life setting with an image of eyes and found that this was positively correlated with how much money they put into an honesty box in the university canteen in exchange for their drinks. Bourrat, Baumard, and McKay (2010) showed that people who were exposed to surveillance cues (an image of eyes) were more likely to disapprove of normative violations in a subsequent moral scenario assessment task than people presented with a control prime (an image of flowers). Consistently, experiments by Zhong, Bohns, and Gino (2010) suggested that people tended to cheat more in constructed conditions of anonymity (when wearing dark glasses or sitting in a shadowy room) due to a false sensation that no one was watching. However, although all this research sheds some light on the psychological foundations of religious prosociality, the historical evidence provided in favor of cultural adaptationism so far has been very limited.19

16

Ahmed and Salas (2011) replicated these findings with Chileans playing Dictator Game and Prisoner’s Dilemma Game with primes such as “spiritual, divine, benediction, holy, Jerusalem, god, Jesus, prophet” (ibid., 244). 17 The researchers measured prosocial behavior by counting the number of charity pamphlets taken by participants after the study. 18 This type of evidence has been regarded as complementary to the priming studies with explicitly religious primes, e.g., NORENZYAN 2013, 19–23. However, some of this evidence has been recently challenged, e.g., MATSUGASAKI et al. 2015; NORTHOVER et al. 2017. 19 See NORENZYAN et al. 2016 for a review.

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Distinct from cultural adaptationism, in CSR we find another account of why moral religious themes became culturally successful. According to cultural epidemiology moral religious themes spread culturally because of processes of cultural attraction.20 In this context, attraction refers to all factors which bias cultural information to converge on certain themes during cultural transmission.21 In the cultural epidemiological literature we find two types of factors of cultural attraction – psychological (cognitive or affective), and ecological (features of the physical or cultural environment, broadly construed).22 Among psychological factors, the most relevant role has been granted to cognitive factors of attraction (e.g., mental modules or other evolved systems in the human mind).23 For instance, it has been postulated that some supernatural beliefs are more cognitively attractive than others due to universal features that the human mind exhibits.24 As another relevant component of this account, cultural epidemiologists grant an essential role to mutually beneficial interactions in the evolution of human cooperation.25 At the same time, they downplay the role of punishment in sustaining cooperation, which distinguishes them from typical cultural adaptationist accounts that perceive this role as substantial. According to Baumard and colleagues (2013), mutually advantageous interactions naturally selected for the genuine sense of fairness in humans. The main function of this evolved moral sense was to enable evaluations of whether the inputs of cooperation with others were proportional to the outputs. Consequently, Baumard and Boyer (2013) proposed that moral religious beliefs which fitted moral intuitions of proportionality or fairness had an advantage in cultural transmission. Specifically, this proposed explanation is in terms of a cultural evolutionary process of attraction, where the congruence of moral religious beliefs with intuitions of fairness was a relevant cognitive factor contributing to the attractiveness of these religious beliefs, making them more likely to be acquired and transmitted.26 This pro20 In the literature, attraction has been characterized as referring to “transformative, non-selective processes in cultural transmission,” ACERBI/MESOUDI 2015, 488. 21 CLAIDIÈRE et al. 2014. 22 SPERBER 1996, 113. 23 Actually, cultural attraction is sometimes conceived primarily in terms of cognitive attraction; see, for instance, ACERBI/MESOUDI 2015; CLAIDIÈRE/SPERBER 2007; HENRICH et al. 2008. Note that cultural epidemiological explanations of cultural phenomena grant a role to the interaction of ecological and psychological factors, SPERBER 1996. 24 SPERBER 2012; BAUMARD/BOYER 2013. 25 According to the mutualistic approach to morality proposed by Baumard, André, and Sperber (2013), human cooperation was largely sustained by partner choice. The basic assumption of this theory is that the partners of cooperative interactions who equally shared with others the benefits that followed from cooperation were preferred and selected over others. By contrast, those partners who cheated or did not share impartially were excluded from cooperation and deprived of the associated benefits. The main argument is that the competition for being chosen by others as partners in cooperative interactions created a selective pressure for the evolution of the genuine moral sense in humans. This evolved moral sense is manifested psychologically as an intrinsic and sincere motivation to be fair. 26 Notably, cultural epidemiologists have been particularly interested in explaining moral religious of the Axial Age (first millennium B.C.E.), and not much earlier religious forms (such as those con-

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posal granting a substantial role to moral intuitions of fairness in explaining the cultural popularity of moral religious themes could thus be characterized as a “moral intuitionist” account of the cultural evolution of moral religions.27 These epidemiological ideas have been supported by some empirical evidence concerning the role of moral intuitions of fairness in folk moral thinking. In particular, Baumard and Chevallier (2012) demonstrated that people tend to invoke immanent justice intuitions when they think of misfortune in terms of punishment for misdeeds and of good fortune as a compensation for good deeds. In a set of experiments, they presented participants with short scenarios in which the main character did something morally bad, good, or neutral and subsequently experienced either a misfortune or good fortune. Participants were then asked if the two events were causally connected. In addition, the researchers measured how much time participants took to respond to this question. It turned out that people slowed down their responding to this question in the “justice condition” where the character was presented as immoral and subsequently something bad happened to him, but not in the “neutral condition” where the character was presented as morally neutral and subsequently something bad happened to him (exactly in line with the researchers’ prediction that intuitions of fairness would be activated in the “justice condition”). However, this effect was not observed in the scenarios where the misfortune/good fortune were not proportionate to the misdeeds/ good deeds (e.g., when the character died after doing something slightly immoral), and when there was no need of restoring justice as the character was performing his normal duty (e.g., when the character was fulfilling his/her typical obligations and experienced some good fortune afterwards). According to Baumard and Chevallier (2012), these results indicated that the participants in the “justice condition” intuitively perceived misfortune/good fortune in terms of compensation for the agents’ moral behavior in the past. These moral intuitions interfered with inferences about causation, and contributed to the fact that it took participants significantly longer to answer the question about causation (ibid., 70). Interestingly, this effect was reported regardless of the explicit beliefs in immanent justice held by the participants. The researchers suggested that immanent justice intuitions are implicitly triggered in some situations due to people’s evolved sense of fairness, as they “cannot help having the sense that ‘what goes around comes around’  ” (ibid., 78). This study has some interesting implications for the research on the cultural evolution of the link between religion and morality. Specifically, Baumard and Chevallier sidered in this study). They explain the cultural popularity of moralizing religious movements in the Axial Age in terms of the interaction between environmental factors (increased level of affluence followed by extended forms of cooperation), and psychological factors (moral intuitions of fairness were more salient in conditions of extended cooperation, and biased the transmission of moral religious themes invoking fairness). See BAUMARD/HYAFIL/MORRIS/BOYER 2015. Because in this study, I examine the cognitive underpinning of earlier ancient moral religious themes, I do not evaluate the environmental factors that are relevant for the Axial Age, focusing instead on more universally appealing cognitive factors. 27 This however, should not be confused with the theory about the dominant role of moral intuitions in moral judgments. HAIDT 2001. In particular, the latter supposes a much broader set of moral intuitions than fairness to be involved in human moral systems. IDEM 2012.

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proposed that the fact that people endorse immanent justice intuitions in their everyday thinking may bias the cultural acquisition and transmission of certain moral religious beliefs. As they say: “the logic of fairness makes beliefs in supernatural justice or punishing gods easier to grasp and more likely to be accepted. When people hear that a misfortune is caused by a misdeed, they are likely to find this idea convincing because it fits with their intuition that the misfortune compensates the misdeed” (ibid., 77). The researchers also suggested the disconnection between moral intuitions and causal inferences that they observed in their research may contribute to a better understanding of why supernatural causal forces involved in administering of supernatural justice tend to be so differently imagined in various cultural traditions (e.g., supernatural punishment of deities, karmic laws, or ancestors), while at the same time the moral content of these beliefs appears to be robust across cultures (ibid., 78). However, as in the case of cultural adaptationism, the historical evidence in support of the cultural epidemiological account has so far been scarce.28 Overall, these two cognitive scientific approaches differ in terms of several basic assumptions concerning the cultural evolution of moral religious themes. The most relevant disagreements between them concern: 1) psychological mechanisms involved in the cultural transmission of moral religious beliefs (fear of supernatural punishment versus moral intuitions of fairness), and 2) the role of moral religious beliefs in largescale cooperation (they precede and contribute to large-scale cooperation versus they follow and do not contribute to the emergence of large-scale cooperation).29 These differences will have implications for the explanation of the cultural spread of moral religious themes in ancient Mesopotamia.

Moral Religious Themes in Ancient Mesopotamia In the introduction I said I would examine cognitive underpinnings of three types of moral religious themes: (1) beliefs in morally interested supernatural agents, (2) beliefs that misfortune is moralistic supernatural punishment of such agents, and (3) theodical beliefs (featuring an individual experiencing misfortune or supernatural punishment, in spite of her piety or righteousness in the past). In this section, I would like to provide some examples of cultural manifestations of these themes in ancient Mesopotamia. The association of supernatural agents with social norms in ancient Mesopotamia goes back at least as far as the early third millennium B.C.E.30 Religious beliefs of ancient Mesopotamia were closely associated with the socio-political circumstances of the time. A characteristic feature of this religion was that many supernatural agents were represented as powerful monarchs – patrons of city-states and caretakers of rele28

See BAUMARD et al. 2015. These differences in particular assumptions of these theories in CSR often follow from some general-level differences of assumptions concerning cultural evolutionary processes (such as attraction versus selection), and the emergence of large-scale cooperation in general. 30 JACOBSEN 1976. 29

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vant social domains such as kingship (Enlil) or justice (Utu/Shamash).31 Representing the gods as rulers conditioned a specific way of thinking about the sources of earthly authority. Namely, gods were believed to delegate kings and judicial institutions to establish and enforce moral norms in their host societies – they were frequently invoked in codes of laws and legal decisions.32 Notably, when people imagined the gods as the city-states’ rulers, they also came to be perceived as present in human affairs and social life. Gods were believed to be interested in various aspects of human activities (including religious and moral conventions), and were imagined as the ultimate source of moral order.33 In particular, they were believed to care about the protection of norms (actions were permitted or banned depending on whether or not they satisfied the gods), and invoked as objective judges or witnesses in human business (i.e. they were appealed to as warrants of oaths and contracts, and were believed to punish treason or false testimonies).34 For instance, Utu/Shamash (the sun god) was popularly imagined as the protector of justice.35 He was an omniscient deity (a sun disc was his symbol) believed to actively scrutinize human social behavior,36 and to punish perjury and violations of oaths.37 Notably, on the part of individual believer, fear was a common and socially expected attitude towards the gods.38 In conclusion, moralistic and interventionist gods were already present in ancient Mesopotamian beliefs in the third millennium B.C.E. As pointed out now, gods in ancient Mesopotamia were believed to punish actions they found displeasing – from negligence of cult activities and various forms of religious disrespect to different kinds of wrongdoings between people.39 Cultural representations of the supernatural in ancient Mesopotamia presumed the existence of a link between misconduct and divine punishment. In general, the belief that norm violations are followed by adversity sent by the supernatural agents may take many different forms in different societies, including suffering during the lifetime or during the afterlife.40 In ancient Mesopotamia we observe in particular the presence of beliefs that adversities experienced by the living corresponded to norm violations that they had committed. Some scholars have argued that already ancient Sumerians believed they should obey gods’ commands or they would call down divine punishment upon themselves.41 This could indicate that beliefs in moralistic supernatural punishment were

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BLACK/GREEN 1992, 76; 182–84; TRIGGER 2003, 439; JACOBSEN 1976, 75–92. VAN DER TOORN 1985, 40–41. 33 Ibid., 39; 41. 34 Ibid., 41. 35 JACOBSEN 1976, 134. 36 BLACK/GREEN 1992, 184. 37 VAN DER TOORN 1985, 19; 44; 49. Already in Sumerian proverbs we find references to normative transgressions that were “abominations to Utu,” see, for instance, ibid., 43–45. 38 VAN DER TOORN 1985, 38. 39 See, e.g., VAN DER TOORN 2003, 61; Šurpu = REINER 1970; Instructions of Shuruppak = ALSTER 2005. 40 E.g., SHARIFF/RHEMTULLA, 2012. 41 See, e.g., LAMBERT 1958, 189. See also OSHIMA 2018 for a more recent analysis of SumeroAkkadian proverbs and instructions. 32

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quite old in ancient Mesopotamia. However, it is a matter of question to what extent such beliefs were real and relevant in people’s everyday lives. Van der Toorn (1985, 82) mentioned just “a few isolated instances of illnesses understood as divinely inflicted retributions,” that provided an explanation of the will of gods and pointed at sin as the cause of disease (some diagnostic omens or the Akkadian Prayer to Gula). On such rare occasions, misfortune was interpreted as an outcome of various normative transgressions such as acts against the gods’ will and desires (e.g., failure in ritual performance, lack of gifts to the gods), sexual delicts (e.g., adultery, incest), robbery, or strangulation (ibid., 79).42 Perhaps with some degree of certainty, it could be stated that beliefs in earthly misfortune as punishment of the gods became culturally widespread ideas in the second millennium B.C.E. – maybe around the time of Hammurabi.43 During that period and afterwards, the patron-god of Babylon, Marduk, was a popular addressee of Akkadian prayers.44 In these religious texts believers typically recognized misfortune that they experienced as sent by Marduk in response to some normative violation(s) they had committed.45 For instance, the ancient book of incantations, Šurpu, contains a long list of sins which are followed by punishment from the gods (Marduk is explicitly mentioned many times). The text describes different types of normative violations (I propose a classification in terms of different moral domains46 in parentheses): food taboos, ritual omissions, worship negligence, and purity violations (sanctity domain); speaking badly against the gods, and displeasing the gods (authority and sanctity domains); oppressing those who are weak (care domain); feeling contempt or hatred towards one’s father or elder brother (authority domain); lying, gossiping, stealing, violations against what is right, and being wicked (fairness domain); adultery and spilling blood in the neighborhood (harm and loyalty domains); witchcraft (harm and sanctity domains).47 Another recurrent moral religious motif in ancient Mesopotamian literature is the one of undeserved divine punishment.48 For instance, ancient Mesopotamians believed that gods could bring harm upon people’s heads when they were fighting between themselves, without people giving them any reason to do so.49 The ancient myth of the flood preserved in the Atra-hasis Epic is quite instructive on this theme. It explains the 42 The diagnostic medical texts of Akkadians sometimes mentioned disease as associated with divine punishment. However, the reasons and causes of supernatural interventions remained largely obscure or unexplained. See, VAN DER TOORN 1985, 79. In addition, diseases were often believed to be caused by impersonal forces, see Feder this volume, pp. 253–65. 43 NORENZYAN et al. 2016, 9. 44 In the late second millennium B.C.E., Marduk was ultimately granted the status of national panMesopotamian deity. See, e.g., OSHIMA 2009. 45 Cf. OSHIMA 2014, 66–69. 46 HAIDT 2012. 47 For the full list of sins see Šurpu Tablet II, REINER 1970, 13–18. We have to remember, though, that the category of what “displeases the god(s)” in ancient Mesopotamia was broad and rather open (hence the popularity of the idea of the “unknown sin” as an explanation of the experienced misfortune: see, e.g., VAN DER TOORN 1985, 97; OSHIMA 2014). 48 See, recently, OSHIMA 2014. 49 TRIGGER, 2003, 438 after POSTGATE 1992, 263–69.

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flood in terms of the main deity’s, i.e. Enlil’s, anger caused by people making too much noise on earth and making his sleep difficult. In particular, the myth explains that humans were created by the gods as a labor force (e.g., to provide them with food). Nonetheless, when the population of humans expanded, they became too noisy and disturbed gods’ peace. For Enlil this was enough of a reason to completely destroy them.50 What seems clear is that the huge misfortune – the flood – sent by the gods was not associated with any real norm violation committed by people. If this was a punishment, then it was rather for simply displeasing the gods than for a particular moral misdeed. Quite similarly, in the late-third-millennium Lamentation over the City of Ur, the gods decide that the city should be destroyed according to destiny, and do not provide any strong reason for such a decision.51 The theme of undeserved punishment is also vivid in later ancient Babylonian wisdom literature such as the Poem of the Righteous Sufferer (also known as Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi) or the so-called Babylonian Theodicy. For example, in the Babylonian Theodicy, the protagonist (also known as the “pious sufferer”) laments upon the plight (i.e. lack of prosperity) he has experienced despite the fact that he worshipped the gods and did not commit any sins against them.52 The philosophical message of the text is that gods’ verdicts are inscrutable – man cannot really understand what is right and wrong according to the gods as their senses of justice differ.53 This overview points at the presence and popularity of theodical motives in the religious texts of ancient Mesopotamia.

Cognitive Scientific Approaches to Moral Religious Themes in Ancient Mesopotamia In this part of the chapter I will apply the above presented cognitive scientific approaches to account for the cultural popularity of moral religious themes in ancient Mesopotamia. First, I will present two possible explanations of the cultural spread of beliefs in morally interested supernatural agents who punish with adversities. Because these moral religious themes are closely related, and both have been extensively studied in the CSR literature, I will examine them jointly. Second, I will propose a development of these accounts – a cognitive scientific approach to theodical beliefs. In this section I will apply two cognitive scientific approaches to the popular types of moral religious beliefs in ancient Mesopotamia as represented by their key scholars – on the part of cultural epidemiology, Pascal Boyer and Nicolas Baumard; on the part of cultural adaptationism, Ara Norenzayan and his colleagues. I will start with a detailed account of the cultural epidemiological approach, and subsequently I will contrast it with the cultural adaptationist account. 50

See JACOBSEN 1976, 116–21. KRAMER 1940. 52 Similarly, the Poem of the Righteous Sufferer tells the story of a man who experiences different kinds of misfortune (incl. being abandoned by family and friends, severe physical illness), although he was pious and did not commit sins against the gods. See OSHIMA 2014 for a comprehensive analysis. 53 OSHIMA 2015. 51

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Cultural Epidemiological Approach According to Pascal Boyer (2001), the link between supernatural agents and moral norms is a recurrent feature of many religions. As pointed out above, ancient Mesopotamian religion is no exception to this rule. Boyer points at a few factors which account for the cultural popularity of themes featuring gods and spirits associated with moral norms: (1) supernatural agents are implicitly represented as having access to socially strategic information; (2) they are intuitively processed as connected with people’s moral evaluations and emotions; (3) they are easily associated with people’s mental systems for social interactions; (4) they are cognitively relevant.54 The first step of this complex explanation deals with the question of why supernatural agents are granted knowledge about moral aspects of situations such as people’s moral judgments and feelings. The hypothesis proposed by Boyer is in terms of socially strategic information. According to Boyer various inputs from the environment activate different evolved mental inference systems. Among others, there is a specific type of information that activates our social mind (a set of mental systems aimed at organizing interactions between humans). All such information can be called “strategic” due to the high importance of social interactions to our species’ survival.55 The information about the moral aspects of the situation is strategic in this very sense. Importantly, according to Boyer (2001, 154) people do not only represent strategic information but also the extent to which other agents have access to it. Supernatural agents, unlike people, are constructed as having perfect knowledge about what happens in the world (they violate a natural assumption of folk psychology about human agents in that their knowledge is unlimited). As a result, supernatural agents are by default thought to have access to all the strategic information that matters to people, including information about moral behaviors of members of the group and other relevant moral aspects of the situation. This issue becomes clearer when another element of the story told by Boyer is considered – the “moral realism hypothesis”.56 This hypothesis states that people relate their subjective moral evaluations to certain objective facts about reality (people intuitively believe that these evaluations do not only state their personal opinions and feelings but some real facts about the world). Because moral aspects of the situation are perceived to be strategic, supernatural agents are naturally granted full access to these “moral facts.” As Boyer (2001, 189) explains “we intuitively assume that if an agent has full access to all the relevant information about the situation, that agent will immediately have access to the rightness or wrongness of the behavior.” Notably, moral realism is only one of several psychological explanations provided by cultural epidemiologists of why gods and spirits are granted moral knowledge in different cultural traditions. Elsewhere, Boyer (2003) points at empathy as another 54

The more inferences for less cognitive effort that cultural representations produce, the more cognitively relevant they can be considered, see BOYER 2000, 210. 55 As Boyer (2001, 152) defines it: “Strategic information is the subset of all the information currently available (to a particular agent, about a particular situation) that activates the mental systems that regulate social interaction.” 56 BOYER 2001.

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relevant mechanism in mediating the connection between supernatural agents and people’s moral judgments. In particular, he makes a suggestion that supernatural agents are represented as having access to personal moral judgments and feelings, because people find it easier to think of these evaluations as following from another agent’s will. As the argument goes, this is possible due to an intuitive assumption that “gods and ancestors empathise with one’s own moral intuitions.”57 In addition, Boyer and Bergstrom (2008, 120) speculate that people involve supernatural agents in thinking about how their behaviors would be morally judged by others. Finally, Boyer (2000, 209) suggests that moral feelings and full-access strategic agents naturally connect in people’s thinking, because they activate the same cognitive inference systems that are responsible for organizing cooperation and interactions with others. Another part of the explanation concerns the question of why supernatural agents which have interest in and knowledge about moral aspects of the situation are typically depicted as related to misfortune. Boyer refers to a social exchange module for social interactions as relevant in the explanation of this association.58 In particular, he proposes that people automatically interpret salient events that happen in their lives (e.g., adversities) as caused by the activity of other social agents (a pattern that characterizes “an intuitive ‘logic of social exchange’  ”59). Incorporating supernatural agents into the picture seems cognitively cheap and intuitively natural, providing they are already tacitly represented as knowledgeable about and involved in people’s social interactions.60 It is noteworthy that this explanation of the cross-cultural popularity of beliefs in supernaturally caused misfortune by reference to a social exchange module (which processes information in terms of proportionality) has been supported by some more recent developments. In particular, Baumard and Boyer (2013a) proposed a dual-process model to understand the cross-cultural recurrence of certain religious themes. According to this model, religious ideas should be considered in terms of explicit reflective beliefs that can fit or contradict our natural intuitions, and provide elaborations or comments to these intuitions.61 Specifically, moral religious beliefs are attractive because they: (1) fit 57

BOYER 2003, 120. Apparently, such a module generates evaluations directly associated with the moral domain of fairness – it calculates invested and obtained goods in social interactions (BOYER 2003, 122; IDEM 2001, 200–201). Thus this approach is compatible with the more recent development which grants a significant role in the cultural transmission of moral religious beliefs to moral intuitions of fairness. BAUMARD/BOYER 2013; BAUMARD/CHEVALLIER 2012. 59 BOYER 2003, 122. 60 IDEM 2001, 201. As a consequence of this intuitive association between supernatural agents and misfortune (or good fortune) gods and spirits are also intuitively represented as very powerful (i.e., they are agents who have the power of bringing about calamities or salvation. Ibid., 172, 195, and 202. 61 In cognitive science, intuitive beliefs are frequently understood as outcomes of evolved cognitive systems that provide common-sense information about the world and guide people’s actions, SPERBER 1996, 89; SPERBER/HIRSCHFELD 2004. A distinctive feature of intuitive beliefs is that “in order to hold them as beliefs, we need not reflect – or even be capable of reflecting – on the way we arrived at them or the specific justification we may have for holding them,” SPERBER 1997, 68. Reflective beliefs are psychologically distinct in that they must be embedded in a validating context 58

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moral intuitions of proportionality/fairness; (2) serve to rationalize these moral intuitions. In the first case, reflective religious beliefs are more salient if they are congruent with intuitive moral beliefs and emotions (the outputs of evolved domain-specific systems). In the second case, they are relevant as far as they provide reasons for those feelings and intuitive convictions of people that would otherwise seem mysterious (such as the desire to be punished on the part of a perpetrator of a crime). How does this dual processing work in practice? One of the examples that the researchers provide is an intuitive belief (an output of an evolved mental module for moral thinking) that “tort requires compensation.”62 Now we can imagine a reflective religious belief, “penance could counterbalance sin.”63 Baumard and Boyer argue that this belief: (1) fits the intuitive moral belief that tort has to be compensated, and (2) provides an explicit elaboration of this intuition. In total, the argument goes, these two factors account for why religious beliefs concerning penance have a high chance of becoming culturally successful. This dual-process view on religious ideas and their connection with intuitive principles of moral thinking has straightforward applications to the explanation of the cultural spread of the moralistic religious theme of supernatural punishment and misfortune in ancient Mesopotamia. Because the cultural epidemiologists assume that “proportionality governs many moral intuitions,”64 all culturally recurrent moral religious themes that are based on this principle should be likely to spread culturally. Beliefs that misfortune follows from a previous sin in the past could follow from the fact that “people readily interpret misfortune as a sanction of a misdeed, especially when the former is proportional to the latter.”65 There is another aspect to this story in addition to moral religious beliefs being congruent with moral intuitions of fairness. In line with the dual-process view presented above, religious ideas are explicit beliefs that explain/interpret/justify/elaborate/ comment on previously given intuitions.66 Consistently with this overall view, religious moralizing doctrines contain “explicit redescription, and often a rational justification, of our common moral intuitions.”67 I think this could be rephrased as a claim that religious reflective beliefs may overlap with our moral intuitions in terms of content, as well as extend this content. For example, a belief that God punishes those who commits misdeeds could be a reflective redescription of a common fairness-based intuition that norm violators should be punished. On the other hand, reflective religious beliefs provide justifications for already present intuitive beliefs. For instance, while it makes evolutionary sense that people intuitively believe that norm violators

of other beliefs, SPERBER 1996, 89. As pointed out by Sperber (ibid.), “these beliefs are reflective in the sense that they are believed in virtue of second-order beliefs about them.” For instance, a belief that the Holy Spirit is one of three persons of the Holy Trinity is not self-evident and needs to be warranted (for example, it could be validated by a second belief that a source of the first belief – e.g., a priest in a church, or the Holy Bible – is trustworthy; cf. SPERBER 1997, 75–76). 62 BAUMARD/BOYER 2013a, 298. 63 Ibid. 64 BAUMARD/BOYER 2013, 273. 65 Ibid., 273. 66 BAUMARD/BOYER 2013a. 67 IDEM 2013, 276.

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should be punished, they may find it difficult to rationalize such a belief to themselves at the conscious level (e.g., they could keep asking themselves “why do I believe that?” or “what sense does it make?”). An idea of a deity who instilled morality into humans and wants interactions between them to be built on fairness could provide a rational justification to this type of intuitive belief. Therefore, the fact that moral religious doctrines propose justification or explanation of pre-existing moral intuitions is another reason why such doctrines spread culturally. In sum, according to cultural epidemiology, moral religions became culturally popular, because they fitted moral intuitions and helped to justify them.68 The role of moral intuitions of fairness in interpreting events of misfortune in terms of just deserts has indeed been supported by some empirical findings.69 Finally, Boyer (2000) proposed that supernatural agents tend to be represented as associated with moral norms because they are more cognitively relevant this way, i.e. they provide more inferences for less cognitive effort (ibid., 210). The core idea of cognitive relevance is that the more mental systems a cultural representation triggers, and the more inferences it can produce, the more likely it will be culturally transmitted.70 In other words, people can do more, in terms of the production of relevant inferences, with supernatural agents associated with morality than with supernatural agents that are not associated with moral norms. Therefore, religious moral themes are more likely to spread in a given cultural tradition. Notably, the cultural epidemiological explanation of the cultural spread of moral religions is largely in terms of how they link with typical moral thinking. Cultural Adaptationism Cultural adaptationists – Ara Norenzayan and his colleagues – adopt many elements of the above presented epidemiological account of the cultural success of beliefs in morally involved supernatural agents who punish norm violators with misfortune (e.g., that such agents are intuitively represented as having access to socially strategic information and are more cognitively relevant).71 However, they also assume that moral religions harnessed psychological systems for normative thinking and behavior in special ways, and that this had an impact on the cultural spread of these religions. In particular, they argue that prosocial religions with moralistic Big Gods effectively

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It is worth mentioning that according to cultural epidemiologists, moral intuitions are relevant not only for explaining the cultural evolution of moral religions, but for all human cooperation. As Baumard and Boyer (2013, 275–76) suggest, “evolved moral intuitions are sufficient to nudge humans towards cooperative behaviors, which do not require moral doctrines and explicit principles.” Contrary to cultural adaptationists, cultural epidemiologists assume that reflective religious beliefs (such as beliefs in Big Gods) play no significant role in large-scale cooperation. For instance, they say: “adherence to particular beliefs only marginally affects prosocial behaviors” (ibid., 276). 69 BAUMARD/CHEVALLIER, 2012. 70 See also SPERBER/HIRSCHFELD 2004, 45; BOYER 2003; IDEM 2001, 164. 71 For example, Norenzayan (2013, 28; 130) refers to Boyer’s idea that Gods are tacitly constructed as having access to socially strategic moral information, and the idea of cognitive relevance as applied to supernaturally incurred misfortune (ibid., 108).

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triggered supernatural monitoring and punishment mechanisms, which causally contributed to the emergence of large-scale cooperation in early human groups.72 The proposed explanation in terms of psychological mechanisms is complex and consists of a supernatural monitoring hypothesis – that people generally behave more cooperatively when they feel they are being watched by other agents – and a supernatural punishment hypothesis – that people are particularly more cooperative when they believe they are being watched by morally interested agents who can punish them.73 Another important element of this theory is that the level of within-group cooperation enhanced by beliefs in Big Gods facilitated groups’ success in competition with other groups, causing moral religious beliefs to spread culturally (the cultural group selection hypothesis). In other words, cultural adaptationists argue that there was a process of cultural selection of moral religious beliefs due to their functional role in enhancing cooperation in competing human groups. In sum, the link of moral religious beliefs with both normative thinking and normative behavior plays a significant role in the explanation of the cultural success of these religions. Importantly for the present inquiry, this functionalist explanation has been applied to account for the cultural expansion of many historical instances of prosocial religions from different eras and places, including ancient Mesopotamian religion. For instance, Norenzayan and his colleagues (2016, 9) write: “Hammurabi’s code, a Babylonian text from around 1772 B.C.E., is a well-preserved document of a divinely inspired moral system, capitalizing on fear of Marduk [emphasis added], patron god of Babylon, and the powers of Shamash, god of justice: ‘When (my god) Marduk had given me the mission to keep my people in order and make my country take the right road, I installed in this country justice and fairness in order to bring well-being to my people’ (BOTTÉRO 2001, 168).”74

According to this account, moral religious beliefs in ancient Babylonia culturally spread, because they activated supernatural punishment mechanism, which in turn had an impact on the emergence and stability of large-scale cooperation in this social group. There is another possible application of this theory to enrich our understanding of cultural and social dynamics in ancient Mesopotamia. Above it was pointed out that moralistic and interventionist gods were already present in the ancient Mesopotamian theological worldview in the third millennium B.C.E. This observation seems particularly interesting, if we are aware of the socio-political circumstances of the time, which involved the scaling-up of social groups and warfare between individual city-

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By contrast, according to cultural epidemiological accounts, large-scale cooperation preceded the rise of moral religions such that moral intuitions of fairness became more salient in populations with established norms of cooperation. In turn, moral religious beliefs congruent with these intuitions enjoyed an advantage in cultural transmission. BAUMARD/HYAFIL/MORRIS/BOYER 2015. 73 SHARIFF/NORENZAYAN 2007; NORENZAYAN/HENRICH/SLINGERLAND 2013, 369; 373. SHARIFF/NORENZAYAN 2011. Interestingly, this explanation entails the co-occurrence of two psychological factors: intuitive perception of being watched, and fear of punishment by supernatural agents who are explicitly believed to be morally interested and punitive. 74 For similar fragments about ancient Mesopotamian religion see also NORENZAYAN 2015, 334; IDEM 2016, 854.

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states.75 This appears to fit well with the cultural group selection hypothesis, which predicts that Big Gods should be culturally successful in exactly these conditions of intergroup competition and conflict. Noteworthy, another important prediction of the theory is that Big Gods should be culturally represented as administering punishment for normative violations and moral misdeeds of believers (a consequence of the assumption that supernatural punishment is crucial for sustaining cooperation among anonymous strangers). However, fear of supernatural punishment can be effectively evoked among believers when the link between normative violations and supernatural punitive agents is explicitly established in the cultural representations of the society. In particular, misfortune should be commonly interpreted in terms of punishment of supernatural agents in response to human misdeeds, if we expect such beliefs to have positive effects on in-group cooperation.76 As pointed out above, beliefs that misfortune is supernatural retribution for sins was present quite early in ancient Mesopotamian religion. However, many known examples of ancient beliefs in misfortune as supernatural retribution did not necessarily involve concepts of punitive supernatural agents, but were rather based on the idea of impersonal and automatic cosmic justice.77 This raises questions about whether the popularity of beliefs that the adversities one experiences correspond to the normative violations one has committed could be accounted for in terms of their group-beneficial functions.78 Theodical Beliefs Above I have applied cognitive scientific approaches to the cultural spread of two types of popular beliefs in ancient Mesopotamia – beliefs in morally interested supernatural agents and beliefs in misfortune as supernatural punishment. In this section, I will provide a cognitive scientific account of theodical beliefs. Theodicy is typically characterized as the theistic attempt to reconcile the existence of evil or suffering in the world with the presence of a morally just supernatural creator(s). In modern times, it often takes a form of elaborate theological or philosophical argument, but it also characterizes everyday human thinking (e.g., when a person experiences misfortune although she followed all the normative commands of her religion – the case which well resemblances the biblical story of Job). As indicated above, the basic motive of theodicy – a pious or righteous individual lamenting over misfortune and trying to reconcile it with divine justice – already appears in the wisdom literature of ancient 75

LEICK 2003, 24; JACOBSEN 1943. According to the supernatural punishment hypothesis, belief in only some types of morally interested and interventionist supernatural agents can efficiently enhance cooperation – namely “punishing,” “wrathful,” or “mean” gods, NORENZAYAN 2013, 44–47; SHARIFF/NORENZAYAN 2011, 86; 95. As pointed out by Norenzayan (2013, 45), “apparently, a punishing God keeps people in line. A kind and forgiving God, arguably, may have the opposite effect – it might encourage moral licensing to behave badly. (After all, why resist temptation if one would be forgiven by the kind and compassionate Almighty?).” 77 See Feder this volume, pp. 253–65. 78 But see NORENZAYAN et al. 2016 (target article with authors’ response) for a more recent discussion concerning broadening the understanding of Big Gods. 76

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Mesopotamia such as the Babylonian Theodicy or the Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, as well as some mythical narratives.79 The cognitive science of religion is predominantly interested in explaining folk religious beliefs, typically in terms of underlying unconscious or intuitive mental processes. A popular view situates theological beliefs outside of folk religion – in slow and deliberate reflective reasoning. Unsurprisingly, there is not much research in this field on the cognitive underpinnings of explicit theological beliefs.80 In order to provide a cognitive scientific account of the cultural popularity of theodicy I will build upon two lines of research in the CSR literature: (1) the dual-process model of religious thinking (already introduced above),81 and (2) the cognitive approach to natural theological beliefs.82 On the one hand, the dual-process approach to religious beliefs acknowledges that normal intuitions underpin religious thoughts and behaviors. However, it also points out that religious beliefs tend to elaborate and comment on, or justify these intuitions (they constitute “a posteriori reflection on pre-existing intuitions”83). In a similar vein, de Cruz and de Smedt (2014) argue that natural theological beliefs and reasoning (e.g., belief in divine omniscience, the cosmological argument, the argument from design), although abstract and sophisticated, are often fuelled by natural cognitive intuitions.84 In this dynamic view natural theological thinking involves intuitive, reflective, and specific cultural components. Building on these two lines of research, it could be proposed that theodical beliefs constitute a type of natural theological beliefs composed of intuitive and reflective components. In the first group we could distinguish two main components: the intuitive processing of misfortune in terms of a social exchange system, and intuitions about immanent justice. In the second group we could place theodical reasoning which would provide comments on or explanations of these intuitions. Let me now explain in more detail how this dynamic model could account for the emergence and maintenance of theodical beliefs. First, due to the social exchange module people could intuitively associate negative events with the activity of supernatural agents – they might find it natural to believe that “God(s) punish for sins with misfortune.”85 However, sometimes they may not be able to associate the occurred misfortune – intuitively represented as resulting from actions of supernatural agent(s) – with committed normative violations in the past. After more or less deep self-examination, they might actually come to the conclusion they did not commit any sin.86 In turn, such experiences could trigger the evolved sense of fairness to produce an intuitive belief that the suffered adversity is not proportionate to the committed deeds – an intuitive belief that

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See Krüger’s contribution in this volume, pp. 182–88. With some exceptions: DE CRUZ/DE SMEDT 2014; DE SMEDT/DE CRUZ 2011; DE CRUZ 2014. 81 BAUMARD/BOYER 2013a. 82 DE CRUZ/DE SMEDT 2014. 83 BAUMARD/BOYER 2013, 276. 84 Natural theology is a domain of theology which acquires knowledge of God through reasoning and observation of the world. 85 BOYER 2001. 86 PROCHOWNIK 2017. 80

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God(s) did not respond rightly.87 Subsequently, this tension experienced at the level of intuitive beliefs could fuel reflective reasoning aimed at reconciliation of the representation of the divine (involving justice) with the experience of misfortune (involving injustice).88 Indeed, according to some ancient Mesopotamian theodical explanations, people are not able to comprehend what is righteous to the gods, or attribute adversity to some unknown sin committed in the past.89 Overall, according to this proposed dual-process approach, the cognitive underpinnings of theodical beliefs consist of both intuitive and reflective components. Note that this account is epidemiological in character – it proposes an explanation in terms of cognitive factors of attraction with a crucial role assigned to intuitive beliefs generated by modular systems for normative thinking and social interactions. This proposal is thus irrelevant to the functional effects of such moral religious beliefs on large-scale cooperation. Nonetheless, there are reasons to believe that the cultural adaptationist explanation in terms of cultural selection for prosocial behavioral effects is less plausible. In particular, the supernatural punishment account assumes that moral religious beliefs are propagated culturally if they have adaptive consequences for social groups. However, unlike beliefs in morally interested punitive gods, the potential effects of theodical beliefs on cooperative behavior are difficult to predict. For instance, the theodical belief that gods’ standards of justice are different from humans’ sense of justice, which was present in ancient Mesopotamian theology, could drive both cooperative behavior (because it could motivate believers to be extra careful in their actions) and non-cooperative behavior (because belief that supernatural punishment did not depend on compliance with social norms could be demotivating for believers who were good cooperators).90 In sum, the cultural epidemiological approach seems to provide a more fruitful framework for understanding why such beliefs culturally propagated in ancient Mesopotamia.

Conclusions In the chapter I have proposed a cognitive scientific account of three types of moral religious themes popular in ancient Mesopotamia – beliefs in morally interested supernatural agents, beliefs that such agents punish with misfortune, and theodical beliefs. I based my inquiry into the cognitive underpinnings of such concepts, and their routes of cultural transmission, on the comparative analysis of two influential approaches to the link between religion and morality in the cognitive science of religion,

87

BAUMARD/CHEVALLIER 2012; BAUMARD/BOYER 2013a. PROCHOWNIK 2017. 89 PROCHOWNIK 2017; OSHIMA 2014; IDEM 2015. See also Krüger’s contribution in this volume, pp. 182–88. 90 For instance, if people believed that they could commit a sin towards gods unbeknownst to their best intentions or efforts, this could weaken the assumed connection between normative behavior and subsequent divine punishment/reward that is so crucial for cooperation under the assumptions of the “Big Gods Theory.” 88

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namely cultural epidemiology and cultural adaptationism. I demonstrated how the cultural evolution of moral religious themes in ancient Mesopotamia could be accounted for in terms of the moral intuitionist account favored by cultural epidemiologists, or the supernatural punishment account preferred by cultural adaptationists. The conducted analysis suggests that both these accounts can be applied to and provide competitive explanations of the cultural success of beliefs in morally interested supernatural agents who punish norm violators with misfortune. Both of them explain such beliefs in terms of psychological and cultural evolutionary processes – either in terms of cultural attraction and congruence with moral intuitions, or in terms of cultural group selection and supernatural punishment/monitoring. However, I suggested that cultural epidemiology is the potentially more fruitful account of the cultural propagation of theodical beliefs. I proposed a development of the cultural epidemiological account such that evolved mental systems for social interactions (the social exchange system and sense of justice), and a capacity for reflective reasoning might jointly contribute to the cultural attractiveness of theodical themes in ancient Mesopotamia and other cultural traditions. The conducted inquiry suggests that cognitive scientific approaches can contribute to a better understanding of the cultural and social dynamics of historical religions, such as in ancient Mesopotamia. However, the challenge for future research is a more rigorous testing of the adequacy of these two theories in the context of particular historical religions.

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Index of Cited and Quoted Ancient Texts Aramaic Ahiqar – 92 – 93

105 109

Armenian Ahiqar – A 74 – B 74

96 96

Egyptian Amenemope – 2.4–7 –4 – 4.12–13 –6 – 6–10 – 7.11–15 – 9.5–8 – 10.10–11 – 10.21–11.3 – 14.5–10 – 16.11–14 – 17.5 – 21 – 26.8–14 – XX 3–6 CT VI 278d Inschr. des Ichechi, §156 Khakheperreseneb r. 2–4 Khasheshonqy – 13/16 – 13/17, 18 Klage des Bauern – 9. Klage – B1 307–11 – B2 72–76 Man to his Son 19 Merikare – 32–33 – 53–57 – 123 – 127–28

155 33 157 33 155 155 154 154 154 159 154 154 98 154 32 23 23 14 96 95–96 23 26 26 98 4 27 25 26

oKairo 12217 rto. 32 pBerlin 3024 25 pChester Beatty – IV vs. 2.5–3–11 5 – IV vs. 6.7 27 pInsinger –6 11 – 35.4–6 179 – 5.5–11 178 – 7.13–19 178–79 Ptahhotep 21 – 30–32 12 – 46–50 – 84–98 23 – 298–315 22 – 316–23 22 – 512–17 21 – 534–54 30 – 575–87 21 – 588–92 21 Sargtextspruch 1130 176–78 Stele London BM 142 31 Stele London UC 14333 26 Tale of the Two Bothers 10:3–4 99 Totenbuch, Kap. 125 28 Mesopotamian A 2826 II 22–23 Babylonian Theodicy – 17 – 18 – 21–22 – 31–32 – 39–41 – 45–55 – 47 – 50–51 – 59–66 – 70–77 – 82 – 82–83 – 82–87 – 133–43

114 206 189 185, 189 128 185, 210 208 128 128 208 185, 203 125, 206 185 210 204

290

Index of Ancient Texts

– 135–36 259 – 135–42 186 – 185–86 128 – 212–14 207 – 215 206 – 219–20 210 – 235–39 208 – 235–42 210 – 236 206 – 255 207 – 256–57 185, 206–208 – 265–66 125, 129 – 265–75 204 – 268 156 – 272 156 – 274 156 – 276–77 125 – 276–86 209 – 277–86 186 – 281–82 206 – 295–97 186 Bilingual Proverbs from Ugarit 32´–37´ 156 BM 121006+ 127889 VI 6–11 240 BM 66882+ – 16 126 – obv 3 125 – rev 9´ 125 – rev 13´ 124 CDLI P357081 50 Counsels of Pessimist 11–13 197 Counsels of Wisdom – 1–5 201 – 4–5 62 – 7–10 63 – 19–20 67 – 26 65 – 28 65 – 36–38 65 – 42–44 65 – 47–49 67 – 59–64 67 – 65 66 – 72–75 66 64 – 81–92 197 – 125–37 – 127 65 – 135–38 66 – 139–41 67 – 143–47 68 – 152 66

– 163–64 – 164 – 165–66 Donkey rev 12´–13´ Erra Epic – IV 52–59 – IV 75–86 Fable of the Fox I 77 61 Gilgameš Epic – I, 1–2 – I, 6 Instructions of Šuruppak – 1–6 – 32 – 57–58 – 59 – 133´–46´ – 134–38 – 140–42 – 103–108 K 3476 29 K 9876+ 12–13 K 9876+19534 7 K 13770 K 1870 K 1356 207–209 K 13770, 3 K 19551 3´ KAR 102+ obv 21´ KBo 12.128 LH 7–10 LH 32–44 LH 153 LH 215–18 LH 3144–48 LH 3169–70 LH 3217–21 LH 3240–48 LH 3296–311 LH 3636–41 Lipšur Litanies – 81–84 – 91–95 List of Kings and Sages I 14 Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi – I 1–2 – I 17–18 – I 23–24 – II 4–9 – II 12–16 – II 12–22

66 67 64 128 247 107

10 9 152 201 156 201 202 200 195 200 242 240 240 61 50 240 63 129 126 44 219 227 219 219 227 219 227 228 228 228 195 195 48 184 184 184 183 258 183

291

Index of Ancient Texts – II 23–32 – II 33–38 – IV j Malku IV 194–98 Man and his God – 48–49 – 55–57 – 61–63 Palm and Vine – 13´–14´ – 31´ SAA 7, no. 46 SAA 7, no. 49 Series of Sidu I 8´ Series of the Fox – §H 7´ – §Z obv 13–14 Series of the Poplar II 19´ Series of the Spider 26–27 Šimâ milka 1–4 Sumerian Proverb Collections SP 1, 1.1–1.2 SP 2.94 SP 3.14 SP 5.6 SP 5B.71 SP 17 Sec. B 2 SP 17, B 2//266 SP 22 vi 38–48 SP 26 Sec. A 12 Šurpu – II 5–6 – II 33–36 – II 47–49 The Taming of the Shrew V ii Ur-Ninurta 19–37 VAB 4 no. 29 5–6 VAT 13834+14038 16´ Ugarit Kirta VI 45–50 KTU 1.14–16 KTU 1.15 – i 5–7 – ii 21–28 – iii 13–14 KTU 1.16 – iii 1–11 – iv 1–2 – vi 43–52 – vi 52–54

183 183 157 126 187 188 188 128 128 53 50 50 128 128 128 129 46 190 108 114 114 199 203 209 209 196 195, 257 195, 257 195, 257 108 196 241 245

156–57 71–78 77 76–77 73 76 77 75 75

KTU 1.17 – i 25–33 – v 37–39 – vi 26–33 – vi 34–39 – vi 41–45 KTU 1.17–19 KTU 1.18 iv 9–10 KTU 1.19 – i 38–42 – ii 12–25 – ii 56–iii 6

80 78 80 81 83 71, 78–84 83 78 79 79

Classical Antiquity Aesop, 76 108 Aesop, 181 116 Aristotle Poet. 6 235 Heraclitus, Fragm. 35 9 Heraclitus, Fragm. 40 10 Heraclitus, Fragm. 50 11 Heraclitus, Fragm. 78 12 Herodotus, Histories II 134 118 Homer, Batrachomyomachia 240 130 Homer, Iliad XVIII 104 130 Homer, Odyssey – IX 305 130 – XI 577 130 Macrobius, Somnium Scipionis, I 1:10 120 Plato, Apol. 20d 12 Plato Hipp. Major 289b 13 Plato, Lysis 218a 15 Plato, Phaedon 61b 118 Plato, Rep. – 360c 255 – 475b 9 Plato, Symp. 204 14 Plutarch, Morals 117 Seneca, Über den Zorn, 2.10.6 20 Tatian, Discouse to the Greeks, §34 120 Tertullian, Apologeticus pro Christianis, Kap. 18 20 Hebrew Bible 1 Chr 2:55 1 Kings 4:3 1 Sam 24:13 1 Sam 25:20

3 3 138 106

292 2 Kings 22:3 2 Sam 20:25 Amos 5:19 Deut 27:18 Deut 32:7 Deut 32:7 Deut 32:39b Eccl 1, 14a Eccl 3:1 Eccl 7:6 Eccl 7:23 Exod 36:1 Ez 14:14 Ez 14:20 Ez 28:3 Ezra 4:7 Ezra 6:3 Gen 24:10 Gen 45:17 Hos 7:15 Hos 10:6b Isa 5:21 Isa 11:1–5 Isa 13:13 Isa 47:11 Isa 59:4 Jer 23:31 Jer 26:24 Jer 36:11–12 Jer 36:20–21 Jer 40:9 Job 1:1–21 Job 4:3 Job 5:6–7 Job 5:17 Job 6:1 Job 6:5–6 Job 7:6 Job 8:8 Job 8:8–10 Job 8:8–12 Job 9:16–10:5 Job 9:20–24 Job 11 Job 11:7–9 Job 11:12 Job 12:2–25 Job 12:3 Job 13:5 Job 13:12 Job 15:10

Index of Ancient Texts 3 3 107 146 144 151 141 9 11 145 12 7 84 84 84 112 109 159 112 141 113 12 9 158 145 142 146 3 3 3 3 167 141 141–42 140 141 142–43 143 144 150–54, 158 142–43 158 150 146 209 142 144–45 144 166 166 151–52

Job 15:34 Job 17–19 Job 18:5–6 Job 19 Job 20:4–5 Job 20:10 Job 21:17–18 Job 20:18–21 Job 21:6–34 Job 22:6–9 Job 28:3 Job 32:7–22 Job 32:12 Job 33:12 Job 36:26–37:24 Job 37:14 Job 38:1–39:30 Job 40:4 Job 40:6–41:26 Job 41:7 Job 42:12–17 Job 42:2–3 Job 42:5 Job 42:6 I Kings 3:28 Lam 1:12 Lam 2:1 Lam 2:21–22 Mic 1:8 Prov 3:11 Prov 3:11–12 Prov 8 Prov 8:17 Prov 10:5 Prov 12:1 Prov 13:14 Prov 13:9 Prov 18:10 Prov 21:12 Prov 22:17–24:22 Prov 24:2 Prov 24:6b Prov 25:1 Prov 26:12 Ps 1:4 Ps 7:15 Ps 10:9 Ps 13:4–5 Ps 15:3 Ps 17:12 Ps 19:15

142 151–52 139 155 151–52 155, 158 139 159–60 152 157 146 170 169 170 170 170 167 166 167 146 167 166 165 165 9 158 158 158 146 140 140 11 14 11 12 8 139 146 146 153 143 4 4 12 140 142 106–107 170 110 107 143

293

Index of Ancient Texts Ps 22:3 Ps 35:5 Ps 49:4 Ps 64:7 Ps 73 Ps 94:12 Ps 107:40a Ps 110:5

170 140 143 10 168–69 140 146 158

Sirach 4:20 Sirach 6:23–25 Sirach 18:29 Sirach 36:20 Sirach 38:24–25 Sirach 38: 34b Sirach 39:4 Zeph 2:2–3

11 12 138 111 4 4 4 158

Index of Personal Names Abi-ešuḫ 43, 49 Abigail 106 Abraham ibn Ezra 126 Adad-apla-iddina 47, 127 Adam 10 Adapa 5, 53, 60 Adda-guppi 199 Addaḫushu 225 Aesop 104–123 Ahiqar 4, 48, 95–100, 104–123, 137 Ahitophel 4 Alexis 118 Amenemhet III 224 Amenemope 8, 32–33, 35, 98, 100, 153–61, 175 Amenope 9 Amenophis II 32 Ani, see Any Any 98 Aplâ 50 Appu 72 Aqhatu 78–84 Aristophanes 118 Aristoteles, see Aristotle Aristotle 7, 10, 118, 235 Ashurbanipal 4, 8–9, 60, 130 Asosi 20 Assurbanipal, see Ashurbanipal Atra-hasis, see Atram-ḫasīs Atram-ḫasīs 60, 274 Attenu 86 Augustin 121 Baki 28 Basil 121 Ben Sira 5, 12, 95, 100, 111, 138 Ben Sirach, see Ben Sira Bezalel 7 Bildad 139–44, 151–52, 154 Bilgamesh, see Gilgamesh Burnaburiaš 49 Croesus 118–19

Damascius 120 Daniel 8, 84 Danʾilu 78–84 David 4, 106 Delilah 97 Demetrios 118 Ditanu 73 Elifas, see Eliphaz Elihu 169–71 Eliphaz 140–41, 146–47, 154, 157, 178 Enlil-bani 49 Enlil-ban-kudurri 49 Enlil-ibni 48 Enlil-Muballiṭ 49 Ephraim 113 Esagil-kin-aplī 47 Esagil-kīn-ubbaLU, see Esagil-kīn-ubbib Esagil-kīn-ubbib 48, 127 Esarhaddon 48, 95, 197 Gideon 82 Gilgamesh 9–10, 47–48, 50, 56, 61, 107, 124, 203, 242 Gimil-Gula 49 Gudea 224 Gyges 255 Hamma, R. 111 Hamlet 26 Hammurabi, see Hammurapi Hammurapi 53, 219–232, 274, 280 Hanina, R. 111 Hardedef 5 Hendursaga 198 Heraclitus 9–13 Herodotus 118 Hesiod 10, 117 Hezekiah 4 Hiob, see Job Homer 117, 125, 127–30 Hordjedef 26 Humbaba 203 Hurriya 74, 80

Index of Personal Names Ibni-Marduk 48 Ijob, see Job Ilimilku 86 Imhotep 5 Ishmael, R. 111 Išbi-Erra 48–49 Isocrates 7 Jean de La Fontaine 104, 117, 121 Jerome 121 Jesse 9 Jesus 269 Jesus Sirach, see Ben Sira Job 5, 84, 138–47, 150–61, 164–72, 206, 281 Joseph 112 Kagemni 10 Kaires 5 Kairsu 31 Khakheperreseneb, see Khakheperre-sonb Khakheperre-sonb 5, 14 Khasheshonqy 99 Khety 5 Kiki 33, 35 Kindattu 225 Kirta 70–91 Kudurru 49 Lipit-Ištar 196, 219 Ludumununna 48 Macrobius 120 Martu 225 Merikare 4, 25–27 Moses 118, 141, 151–52 Muballiṭu 49 Nabonidus 4, 199 Nabopolassar 199, 242 Nakdimon b. Gorion 111 Namzitarra 43, 53, 56, 70, 202, 211 Naram-Sin 221 Nazimurutaš 49 Nebuchadnezzar I 127 Nebuchadnezzar II 130, 241–42 Neferti 5 Niqmadddu IV 73 Noah 84 Oholiab 7 Onchsheshonqy 95–103

295

Origen 121 Pallis 237 Philostratos 118, 120 Plato 9, 11–13, 118, 120, 166–67, 246, 255 Platon, see Plato Plotinus 120 Plutarch 116–121 Proclus 120 Ptah-emdjehuty 5 Ptahhotep 5, 12, 20–29 Pughatu 80–84 Qohelet 9, 137 Quintilian 120 Rašap-abu 3 Rensi 24 Saggil-kīn-ubbib 48, 124, 191, 203, 207 Salomo, see Solomon Samson 97 Sennacherib 4, 61, 240 Sesostris III 224 Shaphan 3 Sheva 3 Shupe-ameli, see Šūpê-amēli Shutruk-Nahhunte I 221 Sidu 41, 47–55, 191, 193, 199 Sîn-lēqi-unninni 47–48, 56 Socrates 6–8, 12–15, 118–19, 255 Solomon 4–6, 9, 12, 74 Solon 118 Šaʿataqatu 77, 85 Šaggar-abu 43 Šubši-mešrê-Šakkan 183, 185 Šumu-libši 48 Šūpê-amēli 46, 63, 70, 97, 156, 193, 201–202 Šūpû-amēlu, see Šūpê-amēli Taqiša 49 Taqiš-Gula 49 Tatian 120 Tertullian 20 Thutmose III 9, 32 Thutmosis III, see Thutmose III Titmanatu 73–75, 84 Tobit 95 Tutanchamun 177

296 Ubartutu 193 Ur-Namma 223 Ur-Ninurta 44, 191, 193, 196 Urtenu 3, 86 Uta-napištim 193 Yabninu 3 Yaḫdun-Lim 223 Yariḫu 83 Yasmaḫ-Addu 113–14

Index of Personal Names Yaṣṣubu 72–77, 85 Yaṭupanu 82–83 Zimri-Lim 223 Zimut 33 Ziusudra 152, 193 Zohar 209 Zophar 142, 146, 150–55, 158–61 Zu-Bala 43

Index of Divine Names Amun 32, 35 Anat 74–75, 77–78, 80–85 Anu 53 Anunnaki 67–68, 197 Asarluḫi, see Marduk Ascherah, see Asherah Asherah 72, 74, 77, 81, 85, 156 Ashratum 224 Aššur 240 Astarte 74–75 Baʿal 75, 79–80 Damkina 126 Dionysus 235, 246

Ma’at 19–37, 158, 178 Mami 186, 209 Marduk 10–11, 43, 66, 70, 72–74, 125, 141, 183–85, 190, 205, 227, 233, 237–45, 274, 280 Mut 34–35 Nabû 5, 9, 60, 239, 245 Nanna, see Sîn Narru 125, 186, 209 Nergal 5 Nikkal 199 Ninurta 5, 126 Nusku 199 Nut 177 Osiris 23, 29

Ea 10–11, 52, 76–77 El 72–82, 85, 87 Enki, see Ea Enlil 43, 46, 51, 53, 70, 125, 128, 186, 202, 209, 211, 225, 228, 273–75 Enlil-banda 46, 64 Ereshkigal 202 Erra 107, 124, 247 Gula 274 Hathor 177 Hermes 120 Horanu 75 Horus 21, 31, 175 Inanna, see Ishtar Inshushinak 114, 221 Ishtar 223–24, 247 Išme-karāb 64 Išum 124, 247 Jahweh, see Yahaweh JHWH, see Jahweh

Rapānu 4 Rapiʾūma 73, 78, 81, 84 Re 19 Sadarnuna 199 Seth 23, 175 Shaddai 140 Shamash 124, 128, 187, 190, 199, 222–24, 227–28, 273, 280 Shushinak 225 Sîn 46–47, 199 Šamaš, see Shamash Thot 12, 99, 177 Tiamat, see Tiāmtu Tiāmtu 238–40, 243 Utu, see Shamash Yahweh 11, 107, 140–41, 145, 164, 168, 170 Yammu 87 YHWH, see Yahweh

Kotharu–wa–Ḫasisu 77–82, 85 Zulummar 125, 186, 209

Index of Place and Temple Names Abu Ṣalabīkh 192 Adab, see Bismaya Aegean 119, 235 Ägypten, see Egypt Akropolis 72 Alalakh 143 Alter Orient, see Ancient Near East Ancient Near East 3, 6–7, 10–14, 104, 113, 115, 117, 121, 137, 150–61, 189, 194, 219, 237–38, 247, 253, 256–61 Asia Minor 118–19 Assur 54, 193 Aššur, see Assur Athens 13, 118, 235, 245–46

Ḫubur 138

Babylon 43, 48, 245–47, 199, 219–20, 225, 227, 233, 238–45, 259, 265–87 Babylonia 41, 43, 50, 119, 228, 246 Babylonien, see Babylonia Bismaya 192 Black Sea 118 Boğazköy, see Hattuša Borsippa 239, 244

Lagash 224 Larsa 193, 225 Levant 97, 100, 150, 222 Lydia 118–19

Canaan 112 Cesarea 121 Constantinople 120 Delphi 119 Ebabbar 227 Egypt 4–7, 9, 11, 13, 20–21, 29, 35, 97–100, 119, 147, 150 175 Ekur 46, 225 Elam 220–21, 229 Elephantine 95, 98 Emar 43–44, 51–53, 97 Eridu 48 Esagil 184, 227, 239–40, 243–45

Iran 220 Iraq 192 Isin 48–49, 193, 196 Israel 9, 13, 28, 74, 113, 145, 151, 169, 268 Jerusalem 222, 269 Kalḫu 44 Karnak 10 Kish 224 Kizzuwatna 82 Kuyunjik 52

Mari 104, 113–15, 138, 223 Mediterranean 100 Mesopotamia 3–13, 42, 49, 56, 60, 62, 72, 86, 97, 125, 137, 150, 153, 190–91, 194, 197, 199, 211–12, 219, 228, 246–47, 265–66, 272–75, 278, 280–84 Mesopotamien, see Mesopotamia Nimrud, see Kalḫu Nippur 46, 48–49, 202, 225, 228 Phaleron 118 Phrygia 119 Ras Shamra, see Ugarit

Greece 3, 10–13, 117, 119–21, 235

Samos 118–20 Sinai 261 Sippar 52, 221, 224, 227–29 Susa 220–21, 224–25, 228–29 Syria 97, 100

Hattuša 42, 44, 56, 193 Heliopolis 33

Teman 168 Theben 33

Index of Place Names

299

Thrace 118 Thurium 118

Ur 46, 275 Uruk 46, 48–49, 53, 56, 65, 127, 238, 244

Ugarit 3, 11, 42, 44, 52–53, 70–91, 97, 141, 156, 190, 193, 205, 212

Wadi Brisa 242

Subject Index abomination 66–67, 196, 204, 260, 273 Abscheulichkeit, see abomination Advice to a Prince 53, 193 Aesop 104–21 Ägyptisch, see Egyptian Akītu 233–50 Altes Testament, see Old Testament animal proverb 104–23 aphorism 25, 97–98, 100, 138–39, 142, 144, 147 Aphorismus, see aphorism Apocrypha 5, 12 Apokryphe, see Apocrypha aporia 165–72 Aporie, see aporia Archiv see archive archive 3–4, 42–43, 97 Armenian 95–100, 105 Armenisch, see Armenian ass, see donkey Assyrian 49, 50, 52–56, 60, 65, 104, 108–109, 118, 130, 193–94, 197–98, 238, 240 Assyrisch see Assyrian asyndeton 114 Asyndeton, see asyndeton Äthiopisch, see Ethiopic Attic 235, 245–46 Attisch, see Attic Auerochse, see aurochs aurochs 114 Ba 25, 27–28, 36 Babylonian Theodicy 55–56, 124–30, 138, 185–87, 189–212 Ballad of Early Rulers 42,52, 56, 70, 156, Bär, see bear bear 107 Beschwörung, see incantation Bibel, see Bible Bible 3–4, 6–7, 10–11, 107, 137–38, 147, 177, 260–61, 278 Big Gods Theory 256–57, 262, 267, 279–81, 283 Blasphemie, see blasphemy

blasphemy 139, 207 Book of Job 5, 126, 137–40, 150–72, 206, 279 bull 4, 77, 108, 114, 186, 204, 259, Bulle, see bull Bundestheologie 35 camel 109–17 canon 5–6, 118 ceremony 236 chaos 22, 167, 238, 240, 243 Chaos, see chaos Christianity 20, 29, 120–21, 167, 171, 268 Christlich, see Christianity church 20, 120, 278 Codex Hammurapi 53 cognitive science of religion 254, 256, 265–87 comedy 234–36, 245 Counsels of Ur–Ninurta 44 Counsels of Wisdom 61–69, 126, 193–94 crayfish 121 creator 11, 19, 77, 167, 175–78, 186–87, 209, 243, 281 crime 184, 186, 194–96, 200–204, 207–209, 211, 257, 278 curse 73, 75, 85, 157, 178, 184, 194–96, 208, 228, 258–59 death 5, 8, 22–23, 26–27, 30, 34–35, 73, 79, 81–85, 108, 113, 118, 138, 170, 176–77, 196, 202, 208, 237, 257 death cult 72, 74–75, 80 deer 106 deluge see flood destiny 27–28, 34, 46, 52, 62, 72–73, 83, 139, 153, 156, 160, 178–79, 258, 261, 275 destruction 22, 61, 84, 104, 107, 199, 240, 247 Diskussion see disputation disputation 43, 47–48, 53–54, 56, 85, 124–33, 165 dog 115, 199 donkey 79, 104–23, 128, 142–43, 208, 211 drama 74, 80, 84, 233–50 Dulder, see righteous sufferer

Subject Index Ecclesiastes 5, 137 Ecclesiastes 5–6, 13 Egyptian 4, 6–12, 19–37, 95–100, 137, 153, 158, 175–81, 192, 237 Eid, see oath Einführungsszene 226 Elamite 220–21, 225, 229 Elamitisch, see Elamite Enlil and Namzitarra 42, 53, 56, 70, 202 Enūma Anu Enlil 53 Enūma Eliš 124–25, 236–41 epic 10, 47, 50, 56, 61, 71–85, 107, 117, 120, 129, 156, 236, 238, 243, 247, 274 Epos see epic Erhöhung 72–76 Eros 14 Esel, see donkey Eselsbrücke, see mnemonic Ethiopic 104 exorcist 8, 41, 124, 127 Exorzist, see exorcist Fabel, see fable fable 61, 70, 104–109, 115–21 Familie, see family family 3, 22, 24, 43, 80, 97, 245, 266, 275 family schooling 3 fate, see destiny Fisch, see fish fish 145, 198 Fleisch, see flesh flesh 105, 115, 145 flood 5, 48, 157, 176, 193, 261, 274–75 Fluch, see curse Flussordal, see river–ordeal Flut, see flood folk philosophy 6 fool 12, 71, 85, 108, 145, 156, 185, 191, 203–204 fox 48, 54–56, 61, 119, 128–29 Fuchs, see fox Galgenhumor, see gallows humor gallows humor 104, 108–109 gazelle 198 Gazelle, see gazelle Gebet, see prayer Gerechtigkeit, see justice Gespräch des Lebensmüden mit seinem Ba 36 Gilgamesh epic 47–48, 56 Gnade, see mercy

301

gnomic 138 gnomisch, see gnomic goat 202 good 4, 11, 13, 21–25, 34, 65–68, 72–73, 78, 82–83, 100, 114, 137, 146, 151, 154, 164, 168–69, 176–78, 183–84, 189–90, 196–200, 204–205, 208, 254–55, 257–59, 265–287 Gotteslästerung, see blasphemy Grab, see grave grave 21–31, 34, 72–73, 80, 170, 177, 222 Greek 7–10, 13, 104, 108–109, 116–21, 129, 191, 234–38, 245–47 griechisch, see Greek gut, see good Hebräisch, see Hebrew Hebrew 3–12, 19, 100, 104–123, 126, 138–39, 142–43, 147, 150, 155, 260–61 Heiligtum, see temple Hellenistic 3, 120–21, 138, 190, 197, 238, 240 Hellenistisch, see Hellenistic Hethitisch, see Hittite hieroglyph 192 Hieroglyphe, see hieroglyph Hirsch, see stag Hittite 42, 44–45, 72, 81, 85, 261 horse 48, 53, 116–17, 240 Hund, see dog Hurrian 3, 42, 70, 192–93 Hurritisch, see Hurrian hymn 44, 70, 72–73, 124, 126, 130, 183–84, 198, 246 Hymne, see hymn iconography 29, 75, 87, 219–232 Ikonographie, see iconography Iliad 117, 129–30 incantation 8, 49, 51, 76–77, 79, 86,183, 195, 207, 257, 259, 274 Indian 237 Indisch, see Indian injustice 23, 27, 29, 175–81, 120, 147, 150, 186, 203, 205, 212, 255, 283 instruction, see proverb Instructions of Amenemope 35, 100, 153–54, 175 Instructions of Ani 175 Instructions of Khasheshonqy 95–103 Instructions of Merikare 27 Instructions of Ptahhotep 27 Instructions of Šūpê-amēli see Šimâ milka

302

Subject Index

Instructions of Šuruppak 44, 46, 52, 62, 152, 191–94 Instructions of Ur–Ninurta 191 Islam 268 Ištar-Gate 239–42 Ištartor, see Ištar-Gate Jesus Sirach 5, 95 Jewish 99, 112, 114, 167 judäisch, see Judean Judean 247 jüdisch, see Jewish justice 9, 11, 19, 25, 29, 65, 75, 139, 142, 151, 164, 178, 222, 255, 258–59, 261–62, 271–75, 280–84 Ka 28, 32, 34 Kamel, see camel Kanon, see canon Kassite 48–50, 199, 205, 228–29 Kassitisch, see Kassite Kirche, see church Klage, see lament Klagen des Bauern 19, 24, 29 Klagepsalm, see lament kognitive Wissenschaft der Religion see cognitive science of religion Komödie see comedy Krebs, see crayfish Krise, see suffering lament 5–8, 14, 19, 21, 23–24, 29, 43, 48–50, 60, 74, 77–78, 164, 193, 196, 205, 275, 281 Latein see Latin Latin 104, 107, 118 Leid, see suffering Leidender Gerechter, see righteous sufferer lion 104–13, 117, 119, 121, 128, 208, 211, 223 Löwe, see lion Loyalistische Lehre/Lehre des Kairsu 31 Ludlul bēl nēmeqi 11, 43, 53–56, 70, 124–26, 183–85, 190, 212, 256 Ma’at 19–37, 158, 178 maison aux tablettes, see archive Man and his God 187, 190, 212 Manguste, see mongoose Maulesel, see mule Maultier, see mule Maus, see mouse maxim 4, 6–7, 22–23, 33, 74, 85, 105, 153, 191–97, 200, 202

Maxime, see maxim mercy 32–33, 72–73, 76–77, 98, 155, 178–79, 185–87, 210 metric 124–25, 130 Metrik, see metric mnemonic 114 Mondgott, see moon god mongoose 104, 108–109 moon-god 223 Moral see morality morality 7, 19–22, 25, 31, 42–43, 56, 64–65, 82, 106, 117–18, 120, 138, 150–63, 175, 179, 182–89, 192, 199–204, 209, 211, 233, 235, 247, 253–62, 265–87 mortality 176 mother-goddess 209 mouse 104, 108–109, 130 mule 116 murder, see crime Muttergöttin, see mother-goddess myth 11, 50, 53, 64, 70, 76, 86, 100, 120, 175, 177, 209, 235–39, 243–45, 274–75, 282 Myth of Adapa 53 mythology, see myth Mythos, see myth Narr see fool Necropolis 26, 30 Nekropole, see Necropolis Neo-Assyrian 49–55, 65, 108–109, 130, 240–41 Netherworld 26, 28, 31, 73–74, 80, 158, 176, 202 neuassyrisch, see Neo-Assyrian Nisannu 238–39 Nordwestsemitisch, see nothwest semitic northwest semitic 104, 113 Not, see suffering Nothing is of Value 42 oath 159, 183, 195, 258, 273, Obsidian 81 Odyssey 117, 129–130 Old Testament 4–7, 11 paradigm 154 Paradigma, see paradigm parallelismus membrorum 5–6 Parodie, see parody parody 124–33, 139, 141, 144–47, 152, 212 Parthian 190, 197, 246

Subject Index parthisch, see Parthian Patriarchat, see patriarchy patriarchy 98 Pferd, see horse Pharao 112, 224 pious sufferer, see righteous sufferer Poesie, see poetry Poetry 5–6, 43, 47–48, 53–56, 63–64, 85, 107, 112, 117, 124–30, 138, 141, 143, 182–88, 190, 193–212, 235, 247, 258, 275, 282 prayer 32, 43, 63–67, 86, 125, 171, 183–85, 190–98, 203, 210–11, 224, 234, 242, 259, 274 precept, see proverb proverb 4–14, 33, 42–47, 51–53, 62–63, 70, 95–103, 104–23, 137–49, 152–53, 156, 191–204 Proverbs 5, 100, 154 Psalms 137 Ptolemäisch, see Ptolmaic Ptolmaic 95 Qohelet, see Ecclesiastes Rabbinic 106, 110–11 rabbinisch, see Rabbinic Reh, see deer righteous sufferer 70–74, 78, 138, 141, 156, 165, 182–88, 191, 203–210, 258, 275, 282 rite, see ritual ritual 177, 183–85, 190–92, 195–98, 204, 208, 210–11, 233–50 Ritual, see ritual Ritus. see ritual river-ordeal 157 Roman 3, 97, 119–21, 233–34 römisch, see Roman SA.GIG 47 Saite dynasty 95 saying, see proverb Schaf, see sheep Schicksal, see destiny Schlange, see snake Scholars of Uruk 65 scholarship, see scribal education school, see scribal education Schöpfer, see creator Schreiber, see scribe Schreiberausbildung, see scribal education scorpion 114–15 scribal education 3–4, 14, 41–44, 47, 56,

303

60–61, 64–65, 68, 86, 100, 193, 205, 228, 235, 268 scribal school, see scribal education scribe 3–9, 14, 33, 43, 86, 191–200, 203–207, 211, 219, 228–29, 259–61 Seele, see soul Segen, see mercy Selbsterkenntnis, see self–knowledge Selbstmord, see suicide self–knowledge 166 Series of Sidu 41, 47–55, 193 Series of the Date Palm and the Tamarisk 53 Series of the Fox 48, 5–6 Series of the Horse 53 Series of the Ox 47, 53 Series of the Poplar 53 Series of the Spider 48 sheep 202 Sheol 209 sin 19, 28–29, 98, 158, 178, 184, 195–97, 207–208, 257–61, 274–75, 278, 281–83 Sintflut, see flood Sklave, see slave Skorpion, see scorpion slave 14, 107, 118–20, 205 Slavic, see Slavonic Slavonic 95, 104 Slawisch, see Slavonic snake 104, 107–109, 176 Song of the Plowing Oxen 51 Sonnengott, see sun-god soul 10, 27, 96, 170 Sprichwort, see proverb stag 104–105, 108, 115, 121 sterben, see death Sterblichkeit, see mortality Stier see bull sufferer, see righteous sufferer suffering 10, 71, 140–42, 147, 152, 169, 185–87, 189–90, 209, 212, 257–61, 281 suicide 119–20 Sumerian 5, 10, 41–48, 51–53, 56, 62, 70, 108–109, 114, 156, 190, 192–93, 196, 199, 203–204, 209, 212, 219, 223–24, 260, 273 Sumerian Proverb Collection 48, 51–53 Sumerisch, see Sumerian Sünde, see sin sun-god 19, 177–78, 190, 194, 199, 222–23, 227, 273 Syriac 95, 104, 111–14, 143 Syrisch, see Syriac

304

Subject Index

Šimâ milka 44–45, 56, 62–63, 70, 96–100, 156, 193, 271 šumma izbu 54

Unrecht, see injustice Unterwelt, see Netherworld Uruk List of Kings and Sages 49, 127

Talmud 95, 110, 114, 155 Tašrītu 238–39 temple 3–4, 33, 64, 78, 80–82, 87, 168–69, 191, 198–99, 202, 222, 225–27, 239–40, 243–245, 269 Temple see temple The Farmer’s Instruction 44, 51 The Forlorn Scholar 65 The Fowler 42, 51 The Life of Aesop 118–121 theater 233–50 Theater, see theater Theodicy 13, 48, 55–56, 72, 77, 124–33, 138, 156, 167–68, 175–79, 205, 212, 256–59, 275, 281–82 Theodizee, see Theodicy Theogonie see Theogony Theogony 10 Theophanie, see Theophany theophany 243 thinker, see scribe Tiersprichwort, see animal proverb Tod, see death Todesschwelle, see death tomb, see grave Tor, see fool Tora, see Torah Torah 28, 99, 118 Totenkult, see death cult Totenreich, see Netherworld Tun-Ergehen-Zusammenhang 179, 189 Turkish 104 türkisch, see Turkish Ungerechtigkeit, see injustice

Verbrechen, see crime Verehrung, see worshipping Volksphilosophie, see folk philosophy Weisheit, see wisdom Weltanschauung, see worldview Weltordnung, see world order West Semitic 70, 73, 99 westsemitisch, see West Semitic wisdom 3–15, 19–21, 27–29, 33, 36, 41–56, 60–68, 70–87, 95–100, 107, 113–20, 124–28, 137–47, 150–56, 159–61, 166, 170, 175–78, 183–85, 189–94, 197, 201–12, 219, 258, 261, 275, 281 Wisdom Canon 5 Wisdom of Ahiqar 95–97, 104–21 Wisdom of Solomon 5 witchcraft 257–259 wolf 107, 119, 128–29, 189, 199 Wolf, see wolf wordplay 28, 137, 147, 155 Works and Days 117 world order 11, 19, 71, 75, 86–87, 164, 178, 185, 247 worldview 11, 189–90, 258, 261, 280 worshipping 197–99, 203, 207, 210, 225, 236, 274–75 Wortspiel, see wordplay Zauberei, see witchcraft Zeremonie, see ceremony Zerstörung, see destruction Ziege, see goat