The World's Oldest Literature

The World’s Oldest Literature

Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Founding Editor

M.H.E. Weippert Editor-in-Chief

Thomas Schneider Editors

Eckart Frahm, W. Randall Garr, B. Halpern, Theo P.J. Van Den Hout, Irene J. Winter

VOLUME 35

The World’s Oldest Literature Studies in Sumerian Belles-Lettres

By

William W. Hallo

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hallo, William W. The world’s oldest literature : studies in Sumerian belles-lettres / by William W. Hallo. p. cm. – (Culture and history of the ancient near east ; v. 35) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17381-1 (acid-free paper) 1. Sumerian literature–History and criticism. I. Title. PJ4045.H35 2009 899’.9509–dc22 2009003310

ISSN 1566-2055 ISBN 978 90 04 17381 1 Copyright 2010 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Despite our efforts we have not been able to trace all rights holders to some copyrighted material. The publisher welcomes communications from copyrights holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

To Nanette

CONTENTS Bibliographic References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii Introduction: William Hallo and Assyriological, Biblical and Jewish Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii part i

programmatics 1. New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature – 1962 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 2. The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry – 1970 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 3. Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics – 1973 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 4. Toward A History of Sumerian Literature – 1975 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 5. Assyriology and the Canon – 1990 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 6. Sumerian Religion – 1993 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 7. The Birth of Rhetoric – 2004. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 part ii

catalogues and other scholia 1. On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature – 1963 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 2. Another Sumerian Literary Catalogue? – 1975 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 3. Haplographic Marginalia – 1977 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 4. Old Babylonian HAR-ra – 1982 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 part iii

royal and divine hymns 1. Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity – 1963. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 2. The Coronation of Ur-Nammu – 1966 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 3. New Hymns to the Kings of Isin – 1966 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 4. The Birth of Kings – 1987 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 5. Nippur Originals – 1989 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239

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letter-prayers 1. Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition – 1968 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255 2. Letters, Prayers, and Letter-Prayers – 1981 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 3. Lamentations and Prayers in Sumer and Akkad – 1995 . . . . . . . . . . 299 4. Two Letter-Prayers To Amurru – 1998 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 319 part v

royal correspondence 1. The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah? – 1976 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333 2. The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: II. The Appeal to Utu – 1982. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353 3. The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: III. The Princess and the Plea – 1991 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369 4. A Sumerian Apocryphon? The Royal Correspondence of Ur Reconsidered – 2006. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385 part vi

historiography 1. Beginning and End of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur Recension – 1963 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 409 2. Sumerian Historiography – 1983 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419 3. New Directions in Historiography (Mesopotamia and Israel) – 1998. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 431 4. Polymnia and Clio – 2001 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 453 5. Sumerian History in Pictures: A New Look at the “Stele of the Flying Angels” – 2005 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 471 part vii

myths and epics 1. Lugalbanda Excavated – 1983 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495 2. The Origins of the Sacrificial Cult: New Evidence from Mesopotamia and Israel – 1987 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 517 3. Disturbing the Dead – 1993 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 529

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4. Enki and the Theology of Eridu – 1996 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539 5. Urban Origins in Cuneiform and Biblical Sources (Founding Myths of Cities in the Ancient Near East: Mesopotamia and Israel) – 2001 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 547 part viii

proverbs 1. The Lame and the Halt – 1969 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 575 2. Nungal In The Egal: An Introduction To Colloquial Sumerian? – 1979 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 583 3. Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos – 1985 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 589 4. Proverbs Quoted in Epic – 1990 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 607 5. Proverbs: An Ancient Tradition in the Middle East – 2004. . . . . . . 625 part ix

incantations 1. Back to the Big House: Colloquial Sumerian, Continued – 1985 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 635 2. More Incantations and Rituals from the Yale Babylonian Collection – 1999 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645 part x

sumerian literature and the bible 1. Sumerian Literature. Background to the Bible – 1988 . . . . . . . . . . . . 661 2. Compare and Contrast: The Contextual Approach to Bibliocal Literature – 1990 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 677 3. The Concept of Canonicity in Cuneiform and Biblical Literature: A Comparative Appraisal – 1991 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 699 4. Sumerian Literature – 1992 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 717

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indexes Ancient Near Eastern, Egyptian, and Classical Texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 729 Biblical and Rabbinical Texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 739 Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 743 Personal Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 747 Divine Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 753 Geographic Names, Ethnica, and Names of Sanctuaries . . . . . . . . . . . . 755 Akkadian and Sumerian Words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 759

BIBLIOGRAPHIC REFERENCES

I. Programmatics “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature.” Israel Exploration Journal 12 (1962): 13–26. “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry.” Actes de la XVIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Brussels, Belgium, June 30-July 4, 1969 [published 1970], 116–134. “Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics.” Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5 (1973): 1–12. “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature.” In Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen, edited by S.J. Lieberman, 181–203. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975. “Assyriology and the Canon.” The American Scholar 59 (1990): 105–108. “Sumerian Religion.” Journal of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University 1 (1993): 15–35. “The Birth of Rhetoric.” In Rhetoric before and beyond the Greeks, edited by Carol S. Lipson and Roberta A. Binkley, 25–46; 231–237. Albany: State University of New York, 2004.

II. Catalogues and Other Scholia “On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 83 (1963): 167–176. “Another Sumerian Literary Catalogue?” Studia Orientalia 46 (1975): 77–80. “Haplographic Marginalia.” Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences: Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein, edited by M. de Jong Ellis, 101–103. Hamden: Archon, 1977. “Notes from the Babylonian Collection, II: Old Babylonian HAR-ra.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 34 (1982): 81–93.

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bibliographic references III. Royal and Divine Hymns

“Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 17 (1963): 112–118. “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 20 (1966): 133– 141. “New Hymns to the Kings of Isin.” Bibliotheca Orientalis 23 (1966): 239–246. “The Birth of Kings.” Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope, edited by John H. Marks and Robert M. Good, 45–52. Guilford: Four Quarters Publishing Company, 1987. “Nippur Originals.” DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (1989): 237–247.

IV. Letter-Prayers “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 88 (1968): 71–89. “Letters, Prayers and Letter-Prayers.” Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, Israel: August 7–14, 1981, 17–27. “Lamentations and Prayers in Sumer and Akkad.” In Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, edited by Jack M. Sasson, 1871–1881. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1995. “Two Letter-Prayers to Amurru.” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 273 (1998): 397–410.

V. Royal Correspondence “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah?” In Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, Kramer Anniversary Volume, edited by Barry L. Eichler, 209–224. Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1976. ˇ “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: II. The Appeal to Utu” In Zikir Sumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, edited by G. Van Driel, Th.J.H. Krispijn, M. Stol, and K.R. Veenhof, 95– 109. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1982. “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: III. The Princess and the Plea.” Marchands, diplomates, et empereurs: Études sur la civilization mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli, edited by D. Charpin and F. Joannès, 377–388. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1991. “A Sumerian Apocryphon? The Royal Correspondence of Ur Reconsidered.” Approaches to Sumerian Literature: Studies in Honour of Stip (H.L.J. Vanstiphout), edited by Piotr Michalowski and Niek Veldhuis, 85–104. Leiden: Brill, 2006.

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VI. Historiography “Beginning and End of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur Recension.” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 17 (1963): 52–57. “Sumerian Historiography.” History, Historiography and Interpretation, edited by H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld, 9–20. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1983. “New Directions in Historiography (Mesopotamia and Israel).” Studien zur Altorientalistik: Festschrift für Willem H. Ph. Römer, edited by M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, 109–128. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1998. “Polymnia and Clio.” Proceedings of the XLV e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale (2001): 195–209. “Sumerian History in Pictures: A New Look at the “Stele of the Flying Angels.” “An Experienced Scribe who Neglects Nothing”: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Jacob Klein, edited by Y. Sefati et al., Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 142–162.

VII. Myths and Epics “Lugalbanda Excavated.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 103 (1983): 165– 180. “The Origins of the Sacrificial Cult: New Evidence from Mesopotamia and Israel.” Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, edited by P.D. Miller, Jr. et al., 3–13. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987. “Disturbing the Dead.” Minhah Le-Nahum: Biblical and Other Studies Presented to Nahum M. Sarna in Honour of His 70th Birthday, edited by Marc Brettler and Michael Fishbane, 183–192. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993. “Enki and the Theology of Eridu.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 116 (1996): 231–234. “Urban Origins in Cuneiform and Biblical Sources (Founding Myths of Cities in the Ancient Near East: Mesopotamia and Israel).” Mites de Fundació de ciutats al món antic (Mesopotàmia, Grècia i Roma) (2001): 37–50.

VIII. Proverbs “The Lame and the Halt.” Eretz-Israel: Archaeological, Historical and Geographical Studies 9 (1969): 66–70. “Notes from the Babylonian Collection, I: Nungal in the Egal: An Introduction to Colloquial Sumerian?” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 31 (1979): 161–165. “Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos.” The Jewish Quarterly Review 76 (July 1985): 21–40. “Proverbs Quoted in Epic.” Lingering over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran, edited by Tzvi Abusch et al., 204–217. Atlanta, Scholars Press, 1990. “Proverbs: An Ancient Tradition in the Middle East.” Foreword to A Culture of Desert Survival: Bedouin Proverbs from Sinai and the Negev, by Clinton Bailey, ix–xvi. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004.

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bibliographic references IX. Incantations

“Back to the Big House: Colloquial Sumerian, Continued.” Orientalia 54 (1985): 56–64. “More Incantations and Rituals from the Yale Babylonian Collection.” Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretative Perspectives: Ancient Magic and Divination, 1 edited by Tzvi Abusch and Karel van der Toorn, 275–289. Groningen: Styx Publications, 1999.

X. Sumerian Literature and the Bible “Sumerian Literature – Background to the Bible.” Bible Review 4 (June 1988): 28–38. “Compare and Contrast: The Contextual Approach to Biblical Literature.” The Bible in the Light of Cuneiform Literature, edited by William W. Hallo, Bruce William Jones, and Gerald L. Mattingly, 1–30. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1990. “The Concept of Canonicity in Cuneiform and Biblical Literature: A Comparative Appraisal.” The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective: Scripture in Context IV, edited by K. Lawson Younger, Jr., William W. Hallo, and Bernard F. Batto, 1–19. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1991. “Sumerian Literature.” The Anchor Bible Dictionary, Volume 6 Si-Z, edited by David Noel Freedman, 234–237. New York: Doubleday, 1992.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author would like to acknowledge the following companies and institutions for allowing him to reproduce his material: Israel Exploration Society Tel Aviv University Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences American Schools of Oriental Research Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten (NINO) University of Pennsylvania Press The American Academy for Jewish Research Ugarit-Verlag Company American Oriental Society Augsburg Fortress Publishers Yale University Press Despite my efforts we have not been able to trace all rights holders to some copyrighted material. The publisher welcomes communications from copyrights holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters.

PREFACE In 1960 and 1961, while serving as instructor and then assistant professor of Bible and Semitic Languages at Hebrew Union College— Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, I spent two summers at the Yale Babylonian Collection (YBC) in New Haven. My principal object was to find unpublished texts illustrating my theory on the ‘Sumerian amphictyony’ (the so-called bala-system) which I had presented at the meeting of the American Oriental Society in Toronto in 1955 and was later to publish in the Journal of Cuneiform Studies (vol. 14, 1960). Opening drawer after drawer, I became so familiar with the typical physical appearance of the bala-texts that I ended up identifying no less than twenty of them, plus the Hartford seminary text—now at Andrews University in Terrien Springs, Indiana—which clinched my whole argument. At the same time I learned to appreciate the enormous extent and diversity of the YBC, or rather the various subcollections constituting the YBC. I also became acquainted with Ferris J. Stephens, the Curator of the Collection and, to a lesser extent, with Albrecht Goetze, the Laffan Professor of Assyriology and Babylonian Literature. The following year, Professor Goetze invited me to Yale as assistant professor of Assyriology and associate curator of the Collection, succeeding Stephens who was about to retire. Although my six years in Cincinnati had been extremely happy, I knew I could not pass up this opportunity to move into the ‘big time’ (to quote T. Cuyler Young, Jr., whom by chance I encountered around then in New York). I received warm congratulations from my assyriological colleagues, none more meaningful than those of Samuel Noah Kramer. ‘When you get there,’ he told me, ‘be sure to look into the Sumerian literary texts.’ He knew whereof he spoke, for some years earlier he had been invited to the Collection by Goetze to catalogue and identify its Sumerian literary texts. This he did to perfection, leaving behind a hand-written checklist in many pages enumerating and identifying some hundreds of literary texts in Sumerian or, occasionally, Sumerian and Akkadian. Apart from scattered publications in early volumes like BIN 2 (1920) and BRM 4

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(1923), none of these had been published, with the notable exceptions of hand-copies prepared by Stephens and included by Kramer in his editions of Gilgamesh and Huwawa (JCS 1, 1947), Inanna’s Descent (JCS 4, 1950), and the Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur (1940), and by Adam Falkenstein in his editions in Sumerische Götterlieder (1959) and “Sumerische religiöse Texte” (Shulgi A in ZA 50 for 1952). The rest thus represented arguably the largest hoard of Sumerian literary texts remaining to be published from any one collection—and more than any one copyist could handle. For the record, I list here some of the texts I did publish, as far as they are not included in the present volume: The Exaltation of Inanna (YNER 3, with J.J.A. van Dijk, 1968); “Obiter dicta ad SET” (Jones AV = AOAT 203, 1979); “More Incantations and Rituals from the YBC” (1999); “A Model Court Case Concerning Inheritance” (Jacobsen AV, 2002). Occasionally, I also prepared copies for incorporation in editions being prepared by colleagues, such as “The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur” by Piotr Michalowski (1989, fig. 11). Given my interest in literary texts with historical significance (see my ‘Polymnia and Clio,’ VI.4 in the present volume) in general, and my specific involvement with royal hymns in particular (see my ‘Royal hymns and Mesopotamian unity,’ here: III.1), I decided to concentrate on ‘Sumerian royal hymns and related genres in the YBC,’ which became the working title of the volume I embarked on, confident that I could finish it in relatively short order. But as so often, it proved easier to find a title for the volume than to complete it, and it was only my retirement from forty years of teaching at Yale in 2002 which enabled me to do so. In this, I was significantly assisted by Torger Vedeler, (PhD., Yale, 2006) under a Mellon Research Grant arranged by Yale’s Koerner Center for Emeritus Faculty, its director Dr. Bernard Lytton, and its executive assistant Ms. Patricia Dallai. The texts in question will be published or republished in that volume with the generous permission of Benjamin Foster, my successor as Curator and Laffan Professor. But even while concentrating on my chosen genres, I did not forget Kramer’s injunction. Though never formally my teacher, he was inevitably a model and inspiration for me as for anyone with any interest in Sumerian literature. I therefore deliberately opened the Collection to former students and to other collaborators who had left behind half-finished manuscripts—that is another story, for which see briefly for now my preface to Litke’s An=Anum (TBC 3, 1998)—but also to

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my own students and to colleagues from all over who had never been to the Collection but who seemed willing and able to prepare the handcopies so urgently called for. Their main reward was to be permission to edit the texts they copied or to include them in the editions they were preparing on the basis of duplicate texts or relevant parallels in other collections. The following list of the results is not meant to be exhaustive. It is based in part on the catalogue of canonical texts which I prepared for the Collection’s forthcoming on-line catalogue under the direction of Ulla Kasten, Associate Curator of the Collection. Lexical texts are generally not included here. Dates refer to publication dates; undated texts remain to be published (AV = anniversary volume). Alster, B., Disputation between two scribes (ASJ 15, 1993); Proverbs (1997); Dialogue 7 (between two scribes) and other wisdom texts. Beckman, G. and B.R. Foster, Assyrian Scholarly Text (Sachs AV, 1988). Bodine, W., A Model Contract (RAI 40/1, 2001). Civil, M., The farmer’s instructions (1994; pls. xiiif.); dialogue between two women, disputation between bird and fish, disputation between pickaxe and plow; Dialogue 3 (Enki-mansum and Girini-ishag); Dialogue 4 (The scholar and his assistant) and other wisdom texts. Cohen, M., Another Utu hymn (ZA 67, 1977); Balags (CLAM, 1988). Cooper, J., The Curse of Agade (1983). Farber, W., Lamashtu amulet (Kantor AV, 1989). Hoffner, H.A., KÁ.GAL = abullu (MSL 13, 1971). Jacobsen, Th. and B. Alster, Ningishzida’s boat-ride to Hades (Lambert AV, 2000). Klein, J., Three Shulgi Hymns (1981). Kutscher, R., a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha (YNER 6, 1975); Utu Prepares for Judgment (Kramer AV = AOAT 25, 1976). Michalowski, Sin-iddinam and Ishkur (Sachs AV 1988); Lamentation over Sumer and Ur (1989); Hymn to Gibil, Kusu et al. (Hallo AV, 1993); The Royal Correspondence of Ur; Fable of raven and goose. Reisman, D., Hymn to Enlil (Two neo-Sumerian royal hymns, 1969); Nisaba hymn. Shaeffer, A., hymn to Utu. Sefati, Y., Love Songs (1998). Sjöberg, A., in-nin sha-gur-ra (ZA 65, 1975); A father and his perverse son (JCS 25, 1973). Van Dijk, J: A Ritual of Purification (Boehl AV, 1973); an en-ne (Kramer AV = AOAT 25, 1976); lugal-e (1983); incantations and rituals (YOS 11, 1985). Veldhuis, N., Elementary Education at Nippur (1997, HAR-ra V).

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In addition to those already mentioned, many other persons deserve thanks for bringing this book into being. In the first place I wish to mention Eckart Frahm, our new colleague in Assyriology at Yale. He cheerfully and whole-heartedly accepted the role of editor for this project, and went far beyond the traditional duties of an editor in so doing. In spite of the demands of a growing family and his heavy teaching and administrative obligations in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, he was unstinting in the time and effort he lavished on the project. The publisher left me free to select and arrange those of my previously published articles germane to the volume’s theme, and then scanned the reprints I furnished, a process which has the advantage of producing a continuous text in uniform type but the disadvantage of misreading quite a number of letters in the originals. Thus intensive proof-reading was required, in which I was greatly aided by Robert William Middeke-Conlin, a graduate student in Assyriology at Yale. Two of my finest former students agreed to write an introduction to this volume: I am grateful to Peter Machinist and Piotr Michalowski for jointly responding to this challenge. It is customary in these endeavors to include one’s spouse among those ‘without whom . . ..’ In this case that is no mere formality. Nanette Stahl was, as always, counted on for any questions involving Jewish sources for which I myself did not have the answers. Beyond that she saw me through a critical time in the state of my health, and enabled me to shrug off the physical impediments to my work. The dedication of this book to her is only a small token of my gratitude. Last but not least, I am happy to acknowledge my debt to Leiden and to the Netherlands. I spent the academic year 1950–1951 as a Fulbright Exchange student at the Rijksuniversiteit Leiden. There I took courses with masters of Near Eastern studies such as Professors F.M.Th. de Liagre Boehl (Assyriology), T. Jansma (Aramaic), J.H. Kramers (Arabic), A. de Buck (Egyptology), and P.A.H. de Boer (Ugaritic), and enjoyed the stimulating company of teaching assistants and fellowstudents like R. Frankena, S.A. Bonebakker, J. Hoftijzer, R. Borger, P. Lettinga, and others. In Leiden I also made my first acquaintance with the truly venerable publishing firm of E.J. Brill, chiefly through their ‘antiquariaat’ or second-hand bookstore located in the heart of the city. It was housed in an authentically antique building at the intersection of two canals (one of them the Old Rijn), and was an easy walk from the University,

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then still concentrated on the stately Rapenburg. The University has long since expanded and spread all over Leiden and its environs, and Brill too moved to much enlarged quarters on the southern edge of the city. It is now accessible by bicycle from the suburban railroad station or, in my case, from the house of my niece. I stopped both with her and with Brill on my many subsequent visits to my Dutch alma mater (Prof. Boehl having rewarded my efforts with a ‘candidatus litterarum Semiticarum’ degree in 1951). It is a pleasure to include what has meantime become ‘de koninklijke Brill’ in these tributes. Briefly, some guides to the reader may be indicated here. It should be noted that, given the scanning method mentioned above, the essays included herein appear unchanged—except for pagination—from the form in which they were first published. For permission to reprint the essays in this volume, see the section on ‘Acknowledgments’ above. Although the essays appear, as stated, unchanged, they feature two user-friendly improvements. First, cross-references within the volume have been carefully and exhaustively indicated (by section and chapter, rarely by page). Second, a topical index identifies, by page, recurrent thematic concepts which have not or not yet become the subjects of my individual inquiries, such as ‘the pattern of usurpation,’ ‘the high Sargonic period,’ or ‘the classical phase’ of Mesopotamian civilization. The essays routinely lack the hand-copies of the Sumerian texts edited therein, but this lack is systematically compensated for by their nearly simultaneous publication or republication in the forthcoming volume entitled Sumerian Royal Hymns and Related Genres in the Yale Babylonian Collection, which is to appear in the Yale Oriental Series—Babylonian Texts (YOS). Hamden, Connecticut April 23, 2009 William W. Hallo

introduction WILLIAM HALLO AND ASSYRIOLOGICAL, BIBLICAL, AND JEWISH STUDIES

William Hallo’s achievements in the field of Assyriology and the broader ancient Near East, of which the present volume gives ample and wide-ranging testimony, have roots early in his life.1 They began with the Hebrew Bible, and Jewish studies more generally, interest in which pervaded the home in Kassel, Germany, where he grew up until the family’s forced departure in 1939 because of Nazi anti-Jewish pressure. This interest owed a great deal to his father, Rudolf Hallo, whose multifaceted training and career centered on Jewish scholarship. The father’s studies of the art history of European, especially German, Jewry were among the pioneering efforts in this arena, and his involvement in the work of his fellow Kasseler, the great Jewish philosopher and educator, Franz Rosenzweig, led to his succeeding Rosenzweig, upon the latter’s medical incapacitation, as the head for a short time of the famous school of adult Jewish education that Rosenzweig had established in Frankfurt a.M. in the 1920’s, the Freies jüdisches Lehrhaus. Rudolf Hallo died too early in his son’s life—at the age of 36 in 1933 in Germany—to have been directly involved in it. But his example remained, encouraged by his wife, and William Hallo from an early age had Hebrew instruction. After his departure from Germany on one of the Kindertransporte, Hallo spent a year in England, then moved on, 1 This biographical information is based on oral knowledge from William Hallo as well as the following published sources: William W. Hallo, “Suche nach den Ursprüngen,” in Wolfdietrich Schmied-Kowarzik, ed., Vergegenwärtigungen des zerstörten jüdischen Erbes. Franz-Rosenzweig-Gastvorlesungen, Kassel 1987–1998 (Kassel: Kassel University Press, 1997), pp. 139–146; idem, in Hebrew College Alumni 3/2 (Fall 2003/5763); S. David Sperling, with Baruch A. Levine and B. Barry Levy, Students of the Covenant. A History of Jewish Biblical Scholarship in North America (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), pp. 90–92, 107– 108: nn. 11–18; S. David Sperling, “Hallo, William,” Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2nd ed. vol. 8 (Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA, 2007), p. 282; Joel Kraemer, “Hallo, Rudolf,” ibid., p. 282; David B. Weisberg, “William W. Hallo. An Appreciation,” in Mark E. Cohen, Daniel C. Snell, and David B. Weisberg, eds., The Tablet and the Scroll. Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (Bethesda: CDL, 1993), pp. ix–x (Hallo’s bibliography through 1992, pp. xi–xvi).

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with his mother and sisters, in 1940 to the United States. There he continued his Hebrew and Jewish education during his high school years in New York City, especially at the Jewish Theological Seminary, and then in Boston, at the Hebrew College, while he was an undergraduate at Harvard University concentrating in another area of antiquity, Roman history. Subsequently, Assyriology became Hallo’s major focus in graduate study, first at the University of Leiden as a Fulbright scholar in 1950– 1951, where he received the degree of Candidatus litterarum semiticarum, and then at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (M.A. [1953] and Ph.D. [1955]). His M.A thesis, The Ensi’s of the Ur III Empire, was never published, but many have had access to it and it remains an important contribution to this day; indeed one might say that it has never been superseded, even if the large number of cuneiform tablets from the period that have been published in the subsequent half century require an updating of the data collection. Hallo’s doctoral dissertation, subsequently published as Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles: A Philologic and Historical Analysis,2 already demonstrated his deep interest in synthetic historical work. And his many teachers at the Oriental Institute helped him hone his broad intellectual interests with a concomitant focus on the analytical collection of data. Working under the direction of I.J. Gelb, he combined his historical interests with the study of administrative documents, leading him to explore their use in the reconstruction of political as well as economic systems, and not simply as texts to be mined for lexicographical purposes. Hallo’s first faculty appointment was at the Hebrew Union College, Cincinnati (HUC) (1956–1962), where he taught a broad range of subjects, covering Assyriology, Biblical and Jewish Studies. He now began what would be a consistently abundant writing program that has lasted to this day. His first publications naturally derived from his thesis work; they centered on early Mesopotamian historical inscriptions and administrative texts, including pioneering studies of Ur III administrative texts that sought to analyze their structure and purpose and to elucidate their technical terminology. After six years at HUC, Hallo was called to Yale, as successor to Ferris J. Stephens, where he moved up the ranks from Associate through Full Professor of Assyriology and then, in 1976, to Laffan Professor of Assyriology and Babylo-

2

American Oriental Series 43. New Haven: The American Oriental Society, 1957.

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nian Literature—positions that altogether he would hold for forty years until his retirement (1962–2002). The Yale positions allowed Hallo to concentrate more fully than at HUC on Assyriology, with a particular focus on Sumerian studies. In addition to teaching a range of graduate courses in Assyriology, and occasionally in other areas of the ancient Near East especially for undergraduates, Hallo served as Curator of the Yale Babylonian Collection, where he had access to a rich mine of cuneiform tablets from all periods of Mesopotamian history. Indeed, when he became first assistant and then senior curator, the latter in 1963 a year after his arrival at Yale, there was still a large proportion of the approximately 40,000 manuscripts that had never been published, including an important set of well-preserved Sumerian literary pieces. The challenge of dealing with these stimulated Hallo’s broad range of interests, and expanded the topics of his publications into the area of Mesopotamian literature, combining a larger view of the intellectual history of the times with the editing and analysis of specific poems, usually chosen from the collections at Yale. The year 1963 was a watershed in Hallo’s public career. Just after assuming the curatorship at Yale he published articles that very much set the tone for his entire career. In “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature,” the very first in the present collection (I.1), he reviewed authoritatively major aspects of Mesopotamian literature with a view toward their value for non-Assyriologists, especially those who deal with the Hebrew Bible. In “Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity” (III.1), he offered an overview of the genre of Sumerian royal hymns, and in the process introduced two major themes that he would explore over the following decades: the political and cultural aspects of literature and the concept of generic criticism. The two other studies from 1963 that are reprinted in this volume, “On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature” (II.1) and “The Beginning and End of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur Recension” (VI.1), introduce still another facet of his work: the selective publication of manuscripts from the Yale collection and elsewhere. But rather than simply publish tablets with a lexicographical commentary, Hallo used each article as a pretext for a more interesting study. The “Antiquity of Sumerian Literature” article is particularly important, as it included a unique Ur III catalog of royal hymns and therefore shed light on a formative, but hitherto barely documented period of literary activity in Sumerian. Other text publications have dealt, inter alia, with prayer; and in the present volume, they are represented by five studies on prayers

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of individuals to deities that are in the form of letters (Nos. IV.1,2,4; V.1.2). Two of these articles are noteworthy here (IV.1; V.1). At their core are editions of hitherto unpublished Sumerian letter-prayers, one to the god Enki and the other to the goddess Ninisina, both editions using, among others, manuscripts from Yale. But, once more, the two articles are much more than text editions. They aim above all to define and delineate a literary genre, in this instance the letter-prayer, and especially in the earlier of the two articles, on “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition” (IV.1), to describe the middle position of the letter-prayer in a Mesopotamian literary tradition that for Hallo derived from “secular” letter-orders for material goods of the Ur III period at the end of the third millennium bc, and eventuated in the ershahunga penitential prayer form of the later second and first millennia bc, distinguishing it from what he termed congregational laments. The “Individual Prayer” article, it may be observed, has been groundbreaking in Assyriological scholarship: a significant impetus to further work on this and related literary genres, and to the inevitable modification of some of its conclusions.3 Hallo would return to this genre—and the concept of genre is central to much of his thinking about ancient literatures—over the years, providing broad syntheses of Mesopotamian literary epistolography, and editing, with full literary and historical analysis, the Sumerian compositions belonging to what he called “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa.” Intimately related to this topic was the first doctoral thesis Hallo directed on Sumerian literature, Raphael Kutscher’s 1967 dissertation on the compositional history of a congregational lament, as well as the 1979 dissertation by Piotr Michalowski on The Royal Correspondence of Ur. One could say that the chain of influence has reached further down, to Nicole Brisch’s 2003 University of Michigan doctoral thesis on the court poetry of the Larsa kings, written, in turn, under Michalowski, which is concerned, in part, with the Royal Correspondence of Larsa, offering new editions and analysis that build on Hallo’s pioneering work on this material.4 It 3 See, e.g., Piotr Michalowski, “On the Early History of the Ershahunga Prayer,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 39 (1987), pp. 37–48, who there publishes a new ershahunga prayer, dating to the Old Babylonian period and thus earlier than the ershahunga’s known to Hallo when he wrote “Individual Prayer.” Further refinements, and a fullscale analysis of the genre, were presented by Stefan M. Maul, in his ‘Herzberuhigungsklagen.’ Die sumerisch-akkadischen Ershahunga-Gebete. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1988. 4 Raphael Kutscher, Oh Angry Sea (a-ab-ba-hu-luh-la): The History of a Sumerian Congregational Lament. Yale Near Eastern Researches. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975;

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should be added that Hallo’s focus on Sumerian literature and on the holdings of the Yale Babylonian Collection continues to this day, as he works to finish a volume of hand copies of all Sumerian literary tablets from Yale. The articles we have been discussing, as well as the others in the present volume, are mainly directed to Mesopotamia, and particularly to the literary character of its written sources. But Hallo does not neglect the wider ancient Near Eastern ramifications, particularly those concerning the Hebrew Bible. Something of this is evident, as noted above, in Hallo’s 1963 article on “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature.” The two prayer articles just mentioned develop the biblical connections more directly, if briefly. Building here on a detailed and critical knowledge of previous scholarship, Hallo offers the illuminating suggestion that the Mesopotamian letter-prayer tradition helps to understand the character and function of Biblical prayers of individuals to God. In particular, in the article on “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah?” (V.1), he develops—and nuances—the proposal of his former Leiden professor, F.M.Th. de Liagre Böhl, that the psalm of King Hezekiah of Judah in Isaiah 38 actually serves as a kind of letter-prayer asking God to cure his illness (cf. also another article in the present collection, X.2, on which see further below). What is finally noteworthy, throughout his Biblical-Mesopotamian comparison, is Hallo’s restraint: he resists the easy claim that the Biblical texts grew directly out of the Mesopotamian letter-prayer tradition, because explicit evidence is lacking. At the same time, he is able to lay out, in this tradition, a compelling “early Mesopotamian model” (V.1, 213) for what the Biblical prayers are doing. Besides particular Mesopotamian texts, a number of articles in the present volume study a variety of cultural, including religious, phenomena: thus, the question of literary canons (I.1,5, X.3), rhetoric (I.7), historiography (VI), proverbs (VIII), lamentations and prayers (IV.3), kingship (III.4), origins of cities (VII.5), and religion, including cult and impurity (I.6, VII.2,3,4, VIII.3). Here again, while Mesopotamia is the

Piotr Michalowski, The Correspondence of the Kings of Ur: The Epistolary History of an Ancient Mesopotamian Kingdom. Mesopotamian Civilizations 15. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, in press; Nicole Maria Brisch, Tradition and the Poetics of Innovation: Sumerian Court Literature of the Larsa Dynasty (c. 2003–1763 bce). Alter Orient und Altes Testament 339. UgaritVerlag, 2007.

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main focus, it is not without wider, especially Biblical concerns. An illuminating example is the paper on “The Concept of Canonicity in Cuneiform and Biblical Literature: A Comparative Appraisal” (X.3). This is the principal and largest of several studies, mostly collected in the present volume, that focus or touch on canon (besides I.1,5, see I.4 and IV.1, the latter, on “Individual Prayer,” discussed above). The paper begins with a concise review of definitions of canonicity as they have been used for the Hebrew Bible and classical Jewish literature, with briefer reference to the early Christian and Classical sources. Hallo finds here a spectrum of meaning for canon, from the narrow, viz., a single fixed corpus of divinely inspired authoritative literature, to the broad, viz., a range of recognized corpora, invested with differing degrees of authority that do not have to be divinely inspired. More important, he notes, with Nahum Sarna, that even when divine inspiration was used as a criterion in antiquity, it was not the only one; more visible was what one might call (the term is the present authors’, not Hallo’s) the bibliographical treatment of texts that the ancients regarded as canonical, e.g., the notation of line counts and of a standard ordering of texts and their parts in sequence. It is this bibliographical treatment that Hallo applies to the study of the Mesopotamian materials, which is the main focus of his article. Here Hallo discusses a series of twelve features characterizing those Mesopotamian texts, and the corpora to which they belonged, that were regarded, at least in scribal circles, as authoritative and so canonical—the latter term being used by Hallo without reference to the criterion of divine inspiration. Hallo then returns to the relevance of these features to the understanding of the canonization process in the ancient Jewish and Christian traditions, at the same time not neglecting the differences, particularly the more closed definition of a canonical corpus that eventually came to be recognized for the Bible. The results of Hallo’s analysis, in this and his other publications, have become widely known and referred to, but, to be sure, not everywhere accepted, some critics still seeing an excessive reliance on Biblical models of exclusiveness and authority for the understanding of the Mesopotamian situation.5 But such critiques have not always reckoned adequately with the nuances of Hallo’s analysis, 5 The most extensive critique is by Victor Avigdor Hurowitz, “Canon and Canonization in Mesopotamia—Assyriological Models or Ancient Realities?” Proceedings of the Twelfth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division A: The Bible and Its World [Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1999], pp. 1*–12*.

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particularly as formulated in his “The Concept of Canonicity” article, which allows, as we have noted, for a range of similarities, but also for differences between the Biblical/Jewish/Christian traditions and those of Mesopotamia. In any case, Hallo’s delineation of the twelve features involved on the Mesopotamian side remains the most comprehensive and systematic we have in contemporary scholarship on the scribal production of texts, and thus a benchmark for any further work on the subject and its possible canonical significance. The papers of Hallo’s we have been discussing are, even if they consider wider ramifications, rooted in particular analyses, whether of individual texts or of individual cultural phenomena. One other group of papers in the present volume, however, is deliberately oriented more broadly, either as surveys of Mesopotamian literature, or as discussions of what makes up the comparative study of cultures (I.1,3,4; X.1,2,4). In this group, the paper that combines both orientations most extensively is “Compare and Contrast. The Contextual Approach to Biblical Literature” (X.2). Hallo begins here with a discussion of method. Since for him classical literary- or source-critical study of the Hebrew Bible involves a high degree of speculation—there remaining little hard and direct evidence of the underlying sources posited for the present (Tiberian Masoretic) Biblical text—one must go beyond the Bible for evidence that will help to understand the history of the Bible’s composition and its meaning. The comparative study of cultures, thus, is a necessary part of Biblical scholarship. But, Hallo goes on to warn, comparison that focuses only or largely on similarities with the goal of compiling a list of parallels between Biblical and other ancient Near Eastern literatures is much too one-sided and misleading. It needs to be balanced by a consideration of contrasts, which can often prove to be just as, if not more, illuminating in making sense of the nature of the phenomena at issue, as well as the cultures from which they come. But even more than a balance between similarities and contrasts, comparative study must, argues Hallo, remain sensitive to the contexts of what is being compared: context here involving both the immediate Biblical surroundings and the wider cultural and societal settings in ancient Israel and the ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean world as a whole. Equally, comparison must ask, if the phenomena reflect actual historical connections, how they are to be construed: are they derived from a common source, or borrowed one from the other, but then is Israel the borrower, or the lender? To illustrate these directives, Hallo turns to a series of particular comparisons gathered from a range of

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scholarship, very much including his own. The comparisons focus on literary matters, involving common motifs and genres; the use of sealing imagery to express love (Song of Songs 8:6), the curses at the end of Deuteronomy (28–29), and descriptive rituals (Numbers 7, etc.) are among the variety of instances considered. While some of the comparisons are more convincing than others, still, when gathered in such number and diversity, they do make the case for the crucial illumination Mesopotamian literature provides toward the meaning, function, and structure of Biblical literature—where the latter more often than not is insufficient in itself to explain its own features. The focus on comparative studies in not exhausted by the present collection. Among numerous other illustrations, we may point to the four summer seminars led by Hallo at Yale, with the support of the National Endowment for the Humanities. These were explicitly devoted to the Hebrew Bible in comparative ancient Near Eastern perspective, and the essays from them were edited by Hallo and his associates into four published volumes.6 In addition, Hallo was the driving force and main editor of the three volumes, The Context of Scripture (Brill, 1997–2002), which represent a major new collection of English translations of texts from all over the ancient Near East that have interest for Biblical studies. The volumes have already begun to replace the old standby, James B. Pritchard’s Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament.7 Finally, one cannot forget the volume, Origins. The Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions, which Hallo published in 1996 (Brill). As its title indicates, this moves, in its comparative thrust, well beyond Mesopotamia and the Bible to take up a whole set of phenomena in the Western tradition, institutional and otherwise, for which Mesopotamia, but also the broader ancient Near East, provide the foundations. 6

Carl D. Evans, William W. Hallo, and John B. White, eds., Scripture in Context: Essays on the Comparative Method. Pittsburgh Theological Monograph Series 34; Pittsburgh: The Pickwick Press, 1980; William W. Hallo, James C. Moyer, and Leo G. Perdue, eds., Scripture in Context II: More Essays on the Comparative Method. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1983; William W. Hallo, Bruce William Jones, and Gerald L. Mattingly, eds., The Bible in the Light of Cuneiform Literature: Scripture in Context III. Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 8; Lewiston/Queenston/Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1990; and K. Lawson Younger, Jr., William W. Hallo, and Bernard F. Batto, eds., The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective: Scripture in Context IV. Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 11; Lewiston/Queenston/Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1991. 7 Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton: Princeton University Press) in three editions (1950, 1955, 1969).

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Characterizing all of this work, Assyriological sensu stricto and comparative, is its bibliographical thoroughness: nothing of the ancient textual sources, and nothing of the voluminous and often widely dispersed modern scholarship appear to have escaped Hallo’s eye. Then, too, Hallo has never been content with an older style of Assyriological investigation, which often could not venture beyond the philological examination of a text. As we have seen, even in his philological investigations—painstaking in the best of the earlier tradition—he has always asked larger questions, about literary form and tradition, and cultural setting and profile, and done so very much aware of, though not obsessive about, wider, non-Near Eastern scholarship in literature, philosophy, history, and the like. This wider orientation has become much more common now, as the earlier, basic work of decipherment and organization of the field has been achieved, but Hallo, it may fairly be said, was one of its early proponents. Finally, whether it is a biblical text or a Mesopotamian that is a later legendary composition, Hallo has wanted to be open and generous to the possibility that such texts can serve as historical witnesses to the events, institutions, and the like which they describe. Of course, Hallo is not oblivious of the distortions and even outright inventions of Biblical and Mesopotamian texts in these instances. But he is just as, even more, impatient with scholars who would easily dismiss the historical footing of the texts or the chance for meaningful comparisons of texts and other artifacts across the cultures of the ancient Near East, especially Biblical Israel and Mesopotamia. As he put it, at the end of his “Compare and Contrast” article, “What counts is that, in the understandable revulsion against parallelomania, we not subject the biblical data to an equally unbridled parallelophobia.” In this regard, as he himself noted in another of the papers reprinted in the present volume, “Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics” (I.3),8 his work represents an effort to deal with the famous 1926 lecture/publication of one of his Chicago professors, Benno Landsberger, on “Die Eigenbegrifflichkeit der babylonischen Welt.”9 Landsberger in that lecture called 8 Thanks to Bill T. Arnold for reminding one of us (Machinist) of Hallo’s remarks in his “Problems” article concerning Landsberger: see Arnold, “Assyriology and Biblical Studies: Time for Reassessment?,” Bible and Interpretation [2005], on-line at www.bibleinterp.com/articles/Arnold_Assyriology_Biblical_Reassessment.shtml. 9 Benno Landsberger, “Die Eigenbegrifflichkeit der babylonischen Welt.” Islamica II (1926/reprinted 1974) (August Fischer Festschrift), pp. 355–372. Reprinted: Landsberger-Von Soden, Die Eigenbegrifflichkeit der babylonischen Welt (Benno Landsberger); Leis-

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for a focus on understanding a culture—in his instance, the culture of ancient Babylonia—from the culture’s own evidence and language(s), not, at least in the first instance, from comparison with other cultures. The effect of Landsberger’s lecture, even if it may have gone beyond his ultimate intent, was thereafter to push many Assyriologists, though by not means all (cf., e.g., Ephraim A. Speiser), away from active comparative work especially with the Bible. In Hallo’s work, on the other hand, we may observe an effort to take account of Landsberger’s important strictures, but to restore a balance: to say that comparison is indeed necessary as a means of enlarging the context in which the study and understanding of a culture must proceed. Peter Machinist Piotr Michalowski

tung und Grenze sumerischer und babylonischer Wissenschaft (Wolfram von Soden) (Libelli 142; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965), pp. 1–18; Nachwort, p. 19. Translated: Benno Landsberger, The Conceptual Autonomy of the Babylonian World, trans. T. Jacobsen, B. Foster, and H. von Siebenthal, with introduction by T. Jacobsen (Monographs on the Ancient Near East 1/4); Malibu: Undena, 1976.

i programmatics

i.1 NEW VIEWPOINTS ON CUNEIFORM LITERATURE*

What was the appearance of a biblical book? How was it conceived, edited, published? How was it transmitted from age to age, and by what manner of means was it changed in the course of that transmission? These are questions which ought to occupy the prolegomena of biblical exegesis, for anything less than certainty on these points renders any theory as to the history of a specific biblical text doubly tenuous. In fact, however, they are questions that, at least outside Israel, are largely disregarded.1 Palestinian archaeology can offer little comfort, and internal evidence is hard to come by except perhaps in the case of a Jeremiah. It is partly for this reason that modem biblical criticism has achieved such relatively few really permanent results that may be described as universally accepted. Instead, we have the classical Wellhausenist school, content to divide the received text into more and more component sources, not one of which is ever in danger of being recovered; the generation of the Gattungsforscher, seeking at least to classify the probable genres of biblical literature according to presumed but always hypothetical motives or occasions; and the myth and ritual

*

This paper was read to the Third World Congress of Jewish Studies held in Jerusalem in 1961. The following abbreviations have been used in this article: ANET An.St. AfO Ar.Or. Bi.Or. BWL HUCA JCS MDOG RA ZA 1

J.B. Pritchard, ed.: Ancient Near Eastern Texts. Princeton, 1950. Anatolian Studies. Archiv für Orientforschung. Archiv Orientální. Bibliotheca Orientalis. W.G. Lambert: Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford, 1960. Hebrew Union College Annual. Journal of Cuneiform Studies. W. von Soden: Das Problem der zeitlichen Einordnung akkadischer Literaturwerke, Mitteilungen der deutschen Orientgesellschaft, 85, 1953. Revue d’Assyriologie. Zeitschrift für Assyriologie.

Cf. J.Ph. Hyatt: The Writing of an Old Testament Book, BA, 6, 1943, pp. 71–80.

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school, disclaiming the relevance of formal textual history altogether with its emphasis on a fluid, oral prehistory.2 There is, however, one approach which seems to offer some prospect of objective, verifiable data against which to test biblical hypotheses, and that is the so-called comparative method. As in so many other areas of biblical scholarship, we find that, in the area of literary techniques, the evidence from the literate neighbours of ancient Israel is not only relevant to the biblical problems, but also enjoys a scholarly consensus based on a maximum of facts and a minimum of theories.3 I would like to address myself to two special problems of literary techniques in the cuneiform area, particularly in Akkadian, leaving it largely to others to draw the inevitable comparisons for the biblical situation. The two problems I have in mind are the creative impulse and the process of canonization in cuneiform literature—two opposite poles of one larger question which may be described as the formal aspect of textual history. Creativity implies first of all authorship, and cuneiform literature, at least in its principal Sumerian and Akkadian manifestations, is notorious for its anonymity. This anonymity is not the least of the differences that separate it from literary prophecy in Israel, and from subsequent western literature. In fact, there are only two Akkadian compositions (and at most one Sumerian one) which incorporate explicit references to authorship, and these exceptions seem merely to prove the rule.4 In the so-called ‘Theodicy’,5 a certain (E)saggil-k¯ınam-ubbib has revealed his name in an acrostic which reads: ‘I, Saggil-k¯ınam-ubbib, am a (loyal) servant of god and king.’ Apparently he means thereby to protest his religious and political innocence in face of the rather daring views expressed in his composition. But the fact that he hides his name in the acrostic seems to indicate clearly enough that it was only

2

To these well-known schools may now perhaps be added the interesting new view advanced by S. Sandmel: The Haggada within Scripture, JBL, 80, 1961, pp. 105–122. 3 Almost the only attempt at source analysis in Akkadian of which I am aware is P. Koschaker’s division of Codex Hammurabi into pre-Hammurabian and Hammurabian elements; cf. especially Rechtsvergleichende Studien zur Gesetzgebung Hammurabis. Leipzig, 1923, and Beiträge zum babylonischen Recht, ZA, 35, 1924, pp. 199–212, esp. pp. 205 ff. For Sumerian, one may mention T. Jacobsen: The Sumerian King List. Chicago, 1939. 4 W.G. Lambert: Ancestors, Authors and Canonicity, JCS, 11, 1957, p. 1. 5 Latest edition by W.G. Lambert, BWL, ch. 3.

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5

the unusual circumstances of the case that prompted him to break the usual pattern of anonymity even to this extent, and, though we have half a dozen further examples of acrostics in Akkadian literature,6 none of the others include an author’s name. The Epic of Irra7 was composed by Kabti-il¯ani-Marduk. This we learn from the final chapter of that book. But again the circumstances under which this information is provided are exceptional. For we are told that the presumed author received the text of the epic in its entirety from the deity, and it is precisely in order to tell us this that his name is included in the composition at all. Moreover, as Lambert has seen,8 the reference to divine inspiration is simply a way of denying Kabti’s authorship of the epic and implying that he received it from an earlier authority. In both of these cases, the evidence for authorship, such as it is, is incorporated in the texts themselves. There is, however, new and additional evidence which we owe to the Akkadian penchant for drawing up lists. We possess certain lists and catalogues of authors, or of literary compositions and their authors, which have recently been studied by von Soden and Lambert.9 It is from one of these that we know of the ‘author’ of the Gilgamesh Epic as Sin-liqi-unninni. Lambert has shown that this name and a number of the others go back to Kassite times, the earliest datable one being from the fourteenth century.10 True, ‘in (of ) the mouth of ’ in these catalogues does not imply authorship in the strict modern sense,11 for even if we date the canonical version of Gilgamesh to the Kassite period, it is clear that it built on earlier versions and that the Kassite ‘author’ was in part simply an adaptor. However, the far-reaching changes which we can trace precisely in this composition in the passages where both the Old Babylonian and the

6 Ibid., p., 67; cf. W. Hallo: Isaiah 28 9–13 and the Ugaritic Abecedaries, JBL, 77, 1958, p. 328 and n. 11. 7 Last complete edition by Father F. Gössmann: Das Era-Epos. Würzburg, 1956. The many important reviews of and additions to this edition have been summarized and augmented by B. Kienast, ZA, 54, 1961, pp. 244–249. 8 JCS, 11, 1957, p. 1. 9 MDOG, pp. 16–17; Lambert, JCS, 11, 1957, p. 5, with a new fragment of the same catalogue. 10 Ibid., pp. 2–4 and appendix, p. 112. 11 According to Lambert, ibid., p. 6, (ˇ sa) p¯ı identifies either the oral source or the redactor.

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neo-Assyrian versions are preserved12 show that the adaptation was at the same time the work of a creative genius whose name was worthy of being remembered. The Kassite period is, however, not the upper limit for recorded authorship in these and similar catalogues. At least one composition, Etana, is associated with an author from Ur who must be assigned to the Old Babylonian period at the latest and probably to the neoSumerian period.13 Traditions of such hoary antiquity of authorship merge imperceptibly with others which speak of unnamed ancient sages, usually the seven antediluvian apkallu’s, and blend at last with another Akkadian conception, that of divine authorship. It may come as something of a surprise to find divine authorship an explicit tenet of the Assyrians already, but again Lambert has provided us with the unequivocal evidence in the form of an unpublished catalogue assigning various canonical books to different deities.14 To this may be added from a published source, albeit a late one, the statement in the ‘verse account of Nabonidus’ that the divine Adapa, sometimes regarded as first of the seven sages, authored the series UD.SAR Anu Enlil.15 Thus the Akkadian bibliographers were aware of the problem, of authorship, and the old theorem that anonymity implied authority16 has to be revised for them: in fact, antiquity of authorship implied authority, with divine authorship implying the greatest authority. Though we cannot, of course, regard these claims as historical, they are not without value for, conversely, divine authorship must have been conceived, rightly or wrongly, as high antiquity of authorship.17 12 Cf. P. Garelli, ed.: Gilgameˇ s et sa légende, Êtudes recueillies à l’occasion de la VII e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, (Paris–1958), Paris, 1960, especially J.R. Kupper: Les différentes versions de l’épopée de Gilgameˇs, pp. 97–102. 13 Lambert, JCS, 11, 1957, p. 7. 14 W.G. Lambert: Divine Authorship of Works of Babylonian Literature, paper read to the American Oriental Society, New Haven, 1960; cf. JAOS, 80, 1960, p. 284. 15 So at least in the translation of Landsberger and Bauer; see A.L. Oppenheim, ANET, p. 314. The series is, however, otherwise unknown to me. For Adapa, the apkallu’s, and their works, see H.G. Güterbock: Die historische Tradition und ihre literarische Gestaltung bei Babyloniern und Hethitern, ZA, 42, 1934, pp. 9–10. 16 So still von Soden, MDOG, p. 16. 17 It certainly cannot be denied that the Old Babylonian period was a time of intense creative activity. Lambert (BWL, pp. 7–9) has even explained it in ethnic terms: the peripheral Amorite or Semitic areas were ‘hotbeds of reform’ in matters literary, while the scribal quarters of the old Sumerian centres like Nippur preserved the received tradition until Hammurabi’s unification subjected the whole country to their conservatism.

i.1. new viewpoints on cuneiform literature

7

Official recognition of authorship, human, sage, or divine, is only the first ingredient of the mechanics of creativity in Akkadian literature. We have already alluded to the creative role of the presumed Kassite adaptor of the Old Babylonian Gilgamesh epic. The same role has been posited for the Middle Babylonian period generally in the history of Babylonian literature.18 But it would be wrong to conceive of the origin of Akkadian literature in terms of a single, organized reworking of Old Babylonian models, a once-and-for-all process that left no room for individual traits. Rather, the evidence gradually accumulating shows that this view has to be considerably modified. Let us take first of all the case of the omen literature, for this is quantitatively the most important genre in Akkadian literature, forming, in Oppenheim’s estimate, some 30 per cent, of what he calls the ‘stream of tradition’.19 A comparison of Old Babylonian and neo-Assyrian omina shows important differences in content20 as well as in form, for the later omina love to enlarge on a given theme, exhausting all the possible and impossible variations conceivable for a given protasis or condition.21 It has therefore often been thought that the greater part of the late omen literature was completely artificial, that the vast accretions to the earlier 18 MDOG, p. 22. We know a number of Middle Babylonian redactors by name, e.g. Eˇsguzi; cf. J.V. Kinnier Wilson: Two Medical Texts from Nimrud, I, Iraq, 18, 1956, pp. 136–140. 19 A.L. Oppenheim: Assyriology—why and how?, Current Anthropology, 1, 1960, p. 412. Since Oppenheim’s provocative study is not everywhere available, it may be useful to summarize his estimate of the original size and composition of Assurbanipal’s library here:

Omen texts: about 300 tablets, Lexical texts: about 200 tablets, Bilingual incantations and prayers: about 100 tablets, Conjurations, epics, fables, proverbs, etc.: about 100 tablets, unclassified (?): about 200 tablets, lost or not yet identified: 300–600 tablets. This total of 1200–1500 tablets is considerably below Weidner’s estimate of 5000 in AfO, 16, 1952–1953, p. 198. 20 The older omina were chiefly derived from inspection of the liver and entrails of sheep (extispicy), the younger ones from a variety of phenomena; cf. e.g. A. Goetze’s Introduction to: Old Babylonian Omen Texts (= Yale Oriental Series, 10). New Haven, 1947. 21 In the case of monstrous births, for example, the Old Babylonian series considers the appearance of a foetus with two tails (ibid., No. 56 i 10), while the neo-Assyrian series adds cases with three to nine tails (Ch. Fossey, Babyloniaca, 5, 1914 and Dennefeld, Assyriologische Bibliothek, 22, 1914, passim). The ‘cat of nine tails’, be it noted, is a biological possibility.

8

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corpus were simply generated by the scribes, and that they displayed as little originality in their creative work as they did in their slavish copying of older models. New discoveries force a revision of this view. The British excavations at Kalah have turned up, among other magnificent finds, an entirely new category of cuneiform inscriptions: instead of clay tablets, the slime at the bottom of a deep well had preserved intact wooden and ivory writing boards covered with wax. These boards were then fastened together in harmonica fashion to produce a true book. This book contained, interestingly enough, the astronomical omen series, en¯uma Anu Enlil. As the excavators saw, these omina were apparently recorded from actual, patient observation of celestial phenomena night after night. They therefore could not employ a writing surface like clay, which hardens quickly and makes additions and alterations impossible. The wax surface of the wooden writing boards was ideally suited for keeping a cuneiform record over a prolonged period of time, and at the same time entitles us to suppose that much, if not all, of the late omen literature was likewise a creative, experimental venture, albeit directed towards ends far from scientific.22 A similar conclusion can be reached in the case of the great lexical series, such as ana ittiˇsu and HAR-ra = hubullu, which are increas˘ ˘ speculation. In this case ingly recognized as based on observation, not the object of observation consisted of the actual Sumerian of the neoSumerian and Early Babylonian periods, or at least its written survivals.23 Nor did the philological spirit die out thereafter, for the commentaries of the later and latest periods represent a scribal innovation that took many different forms.24

22

For the writing boards from Kalah, see M.E.L. Mallowan: The Excavations at Nimrud (Kalhu) 1953, Iraq, 16, 1954, pp. 94–110 and D.J. Wiseman: Assyrian Writing Boards, ibid., 17, 1955, pp. 3–13 and Margaret Howard: Technical Description of the Ivory Writing-Boards from Nimrud, ibid., pp. 14–20. For the general question, cf. H.Th. Bossert: Sie schrieben auf Holz, Minoica (= Sundwall Anniversary Volume, Berlin, 1958), pp. 67–19. 23 This conclusion was reached independently by H. Limet: Le Travail du métal au pays de Sumer. Paris, 1960, p. 190 (sub ‘1’) and by J.B. Curtis & W.W. Hallo: Money and Merchants in Ur III, HUCA, 30, 1959, p. 136. 24 Some of these mukallim¯atu themselves became parts of the canon, while others have all the appearance of ad hoc aids prepared by or for private readers of the classical texts. All show many striking similarities with the so-called synonym lists, and there may be an organic connection between the two genres. On commentaries, see most recently E.F. Weidner: Ein ‘Kommentar’ zu sˇumma izbu, AfO, 19, 1959–1960, pp. 151–152.

i.1. new viewpoints on cuneiform literature

9

In other genres, too, we have new evidence of the creative impulse in the later periods of Mesopotamian history, periods which are contemporary with the presumed date of composition of most of biblical literature. The process of adapting older literary models did not cease in the Middle Babylonian period. A comparison of the neo-Assyrian version of the myth of Nergal and Eresh-kigal, recently edited by Gurney, with the previously known Middle-Babylonian version of el-Amarna, shows far-going changes in spite of the retention of the basic outline.25 But a far more important outlet for the literary talents of the later scribes was constituted by the royal inscriptions.26 At the courts of the neo-Assyrian and neo-Babylonian monarchs, these found their true apogee. Many of these inscriptions, it is true, succumbed to the stereotyped phrases, wild exaggerations, and progressive distortions which their royal patrons apparently wanted to hear, and their historical value suffers as much as their literary merit as a result.27 But others, on the contrary, display a high degree of objectivity, of immediacy, and of sensitivity. Most notable in this respect is the lengthy report in the form of a letter, by a scribe or scribes of Sargon II of Assyria, describing the events of his eighth campaign. In a new analysis of this text, Oppenheim has discovered its Sitz im Leben: it was read to the assembled citizens of Assur immediately upon the return of the royal army. It is attuned to its audience, and its many descriptive details, some of them almost lyrical, not only delighted this audience, but gave free rein to the scribe’s powers of observation and expression.28 In still another unexpected quarter, Oppenheim has discovered a major departure from the fixity of wording previously associated with Akkadian literature.29 Inserted in the midst of a most unlikely context— a standard invocation of the gods of the night—he has found a passage of high poetic quality in which the lone officiating priest surveys

25 Cf. O.R. Gurney: The Myth of Nergal and Ereshkigal (= The Sultantepe Tablets VII), An. St., 10, 1960, pp. 105–131. 26 MDOG, pp. 24–25. 27 We can assess their historical value best when we have two or even three independent reports of the same event, as in the case of Sennacherib’s siege of Jerusalem or, to take a new example, the battle of Dêr in 720; cf. W. Hallo: From Qarqar to Carchemish, BA, 23, 1960, pp. 53, 59. 28 A.L. Oppenheim: The City of Assur in 714 bc, JNES, 19, 1960, especially pp. 143– 147. 29 A.L. Oppenheim: A New Prayer to the Gods of Night, Oriens Antiquus (= Studia Biblica et Orientalia, 3 = Analecta Biblica, 12, 1959), pp. 282–301.

10

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the sleeping city and countryside from the roof on which he is conducting his ritual, and paints this picture in an almost impressionistic manner. The phrases used by the priestly poet are not in themselves new. Indeed, Oppenheim has traced a number of them back in different combinations and contexts to Old Babylonian times. But their employment here shows that some of the scribes, at least, had command of what Oppenheim calls topoi and could draw on them at will.30 Such topoi can be found also scattered through Sumerian31 and Akkadian32 literature, and at least one runs through both.33 The discovery of the topos in Akkadian poetry thus reveals a situation not unlike one sometimes associated with the biblical psalms—a stock of phrases, lines, and even whole stanzas at the disposal of a school of poets who created from them ever-new combinations.34 The reason why the evidence for the last point is relatively meagre is to be sought in yet another factor, the last that can be considered in this connection. The literary texts which are preserved for us tend to come from palace or temple libraries and schools, and thus implicitly bear the stamp of official acceptance. They are overwhelmingly dedicated to 30 Ibid., pp. 290–298. As far as I can see, the term was first applied to the cuneiform field by B. Landsberger: Jahreszeiten im Sumerisch-Akkadischen, JNES, 8, 1949, p. 281. For a useful definition of the term, cf. G. Bradley: The topos as a form in the Pauline Paraenesis, JBL, 72, 1953, p. 240. 31 Cf. the frequent topos of ‘fertility’ to which A. Falkenstein has called attention in ZA, 50, 1952, p. 78 and Sumerische and Akkadische Hymnen and Gebete. Zürich, 1953, p. 361. 32 Lambert, BWL, p, 315, finds lines 143–147 of the Counsels of Wisdom paraphrased in Harper, Assyrian arid Babylonian Letters, No. 614 Rev. 8 f. 33 The famous line, ‘Who is tall enough to ascend to heaven, who is broad enough to embrace the earth?’ occurs in more or less identical form first in the Sumerian wisdom literature, then in the Sumerian epic of ‘Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living’, then in the Old Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, and finally in the neo-Assyrian poem of the ‘Obliging Servant’; cf. ANET, p. 48, lines 28 f., p. 79, lines 5, and p. 438, lines 86 f. In the last case, the quotation is dearly intended as the very type of a platitude; cf. E.A. Speiser: The Case of the Obliging Servant, JCS, 8, 1954, p. 105, n. 21; differently: Lambert, BWL, pp. 140–141, 148, 327. 34 Needless to say, the biblical topos is not limited to the Psalms. A comparison of Hos. iv, 9 with Isa. xxiv, 2, for example, or of Gen. xix, 1–9 with Judges xix, 14–25, shows the same tendency to repeat or enlarge a given theme in a given manner. The whole problem of such ‘internal parallels’ in the various separate ancient Near Eastern literatures is worthy of investigation. For some Egyptian examples, see W.K. Simpson: Allusions to The Shipwrecked Sailor and the Eloquent Peasant in a Ramesside Text, JAOS, 78, 1958, pp. 50–51. For the related question of citations, see R. Gordis: Quotations as a Literary Usage in Biblical, Oriental and Rabbinic Literature, HUCA, 22, 1949, pp. 157–219 and Quotations in Wisdom Literature, Jewish Quarterly Review, 30, 1939– 1940, pp. 123–147. Cf. also n. 2 above.

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11

matters of practical concern to these institutions and rarely stray into pure belletristic, particularly in the later periods.35 But this does not exclude the possibility that such literature existed, if it was ever reduced to writing and if we can but find it.36 The excavations at Sultan Tepe have for the first time turned up a sizeable cache of literary tablets from what may be considered a purely private library roughly contemporary with the great public collections at Nineveh and Assur, and of a type whose existence had previously been deduced from internal evidence.37 And here indeed, besides the ‘official’ texts, there was found such a delightful piece as the ‘Poor Man of Nippur.’38 Though the library of Assurbanipal contained a fragment of the same text, a far more interesting parallel to it turns up in the Arabian Nights. It is probably just in the area of folk tales and popular maxims that this unofficial literature found its freest expression, and we are not to suppose that the dearth of preserved Akkadian proverbs relative to Sumerian is due to the loss of a sense of humour: they were simply relegated to the p¯ı m¯atim, the vernacular.39 Another outlet for popular, or oral literature was the realm of legend, which explains why the same tales might be associated with different heroes by successive ages.40

35 Even apparently ‘literary’ texts such as Adapa frequently end in ‘practical’ incantations and probably owe their survival to this fact. Cf. Oppenheim, op. cit. (above, n. 19), p. 413. 36 Oppenheim, ibid., p. 414, suggests that this literature may have been written in Aramaic, or on perishable materials, or in palaces like that of Babylon which have so far defied excavation. That there was ever a sizeable body of ‘oral literature’ in Mesopotamia seems unlikely; cf. J. Laessøe: Literacy and Oral Tradition in Ancient Mesopotamia, Studia Orientalia Ioanni Pedersen septuagenario. . . .dicata. Copenhagen, 1953, pp. 205–218. 37 Cf. MDOG, p. 15; E. Weidner: Die Bibliothek Tiglatpilesers I., AfO, 16, 1953, p. 198; idem: Amts- und Privatarchive aus mittelassyrischer Zeit, V. Christian Anniversary Volume (= K, Schubert, ed.: Vorderasiatische Studien. Wien, 1956), pp. 111–118; W.G. Lambert: The Sultantepe Tablets: a review article, RA, 53, 1959, p. 121. 38 O.R. Gurney: The Tale of the Poor Man of Nippur (= The Sultantepe Tablets V), An. St., 6, 1956, pp. 145–162 and addendum, ibid., 7, 1957, p. 136; cf. E.A. Speiser: Sultantepe Tablet 38 73 and En¯una Eliˇs III 69, JCS, 11, 1957, pp. 43–44. 39 For the Akkadian proverbs, cf. BWL, ch. 9, for the Sumerian proverbs, E.I. Gordon: Sumerian Proverbs (= Museum Monographs. Philadelphia, 1959) and previous literature cited there, pp. 552–553. 40 Cf. Especially H. Lewy: The Babylonian Background of the Kay Kâûs Legend, Ar. Or., 17/2, 1949, pp. 28–109, and Nitokris-Naqîa, JNES, 11, 1952, pp. 264–286. For the Babylonian background of the book of Daniel, cf. W. von Soden: Eine babylonische Volksüberlieferung von Nabonid in den Danielerzählungen, Zeitschrift f. Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 53, 1935, pp. 81–89.

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So far the elements of creativity in Akkadian literature. What can be said about the opposite but complementary technique of collecting, selecting and preserving that which had previously been created? Here too, recent discoveries have contributed new insights. It is by now common knowledge that the literary cuneiform texts—as distinguished from the monumental building and votive inscriptions on the one hand and the so-called economic or archival tablets on the other—are often preserved in numerous different copies, sometimes going back to different periods and places. A critical edition of such a text demands from the Assyriologist that he combine all such copies, duly noting attested manuscripts and variant readings in an apparatus criticus, exactly as in the case of a Greek or Latin author. Indeed, Assyriology is now in the happy and exciting period of textual reconstruction in which the humanists of the Renaissance found themselves when they were recovering their classical heritage. What is less well known is the precise manner by which these various copies came into being. Who determined what texts were to be copied? How many were made? In what order were they arranged? These apparently mechanical questions have an interest not only for Assyriology but for ancient literary techniques in general. Consider first the question of the number of copies of texts ‘in circulation’. The seemingly numberless fragments that enter into the reconstruction of almost any substantial Akkadian or Sumerian text have sometimes led to the feeling that there was an original abundance of complete copies in each of the great public tablet collections. One could picture a reader dictating to a whole ‘scriptorium’ full of scribes, and indeed this process was employed in some periods for some of the commoner royal inscriptions—those, at least, which, because of their shape, it was not possible to print with a brick stamp. But there is no evidence for such mass-production methods in the case of literary texts. On the contrary, the abundance of fragments and separate tablets belonging to the same composition at a single site disappears when one begins to assign the fragments to a single tablet on the basis of their expected position, and to assign successive tablets to a single ‘exemplar’ of one multi-tablet series on the basis of certain technical and orthographic characteristics. In this manner, it has been deduced by von Soden that even Assurbanipal’s library at Nineveh contained at the most only three complete copies of any one composition, and

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of some only one.41 Much the same situation can be demonstrated for the Old Babylonian copies of Sumerian texts: few discrete exemplars of even the more popular compositions. It is true that, as Oppenheim suggests, the methods of the scribal schools may have encouraged their graduates to construct and maintain small libraries of their own, but as far as the decisive ‘public’ collections were concerned, i.e. those of the temple, palace, or school, our evidence to date suggests a very limited ‘edition’ of complete literary texts at any given site in spite of their wide geographical and chronological attestation. The situation is different, however, when we consider the brief excerpts generally referred to as exercise tablets. These are indeed attested in great abundance. What interests us about them here is a new type of exercise tablet which has recently come to light. Two small tablets from Assur published by Lambert42 show extracts, not just from two or three compositions,43 but from ten different series, all of them identifiable as standard books in the neo-Assyrian stream of tradition. What is even more significant, the compositions are excerpted in exactly the same order in both tablets, in fact in each case the lines quoted in the one tablet follow immediately those quoted in the other tablet when compared with the full version of the texts involved. What this seems to imply is the existence of an accepted list of classical texts, and the emergence or a standard order in which they were to be read or studied.44 In keeping with this hypothesis is the fact that lexical texts head the list and that omen texts make up the greatest part of it. 41 W. von Soden: Zur Wiederherstellung der Geburtsomenserie ˇsumma izbu, ZA, 50, 1952, p. 182 (cf. on this series also P.C. Couprie, Bi Or., 17, 1960, p. 187). As von Soden points out, the reconstruction of the separate exemplars of a given series is a neglected but valid part of lower textual criticism in Assyriology. (Oppenheim, loc. cit. [above, n. 19] counts up to six copies of some Nineveh texts.) 42 BWL, Pl. 73 and pp. 356–357. 43 An interesting example of this variety of extract (Akkadian nishu) tablet is Baby˘ the Lipit-Ishtar loniaca, 9, pp. 19 f. and Pl. 1, which has, on the obverse, extracts of hymn translated by A. Falkenstein, in Sumerische und akkadische Hymnen und Gebete. Zürich, 1953, No. 28, followed by Codex Hammurabi par. 7, and, on the reverse extracts of paradigms. The tablet is now in Geneva; cf. E. Sollberger: The Cuneiform Collection in Geneva, JCS, 5, 1951, p. 20 sub 6.3. Cf. also D.O. Edzard: Die ‘zweite Zwischenzeit’ Babyloniens. Wiesbaden, 1957, n. 463. 44 Akkadian idû (NÍG.ZU) is the material to be ‘known’ (i.e. by heart), and t¯amartu (IGI.DU8.A) is the material to be glanced at for reference only. The latter term is commonest in the colophons of Assurbanipal’s personal (?) library; both occur in the curriculum of the incantation priest (below, n. 49).

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Lambert himself hesitates to draw this conclusion, and in another context he has specifically warned against viewing the editorial work of the Babylonian and Assyrian scribes as canonization in the sense in which this word is applied to the Bible.45 Yet we know that many Akkadian works had assumed a fixed form by neo-Assyrian times, and that their division into tablets, and in the case of longer series into groups of tablets (pirsu) was fully standardized.46 When we add to this the new evidence for the fixed order of the separate series, we have some of the essential ingredients of a canon. If the process of canonization was not completed in the case of the cuneiform literature, it was only because political events intervened. There have, indeed, long been indications of the emergence of a standard order of cuneiform texts, though they have not always received the attention they deserved. One is the existence of catalogues of titles or incipits,47 either of the various tablets (i.e. chapters) of long series,48 or of successive series.49 Now some of the latter may, it is true, be simply inventories prepared by zealous librarians.50 But others may have the further significance of recording the order in which the texts were supposed to follow each other. This view is in accord with another 45 JCS, 11, 1957, p. 9. I refer only to the element of standardization, not to the claim of inspiration attaching to the term. 46 The notion that a cuneiform series (iˇ skaru) corresponds to a (biblical) book and a tablet (.tuppu) to a chapter readily suggests itself. It is harder to find an exact equivalent for the pirsu. 47 Called DUB.SAG.(MES) ˇ or, in neo-Assyrian texts, SAG.DUB.(MES), ˇ literally ‘head or top (of ) the tablet’; cf. Kinnier Wilson, op. cit. (above, n. 18), pp. 135–136. In neo-Sumerian, SAG.DUB seems to identify the person named at the beginning of a ration or wage list; cf. T. Jacobsen, Studia Orientalis Ioanni Pedersen septuagenario . . . dicata. Copenhagen, 1953, p. 181. 48 Such a sub-catalogue, or perhaps we should say ‘table of contents’ of a single series was recently found at Nimrud-Kalah (ND 4358) and published by Kinnier Wilson, op. cit. (above, n. 18), pp. 130 ff. We also have such catalogues for, i.a., en¯uma Anu Enlil (cf. Weidner: Die astrologische Serie Enûma Anu Enlil, AfO, 14, 1942, pp. 184–189) and the omen series ˇsumma ãlu (KAR 394). 49 Some typical cuneiform catalogues may be noted here: (a) Sumerian: I. Bernhardt and S.N. Kramer, Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Friedrich Schiller Universität Jena, 6, 1956, pp. 389–395, and the parallels there cited (lyrics); cf. now also S.N. Kramer: New Literary Catalogue from Ur, RA, 55, 1961, pp. 169–176. (b) Akkadian: KAR 158 (lyrics); H. Zimmern, ZA, 30, 1915–1916, pp. 204–229 (maˇsmaˇs¯utu); Kraus, AfO Supplement, 3, 1939, No. 51 (physiognomic omina) and the texts quoted above, n. 48. (c) Hittite: E. Laroche, Ar. Or., 17/2, 1949, pp. 14–23. In the Bible, Psalm lxviii is a list of incipits according to W.F. Albright: A Catalogue of Early Hebrew Lyric Poetry, HUCA, 23, 1950–1951, pp. 1–39. 50 So e.g. at Hattusha; cf. Laroche, Ar. Or., 17/2, 1949, pp. 22–23.

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15

fact, long signalized by Landsberger,51 that the last tablets of certain series have, as their catchline, the first line of another series.52 This too points in the direction of a standardized order of the canonical texts. Other criteria for the canonizing process include the collecting, selecting and editing of texts. Evidence for these activities is better known, though some of it is subject to differences of interpretation.53 Here there is only room to consider one final question: who was responsible for the entire process? The answer seems clear. It was the scribal schools. Only such an institution, with its continuing, corporate character can explain the wide extent and long endurance of cuneiform literature in the face of its limited circulation,54 and only such an institution possessed the resources, the discipline and at the same time the practical need to produce a canon while limiting its own creative impulses to the form described earlier.55 We now know a good deal about these schools, their organization and terminology56 thanks especially to the essays about school life at Nippur dating from the Old Babylonian period

Materialien zum sumerischen Lexikon, 1, 1937, p. vii. Note also that sometimes two or more distinct compositions appear in a kind of series, as for example the ‘Silbenalphabet’ and Atrahasis; cf. C.J. Gadd: The Infancy ˘ and J. Laessøe, The Atrahasis of Man in a Sumerian Legend, Iraq, 4, 1937, pp. 33–34, ˘ Epic: a Babylonian History of Mankind, Bi. Or., 13, 1956, pp. 98–99. 53 Cf. the divergent interpretations of the important colophon of Nazimaruttash (c. 1313–1288) by von Soden, MDOG, pp. 22–23, and Lambert, JCS, 11, 1957, pp. 8– 9, or the colophon of the newly found catalogue of the series sa-gig (above, n. 48) by Kinnier Wilson, op. cit., pp. 136 ff. and Lambert, ibid., p. 6. 54 Lambert, ibid., p. 7 considers the possibility that Kassite scribal schools descended straight from Old Babylonian ones. It is true that, according to one tradition, the scribes and learned priests fled to the Sealand at the end of the Old Babylonian period; cf. B. Landsberger: Assyrische Königliste und ‘Dunkles Zeitalter’, JCS, 8, 1954, pp. 68– 69, n. 174. But the Sealand itself may have restored them to Nippur, for its kings revived the tradition of Sumerian royal names (ibid., p. 69 and n. 175) and, possibly, of Sumerian royal hymns (cf. below, n. 61). Lambert, op. cit., pp. 3–4 further holds that ‘scribal families [or guilds] were responsible for transmitting Akkadian literature from the Kassite period onwards’, i.e. after the demise of the old-style schools. For a similar evaluation of Hittite scribal organization, cf. Laroche, op. cit., (above, n. 49), pp. 9– 13. 55 The canonical order, in fact, reflects or represents the curriculum of the schools, which may have begun with the texts mentioned in n. 52, then passed on to the ‘primer’ of Assyriology, the so-called Syllabary A, then to the other syllabaries and vocabularies before turning to the connected literary and ‘scientific’ texts; cf. n. 56 below. 56 For the Old Babylonian period see B. Landsberger: Babylonian Scribal Craft and its Terminology, Proceedings of the 23rd International Congress of Orientalists, 1954, pp. 123– 126. Interesting terms from the later period are to be found in the sa-gig colophon (above, n. 53) and in the lexical series LÚ-ˇsa. 51 52

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and studied among others by Kramer, Gadd, and van Dijk.57 But the existence of comparable institutions and techniques in later periods and at such diverse places as Assur and Hattusha is implied by the analysis of their libraries.58 In the library of Assurbanipal at Nineveh, the scribal traditions of Mesopotamia found a fitting climax, whether we can still speak here of a ‘school’ or not. The schools, however, did not exist in a vacuum. Behind them stood at all times some form of higher authority. Usually, this was the state, in the form of the monarch; more rarely it may have been the temple.59 This can be demonstrated by a variety of indications from various periods. Most obvious is the personal connection between school and court: scribal training was, at least in some periods, the necessary and sufficient basis for any public career, administrative, priestly, or military, and even royal princes were honoured to bear the title of scribe.60 For the neo-Sumerian and Old Babylonian periods, I have tried to establish a link between successive Babylonian dynasties and the Sumerian poets, probably of Nippur, which seems to have involved the honouring of certain kings in the hymns in return for the patronage of the scribal schools by royal favour.61 The antiquarian interest of certain of the later kings is well known,62 and some of them were equally patrons of literature. There can be little doubt that the scribal schools or guilds existed with the active consent and support of the state. It seems hardly too far-fetched to suppose that the work of canonization, if it really was their work, reflected the needs of the monarchy. S.N. Kramer: Schooldays, JAOS, 69, 1949, pp. 199 ff. (= Museum Monographs, 1); C.J. Gadd: Teachers and Students in the World’s Oldest Schools, London, 1956; J.J.A. van Dijk: La Sagesse suméro-accadienne. Leiden, 1953, pp. 21–27. Cf. A. Falkenstein: Der Sohn des Tafelhauses, Die Welt des Orients, 1, 1948, pp. 172–186. 58 Cf. Weidner, op. cit. (above, n. 37), pp. 197–215; Laroche, op. cit. (above, n. 49), pp. 7–23, and, for a very general survey, A.A. Kampman: Archieven en bibliotheken in het oude Nabije Oosten. Leiden, 1942. 59 That the scribes came under the direct patronage of the temples from Middle Babylonian times on as Lambert suggests (BWL, p. 14) may perhaps be questioned in the light of the specific exclusion of the secret, i.e. more advanced, texts of certain priestly techniques (the so-called nis. irtu; cf. R. Borger, Bi Or., 14, 1957, pp. 190–195) from the scribal canon. On the contrary, the omina, prayers, rituals, etc. are full of specific applications to the kings. 60 Cf. already V. Scheil: Princes Scribes, Recueil des Travaux, 37, 1915, pp. 127–128. 61 W. Hallo: Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity, paper read to the 171st meeting of the American Oriental Society, Philadelphia, 1961, here: III.4. 62 Cf. most recently G. Goossens: Les Recherches historiques à l’époque néo-babylonienne, RA, 42, 1948, pp. 149–159. 57

i.1. new viewpoints on cuneiform literature

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To sum up, then, recent discoveries in Assyriology have provided new insights into the sources of the creative impulse and into the mechanics of canonization. The possibility thus presents itself of tracing the growth of a Mesopotamian literary composition through two millennia, from its first written fixation, through its creative adaptation to new forms and even new languages, to its final, orderly incorporation into an official canon. Without this basic knowledge, all higher literary criticism remains hopelessly hypothetical. With it, the foundations are laid for a comparative approach to biblical criticism.

i.2 THE CULTIC SETTING OF SUMERIAN POETRY

A. Introduction* Three years ago I announced the identification, in the Yale Babylonian Collection, of a nearly complete hymn to the goddess Nisaba of which only a few lines were otherwise known from duplicates, and I promised to deal with it at a future date.1 This paper represents an attempt to redeem that pledge. But an edition of the hymn with the traditional philological apparatus no longer appears, to me, either a necessary or a sufficient approach to the task. It is no longer necessary because the pioneering work of Adam Falkenstein and his disciples has provided ample evidence for most of the textual, structural and lexical problems raised by the hymns to deities in general. It is no longer sufficient because we are now ready to raise some larger questions concerning this genre to see, if we can, what place it had in the life, and particularly the religious life, of the culture that produced it. For reasons that will become apparent, the hymn to be presented here contains what may be some particularly valuable clues toward resolving these questions. The cultic setting of religious poetry is not, admittedly, a question of interest solely to Sumerologists. It could be investigated with profit for the first millennium when, indeed, elaborate ritual calendars explicitly prescribe the particular festivals and other occasions for the recitation of specific compositions.2 And of course criticism of the Biblical Psalms has, since the days of Herrmann Gunkel, insisted on the determination of the “Sitz im Leben” for each genre isolated by the so-called Gattungsforschung. In a recent study of “Individual Prayer in Sumerian”, I attempted to apply similar form-critical criteria to Sumerian religious

* This portion of the paper was presented to the 17th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Brussels, July 2, 1969, and is reproduced here without change. 1 JCS 20 (1966), 91 n. 14. 2 JAOS 88/I (= AOS 53, 1968), 72 n. 7, here: IV.1.

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poetry in order to test for a hypothetical “Sumerian psalter”.3 At the same time I wished to satisfy some methodological prerequisites for a meaningful comparison between the neo-Sumerian material and its potential analogues in later compositions—post-Sumerian, Akkadian, and Hebrew. It is only a logical extension of this approach to test for the life situation of the genres isolated in the neo-Sumerian corpus, not only of religious poetry but of canonical literature generally. As is well-known, this literature deals in overwhelming measure with just two subjects: gods and kings;4 for good measure we may add “and scribes” as a third, and distinctly tertiary, focus of interest. This objective observation provides an essential first hint, for it follows with some likelihood that the physical setting for most of the neo-Sumerian compositions dealing with gods, kings or scribes was, respectively, the temple, the court, or the school. Leaving aside the last, which is fairly self-evident, we may concentrate on palace and temple, while keeping in mind that royal and priestly roles intersected at numerous points. In trying to identify the particular occasion, secular or religious, for any given genre, it should be remembered that these genres are valid only if, and to the extent that, our modern classifications correlate with ancient designations. Thus, e.g., “myth” has no place in my scheme, since in the sense of “a purely fictitious narrative usually involving supernatural beings, actors, or events”5 it does not constitute a literary class by itself in Sumerian, but either appears in the guise of a hymn of praise (zàmí) to a deity or else serves as the introduction to other genres such as incantations6 or disputations. Instead, my brief and necessarily hypothetical survey will begin with the disputations themselves. This is a well-defined genre in the neoSumerian canon—although sometimes confused with the “fable”— designated there as adaman-duga, or dialogue, and as a sub-category of the balbal-e, or antiphonal recitation. Its setting in the royal palace is explicit in at least one instance,7 and it is not difficult to picture Ibid. 71–75. Cf. JCS 18 (1964), 84 n. 76. 5 The Oxford Universal Dictionary (3rd ed., 1955). Theodore H. Gaster (orally; cf. now p. xxiv of his Myth, Legend, and Custom in the Old Testament, 1969) prefers an anthropological definition according to which myth presents a legendary occurrence as a paradigm for a continuing human experience, i.e., myth uses the punctual to explain the durative. 6 Though not as often as is sometimes suggested by the published examples, as pointed out by Lambert, JCS 13 (1968), 108 and n. 2. 7 HUCA 33 (1962), 29 n. 214. 3 4

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the entire genre as a form of courtly entertainment, with the king playing the role of royal or divine arbiter between the disputants. There are even indications that the latter donned masks or costumes for the occasion.8 Another essentially secular form of entertainment is represented by the so-called epics, more specifically by the heroic tales of the First Dynasty of Uruk. These were perhaps directed at a wider audience than the disputations, for the incipit of the Gilgamesh cycle invites the whole country to hear or learn9 of his feats, at least in the neo-Assyrian version. But they surely originated under royal patronage, presumably achieving their canonical form under the kings of the Ur III dynasty, who stressed their connection to Uruk in general, and to its first dynasty in particular.10 It is more difficult to specify the genre and occasion of these tales, for their endings nearly all remain to be recovered. Where preserved they seem to be treated as hymns in praise of the longdeceased royal heroes. From here it is only a short step towards the hymns in praise of the living king, collectively known as èn-du-lugal, royal songs.11 As recent research has emphasized, these are royal hymns in the strict sense, addressed to and/or spoken by the king himself. They lack any liturgical notations and were probably at home in the courtly ceremonial rather than the temple cult.12 Proportionately they are better represented at Ur, the political capital, than at Nippur, the religious center.13 They deal with such matters as the coronation of the king, his proclamation of justice and law, his intellectual and physical prowess, and his military achievements. They are, in short, a poetic record of his secular role. But they cannot be treated in isolation from the songs which commemorate his religious functions, or those which celebrate, as it were, the sacraments of the royal lifetime. Such songs are essentially hymns to deities, but include formal references to the king at specific junctures. All are set in the cult, as their numerous liturgical notations indicate, but more study is required before their specific sub-categories are properly characterized. Already it can be stated that the most common forms in which they are cast 8 9 10 11 12 13

Cf. JAOS 87 (1967), 63 (1). Cf. the restoration of Gilg. I 1 in CAD I, 33d. JCS 20 (1966), 136 f, here: III.2. JAOS 83 (1963), 174; BiOr 23 (1966), 240 n. 13, here: IV.1. Falkenstein, ZA 50 (1952), 91. BiOr. 23 (1966), 241 f. Here: III.3.

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are the adab and tigi, named after two kinds of musical instruments.14 These are structurally identical except for the short prayer (uru) appended to the adab.15 They seem to constitute prayers on behalf of the king in a variety of situations and cannot necessarily be equated with any one given ceremony. Purely as a hypothesis, it may be suggested that they were commissioned for occasions such as the installation of a high priest or priestess (who was often a son or daughter of the king) or the presentation of a royal votive offering.16 But there are other genres where the cultic role of the king is clearer. At least some of the balbal-e compositions cast him in the role of Dumuzi, that is as the male partner in the sacred marriage,17 and such compositions typically treat, or entreat, the nation-wide fertility that is supposed to ensue.18 The king’s real marriage is perhaps reflected in another antiphonal genre, the lum-a-lam-a, if we may follow Buccellati’s suggestion with respect to the so-called “Marriage of Martu”.19 The birth of the royal heir was no doubt a fit subject for hymnography as was, demonstrably, the death and burial of the king.20 If we now consider all these literary reflections of the royal role in and out of the cult, they will be seen to add up to a kind of hymnic biography of the monarch. This can already be demonstrated for Urˇ Nammu and Sulgi, for whom we have a particularly impressive corpus of royal hymns of all kinds. The same two kings also have left the largest numbers of royal inscriptions from their dynasty, and both of these facts can hardly be unrelated to the lengths of their reigns.21 There are striking and sometimes even literal parallels between the date formulas and the royal inscriptions,22 between the date formulas and the royal hymns,23 and between the royal hymns and the royal 14 Henrike Hartmann’s doubts on this point (Die Musik in der Sumerischen Kultur, p. 197) are now dispelled by Kramer, JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 116, line 186. 15 BiOr. 23 (1966), 241, here: III.3. 16 Hartmann, p. 206, suggests that the adab belongs to the royal meal that followed the processional of the gods and the sacred marriage of the New Year’s celebration. The fixing of fate for king and country may have followed. 17 BiOr. 23 (1966), 244, here: III.3. 18 Ibid, 241 (4). 19 Amorites of the Ur III Period, p. 339. 20 Kramer, Goetze Volume = JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 104–122. 21 HUCA 33 (1962), 8. 22 Cf. eg. AOS 43 (1952), 92 (Amar-Sin). 23 Cf. eg. JCS 20 (1966), 139, here: III.2, and n. 80 (Ur-Nammu); Falkenstein, ZA ˇ 50 (1952), 82 f. (Sulgi). Cf. also van Dijk, JCS 19 (1965), 18, who correlates, and in part reconstructs, the date formulas of Nur-Adad of Larsa on the basis of VAT 8515 lines 195 ff.

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inscriptions.24 I am therefore inclined to reconstruct an annual or biennial ceremony,25 perhaps related to the New Year’s celebration, in which one and the same event was memorialized in three discrete formulations: at its most concise in the official proclamation of the date formula; more fully in an appropriate royal building or votive inscription; and at its most elaborate in the royal hymns.26 The nature of the event—cultic or secular—may have determined the precise genre of the hymn and the place of its promulgation. While this recurrent cultic pattern must remain a hypothesis, there is more solid evidence for the special and extraordinary occasions which brought the kings to the temples. Kings and commoners alike could address petitions directly to the gods, by means of letters deposited at the feet of their statues.27 Sometimes the addressee was himself a deceased and/or deified king, as in the case of the elaborate letterprayers of Sin-iddinam addressed to the statue of his father Nur-Adad for transmittal to the sun-god.28 But the living kings were also invoked as objects of prayer, and a whole category of such prayers has been identified, characteristically ending each time in, “Oh NN my king” (RN lugal-mu).29 In at least one case, such a prayer to Rim-Sin involved a religious processional through the sacred precincts at Ur, with halts for sacrifices at the locks and gates of each structure, and can be directly paralleled by archival texts from Ur detailing the sacrificial expenditures involved.30 It remains now to consider those genres which are wholly at home in the priestly sphere and do not explicitly involve royal participation in the cult. Here the clearest case is, perhaps, provided by the lamentation (balag) for the destruction of a temple. As Jacobsen has seen, a classic example of the genre such as “The lamentation over the destruction of Ur” was not composed during the catastrophe, nor even in response to

See below, notes 48 and 49. Cf. already JCS 20 (1966), 139 and n. 81, here: III.2. 26 Note that the Sin-iddinam hymn CT 42:45 = UET 6:98 as edited by van Dijk, JCS 19 (1965), 21 f., refers to the New Year’s festival in Line 10 and to the year-name in line 23 and perhaps in the last line; cf. Hallo, JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 96 and 98 f. 27 JAOS 88 (1968) 79, and n. 74, here: IV.1. 28 van Dijk, JCS 19 (1965), 1–25. Note he suggests the meaning “to place in the mouth” for ka-sì or ka-sìg (ad line 45). 29 Hallo, JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 96; v. Dijk, MIO 12 (1966), 63. The genre seems to be ˇ cf. Kramer, UET 6/1, p. 10 ad Nos. 102–106. called ˇsudx(KAxSU)-dè-dingir; 30 Levine and Hallo, HUCA 38 (1967), 17–58: esp. 48 n. 24. 24 25

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it, but at the time of the reconstruction.31 It represented, in fact, a liturgical apology to the deity for completing the razing of the sanctuaries as a necessary preliminary to their rebuilding.32 Much the same can be said for other lamentations.33 The actual dedication of the completed new temple was presumably the occasion for more joyous expressions, speciflcally perhaps the class of poems generally referred to as temple hymns. Their finest representative is certainly Gudea’s hymn in praise of the rebuilding of the Eninnu at Lagash. But the genre did not begin with him, since the great cycle of hymns to all the temples of Sumer and Akkad is attributed, on the strength of its own colophon, to Enheduanna, the daughter of Sargon. Where, then, do hymns to deities fit into this picture? This is the question which I posed at the outset, and which we must consider now. Divine hymns are considerably more common than either “congregational laments” or temple hymns, and they are generally shorter. In both of these respects they are, rather, more like the “royal” hymns of all sorts. Thus the specific cultic events which occasioned them must have occurred more frequently than the reconstruction of a temple— if indeed they were occasioned by such events. From all that has been stated already, it should follow that they were, and it is here suggested that the specific event involved may well have been the dedication of a cult-statue of the relevant deity. In a significant number of divine hymns, the deity is apostrophized precisely in terms of the characteristics associated with the statue, notably the tiara and cloak which radiated the divine splendor. This is true whether we view this splendor in an abstract sense, as has recently been proposed by Elena Cassin,34 or maintain the physical interpretation of such terms as ní, su-zi, me-lám, etc., as I am inclined to do, following Oppenheim.35 The latter scholar has also drawn attention to the fundamental importance of the statue in

31 AJSL 58 (1941), 22 f. Cf. p. 221: “It must have been written no more than seventy or eighty years after the destruction.” 32 This seems preferable to the suggestion that the Ur Lament was recited on the anniversary of the destruction or on the return of the statue of Ningal, as suggested by Yvonne Rosengarten, RHR 174 (1968), 122. 33 At least of the Old Babylonian period; cf. R. Kutscher, a-ab-ba-hu-luh-ha: The ˘ ˘ 1967), History of a Sumerian Congregational Lament, Yale University Ph.D. Thesis (unpubl., pp. 1–10. For late and elaborate prescriptions in this regard, see e.g. A. Sachs apud J.B. Pritchard, ANET 339–342: “Ritual for the repair of a Temple.” 34 Elena Cassin, La Splendeur Divine (= Civilisation et Sociétés, 8, Mouton, 1968), 133 pp. 35 “Akkadian pul(u)h(t)u and melammu”, JAOS 63 (1943), 31–34. ˘

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the Babylonian cult.36 In line with this importance, many if not all of the neo-Sumerian hymns to deities were perhaps originally commissioned together with statues, and first recited at their dedication. If so, they anticipated the later techniques of endowing these man-made objects with their supernatural powers by means of elaborate rituals known as mouth-washing and mouth-opening37 (The latter concept was already known at this time even if not in ritual form).38 The divine hymn was not, however, simply used at the dedication of the statue, and then forgotten, any more than the statue remained forever sheltered from general view in the niche of its sanctuary. On the great festivals, the statue left its throne-dais and was carried in public procession to be admired by all,39 and on these occasions, it may be suggested, the mouth of the statue was once more formally opened40 and the hymn in its honor again recited.41 In this manner, a text that began as a dedicatory inscription, of virtually monumental character, was transformed into a canonical composition, copied and recopied in temple and school.42

36 “The golden garments of the gods”, JNES 8 (1949), 172–193. “The care and feeding of the gods”, in his Ancient Mesopotamia (1964), 183–198. Cf. also ANET 342 f., for the “Program of the Pageant of the Statue of the God Anu at Uruk.” But cf. also note 76 below. 37 Cf. e.g. IV R 25: inim-inim-ma. . . ka-duh-ù-da-kam and Ebeling, Tod und Leben (1931), pp. 109–122. Important new texts are in˘ preparation by C.B.F. Walker of the British Museum. Note also STT 2: 198–201. 38 Cf. below, note 40 (ka-du -ha); note 56 (burˇsuma-gal 53: ka gál(a)-tag ); note 52 f 8 4 (nin-mul-an-gim 4: ka-ba-a). For ˘washing of statues see Laessøe. bit rimki, pp. 15 f. and n. 20. Note that in the Irra-epic, the divine craftsmen (apkallu’s?) are needed to breathe life into the divine statue; Reiner, Or. 30 (1961), 9 f. 39 Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia, 187 and below, Section D, comment to line 7. Cf. also the hymn to Nintu (TMH n. F. IV 86 and duplicate) which I plan to edit elsewhere cf. also note 36 above. Here: III.5. 40 Cf. M. Civil, JNES 26 (1967), 211, who lists Ur III texts from Lagash recording the repeated mouth-opening of the statue of the deified (and deceased) Gudea. 41 New hymns and even myths may also have been composed when the statue visited another city on special occasions; cf. v. Dijk, JCS 19 (1965), 21 f. and literature cited there. For divine journeys in general, see now H. Sauren, Or. 38 (1969), 214–236; Å.W. Sjöberg, RLA 3 (1969), 480–483. 42 It may be noted in passing that the annual (or perhaps even monthly) recitation of enuma eliˇs (at the annual New Year’s festival) was addressed to the statue of Marduk (Lambert, JCS 13, 1968, 106 f.). Given its epilogue (ib. 107 f.) this text has a better claim to be regarded as a hymnic “exaltation of Marduk” (YNER 3, 1968, 66 f.; cf. already v. Dijk, Sagesse, 1953, 39 n. 47) than as an “epic of creation” (a title better reserved for Atar-hasis). Thus it constitutes late evidence for the perpetuation of the cultic life situation ˘here suggested for the divine hymns.

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This hypothetical literary process can be paralleled in the history of other canonical genres, as this is gradually coming to light. It is well known that a number of these genres go back to archival prototypes, notably the collections of letters,43 of contracts,44 and of legal formulas45 tradited in the schools, while others derive from monumental prototypes. Among the latter, the late copies of royal inscriptions are most familiar. Similarly, the clay tablet copies of the Code of Hammurapi, which were written out in the schools as late as neo-Babylonian times, ultimately go back to one of the stone steles on which this text was originally promulgated46 (granted that the stone-cutters may have consulted some such pre-monumental draft-tablet as PBS 5: 93). It now seems that the canonical Code of Lipit-Ishtar also had its monumental prototype for it is closely paralleled by fragments of a stele from Nippur.47 Other steles at Nippur constitute a cadastre of the Ur III empire, and were copied out on clay tablets, as Kraus has shown. The monumental origin of such cadastres goes back even further, for a new duplicate to the “Frontier of Shara"” dated by Sollberger to the time of Lugalzagesi, has been identified on a stone tablet in the Yale Babylonian Collection. But even royal hymns seem to have originally graced stone steles, as was demonstrated for Hammurapi by Sjöberg.48 And the elaborate style of the royal inscriptions of dynasties such as Lagash and Larsa make it unlikely that the two genres were entirely unrelated, albeit they observed certain stylistic distinctions.49 In view of all this evidence, it seems unwarranted to deny out of hand any possibility of a monumental origin for the canonical genre of divine hymns. And in fact the Nisaba hymn to which I alluded at the beginning underlines that possibility. When its opening lines were published among the literary texts and catalogues50 from Ur, it Cf. e.g. Kraus, AfO 20 (1963), 153 and JEOL VI/16 (1959–1962), 16–39. I plan to treat these in a future study. 45 Cf. HAR-ra = hubullu I–II and ana ittiˇ su, here: II.5. ˘ 46 Cf. most recently J.J. Finkelstein, RA 63 (1969), 25–27. 47 R. D. Biggs, AS 17 (1968) 14 f. ad no. 49. 48 It has been suggested for Iˇsme-Dagan *11 (= SRT 13 Rev.) by Römer; cf. SKIZ p. 18. On the contrary Finkelstein, JCS 21 (1969), 42 n. 5 now suggests the possibility “that the ‘prologue’ [of CH] was an adaptation of an already known Hammurapi hymn for the monumental purpose of the stela.” 49 Cf. also the designation 4 na-rú-a, “4 steles,” at the end of the Louvre Catalogue of literary texts. For Kramer’s latest proposal regarding this enigmatic colophon, see WZJ 6 (1956/7). 393 n. 3. 50 JCS 20 (1966), 91. 43 44

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27

was quickly recognized by the reviewers51 that they largely duplicated the text of a curious stone tablet from Lagash published long ago by Thureau-Dangin.52 There are a number of differences between the Lagash stone, which probably dates to about the time of Gudea, and the Ur tablet, which dates some 300 years later,53 and also between both of these and the more complete Yale text. Some of these changes have theological significance, others are merely orthographic. But the text of all three versions is essentially the same set of Nisaba epithets, and is quite different from the combinations of epithets chosen to describe the goddess in other compositions apostrophizing her. These include a dedicatory vase,54 the hymn “Great alderwoman”55 (burˇsuma-gal),56 the hymn “Lady of wide understanding” (nin-geˇstù-sù),57 an incantantion song (? ˇsir-nam-su-ub dNisaba),58 the hymn to the Temple of Nisaba in Ereˇs,59 and the hymn to Enlil-bani of Isin.60 We may thus safely Ibid.; cf. Falkenstein, BiOr 22 (1965), 282; Edzard, AfO 21 (1966), 87. RA 7 (1910) 107 and apud Cros, NFT (1910), 171–176. For the particulars of the find-spot, cf. Cros, ib. 148 f. Both authors describe the tablet. Cros: “convex on one side only, like the dedication tablets [foundation stones?] and pierced sideways from side to side, in the thickest part of the convex side, permitting it to be suspended.” Thureau-Dangin (p. 176) calls attention to the same “special feature which distinguishes it from the numerous stone tablets of the same plano-convex shape recovered in the excavations: at the middle of the lower edge is a hole (trou) which diagonally crosses the slightly concave part of the reverse. The raison d’être of this hole is not clear. It hardly seems likely, given its position, that it was destined for a thread for hanging it from; perhaps it served, by means of a little peg (fiche) of wood or metal, to keep the tablet upright” (my translations). 53 JCS 20 (1966), 92. 54 BRM 4:46. Previously published by Scheil, OLZ 7 (1904), 254. 55 I retain this term in spite of the critique of Landsberger, Symbolae. . . M. David 2 (1968), 90 f., which is wide of the mark in every detail, as I hope to show in another connection. The hymn is listed in second place (after ours) in the longer Ur catalogue (above, note 50). 56 OECT 1 pl. 36–39; Chiera, AJSL 40 (1924), 265 f.; Ni. 9622; Ni. 4425. To be edited by D. Reisman. 57 NBC 11107 (unpubl.). 58 VS II 65; PRAK II C. 39: cf. Bergmann, ZA 56 (1964), 4 f. 59 Cf. for the present Zimmern, ZA 39 (1930), 274 f. A new edition by Sjöberg is in preparation. 60 A. Kapp, ZA 51 (1955), No. 87; add UET 6:89. Cf. also “Enki and the World Order,” lines 410–415; von Soden, SAHG, No. 80 (Akkadian; republished CT 44: 35). Note also the Akkadian fable of “Nisaba and wheat” which ends in a “pure hymn in praise of Nisaba” (Lambert, BWL, 1960, 168). The “unpublished Sumerian hymn” to Nisaba which Landgon listed RA 16 (1919), 67 b. 1, as Ni. 4588 in Philadelphia is ˇ actually CBS 4588 and represents the conclusion of Sulgi A according to information kindly supplied by Å. Sjöberg. 51 52

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exclude the possibility that we are merely dealing with a conventional repertoire of Nisaba epithets. The Lagash stone tablet is in fact a monumental prototype of the canonical copies found at Ur and in the Yale Babylonian Collection.61 I continue with a rendition of the latter version, and hope that it will vindicate some of the more far-fetched proposals made in the course of my introduction.

B. The Blessing of Nisaba by Enki (nin-mul-an-gim) 1. Texts A B C D D1 E F

YBC 13523, six-sided prism; copy by Shin Theke Kang. Istanbul . . ., stone tablet in two columns, reverse blank, publ. ThureauDangin, RA 7 (1910), 107–111 and apud Cross, NFT ( 1910), 171–176; from Lagaˇs. one-column tablet, publ. Gadd and Kramer, UET 6/1 (1963), Nos. 66 + 71 (for the join cf. Hallo, JCS 20, 1966, 91n. 14); from Ur.62 six-column tablet, publ. UET 6/2 (1966), No. 388; bilingual; from Ur; joins D1. UET 6/3 (in prep.), No. “6”; joins D. Copied by Aaron Shaffer.63 six-column (?) tablet, publ. UET 6/2, No. 389; bilingual; from Ur.64 UET 6/3 (in prep.), No. “250”. Cited on the basis of a preliminary transliteration by Aaron Shaffer. (Note that none of the Ur texts have excavation numbers.)

2. Catalogue Entries g h

UET 5: 86 No. 17. UET 6: 123 No. 1

61 Whether the tablet was once intended to be placed in the statue’s mouth (cf. n. 28 above) by way of giving it life in anticipation of the later mouth-opening ceremonies cannot be answered here. My student, Miss Tikva Frymer, suggests the analogy this would have in the mechanics of the “Golem.” A nearer parallel may be provided from the ancient Egyptian “cult of the deceased king, a main feature of which consisted of rituals performed in front of his statues to make them live and partake of food offerings” (W.K. Simpson, unpubl. MS). Cf. also the references in A.L. Oppenheim Ancient Mesopotamia (1964), 364 n. 10; van Dijk, Falkenstein Volume (1967), 239 n. 33. 62 The physical join was confirmed and effected during a visit to the British Museum in July, 1969. 63 I am grateful to Dr. Shaffer for allowing me to study his copy in advance of publication. 64 D and E are dealt with briefly by Å. Sjöberg, Or. 37 (1968), 239 f.

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3. Distribution of Exemplars A B C D E F

complete (1–57) 1–8 (omits 7) 1–6, 52–57 ii (‘obv.’): 18; iii: 28–29; iv (‘a’): 32–35; v (‘b’): 40–47; vi: 51–54 41–47 1–20, 43–57

Division into columns (“i” etc.) and cases (“/”) based on A. Division into verses based on duplicates where available (“(i)” etc.), hypothetical elsewhere (“[21]” etc.). Division into stanzas (“I” etc.) hypothetical. Text from A; restorations from duplicates not indicated as such; conjectural restorations bracketed.

4. Transliteration I i (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

nin-mul-an-gima/bdar-ab /cdub-za-gìn ˇsu-du8d dNisaba/etùr-gale/fduraˇ s-ef tu-da ˇsegbarx (BAR + NISABA)g naga-kù-gah/ga-zi/kú-a gi-dii /imin-ej /ka-ba-a me-gal/ninnu-ek/ˇsu-du7 -a nin-mu /á1-nun-gál /é-kur-ra B: a. omits c. new line e-e. GAL.TÙR f-f. uraˇs-ˇsè g. GI h. ge i. ˇsid j. na k. omits 1. a C: d. du7 g. ˇseg8 F: d. du7 h: b-b. EN (urux?)

II (7) (8) (9) ii (10) (11) (12) (13)

a

uˇsumgal/ezen-e / dalla -è-aa A-ru-rub kalam-ma /im-tac/dka-ka du11 ˇ ki-gar a-ˇsedx(MUS.DI)-dè/ˇ sà-kúˇs- ù kur hi-nun-ta/mí-zi/du11-ga ˘ giˇstú-gar ? /kur-gal-e /tu-da mí-zi dub-sar-mah-an-na/sa12-sug5/dEn-líl-lá ˘ gal-zu /igi-gál /dingir-re-e-ne bd

B: a-a. omits b-b. A-rux-rux (EN.EN) c. da d. new line F: b-b. dA -ruX-ruX(EN.EN)

III (14) ab-sín-na /ˇse-gu /mú-mú-dè (15) daˇsnan/nam-en-na/u6-di-dè (16) bára-gal/imin-e /mí-zi-dam

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(17) gu-zi-zi-dam /ˇse-zi-zi-dam ˇ (18) eburx(SIBÍR) ezen-gal/dEn-líl-la-ke4a [i-na e-bu-ri-i]m/[. . . P]A.A iii (19) nam-nun /-gal-la-né /bSU ! nam-mi-in-su-ubb (20) túg-ma6-kù /ˇsà-ge /nam-mi-in-lác D: a. kam F: a. kam (!) b-b. [su-su-ub nam]- mi -in-di (?) c. mu4

IV [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [27]

nidba(PAD.dINNIN) /nu-gál-la /gá-gá-dè ne-sag-gal /kurún-na /dé-e- dè dSE. ˇ [x] /dEn- x / hun-e-dè ˘ snan / hun-e-dè dKù-zù arhuˇ s -sù /dAˇ ˘ ˘ en-gal/mu-un-hun-e/ezen mu-unhun-e ˘ en-gal/kalam-ma /ím-ma-hun-e ˘ ˇ˘ ki-sikil dNisaba/ˇsudx(KAxSU)-dè mu-un-rá V

iv [28] nidba /sikil-la /si nam-mi-in-sá ni-i[n-da-ab-ba-am] /el-[la-am uˇs-te-ˇse-ir] ˇ (29) é-GESTÚ. /dNISABA-ke4/gál nam-mi-in-tag4 bi-[it . . .] [30] dub-za-gìn /du10-na /nam-mi-in-gar [31] dub-mul-an-kù-ta/ˇsà im-ma-kúˇs-ù (32) arattaki/é-za-gìn-na/ ˇsu -ni- ˇsè mu-un-gar i-na [. . .]/bi-tim [. . .] /qá-ti-i-ˇsa i[ˇs-kun] (33) ereˇski / hi-nun-na /mua-dù-ù-nam ˘ nu!-[uh-ˇsi-im]/i-pi-i[ˇs] e-ri-iˇs i-na ˘ D: a. mu-un-

VI (34) sig4-NISABA /du13-du13-lá /ki-gar-ra i-na li-bi-it-t[i . . .] /el-le-tim a-na a[ˇs-ri]ta-ˇsa-ak-ka-a[n] (35) giˇstú /nama-galam-ma /sag-e-eˇs /rig7- ga ru-bu [ ] (36) abzu men ?-gal/eriduki/èˇs-hal-ha-la v [37] n[un. . . . . .] nun-hal-ha-la ˘ ˘ ˘ ˘ [38] engar-gal nam-nun-na/é-ní-gùr-ru/nagar eriduki-ga [39] lugal ˇsu-luh-luh-ha-ke4/en-mùˇs-en-gal-la/dEn-ki-ke4 ˘ ˘ D: a. nun ! (over eras ?)

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VII (40) é-engur-ra /ki-tuˇs-a-né [É-en-g]u-ur i-na wa-ˇsa -bi-ˇsu (41) abzu eriduki-gaa/dù-dù-a-né [ap]-zab-amc de-ri-dud /i-na ee-pe-ˇsi-i-ˇsu (42) hal-laf-kù/ˇsà-kúˇs-ù-da-né ˘ ha-al g-la-an-kuh /i-na mi-it-lu-ki-ˇsu i-na ˘ skarin(KU)/tùn-bar-ra-né (43) é-giˇstuˇ bi-it ti i-is-kaj-ri-in-ni-im /i-na sˇu-pe- el -ti-i-ˇsu (44) NUN.ME /síg-bar-ra-du8-a-né ab-gal-lum sˇak pe-re-et-zu /a-na wa-ar-ki-i-ˇsu /i-na wu1-uˇsm-ˇsu-ri-im (45) né- giˇstú -gao/gál-tag4-a-né (46) giˇs -ig- giˇstú -gap sila-ba gub-baq-né (47) lilis ?-gal/giˇserin-a rti-las-né [li]- li-iˇs ra-bi-iˇs /[. . .-e]l-li (48) xt giˇsgiˇsmmar /ˇsu-du8u-a-né (49) ùbv-bav[. . .]/KU.[. . . ?]PA sìg-[ga]-a-né ? A: v-v. balag ? ? D: a. omits f. an h. BA k. omits n. lines 45–46 followed line 47 (?) r. new. line s. la!-a E: b. [z]u c. um d-d. NUN.KI e. omits f. an g. omits i. di j. ga l. ú m. omits? n. lines 45–46 followed line 47 (?) F: n. lines 45–46 follow line 47 o. KA.[x] p. ka q. a t. lilis?-DU?? u. du7

VIII vi (50) dNisaba/um-me- gal ?-gal-la/ x -7 mu-una-na-du11 b (51) dNisaba/mí-zi/mí- ˇsa6 -ga/mí kur-ree tu-da (traces) (52) dNisaba /tùr-rad ì hé-me-en /eamaˇs-af ga hé-me-en ˘ si-im/ lu-ú sˇa-am-nu-um ˘ at-ti/[i-na] su-pu-ri-im/ [dNisab]a i-na ta-ar-ba. lu-ú l]i-iˇs- du -um /a[t-ti] (53) é-nì-gag-ra /kiˇsib-gálh hé-me-en ˘ [. . . . . .]-im/[. . . . . .]-ˇsu/[at-t]i (54) é-gal-la / agrig ]-zi hé-me-en ˘ i (55) gur7-du6/gur7-maˇs-a/gur 7-gur -gur hé-me-en. ˘ C: e. new line f. omits g. gar h.lá i. gú D: b. e F: a. omits b. e c. ra d. ra-a e. new line f. omits h. lá i. gú

Doxology (56) nun-e /dNisaba-ra /mí-du11-ga (57) a-a dEn-ki/zà-mí-zu/du10-ga-àm Colophon in A u4 ]-[x-kam] iti-ˇse-kin-kuru6 traces of a Samsu-iluna (??) date

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5. Translation I 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Oh Lady colored like the stars of heaven, holding the lapis lazuli tablet, Nisaba, born in the great sheepfold by the divine Earth, Wild kid nourished (as) on good milk with pure vegetation, Mouth-opened by the seven flutes, Perfected with (all) the fifty great divine attributes, Oh my lady, plenipotentiary of Ekurra— II

7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

Dragon, emerging brightly on the festival, Mother-goddess of the nation, biting off a piece from the clay, Pacifying the habitat with cold water, Providing the foreign mountain-land with plenty, Born in wisdom by the Great Mountain (Enlil), Honest woman, chief scribe of Heaven, record-keeper of Enlil, All-knowing sage of the gods— III

14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

In order to make grain and vegetable grow in the furrow, So that the excellent corn can be marvelled at, That is, to provide for the seven great throne-daises By making vegetables shoot forth, making grain shoot forth, At harvest, the great festival of Enlil, She in her great princely role has verily cleansed (her) body, Has verily put the holy priestly garment on (her) torso. IV

21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

In order to establish oblations where none existed And to pour forth great libations of wine So as to appease ˇsè-x, to appease En-x To appease merciful Kusu and Aˇsnan She will appoint a great high priest, will appoint a festival Will appoint a great high-priest of the nation. Oh virgin Nisaba, he blesses you in prayer. V

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

He has verily prepared the pure oblation, Has verily opened the House of Learning of Nisaba, Has verily placed the lapis lazuli tablet on (her) knee. Taking counsel with the holy tablet of the heavenly stars, (As ?) in Aratta he has placed the Ezagin at her disposal, Ereˇs he has constructed in abundance.

i.2. the cultic setting of sumerian poetry

33

VI 34. She is created out of pure little bricks, 35. She is granted wisdom in highest degree. 36. In the Abzu, the great crown (?) of Eridu, (where) sanctuaries are apportioned. 37. [In ], (where) offices (?) are apportioned, 38. The great princely plowman of the resplendent temple, the craftsman of Eridu, 39. The king of lustrations, the lord of the mask of the great high-priest, Enki— VII 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

The Engur-house when he occupies it, The Abzu of Eridu when he builds it, The Halanku when he takes counsel in it, The house of the box-tree when he fells it, The sage when his hair is loosened behind him, The house of learning when he opens it, The door of learning when he stands in its street, The great kettle-drum of cedar when he finishes (?) it, The . . . of date-palm when he perfects (var.: holds) it. The drum of . . . when he strikes it with the . . .— VIII

50. On Nisaba, the great . . ., he invokes seven [blessings?] 51. O Nisaba, honest woman, good woman, woman born in the mountain, 52. O Nisaba, in the stall may you be the fat, in the pen may you be the milk, 53. In the treasure-house may you be keeper of the seal, 54. In the palace may you be the honest steward, 55. In the grain depots may you be the heaper of heaps of grain ! Doxology 56. For the fact that a blessing was invoked on Nisaba by the Prince, 57. Oh father Enki, your praise is sweet!

C. Literary Parallels Line 1: In her votive inscription (note 54), Nisaba is called the “brilliant woman” (munus mul-mul-la). She consults with her “lapis lazuli tablet” in her temple hymn (note 59), in “Hymn C” (note 57), and in the Enlil-

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bani hymn (line 53) (note 60). Note also the “holy (or silver) tablet of Nisaba” in a list of divine symbols (PBS 13:60:11). Cf. also below, ad lines 30–31. Lines 2–5: Note what appears to be a progression of metaphors in these analogous lines: birth, suckling, weaning, “perfecting.” The repertoires of royal epithets compounded with divine names follow comparable patterns; cf. Hallo, Titles (1957), 132–142. Line 3: This familiar theme is applied with variations to both gods and kings. Thus, Ningirsu, for example, is a “fawn nourished on good milk by a deer” (TCL 8, pl. LIV 5 ii 4; SGL 1:116); Lulal (= Latarak)65 is the “fawn of a deer who feeds on the good milk of the mountain beasts” ˇ (HAV 5:6 f.; ZA 57:81); Sulgi is the “impetuous leopard nourished on good milk” (MBI 3:11; cf. Heimpel, Tierbilder p. 332). Cf. also TMHnF IV 66 and UET 6:69:7. Line 8: Cf. im-DI.DU-da dNisaba-ke4 KA àm-da-bé in “Hymn C” where DI.DU may be an Akkadian gloss (.ti-.tù). As J. van Dijk kindly pointed out to me, the existence of a verb KA . . . -dun-ud (Falkenstein, NG 3:9) has been disproved by collation (Claus Wilcke, Lugalbandaepos 1. 264 and p. 193). However, there remain both ka-a . . . dú-ru-ud (NG 3:126) and KA.KA . . . KÚ (YNER 3:16 line 27 and p. 80 s.v.) in the meanings “eat, feed on, peck at” which fit the present context well. Cf. also “Enki and Ninhursag” (UET 6/1: 1 and duplicates) line 13: dilmunkl ugamuˇsen KA.KA nu-mu-ni (ib)-bé “in Dilmun, the crow (raven) did not peck.” Line 9: Cf. line 9 of the Temple Hymn: im-gara-ˇsedx-da kuˇs-du8ù. Line 11: For the theme of the birth of a deity in (or by ?) the mountain (kur or hur-sag) cf. Falkenstein, SGL 1 (1959), 116 f. with reference to ˘ Ningirsu, Suen, Inanna, Numuˇsda; BE 29 iii 37 (Ninurta ?); TMHnF 4: 86:2, 4 (Nintu), and line 51 of our poem. 65 For the equation cf., in addition to SL ˇ 2:330:34, also UET 5:253:7: Da-dLU-LÀL for which the (brother’s?) seal inscription has Dan-dLa-ta-ra-ak? Elsewhere the two divine names are kept separate, if juxtaposed, as in bit mes¯eri II 211 f. (G. Meier, AfO 14, 1942, 150 f.) and in the “Göttertypentext” KAR 298 Rev. 13 f. (O.R. Gurney, AAA 22, 1935, 70 f. and n. 4). Cf. also Kramer, JCS 18 (1964) 37 f., note 11.

i.2. the cultic setting of sumerian poetry

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Line 12: These epithets recur in whole or in part in the votive inscription (note 54)66 and in the Lipit-Iˇstar hymn *24 (Römer, SKIZ p. 24), line 19. Line 14: For grain and vegetable in parallelism, cf. e.g. JNES 18 (1959), 55 f. and 60 f. With the reduplicated verb “grow” they recur in a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha (note 33) line *220 = CT 42:26:32 (and duplicates) and in CT ˘ 36:27:6. Line 16: For nam-en-na as a qualification of plants and animals, cf. CAD s.v. bitrû (adj.). Line 17: See ad line 14. Line 18: The identical line recurs on the lower edge of HAV 16 (reference courtesy T. Jacobsen). Line 19–20: For the periodic cleansing of the divine statue, cf. note 40. For its daily washing and dressing ceremony, cf. Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia (1964), 193. For su-ub-(su-ub), “to cleanse”, and the—not surprising—sequence of ritual washing and dressing, cf. van Dijk, Falkenstein Volume (1967), 246 ff., and UET 6:101:18. Line 20: Cf. e.g. VS 10:199 iii 19, cited by Falkenstein, ZA 44 (1938), 7: túg-ma6-kù kuˇs-mà mu-ni-in-lá. For the priestly (elsewhere royal) character of the ma6-garment, cf. Renger, ZA 58 (1967), 127. Line 22: For nisag (first fruits, etc.) see in detail van Dijk, JCS 19 (1965), 18–24; for ne-sag as a possible phonetic spelling of the same word, ib. 24. For ne-sag with dè (pour, libate) cf. Römer, SKIZ 194. Line 24: Kusu and Aˇsnan are virtual personifications (or deifications) of the grain, and appear together in a number of passages; cf. Bergmann, ZA 56 (1964), 25 f.; Falkenstein, An. Or. 30 (1966), 80 n. 5; Krecher, SKly ( 1966), 132–134. At other times, kù-sù(g) is an epithet of Aˇsnan (ib.).

66 Restoring lines 12 f. as [sa ]-su !-mah [ d]En-lí[l-lá] (collated). She is thus not the 12 5 sister of Enlil (Falkenstein, An. Or, 30, 1966,˘ 110 and note 7 on the basis of this passage) but, to judge by our text (cf. lines 11 and 51), his daughter.

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Lines 25–26: Apart from the numerous references to the installation of the high priest(ess) in neo-Sumerian date formulas, note offerings by (?) the ensi for the occasion (en-hun-dè) in NBC 331 (to be published as ˘ BIN 3:352) and, in a literary context, en gi6parx-e mu-ni-ib-hun (UET 6:101:39). Line 29: For the é-geˇstú of Nisaba, cf. Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949), 143 f., and add Enmerkar 322 (also with gál(a) . . . tag4) and UET 6:101:3. Lines 30–31: These lines are strikingly reminiscent of Gudea’s dream as interpreted by Jacobsen apud Oppenheim, Dreams (1956), 245 f. There, Nisaba puts the tablet of the heavenly stars on her knees and consults it, while Nindub holds a tablet of lapis lazuli in his hand and sets down (thereon ?) the plan of the temple (Gudea Cyl. A iv 26-v 4; v. 23-vi 5). Lines 32–33: For the Ezagin as the residence of Nanibgal67 in Ereˇs, cf. Civil, JNES 26(1967), 204 f. line 46. That the distant Aratta, the prime source of lapis lazuli, also had its “lapis lazuli house” (for the generic sense of this term, cf. Falkenstein, SGL I 43), seems implied by Enmerkar 559 f., where “her house in Aratta” is in parallelism with “her lapis lazuli house.” Line 34: Cf. the same phrase in the hymn to the temple of Nisaba in Ereˇs (note 59) and Zimmern’s comments ad loc., ZA 39 (1930), 274. Line 39: For the association of the king with lustrations, cf. van Dijk, ˇ Falkenstein Volume (1967), 233–268, esp. 246 f.; Sulgi Letter A, 21 in F.A. Ali, Sumerian Letters (University Microfilms, 1964) p. 28. For the association of the high priest(ess) with the mask,68 cf. Falkenstein, SGL 1 (1959), 96 f.; J. Renger, ZA 58 (1967), 127 and notes 106 f.

67

I am indebted to Professor Jacobsen for this extract from 3 N-T 299 (unpubl.):

4. dNIDABA 5. dAN.NIDABA 6. dHA.NI ˘ 68

ni-sà-ba na-ni-ib-gal ha-a-a-um ˘ For this translation of mùˇs or múˇs cf. the study announced above, note 39.

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Line 42: For the hal-la-kù (variant: hal-an-kù; Akkadian ha-(al)-la-an-ku) ˘ ˘ ˘ cf. Sjöberg, Or. 37 (1968), 239 with reference to our exemplars D and E and to UET 6:101:3. It is translated by apsûm in YBC 5026 (cited CAD A 2:194a). Line 44: This peculiar phrase, with its Akkadian parallels going back to the Old Assyrian incantation from Kaniˇs, has been discussed by Sjöberg, Goetze Volume, (JCS 21, 1961 [1969]), 278. For the root of p¯ertu (Semitic pr’) cf. most recently Landsberger, WO 3 (1964), 70 n. 83. Since cuneiform comparisons with the Song of Deborah are currently in fashion (cf. P.C. Craigie, JBL 88 [1969], 253–265; H.-P. Miller, VT 16 [1966], 446–459, esp. 454), one may even compare Judges 5:2: “when locks were loosened in Israel” (contra Craigie, VT 18 [1968), 397–399). Line 45: For the opening of the house of learning by Nisaba, cf. Gudea Cyl. A xvii 16 and above, ad line 29. Line 50: The understanding of this transitional line is based on line 56. There, the explicit dative postposition indicates that mí-du11 is used, not as a compound verb with the meaning kunnû, “care for,” but in its more literal sense of “speaking favorably to.” As such it is parallel to “determine a good fate for” (nam-du10-tar) e.g. in TLB II 2 ii 8–14 as translated by Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 33 note 23. The translation of mí-du11 by “caress” (van Dijk, Bi. Or. 11, 1954, 86; Kramer,. The Sacred Marriage Rite, 1969, 64) or “lick” (van Dijk, Falkenstein Volume, 1967, 259 f.) does not fit our context. Line 51: Nisaba is “the good woman” also in her votive inscription (note 54), For the other epithets, cf. above, ad lines 11–12. Line 52: This is a common enough topos, though the association of the (sheep)-fold (tùr) with fat and of the (cattle)pen (amaˇs) with milk is not always so precise; cf. e.g. Iˇsme-Dagan *18 as re-edited in BiOr 23 (1966), 244 f [here: III.3]. In the early iconography, either cattle or sheep (though not both together) emerge from structures that are clearly related to the pictographic precursors of the later signs for tùr and tu(d/r); cf. P. Delougaz, JNES 27 (1968), 184–197. The sign amaˇs has no demonstrable forerunners before Old Babylonian times; cf. Landsberger, MSL 2 (1952), 105 f.

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Line 53: For the “treasure-house,” frequently in juxtaposition with the “principal (temple) court” (kisal-mah), cf. Falkenstein, SGL 1 (1959), ˘ 62; An. Or. 30 (1966), 131. It also occurs in burˇsuma-gal (note 56) line 40 and in the Code of Lipit-Iˇstar xix 51 (cf also UET 6:192:1). The variant spelling should be added to those noted by Krecher, SKly (1966), 128, n. 384. For kiˇsib-gál as a professional name in Old Babylonian economic texts cf. e.g. UET 5:191, 535 f.; as a divine title it occurs in UET 6: 101:7 (Haia). ˘ Line 55: This common topos recurs with Nisaba in “Hymn C” (note 57) and CT 42: 4 iii 3; cf. Kramer; PAPhS. 107 (1963), 501–503. Cf. also Falkenstein, ZA 56 (1964), 51; CAD B s.v. bitrû. Lines 56–57: That a hymn to one deity address another in the doxology is paralleled not only by UET 6:101 (cf. Kramer’s comment ib., p. 10 and n. 36) and perhaps by the Sumuqan hymn (UET 6: 75) with its doxology for Nungal, but also in a sense by all those adab, tigi and other royal hymns in the wider sense where the blessings for the king are invoked in the context of a prayer to the deity. The parallels suggest that in divine hymns like ours, the doxology to the greater deity invokes his blessings on the lesser deity.

D. Cultic Setting We may now attempt to reconstruct the cultic setting of our hymn on the basis of its own allusions and of its literary parallels with other compositions. But in this attempt, we should distinguish between the original Lagash version and its later duplicates. To some extent the latter simply updated the theological conceptions of the former. Thus in line 1, for example, there is a change from metaphor to simile, and from the relatively crude anthropomorphism of “holding the tablet” (in this case still employed also in the Yale version) to the vaguer “perfecting” of it.69 In line 2, an apparently paternal Earth70 becomes maternal 69 Note the same substitution (?) of the more or less homophonous ˇsu-du for ˇsu-du 7 8 in passages like JCS 4:138 (= SGL 2:108):17. 70 Before tu-da, “born,” the postposition -e normally identifies the mother, rarely the father as in Gudea Cylinder A ii 28: (Gatumdu) nin-mu dumu an-kù-ge tu-da; cf. also above, comment to line 11. The postposition -ˇsè identifies only the father, to judge by SLTN 89 iii 16: a-zi kur-gal-la-ˇsè (variant: kur-gal-e) dNin-líl-le tuda, “(Ninazu) good

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and deified.71 In line 3, the earlier version attempts to reconcile two different facets of Nisaba’s “personality,” her patronage of the arts and writing in the guise of the reed, and her identification with cereal and vegetation; the later ones substitute a simple cliché from the standard hymnic repertoire. But the addition of line 7 may be more significant from our point of view, reflecting an actual difference in the cultic use to which the original poem and its later, expanded versions were put. The stone tablet from Lagash may well be a unique survival of the original cultic occasion, while the other exemplars may have been recited at subsequent festivals. As such they added a reference to their festal setting in the form of line 7, as well as, most probably, lines 18 (see comment ad loc.) and 25. Without these three lines, the original structure of the hymn can be tentatively restored as made up entirely of six-line stanzas (except for the 10-line “chorus” in stanza VII) plus a two-line doxology. The proposed strophic structure is based in the first instance on the sense, secondarily on such other considerations as the changing syntactical patterns, the number of cases or lines, and the division into columns in Exemplar A. If correctly restored, the poem divides into two halves roughly equal in length if not in content, the first (stanzas I–IV = columns i–iii in exemplar A) comparable to the sa-gíd-da, the second (stanzas V–VIII = columns iv–vi) comparable to the sa-gar-ra of an adab or tigi composition. The doxology, replacing the urubi prayer of these royal hymns, suggests that Enki has granted the blessing besought by Nisaba (for the coming year ?) much as in texts relating the journeys of other deities to their divine fathers or sovereigns (note 41).72 It would be difficult to be more specific yet as to the original or subsequent cultic setting of our particular hymn. But it may be worth noting that Gudea, about the time that Exemplar B was inscribed,

seed born to the Great Mountain (Enlil) by Ninlil”; cf. van Dijk, SGL 2 (1960), 16 and 77 for a slightly different translation. (It hardly seems possible that in the earliest version of our text, uraˇs-ˇsé is a kind of syllabic spelling for uraˇs-e.) For Uraˇs as a male deity see most recently Gadd, UET 6/2 (1966), p. 7 n. 34. 71 For the fluctuation between uraˇs and duraˇs, cf. Falkenstein, ZA 52 (1957), 72 f., SGL 1 (1959), 57. 72 Note that in UET 6:101, the very similar doxology (lines 56 f.) is in fact labeled ux-rux-bi-im. But for its one line antiphone, this composition is exactly as long as ours. It even may have had the same number of stanzas, if the figure “8” inserted over the line count means anything!

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dedicated a statue of himself (?) to Nisaba73 and that, in Falkenstein’s interpretation, there was even a “temple of the mouth-opening ceremony” in Ur III Lagaˇs containing, among other statues, one of Gudea.74 At the same time, it needs to be stressed again that all the known statues of Gudea, and indeed virtually every known example of “the most expensive type of votive, the statue, clearly depicts the worshipper, not the deity”.75 Recently it has even been argued that there is no explicit evidence, archaeological or textual, of statues of the deity in Mesopotamia before the second millennium, and much evidence to the contrary.76 The most numerous and conspicuous literary parallels seem to be with other compositions in honor of Nisaba77 and her consort Haia,78 as is understandable. But there are significant parallels also to ˘ the temple hymn of Gudea of Lagaˇs,79 and to hymns and myths relating the visit of one deity to another to receive his blessing, as well as allusions to priests, festivals and ceremonies usually associated with the divine statue. Thus the cultic setting of our hymn may have been, originally, the building of a temple, the dedication of a statue, a journey from Lagaˇs to Eridu to obtain the blessing of Enki for Nisaba or her royal devotee, or even the installation of her high priest. Its subsequent setting may have been a harvest festival of Enlil or some other festive occasion which, at least for the time being, must remain hypothetical. Addenda To p. 27 n. 52: Another text with a similar (?) hole for attachment is the “Fall of Lagash”; cf. E. Sollberger, International Congress of Orientalists 22 (1957) 32. To p. 32, line 3: Jacobsen suggests that ˇsegbar here is simply a misreading of the earlier GI. Van Dijk compares gisˇseg9, which varies with gisˇsinig in Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos (1969) 126 f., line 402, and is thus here coordinate with naga -kù-ga. For ˇsegbar as a mythical monster, cf. now van Dijk, Or. 38 (1969) 544 f.

Falkenstein, An. Or. 30 (1966), and n. 9, “Statue T.” Ib. 151 and notes 6–7. Differently, Civil, above, note 40, here: IV.1. 75 JAOS 88 (1968), 75. Here: IV.1. Cf. already HUCA 33 (1962), 13 f. 76 Agnes Spycket, Les Statues de Culte dans les textes Mêsopotamiens des origines à la I re Dynastie de Babylone = Cahiers de la Revue Biblique 9 (1968). 77 Cf. comments to lines 1, 7, 9, 34, 53, 55. 78 Notably UET 6:101; cf. comments to lines 19–20, 25–26; 29, 42, 44 (!), 53, 56–57, and above, note 1. 79 Cf. comment to lines 1, 30–31, 45, and 50. 73 74

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To p. 32, lines 8f: Translate perhaps rather: “. . .chatting with the clay, taking counsel with the earth . . .” and cf. MSL 12 ( 1969) 122: 33: inim-du11-du11(= i-nim-du-ut.-t.u) = a-ma-nu-ú; note also AHw s.v. muˇst¯amû (ref. court. van Dijk). To p. 33, line 50: Cf. the seven blessings which Gudea “bestows” (silim . . . sum) on the newly built Eninnu in Cylinder A xx 24-xxi 12. Restore here perhaps silim . . . du11/e for which cf. most recently YNER 3 (1968) 89 s.v.

i.3 PROBLEMS IN SUMERIAN HERMENEUTICS

Benno Landsberger, the late dean of Assyriological studies, proposed that at least in intellectual terms, ancient Mesopotamia constituted a world to itself. In a 1926 article, intended to be programmatic for subsequent studies in the field, Landsberger enunciated what he termed the Eigenbegrifflichkeit (“conceptual autonomy”) of ancient Mesopotamian culture.1 Forty years later, while reviewing the subsequent development of Assyriology, Landsberger found that the Eigenbegrifflichkeit had been followed more in theory than in practice. Nevertheless, the programme had served its purpose. It established the autonomy of Assyriology as a field of study. By freeing Assyriology from its heretofore simplistic role as an auxiliary tool in comparative Biblical studies, Landsberger’s innovation encouraged scholars to study and evaluate Mesopotamian phenomena on their own terms. Only once the autonomy of Assyriology became well established did the danger of its slipping back into being a handmaiden to Biblical studies lessen and the possibility of its climbing into an ivory tower of splendid isolation increase. I suggest that the time has now come to delineate the major outlines of substantive interconnections throughout the Biblical world in which both cuneiform and West Semitic evidence may play their proper part. I shall attempt to strengthen the credibility of my suggestion by discussing it from a variety of perspectives. The archaeological perspective is basic to Assyriology. It is both independent of textual evidence and, if need be, prior to textual evidence. It embraces both the extra-historic and the pre-historic realms: In this area, the most far-reaching new development is the clarification of the chronology of Old World archaeology in general, and the extent and subdivisions of the so-called Bronze Age in particular. From a bewildering mass of independent excavations throughout the Mediterranean basin, the realization has finally emerged that much of the inhabited 1 Benno Landsberger, “Die Eigenbegrifflichkeit der babylonischen Welt,” Islamica 2 (1926) 355–372; reprinted as vol. 142* of the series Libelli (Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965) 1–19.

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world quickly shared in the major developments and innovations of material culture. The evidence suggests that large areas of the Near East and even of southern Europe were in some sort of contact with one another, and that it is no longer necessary, or even proper, to treat each cultural region in isolation. Similar insights to those gained through archaeology are now emerging in a second area—recorded history. The ever growing abundance of textual materials and their increasingly sophisticated analysis and integration, makes it possible to claim that large portions of the Near East moved in a common rhythm from the beginning of history, some five thousand years ago. Repeatedly, the two extremities of the “Fertile Crescent,” Egypt and Mesopotamia, have been the natural foci of imperial concentrations of power, destined to aspire to rule the entire Near East. These imperialistic triumphs repeatedly gave way before the onslaughts of crasser and more bellicose elements from the less hospitable environments bordering on the Fertile Crescent. This collapse of these Empires at either extremity, provided the recurrent opportunity for the middle—Israel or Syria—to assert itself. Given this sort of basic unity of artifactual chronology and political determinants, it should not be surprising to find some major common axes on the more detailed level of specific institutions. One must avoid what has aptly been called “parallelomania,” and be prepared to seek contrasts as well as comparisons.2 It is significant that Mesopotamians, Egyptians and Israelites frequently posed similar questions, even if they arrived at somewhat diverse, even incompatible, answers. For example, in the very crucial area of the cult, or organized religious practice, we can usefully extend A. Leo Oppenheim’s description. He called it “the care and feeding of the gods,” (to which we may add: “and of their worshippers” by comparison to Egyptian prayers for food from offerings to the gods).3 The importance of the cult-statue of the Mesopotamian gods, which Oppenheim has rightly stressed, takes on a new dimension when its Akkadian designation, s. alam il¯ani (ili), is compared with the Hebrew cognate, s. elem el¯oh¯ım which, by contrast, is most often applied to man who is made in the image of God.4 Samuel Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” Journal of Biblical Literature 81 (1962) 1–13. A. Leo Oppenheim. Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago and London, The University of Chicago Press, 1964), esp. pp. 183–198. 4 Ezekiel, however, uses the Hebrew term in its Akkadian sense. Contrariwise, the 2 3

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Lest it be argued that the history of religion is a quicksand upon which it is treacherous to base any correlations, I want to immediately indicate that there is an equally strong case for so sober a manifestation of mundane matters as the field of juridic practice and legal formulation. Yohanan Muffs’ study of deeds of conveyance from all over the Ancient Near East demonstrated with admirable precision what this approach can achieve. The demonstrably comparable environments—in this case, the conveyance of property by gift, sale, or cession (relinquishment)—makes it possible to extend comparison from simple cognates and loan words to loan translations, and opens new vistas for plotting the borders of specific cultural borrowings.5 This new appreciation of the significance of loan translations can lead right down to the lexical level, the minimal unit of meaningful textual evidence. Numerous lexical cuneiform texts translate individual terms from one language into another in parallel columns. Sometimes they even add a third or fourth column for additional languages, particularly in regions outside or between the great centers of the literate civilizations. Thus they provide us with raw material for lexical comparisons between the different cultures. Of course, their equations cannot all be accepted uncritically. But fortunately they can be checked against contextual references in bilingual, trilingual, and multilingual texts. These include international treaties such as those from the Amarna Age, as well as royal inscriptions and literary texts from many different periods. Together with lexicographical advances in each of the separate languages, they provide potential functional or “conceptual equivalents” to test against the previously mentioned doctrine of “conceptual autonomy.” This leads me to the next area, both the most promising and the most dangerous for the comparative approach—the literary level. Of all cultural institutions, literature is perhaps most inherently subject to adaptation and “naturalization” to its own habitat. Yet the interconnections between the Bible and the literatures of the Ancient Near East, and among the several Ancient Near Eastern literary corpora themselves, are so patent that they demand investigation. I have concerned myself for some time with the many questions raised both by king (or an outstanding priest) is occasionally called the “image of the deity” (s. alam DN) in neo-Assyrian; cf. CAD S¸ 85c. 5 Yohanan Muffs, Studies in the Aramaic Legal Papyri from Elephantine (Leiden, E.J. Brill, 1969).

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and against those who would relate any significant part of Biblical literature to its Ancient Near Eastern setting, particularly Mesopotamia. First I investigated two aspects of cuneiform literature in general— creativity and “canonization” i.e., the mechanics by which a traditional literary creation was put into the ancient equivalent of a published book. These two aspects can be investigated profitably on the cuneiform side, where the evidence is ample, and applied with caution on the Biblical side, where it is almost nonexistent.6 Subsequently, I reversed the equation and used the form-critical method, which has scored so many notable successes in the study of Biblical literature, to investigate cuneiform literature, where it rarely has been invoked. The method seemed fruitful with at least two cuneiform genres. The first I chose to call “Akkadian apocalyptic”,7 and the second “individual prayer”.8 From this point it was only a short step toward applying another cardinal tenet of Biblical and more particularly of Psalm exegesis to the cuneiform corpus, namely, the investigation of the cultic or other setting of the various poetic genres, or their so-called Sitz im Leben. Even without definitive proofs, a deeper understanding of the texts seemed to emerge when they could be tentatively assigned to a setting in palace or temple respectively or to a specific cultic occasion such as the dedication of a divine statue, or to a ceremonial occasion of state e.g., the naming of a new year.9 These illustrations of the potential value of applying methods of Biblical scholarship to the cuneiform corpus and vice versa, raised anew the possibility of the actual interdependence between the two literatures. For a long time, the academic battle-lines had been clearly drawn on this fundamental issue. On one side stood the phalanx of the comparativists, armed with all the weaponry of, to them, almost self-evident parallels between the vocabulary, the topoi, the very stories in cuneiform and Hebrew respectively. On the other side, there were a smaller but no less passionate band of skeptics, challenging the comparativists to prove that these parallels between two cultures

6 W.W. Hallo, “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature,” Israel Exploration Journal 12 (1962) 13–26, here: I.1. 7 Id. “Akkadian Apocalypses,” Israel Exploration Journal 16 (1966) 231–242. 8 Id. “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 88/1 (=Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, 1968). 71–89, here: VI.1. 9 Id. “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry,” Actes de la XVII e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale (Brussels, 1969) 116–134, here: I.4.

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separated by such a gulf of space, time and fundamental outlook are anything more than fortuitous. They demand to know the mechanics by which the borrowing might have occurred, the date at which it took place, even the direction in which it went in any given case. Morton Smith most vehemently advocates their position. He suggests that the Hebrew Bible belongs to a people wholly at home in an Iron Age context, who before then were primitive barbarians without demonstrable connections to Mesopotamia, and whose closest parallels should therefore be sought among the Doric invaders of post-Mycenaean Greece and their culture.10 A choice example of this polemic is his parody of the comparativists’ position which may be worth quoting here. “Abraham,” he accuses them of implying, “was a theologian as well as a merchant prince; his donkey caravans could barely stagger along beneath his library of cuneiform tablets.”11 I find Smith unconvincing. To reduce his argument ad absurdum, one need only grant his parallel—but draw the opposite conclusion, i.e., that Greek history be reconstructed and Greek literature evaluated according to the Hebrew parallel instead of vice versa. It then follows, e.g., that the Doric invaders were not Iron Age newcomers to Greece, but that they were returning there after an extended Late Bronze exile in Thessaly, having originally entered Middle Bronze Anatolia, which they fled in the upheavals of the Old Assyrian period! Any archaeological or literary evidence in conflict with this theory would be dismissed as irrelevant or tendentious respectively. One could even cite the ancient myth of the Return of the Heraclidae12 to support some such absurd hypothesis. If we avoid extremes, the challenge posed to the comparative method can be met on a more serious basis. We should neither exempt Biblical literature from the standards applied to other Ancient Near Eastern literatures, nor subject it to standards demanded nowhere else. On this basis, Israelite traditions about its own past Bronze Age, though these traditions were written down in the Iron Age, have to be given as much credence as Middle and Neo-Assyrian notions about the Old Assyrian past. I do not mean to pursue this

10 Morton Smith, “The present state of Old Testament studies,” Journal of Biblical Literature 88 (1969) 19–35. 11 Ibid. 26. 12 Lord William Taylour, The Mycenaeans (1964) 175; C.H. Gordon, Ugaritica 6 (1969) 278; Studies and Texts I (1963) 4.

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analogy here, for I have done so elsewhere13 and I will admit that not all the mechanics, dates and directions of literary borrowings are now, or may ever be, amenable to conclusive demonstration. In a recent paper, I have tested these criteria with respect to a particular set of common traditions; namely, those concerning the antediluvian kings, patriarchs, culture-heroes, and particularly cities. My conclusion is that the antediluvian traditions are native to Mesopotamia. They appear to have begun with the antediluvian cities of Mesopotamia, of which only traces are preserved in the Biblical version. The growth of this tradition to include antediluvian kings and culture-heroes also took place in Mesopotamia while the Biblical recasting of these individuals into patriarchal figures took place in the context of Amorite sedentarization early in the second millennium, when genealogical interests reshaped Mesopotamian historiographical conceptions. Since of all conceivable genres, the genealogical record is most obviously a medium of oral historiography, and since comparable cuneiform sources of the Amorite period (the Genealogy of the Hammurapi Dynasty, the Assyrian King List, etc.) likewise betray a fluid, oral background, it is reasonable to assume they then moved westward, in oral form.14 To return from this particular example to the more general issue: I do submit that both Israel and Mesopotamia each had its own highly developed techniques for preserving those texts which were central to their separate traditions with more or less fidelity and that this provides one of the necessary pre-conditions for arguments in favor of literary inter-connections. In Israel, these techniques (known best from later times) include the Masorah, the Midrash, the liturgical use of the text, the refusal at first to translate the text and perhaps most important, the ultimate willingness to change the meaning of the text either by interpretation or by interpretive translation precisely in order to preserve the integrity of a received text while accommodating it to the needs of a constantly changing world view. These are the distinguishing features

13 William W. Hallo and William K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: a History (New York, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971) esp. pp. 113–117 (“The Emergence of Assyria”); W.W. Hallo, article “Mesopotamia,” Encyclopedia Judaica vol. 16(1971) 1483–1508; esp. 1500 f. 14 William W. Hallo, “Antediluvian Cities,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 23 (1970) 57– 67.

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that constitute what I have described elsewhere as the Jewish perspective in Biblical studies.15 On the Mesopotamian side, too, there are a number of very distinct and well documented patterns of literary survival or preservation. Each of them deserves brief attention if we are to meet the chronological challenge to the comparative method. The most obvious, and in some ways most remarkable kind of literary preservation in the cuneiform tradition, is the case of direct survival. A most telling example of this sort is provided by the famous laws of Hammurapi. This celebrated code (which is not really a code at all) actually began as a monument, but its literary merits quickly became evident to the Mesopotamians themselves. They incorporated it in the curriculum of their scribal schools, and copied it faithfully, not to say slavishly, for over a thousand years after its promulgation even though its legal contents had long since become a dead letter. This example is taken from Akkadian, a language which remained alive in Mesopotamia all during that millennium. Even more instructive is the situation concerning Sumerian which became a dead language soonafter Hammurapi, though it continued to survive as a learned and sacred language (like Latin in the Middle Ages and today). There are numerous examples of Sumerian literary texts whose composition dates back to the neo-Sumerian period (the end of the third millennium) which were learned and copied out in the schools of Hammurapi’s time early in the second millennium, with careful attention to liturgical notations (even when these, as in the Biblical psalms, were no longer understood), and to “Masoretic” details such as variant readings or the numbers of lines. When the Old Babylonian schools came to an end, the traditional texts and the surviving Sumerian-speaking scholars are thought to have found refuge in extreme southern Mesopotamia where (even to this day) one may find many curious survivals of ancient Sumerian patterns of living among the so-called Marsh Arabs. Be that as it may, the Kassite conquest of the southern Sealand late in the second millennium reunited it with Babylonia and retrieved the old learning. Then, the newly formed scribal guilds of this feudal age took up where the earlier scribal schools had left off. They selected a portion of the surviving Sumerian literary corpus, provided it with a literal translation into Akkadian and preserved the ancient learning for both Babylonia 15 Id. “Biblical Studies in Jewish Perspective,” in Leon A. Jick, ed., The Teaching of Judaica in American Universities, (Association for Jewish Studies, 1970) 41–46.

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and Assyria well into the first millennium. Much of the original corpus was lost in the process, and what survived was often badly misunderstood, so that the modern scholar can often demonstrate that the translation into Akkadian is too liberal or simply wrong. But the Sumerian text itself was preserved. A familiar example of this process is provided by the great myth of the warrior-god Ninurta, called Lugal-e. This example can be multiplied by many other myths about and hymns to the great gods of the Sumerian pantheon, whose worship continued without interruption even after Sumerian ceased to be a living language of daily intercourse in all but (at most) the extreme south of the land. Indeed, the survival of Sumerian as a learned religious language was in some part surely connected with the desire to describe and apostrophize the Sumerian deities, so to speak, in their native tongue. On the linguistic level, however, an important distinction must be added. While the myths about and incantations to the gods continued to employ the main dialect of Sumerian after the Old Babylonian period, the surviving hymns addressed to the gods, in common with individual prayer resorted almost exclusively to the Emesal dialect.16 By the same token as the second millennium wore on, the kings of Mesopotamia increasingly favored the more intelligible Akkadian as a vehicle for royal encomiums and self-predications. Next to the gods these kings were the favorite protagonists of cuneiform literature as well as its principal patrons. (The two factors are, again, apt to be related.) The recent discovery that King Shulgi of Ur is the hero of an Akkadian prophecy (or “apocalypse” as I would prefer to call it) shows that royal taste even dictated the resurrection of Sumerian predecessors in Akkadian format.17 But not exclusively! The classical Sumerian epic cycle dealing with the lords of Uruk and Aratta survived intact into the libraries of the neoAssyrian kings in some cases, for example the Lugalbanda Epic. True, the late exemplars of this text are accompanied by an interlinear Akkadian translation; they represent only two out of the forty exemplars used in the latest reconstruction of the composition, and one of these two has been known since 1875!18 But Wilcke’s edition plainly shows

Joachim Krecher, Sumerische Kultlyrik (1966) p. 18. ˇ R. Borger, “Gott Marduk und Gott-König Sulgi als Propheten. Zwei prophetische Texte,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 28 (1971) 3–24. 18 IV R 14:1; republished CT 15:41 f. together with the other late copy, ib. 43. 16 17

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how closely the late text adhered to models a thousand years older19 and also provides precious evidence for the durability of epic literature in Mesopotamia. When and if a history of Sumerian literature is written, that will surely be the occasion to revert to this neglected point. In this hurried survey, I can pause only briefly to consider the socalled “wisdom literature.” It is the most durable of all the genres, and probably also the most genuinely—and literally—popular one. It centers less on gods and kings than on mortals and commoners, particularly on the scribe or, more generally, the wise man. It owed some of its longevity to oral transmission—in this respect again differing from the official canons of temple and palace—and thus survived not only the transition from Sumerian to Akkadian but also from Akkadian to Aramaic, as evidenced by the figure of the wise vizier Ahiqar, and from Aramaic to Arabic, as was shown by O.R. Gurney in his edition of “The Poor Man of Nippur.”20 The very first examples of intelligible Sumerian literary efforts belong to the wisdom genre and date from the Fara period in the middle of the third millennium. They are proverbs, and among them are a number which were still being written out in the first millennium. This is true not only of the old saw about celibacy to which a brief note by W.G. Lambert first called attention,21 but also of others with enough Old Babylonian bilingual versions to indicate at least part of the process of transmission.22 More recently, the Abu Salabikh discoveries have opened an entirely new vista on the Sumerian literature of the Fara period.23 Among these striking finds is a piece of Wisdom called the “Instructions of Shuruppak,” (i.e. the Sumerian Noah, or his son) whose name is identical to, or confused with, the ancient Sumerian name of the city of Fara. Published fragments of this composition now include an Old Sumerian version, a neo-Sumerian one of Old Babylonian date, and an Akkadian one of Middle Assyrian date.24 It is too early to characterize the last as a literal translation. If it proves to be Claus Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos (1969) pp. 90 and 92, and his comments p. 23. Anatolian Studies 6 (1956) 145–164. 21 Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 169 (1963) 63 f. 22 M. Civil and R.D. Biggs, Revue d’Assyriologie 60 (1966) 5–7. 23 R.D. Biggs, “The Ab¯ u Sal¯ ¸ ab¯ıkh Tablets: a preliminary survey,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 20 (1966) 73–88; idem., “An archaic . . . hymn from Tell Ab¯u Sal¯ ¸ ab¯ıkh,” Zeitschrift fur Assyriologie 61 (1972) 193–207. 24 Cf. the latest (partial) translation by R.D. Biggs apud J.B. Pritchard, ed., Ancient Near Eastern Texts 3 (1969) 594 f. 19 20

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so, it would constitute almost the only exception to the curious, but little-noted fact that such translations otherwise never appear except in the form of bilinguals, i.e., in the company of their Sumerian originals. The other chief exception to this rule is the twelfth tablet of the canonical Gilgamesh Epic. But this truly proves the rule, given the special circumstances operative there. A late redactor, not satisfied with the eleven tablets or chapters of the Akkadian epic, though they formed a harmonious whole, felt compelled to add a twelfth and for this purpose resorted to straight translation of one of the Sumerian Gilgamesh episodes which had not been employed in the Akkadian adaptation at all. This leads me to the second and somewhat less obvious manner in which cuneiform literature survived over the centuries; namely, through organic transformation and creative adaptation. In the case of the Gilgamesh Epic, the vehicle for these processes was translation into Akkadian, though I am not yet prepared to say in just what order the various steps proceeded. It has usually been assumed that the Sumerian Gilgamesh episodes were received in disjointed form and that the creation of a unified epic composition was first achieved in Old Babylonian times, together with the creation of an Akkadian version which drew freely upon Sumerian models rather than slavishly translating from them. It is further assumed that the Middle Babylonian period produced the expansion of the Akkadian text which we know (so far) mostly in neo-Assyrian copies.25 These presuppositions have been briefly examined by Hope Nash Wolff 26 and at greater length by Jeffrey H. Tigay, who concludes that the character and role of Enkidu constitute the integrating factors in the epic; that these factors are lacking in the extant Sumerian episodes but are conspicuously present in the Akkadian versions of the same (Old Babylonian) date, as now known in substantial numbers; and that the integration was presumably, if not demonstrably, contemporary with the process of translation.27 In any case, translation was not the only vehicle for the creative adaptation of Sumerian literature. Knowledge of Sumerian was preserved and transmitted at the schools by the “professors of Sumerian” 25 Cf. e.g. L. Matouˇs, “Les rapports entre la version sumerienne et la version akkadienne de l’épopée de Gilgameˇs,” apud P. Garelli, ed., Gilgameˇs et sa Légende (1960) 83–94. 26 “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the heroic life,” JAOS 89 (1969) 392–398, esp. 393 n. 2. 27 Literary-Critical Studies in the Gilgamesh Epic, (University Microfilms) (Yale, unpublished Ph.D. Thesis 1971) esp. pp. 84–96: “The Origin of the Integrated Epic.”

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(to use Landsberger’s translation of dub-sar eme-gir) who, in turn, may have drawn on (and help to demonstrate) the survival of spoken Sumerian in the Sealand during the second millennium. In any case, such knowledge sufficed for the continuous creation of new Sumerian compositions, albeit along lines well marked out by older traditions and in a “decadent” Sumerian which frequently helps one date the texts.28 A good example is provided both by the public and private laments. The former, comparable to the congregational lament of the Hebrew Psalter, began as ritual apologies for the demolition of temple ruins which was the necessary precondition for rebuilding them upon their sacred sites, and included specific allusions to the historical circumstances that had caused the temple to fall into ruins in the first place— usually the attack of an enemy who, it was hoped, would pay the penalty incurred in the sacrilege implied in completing the demolition. From here they gradually developed into formalized complaints for the inexorable decay or destruction of any shrine from any cause in any place, until it became quite impossible to connect the genre with any actual destruction or any actual rebuilding of a given sanctuary. Similarly, the private prayer, comparable to the individual laments among the Psalms, has a long and organic development in form-critical terms. Its earliest attested format is a letter to the deity, written in standard Sumerian prose and deposited at the feet of the statue of the god with the petitioner’s specific request or complaint. From here it was gradually transformed into a stylized petition, sung to the deity by the professional chanter using the aforementioned Emesal dialect, the so-called thin or wailing dialect of Sumerian, and ultimately abandoning the formal elements of the letter such as the salutation, identification of the petitioner, and stereotyped closing while continuing to reflect the original epistolary structure.29 Another way in which cuneiform literature could bridge the millennia was by means of the later Mesopotamians’ rediscovery of their own past. One should not forget that the cuneiform system of writing spans more than half of recorded history. Scholars of the library of Assurbanipal at Nineveh during the time of Manasseh and Josiah, for example, were as far in time from the first Mesopotamian written texts as we are from Assurbanipal. Along with his neo-Assyrian predecessors and

28 29

A. Falkenstein, MDOG 85 (1953) 1–13. Above, n. 8.

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his neo-Babylonian successors, Assurbanipal had just as lively an interest in Mesopotamian antiquities as modern Assyriologists. Therefore, one should not be surprised that there was an active search for ancient monuments and clay tablets, especially in the old land of Sumer, in the south, and that these royally inspired searches were often crowned with success. Thanks to some recent publications, one such success story can now be told. The story begins with a cliche of cuneiform literary history. For some twenty-odd years it has been considered axiomatic that certain genres of Sumerian literature disappeared from the canon in the course of the second millennium because they had become irrelevant to the ideologies of a new age. Prominent examples of this process of attrition were the hymns to deified kings and hymns to gods with prayers for the deified kings. These genres are obviously more suitable to an age in which mortal kings were still worshipped. In the native hymnic terminology such hymns were typically classified as adab or tigi-songs, depending upon the musical instrument used to accompany them. Some two dozen different compositions so classified were identified among the then known (1949) examples of Sumerian literary texts by Adam Falkenstein.30 Though often composed much earlier, all of them came from Old Babylonian copies, dating approximately from Hammurapi’s time. Almost as many more were known by title from a Middle Assyrian literary catalogue; i.e., a document listing various compositions by their opening words and then classifying them by their literary genre.31 But these titles, though dating from the late second millennium, remain just that: titles. Not one of the compositions so catalogued has yet turned up in its own right. One suspects, therefore, that the catalogue is the product of a learned antiquary of the library of Tiglath-Pileser I (c. 1115–1077) rather than a true reflection of the literary tastes of the turn of the millennium, at least at this point (col. iii).32 As has recently been shown, other sections (col. viii) may have a much more living status.33 This is in contrast to a catalogue composed some four or five centuries earlier which includes half a

30 31 32

*18). 33

382.

ZA 49 (1949) 87–91 (Nos. 1–17) and 102 (Nos. 1–7). Ibid. 91 (Nos. 18–21) and 103 (Nos. 8–26). For the date of the text see E. Weidner. Archiv für Orientforschung 16 (1953) 207 (No. David Wulstan, “The Earliest Musical Notation,” Music and Letters 52 (1971) 365–

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dozen identifiable compositions among its thirty-odd tigi and adabhymns.34 Indeed, when one returns to Falkenstein’s list, one finds that the two genres mentioned have completely disappeared from the neoAssyrian corpus and all the vast literary treasures of the library of Assurbanipal, now mostly housed in the British Museum, have not a single example to offer; rather, they have only a single example. The sole example cited by Falkenstein was a drum-song (tigi) to the god Ninurta of which little more was preserved than the colophon (the equivalent of our title-page though it comes at the end of the composition) and pitiful remnants of the last five lines of the hymn. Still, even this tiny fragment was tantalizing, for the colophon could be restored on the basis of parallels to read “(copy?) of Nippur written out according to its old prototype and (checked against the original.)” Now Nippur had been precisely the center of Sumerian learning in the Old Babylonian period, and the place where royal hymns were composed whenever the local priesthood deemed a king worthy of the honor. It was therefore with some interest that I opened a new volume of Sumerian literary texts from the Old Babylonian period at Nippur only to discover a nearly complete “drum-song” the last line of which was literally identical with the last and only well-preserved line of the neoAssyrian fragment.35 My interest thus aroused, I searched for additional fragments of the neo-Assyrian version among the publications of the British Museum and located no fewer than five others. All six of them36 exactly corresponded to the Old Babylonian prototype, and I was convinced that they would join to form a single tablet. My curatorial colleague in London confirmed my suspicions and wrote me the following: “Congratulations on a brilliant join. The six fragments join exactly as you predicted, although the shape of the fragments is not quite what Langdon’s . . . copies made them appear. As you say, it would be very nice to find the missing fragments, and Walker is going to have a go at it. You will be receiving the photographs as soon as they can be made.”37 34 TMH n.F. 3:53. For the identifications sec I. Bernhardt and S.N. Kramer, Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift . . . Jena 6 (1956–1957) 392 f. 35 S.N. Kramer and I. Bernhardt, Sumerische Literarische Texte aus Nippur 2 (1967) No. 86. 36 S. Langdon, Babylonian Liturgies (1913) Nos. 95, 97, 102, 107, 111 and 127. Four of these fragments were identified also by Å. Sjöberg, Orientalia 38 (1969) 355 in his review of op. cit. (n. 35). 37 Letter of February 26, 1969 from Dr. E. Sollberger.

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The missing fragments were never found (it would be easier to find a very small needle in a very large haystack), but the photographs arrived. I have read the original in London and will make a handcopy of it for publication in due course. In the meantime, a German colleague collated the old Nippur text, which was located at the University of Jena in East Germany, for me. All this careful review has disclosed that the hymn is addressed not to the warlike god Ninurta but to the goddess Nintu, patroness of childbirth. She is apostrophized here for putting her talents at the disposal of Enlil the chief executive of the gods, by giving birth to the king and the high priest, offices which it is the function of Enlil to assign to his favorite mortals. [Here: III.5.] The content of the hymn however, is of less interest than the fact that the Old Babylonian prototype from Nippur, dated at perhaps 1750 bce, is as faithfully reproduced as the colophon claims in a neoAssyrian copy made more than a thousand years later. In the interval, the ideology which inspired it had completely disappeared and with it the genre which was its vehicle. It is therefore all the more impressive that the text was resurrected intact, with as much devotion to accuracy and objectivity as a modern copyist would bring to the task. It allows us to infer a more general principle: the rediscovery of lost texts may be added to the preservation or adaptation of surviving texts as means whereby the literary heritage of the Bronze Age passed into the Iron Age within Mesopotamia. Thus the comparative approach to Biblical studies, by which I mean a restrained and disciplined application of the cuneiform parallels, can stand up to the challenge which the skeptics have raised on the issue of chronology. Author’s Note The substance of these remarks was originally presented in the series Perspectives in Jewish Learning, Spertus College of Judaica, Chicago, April 18, 1971. The printed version offered herewith incorporates a considerable number of stylistic changes by the editor, and was not reviewed by the author either in manuscript or proof. For appropriate addenda and corrigenda, the reader is invited to consult my forthcoming article, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature.” [Here I.4.] The point of departure for the original version was provided by James Muilenberg and others, “Problems in Biblical Hermeneutics,” Journal of Biblical Literature 77 (1958) 18–38; cf. ibid. 39–51, 197–204; 78 (1959) 105–114.

i.4 TOWARD A HISTORY OF SUMERIAN LITERATURE To Thorkild Jacobsen, with warmth and respect

Literary history is a stepchild of literary criticism. More often than not, “leading histories of literature are either histories of civilization or collections of critical essays. One type is not a history of art; the other, not a history of art.”1 And even while proposing remedies for this situation, Wellek and Warren relegate their suggestions to the end of their Theory of Literature. Twenty years later, that is still the position Geoffrey Hartman assigns to the proposals he addresses “Toward Literary History.”2 In such circumstances, extensive apologies are hardly necessary for the rudimentary state of Sumerian literary history.3 The recovery of Sumerian literature, though it began a century ago (1873),4 is an ongoing process that is today far from complete; every year brings first editions of newly recovered or newly reconstructed works. The only systematic attempt to subject this growing corpus to some kind of chronological order5 is today in need of major revisions on linguistic and other grounds.6 Indeed, the prospect of writing a literary history of Mesopotamia seems only slightly less dim7 than that of describing its religion in the opinion of the field’s more skeptical spokesmen. 1 René Wellek and Austin Warren, Theory of Literature (New York, 1948; 3d ed., 1963) p. 253. 2 Geoffrey H. Hartman, Beyond Formalism (New Haven, 1970) pp. 356–386. 3 See the Bibliography below. 4 This date is chosen, somewhat arbitrarily, as marking the first appearance of François Lenormant’s Études accadiennes (“Lettres assyriologiques,” seconde série [Paris, 1873–1879J). In three volumes Lenormant offered full editions of substantial numbers of bilingual Sumero-Akkadian texts, most of them previously unedited. 5 A. Falkenstein, “Zur Chronologie der sumerischen Literatur,” CRRA II 12–30; MDOG, No. 85 (1953) pp. 1–13. 6 See e.g. M. Civil, “Remarks on ‘Sumerian and Bilingual Texts,’ ” JNES, Vol. 26 (1967) p. 201: “the presence alone of late grammatically incorrect forms in a text is an unreliable criterion for placing its [original] composition at a late date.” 7 A.L. Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago, 1964) p. 255: “The literary history of Mesopotamia cannot be more than outlined, and it is open to serious doubt—and

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For all that, it is not too early to assay a history of Sumerian literature on strictly literary grounds, not only for the sake of a better appreciation of Sumerian literature, but also in the service of the history of literature. For Sumerian literature meets the criterion of basic linguistic unity which has now been reinstated as a principle of literary history.8 But beyond that it can claim distinction on the basis of three remarkable superlatives: it leads all the world’s written literature in terms of antiquity, longevity, and continuity.9 Its beginnings can now be traced firmly to the middle of the third millennium bc.,10 and native traditions would have it that it originated even earlier, with the antediluvian sages at the end of the fourth millennium.11 Its latest floruit occurred at the end of the pre-Christian era, and at least one canonical text is dated as late as 227 of the Seleucid Era and 163 of the Arsacid (Parthian) Era (or 85 bc.).12 And in the long interval between these extreme terminals, much of it was copied and preserved with a remarkable degree of textual fidelity. A single linguistic and literary tradition spanning two and a half or even three millennia surely deserves to be studied in terms of its own history. Moreover, it should be fairly easy to avoid some of the major pitfalls of conventional literary history13 in connection with Sumerian literature. We are not tempted to use it for the reconstruction of national or social history given the fact that the last two millennia of Sumerian literature were produced in the admitted absence of a Sumerian nation or society and that, even before that time, the very existence of a

I am inclined here to side with the skeptics—whether enough material is available to embark on the venture of writing such a history.” 8 Hartman, Beyond Formalism, pp. 356–386. 9 For the nearest competition, see Hellmut Brunner, Grundzüge einer Geschichte der altägyptischen Literatur (Darmstadt, 1966). See also the reviews by V. Wessetzky, BiOr XXIV (1967) 156–157 and by G. Björkman, BiOr XXIX (1972) 178. 10 R.D. Biggs, “The Ab¯ u Sl¯ . ab¯aíkh Tablets: A Preliminary Survey,” JCS XX (1966) 73–88; M. Civil and R.D. Biggs, “Notes sur des textes sumériens archaïques,” RA LX (1966) 1–16; and below, n. 36. For the chronological question, see Hallo, “The Date of the Fara Period,” Or, n.s., Vol. 42 (1972) pp. 228–238. The definitive edition of the literary and lexical texts from Ab¯u Sal¯ . ab¯ıkh (and parallels from Fara) has now appeared; see R.D. Biggs, Inscriptions from Tell Ab¯u S. al¯ab¯ıkh (OIP XCIX [1974]). 11 Hallo, “On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature,” JAOS, Vol. 83 (1963) pp. 167– 176, esp. 175–176, here: II.1. 12 G.A. Reisner, Sumerisch-babylonische Hymnen nach Thontafeln griechischer Zeit (Berlin, 1896) No. 55. No. 49 may even be dated four years later. See also below, n. 46. 13 Wellek and Warren, Theory of Literature, p. 253.

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recognizable Sumerian ethnic group has been challenged.14 Nor are we prone to offer, in the guise of literary history, a series of disconnected essays on individual authors, given the fact that the vast majority of Sumerian literary works are anonymous or at best pseudonymous in authorship. We are thus virtually forced to devote our attention to the proper concerns of literary history, beginning with “the establishment of the exact position of each work in a tradition.”15 From there it is a logical step to the “morphological approach,” that is, “the history of genres” or the “problem of the development of a type.”16 Finally the extensive perspective afforded by our corpus leads naturally to a meaningful periodization which, while “embedded in the historical process,”17 is based in the first instance on the cumulative evidence of major periods of creativity, adaptation, and consolidation of the literary material. So ambitious a programme can at this stage be tackled only by means of illustrative examples. But by selecting the examples widely from a representative genre, it is intended to validate the general approach and to encourage more systematic efforts along similar lines. In the long history of transmission, each genre tended to undergo different treatment. If these different treatments are to be compared, it must be done according to some common scale. Admittedly there will inevitably be a subjective bias in the choice of such a scale. The one chosen here is that of fidelity to the received text. On this basis, it is possible to grade the genre histories from an extreme of slavish fidelity on one hand, via various degrees of organic expansion and creative adaptation, all the way to total suppression or displacement. As we shall see, however, the extremes join in the case of the occasional late recovery of an early text that had not survived in the tradition. I will begin my survey with a rather extreme example of textual fidelity in the context of a continuing tradition. The Exploits of Ninurta is the name currently given to the composition known anciently by its incipit as lugal-(e) u4 me-lám-bi nir-gál. Modern 14 F.R. Kraus, Sumerer und Akkader, ein Problem der altmesopotamischen Geschichte (Amsterdam, 1970), esp. ch. vii. J.S. Cooper, “Sumerian and Akkadian in Sumer and Akkad,” Or, n.s., Vol. 42 (1973) pp. 239–246. 15 Wellek and Warren, Theory of Literature, p. 259. 16 Ibid., p. 261. 17 Ibid., p. 265. See in this connection Fawzi Rasheed, “Sumerian Literature: Its Character and Development,” Sumer XXVIII (1972) 9–15.

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classifications assign it to the genre of myth, since its protagonists are drawn from the divine realm, and its story, however interpreted, clearly presents a legendary occurrence as a paradigm for a continuing experience, whether in the human sphere or in nature. But in the native system, it figures rather as a hymn of praise to the deity, concluding with the requisite doxology: “Oh Ninurta, it is good (or, in the late version: exalting) to praise (zà-mí) you,” and this is true of all the texts to be considered in this section. The text of the composition, virtually complete in over 700 lines, has been reconstructed by J. van Dijk from some 130 exemplars.18 Nearly two-thirds of these date from the Old Babylonian scribal schools at Nippur and (to a lesser extent) Ur, which flourished in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, respectively. At least three bilingual texts from Assur may belong to the library of Tiglath-Pileser I (1115–1077 bc.), according to Weidner.19 The rest date from the first millennium, particularly the royal Assyrian libraries in the seventh century. A comparison of the three versions is instructive. In the overwhelming majority of cases, the late text reproduces the early text with no more orthographic variants than can be found among various exemplars of the early text itself. In other cases, the original sense of the text has been lost, and the later version substitutes a wholly new one in both Sumerian and Akkadian. In those relatively few instances where all three periods are represented, the Middle Assyrian versions vary with the later and against the earlier. Within limits, a similar situation characterizes the shorter epic of Ninurta called Angim. The edition by J. Cooper shows, however, that the late version is occasionally closer to the early version than is the intermediate version.20 In attempting to account for the striking tenacity of this particular textual tradition, it is necessary to pursue the literary history of the two compositions further back than their earliest written manifestations in Old Babylonian times. Both deal with Ninurta; both allude in mythological terms to campaigns against the “mountains.” In Lugale, the 18 I am indebted to him for his transliteration in manuscript form. The first 180 lines are preserved on the large Yale tablet YBC 9867 (Old Babylonian). 19 E.F. Weidner, “Die Bibliothek Tiglatpilesers I.,” AfO XVI (1952–1953) 197–215. 20 Chiefly KAR, Nos. 12 and 18. I am indebted to Professor Cooper for an advance copy of his revised working text (May, 1973) of the edition. As he points out in his introduction (May, 1975), however, the only fully preserved subscript of the composition labels it a ˇsìr-gíd-da of Ninurta.

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victory of Ninurta is reconstructed in detail; in Angim, this victory is presupposed and, in its aftermath, the spoils of war are donated in Nippur. It is difficult to escape the conclusion that real historical events provide the background.21 Already Hrozny´ had argued that Lugale contained an explicit allusion to Gudea (XI 13–16 = lines 475–478 of the combined text) in the context of (the so-called ki-a-nag) offerings to the statues of deceased rulers and grandees.22 Several almost verbatim correspondences between Lugale and the inscriptions of Gudea of Lagash have been noted and the same can be said for Angim.23 Given the historical datum of Gudea’s campaigns against Anshan and Elam, we may well have before us the mythological version of these events. The compositions probably owe their incorporation into the Nippur curriculum to the substitution of Ninurta of Nippur for his Lagashite equivalent Ningirsu24 and their preservation beyond Old Babylonian times precisely to the sublimation of specific historical allusions into mythological forms. What is here suggested then is that these (and possibly other)25 myths to Ninurta were commissioned in their original form at the court of Gudea, or at least inspired by his exploits shortly after his reign, and that they helped to perpetuate his memory thereafter.26 The suggestion cannot be proved as yet, but it can be buttressed by various Cf. Hallo and Van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna (YNER, Vol. 3 [1968]) p. 66. Friedrich Hrozny, ´ “Sumerisch-babylonische Mythen von dem Gotte Ninrag (Ninib),” MVAG, Vol. 8/5 (1903) p. 64. Cf. A. Falkenstein, in CRRA II 14; Die Inschriften Gudeas von Lagaˇs I (AnOr, Vol. 30 [1966]) pp. 45, 139; RLA, Vol. 3 (1971) p. 677. 23 Note especially the reference, by name, to the divine weapons ˇsar-gaz, ˇsar-ùr, etc., in both Angim (e.g. ll. 129 f. = III 24 f.) and Gudea’s date formulas and inscriptions; see simply Falkenstein, AnOr, Vol. 30, p. 111, n. 4. For other correspondences, see B. Landsberger, “Einige . . . Nomina des Akkadischen,” Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, Vol. 57 (1961) p. 12. Note that the same weapons still occur in the inscriptions of Esarhaddon. 24 Such substitutions therefore have greater significance than is assigned to them by B. Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream: Aspects of Oral Poetry in Sumerian Myth (Copenhagen, 1972) p. 44, and “ ‘Ninurta and the Turtle,’ UET 6/1 2,” JCS XXIV (1972) p. 120 and n. 2. For Ninurta in connection with both Nippur and Lagash, cf. already SLTNi, No. 61 (ed. M.E. Cohen, in WO VIII [1975] 22–36) 11. 58–87, esp. 1. 64. 25 Cf. also TMH NF IV, No. 49 and Alster, in JCS XXIV 120–125. This text reads more like a parody than a serious hymn to Ninurta, though A.J. Ferrara, Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur (Rome, 1973) p. 4, n. 7 calls it “Ninurta’s Journey to Eridu.” See also M.E. Cohen, in JCS XXV (1973) p. 208 f., n. 29, for multiple allusions to Ninurta myths in late Ninurta balag-laments. 26 Cf. Falkenstein, AnOr, Vol. 30, p. 45: “although the passage [above, n. 22] does not mention Gudea by name, it was clear to anyone familiar with Babylonian history to whom it alluded” (translation mine). 21 22

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considerations. Gudea appears as patron of Sumerian literary (and artistic) creations of the highest order (the Cylinders of Gudea; the statue inscriptions, etc.).27 He enjoyed posthumous worship in the Ur III period in the form of ki-a-nag offerings;28 and he figured in the Old Babylonian canonical literature of Nippur29 and Larsa.30 Royal patronage of Sumerian literature did not, however, begin with Gudea. As early as the Sargonic period, not only can we point to Sargon or Naram-Sin as probable patrons but we can identify the author whom they commissioned. Enheduanna, daughter of the former and older contemporary of the latter, claimed the authorship of two significant cycles of hymns, and there is little reason to deny the claim. For although pseudepigraphical attribution is not a priori to be excluded, it is noteworthy that Enheduanna’s principal contemporary monument was still standing in Old Babylonian Ur as is evident from the copy identified by Sollberger,31 thus making her an unlikely candidate for legendary status at that time. Moreover, there is increasing evidence for women, and especially royal princesses, as authors of major Sumerian literary works. Thus, the widow of Ur-Nammu has been proposed as the author of the hymn memorializing his death and burial,32 and the daughter of Sin-kashid of Uruk is the author of an important Falkenstein, AnOr, Vol. 30. N. Schneider, “Die Urkundenbehälter von Ur III und ihre archivalische Systematik,” Or. n.s., Vol. 9 (1940) p. 23, and above, n. 22. 29 Hymn to Nanshe (SLTNi, No. 67 and duplicates); tigi-hymn to Ba"u (STVC, No. 36): cf. Falkenstein, AnOr, Vol. 30, pp. 44–45, and Hallo, “Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity,” JCS XVII (1963) 115, here: III.1; Temple Hymn No. 20: cf. C. Wilcke, “Der aktuelle Bezug der Sammlung der sumerischen Tempel-hymnen und ein Fragment eines Klageliedes,” ZA, Vol. 62 (1972) pp. 48–49. Cf. now also G. Gragg, “The Fable of the Heron and the Turtle,” AfO XXIV (1973) 51–72, 1. 19. 30 E. Sollberger, “The Rulers of Lagash,” JCS XXI (1967) 282, 11. 198–199. This text, which Sollberger dates to the middle Old Babylonian (i.e., Larsa) period, is clearly a kind of polemic against the canonical Sumerian King List as tradited at Nippur, which ignored both Lagash and Larsa. It thus accomplished for Lagash what the W-B 62 recension (Langdon, OECT II, Pl. VI) did in its way for Larsa, and both documents presumably originated from the latter city. That Gudea himself ruled over Larsa was still unknown to Falkenstein, AnOr, Vol. 30, pp. 42–46, but is now highly probable in light of the new French excavations, which have turned up a brick to Nanshe and a clay nail to Ningirsu inscribed by Gudea on the site; see D. Arnaud, “Nouveaux jalons pour une histoire de Larsa,” Sumer XXVII (1971) 43–44. 31 RA LXIII (1969) 180 (ad UET I, No. 289). 32 C. Wilcke, “Eine Schicksalsentscheidung für den toten Urnammu,” CRRA XVII 86. For her identity, see either Sollberger, “Ladies of the Ur-III Empire,” RA LXI (1967) 69 (Watartum?) or Civil, “Un nouveau synchronisme Mari-IIIe dynastie d’Ur,” RA LVI (1962) 213 (Tar¯am-Uram; cf. Hallo, in RLA, Vol. 4 [1972] pp. 13 f.). 27 28

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letter-prayer to Rim-Sin of Larsa.33 In addition, there are various love songs and lullabies purportedly sung to the kings of Ur III (notably Shu-Sin) by their wives or mothers.34 The two Enheduanna cycles are related to each other, although different in character. The first, consisting of Inanna and Ebih, in-nin ˇsàgurx-ra, and The Exaltation of Inanna, constitutes hymns of praise to Inanna, patron deity of the Sargonic kings, in which their triumphs over foreign enemies and internal rebellions are thinly disguised as the res gestae of the goddess. In the second, the temples of Sumer and Akkad are apostrophized in a manner calculated to put royal solicitude for them in the best possible light: having triumphed in war and crushed Sumerian political aspirations, the Sargonic kings are nevertheless depicted as defenders of the traditional Sumerian faith.35 This conception of Enheduanna’s work as glorifying her king in war and peace can be compared, in the visual arts, with the famous Standard of Ur from the Royal Cemetery at Ur some three centuries earlier. It also provides a model for the anonymous Ninurta hymns dated (above) nearly two centuries later, since Lugale focuses on military exploits and Angim on their cultic consequences. Yet the actual history of the Enheduanna corpus was quite different from that of the latter. This history begins as early as ca. 2500 bc. at Ab¯u Sal¯ . ab¯ıkh, among whose literary tablets, R.D. Biggs has identified not only “an archaic Sumerian version of the Kesh Temple Hymn”36 but also fragments of briefer temple hymns more closely related to the later cycle of Enheduanna.37 She is expressly described as the compiler of the cycle in its colophon, and it thus seems reasonable to suppose that she adapted and incorporated, at least in part, pre-existing hymns to individual temples such as those from archaic Ab¯u Sal¯ . ab¯ıkh. But the colophon also credits her with creating what “no one has created (before),” using the

33

Hallo, “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa” (forthcoming), here: V.1. S.N. Kramer, in ANET (3d ed., 1969) pp. 644–645, 651–652. 35 Hallo and Van Dijk, Exaltation, ch. i; C. Wilcke, in ZA, Vol. 62, pp. 35–61. Wilcke’s study, like mine of 1970 (below, note 49), investigated the “Sitz im Leben” of Sumerian poetry and concluded (by a process of elimination) that the Temple Hymns survived in the courtly ceremonial as implicit praise for any given king who was solicitous of the temples. 36 R.D. Biggs, “An Archaic Version of the Kesh Temple Hymn from Tell Abu ¯ Sal¯ . ab¯ıkh,” ZA, Vol. 61 (1971) pp. 193–207. 37 Ibid., p. 195 f.; cf. Å. Sjöberg and E. Bergmann, The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns (TCS III [1969]) p. 6. 34

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terminology of child-bearing, as does The Exaltation of Inanna,38 to describe the process of poetic creativity. Presumably, it was the composition of the cycle as a whole that represented her creative contribution.39 The oldest actual exemplar used in reconstructing the temple hymn cycle is dated by Sjöberg to the Ur III period.40 At this period, the text was still apparently to some degree in flux: a Sargonic date for its original composition can be reconciled with its form in the Old Babylonian version only on the assumption that, in the interim, it was expanded to admit the inclusion of hymns to temples built in neo-Sumerian times. This is particularly evident in the case of Temple Hymn No. 9 in honor of the palace of Shulgi. The internal development of the cycle of Enheduanna’s hymns to Inanna is somewhat different. All known exemplars date from Old Babylonian times, and variants among them are relatively minor.41 In the case of Innin-ˇsagurra, some of the later Old Babylonian exemplars are written in syllabic Sumerian and include an interlinear translation into Akkadian.42 What both cycles have in common, however, is their complete disappearance from the canon after Old Babylonian times. Unlike the Ninurta hymns, it may be argued, they failed to sublimate their historical particulars sufficiently to qualify for enduring and universal interest in the cuneiform curriculum. Though their allusions may be obscure enough to lead to very different modern interpretations,43 they did not end as proper myth. At best it can be said that one of their themes, the exaltation of Inanna to equal rank with An at the head of the pantheon, was taken up in very different form in the bilingual poem Ninmah-uˇsuni-girra. Traditionally, this poem is ascribed to Taq¯ıshaGula, a lamentation-priest and scholar of Nippur,44 who is said to date

Hallo and Van Dijk, Exaltation, pp. 61–62. Sumerian KA-kèˇs-da, “compiler,” is used of Enheduanna in the colophon of the Temple Hymns just as k¯as. iru, its Akkadian equivalent, is used of the author of the Erra Epic; cf. Sjöberg, TCS III 150. 40 Sjöberg and Bergmann, TCS III 6; see copies, Pls. XXXVII f. 41 For some of the more significant ones, see Hallo and Van Dijk, Exaltation, pp. 41 and 97 f. 42 J.J.A. van Dijk, “Textes divers du Musée de Baghdad,” Sumer XI (1955) 110, PL VI, and Sumer XIII (1957) 69–79. 43 Compare, e.g., the interpretation of The Exaltation of Inanna offered in Hallo and Van Dijk, Exaltation, with that of Kramer, in ANET (3d ed., 1969) pp. 579–582. 44 W.G. Lambert, “A Catalogue of Texts and Authors,” JCS XVI (1962) 75–76. 38 39

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back to the time of Abi-eshuh in the late Old Babylonian period.45 But its extant exemplars date from the seventh to the fourth centuries bc.46 and show little evidence of pre-Kassite origins. At best; but the suggestion just offered is much better illustrated in another instance. If we have so far dealt with the two extremes of textual preservation—slavish fidelity and total obliteration—we must consider now the large intermediate area within which preservation was achieved by means of a greater or lesser degree of adaptation. We may begin with The Curse of Agade, since this composition, like the cycles already considered, arose out of a specific historical context. It too dealt with the Sargonic dynasty; it too formally constituted a hymn of praise to Inanna; it too dates back to Ur III times on the evidence of several of its exemplars47 and then enjoyed considerable popularity in the Old Babylonian curriculum. Beyond that, its history ran a middle course between the extremes illustrated above. It was neither totally eliminated from the canon nor simply perpetuated. Instead it was creatively transformed to meet the ideological requirements of a new age, the vehicle for (or at least concomitant of ) the transformation being, in this case, translation into Akkadian. Specifically, the historical viewpoint and major outlines of the plot of the original composition (which seem most at home in a neo-Sumerian milieu) are reproduced in the fragmentary Weidner Chronicle, with certain significant alterations. Notably they substitute Babylon and Marduk for Nippur and Enlil as the aggrieved city and its avenging deity respectively.48 But both agree that Naram-Sin was the victim of the divine retribution (though in point of historical fact he probably was not), and the Gutian hordes its instrument.

Van Dijk, UVB XVIII (1962) 51 ad line 15. B. Hruˇska, “Das spätbabylonische Lehrgedicht ‘Inannas Erhöhung,’ ” ArOr, Vol. 37 (1969) pp. 473–522. I fail to see the basis for Hruˇska’s statement (p. 477) that one of the exemplars, which he dates to 316 bc, is the latest bilingual literary text known (see above, n. 12). Cf. also W.G. Lambert, “L’exaltation d’Ishtar,” Or. n.s., Vol. 40 (1971) pp. 91–95. 47 A. Falkenstein, “Fluch über Akkade,” ZA, Vol. 57 (1965) p. 44. 48 Hallo, “Gutium,” RLA, Vol. 3 (1971) p. 709. Similarly the stele’s version of the prologue to the Laws of Hammurapi has substituted Babylon and Marduk for Nippur and Enlil in the version published by D.J. Wiseman, “The Laws of Hammurabi Again,” Journal of Semitic Studies VII (1962) 161–172. The latter version preserves the oldest formulation according to R. Borger, Babylonisch-Assyrische Lesestücke II (Rome, 1963) 7; cf. also A. Finet, Le Code de Hammurapi (Paris, 1973) pp. 31–32. 45 46

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The Weidner Chronicle pursues the theme of divine intervention in the fate of empires by applying it in turn to the Gutians themselves. Although this topic is beyond the scope of The Curse of Agade, it has a corresponding model in the inscription of Utu-hegal of Uruk, which is equally a literary document, albeit less well attested. Here too, the Sumerian Enlil is replaced in the Akkadian text by Marduk, but the human agent remains the same Utu-hegal. These examples illustrate the same ideological modernizing within a documented textual tradition which was posited above for the transition from an assumed and perhaps oral original from Lagash dealing with Ningirsu to an attested written version, chiefly of Nippur, centered on Ninurta. They show that specific historical allusions were not, as such, an insuperable obstacle to the preservation of literary materials provided their mythical settings were updated. Having thus constructed in some detail a paradigm for the category of “history into myth,” we may deal more briefly with that of “history into legend,” or what in modern terms is generally regarded as epic. Again, however, it should be remembered that the modern distinction is not observed in the ancient texts themselves. Rather these end, as do “myths” with the typical hymnic doxology except that now the praise is addressed, not to the deity, but to the deceased heroic mortal.49 As is well known, the principal subject of the Sumerian epic tales is the First Dynasty of Uruk, to be dated in the Early Dynastic II period (ca. 2700–2500 bc.), probably in its second quarter (ca. 2650–2600).50 The lords of distant Aratta and the last kings of the First Dynasty of Kish also figure in the epics, while other literary sources, notably the History of the Tummal, reveal the links of both Uruk and Kish with the First Dynasty of Ur.51 The common distinctive feature of the Sumerian epic corpus is that it deals with heroic rulers of a distant past, in a form reduced to writing Hallo, “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry,” CRRA XVII 117, here: I.2. Cf. the listing by W. Heimpel in JAOS, Vol. 92 (1972) p. 290, n. 8. Note that some exemplars of the Lugalbanda epic write his name with the divine determinative: C. Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos (Wiesbaden, 1969) pp. 51–52. 50 Hallo and Simpson, The Ancient Near East: A History (New York, 1971) p. 47. Note that Sollberger dates (En)mebaragesi of Kish about 2630–2600 bc (Inscriptions royales sumériennes et akkadiennes [Paris, 1971] p. 39). In my scheme, the latter is contemporary with Gilgamesh (Hallo and Simpson, The Ancient Near East, p. 46). 51 Hallo and Simpson, The Ancient Near East, p. 46; cf. Sollberger, “The Tummal Inscription,” JCS XVI (1962) 40 ff. 49

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long after the events described, most likely in the Ur III period, and very conceivably on the basis of a pre-existing oral tradition. It is this feature that best accounts for the considerable range of variation in different Old Babylonian recensions of given epics52 and for their preservation, beyond Old Babylonian times, in much the same variety of ways as already detailed for the mythology. Specifically, these ways include: (1) more or less literal transmission into neo-Assyrian times together with a verbatim interlinear translation into Akkadian (Lugalbanda epic);53 (2) scattered allusions in later Akkadian and classical sources (Enmerkar cycle);54 (3) organic transformation of the original Sumerian episodes into components of new Akkadian compositions on the same themes. This last characterization applies in the first instance to the bulk of the material dealing with Gilgamesh.55 A special case is represented by the twelfth chapter (tablet) of the canonical Akkadian Gilgamesh epic, which is a literal translation of one of the pre-existing Sumerian episodes, and as such the principal exception to the general rule that straightforward Akkadian translations of Sumerian originals (outside the area of wisdom literature)56 appear only in the form of bilinguals, that is, in combination with their Sumerian originals.57 It is debatable whether any of the Dumuzi material fits into this category. In the first place, it is not certain whether Dumuzi reflects

52

Notably, e.g., in the case of Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living. See in detail H. Limet, “Les chants épiques sumériens,” Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire L (1972) 3–24, esp. 8–9. 53 CT XV, Pls. 41–43, edited by Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos, pp. 90–98. See pp. 23–28 for the textual history of this epic. 54 See the references collected by T. Jacobsen, The Sumerian King List (AS, No. 11 [1939]) pp. 86–87, n. 115. For the apkallu text cited there, see more recently E. Reiner, “The Etiological Myth of the ‘Seven Sages,’ ” Or. n.s., Vol. 30 (1961) pp. 1–11. 55 The classic study on this subject is Kramer’s “The Epic of Gilgameˇs and Its Sumerian Sources,” JAOS, Vol. 64 (1944) pp. 7–23. Since then the material has been reviewed by Aaron Shaffer, “Sumerian Sources of Tablet XII of the Epic of Gilgameˇs” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1963), and by J.H. Tigay, “Literary-Critical Studies in the Gilgameˇs Epic” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1971). 56 Cf. e.g., E.I. Gordon, “A New Look at the Wisdom of Sumer and Akkad,” BiOr XVII (1960) 127, n. 46, and 129 f., n. 57. 57 This rule has been generally overlooked, except by W. von Soden (Zweisprachigkeit in der geistigen Kultur Babyloniens [Graz, 1960] p. 9), who noted that the Akkadian translator “die Übersetzungen in der Regel nicht für sich allein, sondern zusammen mit dem ˇ sumerischen Original abschrieb.” See now also W.G. Lambert, “DINGIR.SÀ.DIB.BA Incantations,” JNES, Vol. 33 (1974) p. 270: “though it is common to find Sumerian texts with interlinear Akkadian translations, the translations did not usually circulate alone.” Lambert offers another exception to the rule.

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the Urukian ruler of the King List tradition or the antediluvian king of Bad Tibira. Second, the bulk of the Dumuzi texts are generically cultic songs according to their subscripts. Only The Descent of Inanna ends, like the epics, with the zà-mí notation, and this is addressed, not to Dumuzi, but to Eresh-kigal.58 At best we can regard the Akkadian myth of The Descent of Ishtar (and possibly that of Nergal and Eresh-kigal) as preserving elements of a Sumerian tradition which may have dealt in epic fashion with the exploits of a historic ruler of Uruk. We have so far dealt with hymns of praise (zà-mí), which can be argued to have recast recent history into cosmological terms (myth) or more remote events into heroic ones (epic), in both cases inextricably interweaving the human and divine realms of experience. But this is not intended to deny that the hymnic genre was equally capable of concentrating on either one of these realms in its own right. As long ago as 1944, Kramer collected and classified Sumerian mythology into myths of origins, myths of Kur (the netherworld), and miscellaneous myths.59 As he interpreted them, these myths took place almost entirely in the divine sphere, though of course often with an etiological motive, that is, to account for a continuing situation observed in the human condition, preferably in terms of its origins. From the point of view at issue here, what is most striking about these and similar myths is that almost without exception they have no literary history at all. They appear in fixed form in copies (sometimes numerous copies) datable to a relatively short span of time, normally within the Old Babylonian period,60 occasionally earlier.61 Only rarely are the themes of these myths taken up in recognizably similar forms in Akkadian; in the most striking case, that of the Flood Narrative, it has even been implied that the Sumerian UET VI/l, No. 10 rev. 14 f.; cf. Kramer, in PAPS, Vol. 107 (1963) p. 515. Sumerian Mythology (Philadelphia, 1944; rev. eds., 1961, 1972). 60 Notably the myths of Enlil and Ninlil, Enki and Ninhursag, Enki and Inanna, and The Marriage of Martu. Note, however, that the last text is, generically speaking, an antiphonal poem (lum-a-lam-a) and may reflect a princely wedding or other historic event; cf. Hallo and Van Dijk, Exaltation, p. 84, and G. Buccellati, The Amorites of the Ur III Period (Naples, 1966) p. 339. 61 For the Old Sumerian myths of Enlil and Ninhursag (MBI, No. 1) and Enlil and Ishkur (S.N. Kramer, From the Tablets of Sumer [Indian Hills, 1956] p. 106, Fig. 6A), see Sjöberg and Bergmann, TCS III 7 with notes 7 and 8. For the mythical fragment Urukagina 15, see most recently Hallo, “Antediluvian Cities,” JCS XXIII (1970) 65 f.; Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos, p. 132; B. Alster, “En-ki nun-ki: Some Unobserved Duplicates, Ni 4057, etc.,” RA LXIV (1970) 189–190. 58 59

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version may be later than and dependent on the earliest Akkadian one.62 Even rarer is the transmission of the Sumerian text, intact and with an Akkadian translation, into the first millennium, as exemplified best by the myth of Enlil and Sud.63 Two of the principal themes of the older mythology, the loves and travels of the Sumerian deities, apparently ceased to interest the later periods by and large, while the third, etiology, was worked into the cosmological preamble (the prologue in heaven, as it were) of genres such as incantations more often than it was left in independent hymnic form. Only the traditions surrounding Dumuzi continued to exercise their full fascination on later audiences. The history of royal hymnography is equally instructive. For fully five centuries (ca. 2140–1640 bc.), some seven successive dynasties were apparently rewarded for their cultic deference to the national Sumerian shrines at Nippur through hymns composed in their honor by the Nippur priesthood and tradited wherever Sumerian scribal schools adopted the Nippur curriculum.64 These hymns included many essentially divine hymns with only incidental mention of the king (chiefly in the context of short prayer-refrains invoking the divine blessings on the ruler then controlling Nippur), which were most likely at home in the temple liturgy:65 of these more presently. Here we are concerned with the royal hymns properly speaking, that is, those concluding with the typical zà-mí doxology, spoken by, to or of the living king in first, second or third person. In the last case, the formal analogy with epics about the deceased rulers of Uruk is particularly clear, and it is conceivable that these epics served as models for what, in sum, added up to virtual hymnic biographies of the contemporary rulers.66 Like the epics, these compositions lack all liturgical notations and were most likely at home not in the temple, but in the courtly ceremonial, where they may well have functioned in the context of the official (biennial?) proclamation of the royal date formulas.67 Given all these links to specific historic and 62 M. Civil apud W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard, Atra-has¯ıs: The Babylonian Story of ˘ the Flood (Oxford, 1969) pp. 138–145. 63 O.R. Gurney and P. Hulin, The Sultantepe Tablets II (London, 1964) Nos. 151–154; see the partial edition by M. Civil, in JNES, Vol. 26, pp. 200–205. Note also the myth of Enki and Ninmah, for which see most recently Carlos A. Benito, “ ‘Enki and Ninmah’ and ‘Enki and the World Order’ ” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1969). 64 Hallo, in JCS XVII 112–118, here: III.1. 65 Hallo, “New Hymns to the Kings of Isin” BiOr XXIII (1966) 239–247, here: III.3. 66 Hallo, “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu,” JCS XX (1966) 135, here: III.2. 67 Hallo, in CRRA XVII 118–119, here: I.2. A different conclusion was reached by Daniel Reisman (“Two Neo-Sumerian Royal Hymns” [Ph.D. diss., University of

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political situations, it is a tribute to the literary taste and cosmopolitanism of the Old Babylonian schools that they tradited the royal hymns at all, regardless of their current dynastic affiliation.68 It should cause little surprise that later ages, with their wholly new ideologies of kingship, ceased to preserve these compositions.69 Even the genre as such can at most claim a remote successor in the Akkadian poems celebrating the achievements of the Middle Assyrian kings. It was somewhat otherwise with the royal hymns in the wider sense (Römer’s Type A),70 that is, the liturgical hymns of various genres. Two of these, the adab- and tigi-genres, were particularly favored vehicles for incorporating prayers on behalf of the reigning king in the context of hymns to deities. These genres survived at least to the extent of occupying a prominent place in two literary catalogues of Middle Babylonian and Middle Assyrian date (ca. 1500 and 1100 bc.), respectively.71 The earlier catalogue listed by title (incipit) and deity up to eleven tigi-hymns (the individual entries are, however, largely lost) and fifteen adab-hymns; among the latter, three titles72 can be identified with reasonable assurance as the opening words of adab-hymns for Nanna in honor of the city of Ur,73 for Nergal in honor of Shu-ilishu of Isin, and for Ninurta in honor of Lipit-Ishtar of Isin.74 The later catalogue75 listed at least four collections (iˇs-ka-ra-a-tu) comprising numerous tigisongs (za-ma-rumeˇs te-ge-e) (though the eighteen incipits actually preserved remain so far unidentified) and “five Sumerian adab-songs (forming)

Pennsylvania, 1969] pp. 39–40), who regarded hymns of type B (including some addressed to deities without explicit reference to any king) as also belonging to the temple cult, though perhaps used at royal coronations and the like. 68 Hallo, in JCS XVII 117 with notes 95–99, here: III.1. 69 Daniel Reisman, Kramer Anniversary Volume (AOAT, in press) has identified OECT I, Pls. 36–39 (and duplicates) as a royal hymn of the zà-mí type (though in some respects intermediate between types A and B) dedicated to Ishbi-Irra of Isin, and M. Civil has identified 4R, Pl. 35, 1. 7 as a duplicate (see Reisman). But in spite of its Kuyunjik number (K. 4755), it may be questioned whether the fragment is neoAssyrian. 70 SKIZ, pp. 5 f., Cf. my review in BiOr XXIII 240 f. Here: III.3. 71 Hallo, in JAOS, Vol. 83, p. 169, Nos. 9 and 10, here: II.1. 72 TMH NF III (1961) No. 58, 11. 62, 70 and 67; see the edition by I. Bernhardt and S.N. Kramer, “Götter-Hymnen und Kult-Gesänge der Sumerer auf zwei Keilschrift‘Katalogen’ in der Hilprecht-Sammlung,” WZJ, Vol. 6 (1956–1957) p. 392. 73 SLTNi, No. 58, edited by Sjöberg, MNS I 35–43. Add now ISET I 157, Ni. 4467. 74 Nos. *4 and *26 in SKIZ, ch. 3 and pp. 6–9, respectively. 75 KAR, No. 158; see the partial edition by A. Falkenstein, “Sumerische religiöse Texte,” ZA, Vol. 49 (1949) pp. 91 and 103.

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ˇ one collection” (5 za-ma-ru il-ti-a-at GIS.GÀR a-da-pa sˇu-me-ra). Of the latter, one title belongs to a hymn for An in honor of Ur-Ninurta of Isin.76 Thus, cultic hymns associated with the early kings of Isin were preserved into the second half of the second millennium, even though there is no evidence whatever for any interest in such relatively obscure kings as Shu-ilishu, Lipit-Ishtar or Ur-Ninurta at this late date.77 But the explanation for this seeming paradox is not far to seek. So far from preserving specific biographical data like the true royal hymns, these cultic hymns allude to the king, when at all, only in the most general terms. The royal name is, in fact, of such secondary importance in these contexts that it is very often abbreviated almost beyond the point of recognition.78 It may well be that such abbreviations, or the generic term for king (lugal), once substituted for the proper name, freed the composition of any vestige of historical or political particularism and smoothed its entry into the general curriculum. And another genre used in this connection, the antiphonal song (bal-bal-e), provides yet another model for the same process: the antiphonal song for Inanna which, in a Louvre version, invokes blessings on Ishme-Dagan of Isin,79 in a Yale version substitutes a reference to Dumuzi, suggesting that it was suitable for any king performing the role of Dumuzi in the sacred marriage rite.80 For such reasons, then, the royal hymns of “Type A” survived longer than those of “Type B,” but not by much. The libraries of the first millennium have not preserved cultic compositions with the traditional generic labels (tigi, adab, bal-bal-e, ˇsìr) with one apparent exception: a tigi-song for Ninurta mentioned on a small fragment from the library of Assurbanipal at Nineveh.81 But this exception only proves the rule, for the fragment involved has been successfully joined to five others

76 SKIZ, No. *31, edited on pp. 10–17, and see p. 58, n. 16; Falkenstein, ZA, Vol. 49, p. 88, No. 2 and n. 2; Hallo, in BiOr XXIII 242 and n. 44, here: III.3. 77 There is, for example, no trace of the Laws of Lipit-Ishtar in copies of post-OldBabyionian date. The only Isin kings recalled in the late historical tradition are Irraimitti and Enlil-bani. 78 Hallo, “The Road to Emar,” JCS XVIII (1964) 67, n. 11. Add possibly the spelling Sa (for Samsu-iluna) in a literary catalogue (UET V, No. 86, entry No. 6) according to Bernhardt and Kramer, in WZJ, Vol. 6, p. 394, n. 4. 79 SKIZ, No. *18, edited on pp. 21–29. 80 Hallo, in BiOr XXIII 244–245, here: III.3. 81 Ibid., p. 242 with notes 35 f., referring to S. Langdon, BL, No. 97.

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published in the same volume82 on the basis of a comparison with an Old Babylonian duplicate from Nippur published in 1967.83 And the two versions, whose breaks can be largely restored with each other’s help, prove that the late text is a reliable copy from the older one (or from a duplicate of it), and that we may in essence accept the statement of its colophon which can be restored on the basis of parallels to read “[copy] of Nippur written out according to its old prototype and [checked against the original].” We need only correct the subscript: it should have read tigi-song for Nintu, not Ninurta. The hymn thus recovered, nearly in its entirety, is interesting in its own right: it apostrophizes Nintu, patroness of childbirth, for putting her talents at the disposal of Enlil by giving birth to the high priest and the king,84 so that the “chief executive” of the gods can assign these offices to his favorite mortals.85 This is the traditional ideology of kingship, already on the wane when the Old Babylonian copy was written.86 Yet the neoAssyrian copyist resurrected the tigi-genre which was its vehicle and, more than a millennium later, copied the text with all the accuracy and objectivity that a modern Assyriologist would bring to the task. This example allows us to derive a more general principle: that the rediscovery of lost texts may be added to the preservation or adaptation of surviving texts as means whereby the literary heritage of the third and second millennia passed into the first within Mesopotamia.87

BL, Nos. 95, 102, 107, 111, 127: my letter of February 17, 1969, to Dr. Sollberger, who confirmed the joins by letter of February 26, 1969. 83 TMH NF IV (1967) No. 86; cf. Sjöberg, in Or, n.s., Vol. 38 (1969) p. 355, who independently identified this text with four of the Langdon fragments. 84 Assuming that lagal/lagar is a mistake for lugal in the Old Babylonian version; so Gertrud Farber-Flügge, Der Mythos “Inanna und Enki” (StP, Vol. 10 [1973]). The neoAssyrian copyist mistook the sign for si; see my forthcoming edition of the text. 85 An edition of the combined text is in preparation. Here: V.3. 86 For the unique addition of a prayer for the ruling king at the end of a late bilingual ˇsu-íl-la composition, see J.S. Cooper, “A Sumerian ˇsu-íl-la from Nimrud with a Prayer for Sin-ˇsar-iˇskun,” Iraq XXXII (1970) 51–67, For other late bilingual and Akkadian hymns, prayers and rituals of various kinds with blessings for reigning (neo-Assyrian) kings, see, e.g., W. von Soden in Falkenstein and Von Soden, Sumerische und akkadische Hymnen und Gebete (Zurich, 1953) passim; more recently R. Borger, “Baurituale,” in M.A. Beek, et al., eds., Symbolae. . . de Liagre Böhl (Leiden, 1973) pp. 50–55. 87 On the implications of this principle, also for comparative biblical studies, see my. “Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics” in Byron L. Sherwin, ed., Perspectives in Jewish Learning V (Chicago, 1973) 1–12, here: I.3. See also below, note 96, for an example of an Old Babylonian literary text rediscovered and copied (according to its colophon) in neo-Babylonian times. 82

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The literary histories we have traced to this point, selected from the hymnic genres, already point to at least one useful generalization: although the original creative impulse most often arose out of and in response to a specific historical situation, the long process of canonization (that is, the incorporation of the text in fixed form in the generally accepted curriculum of the scribal schools) tended to suppress allusions to these situations. If a composition resisted such sublimation or ideological updating, it tended to disappear from the canon. Thus, the history of Sumerian hymnography repeatedly illustrates the conversion of history into myth or, more generally, the triumph of religious over historical interests. The same process can be seen at work in the various kinds of prayer in Sumerian. This is not the place to repeat the long history of individual prayer in Sumerian, which has been traced elsewhere,88 nor that of collective prayer as illustrated by the “congregational laments.”89 Suffice it to say that both histories involve the transformation of specific petitions or celebrations of particular onetime occasions into recurrent cultic services or commemorations. Consistent with the increasingly cultic orientation of Sumerian literature in the first millennium, the corpus of laments and prayers, both individual (ér-ˇsà-hun-gá) and collective (balag, ér-ˇsem-ma, ˇsu-íl-la), tended not only to preserve material dating as far back as the very beginning of the second millennium90 but also to grow by imitation and new additions to the very end of the first.91 Nor is this the place to review the arguments recently advanced in favor of the oral prehistory of much of Sumerian literature, based inevitably, as they largely are, on a combination of hypotheses and analogies from later, in part much later, world literature.92 Rather, the object here, while remaining within the limits of the written evidence, is to extend the scope of the inquiry beyond the confines of canonical literature in order to gain a fuller picture of both the creative impulse and the process of canonization. Elsewhere, I have already assembled

88 Hallo, “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition,” JAOS, Vol. 88 (1968) pp. 71–89, here: IV.1. 89 SKly; R. Kutscher, “A-ab-ba hu-luh-ha: The History of a Sumerian Congregational Lament” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1966; to appear as YNER, Vol. 6). 90 J. Krecher, “Zum Emesal-Dialekt des Sumerischen,” HSAO, p. 88, and “Die sumerischen Texte in ‘syllabischer’ Orthographie,” ZA, Vol. 58 (1967) pp. 19–22 ad NFT, Nos. 202–212. 91 M.E. Cohen is preparing new editions of the balag and ér-ˇsem-ma compositions. 92 See especially Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream.

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some of the evidence to show the large variety of monumental genres which found their way into the canon, among them cadastres, law codes and royal inscriptions.93 (The copying of such monuments from the original steles is now in fact known to have been a prescribed part of the scribal curriculum.)94 And I used this evidence to argue that the typical royal, divine and temple hymn may often go back to a monumental origin as well. Indeed, this origin is implicit or explicit in a growing number of cases.95 Even incantations on occasion originated on “stone steles.”96 What deserves special attention at this time, however, is the creation of canonical literature out of archival prototypes. On the most basic level, this involved the orderly abstraction of lexical entries, grammatical forms and legal formulations from documentary sources to form the core of the perennial cuneiform lexical tradition. This was then assimilated to the hymnic genre by the simple device of appending a concluding doxology addressed to Nisaba (and sometimes her consort Haia) as divine patron(s) of the scribal art. While the meaning of zà-mí in this connection is closer to “glory” or “praise” (Akk. tanittu) than to “hymn” (Akk. sammû),97 the generic connotation may not have been totally excluded, for example, at the end of various collections of model contracts.98 These contracts with their specific tallies, prices and personal names strongly suggest that they were copied from actual archives. They differ from functional documents only in two respects: they are arranged on “Sammeltafeln” in a conscious order, probably for didactic purposes, that foreshadows later compendia of legal formulations such as ana ittiˇsu; and they substitute for the original list of witnesses and date the notations “its witnesses, its date (literally: year).” These clues help to illuminate the evolution of somewhat more genuinely literary genres, such as the collections of letters and related documents. Whether dealing with the royal houses of Ur, Isin or Larsa, they In CRRA XVII 121, here: I.2. Sjöberg, “In Praise of the Scribal Art,” JCS XXIV (1972) 129 ad “Examination Text D,” 1. 15. 95 E.g., UET VIII, Nos. 62, 65 and 79, with Sollberger’s comments in the Descriptive Catalogue. 96 B. Alster, “A Sumerian Incantation against Gall,” Or. n.s., Vol. 41 (1972) pp. 349– 358. 97 Both equivalents are attested; see H. Hartmann, Die Musik in der sumerischen Kultur (Frankfurt, 1960) pp. 71–73. 98 Ist.Ni. 10194, 10570. Differently NBC 7800: til[sic]-la dNisaba ù dHa-ià (cf. YOS I, No. 28 end: ti-la dNisaba ù dHa-ià). An edition of the whole genre is in preparation. 93 94

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concentrate on a single thread of interest running through them. In the Ur correspondence, this is the relation of the king to one of his high officials,99 in that of Isin, the dispute with Larsa over water rights,100 in that of Larsa a variety of political and personal problems involving chiefly Sin-iddinam and Rim-Sin.101 While these particular collections went out of fashion with the end of the Old Babylonian schools, another survived: the corpus of “scribal letters” revolving around high officials at Nippur in neo-Sumerian times was still taught at Ugarit and Hattusha in the middle of the second millennium.102 The many prosopographic interconnections among these scribal letters, as also among certain compositions usually classed with the wisdom literature (e.g. the Message of Lu-dingira to His Mother and the Pushkin Elegies), suggest that we have here the makings of, as it were, several novellas of family life in aristocratic circles at Nippur; though perhaps never actually put into this form, such novellas can almost be reconstructed with their help.103 In much the same way, the Old Babylonian copies of neo-Sumerian royal inscriptions seem to concentrate by preference on the “triumphal inscriptions”104 of Shu-Sin of Ur as if in preparation for a connected history of his campaigns in the East. In the event, this too proved to be beyond the interest or capacity of Babylonian writers, and it remained for Assyrian historiography to exploit the potential of the genre. To sum up: even a cursory glance at the Sumerian texts defined in the native sources as hymns shows the possibilities inherent in a historical approach to Sumerian literature. The approach could and should 99

The royal correspondence of Ur is the subject of a forthcoming Ph.D. thesis by P. Michalowski (Yale). 100 See for now Letter Collection B in F.A. Ali, “Sumerian Letters,” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1964). Cf. also M.B. Rowton, “Water Courses and Water Rights in the Official Correspondence from Larsa and Isin,” JCS XXI (1967) 267–274. 101 Above, note 33. 102 J. Nougayrol et al., Ugaritica V (1968) 23, ad No. 15; cf. Krecher, “Schreiberschulung in Ugarit: die Tradition von Listen und sumerischen Texten,” UF, Vol. 1 (1969) pp. 131–158, esp. 152–154. 103 For a modern reconstruction, see e.g. Hallo, “The House of Ur-Meme,” JNES, Vol. 31 (1972) pp. 87–95. 104 For this useful addition to the typology of royal inscriptions, see J.-R. Kupper, “Les inscriptions triomphales akkadiennes,” Oriens Antiquus X (1971) 91–106; cf. E. Sollberger and J.-R. Kupper, Inscriptions royales sumeriennes et akkadiennes (Paris, 1971) pp. 32–33. The suggestion is criticized by G. van Driel, “On ‘Standard’ and ‘Triumphal’ Inscriptions,” Symbolae. . . de Liagre Böhl (Leiden, 1973) pp. 99–106.

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be extended to other broad categories slighted or ignored above. It promises new insights and implications for all cuneiform literature and for the history of literature in general. Here there is room only for a general hypothesis about the periodization of the literary process. Employing a variety of cultural criteria which cannot be defended in detail here, the nearly two and a half millennia of Mesopotamian literary history referred to at the outset may be conveniently divided into eight equal installments of three centuries each and labelled according to their dominant cultural factor as follows (all dates are approximate): 2500–2200 bc 2200–1900 bc 1900–1600 bc 1600–1300 bc 1300–1000 bc 1000–700 bc 700–400 bc 400–100 bc

Old Sumerian (OS) Neo-Sumerian (NS) Old Babylonian (OB) Middle Babylonian (MB) Middle Assyrian (MA) Neo-Assyrian (NA) Neo-Babylonian (NB) Late Babylonian (LB)

In order to fit the Sumerian component into this framework, one must also take into account the bilingual and dialectal (Emesal) traditions, which directly reflect Sumerian models, and the unilingual Akkadian tradition, which often reflected them indirectly. Nor should one lose sight of the possible existence, at all times, of an oral tradition. All these traditions deserve fuller study in their own right.105 I have previously suggested four distinct canons of cuneiform literature, of which three involved Sumerian;106 the examples given above may now be used as a starting-point to elaborate on the suggestion. 105

Dialectal Sumerian has been studied in some detail by Krecher: SKly; in HSAO, pp. 87–110; in ZA, Vol. 58, pp. 16–65; “Die pluralischen Verba für ‘gehen’ und ‘stehen’ im Sumerischen,” WO IV (1968) 252–277; “Verschlusslaute und Betonung im Sumerischen,” Liˇs¯an mithurti (AOAT, Vol. 1 [1969]) pp. 157–197. On Sumero-Akkadian ˘ W. von Soden, Zweisprachigkeit in der geistigen Kultur Babyloniens bilingualism, see in general (Vienna, 1960). For the earliest Akkadian literary originals, see Hallo and Simpson, The Ancient Near East, p. 62, n. 68; and add now the alleged prototype of “A Naram-Sin Text Relating to Nergal” edited by W.G. Lambert, BiOr XXX (1973) 357–363. For what may be the earliest monumental text in Akkadian, see Sollberger’s remarks on UET VIII, No. 2 (p. 1). The text AO 5477, described by F. Thureau-Dangin (RA VIII [1911] 139) as the oldest bilingual, is a copy of a Sargonic monumental text, probably of Old Babylonian date; see H. Hirsch, “Die Inschriften der Könige von Agade,” AfO XX (1963) 13, sub Rimuˇs b 12 (2). 106 Hallo, in JAOS, Vol. 88, p. 72, here: IV.1 and JAOS, Vol. 83, p. 167, here: II.1.

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The Old Sumerian canon drew on the literature created from the Fara period to the end of the high Sargonic age (ca. 2500–2200 bc). This period included the pre-Sargonic dynasties of Lagash (Lagash I), where the literary dialect achieved an early flowering as a vehicle not only for monumental inscriptions but also for mythology and wisdom.107 This first canon was adapted in neo-Sumerian times which, for literary and linguistic purposes, includes the late Sargonic or Gudea period (Lagash II), the Ur III period, and the early Isin period (ca. 2200–1900 bc.). The process of adaptation may be illustrated by the expansion of the Cycle of Temple Hymns to include references to structures built under the Ur III kings (above). In Old Babylonian times (ca. 1900–1600 bc), the portions of the Old Sumerian corpus deemed fit to survive were given their final fixed form in the schools, that is, the corpus became a canon in the limited sense in which the latter term is employed here. In the process, some texts were already provided with translations into Akkadian. These early examples of (noninterlinear) bilinguals, notably from the realm of wisdom literature, include both proverbs and instructions (na-ri-ga) going back to Fara and Ab¯u Sal¯ . ab¯ıkh. They are also (apart from lexical texts) the only Old Sumerian materials that survived in any form after their canonization in Old Babylonian times. The Kesh Temple Hymn, though of equal antiquity, and the cycles of hymns attributed to Enheduanna in the high Sargonic period are more typical of this corpus in that they did not survive. The neo-Sumerian canon preserved the creations of the neo-Sumerian period (as defined above). Again some of the finest literary Sumerian of the period originated at the court of Lagash, but Shulgi of Ur, who claimed the founding of the great scribal schools at both Ur and Nippur, was also a devoted patron of literature and the arts. In this he was emulated by his successors both at Ur and among the early kings of Isin. The rich materials of this neo-Sumerian corpus provided the bulk of the curriculum for the Old Babylonian schools, which freely adapted them in one of two ways. Either a received tradition, conceivably still in oral form, was “modernized” to make it more congenial to the current Nippur theology, as has been argued above for the myths about Ninurta. Or, if the text was already received in fixed, written form, and yet needed updating, as in the case of The Curse of Agade/Utu-hegal 107 Above, n. 61; see now Biggs, “Pre-Sargonic Riddles from Lagash,” JNES, Vol. 32 (1973) pp. 26–33.

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sequence, it might be recast completely by a free rendering or loose imitation in Akkadian. The same technique, whether the source or the result of the concomitant beginnings of the Akkadian canon (see presently), is illustrated by the earliest Akkadian episodic tales about Gilgamesh, which go back to Old Babylonian times when the Sumerian versions were still being copied in the schools. The canonization of the neo-Sumerian corpus presumably took place in Middle Babylonian times, specifically during the period of the “First Kassite Empire” (ca. 1600–1300 bc).108 This is the likeliest setting for the illustrious ancestors who were claimed as eponymous founders by the later scribal guilds or families. It was also a time when Akkadian came fully into its own, even assuming an international importance. Scribal schools as far away as Hattusha, Alalakh, Ugarit, Megiddo and Amarna taught the standard Mesopotamian curriculum.109 It was in these circumstances that the neo-Sumerian corpus took its final form. We may picture the Kassite scribes as weeding out whatever had failed to undergo suitable adaptation at the preceding stage and providing the rest with a literal, interlinear translation into Akkadian. At the same time they must have begun to introduce such external structural features as chapters, sections, incipits, explicits and the like. The myths of Ninurta may again serve as examples here, as well as the epics of Lugalbanda. The Old Babylonian period, so active in both canonization of the Old Sumerian heritage and adaptation of the neo-Sumerian tradition, was not demonstrably a creative period in its own right, as far as Sumerian is concerned. True, new compositions clearly originated in this period, for example, royal hymns and other genres involving the kings of Larsa and, to a lesser extent, of Babylon. In the case of Larsa, one may suspect a substantial contribution from Lagash, whose traditions were somehow kept alive in Old Babylonian Larsa,110 and which thus for the third time contributed significantly to the Sumerian literary K. Jaritz, “Die Geschichte der Kassitendynastie,” MIO VI (1958) 202–225. See Jerrold S. Cooper, “Bilinguals from Boghazköy,” ZA, Vol. 61 (1971) pp. 1–22; Vol. 62 (1972) pp. 62–81, for examples of Old Babylonian unilingual Sumerian texts provided with Akkadian (and sometimes Hittite) translations at Hattusha, as well as examples of new bilingual compositions going back at most to Kassite times. In his Introduction (ZA, Vol. 61, pp. 1–8), Cooper surveys the history of Sumerian literature from this vantage point. 110 I hope to demonstrate this more fully in another connection. See for now Hallo and Simpson, The Ancient Near East, pp. 92–93, and above, n. 30. See also Hallo, “Choice in Sumerian,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University, Vol. 5 (The Gaster Festschrift, 1973) p. 110. 108 109

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scene. But the new texts are so completely cast in the familiar neoSumerian molds that they represent the epigone of that canon rather than the herald of a new one. The Old Babylonian period deserves instead to be regarded as the source of the principal Akkadian literary canon. Previously Akkadian had been considered fit only for administrative texts, for royal monuments (chiefly translations or imitations of Sumerian prototypes), and for the merest handful of literary fragments (see n. 105). Now, however, a whole new literary dialect was created for Akkadian, and its products freed from excessive dependence on Sumerian models.111 The resulting corpus probably followed a pattern not unlike its Sumerian precursors, being adapted and greatly enlarged in Middle Babylonian and especially Middle Assyrian times and organized by fixed text and sequence in the great libraries of the neo-Assyrian kings.112 There was, however, a final flowering of Sumerian literature, or rather of bilingual texts. This is the corpus which Falkenstein has described as post-Old-Babylonian (see n. 5) and which I prefer to label simply post-Sumerian (see n. 106). It is readily distinguished from the earlier canons by both form and content. Its language violates many known standards of classical Sumerian and often reflects the native Akkadian speech of its author when it is not in fact actually a secondary translation from the Akkadian. It displays an increasing tendency to employ dialectal (Emesal) Sumerian, even substituting it for the main dialect of the ancestral text-type, as when the earlier letterprayers were replaced by the ér-ˇsà-hun-gá laments. Religious texts in general and cultic texts in particular assumed a dominant place in this canon, with congregational laments especially prominent. This corpus presumably originated after the fall of the Old Babylonian dynasty of Babylon, when Sumerian scholars and scholarship apparently fled to the Sealand, and the great scribal schools of Nippur and Babylon were closed. But the Kassites, determined to assimilate the ancient culture that they conquered, encouraged the new scribal guilds to take up the 111 See most recently Römer, “Studien zu altbabylonischen hymnisch-epischen Texten,” HSAO, pp. 185–199, JAOS, Vol. 86 (1966) pp. 138–147, WO IV (1967) 12–28. 112 Merely to illustrate the constant additions to this dossier: the Middle Assyrian laws have hitherto been known only in copies from Assur of Middle Assyrian date (ca. 1100 bc), but a fragmentary duplicate, presumably from Nineveh and presumably of neo-Assyrian date, has now been discovered and demonstrates, for the first time, a historical dimension for this particular tradition; see J.N. Postgate, “Assyrian Texts and Fragments,” Iraq XXXV (1973) 19–21.

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task, and the result, though inferior, kept some knowledge of Sumerian alive for another millenium and a half. Although the intervening stages are not clearly attested, it is this late bilingual corpus which served as the canon of the very latest surviving cuneiform scriptoria in Uruk, Babylon and perhaps other Babylonian centers of the Seleucid and Arsacid periods. With all due allowance for the shortcomings of such a schematic representation, the above may be charted as a point of departure for future refinements (Fig. 1).

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Approximate Cultural Date (bc) Period

Fig. 1. Tentative Periodization of the Canons of Sumer and Akkad. i.4. toward a history of sumerian literature 81

82

i.4. toward a history of sumerian literature Selection of Literary Works and Genres Cited

a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha adab-hymns ana ittiˇsu An-gim dím-ma bal-bal-e hymns Curse of Agade Descent of Inanna Descent of Ishtar Dumuzi texts Enki and Inanna Enki and Ninhursag Enki and Ninmah Enlil and Ishkur Enlil and Ninhursag Enlil and Ninlil Enlil and Sud Enmerkar cycle Exaltation of Inanna Exaltation of Ishtar Exploits of Ninurta (lugal - e) Flood narrative Gilgamesh Gudea cylinders Gudea statue inscriptions Inanna and Ebih in-nin ˇsà-gurx-ra Kesh temple hymn

Laments lexical texts Lipit-Ishtar laws Love songs Lugalbanda epic lullabies Marriage of Martu Message of Lu-dingira Model contracts Nanshe hymn Nergal and Eresh-kigal nin-mah uˇsu-ni gìr-ra (see Exaltation of Ishtar) Ninurta and the Turtle Pushkin Elegies Rim-Sin letter-prayer royal correspondence Rulers of Lagash scribal letters Temples of Sumer and Akkad tigi-hymns triumphal inscriptions Tummal history Ur-Nammu’s death and burial Utu-hegal inscription Weidner Chronicle

Bibliography A useful survey of Sumerian literature, with some attention to historical considerations, is provided by D.O. Edzard and Claus Wilcke in the sixteen articles on as many different genres listed below; an earlier survey, by M. Lambert, recognized fifteen major, but only partially comparable, genres. In English, the material has been assembled at regular intervals by S.N. Kramer, notably in the articles listed below. The standard chronology of Sumerian literature is that of Falkenstein, and I have dealt with various aspects of the subject. Edzard, D.O. “Der Leidende Gerechte.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon IV, col. 1176– 1177. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Beschwörungen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2109– 2110. Zurich, 1965–1971.

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———. “Sumerische Briefe an Götter und vergöttlichte Herrscher.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2110–2111. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Fabeln.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2116. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Gebete.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2116–2117. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Gesetzessammlungen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2117–2118. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische historische Kompositionen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2118–2123. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Sprichwörtersammlungen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2150–2151. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Unterweisungen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2154– 2155. Zurich, 1965–1971. Edzard, D.O., and Claus Wilcke. “Sumerische Mythen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2142–2147. Zurich, 1965–1971. Falkenstein, A. “Der sumerische Gilgameˇs-Zyklus.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon III, col. 804–807. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Inannas Gang zur Unterwelt.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon III, col 2475– 2479. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Zur Chronologic der sumerischen Literatur.” CRRA II 12–30. Leiden, 1951. ———. “Zur Chronologie der sumerischen Literatur, Die nachaltbabylonische Stufe.” MDOG, No. 85 (1953) pp. 1–13. Hallo, William W. “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature.” Israel Exploration Journal, Vol. 12 (1962) pp. 13–26, here: I.1. ———. “The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: A Typology.” HUCA XXXIII (1962) 1–43. ———. “Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity.” JCS XVII (1963) 112–118, here: III.1. ———. “On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature.” JAOS, Vol. 83 (1963) pp. 167–176, here: II.1. ———. “New Hymns to the Kings of Isin.” BiOr XXIII (1966) 239–247, here: III.3. ———. “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu.” JCS XX (1966) 133–141, here: III.2. ———. “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition.” JAOS, Vol. 88, pp. 71–89. Published simultaneously as AOS, Vol. 53. New Haven, 1968, here: IV.1. ———. “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry.” CRRA XVII 116–134. Hansur-Seure, 1970, here: I.2. ———. “Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics.” In Byron L. Sherwin, ed., Perspectives in Jewish Learning V 1–12. Chicago, 1973, here: I.3. Kramer, S.N. “Sumerian Literature: A General Survey.” The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of William Foxwell Albright. Ed, by G.E. Wright. Garden City, New York, 1961. ———. “Literature: The Sumerian Belles-Lettres.” The Sumerians: Their History, Culture and Character. Chicago, 1963.

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Lambert, M. “La littérature sumérienne, à propos d’ouvrages récents.” RA LV (1961) 177–196, LVI (1962) 81–90, 214. Wilcke, Claus. “Sumerische Epen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2111–2116. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Königshymnen.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2123– 2126. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Kultlieder.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2126–2135. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Lehrgedichte.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2135–2142. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Schulsatiren (Schulgedichte).” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, 2147–2150. Zurich, 1965–1971. ———. “Sumerische Streitgedichte.” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon VI, col. 2151–2154. Zurich, 1965–1971.

i.5 ASSYRIOLOGY AND THE CANON

The academic scene is rife with delicious ironies. In the midst of an information explosion, largely of American making, we are warned to beware of the closing of the American mind. In an increasingly secular climate, the Bible is assuming a new centrality in literary study. And in the face of growing disenchantment with established traditions of scholarship, new disciplines are clamoring for admission to the traditional curriculum. I would like to address all three of these paradoxes, but from the perspective of Assyriology, a privileged sanctuary immune to scholarly fashions, in the eyes of its practitioners, or an ivory tower blind and deaf to the changes agitating other areas of study, according to its critics. But defenders and detractors will agree that the cuneiform inscriptions, for all that they may be an arcane and exotic specialty, also represent a last refuge of the generalist. They cover half of the five-thousand-year span of mankind’s recorded history, and for much of this “first half of history” they constitute the main or even the only written sources anywhere on the globe. These inscriptions span the whole spectrum of human expression—from the minutest details of everyday record keeping, through the res gestae of kings, to the kaleidoscopic concerns enshrined in creative literature. And they do all of this on a scale quite unsuspected by outsiders. The cuneiform sources are precious clues to the origins of many institutions that are with us to this day. Such everyday conveniences and conventions as writing, the alphabet, the calendar, the week, and the era-system of dating years all originated in the Ancient Near East. Fundamental innovations, such as the domestication of plants and animals, the invention of pottery, the urban revolution, or the institution of kingship are first attested there and frequently best documented in cuneiform. Profound confrontations with such issues as life and death, the nature of the divine, or the role of the individual were first broached in Sumerian texts, or later those in Akkadian, Hittite, and Ugaritic.

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Thus Assyriologists cannot afford to specialize. Few in number and confronted by a daunting and still increasing body of texts on a bewildering variety of topics and in a considerable diversity of genres, Assyriologists must, like Daniel, master the “script and language of the Chaldeans” (Dan. 1:4)—but beyond that prepare to follow wherever their sources lead, from astronomy to zoology. At the very least, they must seek the collaboration of specialists in other fields. They may therefore be pardoned if they cannot themselves be specialists in all the periods, genres, and topics of their diverse texts. One of the areas where Assyriology provides a curious anticipation of current concerns is precisely on the academic scene. Modern readers may well wonder that the pre-classical world had an academe at all, and indeed that word is of Greek origin, originally identifying the groves of the heroic or divine Akademos in a suburb of Athens where, in the fourth century, Plato and his pupils gathered to perpetuate the Socratic method or, as enshrined in Plato’s imaginative reconstructions, the Socratic dialogue. This involved a method of teaching that was essentially obstetric—that is, by means of question and answer to draw out of the pupil the dawning recognition of eternal truths. The Romans therefore called this method of teaching educatio, which means literally a nurturing or raising, as of plants and animals, but by assonance— and perhaps by derivation—a “leading or drawing out.” The Greeks, with their earthier view of matters, called it maieutike, meaning literally the method of the midwife. In any event, it represented an essentially spoken method of teaching and learning. The older learning of the pre-classical Near East, however, was essentially written learning. Whether in the hieroglyphics of Egypt or the cuneiform of Mesopotamia, pre-alphabetic writing required the mastery not of twenty or thirty signs, but of hundreds. There was no royal road to this mastery. Rather, scribal schools were called for, complete with large scriptoria where pupils took dictation on papyrus or clay tablet. The very name for the scribal school in the cuneiform tradition was “tablet-house” (or possibly “house of the A-tablet,” referring to the first primer used in instruction). Such tablet-houses were spread across the entire Near East, including Egypt, by the end of the preclassical age; thus we may legitimately confine ourselves here to the cuneiform tradition (while admitting that the hieroglyphic tradition has its own fascination). The cuneiform tradition as handed down in the scribal schools and in the scribal guilds that succeeded them was firmly anchored to a

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curriculum of written texts—or rather to several successive curricula, given the millennial history of the tradition. It is possible to identify four such curricula within ancient Mesopotamia. The two oldest were in the Sumerian language, the next in Akkadian (a Semitic language related to Hebrew and Arabic), the last in bilingual Sumero-Akkadian form. In the rest of the Ancient Near East, these curricula were adopted along with the cuneiform script, and often accompanied by translations into the local vernacular or, as in Anatolia, by new curricula in the native languages. Within these chronological and geographical variations, the four curricula demonstrate a remarkable uniformity over wide stretches of time and space. Thus, for example, the Old Sumerian lexical lists were used to organize knowledge and propagate the newly invented cuneiform writing system from the beginning of the third millennium on; they are found as far from the Mesopotamian source of that invention as Ebla in Western Syria in about the twenty-fourth century bc, together with incantations, which represent some of the earliest literary compositions attempted in the new medium. Or again, the neo-Sumerian hymns in honor of long-deceased rulers of dynasties, such as those of Ur and Isin, were dutifully copied even in schools of such cities as Uruk and Larsa, which had been their bitter rivals. Portions of the Akkadian epics about Adapa (the Babylonian Adam?), Gilgamesh, and Sargon were studied and copied in the middle of the second millennium as far away as El-Amarna in Egypt, Megiddo in Palestine, and Hattusha in Anatolia (modern Turkey). Sumero-Akkadian myths and lamentations about such age-old divine couples as Enlil and Ninlil or Dumuzi and Inanna were still being translated with almost slavish fidelity to the received text in the late first millennium bc. The use of cuneiform, by now chiefly for astrology, came to its final end only in the first century of the Christian era. Such fidelity to and tenacity of a written tradition, or what has sometimes been called a “stream of tradition,” commands our respect. It also demands a descriptive label for that tradition, preferably the translation of a native term in line with the widely advocated preference for describing an ancient culture in its own terms. None such having been identified in this case (unless it be pi ummani, literally, the mouth— that is, authority—of the scholars), some Assyriologists have taken to referring to the cuneiform literary tradition as a “canon”—or, better, four successive canons—and to the individual texts that comprise any one of these canons as canonical. Other Assyriologists have strenuously

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objected. In Ancient Near Eastern studies, they argue, canon invariably evokes the image of the biblical canon with its overtones of religious authority. A recent symposium at the National Humanities Center in North Carolina devoted to “The Hebrew Bible in the Making: From Literature to Canon” wrestled with just this issue. Narrowly construed, the biblical canon is indeed limited to those texts that any given community of faith—Jewish, Catholic, Protestant—considers as of divine inspiration and authority. But a broader concept of canon has also been emerging in biblical studies—one that extends beyond divinely inspired texts, indeed beyond biblical texts in much the same way that the traditional Jewish concept of Torah (literally “law, instruction”) grew from identifying only the Pentateuch, then to the entire Bible (the “written law”), ultimately to the whole range of post-biblical explication and exploitation of the Bible (“the oral law”) in the Rabbinic academies of the early Christian era. In Jacob Neusner’s words, “Each Judaism defines what it means by the Torah, or the canon, and . . . various ‘Israels’ (groups of Jews) have defined their canons in diverse ways,” Much the same could be argued of other faiths. This wider sense of canon, then, would justify its application equally to the cuneiform as to the Hebrew corpus. More to the point, it would be in line with the original sense of the term that, once more, we owe to the Greeks. The Greek kanon, originally a rod or bar, then a rule, came in the sophisticated vocabulary of the great library and museum of Alexandria, which were founded about three hundred years before the Christian era, to refer to the accepted, authoritative collection of books by any given author, and eventually the books—by whatever author—that found a place in the library and in the curriculum of the schools. We still speak today in this sense of the Alexandrian canon. As applied to subsequent literature, the term canon has generally been used in both of these meanings by literary critics. Thus the Chaucer canon, for example, is generally understood to refer to those compositions whose attribution to Chaucer is beyond serious question. More interesting, and certainly more under current discussion, is the other meaning of the term. When critics and educators speak of “the canon” today, they are referring to the whole body of writings that, by a kind of common consent, constitutes the intellectual equipment of the educated person. In other words, they are once again equating canon and curriculum, just as the Alexandrians did in the first place, and as some argue the cuneiform scribes did before them.

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The reasons why, in this usage, the concept of canon is the subject of so much current discussion are at least twofold. One is that the common consensus has broken down. The canon may be equated with an ideal curriculum—but the real curriculum, at least of the typical American college, has left it far behind. Critics of American higher education, such as Allan Bloom, regard this discrepancy as an unmitigated disaster. He would like nothing better than to see the curriculum once more equated with the canon—and both of these equated with “the Great Books.” By this he seems to mean essentially the great philosophers, from Plato to Nietzsche, or to Heidegger. In spite of the wide appeal of Bloom’s critique, it is unlikely that many universities will buy his prescription, either in its general or its particular form. From the Assyriologist’s point of view, it suffers from a double irony. For one, it advocates the very technique of education that was the essence of scribal training in the cuneiform tradition—that is, the close reading of a common core of classical texts—while at the same time excluding from this core every component of the cuneiform tradition. Secondly, it implies the primacy of philosophy in education, when this is the one humanistic discipline that truly had few or no antecedents in the preclassical world. Yet we have much to learn from the Ancient Near East in such diverse disciplines as history, literature, religion, art, and even science. One cannot deny a general disenchantment with philosophy— in its modern guise as one discipline among many, not in its original sense of the love of learning as such. The restoration of a canon or curriculum limited to Plato and his epigones would not restore the enchantment. But disenchantment with the particular curriculum advocated by traditionalists does not necessarily entail a rejection of canon as such. On the contrary, another school of critics of the current academic scene is attacking the canon precisely because, presumably, it is worth reforming and saving in their eyes. That is the second reason why the canon is under siege today. The canon must in this view be changed, expanded, opened in order to survive. It must cease to be exclusively Western, male, elitist, and start to admit components of third world, feminist, and black literature. From the vantage point of the Ancient Near East, more ironies! The Near East belongs to the Western tradition—indeed it is ancestral to that tradition, yet with the exception of the Bible is routinely omitted in surveys of Western civilization or, what amounts to much the same thing, is passed over quickly in the opening pages of a survey or the first hour or two of a course. Assuredly pre-classical

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antiquity and today’s students deserve better. A few illustrations must suffice. The figure of Gilgamesh is celebrated in lengthy poems in Sumerian, Akkadian, Hurrian, and Hittite that evolved over many centuries into an integrated epic narrative that is at the same time an essay on the theme of human mortality—the frontiers, in effect, of the human potential. Such was the appeal of the epic that ancient extracts from it have been excavated at sites as far from Babylonia as Megiddo in Israel and Hattusha, the ancient Hittite capital, in Turkey. The appeal continues to this day, as attested by modern adaptations in poetic or dramatic form. But Gilgamesh was only the latest and most familiar of the semi-legendary rulers of the First Dynasty of Uruk (the biblical Erech) to be celebrated in cuneiform literature. There are epics about earlier members of the dynasty that describe their campaigns against the rival city-state of Kish and the distant land of Aratta, the latter located far to the east, in Iran or even Afghanistan. And there are whole cycles of poems about Dumuzi, the ruler-turned-deity who, as embodiment of the dying and reviving fertility of field, fold, and orchard, was the subject of moving lamentations and, as partner in the sacred marriage with the goddess Inanna, was the object of much highly erotic love poetry. Inanna was also celebrated in the world’s oldest non-anonymous poetry—the work of a Sumerian poetess of the twenty-third century called Enheduanna. A princess, priestess, and prophetess into the bargain, this daughter of King Sargon of Akkad has left a considerable body of compositions of a very high caliber—seventeen centuries before Sappho. Her portrait has survived and her biography can be reconstructed in outline. Her work is finding its way into modern anthologies of women’s poetry, and it does not stand alone. Other Sumerian compositions, including dirges, lullabies, love songs, and letter-prayers can be attributed to later princesses. For the roots of black literature, we may turn to Egypt, which assuredly in one sense forms a part of the African tradition. A recent New York Times Magazine article may have overstated the case when it described “many of the words of Solomon” as “borrowed from the black Pharaoh Amen-En-Eope.” In fact, Proverbs 22:17 through 24:22 are attributed by the Bible to unnamed “sages” (Prov. 22:17) and compared by Egyptologists to the thirty wise sayings of Amen-em-Ope(t), who was neither a pharaoh nor demonstrably black; there is even some disagreement as to the direction of the borrowing. But the basic point

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remains: if the curriculum is expanded to include a proper representation of Ancient Near Eastern literature, it can by that very fact begin to open up to non-Western (or at least pre-Westem), feminist (or at least feminine-authored) and black (or at least African) components. In fine, for all its apparent and splendid isolation, Assyriology (along with Egyptology) can contribute some suggestions for helping to resolve the paradoxes with which we began. It can help open the study of the biblical canon to the literary approach. It can help liberate the curriculum from a too exclusive preoccupation with Greek philosophy and its interpreters. And it can expand the canon—not only in ethnos, gender, and race but also in time, providing the perspective of a continuous literary and linguistic tradition that was already as venerable in Plato’s time as Plato is today.

i.6 SUMERIAN RELIGION

The following study was originally presented to the annual meeting of the American Oriental Society (Atlanta, Georgia, March 26, 1990). It was offered for the panel on Sumerology organized by Jack Sasson in honor of the 100th birthday of Benno Landsberger. It is here dedicated to the memory of Raphael Kutscher, whose life was committed to religion and Sumerology in extraordinary measure, but cut short far too soon after his 50th birthday. I am proud to have been his teacher, and humble to have been his friend. (See Addenda, pp. 110–111, for further updates).

Is there such a thing as Sumerian religion? Thorkild Jacobsen, arguably our greatest living expert on the subject, does not seem to think so. His seminal article of 1963 is entitled “Ancient Mesopotamian religion: the central concerns.”1 And nearly twenty-five years later, his authoritative Treasures of Darkness (1976) is subtitled: “a history of Mesopotamian religion.”2 The implication is that the religion of Sumer, Babylonia and Assyria is a seamless continuum and that language alone is no clue to where one leaves off and the other begins. An analogy of sorts might be the case of Biblical religion. While there may be those who can delineate the border between “Israelite and Judaean History” (to quote the title of a major work on the subject by John H. Hayes and J. Maxwell Miller, 1976), there are precious few who can confidently say where Israelite religion ends and Judaism begins (see Sperling 1986 for a recent attempt), and the standard histories of Biblical religion tend to be called the “History of Israelite Religion” whether by Yehezkel Kaufmann (1937–1956) or by Georg Fohrer (1968). Certainly no one would venture to divide this particular continuum on linguistic lines, with Hebrew texts defining Israelite religion and Aramaic texts Judaism. When all is said and done, however, we are still left, on the Sumerian side, with more than just a linguistic phenomenon. If there is a

1 2

Jacobsen 1963, rep. in Jacobsen 1970: 39–46, 319–344. Cf. also Römer 1969 (below, p. 94 n. 16).

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Sumerian language (eme-girx) there is also a Sumerian literature written and transmitted by Sumerian scribes (dub-sar eme-girx);3 there is a land of Sumer (ki-en-gi(r))4 and a governor (gar-ensi2) of Sumer at least as early as the Fara period;5 En-shakushanna of the second dynasty of Uruk (and perhaps Ur) is lord of Sumer (en-ki-en-gi);6 Lugal-zagesi of the third dynasty of Uruk prevailed over “all the sovereigns of Sumer” (bara2-bara2-ki-en-gi);7 Utu-hegal of the fifth dynasty of Uruk claimed to have recaptured the kingship of Sumer (nam-lugal-ki-engi-ra) from the Gutians;8 and beginning with Ur-Nammu of the third dynasty of Ur, there is a king of Sumer (and Akkad) (lugal-ki-en-gi kiuri).9 There are citizens of Sumer (dumu-ki-en-gi-ra10 or dumu-gi(rx))11 and even sheep of Sumer (udu-girx or uligi) as contrasted with sheep of the mountains or of the foreign lands (udu-kur-ra).12 In Claus Wilcke’s felicitous formulation, no one would translate udu-girx with “sheep that bleat in Sumerian.”13 All of these phenomena are lexically attested in Sumerian.14 They are not mere abstracts imposed on the data by our modern imagination, but realities grounded in native self-perception. They thus meet the crucial test of what used to be referred to as the “phenomenology” of the ancient Near Eastern world by Landsberger. So why not a Sumerian religion? I will try to justify the reality of that phenomenon here, even absent a clear lexical equivalent, and I will do so in terms of the latest studies both of details and of the ensemble, bearing in mind that such authorities as Jan van Dijk15 and W.H.Ph. Römer16 have had no qualms about reconstructing a “Sumerian religion” and even tracing its history. It is the historical dimension

Cf. e.g. Gordon 1959: 207 (4). RGTC 1 s.v. Ki"engi. 5 Ibid. (TSS ˇ 627 v 8). 6 Ibid.; cf. Hallo 1957: 4 f.; 1962: 7 with nn. 50, 52. 7 PSD B 141c. 8 IRSA 130–132; cf. Römer 1985. 9 Hallo 1957: 77–88. 10 Wilcke 1974: 216 f. 11 Ibid. 221–223, 230. 12 Hallo 1979a: 5 and n. 21. 13 “Da die Schafe nicht gut auf Sumerisch geblökt haben können”: Wilcke 1975: 42; cf. Wilcke 1974: 218 f. 14 Gordon 1958: 72–75. 15 Van Dijk 1968; 1971. 16 Römer 1969 albeit in quotation marks (e.g. p. 118). 3 4

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that I too will seek to trace—not, however, ab ovo, but beginning at the point where Sumerian religion can conceivably be distinguished from Akkadian. I therefore pass over the archaeological and textual evidence through Early Dynastic times, however suggestive it may be, and commence with Sargon and the Sargonic period. The founder of the Sargonic dynasty was at pains to wed Sumerian and Akkadian traditions, including religious traditions. To this end he equated his Semitic patron deity, the warlike goddess Ishtar, with the Sumerian goddess of love and fecundity, Inanna of Uruk, and exalted her to equal status with An, patron deity of Uruk and head of the Sumerian pantheon.17 He also honored the shrines of all the great deities, Akkadian and Sumerian, north and south. His programme was spearheaded by his daughter Enheduanna for whom he newly created the post of high-priestess of the Sumerian moon-god Nanna at Ur and who, if her mother was in fact a Sumerian priestess as suggested in the reconstruction of Enheduanna’s life and works, was well situated to advocate her father’s programme in her mother’s language.18 The harmonization of Sumerian and Akkadian religious traditions thus aimed at did not long survive Enheduanna. Although she apparently lived and served as high priestess into the reign of her nephew Naram-Sin, this grandson of Sargon had other aspirations. He was the first Mesopotamian king to be deified. According to a revealing passage on the inscribed statue of Naram-Sin newly discovered in Bassetki in northern Iraq, this deification took place in direct response to the expressed wishes of the city of Akkad.19 But it brought two unexpected religious consequences in its train. One of these was the disaffection of Enlil who, as effective head of the Sumerian pantheon, issued a “command” or “word” from his shrine of Ekur in Nippur which, according to a recent study by D.O. Edzard, led Naram-Sin, first, to a sevenyear suspension of all activity and, ultimately, to his fateful decision to raze Ekur, thus bringing down the “curse of Agade” on his own city.20 This succession of events, associated in the Sumerian literary tradition with Naram-Sin himself, probably telescopes matters which took

17 For Inanna as lady of battle (nin-mè) in Gudea, see Steible 1989: 512. For new evidence of the “elevation of the goddess” see Sjöberg 1988, esp. p. 166. 18 Hallo and Van Dijk 1968: 1–11. The full extent of Enheduanna’s “life and works” has recently been characterized by Joan Goodnick Westenholz 1989. 19 Jacobsen 1978–1979: 12 and n, 45; cf. Hallo 1980: 190 and n. 18. 20 Edzard 1989; differently Jacobsen 1978–1979: 14.

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much longer to transpire. Almost certainly the actual destruction of Agade did not ensue for another 25 years at least, until after the death of Naram-Sin’s son and successor, Shar-kali-sharri, and the period of anarchy that followed. But there was a second consequence of the deification of both kings that has only recently been adequately recognized. By raising the king to divine status, the Akkadians threatened that fine balance between the secular and sacred power that the Sumerians had worked out in the Early Dynastic Age.21 To restore the balance, the religious establishment as represented by temple and priesthood resorted to an ingenious stratagem: they invested the great gods with royal status! Two steps were taken, if not at once then by late Sargonic or early NeoSumerian times,22 to achieve this end. One involved a change in temple architecture: the older “bent-axis” layout was replaced by the so-called “straight-axis” design whereby the worshipper approached the cella of the deity by a doorway now set in the shorter wall at the opposite end from the cella, i.e. the temple assumed essentially the appearance of the contemporary palace.23 The second change was intimately related to the first: once arrived at the cella, the worshipper was confronted by a life-size, seated statue of the deity looking for all the world like an enthroned king! The emergence of the cult statue in Mesopotamia has been carefully studied by Agnes Spycket and dated to the Sargonic period.24 It was not, however, the consequence of the changes in temple architecture, as she thought; rather, in my opinion, both developments were reactions to the deification of the king. The modifications of the “Spycket hypothesis,” which I have advanced in two recent papers,25 can be buttressed by appeal to two other lines of art-historical evidence, relief and glyptic. For while surviving examples of divine statues are few and far between, there is reason to consider the seated figure of the deity on steles like that of UrNammu and on innumerable cylinder seals as representing, not some kind of abstract conception of the divine, but a concrete image of the cult-statue. And such images begin precisely in the high Sargonic

21 22 23

1989. 24 25

Hallo and Simpson 1971: 34–54. For the date of the changes see Hallo 1983: 6 f., 1988: 59 f. and n. 37. Hallo 1988: 59 f. n. 37; for a different sketch of the development see now Jacobsen Spycket 1968; 1981. Hallo 1983a; 1988.

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period,26 i.e. with Naram-Sin.27 An alleged example of a standing statue of a deity on a seal going back to the ED III period28 can be better explained as the figure of a king, since it lacks a horned crown, and is not necessarily a statue. The ED III seal was cited by Jacobsen in a recent study which reaffirmed his long-held opinion that two ED II statues from Eshnunna represent deities, not worshippers. I have questioned that opinion both in print29 and in previous meetings of the American Oriental Society and will not repeat the counter-arguments here, but only add that it is firmly rejected by Eva Braun-Holzinger in her authoritative study of Early Dynastic votive statues.30 The conception of a deity as not just anthropomorphic but what can best be described as basilomorphic31 can, then, be described as a distinctly Sumerian reaction to the Akkadian experiment with royal deification. The new conception survived even though the experiment itself fell into temporary disuse and disrepute in the late Sargonic period. And it had significant consequences for the Sumerian cult in its own right. In the first place, the divine statue became the focus of the sacrificial cult. That cult had originated, according to an imaginative aetiology embedded in Sumerian epic, to justify and sanctify a supposed switch from vegetarianism to meat consumption.32 But now the “concept of consumption,” already well-developed at pre-Sargonic Lagash,33 was wedded to the concept of the anthropomorphic and basilomorphic deity to create a new fiction: the notion that the statue of the deity consumed the offerings, both meat and cereal, brought to the temple by the faithful. What A.L. Oppenheim called “the care and feeding 26 For the concept of the high Sargonic period as consisting of the reigns of NaramSin and Shar-kali-sharri see Hallo 1980: 191, 1981: 255. Cf. Charpin 1987: 94, who considers the two reigns “la période ‘sargonique classique’.” Contrast Zhi 1989: 4, where the time of Shar-kali-sharri is described as “the late Sargonic period.” 27 For the glyptic evidence see e.g. Boehmer 1964, 1965; Nagel and Strommenger 1968; Buchanan 1981. 28 UE III No. 387, cited Jacobsen 1988: n. 11. 29 1983a: 8 f.; 1988: 57 f. 30 1977. Note that the statues in question appear as nos. 1 and 2 in her survey of votive statues. Cf. also her survey of Anzu-representations (1987) which notably omits the figure on the socle of the male statue; she considers it simply an eagle with head broken off (oral communication, 10-28-89). 31 Hallo 1988: 60 n. 39. 32 Hallo 1983b, here: VII.1, 1987b, here: VII.2. 33 Rosengarten 1960.

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of the gods”34 became an elaborate charade of presenting these offerings to their statues—and then distributing to the king, the clergy and the favored worshippers what the statue graciously deigned to leave uneaten. Both literary35 and archival36 texts aver that the deity consumed the best part of the offerings, but we may doubt this. That the offerings brought in and the distributions brought out of the cella bore an uncanny resemblance to each other is not only inherently probable but has been mathematically demonstrated, at least for Old Babylonian37 and Neo-Babylonian times.38 Although now focused on the divine statues, the sacrificial cult was readily extended to other physical elements of the temple precincts, which acquired divine status in their own right as evidenced not only orthographically (they began to be written with the divine determinative) but also by the naming of years after their construction and the composition of hymns commemorating their dedication. Beginning with the throne39 of the seated statue and proceeding to the deity’s chariot,40 boat,41 bedstead and temple as a whole, the whole physical apparatus of the religious establishment thus participated in the cult. Nowhere is this development more dramatically illustrated than in offerings made not just at but to the temple gates of Ur, more particularly to their bolts.42 The evidence for this particular rite comes from Old Babylonian times, in the form of “descriptive rituals,” as we call the genre of archival texts which attests to the practice,43 but no doubt reflects earlier usage as well.44 A second consequence of the emergence of the cult statue was its employment in the so-called journeys of the gods. Such journeys involved a kind of “courtesy-call” by one deity on another, perhaps on an annual basis, either to receive the host-deity’s blessings on the 1964:183–198. Hallo 1983b: 176 II.375 f. (níg-ˇsu-du11-ga . . . dulo-ga-bi), here: VII.1. 36 Birot 1980: 146 (r¯esˇ sˇ¯ırim). 37 Sigrist 1984; previously 1981, esp. 179 f.; cf. Hallo 1979b: 104 f. 38 McEwan 1983. Cf. now Beaulieu 1990 for the royal share of the divine left-overs (rehâtu) in the first millennium. 39 Sigrist 1989: 501 seems to imply that only the deceased king’s throne received sacrifices, but the god’s throne clearly did; cf. Schneider 1947. 40 Cf. e.g. Civil 1968. 41 Cf. e.g. the hymn Shulgi R, for which see now Klein 1990. 42 Levine and Hallo 1967. 43 Hallo 1990b, nn. 39–44, with previous literature, here: X.2. 44 Cf. e.g. Sigrist 1989: 501 and n. 4. 34 35

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visiting deity and that deity’s city, or for other reasons.45 They were recorded in “descriptive rituals” and celebrated or commemorated in such compositions as “The Blessing of Nisaba by Enki” (nin-mul-angim).46 Glyptic and other art also recorded the events. Finally, the cult-statue became a natural addressee for petitions deposited at its feet or put in its mouth for transmittal to an even higher deity. The literary genre which evolved to serve this purpose is the letter-prayer, and I will not here enlarge on my extensive publications of and about the genre,47 except to note that this function of the divine (and royal) statue has now been traced as far back as Gudea.48 As the last-mentioned observation indicates, the royal statue shared some of the emerging function of the newer divine statue. This is most conspicuously so in the case of the statues of deceased kings. Deceased royalty, including not only kings but their wives and progeny, had been the objects of cultic offerings and other marks of veneration throughout the Early Dynastic period, almost certainly in the form of statues,49 but also of some of their accoutrements such as, notably, their thrones.50 But now the statues of deceased rulers were themselves deified, thus conferring a kind of posthumous apotheosis even on kings who had laid no claim to divine status in their lifetimes. Thus we find offerings to the deified statues (lammass¯atu) of both Sargon and Naram-Sin as far away as Mari in the Old Babylonian period51 and as late as the NeoBabylonian period in Sippar.52 A broken statue of Sargon was carefully repaired and given offerings when recovered by Nabonidus.53 Similarly, Gudea of Lagash, i.e., presumably, his deified statue, enjoyed offerings under official auspices during the Ur III dynasty—even though that dynasty had conquered his dynasty.54 How, then, are we to evaluate the Ur III dynasty in regard to the questions raised here today? Did it in fact usher in a “neo-Sumerian renaissance” as long averred but never adequately demonstrated and Sauren 1969; Sjöberg 1969; Al-Fouadi 1969. Hallo 1970a, here: I.2. 47 Cf. Hallo 1982 with previous literature, here: V.2. 48 Klein 1989, esp. p. 295 (C2); cf. Winter 1989: 581. 49 Hallo in press a. 50 Sigrist 1989: 501 with n. 7. 51 Birot 1980; cf. van de Mieroop 1989: 400 with nn. 55 f. For Manishtushu see Hallo 1980: 190 and n. 16. 52 Kennedy 1969. 53 Lambert 1968–1969: 7 11. 29–36. 54 Cf. most recently Winter 1989: 575 f. and n. 7. 45 46

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more recently seriously questioned by Andrea Becker?55 Or does it rather represent, at least in religious terms, a reversion to Sargonic, i.e. Akkadian, precedent? After all, its second member, Shulgi, sometime within the first half of his long reign of forty-eight years, allowed himself to be deified like Naram-Sin and Shar-kali-sharri of Akkad nearly two centuries earlier.56 This time, however, the religious establishment did not feel threatened. Assuming that the changes outlined above had already occurred, its defenses were in place. By now, the religious capital at Nippur rivalled the political capital at Ur in importance. Nippur’s location midway between the Sumerian south(-east) and the Akkadian north(-west) was ideally suited to reunite Sumer and Akkad after the bare half century of petty-statism that had followed the death of Shar-kali-sharri.57 The endorsement of its priesthood was crucial if any king was to claim the restoration of the Sargonic imperial idea and the resumption of divine status.58 This endorsement depended not only on the ability to wrest Nippur itself from any other claimant, by force of arms if necessary, but more particularly on the rebuilding and maintenance of its great temples and the provisioning of its extensive clergy. Ur-Nammu met all these requirements, as did his successors. They were duly crowned in a ceremony involving both Nippur and Ur, and a third city (Eridu or Uruk respectively) for good measure.59 A whole new literary genre, the royal hymn, was developed to celebrate these and other “sacraments” of the royal lifetime, including the birth of the king, his marriage, his coronation, his major achievements in war and peace, even his death and burial.60 Other hymns, though ostensibly addressed to this or that deity, invoked divine blessings on the ruler in their concluding doxology and at other key points of the poem. This kind of royal hymn has long been traced to the immediately preceding “second dynasty of Lagash” and its most famous ruler,

Becker 1985. Hallo 1957: 60 f. 57 Cf. below, p. 103. For the chronological assessment of the “late Akkadian” (or post-Akkadian or Gutian) period see Hallo 1971: 713 f. 58 Hallo and Simpson 1971: 83. With reference to this concept, Wilcke 1974: 188 n. 30 wrote “Worauf sich die Ansicht W.W. Hallos . . . stützt, daß die Priesterschaft von ˇ Nippur es Sulgi gestattet habe, die Göttlichkeit zu beanspruchen, weiß ich nicht.” The answer (for now) is the evidence of the royal hymns; see Hallo 1963b, esp. p. 113. 59 Hallo 1966: 136, here: III.2; cf. now also Wilkinson 1986; Sigrist 1989. For the critique of my position by Civil 1980: 229 see for now Hallo 1990a: 187. 60 Hallo 1966, esp. p. 135, here: III.2. 55 56

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Gudea.61 More recently, it has been shown that not only the genre as such but numerous details of its structure, contents, diction, and even orthography were indebted to Gudea.62 But the neo-Sumerian kings of Ur (and their successors at Isin) certainly developed both kinds of royal hymn to their fullest potential. Partly to this end, they and in particular Shulgi patronized the scribal schools of both Nippur and Ur.63 In addition, they created a unique system whereby all central provinces of their Sumero-Akkadian empire assumed responsibility for the upkeep of the Nippur shrines on a rotational basis tied to the calendar such that each month was assigned to one or more provinces on the basis of their ability to contribute from their agricultural wealth. That this system can be aptly described as a “Sumerian amphictyony”64 I would maintain against the recent reinterpretation by Piotr Steinkeller.65 Thus we can almost speak of a “concordat” by which religious and secular interests—or, if one prefers, Sumerian religious traditions and Akkadian political traditions—were kept in balance during the neoSumerian period. As if to seal the entente, Ur-Nammu revived the ancient Sumerian cult of the sacred marriage between the king representing the god Dumuzi and the queen representing the goddess Inanna, and rededicated it to the end of conceiving the royal heir.66 This at least is the testimony of the royal hymn, “Shulgi G,” commissioned by that heir to assert his own claim to divine status as the offspring of a union consummated in the temple at Nippur in which his earthly parents represented the divine couple.67 This particular hymn, whose interpretation has exercised the ingenuity of half a dozen Sumerologists, is soon to be definitely edited by Klein.68 A new threat to the entente was posed by the death of the aged king and the succession of one of his numerous sons which may have

Hallo 1963b: 115, here: III.1. Note references to Gudea also in 11. 36–38 of the great Nanshe-hymn for which see Heimpel 1981: 84 f.; Jacobsen 1987: 129 and n. 11. 62 Klein 1989. For another example of such intertexuality, cf. Gudea Cyl. A xii if, (é u4-dè ma-ra-ab-dù-e, gi6-e ma-ra-ab-mú-mú) with the “myth of the Pickaxe” 1.36 (u4-dè al-dù-e gi6-(a) al-mú-mú) (ref. courtesy T. Frymer-Kensky). 63 Hallo 1989: 237 with n. 9, here: III.5; Klein 1989: 299 f. with n. 67. 64 Hallo 1960; cf. Tanret 1979. 65 1987, esp. 27–29. 66 Hallo 1987a, here: III.4. 67 The notion that he was already deified as (crown-)prince was refuted already in Hallo 1957: 61 f. and n. 1. 68 See for now Klein 1981: 40 n. 72. 61

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involved assassination of the former and usurpation by the latter according to scattered clues in the later historiographic tradition.69 The rightful heir, Shu-Sin, claimed divine status from birth in the later literature70 if not in the contemporary inscriptions.71 He had already served as vice-roy of Uruk and heir apparent in his father’s lifetime; when he finally took the throne in his own right, he demanded more. Hitherto deification of the king had meant only partial assumption of divine status: the royal name was preceded by the epithet “divine” and sometimes followed by a title such as “god of his country”;72 in the iconography, the king and his kin were represented as wearing either the horned cap or the flounced garment, but never both these hallmarks of divinity.73 Above all, there was no worship of the living king as there was of the statue, throne, and other memorials to the deceased king. Shu-Sin, however, demanded just that. At least four temples were built in his honor, in Lagash, Adab, Ur and Eshnunna, as we know from their building inscriptions.74 These have exactly the form of building inscriptions for temples to the gods, except that the deity’s name and epithets are replaced by those of the king, and the name and titles of the royal builder are replaced by those of the local governor! In one case, moreover, we have more than just the building inscription: at Eshnunna, the Shu-Sin temple itself survives. Its floor-plan perfectly illustrates the accommodation of temple architecture to the earlier style of palace architecture.75 It is probably no coincidence that Shu-Sin is of all neo-Sumerian rulers the one most abundantly documented in the literature of the sacred marriage and of erotic poetry generally.76 The fall of Ur at the end of the second millennium, and the succession of Isin to the hegemony of Sumer and Akkad did not at once alter the terms of the concordat. But Sumerian was beginning to die out as a spoken language. The unity of Sumerian religious traditions, hitherto assured by the supremacy of the scribal school at Nippur and its curriculum, became harder to maintain as the possession of Nippur Michalowski 1977; Hallo in press b with nn. 79–94. ANET 496. 71 Hallo 1957: 61 and n. 8. 72 Ibid. 56–62. 73 Cf. already Porada 1948: 35; van Buren 1952: 93, 101. 74 Hallo 1962: 18 with nn. 152 f. 75 Frankfort, Lloyd and Jacobsen 1940. 76 See e.g. Jacobsen 1987 Part Two: “Royal Love Songs,” esp. pp. 85–89, 93, 95 f.; previously Kramer, ANET 496, 644; 1969: 92–95. 69 70

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passed from Isin to Larsa and back again in the dizzying competition between these two dynasties.77 As “the long peace”78 of the twentieth century bc gave way, about 1897 bc, to the “period of the warring kingdoms” and of “maximum political turmoil”79 in the nineteenth, at least three distinct ideologies or theologies began to compete in the SumeroAkkadian sphere. I delineated these ideologies briefly in my presidential address to the American Oriental Society, and more fully in the published version of my remarks,80 so a summary may suffice here. The dominant ideology remained that of Nippur, and was espoused especially by the first dynasty of Isin, which considered itself the legitimate successor to the third dynasty of Ur, as that regarded itself the heir to the first five dynasties of Uruk. Since Uruk and Ur were the southern, or Sumerian, counterparts to Kish and Agade in the Akkadian north, and since Nippur formed the hub of Sumer and Akkad (in the words of the Temple Hymns line 28 “your right and your left hand are Sumer and Akkad”), this Nippur theology thus incorporated the traditions of all four cities and claimed that they all merged in Isin. This viewpoint is expressed most explicitly in the Nippur recension of the Sumerian King List,81 and somewhat more subtly in the rest of the Nippur scribal curriculum, replete as it was with myths about and hymns to all the deities of the Sumero-Akkadian pantheon, beginning with Enlil, with epics about the early rulers of Uruk and Kish, with copies of the royal inscriptions of Akkad,82 and with compositions in honor of the kings of Ur and Isin. But as Isin’s control of Nippur was challenged by Larsa throughout the nineteenth century, so too a rival ideology can be detected at Larsa to challenge that of Nippur. Because it drew heavily on the traditions of Lagash, Larsa’s ancient neighbor, it may be called the “Lagash theology.” In this scheme, the deliberate omission of both Lagash and Larsa from the Sumerian King List was made good in one of two ways. Either an antediluvian section was prefixed to the Nippur version and made to include a wholly spurious dynasty of Larsa,83 or a virtual 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

Loding 1973; Sigrist 1977; Frayne 1989. Hallo and Simpson 1971: 87–92, esp. 92. Ibid.; Hallo 1963b: 118, here: III.1. Hallo 1990, here: X.2. Cf. Hallo 1963a, here: IV.1. On these see most recently Kutscher 1989 ch. 1; Oelsner 1989. Hallo 1970b, esp. p. 63.

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parody was created in the style of the Sumerian King List but limited entirely to the “rulers of Lagash.”84 Myths and hymns were composed in honor of such southern deities as Ningirsu and Bau of Lagash, Nisaba and Haia of Umma, and Utu and Sherda (Aya) of Larsa.85 In addition to royal inscriptions and royal hymns, a new subgenre of royal letter-prayers was associated with the kings of Larsa.86 In the end, however, both the dynasties of Isin and Larsa bowed to a third power, that of Babylon. And with them, the theologies of Nippur and Lagash yielded to a third, that of Babylon. Marduk, the chief deity of Babylon, became the son of Enki, the traditional rival of Enlil at the head of the Sumerian pantheon, as his city Eridu was the ancient rival of Nippur.87 We may therefore regard this third and latest ideology as the “theology of Eridu.” In its conception of the King List, Eridu was the first of all cities. In its mythology, Enki played the major role.88 More importantly, he became the patron of the age-old tradition of incantations, which was taken over almost intact by later Babylonian tradition. It may thus be said that, while the Nippur theology survived Old Babylonian times only selectively, and Lagash theology not at all,89 the millennial Sumerian tradition of incantations and conjurations passed via the Eridu theology into the Akkadian tradition of divination to provide these twin bases of the later Mesopotamian Weltanschauung.90 And with this merging of the surviving Sumerian religion into Akkadian tradition I beg rest my case.91 References Al-Fouadi, A. Enki’s Journey to Nippur: The Journeys of the Gods (PhD. Thesis, U. of Pennsylvania, 1969). Allen, James P. Genesis in Egypt: The Philosophy of Ancient Egyptian Creation Accounts (= Yale Egyptological Studies 2, 1988). Sollberger 1967. On the last of these divinities, see now Powell 1989. 86 Cf. most recently Hallo 1982, here: V.2. 87 Cf. especially Kramer 1970. 88 Cf. now Kramer and Maier 1989. 89 Except as it was reshaped to fit the Nippur point of views; cf. e.g. Hallo 1981. 90 Cf. most recently van Dijk, Goetze and Hussey 1985. 91 For a comparable situation in Egypt, with its successive (if not competing) theologies of Heliopolis, Memphis and Thebes, see most recently Allen 1988, esp. pp. 62 f. 84 85

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Wilkinson, Richard H. Mesopotamian coronation and accession rites in the neo-Sumerian and Early Old Babylonian periods, c. 2100–1800 (Ph.D. Thesis, Minnesota, 1986). Winter, Irene J. “The body of the able ruler: toward an understanding of the statues of Gudea,” Sjöberg AV (1989): 573–583. Zhi, Yang. Sargonic Inscriptions from Adab (= IAHG Periodic Publications on Ancient Civilizations, 1989).

Abbreviations James B. Pritchard, Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton University Press, 1950; 2nd. ed., 1955; 3rd ed., 1969). AV Anniversary Volume CAD The Assyrian Dictionary (Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1965–1989). IRSA Edmond Sollberger and Jean-Robert Kupper, Inscriptions Royales Sumériennes et Akkadiennes (Littératures Anciennes du Proche-Orient 3), 1971. Kantor AV Essays in Ancient Civilization Presented to Helene J. Kantor, ed. by Albert Leonard, Jr., and B.B. Williams (= SAOC 47, 1989). Kramer AV 2 Studies in Literature from the Ancient Near East. . . dedicated to Samuel Noah Kramer, ed. by Jack M. Sasson (= AOS 65, 1984). Kraus AV zikir ˇsumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus . . ., ed. by van Driel et al. (= Studia. . . Scholten 5, 1982). Pope AV Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope, ed. by John H. Marks and Robert M. Good (Guilford, Ct., 1987). PSDB The Sumerian Dictionary (University Museum of the University of Pennsylvania, 1984), volume B. RAI Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. RLA Reallexikm der Assyriologie. RGTC Répertoire Géographique des Textes Cuneiformes (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 1977 ff.). SIC 2 Scripture in Context II: More Essays on the Comparative Method, ed. by William W. Hallo, James C. Moyer and Leo G. Perdue (Winona Lake, In., 1983). SIC 3 The Bible in the Light of Cuneiform Literature: Scripture in Context III, ed. by William W. Hallo, Bruce William Jones and Gerald L. Mattingly (= Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 8, 1990). Sjöberg AV DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, ed. by Hermann Behrens et al. (= Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 11, 1989). Speiser AV Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, ed. William W. Hallo (= American Oriental Series 53 and JAOS 88/1, 1968).

ANET

110 TSSˇ UET III

U.P.

i.6. sumerian religion ˇ Raymond-Piec Jestin, Tablettes Sumériennes de Suruppak (= Memoires de l’Institut Français de l’Archéologie de Stamboul 3, 1937). Léon Legrain, Ur Excavations Texts III (= Publications of the Joint Expedition of the British Museum and of the University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, to Mesopotamia, 1937). University Press.

Addenda p. 94 n. 13 Cf. now also Herbert Sauren, “Trois tablettes . . .,” OLP 20 (1989) 8 for a measure called sìla-eme-gi7. p. 95 n. 25 For an extensive discussion of the issues, see now Gebhard J. Selz, ˇ sa: ein Beitrag zum “Eine Kultstatue der Herrschergemahlin Saˇ Problem der Vergöttlichung,” Acta Sumerologica 14 (1992) 245–268. p. 97 n. 27 Cf. now also Martha Haussperger, Die Einführungsszene (= Münchner Vorderasiatische Studien 11, 1991) esp. pp. 69 f. p. 97 n. 31 Cf. now A. Wendell Bowes, “The basilomorphic conception of deity in Israel and Mesopotamia,” in The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective: Scripture in Context IV, ed. by K. Lawson Younger, Jr., William W. Hallo and Bernard F. Batto (= Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 11, 1991) 235–275. p. 97 n. 32 For a measured endorsement of this interpretation, see now C. Wilcke, “Lugalbanda,” RLA 7 (1987–1990) 117–132, esp. pp. 122 f. p. 98 n. 34 Akkadian formulations of the conception, late but telling, are preserved in the Instructions of Shube-awilim (Hallo 1979: ˇ up¯e-am¯eli 105 f.; cf. now M. Dietrich, “Der Dialog zwischen S¯ und seinem ‘Vater’,” Ugarit-Forschungen 23 (1991) 33–68, esp. pp. 48 f. top) and in the hemerologies’ “the king should set his food offering (kurummassu.) before his god (and) goddess, and it/he will be accepted, his prayer will be answered” (CAD I 273c, CAD K 579c). p. 98 n. 38 Moshe Eilat reminds me that “the remainder of the meal offering” (e.g. Lev. 2: 3, 10) and “what remains of the blood” (and meat offering) (Lev. 5: 9) are functional equivalents of the rehâtu in the Levitical legislation of the Bible. ˘ a new edition of the relevant texts, and a critique of ours, p. 98 n. 43 For see Dominique Charpin, Le clergé d’Ur au siècle d’Hammurabi (Genève/Paris, Droz, 1986) 307–318. p. 98 n. 44 On “deified” temples, cf. most recently D.T. Potts, “Notes on some horned buildings in Iran, Mesopotamia and Arabia,” RA 84 (1990) 33–40.

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p. 97 n. 47 Add now W.W. Hallo, “The royal correspondence of Larsa: III. The princess and the plea,” in Marchands, Diplomates et Empereurs: Études. . . . offertes à Paul Garelli, ed. by D. Charpin and F. Joannès (Paris, Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1991) 377–388, here: V.3. p. 99 n. 49 Now published in “Sha"arei Talmon”; Studies . . . Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon, ed. by Michael Fishbane and Emanuel Tov (Winona Lake, Ind., Eisenbrauns, 1992)381–401. p. 101 n. 68 See now Jacob Klein, “The coronation and consecration of Shulgi in the Ekur (Shulgi G),” Scripta Hierosolymitana 33 (= Tadmor AV, 1991) 292–313; previously idem, “The birth of a crownprince in the temple: a neo-Sumerian literary topos,” in La Femme dans le Proche-Orient Antique, ed. by J.-M. Durand (= RAI 33, 1987) 97–106. p. 102 n. 69 Now published in Scripta Hierosolymitana 33 (= Tadmor AV, 1991) 148–465. p. 104 n. 86 See above, ad p. 99 n. 47. p. 104 n. 88 Cf. already J. van Dijk, “Le motif cosmique dans la pensée sumerienne,” Acta Orientalia 28 (1964) 1–59, for “le système (théogonique) d’Eridu” (pp. 9, 11) and “la théologie d’Eridu” (p. 11). Note also that Eridu replaced Nippur at the head of the traditional list of cities, e.g. in the Cycle of Temple Hymns as compared with the archaic zà-mí hymns from Abu Salabikh.

i.7 THE BIRTH OF RHETORIC*

Rhetoric, long thought of as an invention of classical Greece, has for some time been held to have had a prior existence in ancient Israel. A whole school of “rhetorical criticism” has grown up in biblical studies since at least 1969,1 while individual scholars have analyzed specific biblical texts from a rhetorical perspective.2 Assyriologists (and Egyptologists)3 have been somewhat slower to take up the challenge. Some basic problems beset a rhetorical approach to cuneiform literature: how to distinguish fiction from nonfiction,4 how to identify a usually unknown author,5 how to divine his (or her!)6 intention,7 how to assess the impact on a presumed audience.8 Cuneiform literature does not, as in the case of classical literature, provide us with a neatly prepackaged corpus of theoretical prescriptions or practical illustrations of the art of persuasion in public speaking. It does not, as in the case of biblical prophecy, preserve impassioned orations inspired by firm belief, addressed to the innermost circles of power, and transmitted in virtually

* This is an updated version of the chapter by the same name in William W. Hallo, Origins: the Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 6) (Leiden/New York/ Köln: Brill, 1996), 169–187. For details of documentation, the reader is referred to this book, cited hereinafter by short title (Origins), page and footnote number. (The original version of this paper was presented to the First African Symposium on Rhetoric: Persuasion and Power, Cape Town, July 12, 1994, Yehoshua Gitay presiding.) 1 Dozeman and Fiore 1992. Add especially Jackson and Kessler 1974. 2 Gitay 1981; 1991. 3 Michael V. Fox, “Ancient Egyptian Rhetoric,” Rhetorica 1 (1983), 9–22; John Baines, “Feuds or Vengeance: Rhetoric and Social Forms.” Pp. 11–20 in Studies Wente (below, p. 236) (1999). 4 Origins 169–170. 5 Ibid. 144–148. 6 Ibid. 262–270. 7 Pearce 1993. 8 Barbara N. Porter, “Language, Audience and Impact in Imperial Assyria,” in S. Izre"el and R. Drory, eds., Language and Culture in the Near East (Israel Oriental Studies 15) (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 51–72.

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stenographic transcripts by secretaries such as Baruch son of Neriya,9 whose seal impression, recently recovered (albeit from un-provenanced context), lends new historicity and authenticity to Jeremiah’s words.10 The preserved literature of Sumer and Akkad would not yield readily to the pioneering analyses of the prophetic art of persuasion by Yehoshua Gitay,11 nor to the whole line of biblical exegesis that goes by the name of rhetorical criticism,12 and that has most recently been conveniently surveyed by Watson and Hauser.13 It would not answer to “a forensic understanding” such as newly and effectively applied by Edward Greenstein to the Book of Job,14 or to the narratological analyses advanced by him15 and such other literary critics as Adele Berlin.16 It would not resonate to the combination of narratology and rhetorical analysis championed by Meir Sternberg17 and Mary Savage,18 nor yet to a novel thesis on the “power of the word” put forward by the late Isaac Rabinowitz.19 The reasons for these negative assessments are inherent in the nature of the cuneiform evidence, which differs fundamentally from both the Classical and the biblical models. Whether we look at the literature in Sumerian and Akkadian as I intend to do, or in Hittite and in Ugaritic, each follows its own canons—and forms its own canons, as we shall see. For all that, some tentative efforts have been made, in the fairly recent past, to subject portions of the cuneiform canons to rhetorical analysis. I will review them here briefly, before attempting a programmatic statement of further possibilities. It will not, I trust, be considered unduly immodest if I begin the survey with myself ! In 1968, in collaboration with J.J.A. van Dijk, I published a first critical edition of a Sumerian poem that we entitled “The Exaltation of Inanna.”20 It is expressly attributed to the first 9

For this patronymic in the inscriptions see previously David Diringer, “Three Early Hebrew Seals,” Archiv Orientální 18/3 (1950), 66–67; Emit G. Kraeling, The Brooklyn Museum Papyri (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953), No, 13:6. 10 Origins 146–147, n. 12 and 268; J.H. Tigay in COS 2 (2000) 197–198. 11 Above, n. 2. 12 Cf. above, n. 1. 13 Watson and Hauser 1993. 14 Greenstein 1996. 15 Greenstein 1981; 1982. 16 Berlin 1986; 1994. 17 Sternberg 1983; 1985. 18 Savage 1980. 19 Rabinowitz 1993. 20 Hallo and van Dijk 1968. Latest translation by Hallo in COS 1 (1997), 518–

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non-anonymous author in Mesopotamian history, perhaps in all of history: the princess Enheduanna (ca. 2285–2250 bce), known also by other poetic works and by monumental remains.21 The poem’s division into 153 lines represents a feature original to the composition, for these line divisions agree in all of the poem’s numerous exemplars, and the total is carefully counted in the colophon of at least one complete recension.22 In our edition, we grouped these lines into eighteen stanzas and three “rhetorical” parts and defended these groupings in a literary analysis without claiming that they too necessarily represented “original feature(s) of the composition.”23 The rhetorical parts we called “exordium” (or “proemium”),24 “the argument,” and “peroration” respectively and equated them with stanzas i–viii (lines 1–65), ix–xv (lines 66–135) and xvi–xviii (lines 136–153). Fifteen years later, I applied a similar rhetorical analysis to the first Epic of Lugalbanda (“Lugalbanda in the Cave of the Mountain”).25 While these examples have not been widely followed, it is at least worth noting that the term “proem” has been used to describe the first two stanzas of another Sumerian hymn to the goddess Inanna in its latest translation by Thorkild Jacobsen26 and the first three lines of an Akkadian prayer to the god Nanna as translated by William Moran.27 And at the sixth biennial conference of the Rhetoric Society of America held in May 1994 at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia, a paper was presented on “Enheduanna’s ‘The Exaltation of Inanna’: Toward a Feminist Rhetoric.”28 The author of the paper, Roberta Binkley, has since then completed a doctoral dissertation on this subject at the University of Arizona. To return to my survey, in 1973 Stanley Gevirtz found evidence of “Canaanite rhetoric” in the Amarna letters. While heavily indebted to West Semitic (Ugaritic and Hebrew) models, these letters at least introduced rhetorical flourishes into Akkadian.29 In 1978, Adele Berlin 522. Latest edition by Annette Zgoll, Der Rechtsfall der En-hedu-Ana im Lied nin-me-ˇsara (AOAT 246) (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1997). 21 Hallo and van Dijk 1968, ch. 1. See in detail Origins 263–266. 22 Hallo and van Dijk 1968, 35. 23 Ibid., 45. 24 Ibid., 53. 25 Origins 172, n. 145. 26 Jacobsen 1987: 113. 27 Moran 1993: 117; cf. below, at note 39. 28 Origins, n. 148. 29 Stanley Gevirtz, “On Canaanite Rhetoric: the Evidence of the Amarna Letters

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explored “shared rhetorical features in biblical and Sumerian literature.”30 She was not concerned with any one composition or genre, but with the whole gamut of Sumerian poetry, and particularly with a feature it shares with biblical poetry, namely parallelism. Within this broader technique, she noted especially two rhetorical features, one “the particularizing stanza” and the other an ABAB word order pattern. In his 1980 dissertation, Robert Falkowitz chose to define rhetoric still more widely. Rather than the prevalent classical definition of rhetoric as the art of persuasion in oratory, he preferred the medieval conception in which rhetoric formed a trivium, with grammar and dialectic, within the seven liberal arts, and as such applied to poetry and epistolography as well as to preaching. It was, in short, intended to inculcate the ability to communicate in a lofty idiom distinct from common parlance, let alone colloquialism,31 and was therefore a proper subject of instruction in the schools. By this criterion, the curriculum of the scribal schools of Old Babylonian Mesopotamia could likewise be described as an exercise in rhetoric. That curriculum first required the Akkadian-speaking students to master the intricacies of cuneiform writing and the basic vocabulary of Sumerian by means of primers constituting syllabaries and vocabularies. But it then went on to connected texts in Sumerian and these typically began with the proverb collections, which Falkowitz accordingly renamed “The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections.”32 Piotr Michalowski uses rhetoric almost synonymously with stylistics in discussing negation as “a rhetorical and stylistic device.”33 Historians of Mesopotamian art have expanded the definition even more, freeing rhetoric of its verbal associations entirely—for better or worse—and extending it to the realm of nonverbal communication.34 More recent studies have tended to return to a narrower definition of rhetoric and to its epistolary setting. Thus Jack Sasson has singled out the emissaries of Zimri-Lim, the Old Babylonian king of Mari from Tyre,” Orientalia 42 (1973), 162–177. For some of these models, cf, Moshe Held, “Rhetorical Questions in Ugaritic and Biblical Hebrew,” Eretz-Israel 9 (1969), 71–79. 30 Berlin 1978. 31 See below at notes 39–44 and 129. 32 Falkowitz 1982. 33 Piotr Michalowski, “Negation as Description: the Metaphor of Everyday Life in Early Mesopotamian Literature,” Aula Orientalis 9 (1991), 134. 34 Winter 1981.

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(ca. 1780–1760 bce) for reporting to their sovereign “individually, massively, and often.” Their letters “contain dozens of long lines and, in rhetoric, can match the best of biblical prose, full of vivid phrasing, lively pacing, and a terrific sense of structure.”35 Richard Hess has studied the longest letter of the many sent by the Egyptian pharaoh at Amarna to his restless vassals in Asia during the Amarna period, He concludes that its elaborate argument and stylistic sophistication constitute “a creative use of rhetorical persuasion in order to counter the arguments of a vassal and set forth the pharaoh’s case.”36 He has also applied rhetorical standards to the Amarna letters from Shechem and Jerusalem.37 Kirk Grayson has termed Assyrian rhetoric a “conquering tactic,” citing both biblical and Assyrian evidence.38 Moran documents the classical preference for “the plain style” or what in Greek is called ho ischnos charactér and in Latin subtilis oratio or genus tenue to signal its use in an Old Babylonian prayer to the moon-god.39 This plain style should not, however, be confused with colloquialism. Moran regards the justly famous letter of a schoolboy to his mother (Zinu) as probably showing “colloquial speech” in Akkadian.40 It has also been detected in Sumerian, both in wisdom literature41 and in an incantation,42 in Akkadian depositions in court,43 and in biblical Hebrew.44 The most recent attempt to apply the canons of classical rhetoric to cuneiform literature is also the most massive one. In a doctoral 35

Jack M. Sasson, “The King and I: a Mari King in Changing Perceptions,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 118 (1998), 458; For an example from the third millennium, cf. Benjamin R. Foster, “The Gutian Letter Again,” N.A.B.U. 1990:31, No. 46. 36 Hess 1990. 37 Richard Hess, “Smitten Ant Bites Back: Rhetorical Forms in the Amarna Correspondence from Shechem,” in J.C. de Moor and W.G.E. Watson, eds., Verse in Ancient Near Eastern Prose (AOAT 42, 1993) 95–111; idem, “Rhetorical Forms in the Amarna Correspondence from Jerusalem,” Maarav 10(2003), 221–244. 38 A.K. Grayson, “Assyrian Rule of Conquered Territory in Ancient Western Asia,” CANE 2 (1995), 961; for the parallel see already H.W.F. Saggs, Iraq 17 (1955), 47; 18 (1956), 55; Hallo, “From Qarqar to Carchemish: Assyria and Israel in the Light of New Discoveries,” BASOR 23 (1960), 59. 39 Moran 1993; cf. Origins 173, n. 155. 40 ANET 629. 41 Hallo 1979, here: VIII.2; cf. Ibid., n. 157. 42 Hallo 1985, here: IX.1; cf. Ibid., n. 158. 43 Hallo, “The Slandered Bride,” in R.D. Biggs and J.A. Brinkman, eds., Studies Presented to A. Leo Oppenheim (Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1964), 96–97. For b¯ı innam as “a colloquialism” or “an idiomatic locution” see CAD A/1:377d and B 216 f. respectively. 44 Below, n. 130.

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dissertation written at the Hebrew University under the direction of Aaron Shaffer, Nathan Wasserman has discussed Syntactic and Rhetorical Patterns in Non-Epic Old-Babylonian Literary Texts (1993). In nine chapters, he treated in detail the techniques of hendiadys, merismus, rhyming couplets, geminatio, gradatio, hypallage, enumeratio, the hysteronproteron sequence, zeugma sentences and extraposition sentences. Ten years later, he published an expanded version of the first three phenomena, adding epic texts and discussions of similes (cf. already Wasserman 2000) and two other rhetorical devices which he identified by their Akkadian and Arabic names as damqam-inim and tamyiz respectively (Wasserman 2003). One should also take note of some recent studies that investigate essentially rhetorical aspects of cuneiform literature without actually using the term. Thus Dietz Edzard has dealt with monologues in Akkadian literature.45 Laurie Pearce has addressed the question of authorial intention, or “why the scribes wrote.”46 Barbara Porter has raised the issue of “impact on a presumed audience” with respect to neoAssyrian royal inscriptions.47 The possible Mesopotamian background of specifically political rhetoric has been investigated by Claus Wilcke for older Babylonia and by Peter Machinist for later Assyria. Wilcke regards “rhetorical forms” as just one subject among many others in the scribal-school curriculum, which he, like me, equates with the “canon” (pp. 66 f.); Machinist alludes to rhetoric early and often (pp. 77, 88, 103) and defends the wider sense of “political” (pp. 103 f. and 383 f.).48 Even this hasty survey, which has undoubtedly sinned by omission, suggests that there are, after all, some potential insights to be gained by a rhetorical approach to cuneiform literature. In what follows, I will attempt to identify some other directions that this approach might usefully take. I will not stop to dwell on the peculiarities of cuneiform documentation, except to emphasize at the outset how it can best be classified.49 Using both formal and functional criteria, it can be divided into Edzard 1990. Pearce 1993. 47 Above, n. 8. 48 C. Wilcke, “Politik im Spiegel der Literatur, Literatur als Mittel der Politik im alteren Babylonien,” in Kurt Raaflaub, ed., Anfänge politischen Denkens in der Antike, (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs, Kolloquien 24, 1993), 29–75; P. Machinist, “Assyrians on Assyria in the First Millennium bc,” ibid., 77–104. 49 For the most recent defense of my taxonomy, see Hallo in COS 2 (2000), xxi–xxii. 45 46

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archives, monuments, and canons. Archives include a vast corpus of letters, accounts, contracts, and other documents of daily life preserved on clay tablets in the hundreds of thousands and constituting some 80 percent of the surviving documentation. Although they play a crucial role in the reconstruction of ancient society and of the well-springs of our own contemporary institutions, these documents—sometimes disparagingly referred to by Assyriologists as “laundry lists”—qualify for rhetorical analysis only in the case of certain letters.50 A smaller corpus—perhaps 10 percent of the documentation—consists of royal and other inscriptions that serve us as building blocks in the reconstruction of ancient history. Such texts are typically inscribed on monuments and can be regarded as “monumental.” In the best of circumstances, such as the royal inscriptions of the neo-Assyrian empire, they may qualify as examples of rhetoric.51 The remaining 10 percent of the documentation—inscribed on clay surfaces of various shapes and often recovered in multiple copies—is literary in the broad sense of the term and has its place in the formal curriculum of the scribal schools where, after the primers and the proverbs referred to earlier, the students learned to read and copy out the entire received canon of Sumerian (and later Akkadian) texts of diverse genres that creatively captured the whole range of human experience and the reaction of human beings to the world about them. These texts were literary in the narrower sense but not by any means always belletristic, for they included religious, scientific, philological, and other genres not intended simply to edify or to entertain but first of all to educate. Since the curriculum embodied at any given time all those texts—and only those texts—that were thought necessary and proper to this pedagogic end, I have argued long and hard in favor of labelling these texts as “canonical” and their totality at any given period of history as the canon of that era.52 I would now be prepared to suggest that they might equally well be labelled “rhetorical,” using that term in the broader, medieval connotation cited earlier, but extending it far beyond only the proverb collections that stand near the beginning of the school curriculum. Proverbs are only one genre among the several that are collectively referred to, on the analogy of the biblical example, as “wisdom

50 51 52

Cf. above, nn. 29, 35–38. See above, n. 8. For details, see Origins 144–153, esp. p. 151.

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literature.” That literature was concerned with common mortals, not with gods or kings, and it often offered practical instructions in agriculture and other common human pursuits. Much of it is clearly oral in origin, and intended for oral delivery. Among the wisdom genres that would particularly lend themselves to a rhetorical analysis are three that are usually classified by Assyriologists as dialogues, diatribes, and disputations respectively.53 Dialogues tend to take place between scribes or between scribal students and their masters or parents;)54 diatribes may involve men or women of various walks of life outdoing each other in inventive invective.55 (Some scholars consider dialogues and diatribes a single genre.)56 Disputations are the most artful of the three genres, and the only one identified as such in the native terminology; the Sumerian term a-da-man (Akkadian tes. îtu. or d¯as. ¯atu) recurs in cultic and archival texts, indicating the occasions when the disputations were performed.57 The disputations pit two parties against each other in formal debate.58 The parties are typically antithetical phenomena from the natural or social environment—summer and winter, bird and fish, silver and copper, hoe and plow, for example. Each party rehearses its advantages first and then the shortcomings of the antagonist in a series of arguments and rebuttals that may reach three or more “rounds” before the final judgment is rendered by the deity or, occasionally, the king, depending apparently on whether the setting of the disputation was conceived of as the scribal school attached to the temple or as the palace.59 Typically (though not invariably) the palm goes to the party that, at the outset, might have appeared the weaker, as if in recognition of the persuasiveness of its argumentation. (My colleague Victor Bers reminds me of the fifth-century cliché regarding the victory of the weaker argument—h¯etton logos—over the stronger—kreitton logos, “supposedly a mark of sophistic skill and immorality.”) Thus the lowly hoe triumphs over the lordly plow, perhaps even receiving a token gift for

Alster 1990; cf. Origins 175, n. 164. Ibid., n, 165; Herman L.J. Vanstiphout “Disputations” and “School Dialogues,” in COS I (1996), 575–593. Cf. below, n. 127. 55 Cf. e.g. Sjöberg 1971–1972. 56 E.g. Vanstiphout 1991:24 and n. 4. 57 Hallo apud Alster 1990: 13. 58 See in detail Vanstiphout 1990, 1992; Brock 2001. 59 Origins 176, n. 170. 53 54

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his pains in what van Dijk described as an anticipation of the enigmatic qesi.ta’s and gold rings awarded to Job at the end of his disputation.60 It seems, then, that the disputations have a stronger claim than the proverbs to be regarded as true exercises in rhetoric. In the view of H.L.J. Vanstiphout, one of their principal current interpreters, they “developed out of the abstract and neutral ‘debate situation’ primarily as an exercise in ‘rhetorical skill’ . . . the debate, as a literary and rhetorical form, is in itself and as such the primary reason for being.”61 And “in most cases the victor wins on rhetorical points: he is the cleverest debater.”62 Hypothetically, we can reconstruct a kind of dramatic presentation in which two speakers (or actors or rhetors) assumed the respective roles. The preserved texts represent the libretti; their contents consist almost entirely of spoken parts, and the narrative interpolations constitute little more than “stage directions.” Much the same could be said of some of the other genres that followed the wisdom literature in the scribal curriculum and which, unlike that literature, focused on kings and gods. What then are some of the rhetorical and stylistic devices that can be detected in these genres? I will confine myself to epic (including myth), not only because it is evidently omitted from Wasserman’s aforementioned thesis (though included in his book), but also because, of all cuneiform genres, this is the one that, even in translation, continues to have the widest appeal.63 Who has not heard of the Epic of Gilgamesh? What is perhaps less familiar is that to this day we still do not have any complete recension of the epic! Its rediscovery began in 1872 with the publication of The Chaldaean Genesis by George Smith, which included much of the story of the Flood in what proved to be Tablet XI of the epic; it created so much excitement in England that the Daily Telegraph supplied Smith with the funds to return to Kuyunjik (which turned out to be a part of ancient Nineveh, and included the royal libraries) and find many more fragments of the epic. But in 60 Job 42: 11; cf. van Dijk 1957. For later survivals of the genre, see G. J. Reinink and H.L.J. Vanstiphout, eds., 1991: Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East (OLA 42); S. Brock, “The Dispute Poem: from Sumerian to Syriac,” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 1 (2001), 3–10. 61 Vanstiphout 1991: 24, n. 5; previously H.L.J. Vanstiphout, “On the Sumerian Disputation Between the Hoe and the Plough,” Aula Orientalis 2, (1984) 249–250. 62 Vanstiphout 1990: 280. 63 Origins 177, n. 174.

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spite of more than 130 years of additional discoveries, the epic remains fragmentary. Even its very first line is broken and subject to different restorations and translations. The latest suggestion is based on a join made in 199864 that “yields the first significant new evidence for the opening of the Epic of Gilgamesh to appear since . . . 1891’ ”65 and leads to the translation: “He who saw all, (who was) the foundation of the land”66 or, alternatively, “He who saw the Deep, the country’s foundation.”67 Earlier renderings included: “Let me proclaim to the land him who has seen everything”68 and “Him who saw everything, let me make known to the land,”69 thus inviting the audience to listen.70 And indeed here and in the next four lines, the audience is tempted by the inducement of sharing in the knowledge of someone who had travelled widely in the world and experienced much—like Odysseus polutropon hos mala polla . . . (I) (1). In the next line, this geographical breadth is matched by chronological depth, for Gilgamesh is said to have “brought back information from before the flood.”71 But Gilgamesh is not alone among Akkadian epics in thus anticipating classical epic by attempting to attract the attention of a presumed audience at the outset. Claus Wilcke has studied the exordia of Akkadian epics and identified at least four other examples in which the poet steps forward to announce in the first person (typically in the cohortative mood) his intention to sing of a certain subject—a veritable arma virumque cano (Aeneid I) (1)—often followed by exhortations to the audience to listen.72 Among them are Old Babylonian examples thought to be hymnic-epic celebrations of Hammurapi’s campaigns

64 T. Kwasman, “A New Join to the Epic of Gilgameˇs Tablet I,” N.A.B.U. 1998/3: 89, No. 99. 65 A.R. George, “The Opening of the Epic of Gilgameˇs,” N.A.B.U. 1998/3:90, No. 100. 66 Ibid. 67 Idem, The Epic of Gilgamesh: A New Translation (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1999), 1. 68 CAD N/1:111. 69 J. Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982), 141. 70 Origins 177, n. 175. 71 Ibid., n. 176. 72 Claus Wilcke, “Die Anfänge der akkadischen Epen,” ZA 67 (1977), 153–216; cf. Wolfram von Soden, “Mottoverse zu Beginn babylonischer und antiker Epen, Mottosätze in der Bibel,” Ugarit-Forschungen 14 (1982), 235–239.

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against the north73 and the south,74 and a hymn to Ishtar as Agu˘saya, “the mad dancer in battle.”75 Only one example dates from the late period, namely the canonical Anzu Epic).76 Still others of the later compositions substitute for this exordium a circumstantial temporal clause that sets the stage for the narrative to follow, a kind of fairy tale beginning with “once upon a time.” The Akkadian conjunction is enuma/inuma/inumi, “when,” which breaks down etymologically into in umi, “on the day that,” and as such is a throwback to the Sumerian u4...a-a, “on the day that; when,” which is such a standard incipit of Sumerian epic and other genres that it became the preferred form of the personal names that identified the antediluvian sages with the works of literature attributed to them.77 In its Akkadian form it is most familiar from the incipit of the so-called “Epic of Creation,” enuma elish.78 Other examples include the muchdebated incipit of the (Late) Old Babylonian flood story of Atar-hasis,79 and the Middle Babylonian myth of Nergal and Ereshkigal.80 A third rhetorical solution to introducing epic is to begin with a hymnic apostrophe to the royal or divine protagonist—a useful reminder that myth and epic do not constitute separate genres in cuneiform but only a subset of hymns to kings or gods.81 With Wolfram von Soden (inspired by Benno Landsberger), it has therefore become customary to describe the Akkadian of early examples of the subset as the “hymnicepic dialect.”82 The Epic of Erra and Ishum, for example, begins with a hymnic apostrophe to Ishum.83 Rarest of all is the epic that begins in medias res, as in the case of the story of Etana, both in its Old Babylonian and its late recensions.84 Origins 178, n. 178. Ibid, n. 179. 75 Ibid., n. 180. 76 Wilcke 1977: 175–179; most recent edition Hallo and Moran 1979; latest translations by Foster 1993: 469–485, 1995: 115–131. 77 Hallo 1963: 175–176, here: II.1. 78 Wilcke 1977: 163–175; latest translation by B.R. Foster in COS 1 (1997), 390–402. 79 Wilcke 1977: 160–163. Latest translation by Foster in COS 1 (1997), 450–453. For the incipit see B. Groneberg, Archiv für Orientforschung 26 (1978–1979), 20 (with previous literature); M.-J. Seux, “Atra-hasis I, I, 1,”: RA 75 (1981), 190–191; von Soden, “Mottoverse,” 235–236. 80 Wilcke 1977: 159; latest translation by Stephanie Dalley in COS 1 (1997), 384–389. 81 Cf. above, n. 63. 82 Origins 179, n. 186, and above, notes 73–75. 83 Origins 179, n. 187; latest translation by Dalley in COS 1 (1997), 404–416. 84 Origins 179, n. 188; latest translation by Dalley in COS 1 (1997), 453–457. 73 74

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But enough of the proems of Akkadian epics. Let us look also at their perorations, and let us begin once more with the Epic of Gilgamesh. It has twelve chapters, or tablets, a pleasingly round number in Mesopotamian tradition. Perhaps that is why a twelfth chapter was added to the epic, for length of composition, whether in terms of chapters or of lines, was a significant factor in cuneiform poetry. Not only was it one of the few data regularly recorded in the otherwise laconic colophons,85 but compositional lengths of 200, 480, and 1080 lines may not be wholly accidental.86 In fact the twelfth tablet is “an inorganic appendage to the epic proper,” as E. A, Speiser put it.87 C.J. Gadd88 and S.N. Kramer89 had recognized it long ago as the straightforward translation of a Sumerian original, a virtually unique occurrence in the long history of SumeroAkkadian bilingualism.90 Shaffer’s edition91 shows, in detail, how its 151 lines correspond to the second half of the Sumerian epic of “Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld”92 This second half, as we now know, is represented by two exemplars newly excavated in the Jebel Hamrin area, one of which ends with the incipit of another Sumerian Gilgamesh episode, namely Gilgamesh and Huwawa (Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living).93 The latest study on the subject argues otherwise, contending that the twelfth tablet is an organic part of the epic, a “necessary epilogue . . ., and a final affirmation of the truth of what has been revealed,” i.e. Gilgamesh’s essential humanity.94 But this study fails on at least two counts. For one, it overlooks the fact that, outside the epic if not within Origins 179, n. 189; cf. above, note 22. Ibid., n. 190. Cf. perhaps the 200 “lines” of Lamentations 1–3 according to the calculations of D.N. Freedman and J.C. Geoghegan, “Quantitative Measurement in Biblical Hebrew Poetry,” in R. Chazan et al., eds. Ki Baruch Hu: . . . Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 229–249, esp. pp. 232–233. 87 ANET 97. 88 Origins, n. 192. 89 Ibid, n. 193. 90 Ibid. 160. 91 Ibid. 179, n. 194. 92 Ibid, n. 195. 93 Ibid. 180, n. 196; see now Antoine Cavigneaux and Farouk al-Rawi, “La fin de Gilgameˇs, Enkidu et les enfers d’après les manuscrits d’Ur et de Meturan,” Iraq 62 (2000), 1–19; Gianni Marchesi, “í-a lùllumx ù-luh-ha sù-sù: on the incipit of the Sumerian Poem Gilgameˇs and Huwawa B,” in S. Graziani, ed., Studi . . . dedicati alla memoria di Luigi Cagni (Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale, 2000), vol. 2:673–684. 94 Vulpe 1994. For dissenting opinions see Kilmer 1982 and Parpola 1993:192–196. 85 86

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it, Gilgamesh does achieve a measure of immortality, albeit as god of the netherworld. As Tzvi Abusch has shown, the twelfth tablet (along with the sixth) was added to the epic precisely to make that point.95 Moreover, there is ample and incontrovertible evidence for the gradual growth of the epic over time. In point of fact the Gilgamesh epic in the final form that is the basis of most modern translations is the product of a millennial evolution, an evolution that has been conveniently traced by Jeffrey Tigay.96 At an earlier stage, it undoubtedly concluded with Tablet XI for, to quote Speiser again, “the last lines of Tablet XI are the same as the final lines of the introduction of the entire work (I, i 16–19).”97 The effect is one of “framing” the entire composition with an invitation to inspect the great walls of Uruk built, as we know from elsewhere, by Gilgamesh himself.98 Such a framing effect, or inclusio, familiar in the Bible from the Book of Job (and elsewhere), is lost by the addition of Tablet XII.99 But the frame is not an original part of the epic either! The incipit of its Old Babylonian recension is “supreme above kings” (ˇsutur eli sˇarri) as should have long been seen from the colophon of Tablet II but in fact was not realized until the discovery of a new fragment of Tablet I at Kalah and its publication by Donald Wiseman.100 There, as noted by Shaffer, the words in question occur at the beginning of line 27 of the first column.101 That implies that the first 26 lines of the canonical recension, including the entire passage about the walls of Uruk, were not originally part of the proemium—nor, probably, of the peroration. The oldest recoverable recension of the Akkadian epic began, not with the bard speaking in the first person and addressing the audience in the second, but with a standard hymnic introduction of the protagonist in the third. This hymnic introduction typically begins with epithets and keeps the audience in supposed suspense before revealing the hero by his proper name. It is thus an example of the rhetorical device that we

Origins 180, n. 198. Ibid., n. 199. 97 ANET 97. 98 Origins, n. 201; cf. R.J. Tournay, “Inscription d’Anam, roi d’Uruk et successeur de Gilgamesh,” in H. Goedicke, ed., Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright (Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins Press, 1971), 453–457. 99 Origins 180, n. 202. 100 Ibid., n. 203. 101 Ibid., n. 204; cf. also C.B.F. Walker, “The Second Tablet of tupˇ . senna pitema,” JCS 33 (1981), 191–195, esp. p. 194. 95 96

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noted earlier and to which Berlin has given the label of “particularizing parallelism.”102 It is a device much favored at the beginning of Akkadian and especially of Sumerian poems. What this rapid survey of the evolution of the Akkadian Gilgamesh Epic suggests is that it involved such essentially rhetorical devices as self-introduction of the “speaker,” invitation to the audience, hymnic apostrophe to the protagonist, partial repetition of the proemium to achieve a frame effect and closure, and mechanical addition of an extraneous addendum to arrive at a preferred length. The evolution of the composition thus proceeded, at least in part, by successive expansions at its borders. This is a process with possible analogues in the evolution of the biblical corpus, notably in the case of literary prophecy as proposed by David Noel Freedman.103 I have similarly advanced the notion of “a central core of Deuteronomy which gradually grew by accretion at both ends in what can almost be described as concentric circles.”104 Of course it was not the only means of expansion. A comparison of Old Babylonian and neo-Assyrian recensions of Gilgamesh and other compositions shows expansion likewise in the interior—not always with an equally happy result from a modern esthetic point of view—105 as well as juxtaposition of originally discrete compositions to form a greater whole.106 But we have not yet traced the evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic back to its earliest stages. In fact the unified epic was preceded by a series of discrete, episodic tales not, as yet, organized around the central theme of human mortality. Whether these discrete episodes were already unified in the earliest Akkadian recension remains a matter of debate, with Tigay favoring this view of matters107 and Hope Nash Wolff questioning it.108 What has hitherto been beyond dispute is that the earlier Sumerian episodic tales were not integrated. The new evidence from MeTuran raises the possibility that they were beginning to be.109 We have already encountered one-half of one of them pressed into service for

102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109

Above, note 30. Freedman 1991, esp. pp. 57–55; 1984. Origins, n. 207. Ibid, n. 208. Ibid, n. 209. Ibid. 182, n. 210. Wolff 1969. Above, note 93.

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Tablet XII of the Akkadian epic.110 But with the exception of “Gilgamesh and Agga” and “The Death of Gilgamesh,”111 the others too were bequeathed to the Akkadian poet, not in the form of mechanical or slavish translations but creatively adapted to fashion an entirely new composition. The technique of blending discrete compositions into a larger cycle did not necessarily involve adaptation of a Sumerian original in a new Akkadian context, nor did it begin with Gilgamesh—though it is easier to recognize it there. But let us return where we began, to the princess-poetess Enheduanna. She is said to be the author of, among other compositions,112 at least three hymns to the goddess Inanna, each with its own theme. We have already encountered “The Exaltation of Inanna,” which commemorates the earthly triumphs of her father Sargon over his enemies within Sumer and Akkad, and sublimates them into cosmic terms. The poem “Inanna and Ebih” does the same for Sargonic triumphs over enemies on the northeastern frontier as symbolized by Mount Ebih (Jebel Hamrin).113 Finally, the poem “StoutHearted Lady” (in-nin sˇà-gur 4-ra) tells of the submission of the whole world to Sargonic hegemony as symbolized by its acknowledgement of Inanna’s supremacy in every field of endeavor.114 In this sequence, we move from Sumer and Akkad to the frontier and thence to the whole world. If we reverse the sequence, we can see the action coming ever closer to home, in a manner worthy of an Amos.115 And it is precisely this reverse order in which all three compositions are listed together at the beginning of a literary catalogue of Old Babylonian date.116 If, then, the three great hymns by Enheduanna in honor of Inanna are taken as forming an integrated cycle, then they constitute a thematic counterpart to her other principal work: the cycle of short hymns to all the temples of Sumer and Akkad.117 For while the former may be said to celebrate the theme of “the king at war,” the latter reflects “the king at peace,” solicitously caring for the temples of all the country in a Origins 182, n. 213. Ibid., n. 214. 112 For the Enheduanna texts not further treated here, see Origins 263–266. 113 Ibid. 182, n. 216. Cf. now Pascal Attinger, “Inana et Ebih,” ZA 88 (1998), 164–195. 114 Origins 182, n. 217. 115 Ibid. 183, n. 218. 116 Mark E. Cohen, “Literary Texts from the Andrews University Archaeological Museum,” RA 70 (1976), 131–132, lines 1–3. 117 Origins 183, n. 220. For a different view, see now J.A. Black, “En-hedu-ana not the composer of The temple hymns,” N.A.B.U. 2002:2–4. 110 111

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major attempt to satisfy the traditional requirements of Sumerian religion.118 It achieves in exalted poetry what “the Standard of Ur,” found by Sir Leonard Woolley in the Royal Cemetery, had achieved in pictorial terms some three centuries earlier. This precious object, variously interpreted as a wooden box,119 a desk or lectern120 or, most recently, as the sound-box of a harp, has four inlaid panels, of which the two largest show the king at war and at peace respectively, presiding over battle on one side and over libations on the other.121 It thus shows the king at war and in peace or, to put it another way, the ruler as king (lugal) and high-priest (en), his two principal roles,122 and one could claim for the beginning of the Mesopotamian record, as Irene Winter has said of the end, that royal rhetoric embraced art as well as literature. In conclusion, it must seem somewhat audacious to defend the notion of “the birth of rhetoric in Mesopotamia,” given that the more conventional view looks for the origins of rhetoric in classical Greece.123 And indeed, I admit that this notion, or at least this title, was Professor Gitay’s, not mine.124 But I am prepared to defend it, along with the related notion that the idea of humanitas goes back to Sumerian precedent. It has been said that “the humanities were born in a rhetorical manger. The first recorded use of the word humanitas is in the Rhetorica ad Herrenium, a text roughly contemporaneous with Cicero.”125 But Latin humanitas may fairly be described as a kind of calque or loan translation of Sumerian nam-lú-ulu6, an abstract noun formed from the Sumerian word for “man, human being” (lú) perhaps via its Akkadian

118 Hallo, “Sumerian Religion” in A.F. Rainey, ed., kinatt¯ ut¯u ˇsa d¯arâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv Univ. Institute of Archaeology, 1993), 15–35, esp. 17, here: I.6. 119 Origins 183, n. 222. 120 Ibid., n. 223; cf. J.-C. Margueron, “L’Étendard d’Ur": recit historique ou magique?” in Collectanea Orientalia . . . Études offertes en hommage à Agnes Spycket (Neuchatel/Paris: Recherches et Publications, 1996) 159. 121 Ibid. 122 Donald P. Hansen, “Art of the Royal Tombs at Ur: A Brief Interpretation,” in R.L. Zettler and L. Horne, eds., Treasures from the Royal Tombs of Ur (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Art and Archaeology and Anthropology, 1998), 47. 123 See e.g. Thomas Cole, The Origins of Rhetoric in Ancient Greece (Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991); I. Worthington, ed. Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Action (London/New York: Routledge, 1993). On the possible Mesopotamian background of specifically political rhetoric, see above, n. 48. 124 See above, unnumbered note. 125 Origins 184, n. 226.

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loan translation amel¯utu. Like the Latin abstract, the Mesopotamian terms have a double meaning, referring both to “humanity” in the sense of humankind in the aggregate, and to “humanity, humanism,” in the sense of that special quality of breeding and deportment that distinguishes the educated person from the masses.126 A single quotation among many may serve to illustrate. A dialogue127 in which a father berates his perverse son for nearly all of its 180-odd lines, includes this couplet: “Because you do not look to your humanity, my heart was carried off as if by an evil wind / You are unable to make (your) words pay any attention to your humanity.”128 The first recorded use of the Sumerian term antedates Cicero by two millennia, but shares one of his firm convictions: linguistic ability was at the heart of the scribal curriculum of Hammurapi’s Babylonia, as much as it was to be the essence of the Roman rhetorician’s facilitas. I cannot resist ending with a saying from the Jerusalem Talmud cited by Richard Steiner in a study of colloquial Hebrew.129 In Megilla 71b we read that “Greek is good for singing, Latin for warfare, Aramaic for lamentation, and Hebrew for (divine) speech.”130 Had the sages, like Daniel’s friends, mastered the “literature and script of the Chaldaeans” (Dan. 1: 4), they might well have added that Sumerian and Akkadian are good for rhetoric! Works Cited (either Explicitly or by Reference to Origins) Alster, Bendt, 1990: “Sumerian Literary Dialogues and Debates and their Place in ancient Near Eastern Literature.” In E. Keck et al., eds., Living Waters: . . . Studies Presented to Dr. Frede Løkkegaard (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum), 1–16. Berlin, Adele, 1978: “Shared rhetorical features in biblical and Sumerian literature.” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 10:35–42. ———, 1986: “Narrative Poetics in the Bible.” Prooftexts 6:273–284. ———, 1994: Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative. Reprint. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns).

126 Van Dijk 1953; cf, Henri Limet, “ ‘Peuple’ et ‘humanité’ chez les Sumériens,” G. van Driel et al., eds., zikir ˇsumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus . . . (Leiden: Brill, 1982), 258–267. 127 For this genre see above, n. 54. 128 Origins 184, n. 228. 129 Steiner 1992. 130 Origins, n. 230.

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Brock, S., 2001: “The Dispute Poem: From Sumerian to Syriac.” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 1, 3–10. Cole, Thomas, 1991: The Origins of Rhetoric in Ancient Greece (Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins University Press). Dozeman, Thomas B, and Benjamin Fiore, 1992: “Rhetorical Criticism,” Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York etc.: Doubleday) 5:712–719. Edzard, Dietz O., 1990: “Selbstgespräch und Monolog in der akkadischen Literatur.” In T. Abusch et al., eds., Lingering Over Words: Studies. . . in Honor of William L. Moran (Cambridge: Harvard Semitic Studies 37), 149–162. Falkowitz, Robert S., 1982: The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections (Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms). Foster, Benjamin R., 1993: Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (2 vols.). (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press). ———, 1995: From Distant Days: Myths, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press). Fox, Michael V., 1983: “Ancient Egyptian Rhetoric.” Rhetorica 1:9–22. Freedman, David N. 1991: The Unity of the Hebrew Bible (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan). ———, 1994: “The Undiscovered Symmetry of the Bible.” Bible Review 10/1 (February) 34–41, 63. ———, and Jeffrey C. Geoghegan, 1999: “Quantitative Measurement in Biblical Hebrew Poetry.” In R. Chazan et al., eds., Ki Baruch Hu: . . . Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns), 229–249. George, Andrew, 1999: The Epic of Gilgamesh: A New Translation (New York: Barnes and Noble). Gevirtz, Stanley, 1973: “On Canaanite Rhetoric: The Evidence of the Amarna Letters from Tyre.” Orientalia 42:162–177. Gitay, Yehoshua, 1981: Prophecy and Persuasion: A Study of Isaiah 40–48 (Forum Theologiae Linguisticae 14) (Bonn: Linguistica Biblica). ———, 1991: Isaiah and his Audience: The Structure and Meaning of Isaiah 1–12. (Studia Semitica Neerlandica 30) (Assen/Maastricht: van Gorcum). Greenstein, Edward L., 1981: “Biblical Narratology.” Prooftexts 1:201–216. ———, 1982: “An Equivocal Reading of the Sale of Joseph.” In Kenneth R.R. Gros Louis, ed., Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives, vol. 2 (Nashville, TN: Abingdon), 114–125 and 306–310. ———, 1996: “A Forensic Understanding of the Speech from the Whirlwind.” In M. V. Fox et al., eds., Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns), 241–258. Hallo, William W., 1963: “On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 83:167–176, here: II.1. ———, 1979: “Notes from the Babylonian Collection, I. Nungal in the Egal: An Introduction to Colloquial Sumerian?” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 31:161– 165, here: VIII.2. ———, 1985: “Back to the Big House: Colloquial Sumerian, Continued.” Orientalia 54:56–64, here: IX.1.

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———, 1996: Origins: The Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 6) (Leiden/New York/ Koln: Brill). ———, and J.J.A. van Dijk, 1968: The Exaltation of Inanna (Yale Near Eastern Researches. 3) (Repr. New York: AMS Press, 1982). ———, and W.L. Moran, 1979: “The First Tablet of the SB Recension of the Anzu myth.” JCS 31:65–115. Held, Moshe, 1969: “Rhetorical Questions in Ugaritic and Biblical Hebrew.” Eretz-Israel 9:71–79. Hess, Richard, 1990: “Rhetorical Forms in EA 162.” Ugarit-Forschungen 22:137– 148. ———, 2003: “Rhetorical forms in the Amarna correspondence from Jerusalem.” Maarav 10:221–244. ———, 1993: “Smitten Ant Bites Back: Rhetorical Forms in the Amarna Correspondence from Shechem.” In J.C. de Moor and W.G.E. Watson, eds., Verse in Ancient Near Eastern Prose (ATOT42), 95–111. ———, 1998: “The Mayarzana Correspondence: Rhetoric and Conquest Accounts.” Ugarit-Forschungen 30:333–351. Hunger, Hermann, Babylonische und assyrische Kolophone. (AOAT 2). Jackson, Jared J., and Martin Kessler, eds., 1974: Rhetorical Criticism: Essays in Honor of James Muilenburg (Pittsburgh: Pickwick Press). Jacobsen, Thorkild, 1987: The Harps That Once. . . : Sumerian Poetry in Translation (New Haven/London: Yale University Press). Kilmer, Anne D., 1982: “A Note on an Overlooked Word-play in the Akkadian ˇ Gilgamesh.” In G. van Driel et al., eds., Zikir Sumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus . . . (Leiden: Brill), 128–132. Kramer, Samuel Noah, 1957: “A Father and His Perverse Son,” National Probation and Parole Association Journal 3:169–173. Krstovic, J., et al., eds. 1989: Classical and Medieval Literature Criticism 2 (Detroit Gale Research). Limet, Henri, 1982: “ ‘Peuple’ et ‘humanité’ chez les Sumériens,” G. van Driel ˇ et al., eds., Zikir Sumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus... (Leiden: Brill), 258–267. Machinist, Peter, 1993: “Assyrians on Assyria in the First Millennium bc” In Raaflaub 1993:77–104. Michalowski, Piotr, 1991: “Negation as Description: The Metaphor of Everyday Life in Early Mesopotamian Literature.” Aula Orientalis 9:131–136. Moran, William L., 1993: “UET 6, 402: Persuasion in the Plain Style.” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 22:113–120. Murphy, James J., ed., 1982: The Rhetorical Tradition and Modern Writing. (New York, Modern Language Association). Parpola, Simo, 1993: “The Assyrian Tree of Life.” JNES 52:161–208. Pearce, Laurie E., 1993: “Statements of Purpose: Why the Scribes Wrote.” In M.E. Cohen et al., eds., The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo. (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press), 185–193.

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Porter, Barbara N., 1995: “Language, Audience and Impact in Imperial Assyria.” In S. Izre"el and R. Drory, eds., Language and Culture in the Near East. (Israel Oriental Studies 15) (Leiden: Brill), 51–72. Raaflaub, Kurt, ed., 1993: Anfänge politischen Denkens in der Antike. (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs, Kolloquien 24). Rabinowitz, Isaac, 1993: A Witness Forever: Ancient Israel’s Perception of Literature and the Resultant Hebrew Bible. (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press). Reinink, G.J. and H.L.J. Vanstiphout, eds., 1991: Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East. (OLA 42). Sasson, Jack M., 1998: “The King and I: A Mari King in Changing Perceptions.” JAOS 118:453–470. Savage, Mary, 1980: “Literary Criticism and Biblical Studies: A Rhetorical Analysis of the Joseph Narrative.” In C.D. Evans et al., eds., Scripture in Context. (Pittsburgh: Pickwick Press), 79–100. Sjöberg, Åke, 1971–1972: “ ‘He is a Good Seed of a Dog’ and ‘Engardu, the Fool.’ ” JCS 24:107–119. ———, 1973: “Der Vater und sein missratener Sohn,” JCS 25:105–169. Steiner, Richard C., 1992: “A Colloquialism in Jer. 5:13 from the Ancestor of Mishnaic Hebrew.” Journal of Semitic Studies 37:11–26. Sternberg, Meir, 1983: “The Bible’s Art of Persuasion: Ideology, Rhetoric, and Poetics in Saul’s Fall.” Hebrew Union College Annual 54:45–82. ———, 1985: The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press). Van Dijk, J.J.A., 1953: La Sagesse Suméro-Akkadienne. (Leiden: Brill). ———, 1957: “La découverte de la culture littéraire sumérienne et sa signification pour l’histoire de l’antiquité orientale.” L’Ancien Testament et l’Orient. (Orientalia et Biblica Lovaniensia, 1) 5–28. Vanstiphout, Herman L.J., 1984: “On the Sumerian Disputation between the Hoe and the Plough.” Aula Orientalis 2:239–251. ———, 1990, 1992: “The Mesopotamian Debate Poems.” Acta Sumerologica (Japan) 12:271–318; 14:339–367. ———, 1991: “Lore, Learning and Levity in the Sumerian Disputations: A Matter of Form, or Substance?” In Reinink and Vanstiphout 1991:23–46. ———, 1996: “ ‘Disputations’ and ‘School Dialogues.’ ” COS 1:575–593. Von Soden, Wolfram, 1982: “Mottoverse zu Beginn babylonischer und antiker Epen, Mottosätze in der Bibel.” Ugarit-Forschungen 14:235–239. Vulpe, Nicola, 1994: “Irony and unity of the Gilgamesh Epic” JNES 53:275– 283. Walker, C.B.F., 1981: “The Second Tablet of Tupˇsenna pitema.” JCS 33:191–195. Wasserman, Nathan, 2000: “Sweeter than Honey and Wine. . .: Semantic Domains and Old Babylonian Imagery.” RAI 44/3: 191–196. ———, 2003: Style and Form in Old Babylonian Literary Texts. (Leiden/Boston: Brill/Styx). Watson, Duane J. and Alan J. Hauser, 1993: Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible: A Comprehensive Bibliography with Notes on History and Method. (Biblical Interpretation Series 4) (Leiden: Brill). Wilcke, Claus, 1977: “Die Anfänge der akkadischen Epen.” ZA 67:153–216.

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———, 1993: “Politik im Spiegel der Literatur, Literatur als Mittel der Politik im älteren Babylonien.” In Raaflaub 1993:29–75. Winter, Irene, 1981: “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs.” Studies in Visual Communication 7:2–38. Wolff, Hope Nash, 1969: “Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Heroic Life.” JAOS 89: 392–398. Zgoll, Annette, 1997: Der Rechtsfall de En-hedu-Ana im Lied nin-me-ˇsara. (AOAT 246) (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag).

Abbreviations BASOR CAD CANE COS 1 COS 2 JAOS JCS JNES N.A.B.U. OLA RA RAI44 ZA

Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago J.M. Sasson, ed., Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (4 vols.) (New York: Scribner’s 1995). W.W. Hallo and K.L. Younger, Jr., eds., 1996: The Context of Scripture I : Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World (Leiden/New York/Köln: Brill). W.W. Hallo and K.L. Younger, Jr., eds., 2000: The Context of Scripture II: Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World (Leiden/New York/Köln: Brill). Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Cuneiform Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orientate L. Milano et al., eds., Landscapes. . . Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologie Internationale (Padua: Sargon srl, 2000) Zeitschrift für Assyriologie

ii catalogues and other scholia

ii.1 ON THE ANTIQUITY OF SUMERIAN LITERATURE*

In setting up a chronological scheme for Sumerian literature, Falkenstein1 distinguished two major periods of creativity which we may describe as “neo-Sumerian” (ca. 2115–1815 bc)2 and as late or “post-Sumerian” (ca. 1500–1100 bc) respectively. The assumed floruit of postSumerian creativity can be supported by a number of arguments. It was contemporary with a very flourishing period of Akkadian literary activity;3 it is attested by nearly contemporary copies as well as by later copies which continue almost to the beginning of the Christian Era;4 it coincides with a posited revival of Sumerian learning after the sack of Babylon and the end of the Babylonian “Dark Ages.”5 But the presumed date of neo-Sumerian creativity precedes both the assumed date of the first major period of Akkadian literary output and the attested date of nearly all copies of neo-Sumerian literature hitherto published,6 for both of these categories can be dated approximately to the period 1815–1665 bc,7 particularly to the time of Hammurapi, Samsu-iluna and Abi-eshuh of Babylon.8 By contrast, such evidence as The substance of this paper was presented to the 173rd meeting of the American Oriental Society, Washington, D.C., on March 27, 1963. 1 A. Falkenstein, “Zur Chronologie der sumerischen Literatur,” Compte Rendu de la seconde Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale (= CRRAI ) 2 (1951) 12–27; Mitteilungen der deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft (= MDOG) 85 (1953) 1–13. 2 Or 2050–1750 in the low chronology employed by Falkenstein, ibid., 1. 3 Ibid., 12. Cf. also W. von Soden, “Das Problem der zeitlichen Anordnung akkadischer Literaturwerke,” ibid., 14–26, esp. p. 22. 4 Falkenstein, ibid., 2 and notes 4–6. 5 Cf. W. Hallo, “New viewpoints on cuneiform literature,” Israel Exploration Journal (= IEJ) 12 (1962) 24 f., note 54 and, for the problems of literary creativity in cuneiform generally, ibid., 14–21, here: I.1. 6 Some copies of incantations may be dated to the Ur III period on the basis of their script; cf. e.g. J. Nougayrol, “Conjuration ancienne contre Samana,” Archiv Orientální 17/2 (= Symbolae Hrozny 2, 1949) 213–226; Falkenstein, LSS nF 1 (1931) 2, note 1 and CRRAI 2 (1951) 19. Cf. also F.R. Kraus, ZA 50 (1952) 49 ad SLTN 48 and 138, and E.I. Gordon, Bibliotheca Orientalis 17 (1960) 124, note 19. 7 1750–1600 in Falkenstein’s terms; he refers also to some copies dated under Ammis.aduqa (1646–1626). 8 It may be noted in passing that at least some Old Babylonian copies are dated *

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we possess of the long tradition of “Old Sumexian” literature which preceded and gave way to the neo-Sumerian canons consists entirely of contemporary copies: the lexical lists which go back all the way to the beginnings of writings at Uruk;9 the proverb tablet from Fara;10 a hymnal fragment attributed to Urukagina;11 the Sargonic cylinder from Nippur12 and the Gudea cylinders from Lagash.13 Of course, much of the neo-Sumerian literature in Old Babylonian copies concerns itself with the royal house of Ur and with such of their predecessors as Gudea of Lagash,14 Naram-Sin of Akkad,15 his highpriestess Enheduanna,16 and perhaps even Eannatum of Lagash.17 And other internal indices abundantly support an early date for the origin to the reign of “Rim-Sin II”; cf. TRS 50 (“Shulgi B”) and YBC 7159 and 4661 (Lamentation over the destruction of Ur, unpublished). 9 Of these, the most striking example is a particular version of a list of nomina professionis which is attested throughout the third millennium over a wide area embracing Uruk, Ur, Shuruppak, Lagash and Susa; cf. A. Deimel, “Zur ältesten Geschichte der ˇsumerischen Schultexte,” Orientalia o. s. 2 (1920) 51–53; Falkenstein, Archaische Texte aus Uruk (1936) 45, and UET 2 (1935) Nos. 14, 264, 299–301. 10 A. Deimel, Schultexte aus Fara, No. 26. This text even finds echoes in the neoSumerian literature, as shown by T. Jacobsen apud E.I. Gordon, Sumerian Proverbs (1959) 550. 11 F. Thureau-Dangin apud G. Cros, Nouvelles Fouilles de Tello (1910), [180], AO 4153; cf. E. Sollerger, Le Système Verbal (1952) 174. 12 G.A. Barton, Miscellaneous Babylonian Inscriptions (1918) No. 1; cf. Falkenstein, CRRAI 2, 19. 13 One may regard these cylinders either as the earliest examples of the neo-Sumerian category of “temple hymns” (cf. Falkenstein, CRRAI 2, 14, bottom), or as the climax of a long tradition of “Old Sumerian” literature which is gradually coming to light (ibid., 18). Note also the predilection for cylinders among the scribes of the lexical and literary texts of the “Agade-Gutian period.” 14 E. Chiera, STVC No. 36, translated by Falkenstein, Sumerische und akkadische Hymnen umd Gebete (= SAHG) (1953) No. 16. 15 Notably the “Curse of Agade” to be edited by S.N. Kramer; cf. the references in Gelb, MAD 22 (1961) 201 sub “Late Legends” 1–2. 16 She is the “author” of the Collection of Temple Hymns (cf. H. Zimmern, ZA 39 [1930] 249, J.J.A. van Dijk, Sumerische Götterlieder (= SGL) 2 (1960) 24, note 44), and figures prominently in at least two major hymns to Innin; cf. provisionally van Dijk, Sumer 13 (1957) 65. The Yale Babylonian Collection possesses a complete text of the shorter of these in three tablets which have been copied for publication. 17 Cf. below, note 46. For the cycle of epics dealing with the First Dynasty of Uruk, cf. Falkenstein, CRRAI 2, 24–27. It is unlikely that the composition of any of the poems mentioned antedates the neo-Sumerian period (cf. ibid., 22); that they were created in the Ur III period itself finds additional support in the fact that this dynasty introduced a cult of deified rulers including such predecessors dynasts as Sargon, Manishtushu and Naram-Sin of Akkad (cf. H. Hirsch, Archiv für Orientforschung 20 [1963] 5, 16) and Gudea of Lagash.

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of these and other hymnic compositions, which some hitherto unpublished copies from Ur and Nippur will eventually confirm. Meanwhile, however, it is possible to add to this evidence the testimony of a neoSumerian inventory of forty-two hymnal incipits found in the course of cataloguing the Yale Babylonian Collection. Of these incipits, some may, with more or less certainty, be identified with titles of compositions previously known from Old Babylonian copies or Old Babylonian catalogues, or both. The inventory in question is thus by some two or three centuries the oldest witness of its kind to the antiquity of any major works of neo-Sumerian literature. It is inscribed in four columns on a large, well-preserved tablet18 which was thoroughly baked, apparently in antiquity. In outward appearance it resembles an Ur III name list, and its signs have precisely the form current in Ur III economic texts. A terminus post quem is provided by two of the titles which apostrophize the deified Shulgi. The subscript of the new catalogue also supports an Ur III dating. The last line reads, in effect: pà-da nì-ú-rum. Although one might interpret this as “personal name (Pada)19 +title,”20 a more likely rendering is “(tablets) found (or recovered) by Ni"urum.” The verb pà(d) is used in apparently this sense in another Ur III catalogue,21 in the court judgments,22 and in accounts23 of the Ur III period. Ni"urum is, moreover, attested as a personal name in Ur III texts,24 interestingly enough at least once as an archivist.25 We are dealing, then, with the oldest example yet found of what is by now an impressive number of Sumerian literary catalogues and inventories. I have been able to count in all seventeen lists of this type, eight of them identifying works of “neo-Sumerian” literature and nine chiefly those of the post-Sumerian group (see the Table). We owe our YBC 3654 (80 × 132 mm.). In Ur III texts, Pada almost always occurs as a merchant; cf. N. Schneider, Orientalia o. s. 23 (= Das Drehem- und Djohaarchiv 4/1, 1926 f.) 175 f. 20 For nì-ú-rum (variant: nì-u -rum) DN as a royal epithet, cf. most recently A. 4 Kapp, ZA 51 (1955) 86; Jacobsen, ZA 52 (1057) 131 f., note 90 (6). 21 Below, Table, No. 2. Though as old as our text, this inventory includes no titles that can, as yet, be identified with known compositions. 22 Falkenstein, Neusumerische Gerichtsurkunden 3 (1957) 151. 23 Ibid. 2 (1956) 392 top; cf. A.L. Oppenheim, Catalogue of the . . . Eames Collection (= AOS 32, 1948) 132 and 249 (ad S 1). 24 Cf. e.g. Schneider, op. cit. (note 19), 38, s.v. Gar-ú-aˇs. 25 M.L. Hussey, Harvard Semitic Series 4 (1915) 23 iii 3 (Shulgi 48). For ˇsa (GÁ)-dub-ba x = sˇandabakku, “archivist,” see Falkenstein, op. cit. (note 22) 159. 18 19

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knowledge and understanding of the neo-Sumerian, Old Babylonian and Middle Babylonian catalogues chiefly to Kramer,26 while Ungnad has dealt briefly with the neo-Assyrian ones.27 The Middle Assyrian catalogue has often been cited in the literature,28 the neo-Babylonian one almost never.29 The Old Babylonian lists differ formally from all the later ones in that they seem to exhibit no single consistent sequence or system of classification; the later lists not only classify the texts by genre but, as is shown by the existence of duplicate copies in at least two cases (Nos. 11–12, 15–16), apparently arrived at a canonical version of the catalogues themselves, as in the case of the contemporary Akkadian catalogues and “tables of contents.”30 Table. Cuneiform Catalogues of Sumerian Literary Texts Museum No.

Date

Present Provenience Location

Place of Publication

YBC 3654

Ur III

?

Yale

Published herewith

2. HS 1360

Ur III

Nippur

Jena

Pohl, TMH nF 1/2 (1937) 360; Kramer and Bernhardt, ibid. 3 (1961) 55

3. ?

Old Babylonian

Ur

?

Kramer, RA 55 (1961) 169–176

4. ?

Old Babylonian

Ur

Baghdad

Figulla and Martin, UET 5 (1953) 86

5.

Old Babylonian

Nippur

Jena

TMH nF 3, 54; WZJ 6 (1956/7) pl. iii

6. CBS 29. 15. 155

Old Babylonian

Nippur

Philadelphia Kramer, BASOR 88 (1942) 12

7.

Old Babylonian

?

Louvre

Genouillac, TCL 15 (1930) 28

8. VAT 6481

Old Babylonian

?

Berlin

Zimmern, VS 10 (1913) 216

9. HS 1477

Middle Babylonian Nippur

Jena

TMH nF 3, 53; WZJ 6, pls. i–ii

1.

HS 1504

AO 5393

26 TMH nF 3 (1961) pp. 19 f. (No. 2); RA 55 (1961) 169–176 (No. 3); WZJ 6 (1956–1957) 389–395 (Nos. 4–9, with I. Bernhardt); cf. also Kraus, OLZ 50 (1955) c. 518 on No. 4. 27 OLZ 21 (1918) cc. 116–119 (Nos. 11–16). 28 E.g. T.J. Meek, JBL 43 (1924) 245–252 and previous treatments there cited. For the Sumerian entries, cf. Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 91, 103. 29 S. Langdon alluded to it in Babyloniaca 3 (1909–1910) 248 and, more recently, M. Weitemeyer in “Archive and library technique in ancient Mesopotamia,” Libri 6 (1955–1956) 237, note 65. 30 On these see most recently Hallo, IEJ 12, 23 f. and notes 47–49, here: I.1; W.G. Lambert, “A catalogue of texts and authors,” JCS 16 (1962) 56–77. For an Akkadian “inventory” of texts, cf. e.g. Langdon, RA 28 (1931) 136 (Rm. 150).

ii.1. on the antiquity of sumerian literature Museum No.

Date

Present Provenience Location

Place of Publication

141

10. VAT 10101

Middle Assyrian

Assur

Berlin

Ebeling, KAR 1 (1919) 158

11. K 2529 + 3276

Neo-Assyrian

Nineveh

London

IV Rawlinson (1875) 60 = IV R2 (1891) 53 + Langdon, Babylonian Liturgies (1913) 103a

12. K 2

Neo-Assyrian

Nineveh

London

Bezold, Catalogue 1 (1889) p. 1

13. BM 82-3-23, 5220 Neo-Assyrian

Nineveh

London

Langdon, Babylonian Liturgies 151

14. K. 9618

Neo-Assyrian

Nineveh

London

ibid., No. 115

15. K 3141

Neo-Assyrian

Nineveh

London

ibid., No. 138

16. K 3482

Neo-Assyrian

Nineveh

London

ibid., No. 139

17. Herbert Clark Cylinder

Neo-Babylonian

?

Jerusalem (?) Luckenbill, AJSL 26 (1909) 28

a

Cf. also. Langdon, RA 18 (1621) 157–159 (reference courtesy F. J. Stephens)

As might be expected, the new catalogue differs considerably from all the later ones. In purpose, it is probably closest to the other Ur III example and represents, like that, an inventory of texts “found” or “recovered.” In content as well as structure, it resembles rather the post-Old Babylonian ones for, like these, it apparently limits its titles to hymns and classifies them. In terms of identifiable titles, however, its only parallels, with one or two possible exceptions (see nos. 8, 23 below), are with the Old Babylonian catalogues. Even these identifications are not always certain, for it appears that the incipits were not, as yet, always quoted verbatim.31 Many are still entirely unknown, at least to me. The text is offered here in copy,* transliteration, and tentative translation in the hope that others may contribute identifications from as yet unpublished texts or from texts overlooked here. A number of the incipits can be identified with a reasonable degree of assurance. No. 2: den-líl-lá [d]u11-ga-ni nu-kúr, “of Enlil—his command is unchanging.” This composition may be tentatively identified with a

31 In some cases it is even conceivable that our inventory identified compositions not by their opening but by their concluding lines, their so-called u r ux (EN), for which see last Falkenstein, ZA 52 (1957) 69–72. * This copy is not included here, but in the original article: pp. 171–172, and in the forthcoming Sumerian Royal Hymns (see above, Introduction).

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hymn to Enlil whose popularity can be gauged by the large number of exemplars collected by Falkenstein, who edited it,32 and by its appearance in at least two of the Old Babylonian catalogues, where it is listed under its opening phrase of den-líl-sù-du-ˇsè. Our entry seems rather to be based on the opening couplet which, in its fullest form, begins, “Enlil, his command is ‘far and away’ the loftiest, his word (variant: his command) is holy, a thing unchanging.” One Old Babylonian exemplar has a shorter version: Obverse i

1) an-edin-zi-da dar-a 2) den-líl-lá [d]u11-ga-ni nu-kúr 3) 4) 5) 6) 6a) 7) 8) 9) 10)

[l]ugal an-kù-ga me-te-bi lugal den-líl-ra gub-ba en gu4-bàn-da ˇse-ir-zi en-da-gal (erased) mí-zi mí-du11-ga en su-lí-im ur-sag en-huˇs-gal ur-sag en-me-ˇsa-ra-túm-ma

11) lugal a[n-ˇsà-t]a hi-[li-gùr]u? ii

12) 13) 14) 15) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23) 24) 25) 26) 27) 28)

nin me-e-hé-du7 en inim-nun-zu ds ˇul-gi hi-li-sù dˇ sul-gi dingir-zi en gal-zu-an-na lugal-mu hi-li-gùru lugal inim-ˇsa6 ur-sag ˇsà-kù-ta lugal a-ma-ru lugal me-lám-huˇs ur-sag ní-gal-gùru en-an-ki-a lugal u4-gù-di lugal giˇs-túg-dagal ur-sag ˇsul-zi-tu-da nin hi-li-sù agrig! ?-zi-ukkin-na

Raised in the true upper steppe Of Enlil—his command is unchanging Oh king, the norm of holy heaven Oh king, appointed for Enlil Oh lord, fierce ox Oh brilliance, lord of the south Confidently cared for one Oh lord, awesome splendor Oh hero, great fiery lord Oh hero, lord created for all the divine ordinances Oh king, laden with beauty from Heavens’ midst Oh lady, fit for divine ordinances Oh lord, knower of the princely word Oh Shulgi, adorned with beauty Oh Shulgi, true god Oh Lord, expert of heaven My king, laden with beauty Oh king, the good word Oh hero, from the holy womb Oh king, a flood Oh king, fiery radiance Oh hero, laden with awe Lord in heaven and earth Oh king, thunderer Oh king, wide understanding Oh hero, born to be a true youth Oh lady, adorned with beauty True steward of the assembly

32 SGL (1959) No. 1. The Yale Babylonian Collection has at least three more unpublished exemplars (YBC 4618, 4651 and 9858).

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Reverse iii 29) uˇsum-huˇs-an-na 30) lugal-me ˇsà-ta ur-sag-me-en

Fiery dragon of heaven I am a king, from the womb I am a hero 31) nin-mu múˇs-za-gìn-za na-dar-a My lady, who in your bright visage ever endurest 32) en me-lám-sù-sù Oh lord, adorned with radiance 32a) ˇsu-nigín 32 ˇsa-du-lugal Sub-total: 32 royal hymns 33) lugal-en gal-di-an-na Oh lofty king, distinguished one of heaven 34) sag-me-en-kù Oh holy headband (?) 35) ama hé-gál-la-dù-a Oh mother, created for bounty 36) gu4-e si-gar-re Oh ox, horned one 37) nun-né é-en-ku4-ra-ta Oh prince, after entering the house of the lord 38) u4-za-la-ra . . .. storm 39) ur-sag pirig-huˇs-úru me-gal-gal Oh hero, taming (?) the fiery lion, all the great divine ordinances 40) ur-sag ˇsà-tùr Oh hero, in the sheepfold 41) dumu-an-na Child of Heaven 42) sahar ka-a-dù-a Boy(?), created in the mouth 43) sˇu-nigín 10 ˇsa-du-igi-ˇsè-àm Sub-total: 10 hymns which are ‘out of use’ 44) pà-da Nì-ú-rum Recovered by Ni"urum (Rest of column uninscribed)

No. 2: “Enlil, his command is ‘far and away’ the loftiest, a thing unchanging.” For the interpretation of the subscript of this part of our inventory, it is important to note that this hymn, while it contains no actual mention of any specific king, is nevertheless characterized by allusions to an unnamed king (lines 84–95), and possibly refers to his coronation.33 No. 8: en-su-lí-im, “Oh lord, awesome splendor,” This reading is offered, with all due reserve, on the basis of the Middle Babylonian catalogue from Nippur at Jena. In the last section of this catalogue, there are listed fifteen adapu-songs (a-da-ab-me-eˇs), five of which, alone among the hymnal incipits of this catalogue, can be identified with titles known from Old Babylonian copies or catalogues. Among them is a single one to Su"en which the editors render as en-su-ˇsi-gùr-ru (l. 77). The reading su-lim is here proposed on the basis of su-lim-ma in a 33

Falkenstein, ibid., p. 10.

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Warad-Sin inscription,34 and of the Akkadian equivalent sˇalummatum, which may be somehow cognate.35 No. 21: lugal me-lám-huˇs, “Oh king, fiery radiance.” A hymn of King Shu-Sin to the god Ninurta (BE 29:1) begins: ur-sag-ul gal-le-eˇs nirgál [x-me]-lám-huˇs. If x is restored as [lugal] here36 it would provide something of a parallel to our entry. No. 22: ur-sag ní-gal-gùru, “Oh hero, laden with awe.” Our title may possibly identify the ˇsìr-gíd-da of Martu (SRT 8) whose first two “stanzas,” in Falkenstein’s scansion of the text37 begin respectively ur-sag and ní-gal-gùr-ru. No. 23: en-an-ki-a, “Lord in heaven and earth.” This title is virtually identical with No. 42 of the Louvre catalogue (en-e-an-ki-a), as well as with the beginning of iii 19 in the Middle Assyrian catalogue (en-galan-ki-a). No. 30: lugal-me ˇsà-ta ur-sag-me-en, “I am a king, from the womb I am a hero.” This is the incipit of Shulgi’s “Hymn A,” a “Selbstprädikation” without liturgical classification or structure. It was the most popular of the many hymns in honor of this king, to judge by the number of attested copies: in addition to the fourteen exemplars employed by Falkenstein in his reconstruction,38 the Yale Collection alone has at least seven unpublished duplicates. It occupies the first place in the Old Babylonian catalogues of Philadelphia and probably of the Louvre, and the fourth in the Ur catalogue recently published by Kramer. No. 31: nin-mu múˇs-za-gìn-za na-dar-a, “My lady, who in your bright visage ever endurest.” This title is the virtual equivalent

34 Thureau-Dangin, SAKI 214 f.; cf. Hallo, Bibliotheca Orientalis 18 (1961) 9 sub WaradSin 6, and Deimel, SL 2, 7, 157. 35 For the values NI = lí and SI ˇ = lim in early Sumerian, cf. Sollberger, ZA 54 (1961) 27, 146 and 42, 261. For su = sˇalummatum, cf. B. Landsberger MSL 2 (1951) 133 vii 51; for su-zi = sˇalummatum cf. Falkenstein, ZA 48 (1944) 98 and CAD I/J 43b s.v. igisus. illû. 36 Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 88 No. 3 restores [n u n]. 37 SGL 1 No. 4. 38 ZA 50 (1952) 63 ff.

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(expanded by two signs) of the last title in the Louvre catalogue. To judge by its allusions, it may be a temple hymn. No. 32: en-me-lám-sù-sù, “Oh lord, adorned with radiance.” This could be the ù-LU.LU-ma-ma hymn to Nanna published by de Genouillac39 and edited by Sjöberg40 whose first couplet begins en and ends me-lám-sù-sù. Note, however, that me-lám-sù-sù could also be said of kings.41 No. 35: ama-hé-gál-la-dù-a, “Oh mother, created for bounty.” Since dù-a, “created,” is virtually synonymous with tu-da, “born,”42 this title may be identical with the last title but two of the Louvre catalogue which, as collated by Kramer,43 reads ki-dùg ama-hé-gál-lá-tu-da. No. 41: dumu-an-na, “Child of Heaven (or, of An).” Although a number of deities are called dumu-an-na,44 the epithet occurs as incipit only in an adapu-hymn to Ba"u,45 This hymn has been attributed to Eannatum = Lumma (the latter name or word occurs in the text) by Kramer.46 While there is as yet little other evidence that the tradition of royal hymns goes back quite this far,47 the Lagashite allusions in the composition may at least point to a Lagashite ruler as its possible “author,” for hymnic Sumerian had certainly attained to the level of the piece in question by Gudea’s time. This point is of interest in connection with the two classificatory summaries found in our inventory. The first thirty-two titles are, in fact, summarized as ˇsa-DU-lugal, “royal hymns,” the other ten as ˇsa-DU-igiˇsè-àm, “hymns which are out of use,” or “former hymns.” The reading TRS 30. Der Mondgott Nanna-Suen 1 (1960) No. 6. 41 Cf. e.g. SRT 14 (“Shulgi C”), line 3. 42 The two verbs even occur as variants of each other in literary contexts; cf. e.g. line 138 of the shorter hymn of Enheduanna (above, note 16) in SLTN 64 iv 14 (ma-ratu-ud) with YBC 7167, 38 (ma-ra-dù). 43 WZJ 6, 393, note 3 (ad No. 65). 44 Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 1: 42, note 4; Falkenstein, SGL 1, 127 f.; Hallo, JNES 18 (1959) 56; J. Lewy, HUCA 32 (1961) 37, note 44. 45 CT 36, 39 f., translated by Falkenstein, SAHG No. 9. 46 Bibliotheca Orientalis 11 (1954) 172 and note 19. 47 Cf. above, notes 14–17. The dating and political implications of the royal hymns will be dealt with in a separate paper in JCS. Here: III.1. 39 40

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and translation of these previously unattested terms48 present some difficulty. The spelling ˇsa-DU invites comparison on the one hand with the group ad-ˇsa4 = nissatum, ur-ˇsa4 = rimmum and ˇse-ˇsa4 = dam¯amum, all expressions for vocal action, on the other with èn-DU = zam¯aru, “song.” The reading èn - ˇsa4 for this last word49 seems ruled out by the phonetic or variant spellings en-du,50 èn-di-a-ni = zam¯arˇsa,51 and èn-da-ka-mu.52 The parallels thus favor, though they do not prove, a tentative reading and rendering as ˇsa-du-lugal, “royal hymns,” a category which, it has sometimes been argued,53 was represented by Sumerian a-da-ab. The significance of the second summary is harder to determine. While igi-mu-ˇsè, igi-zu-ˇsè, etc., is attested in the sense of “on behalf of myself, yourself, etc.,” igi-ˇsè can hardly be explained in this way. It occurs, for example, in Rim-Sin 6 and 754 in the expression du11-ga-ni igi-ˇsè-gin which Thureau-Dangin already translated by “dessen Wort vorangeht (allen anderen),”55 For igi-ˇsè in a trial document, Falkenstein proposes a translation “zuerst,” “ohne dabei aber sichere Belege bieten zu können.”56 My translation “former hymns” attempts to parallel “royal hymns” in the other summation, and takes into account that the only reasonably certain identification in this group of titles (No. 41) is with a hymn to what is most probably a pre-Ur III ruler of Lagash.57 So far we have undertaken to date Sumerian literature from without. The Babylonians themselves, however, were not indifferent to the same problem. Indeed, a startling new document which has just been published permits us not only to trace the Mesopotamian tradition of

48 The nearest parallel may be ˇsa-mu-DU, variant ˇsumu(n)-DU, cited by Falkenstein, ZA 49, 84. Cf. ibid., 48 (1944) 94 for the correct interpretation of the alleged equation ˇ 2, 353, 25). ˇsa-DU = nazâzu (Deimel, SL 49 Considered ibid., 85, note 3. 50 VAS 10 (1913) 182, 9 f., quoted by Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 1, 158. 51 CADZ 36a; hardly en-sá-a-ni. 52 For èn-du-ka-mu in ugu-mu 104, to be published in MSL 9 as an appendix to HAR-ra = hubullu XV; reference courtesy M. Civil. 53 “Practically all adab-hymns are royal compositions” (Kramer, loc. cit. above, note 46) or, more precisely, they are “Götterhymnen, in welche Gebete für einen König eingestreut sind” (id., WZJ 6, 391). 54 Hallo, loc. cit. above, note 34. 55 SAKI 219c vs. 5. 56 Neusumerische Gerichtsurkunden 2, 333 ad TCL 5, 6168, 18. 57 But for the fact that our text divides the sign IGI + SÈ ˇ (= LIBIR) over two lines, one would also be tempted to connect the phrase with the common entry libir-àm said ˇ 2, 445, 20; Jacobsen, of animals or workers in Ur III tallies from Lagash; cf. Deimel, SL Pedersen AV (1953) 181.

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literary catalogues down to the very end of cuneiform writing and even beyond, but also to reassess the notions which the Babylonians themselves held as to the antiquity of their literature. In the current report of the excavations at Uruk, van Dijk has presented a late Seleucid text in which, for the first time, the names of all the seven ante-diluvian sages are given in their full cuneiform version, and linked with, or even dated to, the seven ante-diluvian kings known from certain versions of the Sumerian King List.58 These entries are followed by others in which a selection of post-diluvian sages and scholars are similarly “dated” to the reigns of more historical kings. This unique document, when considered in combination with the catalogue of authors and their works recently published by Lambert,59 serves to show that, in the late native view, at least three series were thus as it were “dated” to the neo-Sumerian period. They were, oddly enough, Etana,60 Irra,61 and a series known by the name of its author as Enlil-ibni or si-dù.62 These bibliographical notices are not, of course, to be taken literally. The Babylonians regarded not anonymity (as was once thought) but antiquity of authorship as a measure of authority.63 They therefore were not above attributing texts or versions of obviously late date to impossibly early authors or, conversely, associating a patently late author with the time of an early king. But in this process of tendentious bibliography, they were perhaps not entirely indifferent to objective considerations of historical and literary fact. If Sinliqi-unninni could be dated to the time of Gilgamesh,64 it should not Van Dijk, UVB 18 (= Deutsche Orient-Gesellschaft, Abhandlungen 7, 1962) 44–52. That the link implies an attempt to “date” these authors follows from the plausible restoration [ina tars. i] at the head of each entry by van Dijk (cf. especially p. 46). For the ante-diluvian king list section, see the articles by Finkelstein and Hallo, JCS 17 (1963) 39–57. 59 Above, note 30. 60 Lu-Nanna is, according to Lambert’s catalogue (vi 11), the author of the Etana series; elsewhere he is linked to Shulgi (Lambert, note 14a). For Shulgi’s role as a patron of literature, cf. e.g. van Dijk, Bibliotheca Orientalis 11 (1954) 87, note 44 = Hallo, HUCA 33 (1962) 29, note 214. 61 Kabti-il(ani)-Marduk, who is known as the author of the Epic from its own text, and whose name can reasonably be restored in Lambert’s text (iii 1 f.), is linked to [Ib]iSin in van Dijk’s text. 62 Cf. vi 13 of Lambert’s text with line 14 of van Dijk’s text, where “Sidu, otherwise (known as) Enlil-ibni” is “dated” to the reign of [Iˇsbi]-Irra. Lambert (p. 72) conjectures that his series may identify the Atra-hasis Epic. 63 IEJ 12, 16, here: I.1. 64 van Dijk, line 12, restored. 58

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be forgotten that the Sumerian and Old Babylonian antecedents of his Gilgamesh Epic reach back long before his time. If the blatantly Middle Babylonian Irra Epic could be linked to the end of the Ur III period,65 it may have been, as van Dijk points out,66 because the worship of Irra reached its height precisely at that time. If the otherwise unknown “Series of Enlil-ibni” was linked to an author of the same name under Ishbi-Irra, it may be because, in its Sumerian form of si-dù, that name actually occurs in neo-Sumerian times.67 In short, we cannot simply dismiss the new-found data as both pseudepigraphical and anachronistic. The long line of sages and scholars who have newly emerged from what was once the almost proverbial anonymity of Babylonian literature stand in the middle between the works attributed to them on the one hand and the monarchs they supposedly served on the other, and one or the other of these correlations may need to be taken seriously in each case.68 What is more important in this connection, however, is the onomasticon of the new-found sages themselves. True, these apkallu’s have long been known for the “practical” role which they played in various periods of Mesopotamian history, notably as apotropaic figurines deposited in the foundations of buildings and corners of rooms.69 In one of several rituals prescribing their construction,70 they are each given names beginning with u4-mu. As Güterbock has seen,71 this ¯umu may be the “Geistertier” which in HAR-ra = hubullu translates UG (pirigx).72 The names would thus reflect the grotesque appearance of such figurines both in the prescriptions and in the actual finds. At the same time,

Above, note 61. P. 51. 67 E.g., TCL 5, 6038 v. 4; Hallo, JCS 14 (1960) 104 (= 112), 16, 35. 68 For one of many parallel problems in Biblical criticism, cf. Hallo, Biblical Archaeologist 23 (1960) 46 and note 64: either the Jonah of II Kings 14:25 is a historical figure, and the attribution to him of the “prophetic” book bearing his name is a pseudepigraphical fiction; or the book is indeed his work, and his mention in II Kings is an anachronistic insertion. But we need not reject both concepts. 69 For some actual examples found in situ see M.E.L. Mallowan, Iraq 16 (1954) 85– 92 and pls. XVII–XX. If the curious apkallu sˇiqla in R.C. Thompson’s Reports of the Magicians 1, 170 and 2 xviii f. is more than just an idiomatic variant for maltaktu, “clepsydra” (von Soden, Orientalia 20 [1951] 163 f.), it may reflect another “practical” usage. 70 Zimmern, ZA 35 (1924) 151 f. 71 ZA 42 (1934) 10. 72 Landsberger, Fauna 75. 65 66

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since ¯umu is usually written UD,73 the three ante-diluvian apkallu-names beginning with UD may have been linked to the three post-diluvian apkallu-names in pirig.74 But this interpretation of the new apkallu-names in UD, even if accepted, must be regarded as secondary, as is also the sequence of cities attached to it,75 which is wholly divergent from that of the ante-diluvian cities with whom, through their kings, the apkall¯e are now seen to be linked. It seems much more suggestive to regard UD in these names as having its usual sense of en¯uma, “when,” one of the commonest of literary openings in both Sumerian and Akkadian.76 On this interpretation, four of the names resemble nothing so much as: incipits! I have already mentioned, in the case of Enlil-ibni, that a series could be named after its supposed author. Is it perhaps equally possible that, in this section of the tradition, an author might be identified with his presumed opus? The fourth entry, en-me-galam-ma, suggests as much, for the name of this ante-diluvian apkallu happens to recur as the incipit of a hymn to Enki and king Ur-Ninurta preserved both in Old Babylonian copies and a catalogue,77 as van Dijk has seen.78 It is less clear why he presupposes a Sumerian pronunciation udan for u4-an and thus rejects the comparison of the first apkallu, the Oannes of Berossos,79 with the famous astronomical series u4-an-den-líl. We already know the first apkallu, by his more familiar name of Adapa,80 as author of the otherwise unknown series u4-SAR-an-den-líl-lá from the Verse Account of Nabonidus81 in a context with other divine symbols comparable to the

73

Ibid. E. Reiner, Orientalia 30 (1961) 6. 75 Ur, Nippur, Eridu, Kullab, Keshi, Lagash, Shuruppak. 76 Cf. e.g. CAD I/J 160b–e, s.v. in¯uma. 77 Kramer, WZJ 6, 390 ad HS 1504, 7. 78 P. 48 ad No. 4. 79 For the identification of u -an with Oannes, see now conclusively Lambert, JCS 4 16, 74 and van Dijk, UVB 18, 47 f. But whereas van Dijk takes u4-an as an abbreviation of u4-an-(na)-ad-da-pà, Lambert cogently argues that u4-an is, as in Berossos, the full name, and Adapa the epithet. In fact, the equation of the loanword adapu with ù-tua-ab-ba (literally “born of the sea”) which Lambert cites in this connection suggests that the epithet be understood as “recovered from the water” (for this meaning of pà cf. above, notes 21–23 and the name Túl-ta-pà-da cited by Falkenstein there) and thus linked with Berossos’ notices about Oannes rather than with those preserved in the Middle Babylonian myth of Adapa, as van Dijk suggests, or with those in the “Etiological myth of the ‘Seven Sages’ ” (Reiner, above, note 74). 80 This equation is clinched by Lambert’s catalogue (i 6) and parallels there cited. 81 Lambert, p. 70 ad i 5; cf. Hallo, IEJ 12, 16 and note 15. Here: I.1. 74

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u4-SAR, “lunar disc.”82 His name also recurs in Rm. 618 at the head of a catalogue of Akkadian literary works beginnings precisely with u4an-den-líl-lá.83 It is thus easier to suppose that the scribe of the Verse Account erred in his rendering of Oannes/Adapa’s chief work than that he attributed to the first sage a totally obscure one. In Lambert’s list of authors, the astrological series is even attributed to Ea himself, and both forms of the tradition thus agree in according to it the highest possible antiquity (cf. above, note 63). That this is not solely a tendentious attribution is clear from the fact that at least one “forerunner” of the series has been found on an Old Babylonian copy,84 and that its title, in both Sumerian and Akkadian, has turned up on the Old Babylonian catalogue from Ur published by Kramer.85 Probably the second apkallu-name in the new list, u4-an-du10-ga, also conceals an incipit in u4 = en¯uma, “when.” The third name, en-me-du10ga, actually occurs in the neo-Assyrian catalogue of texts and authors, oddly enough in the midst of the section of human scholars (um-mea), as author of two otherwise unknown Sumerian series.86 The last apkallu, ù-tu-abzu, “born of the deep,” seems strangely reminiscent of Adapa again.87 In sum, it would not be surprising if all the apkallunames turned out eventually to identify known cuneiform series. This would vindicate the long held view of classical scholars that in Berossos’ version of them they are none else than the revealed writings of the Babylonians.88 The excerpts of Berossos preserved by later historians may then be regarded in a sense as the last of the Sumerian literary catalogues as the newly found Yale inventory represents, so far, the first.

82 Lambert, ibid. On lunar discs and related matters, cf. my review of Limit’s Travail du Métal in Bibliotheca Orientalis 20 (1963) 141 f. 83 Cf. A.H. Sayce, “The literary works of ancient Babylonia,” Zeitschrift für Keilschriftforschung 1 (1884) 190 f. and C. Bezold, Catalogue 4 (1896) 1627. Note also in HABL 923: 8 apkallu (NUN.ME) UMUN.A.DA.PÀ, “the sage Umun-Adapa,” (not “the sage and [u] Adapa” as translated in ANET 450). 84 E. Weidner, Archiv für Orientforschung 14 (1942) 173 f. and note 7; T. Bauer, ZA 43 (1936) 308–314. 85 RA 55 (1961) 172, lines 49 f. 86 Lambert, JCS 16, 74 ad iv 11. 87 Ibid. and above, note 79. 88 H. Gelzer (1885) apud P. Schnabel, Berossos und die babylonisch-hellenistische Literatur (1923) 27, 175.

ii.2 ANOTHER SUMERIAN LITERARY CATALOGUE?

The number of texts now identified as catalogues or inventories of Sumerian literary works cited by their incipits continues to grow. Ten years ago, I listed seventeen of them in JAOS 83 (1963) 169 (here: II.1). In the same year, Cat. 3 (cited here according to my list) was published by Gadd and Kramer as UET 6/1:123. Since then, the same authors have published at least one and possibly three more examples of the genre from Ur (UET 6/2:196–198). In the first of these, note that the second preserved entry resembles Entry 6 in Cat. 1 (JAOS 83:170), the fourth is probably the incipit of the “Monkey Letter” (Ali Sumerian Letters, B 14), the sixth equals Entry 13 of Cat. 1, and the eighth resembles Entry 9 of the latter. New discoveries also suggest a revision of my view that, in contrast to both the earlier and later catalogues, “the Old Babylonian lists . . . seem to exhibit no single consistent sequence or system of classification” (JAOS 83:168). Wilcke has published an Old Babylonian catalogue of incantations from the John Rylands Library (AfO 24, 1973, 14 f.) and Kramer has announced the discovery of two large catalogues of congregational laments (ír-ˇsèm-ma) from the British Museum which appear to be equally old.1 The tradition of generic classification was firmly established by Middle Babylonian and Middle Assyrian times; the significance of the respective catalogues, Cat. 9 (TMH n.F. 3:53) and Cat. 10 (KARI 158), for the history of Sumerian literature is taken up elsewhere.2 The list of neo-Assyrian catalogues (Cats. 11–16) should be augmented by Rm. 2, 220, devoted to individual laments (ír-ˇsà-hungá) and published by Langdon, RA 22 (1925) 119–125 together with new editions of Cat. 15 (Langdon, BL 138) and Cat. 16 (ib. 139). For the neoBabylonian catalogue Cat. 17 (Luckenbill, AJSL 26:28), see now S. Levy and P. Artzi, Sumerian and Akkadian Documents in Israel (= Atiqot 4, 1965) No. 99. 1 29th International Congress of Orientalists, Paris, 1973. Professor Kramer kindly informs me that his publication of these texts will also appear in the present volume, but our contributions have been submitted independently of each other. 2 Hallo, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” (forthcoming), here: I.4.

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I now propose to see another Old Babylonian catalogue in CBS 14077, published in 1934 by Chiera as STVC 41. I am indebted to Peter Michalowski for the collations marked with an asterisk and to David Owen for a photograph. The original may have had as many as six columns, as there are clear traces of signs (not copied) to the left of the “obverse?” and to the left and right of the “reverse?”, though it is not excluded that these formed the conclusion of the lines on the other side in the first two cases. Also, the copy fails to show double dividing-lines after “obverse?” 2 and 12, in the latter case followed by the 10-mark to indicate, evidently, that ten compositions were included between the two double dividing-lines. Note also that the bottom of the “obverse?” is in fact the, edge of the tablet. On the “reverse?” there is a double dividing-line after line 10.3 Since these dividing lines do not seem to reflect any generic grouping (see presently), the guess may be ventured that they were drawn, mechanically after every tenth entry. The following identifications may be suggested.

“OBVERSE?” Line 10: ga-ˇsa-an-mu dè-gu[r] = entry 9 in Rm. 2, 220 (RA 22: 123). Line 13: dUtu è-ma = erˇsemma for Utu, listed in Cat. 11 (IV R2 53) ii 26 ˇ (cf. ibid, i 5 and iii 16) and edited by Schollmeyer, Samaˇ s (1912) as No. 34. Line 14: x é -gi4, -a x é -[ta nam-ta-é] = balag of Inanna listed in Cat. 11 i 44.

“REVERSE?” Line 2: an nam-[ . . . ]: cf. an-ne(var.: -né) nam-nir-ra (var.: gál) = “Summer and Winter,” catalogued in Cats. 3, 6, and 7 (RA 55:169 ff.; BASOR 88:12; and TCL 15: 28 respectively) as Entries 22, 29 and 31 respectively. Line 3: a-ba-a mu-un-ba-a[l-e] = “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu” as reconstructed in my edition) JCS 20 (1966) 139, here: III.2.

3

Another, now erased, may have once been mistakenly inserted after line 9.

ii.2. another sumerian literary catalogue?

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Line 4; me-a lu! = balbale-song of Suen, edited by Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen, No. 1, with the corrections of M. Lambert, Or. 30 (1961) 89 f. and van Dijk, OLZ 60 (1965) 27; listed in Cat. 5 (TMH n.F. 3: 54) as Entry 2. Line 5: me am-xra: cf. the next entry in the same catalogue (me-a am). Line 7: [ˇsi]m-zi-da dar -ra: cf. entry 1 in the Yale catalogue. I take this opportunity to correct the reading and translation in JAOS 83 (1963) 170 to dingir ˇsim-zi-da DAR-a, “goddes colored with eye-paint (kohl).” Admittedly, the reading gùn(-na) would be expected. Line 10: [dHend]ur?-sag xˇsul gi6-a du-du: cf. ISET 1: 71 Ni. 9501:1, a hymn to Nergal beginning (if the column marked “ii” is in fact the first) [ . . . ˇsu]l gi6-a du-du kur-kur tuku4-tuku4 (tutki). ˇ F (HeimLine 11: [...]-x gu4 -gim: cf. perhaps the opening line of Sulgi pel, Tierbilder, No. 5.68). Granted the above identifications, the order of entries in STVC 41 would be: (“obverse?”) individual lament, congregational laments; (“reverse?”) disputation, royal hymn, divine hymns. It would seem, moreover, that a number of entries are shared in common by Old Babylonian and neo-Assyrian catalogues, though these are separated from each other by more than a millennium.

ii.3 HAPLOGRAPHIC MARGINALIA

Scribal mistakes call for scribal corrections. In the vast genre of archival texts, scribes often erred in their arithmetic and then corrected themselves by the time-honored device of an (intentional) compensating error to arrive at a proper total.1 In literary texts, a common lapsus calami consisted of omitting an entire poetic line. In such a case, probably detected when the scribe counted his lines and entered their total in the colophon, a simple corrective was available; the left edge of the tablet. This was normally blank except where the scribe had used up the obverse, reverse, and bottom edge of the tablet and still needed more space for additional lines.2 Otherwise he could use it to enter the missing line, normally (as far as can be seen from the published copies) in a downward direction relative to the point of insertion. When possible, a straight line before the entry indicated where on the obverse or reverse of the tablet it was to be inserted. The practice in question is already attested in Old Babylonian copies of Sumerian literary texts, where it was discovered by Kramer a quarter of a century ago. He wrote:3 Line 59, as the copy shows, was written on the left edge, since it was accidentally omitted by the scribe who indicated by means of a short horizontal line the exact place where it belongs. This interesting scribal practice was relatively simple to figure out in the case of the Yale tablet as a result of a comparison of the passage beginning with line 54 with the parallel passages beginning with lines 30 and 45, not to mention the presence of the line in the duplicate, cf. line 327 of the restored text. There is at least one other example of this scribal device in the published Sumerian literary texts which has remained unrecognized hitherto because of lack of duplicating material. Thus in the all-important “deluge” tablet published in PBS V 1, the signs written on the left edge are preceded by a short line just as in the case of the Yale tablet; it is therefore 1

No example comes to mind at this writing. See for example W.W. Hallo and J.J.A. van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna, YNER 3 (1968) pls. 5 and 9. 3 Samuel Noah Kramer, “ ‘Inanna’s Descent to the Nether World,’ Continued and Revised,” JCS 4 (1950) 206 f. n. 45. 2

156

ii.3. haplographic marginalia not a colophon (cf. PBS IV 2, p. 63 and Heidel, The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels, p. 105) but a line that was accidentally omitted between lines 5(!) and 6(!) of col. vi., which might perhaps be restored to read; an-den-líl-li zi-u4-sudx-ra mí b[í-in dug4-ge-eˇs] “An and Enlil ch[erished] Ziusudra.”

Commenting, on the line from the Sumerian Flood Story, Civil stated in 1969: “Kramer’s suggestion to insert here the line from the left edge of the tablet is in probability correct,”4 but he assigned it the line number “255a” as an index of his hesitancy on this point.5 The hesitation no longer seems necessary in view of the large number of additional examples of the identical practice now available. They are catalogued here in the context of the discussion of “scribal errors in cuneiform,” the topic of the Assyriological Colloquium at Yale for December 16, 1975.6 Kramer himself noted a third instance in CT 42 (1959) 1: the fifth of the seven familiar “heroic epithets” of Enlil having been omitted inadvertently after line 6 of the obverse, the scribe inserted the missing line in the right edge.7 The switch to the right edge in this case may be a function of the late date of the exemplar (on which see presently) or it may have been prompted by the enigmatic “musical” notations which pre-empted the left margin (edge?).8 The text in question is a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha, now edited by Kutscher.9 ˘ ˘ ˘ The exemplar involved is said to be Neo-Babylonian in date.10 Kutscher called attention to a second example of the practice in the same composition, for the Old Babylonian scribe of the Yale text YBC 4659 accidentally omitted line *155 and inserted it on the left edge, with a straight line “pointing to” line *156.11 The fifth example is provided by the Nippur text Ni. 4552, published by Kramer in 1963 and re-edited by Jacobsen as “The Sister’s M. Civil, “The Sumerian Flood Story,” apud Lambert-Millard, Atra-has¯ıs (1969) ˘ 5 Civil, in Lambert-Millard, Atra-has¯ıs p. 145. ˘ 6 See Appendix to this article. 7 S.N. Kramer, “CT XLII: A Review Article,” JCS 18 (1964) 36 n. 1. 8 On these notations see most recently W.G. Lambert, “The Converse Tablet: A Litany with Musical Instructions,” apud H. Goedicke, ed., Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright (1971) 335–353. 9 Raphael Kutscher, Oh Angry Sea (a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha): The History of a Sumerian ˘ ˘ ˘ Congregational Lament, YNER 6 (1975) 68. 10 YNER 6 11 (quoting E. Sollberger). 11 YNER 6 107 f.; cf. the hand-copy on plate 7 (!). 4

172.

ii.3. haplographic marginalia

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Message.”12 The text can be reconstructed with the help of an unpublished Yale duplicate.13 The omitted line is line 27 in Kramer’s edition and line 11 of the restored text; it occurs at the indicated point of insertion in the Yale text as well as in the published duplicate (UM 29-16-8). The sixth example occurs in another Nippur tablet, Ni. 4233, published on p. 74 of ISET (1969), as pointed out in my review of the volume.14 The text is a hitherto unknown hymn to Nin-imma. But the practice was not confined, even in Old Babylonian times, to texts from Nippur and whatever site was the provenience of the Yale texts. It was noted in a literary text from Ur by Kramer15 and in one of unknown provenience by Limet.16 These examples are particularly illuminating, the former because the omission occurred at the very end of the obverse and before the inscribed lower edge,17 the latter because the insertion, coming as it does at line 26 of an obverse of 34 lines, had to continue along the bottom edge of the tablet. A different solution was adopted by the scribe of MLC 1207, likewise of unknown provenience. Here the scribe squeezed the omitted line into two lines running down the left edge before the point of insertion which, as usual, was marked by a straight line. That line then follows the insert rather than preceding it.18 A simpler, if less traditional, approach was employed at Kish, to judge by the only example from that scribal center in which the insert comes near the end of the obverse: here the

12 S.N. Kramer in “Cuneiform Studies and the History of Literature: The Sumerian Sacred Marriage Texts,” PAPS 107 (1963) 524; The Sacred Marriage Rite (1969) p. 103 f.; T. Jacobsen, “The Sister’s Message,” The Gaster Festschrift, ANES 5 (1973) 199–212. 13 NBC 10923 This text shows that our bal-bal-e began at line 17 of the published editions with di-da-mu-dè di-da-mu-dè. Line 16 should, with the photograph and against the editions, probably be restored as [bal-bal-e-dInanna]-kam; to judge by the Yale text, it was probably preceded by Kramer’s text no. 11. 14 W.W. Hallo, review of Çıg, Kızılyay and Kramer, Sumerian Literary Tablets and Fragments in the Archaeological Museums of Istanbul 1 (1969), in JCS 18 (1971) 39 n. 1. 15 See his remarks apud C.J. Gadd and S.N. Kramer, Literary and Religious Texts: First Part, UET 6 (1963) 35 (p. 5). 16 H. Limet, “Le poème épique ‘Innina et Ebih’,” Or. NS 40 (1971) 14. For the ˘ (unknown) provenience of PUL 550, see p. 11, and Limet, RA 63 (1969) 5. 17 The copy does not show the exact placement of the insertion, except that it is located “on the left edge.” 18 J. van Dijk, “Incantations accompagnant la naissance de l’homme,” Or. NS 44 (1975) 65–69 and n. 35. The copy will appear in YOS 11.

158

ii.3. haplographic marginalia

scribe simply reversed the usual direction of the omitted line and wrote it up the left margin above the line of insertion.19 That the practice continued unabated into the first millennium, as demonstrated by the third example (above), was clearly recognized by C. Bezold long ago, as is amply demonstrated in his Kouyunjik Catalogue (footnotes to pp. 543, 554 and passim thereafter). It has been less explicitly stated in more recent treatments. Thus Lambert noted that a Babylonian copy of a late Assyrian fire incantation “adds a whole line (III 27) in the left margin, while the duplicates have it in the text.” But, he adds, “in this case it is not clear if the line was lacking from the basic copy used by the scribe.., or if the scribe of [the Babylonian copy] accidentally omitted it at first, but later discovered the fact when checking the work.”20 Even though the copy in question has other scribal notations in the form of textual variants, it seems clear that we have here another simple case of scribal correction comparable to the Sumerian precedents from the second millennium. Note only that, in distinction from those, the present tablet has two columns on each side and therefore the scribe availed himself of the space between the columns for his insertion. Moreover, his line runs up, rather than down this space. But it begins, as usual, at the point of insertion, and this point is clearly marked by a wedge, comparable to the straight line in the Old Babylonian convention. Finally, the practice can be traced even beyond Mesopotamia as far west as Ugarit. The famous snake charm RS 24.244, first published by Virolleaud,21 has three lines of text running down the left margin underneath a straight line which constitutes a simple extension of the line dividing the fifth and sixth stanzas of the text.22 Virolleaud did not know what to make of these three lines of text,23 but Astour, who first reedited the composition, described them as “a summary of an omitted or additional incantation strophe; with it, the number of repetitions would amount to twelve.”24 More specifically, he compares the twelve pairs of deities in the related text RS 24.241 and says “the scribe of 19 Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream p. 165 pl. 18. Alster’s note, p. 55 line 23, seems unaware of the nature of the scribal practice involved. 20 W.G. Lambert, “Fire Incantations,” AfO 23 (1970) 39. 21 Ch. Virolleaud, “Les nouveaux textes mythologiques et liturgiques . . . ,” Ugaritica 5 (1968) 567 no. 7. 22 This fact was called to my attention by David Wortman. 23 Ugaritica 5 574. 24 M.C. Astour, “Two Ugaritic Serpent Charms,” JNES 27 (1968) 15.

ii.3. haplographic marginalia

159

[RS 24.244] inserted a marginal note”25 to be translated “after (the strophe on) Reˇseph, (insert that on) Astarte, (namely:) ‘With Astarte in Mari/is the incantation for the bite of the serpent’ ”26 A minor difficulty with this interpretation (from the point of view of the Mesopotamian scribal usage) is only that the insertion seems to be placed physically before the stanza on Resheph! These examples should suffice to establish the chronological and geographical scope of a cuneiform scribal device intended to rectify the omission of lines from literary texts.

Appendix The Assyriological Colloquium at Yale was conceived by J.J. Finkelstein in 1966. It continued to function under his leadership until his death, and in his spirit since then. The original conception of the Colloquium remains as stated in the invitation of September 15 1986: “a forum for informal and extended discussion of topics and problems in Assyriology which interest any of the participants . . . limited to Assyriologists within short rail or automobile travel distance to New Haven (and) Assyriologists from abroad or elsewhere in this country present in the area at the time of the meetings.” Finkelstein sent invitations to A. Goetze, W.W. Hallo, T. Jacobsen, S.N. Kramer, W.L. Moran, O. Neugebauer, A. Sachs, Å. Sjöberg, and F.J. Stephens. All but one (Neugebauer) of these ten attended the first Colloquium, which since then has grown to include numbers of additional, and especially younger, participants without sacrificing its informal and intimate character. After a decade of meetings, it seems appropriate to list briefly the formal topics of each Colloquium in a volume dedicated to the memory of its founder. 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 25 26

no set topic W.W. Hallo, Classification of the Lexical Texts T. Jacobsen, Comments on Oppenheim’s “Mesopotamian Religion” A.J. Sachs, Astronomical Diaries Å.W. Sjöberg, Examination Text A W.L. Moran, Peripheral Akkadian J.J. Finkelstein, The Goring Ox JNES 27 (1968) 21. JNES 27 (1968) 22. Cf. now also T.H. Gaster, ANES 7 (1975) 33–51.

160 1973 1974 1975

ii.3. haplographic marginalia S.J. Lieberman, Fragments of a Theory of Cuneiform Writing M. de J. Ellis, Land Tenure in the Old Babylonian Period. Minor communication: S.N. Kramer, The GIR5 Profession B.R. Foster, Sumerian Society under Sargonic Rule. Minor communication: J. Cooper, W.W. Hallo arid A.J. Sachs, Scribal Errors in Cuneiform

ii.4 OLD BABYLONIAN HAR-RA1

The late Edgar J. Banks, source of so many collections of cuneiform tablets throughout the United States, left a considerable number of clay cones and tablets to his widow at his death in 1945. When it became known to me in 1970 that she was anxious to dispose of them, contact was quickly made with her and with her daughter, Mrs. James McLachlan. Over a thousand tablets thus came into the possession of the Yale Babylonian Collection, where most of them are now accessioned among the numbers 15339–16384. Subsequently a large number of fragments were turned over to the Collection by the Banks family; these remain to be accessioned. The cones were also examined, but as they all proved to be duplicates of familiar examples of Lagash and Old Babylonian royal inscriptions, only a representative sample was retained (now YBC 16435–16445) and the rest were returned to the family and disposed of elsewhere. Among the tablets thus newly accessioned, by far the majority were neo-Sumerian archival texts from Umma and Puzriˇs-Dagan (Drehem), with a sprinkling of earlier or later date. But here and there some canonical texts were identified in the group, for example, Inanna and Ebih lines 121–132 (YBC 16037). In some ways the most interesting of these isolated texts is YBC 16317, presented here in transliteration.

1 See JCS 31 (1979) 161–165, here: XIII 2 for the first installment in this series. A copy of YBC 9871, the subject of the first note, has meanwhile been prepared by Randall McCormick and is appended to this note: the copy of YBC 16317 included here is also his work. The substance of the present remarks was presented to the 191st meeting of the American Oriental Society, Boston, March 16, 1981. My thanks go to Stephen J. Lieberman and Miguel Civil for reading and commenting on this paper. They do not necessarily endorse all of its conclusions.

162

5

10

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra i

ii

[lugal-me]- en lugal-mí-du11 en-e níg nin-me bur-ˇsu dumu -é dumu-é dumu-é nam? dInanna? ˇsà-ga?-an? in-nin u6

’a ’an ’giˇs-taˇskarin/gigir? gi-NUN.ME.TAG [?] udu na4-ka-gi-na máˇs? [?]- du8 ? lú- x NE ? bi X X X

5

10

Reverse uninscribed

YBC 16317 was first identified as a literary catalogue (or inventory) by Mark E. Cohen and myself, and quickly recognized as a rather unique example of this by now increasingly familiar genre by virtue of the entries in its second column. These entries refer not, as elsewhere, to literary compositions, but rather to lexical texts. The neo-Sumerian and Old Babylonian examples of the genre so far known are devoted almost exclusively to literary texts.2 Only a text from Ur (UET 5 86), first identified as a catalogue by Kraus,3 includes one indubitably lexical entry (ugu-mu in line 19)4 and two other entries that may refer to protoIzi (line 9)5 and an excerpt of Nigga (line 6)6 respectively. Column ii of our text thus represents the oldest systematic listing of lexical texts in any literary catalogue or inventory, hitherto known only from neoAssyrian times.7 Column i, on the other hand, lists the more traditional literary compositions as met with also in numerous other neo-Sumerian and 2 See the most recent survey by J. Krecher, “Kataloge, Literarische,” RIA 5 (1980) 478–485. 3 OLZ 50 (1955) col. 518; cf. Bernhardt and Kramer, WZJ 6 (1956–1957) 394 n. 4; Hallo, JCS 20 (1966) 90 f, here: III.2. 4 Civil, MSL 9 (1967) 59 (1). 5 Civil, MSL 13 (1971) 9. 6 Civil, MSL 13 (1971) 9 and 92. 7 See especially W.G. Lambert. “A Late Assyrian Catalogue of Literary and Scholarly Texts,” Kramer AV (AOAT 25 [1976]) 313–318. [Note now, however, the discovery that BE 1773a represents “a list of lexical and perhaps literary texts housed in the temple of Amurru in Nippur” in Kassite times; I. Finkel and M. Civil, MSL 16 (1982) 3. Added in proof.]

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

163

especially Old Babylonian catalogues and inventories. In fact, it lists them, in part, in the identical sequence. Thus the first four entries, if line 1 is correctly restored, refer to the exact same compositions as the first four entries in the “Philadelphia catalogue”8 and probably in the “Louvre catalogue” (TCL 15 28)9 as well. The first three recur in the “Andrews University catalogue”10 at the head of the second section and the fourth as part of the first section which there, apparently, is devoted to the works of Enheduanna. (It may be noted, in addition, that the next entry in three of these four catalogues is the great Enlil-hymn denlíl-sù-rá-ˇsè.)11 Altogether, the relationship between column i of our text and previously identified catalogues may be charted as follows: Table I YBC 16317

Phil.

Louvre

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

1 2 3 4 15

[1] [2] [3] [4]

10 11 12 13

UET 5 86

Andrews Univ. incipit

4 5(!)

7 8 9 3

8 2 24

47??

UET 6 123

33 23? 25?

[6]??

IIa??

lugal-me-en (ˇsà-ta) lugal-mí-du11(ga) en-e níg-(du7-e) nin-me-(ˇsár-ra) bur-ˇsu-(ma-gal) dumu-é-(dub-ba-a) dumu-é-(dub-ba-a) dumu-é-(dub-ba-a) nam-(lugal?), nám-(nun-e?) d

8 44? 49??

8,34?? 40?? 31??

10?

26? 13? 36? 21??

5?

Inanna ˇsà-ga-AN in-nin u6

The extremely abbreviated form of the entries in YBC 16317 makes the identification of incipits 9–13 quite problematical, and the ensuing remarks will be confined primarily to the significance of the second column. 8 Kramer, BASOR 88 (1942) 14. P. Michalowski kindly showed me his manuscript of another “Philadelphia catalogue,” to be published in Oriens Antiquus as “A New Sumerian Literary ‘Catalogue’ from Nippur,” but it has no entries in common with those in YBC 16317. 9 Kramer, BASOR 88 (1942) 17. 10 Mark E. Cohen, “Literary Texts from the Andrews University Archaeological Museum,” RA 70 (1976) 129–144, especially 130–133. 11 Last edited by Daniel Reisman, Two Neo-Sumerian Royal Hymns (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1969) pp. 41–102.

164

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

Ductus and appearance clearly suggest an Old Babylonian date for YBC 16317. It may therefore be doubted that, as has been suggested by Civil,12 the first two entries in the second column refer to the two tablets, respectively, of “Syllabary B.”13 For this two-tablet compendium, derived from the canonical Ea=A=nâqu, replaced proto-Ea in the scribal curriculum only in neo-Assyrian times.14 Thus the first entry is more likely to be either the elementary primer a-a, a-a-a,15 or proto-Ea itself, now newly edited by Civil,16 while the second entry may be an early version of the great god-list An=Anum which, when it did not preface the divine ancestors of Enlil as in TCL 15 10, began with An.17 It may be noted in this connection that, at a later date, the successors to these respective series did succeed each other in at least one arrangement in two neo-Babylonian extract tablets18 formerly in the E.A. Hoffman Collection and now on deposit at Yale.19 Interestingly enough, precisely the opening lines (from six to thirteen lines in each case) of successive series are quoted here as follows:20 Table II Col.

EAH 197

EAH 198 + 200

i ii

writing exercise Syllabary A 1–11 Syllabary A 329–340 Syllabary B I 1–11 Syllabary B II 1–11 Weidner God List 1–9 HAR-ra I 1–7

writing exercise Syllabary A 1–8 Syllabary A 329–343 Syllabary B I 1–8 Syllabary B II 1–13 Weidner God List 1–6 HAR-ra I 1–9

iii iv

MSL 14 (1979) 166. Edited by H.S. Schuster and B. Landsberger as “Das Vokabular Sb” in MSL 3 (1955) 89–153; additions in MSL 9 (1967) 149–153. 14 Civil, MSL 14 (1979) 166, notes that the oldest Sb texts are Middle Babylonian at the earliest. 15 Edited by M. Çı˘ g and H. Kızılyay, Zwei altbabylonische Schulbücher aus Nippur (1959) 66–76 as “Silbenalphabet B.” 16 MSL 14 (1979) 1–81. 17 J. van Dijk, “Le motif cosmique dans la pensée sumérienne,” ActaOr 28 (1964) 1–59, fig. 1. 18 For the type, see most recently Hallo, JCS 31 (1979) 61 and nn. 4–8, here: VIII.2; add, inter alia, KAR 40 and perhaps UET 6 251 f. 19 J.A. Maynard, “A Neo-Babylonian Grammatical School Text,” JSOR 3 (1919) 65 f. 20 See the summary by Borger, HKL 1 (1967) 331 ad loc. For the “Weidner God List” see Lambert, RIA 3 (1969) 474; Krecher, UF 1 (1969) 140, 147–149. 12 13

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

165

These two tablets, which D.C. Snell has undertaken to study and re-edit, have an unusual appearance, but one that is paralleled by other neo-Babylonian exercise tablets (unpublished), as S.J. Lieberman assures me. The general order: syllabaries—god-lists—vocabularies was already followed in the Old Babylonian scribal schools according to an edubba"a-essay cited by Sjöberg.21 And this order also appears in the second column of YBC 16317. Specifically the next six entries may be compared, with varying degrees of probability, to the incipits of the Old Babylonian forerunners to HAR-ra (better: ur5-ra) = hubullu tablets III, ˘ of the foreVIII, XIII, XVI, XX, and “XXV” (LÚ).22 The absence runner to HAR-ra I (and II) from this list calls for some comment. Long ago I suggested that “just as ana ittiˇsu I–VI seems intended for, or derived from, the contract literature of neo-Sumerian and Early Old Babylonian times, so HAR-ra = hubullu, though it appears today like a ˘ may originally have been intended veritable cuneiform encyclopedia, for or derived from the numerically vaster account literature of the same periods. The character of the first two tablets of HAR-ra is not out of keeping with this interpretation; instead of the names of products, places, and professions, these introductory ‘chapters’ seem to explain the standard ‘ledger entries’ of the account texts.”23 Since this view was expressed, however, it has become clear that in fact the first two tablets of HAR-ra may have to be regarded as a separate composition from the rest of the series in Old Babylonian times. Civil stated as much, albeit without documentation, in 1976: “The series HAR-ra started originally with the tree list (Tablet III of the canonical recension). The late Tablets I and II derive from a list of legal terms, phrases from the old collection of ‘model contracts,’24 and excerpts from Proto-Izi, but were first compiled in Old Babylonian times. The oldest dated forerunner to HAR-ra I–II is from the fifteenth year of Samsuiluna.”25 Actually an unpublished Louvre forerunner (that

21 22

ix f.

A. Sjöberg, “The Old Babylonian Eduba,” Studies Jacobsen (AS 20 [1976]) 162 f. On HAR-ra “XXV” see Civil, MSL 12 (1969) 90 and 223 f.; Reiner, MSL 11 (1974)

23 J.B. Curtis and W.W. Hallo, “Money and Merchants in Ur III,” HUCA 30 (1959) 136; see also Hallo, “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature,” IEJ 12 (1962) 18 and n. 23, here: I.1. 24 See on these Hallo, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” Studies Jacobsen pp. 195 f. and n. 98, here: I.4. 25 Civil, “Lexicography,” Studies Jacobsen pp. 127 f.; see also M.T. Roth, Scholastic

166

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

is, Sumerian only) dates from the first year of Samsu-iluna, according to Arnaud (AO 7012).26 But in any case, the example of AO 779627 shows that the later HAR-ra I–II could constitute a single tablet in Old Babylonian times. The fact that none of the forerunners of HAR-ra I and II continue with excerpts from III lends weight to Civil’s assertion that they constituted a discrete series. Further grounds for Civil’s view may be found in his earlier remarks on school tablets of type II/2, described as relatively long extracts on the reverse of tablets of type II/1, each side devoted to a different series,28 or at least a different part of the same series.29 In this connection, Civil stated, in 1971: “a large number of exercise tablets of the type II/2, emanating from the uncertain hand of beginners and containing the opening lines of the list, typically mark the beginning of a lexical compilation. Thus . . . the hundreds of fragments of type II/2 tablets inscribed with the Forerunner to HAR-ra III found in Nippur clearly show that HAR-ra started with the third tablet of the canonical series in the OB schools.” These hundreds of fragments are as yet unpublished, and the Old Babylonian forerunners to HAR-ra III–V remain unedited.30 (From V on, most of these forerunners are reconstructed separately in MSL.) But we can already form an impression of their appearance from the texts catalogued by Landsberger in 1957.31 It is clear that the incipit of the Old Babylonian recension, as of the canonical HAR-ra III, was giˇstaˇskarin; see, for example SLT 149 and especially SLT 194, a II/2-type tablet with an extract of HAR-ra XI on the obverse and a doxology to Nisaba followed by a double dividing line and HAR-ra III 1 ff. on the reverse. (In passing, it may be noted that one of the newly found tablets from Ras Ibn Hani, the North Syrian coastal site which has also yielded tablets in Ugaritic script and language, contains precisely HARTradition and Mesopotamian Law: A Study of FLP 1287 (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1979) 13 and nn. 31 f. 26 Arnaud, RA 69 (1975) 88. Stephen J. Lieberman, who plans an edition of HARra I–II, kindly informs me that AO 7012, which he is to publish, is in fact dated to Samsu-iluna 15. He notes that it lacks a catchline to HAR-ra III or anything else. 27 C.-F. Jean, “Prototype de la première tablette HAR-ra:hubullu AO 7796,” RA 33 (1936) 85–90. 28 Civil, MSL 12 (1969) 27. 29 Civil, MSL 14 (1979) 5 and below ad SLT 194. Compare also, for example, SLT 128 (HAR-ra III and X) and BIN 2 67 (HAR-ra III and Vlllf.). 30 Meantime note the compilation by Borger, HKL 3 (1975) 103 f. 31 MSL 5 (1957) 90 f.

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

167

ra III 1–30.)32 Thus our new catalogue would bear out Civil’s hypothesis if the third entry of column ii could be read as giˇs-taˇskarin. But even if it must be read giˇs-gigir, it would point to Old Babylonian HAR-ra, for that was the incipit of the second tablet in some Old Babylonian recensions, replaced in the canonical HAR-ra V by the synonymous giˇs-mar = narkabtum. At this point it is necessary to pause and attempt to reconstruct the structure of Old Babylonian HAR-ra as far as this is possible with the aid of a reasonably careful survey of the grouping of passages as revealed in MSL 5–11. The recensions with the largest tablets seem to have encompassed the entire series in five tablets as follows (Roman numerals refer to the tablets of the later, canonical recension): (1) III–VII, represented by LTBA 1 78 f. and possibly by Ist. Si. 53 (Sippar) (2) VIII–XII: SLT 191 + 89 (3) XIII–XV: Copenhagen 10098; N 5547; UM 29-16-571; UM 29-16-207+; SLT 37+SLT 46+N 5491. (4) XVI–XIX: CT 6 11–14 (Sippar); AO 4304 (Telloh); SLT 233 + 234?; SLT 217+(?) (5) XX–XXIV: N 6252.

There was also apparently a recension with a larger number of smaller tablets, grouped approximately as follows (exemplars cited by way of illustration only; Middle Babylonian texts from the periphery are included on the assumption that they followed the Old Babylonian pattern). III–IV: N 5133 (MSL 14 27); Syria 12 pl. 46 and 10 pl. 77:5 (Ugarit) V–VII: Ist. Si. 720 (Sippar); UET 7 87 (Ur) VIII–X: SLT 84 XI–XII: SLT 41; SLT 190; 3 N-T 346; UM 29-16-391+ XIII–XV: (see above) XVI–XVII: CBS 10183; SLT 76+; Ras Shamra 22.346+ and 22.337 (Ugarit); Alalakh 447 (7) XVIII–XIX: PBS 1 14+; SLT 69; KBo 1 47+ (Hattusha); Ras Shamra 20.32 + 17.03 (Ugarit) (8) XX–XXII: MSL 11 93–109; UET 7 79 (Ur) (9) XXIII–XXIV: MSL 11 109–128.

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

Of course numerous exemplars confined themselves to the contents of a single canonical tablet or less. But it is interesting to note that with the exception of variant or “non-canonical” traditions such as UET 7 32 Jacques and Elisabeth Lagarce, “Découvertes archéologiques à Ras Ibn Hani,” CRAI (1978) pp. 45–65, especially p. 57; see also the same authors in UF 10 (1978) 438 f.

168

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

92 (XI, XVIII, XVII, XIX) or IM 51144 (V or VI–X, XVIII[?]),33 ordinarily no tablets crossed the borders of the 5-tablet recension; only the exercise tablets of Type II/2 (see above) excerpted widely divergent chapters of the series on obverse and reverse respectively, as follows: III and VIII–IX: BIN 2 67 and 3 N-T 595 III and X: SLT 128 III and XI: SLT 194 XIII and XXIII–XXIV: N 5081; CBS 6115 XIV and XXIII–XXIV: N 5543

Finally it may be noted that the grouping of the HAR-ra tablets in the late commentary series HAR-gud was quite different from all of the above.34 Given these observations, it seems safe to conclude that our inventory records the 5-tablet recension of HAR-ra as standardized in the Old Babylonian schools and their middle Babylonian successors.35 It is therefore the more interesting that the next entry is lú, for some sort of lú-list followed HAR-ra in the canonical sequence.36 In the earlier canon, proto-lú was followed by proto-izi and proto-diri37 and that may conceivably be the case here as well.38 Any attempt to assess the over-all significance of the new inventory is necessarily risky. Yet one wonders whether there is not a significance in the rough juxtaposition of literary texts in column i and lexical texts in column ii (admittedly the columns are not precisely aligned with each other). Civil suggested as much when he wrote me (in reference to YBC 16317): “In the introduction to the revised edition of proto-Ea in MSL 14 . . . , I show that there is a clear relationship between what is on the obverse of the ‘type II’ exercise tablets and what is on their reverse. I wonder if your list of lexical series reflects this situation.”39 Could it be, in other words, that our list described (or prescribed) the pairing of 33 Cf. MSL 6 144–153, 7 177–208. Note that Landsberger describes IM 51144 as “a different recension from the Nippur series” (MSL 7 197). Civil also calls my attention to two unpublished forerunners from the Oriental Institute (A 7895 and A 7896) which follow a divergent order (XX[?], XIV, XIII and XVII [?], XIV, XIII, XI respectively). 34 Landsberger, MSL 7 (1959) 57–61. 35 For tablet XX, our MÁS ˇ (for ZI?). [x]-du3 diverges from the (reconstructed) a. ˇsa-du8 of MSL 11 97, but that may need review. 36 Civil, MSL 12 (1969) 90. 37 Civil, MSL 12 (1969) 90. 38 In ii 9, read perhaps ib(b)i bi (=qutru, “smoke, incense”) following MSL 13 16:7, x 36:10, and 160 f.:15 f. 39 Letter of March 4, 1977.

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

169

Lipit-Iˇstar 23* (Lipit-Iˇstar A) with the god-list, of Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living with HAR-ra III–IV (or V–VII), of the Exaltation of Inanna with HAR-ra VIII–XII, and so on? If so, were such pairs standard in the Old Babylonian schools, or at the discretion of each master? And was our text less inventory or catalogue than curriculum? These concepts merge anyway in my view of the Old Babylonian edubba"a.40 A preliminary check of the evidence convinced Civil of the existence of “a definite pattern which must reflect the organization of the subject of the curriculum in a fixed succession.”41 At the same time it suggests that, for example, proto-Ea was most often paired with the forerunner to HAR-ra XIII–XIV, that is, the third tablet of the Old Babylonian recension, and not with burˇsuma-gal as in YBC 16317.42 Clearly no one explanation will suffice for all the Old Babylonian catalogues and inventories. But just as clear is their intimate link with the curriculum of the scribal schools. By way of illustration, one may point to BE 31 9, an Old Babylonian tablet which lists twenty lines selected from lines 416–654 of the composition Lugal-e (the equivalent of tablets X–XIV in the later recension) at, on the average, 12-line intervals, as follows:43 Table III No.

BE 31 9

OB recension

NA recension

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

1–2 3–4 5 6 7 8 9 10

416? 435? 448 463 479 487 497 513

X1 XI 1

XII 1

interval 19 13 15 16 8 10 16 12

Hallo, IEJ 12 (1962) 13–26, here: I.1; cf, Sjöberg, Studies Jacobsen pp. 162 f., and, for a restatement of some of my views, see J. Olivier, “Schools and Wisdom Literature,” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 4 (1975) 49–60. 41 MSL 14 (1979) 5 f. 42 S.J. Lieberman points out, however, that in his experience the only literary texts occurring in more than one or two-line excerpts together with lexical texts on exercise tablets are proverbs and Lipit-Iˇstar B (24*), for which see n. 54 below. 43 Based on a manuscript of Lugal-e which I owe to the courtesy of J. van Dijk. Note that only in a limited sense can the text therefore be said to catalogue “Einzeltafeln” of the composition as suggested by Wilcke, AfO 24 (1973) 50 n. 2. 40

170

ii.4. old babylonian har-ra

No.

BE 31 9

OB recension

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

11 12 13 14 15–16 17 18 19 20 21–22 23 24

525 532 547 557 568? 581? 595? 603 612?? 622 637 641

NA recension

XIII 1

IV 1

interval 7 15 10 11 13 14 8 9 10 15 4 [14]

While there may be special reasons for this choice of lines,44 the intervals thus established fall within the typical range of length of extracts from literary texts which was regarded as the daily pensum at a certain level of instruction as indicated by the existence of numerous tablets of this length (Civil’s Type III).45 This level was presumably intermediate between the primary stage, represented by lenticular tablets with 2–5 line extracts (Civil’s Type IV) and the advanced stage, represented by extracts of 30 or more lines (Civil’s Type II/2).46 That 10–30 lines were the daily pensum is confirmed by im-gíd-da or “long tablets” (to us they mostly look wide because we read them at a different angle)47 which carry a specific date (year, month, and day); when successive portions of a single composition are copied on these extract-tablets by one and the same scribal pupil, we can get an accurate estimate of his typical daily assignment. Thus, for example, a certain Qiˇsti-Ea copied lines 1– ˇ ˇ 18 of the letter of Puzur-Sulgi (also known as Puzur-Marduk) to Sulgi

44

Civil notes: “The lines from Lugal-e have been chosen by the scribe as the points where the sections about particular stones start; the fact that there is an interval of about 12 lines simply reflects the length of these thematic sections. I prefer to see in BE 31 9 a mnemotechnic list to help remember the order in which the stones are confronted by Ninurta.” (Letter of 7-28-81.) 45 MSL 12 (1969) 28, 152; 14 (1979) 5. See also Hallo and van Dijk, Enheduanna (1968) 39 (5). 46 MSL 12 (1969) 27 f., 152; 14 (1979) 5; Hallo and van Dijk, Enheduanna pp. 38 f. (3 and 4). 47 But some, like UET 6 33 with 30 or more lines per side, look long even to us. Cf. H. Hunger, Babylonische und Assyrische Kolophone (AOAT 2, 1968) p. 7; CAD L s.v. liginnu.

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on an im-gíd-da dated Samsuiluna—/IX/2548 and the balance of the text (lines 19–33) on an im-gíd-da dated the following day.49 Or again, a certain Damqi-ili˜su copied lines 1–63 of the Disputation between Cattle and Grain on an im-gíd-da dated X/15 and lines 63–123 of the same composition on one dated X/25.50 If six of the intervening ten days were spent in school,51 then he was responsible for about 10 lines per day. Thus BE 31 9 is quite possibly a checklist of twenty successive assignments in a scribal school covering nearly a month’s work, since there were 23 and 24 schooldays in a month depending on whether it was a hollow month of 29 days or a full month of 30.52 And YBC 16317 may similarly represent assignments of type II tablets in a school situation. It has recently been suggested by Vanstiphout that some royal hymns were written less to glorify the king than to provide elementary illustrations of Sumerian grammar for the instruction of scribal students.53 He was alluding to compositions like Lipit-Iˇstar B (*24), which he has edited,54 noting that it never occurs in the literary catalogues, while Lipit-Iˇstar A (*23) occurs in two of them55 or rather, as we can say now, in five of them.56 At the same time, Sauren independently identified certain edubba"a-essays as ideally suited for instruction in Sumerian grammar, among them some, like dumu-é, which are listed in the catalogues (see above, Table 1).57 It seems, then, that the catalogues cannot be used as criteria for the level of instruction at which a text was employed. While lenticular school tablets probably serve to identify the most elementary levels of instruction, those of Type II seem to show connected literary texts at an intermediate stage of the curriculum. YBC 4654 (unpubl.). YBC 4606. Both texts are incorporated in the edition by P. Michalowski, The Royal Correspondence of Ur (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1976) pp. 200–213. 50 UET 6 33 f.; cf. Hunger, Kolophone p. 25, who reads X/14 and X/24 and notes another im-gíd-da of 60 lines inscribed by the same scribe on X/21 (UET 6/2 131). 51 Kramer, “Literary Texts from Ur VI, Part II,” Iraq 25 (1963) 174; “Modern Social Problems in Ancient Sumer: Evidence from the Sumerian Literary Documents,” in Edzard Gesellschaftsklassen (CRRA 18, 1972) p. 119; Hallo, “New Moons and Sabbaths: A Case-study in the Contrastive Approach,” HUCA 48 (1977) 12 f. 52 Hallo, HUCA 48 (1977) 12 f. 53 H. Vanstiphout, “How Did They Learn Sumerian?” JCS 31 (1979) 118–126. 54 Vanstiphout, “Lipit-Eˇstar’s Praise in the Edubba,” JCS 30 (1978) 33–61. 55 JCS 31 (1979) 123. 56 See above, Table 1, sub lugal mí-du -ga. 11 57 H. Sauren, “E -dub-ba-Literatur: Lehrbücher des Sumerischen,” Orientalia Lo2 vaniensia Periodica 10 (1979) 97–107. 48 49

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YBC 16317 and its analogues (above, Table 1), serve as further evidence to this effect. As Civil has seen,58 items 1–3 in the new catalogue, and perhaps the Kesh-hymn (see item 9) and the Enlil-hymn (dEn-líl sù-rá-ˇsè) “are the only ones (with the exception of proverbs and certain short tales) which are found in type II/2 exercise tablets.” Moreover, they were apparently studied in this order, given the discovery of exemplars of item 1 with the incipit of item 2 as catchline, and of the Enlil-hymn with the incipit of the Kesh-hymn as catchline,59 precisely the sequence found in the catalogues from Philadelphia, the Louvre, and Andrews University.60 But YBC 16317 is, apart from UET 5 86, the only catalogue to include lexical genres, and it is the first one to list them in some kind of systematic association with the standard literary texts of the (intermediate) scribal curriculum.

Civil, Studies Jacobsen, p. 145 n. 36. Civil, Studies Jacobsen, p. 145 n. 36. For another example of such a “catchline” see Sjöberg, ZA 63 (1973) 43 (1). See also Hallo, JCS 31 (1979) 161 n. 7 for balag-texts excerpted in the same order on excerpt tablets and in a catalogue text. 60 Above, nn. 8–10. In the Andrews University catalogue, I read the beginning of line 11 as [ná]m- nun -e. 58 59

iii royal and divine hymns

iii.1 ROYAL HYMNS AND MESOPOTAMIAN UNITY1

Falkenstein and Edzard have introduced the concept of Babylonian Intermediate Periods on the analogy of the Egyptian pattern. Apparently they construe unification as the norm of Babylonian political life, and periods of fragmentation as departures from this norm. This point of view has been questioned in a number of reviews of Edzard’s otherwise exemplary book on the so-called “Second Intermediate Period of Babylonia,”2 but these arguments are directed only against taking unification as the norm of political life. To quote my own review, “the periods of political unity which enclose Edzard’s two ‘intermediate’ periods are either too hypothetical (Uruk I and Kish I), too interrupted by disunity (Agade—Ur III), or too short (Hammurabi 30—Samsu-iluna 9) to qualify as norms of Babylonian political achievement, even if it can be shown (p. 3) that the Babylonians themselves regarded them as such.”3 This paper seeks to address itself to the latter question: can it be shown that, no matter what their actual experience, the Neo-Sumerian and Old Babylonian states of southern Mesopotamia regarded unification as a theoretical norm of their political thought, in short as a political ideal? There are, of course, a number of well-known grounds for an affirmative answer to this question, foremost among which is, perhaps, the Sumerian king list. This king list (like some of its Babylonian successors), has rightly come to be regarded as a political tract, designed to perpetuate the perfectly transparent fiction that Sumer and Akkad had, since the Flood, been united under the rule of a single king, albeit that king might come at any given time from any one of eleven different cities.4 Second, certain royal titles and epithets were, at any given 1 The substance of this paper was presented to the American Oriental Society, in Philadelphia, on March 30, 1961. 2 D.O. Edzard, Die “zweite Zwischenzeit” Babyloniens (1957). 3 Bibliotheca Orientalis 16 (1959) 235. 4 The restoration “11 [citie]s which exercised kingship” at the conclusion of one Nippur recension of the King List is now confirmed by a new fragment of a duplicate text from Nippur; cf. Hallo, JCS 17 (1963) 56, here: VI.1.

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time, the prerogative of just one dynasty, though the authority which the title implied might be quite as fictitious as the unity it was supposed to suggest. Thus the title “King of Ur,” or epithets like “supporter/husbandman/herdsman of Ur” were claimed by the kings of Isin from the collapse of Ur III through the early years of Enlil-bani, that is some eighty years after Isin had, perhaps peacefully,5 ceded actual control of Ur to Larsa. Nor was this claim, so far as is known, challenged during that time.6 Other titles, too, had a character that lifted them above local significance and were held by only one city or dynasty at a time7 and, what is equally revealing, some altogether unexpected epithets recur in totally different dynasties.8 Third, the “amphictyonic” league which I have tried to reconstruct for the Ur III period9 implies a specific kind of ideal unity far antedating the establishment of Ur’s hegemony under Ur-Nammu and Shulgi,10 and outlived it at least in the sense that the members of the amphictyony also constituted, by and large, the separate kingdoms of the Early Old Babylonian period, kingdoms which, it can be argued, preserved the internal peace of the Ur III period for more than a century.11 Fourth, the installation of his daughter as high-priestess of the moon-god Nanna at Ur seems to have been the prerogative of whatever king controlled the city of Ur at the time. At least five dynasties succeeded each other in the almost unbroken succession of these royal appointments that has now been established for the interval from Sargon of Akkad to Rim-Sin of Larsa12 and, whatever the basis of the prerogative may have been, there is no evidence for rival claimants to it even during periods of political upheaval. Indeed, the uniformly long tenures of these high-priestesses, from Enheduanna13 to Adad-guppi of

5 E.I. Gordon, “Lipit-Ishtar of Isin,” Allen Memorial Art Museum Bulletin (Oberlin, Ohio) 14/1 (1956) 20 f. 6 Hallo, AOS 43 (1957) 16–18; JNES 18 (1959) 57. 7 AOS 43: 150–155. 8 Ibid., 156; note especially the early Lagash epithet kur-gú-gar-gar DN revived by Nur-Adad of Larsa (ibid., 137). 9 JCS 14 (1960) 88–114. 10 Cf. especially Thorkild Jacobsen’s arguments for an early “Kengir league” in ZA 52 (1957) 99–109. 11 Hallo, Bibliotheca Orientalis 16 (1959) 238. 12 Edmond Sollberger, AfO 17 (1954–1956) 23–29, 45 f. 13 The special case of this daughter of Sargon must be considered separately in the light of her hymns to Innin; cf. for the present Adam Falkenstein, RA 52 (1958) 129–131.

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Harran,14 can only be explained on the assumption—most clearly validated in the case of Enannatumma15—of their immunity to dynastic change. Finally, we may briefly mention certain significant indications of national consciousness. There is, on the literary level, the perpetuation of the “historical tradition,”16 including the historical allusions in the omen literature,17 both serving to unify the separate traditions of the individual city-states. On the political level, there is the tendency to revive traditional royal names such as Sharruken and Naram-Sin. And on the religious level, the worship of the deified Gudea of Lagash in Ur III18 and of the deified Ur III kings in the Isin period19 attests to a feeling of temporal unity and implies a sense of spatial unity in Mesopotamian political thought. To this fairly impressive array of arguments, I would like to add another, from the so-called royal hymns. The term will be used here somewhat loosely to include all those Sumerian hymns which honor, pray for or otherwise commemorate specific kings, as well as certain related Sumerian texts such as laments, letters to gods and political correspondence mentioning kings. A significant number of these compositions expressly or indirectly attest to a kind of cosmic conception of Mesopotamian unity or, following Jacobsen’s analysis, they picture the assembly of the gods at Nippur as conferring supreme executive power (illil¯utu) on one of their number so that this deity might then confer its earthly equivalent on the king or e n s í of his or her city.20 That city was thus recognized, at least by the religious poetry, as prima inter pares and it should therefore be of interest to see which cities and dynasties were thus honored. The royal Sumerian hymns, in the narrower sense, have lately received a great deal of attention, and as a result we now know of over a hundred examples of this genre, though the number may decrease 14 Cf. most recently C.J. Gadd, “The Harran inscriptions of Nabonidus,” Anatolian Studies 8 (1958) 35–92. 15 Gordon, loc. cit. 16 H.G. Güterbock, ZA 42 (1934) 1 ff. 17 Albrecht Goetze, JCS 1 (1947) 253–265. 18 Nikolaus Schneider, Orientalia 9 (1940) 17–24, with the reservations of Sollberger, AfO 17 (1954–1956) 33, note 124 and Falkenstein, Neusumerische Gerichtsurkunden 1 (1956) 6, note 7. Admittedly all the evidence comes from Lagash itself so far. 19 TCL 15: 18 (AO 5374); cf. Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 83. 20 Apud H. and H.A. Frankfort, Before Philosophy, 207–213; ZA 52 (1957) 105 f. In other cases, supreme power is withdrawn in the same manner.

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slightly as fragmentary passages are shown to belong to single compositions. Seventy-three separate compositions were identified by Falkenstein in a survey of the genre in 1952.21 Some thirty additional examples can already be added to the list, chiefly from more recent publications. These are indicated in the ensuing footnotes which may serve as a provisional complement to Falkenstein’s list and to Lambert’s survey of Sumerian literature22 in which the royal hymns receive only scant attention.23 The bulk of these 100-odd compositions may be assigned to four major dynasties, with Ur and Isin boasting some forty each, and Larsa and Babylon up to ten each. Of these dynasties, only Ur is represented by all its kings, and these in rather divergent numbers, though the proportions are comparable to those established for the Neo-Sumerian royal inscriptions.24 Thus for Ur-Nammu, at least seven separate compositions can now be identified,25 for Shulgi some thirty,26 and for ShuSin four.27 Although Falkenstein no longer regards BE 29:1 iii f. as a

ZA 50 (1952) 61–63 with notes 2–10 (p. 61) and 1–7 (p. 62). M. Lambert, RA 55 (1961) 177–196; 56 (1962) 81–90. 23 Ibid., 81. Cf. also the brief notice by S.N. Kramer in The Bible and the Ancient Near East (= Albright AV, 1962), 263 f., notes 66–70. 24 Hallo, HUCA 33 (1962) 8. 25 The published texts listed by Falkenstein, ZA 50:61, note 2 have now been edited by G.R. Castellino, ZA 52 (1957) 17–57; 53 (1959) 106–131. Åke Sjöberg has identified TCL 15:38 as a syllabically written duplicate to SRT 11; cf. Orientalia Suecana 10 (1961) 3–11. Add CT 44 (1963) 16, previously published by Stephen Langdon, PSBA 40 (1918) 45 ff. and unpublished texts from Istanbul (cf. Orientalia 22 191) and Jena (cf. WZJ 5 761, Nos. 3, 24, 89, 116). 26 Using Falkenstein’s sigilla (ZA 50: 62 f.), Shulgi A can now be augmented by J.J.A. van Dijk, Sumer 13 (1967) 79B, and Shulgi D by Kramer et al., Orientalia 22 (1953) pls. xlviiif. (1st. Ni. 4571; cf. Falkenstein, Iraq 22 [1960] 146 f.). Shulgi I (BE 31: 54) belongs to the genre of royal correspondence; cf. Kramer, JAOS 60 (1940) 253, note 60, and note 1A-wi-il-la-ˇsa in 1. 16—the name is frequent in this genre—and the concluding catchline or colophon dI -bi-dEN.ZU lugal-mu-[ra ù-na-a-du11(?)]. Shulgi S (STVC 58) is not a hymn either; cf. below, note 32. Van Dijk, SGL 2 (1960) 13–15 has shown that Langdon, Babylonian Liturgies (1913) 195B is a hymn (a - d a - a b) for Shulgi, while Erica Reiner, Orientalia 30 (1961) 10, holds likewise for the bilingual text PBS 1/1 (1911) 11. New are CT 42 (1959) 40 (with duplicate SLTN 52) edited by Falkenstein, Iraq 22 (1960) 139–160, and TLB 2 (1957) 2, edited by van Dijk, Bibliotheca Orientalis 11 (1954) 85–88. Finally, at least two hitherto unknown titles of Shulgi-hymns appear in a Yale catalogue of royal hymns to be published by the writer; here: II.1. Among unpublished pieces are one each from Jena and Philadelphia (cf. Bernhardt and Kramer, WZJ 5 762 No. 33—not a hymn—and 6 393, note 2 ad no. 26) and 11 from Istanbul (cf. Orientalia 22 191). 27 To Falkenstein’s list, ZA 50 61, note 4, add now Kramer et al., Belleten 16 (1952) pl. lxvi and pp. 360–363 = University Museum Bulletin 17/2 (1952) 31–33 (Ni. 2461). Like 21 22

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hymn to Amar-Sin,28 that ruler figures in the “royal correspondence” of Ur III29 as do Shulgi, Shu-Sin, and Ibbi-Sin.30 In addition, the Ur III kings figure prominently in other literary categories such as law-codes (Ur-Nammu),31 disputations (Shulgi32 and Ibbi-Sin),33 love-songs34 and collections of royal inscriptions35 (Shu-Sin), and laments (Ibbi-Sin).36 At Isin, eight out of the first ten rulers, including all of the first seven, are represented by royal hymns, as follows: Ishbi-Irra: 5;37 Shu-ilishu: 2;38 Iddin-Dagan: 3;39 Ishme-Dagan: 14;40 Lipit-Ishtar: 5;41 Ur-Ninurta: 6;42

SRT 23, this text is really a love-song rather than a hymn; both texts carry the native designation b a l - b a l - e, “dialogue” (?). Three other Shu-Sin pieces are signalized from Istanbul and Jena. 28 Below, note 43. 29 Orientalia 22, pl. xl (Ni. 3803). 30 At present still largely unpublished; cf. most recently F.R. Kraus, AfO 20 (1963) 153. 31 Kramer and Falkenstein, Orientalia 23 (1954) 40–51 and pls. iv–vii. 32 Van Dijk, Bibliotheca Orientalis 11 (1954) 83, note 1 and 87, note 44. 33 Id., La Sagesse (1953) 46 f. (Summer and Winter). 34 Above, note 27. 35 See especially Edzard, AfO 19 (1959–1960) 1–32 and pls. i–iv. For other late copies of Ur III inscriptions, see HUCA 33: 24 ff. sub Ur-Nammu 7 iii, 27 ii, 37; Shulgi 4 ii, 54; Amar-Sin 3 ii; Shu-Sin 20 ii; Ibbi-Sin 9–10. 36 ZA 50 61, note 5. 37 Ibid., note 7; add one unpublished piece each from Yale and Istanbul (Orientalia 22 191). 38 Ibid., note 8. 39 Ibid., note 9. To the famous “sacred marriage” text, add now Kramer et al., Orientalia 22 (1953) pls. xliii–xlvi (Ni. 9802 + 4363) and Turk Arkeoloji Dergisi 8 (1959) pl. vii (Ni. 9635). Cf. also below, notes 96 f. 40 ZA 50 61, note 10. Add: Langdon, Babylonian Liturgies 196 (cf. van Dijk, SGL 2 15 f.), HS 1594 (unpublished), Orientalia 22 (1953) pl. li (Ni. 4105, Ni. 4391) and three other texts (ibid., p. 191). Note that SEM 112 duplicates TCL 15: 9 (Edzard, op. cit., 80, note 391). SRT 36 has now been edited by Castellino, RSO 32 (1957) 13–30. 41 ZA 50 62, note 1. Add: HS 1557 (unpublished); Kramer et al., Belleten 16 (1952) pls. lixf. (Ni. 9695), whose incipit recurs in the catalogue TMH n. F. 3 (1961) 53 67, and eight other Istanbul fragments copied by Mme. Kizilyay (Orientalia 22 191). With TCL 16: 48, lines 77 f., cf. the school-text Babyloniaca 9 (1926) 19, lines 1 f. (cf. Hallo, Israel Exploration Journal 12 22 f., note 43, here: I.1). To TCL 16:87 etc. (cf. Falkenstein, SAHG No. 27) add Kramer, University Museum Bulletin 17/2 25, fig, 12; the schooltext UET 1:296 duplicates TCL 16:87 v lines 6 f. (= lines 120 f. in SAHG 27). Note also the letter PBS 13:46 ii. Cf. also below, note 96. 42 ZA 50:62, note 2. VAT 9205 has now been edited by Falkenstein, ZA 52 (1957) 58–75. Add: van Dijk, Sumer 11 (1955) 110, no. 9 (with duplicate SLTN 137); VAT 8212 (cf. Falkenstein, ZA 49 149), and VAS 10:199 ii-9–iii 7 following Kramer, Belleten 16 (1952) 358, note 10 and Bibliotheca Orientalis 11 (1954) 172, note 19. The incipit of the latter composition recurs in the catalogue TMH n.F. 3 (1961) 54, line 11.

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Bur-Sin: 2.43 These are the very same Isin kings as are memorialized in certain Dumuzi liturgies between the kings of Ur III and an as yet unidentified dynasty or dynasties.44 The tradition resumes, and then just as abruptly stops again, as noted by Edzard,45 with Enlil-bani (2 hymns).46 Interestingly enough, it is precisely to the time of Enlil-bani that we may date the first royal hymn in honor of a king of Larsa, an unpublished one to Nur-Adad;47 for the last eleven years of NurAdad’s reign coincide with, the first eleven of Enlil-bani’s. The kings of Larsa continue to monopolize the poets’ attentions, though in much smaller measure than their predecessors, with Sin-iddinam represented by at least four compositions,48 Sin-iquisham by one,49 and Warad-Sin by one.50 Rim-Sin is the subject of a “letter to a god”51 and of a hymnlike incantation.52 Then the poets’ focus shifts to Babylon, where not only Hammurapi, the conqueror of Rim-Sin I,53 but also his first two successors, Samsu-iluna54 and Abi-eshuh,55 are found in this context. ˘ So far, it is clear, we have a virtually unbroken succession of royal hymns from Ur-Nammu to Abi-eshuh that is, from about 2100–1700 bc, ˘ and during these four hundred years, there is no evidence that more than one dynasty successfully competed for the poets’ attention at any one time even while they frequently succeeded in winning a share of the political hegemony. Admittedly this is an argument from silence. But it 43 BE 29:1 iii 37-iv 38 should be assigned to Bur-Sin of Isin; cf. Falkenstein apud Edzard, op. cit., 137, note 724. Another text of the same king is at Yale (unpublished). Here: III.3. 44 Cf. Edzard, ibid., 138–140 and above, note 19. 45 Ibid., 142 top. 46 ZA 50 62, note 3. OECT 1:10–12 has now been edited by A. Kapp, ZA 51 (1955) 76–87. 47 ZA 50 62, note 5; Edzard, op. cit., 145. 48 CT 42 (1959) 45; UET 5:86 (catalogue of hymns includes one to Sin-iddinam), and two Yale texts (unpublished). 49 VAT 8531 (unpubl.), translated by Falkenstein, SAHG 23; photo of obverse ibid., pl. 9. 50 The catalogue UET 5:86 lists one hymn to Warad-Sin. 51 TCL 15:35, edited by Raymond Jestin, RA 39 (1942–1944) 91–94. On this genre, see Falkenstein, ZA 44 (1938) 1–25; Analecta Biblica 12 (1959) 69–77; Kramer, ANET (1955) 382. 52 Gadd, Iraq 22 (1960) 157–165. 53 ZA 50 62, note 7. Add Orientalia 22 (1953) pl. lii (Ni. 4225) and one other Istanbul text (ibid., p. 191). Sjöberg has shown that TLB 2:3, “hymne autolaudatoire de Hammurabi,” is a copy of part of a bilingual stele of which numerous fragments have been published as UET 1:146 and YOS 9: 39–61; ZA 54 (1961) 51–70. 54 ZA 50 62, note 7. Add PBS 10/2:11 (Falkenstein, Archiv Orientalni 17/1 214). 55 ZA 50 62, note 7. Cf. now also CT 44 (1963) 18.

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is worth pursuing, for we have not yet exhausted the roster of royal compositions and must now consider five somewhat isolated examples which do not or may not belong to the dynasties already mentioned. The first is a hymn to Ba"u56 which Falkenstein translated in Sumerische und Akkadische Hymnen und Gebete as No. 9.57 It is designated as an a-da-ab hymn, a category that almost always includes references to a king, and indeed a king appears several times in it. But this king, in Falkenstein’s translation at least, is nameless, and all that can be said with some certainty is that he was a ruler of Lagash. It is possible that the poem is incomplete in its present form.58 For the urú-bi prayer which otherwise always closes the a-da-ab compositions (and only these) and which always includes the king’s name, is missing from this particular text, an omission which may be due to lack of space.59 On the other hand Kramer has found the king’s name in this text too, for he regards the lum-ma occurring repeatedly in it not as an epithet but rather as the well-known “Tidnum-name” of Eannatum.60 There is no need to choose here between the two positions, except to point out that there is nothing in the present text to suggest any extraordinary antiquity.61 It resembles the standard royal hymns in both form (except as noted) and content,62 and if it really refers to Eannatum it may be simply a late attempt to create a hymn in the new style for the long-deceased ruler. The first ruler definitely known to have been honored in a royal hymn in this style is Gudea of Lagash, and it is to him that I would be inclined to date the origin of the genre. The reference here is not to the Cylinders of Gudea, which may be regarded as the climax of a long

ˇ CT 36:39 f., republished by Anton Deimel, Sumerische Grammatik 2 (1939) 236 f. Other treatments ibid., 238–243; Maurus Witzel, Keilinschriftliche Studien 5 (1925) 159–170. For a rather different rendering, cf. Margarete Riemschneider, Augengott und Heilige Hochzeit (1953) 174 f. 58 Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 89, note 1. 59 Ibid., 92 and SAHG p. 364. For the uru-bi, see most recently ZA 52(1957) 69 ff. For the only uru-bi which mentions a city, not a king, see Sjöberg, Der Mondgott Nanna-Suen (1960) 42 top. 60 Bibliotheca Orientalis 11 (1954) 172, note 18. On the name Lumma (or Humma) see most recently Jacobsen, ZA 52 (1957) 131 f., note 90 (6) and Edzard, Genava˘8 (1960) 249 f., superseding Zwischenzeit 9, note 39 and therefore, in part, my critique of Hartmut Schmökel in JAOS 78 (1958) 307, note 8. 61 Cf. my forthcoming paper “On the antiquity of Sumerian literature” in JAOS 83 (1963), here: II.1. 62 Cf. above, note 20. 56 57

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tradition of “Old Sumerian” literature,63 but rather to a short hymn to Ba"u64 which answers the description given by Jacobsen (above) and resembles the preceding Ba"u hymn in other details as well. The third text that must be mentioned here is a short “Gottesbrief,” or letter addressed to a god, in this case Meslamtae"a, by Sin-kashid, king of Uruk.65 In contrast to the contemporary building inscriptions of this king, his name here is written with ka, not kà(GA). But even without this index, the script alone proves beyond doubt that what we have here is a school-copy, later by far than the time of Sin-kashid. In other words, he had also entered the select circle of rulers canonized by the scribal tradition. Whether this isolated example is evidence that he had met whatever requirements this claim to canonization implied may be left open here. But this question could be answered affirmatively without upsetting the scheme that has been suggested. For the date of Sin-kashid, though still uncertain, cannot have been far from either Enlil-bani of Isin or Nur-Adad of Larsa.66 One may even propose that his brief patronage of the Sumerian poets, if such it was, fell between the similar claims of those two rulers. A more difficult problem is posed by the newly published hymn to Anam of Uruk,67 whose activities date to the first years of RimSin of Larsa. This hymn, however, is not patterned after the standard royal hymns in structure; it was found at Uruk and, though its specific historical setting seems to be an action in favor of the citizens of Nippur, it may well be doubted whether it enjoyed more than local circulation. Anam, still a shadowy figure in spite of the new finds from Uruk, broke with inscriptional canons in other ways: his “private” building inscriptions are unparalleled in the millennial tradition of this genre,68 as is his studious avoidance of the royal title both in his inscriptions69 and in the hymn. In distinction from all the rest of the “Sin-kashid Cf. note 61. STVC 36 (from Nippur), translated by Falkenstein, SAHG No. 16. 65 TCL 16:58. Here: V.3. 66 Cf. Edzard, op. cit., 153, and now the detailed exposition by Falkenstein, Baghdader Mitteilungen 2 (1963). Nur-Adad and Enlil-bani were contemporaries from 1860– 1850 and Sin-kashid’s reign includes this period. Note also that Enlil-bani was the last ruler of Isin to mention Uruk in his titulary (AOS 43:7 f.; Edzard, op. cit., 77, note 375), and that this is the only city other than Isin which the Larsa kings never took over into their titles or epithets. 67 Falkenstein, Baghdader Mitteilungen 2:80–82 and pl. 13. 68 Ibid., 36; cf. Hallo, HUCA 33 (1962) 1, note 4. 69 AOS 43: 111. 63 64

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dynasty,” he chose a Sumerian name for himself 70 and for Irdanene his son,71 and the solicitude of both rulers for the citizens of Nippur72 may also betoken a special predilection for Sumerian traditions. The last text to be considered is a small fragment from Nippur copied by Mme. Ci˘g73 and described by Kramer.74 It mentions Damiqilishu and has therefore been assigned to the last king of the Isin dynasty by Edzard.75 Since there is little doubt of the hymnic character of the fragment, this attribution, if correct, would tend to disprove my argument from silence, and to show that a dynasty could re-enter the orbit of the Sumerian “national poetry” even after its preeminence had already passed to another city. Now it is true that Isin unfolded considerable strength in its last years, and Damiq-ilishu himself sparked a resurgence that led to his recapture of Isin for over ten years.76 However, the possibility also exists that we are dealing with a hymn to the Damiq-ilishu, not of Isin, but of the Sealand Dynasty. True, this king’s name is spelled Damqi-ilishu in the date formulas of Ammiditana which are the only contemporary indices for the writing of his name.77 But this is equally true of the Isin king in some Larsa date formulas,78 and is in any case not a compelling argument as was shown by the case of Sin-kashid of Uruk (above). On the other hand, there is some reason to believe that the Sealand did indeed consider itself the heir of the defunct Isin dynasty79 and of Sumerian traditions in general.80 Damiq-ilishu’s successors all took ever more ponderous and archaizing Sumerian names,81 and the presence of a separate “professor of Sumerian” at the Nippur schools of Hammurapi and Samsuiluna82 implies some ignorance of the language by the general run of students Falkenstein, Baghdader Mitteilungen 2:35, note 155. This relationship is now revealed by a date formula, ibid., 19,. 72 Ibid., 37. 73 Orientalia 22 (1953) pl. lii (Ni. 4428). 74 Ibid., 193. 75 Op. cit., 142, note 747. 76 Hallo, JNES 18 (1959) 58 f.; Bibliotheca Orientalis 16 (1959) 238. 77 Benno Landsberger, JCS 8 (1954) 69, note 178. Cf. also Barbara Morgan, Manchester Cuneiform Studies 2 (1952) 52. 78 Cf. e.g. YOS 5:223. 79 Schmökel, Geschichte des alten Vorderasien (1957) 112. 80 Ibid., 5. For a general estimate of the history and culture of the “Sealand,” see R.P. Dougherty, The Sealand of Ancient Arabia (= YOSR 19, 1932). 81 Landsberger, JCS 8:69 f. and notes 175–180. 82 Idem, International Congress of Orientalists 23 (1954) 125; Gadd, Teachers and Students (1956) 18. 70 71

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and teachers, and a source of native speakers from outside of Babylonia which may well have been the Sealand. Indeed, Landsberger has put forth the suggestion that Sumerian learning fled to the Sealand from about the time of Ammi-ditana to about the time of Agum II, i.e., in the middle portion of the Sealand Dynasty.83 This suggestion, based on the cryptic recipe for glassmaking fictitiously dated to the reign of Gulkishar, seems to find a legendary echo also in the Irra Epic.84 Later than this it would be unrealistic to look for true Sumerian royal hymns, for the post-Sumerian literature which begins about 1500 bc85 is conspicuously lacking in those categories which, in the neo-Sumerian literature, owed their “Sitz im Leben” to the cult of the deified king. Thus Chiera’s proposal to see in PBS 1/2:94 and 134 a hymn to the Kassite king Enlil-amah,86 i.e., Kadashman-Enlil,87 is inherently ˘ are duplicate versions of an Old Babyloimprobable. In fact these texts nian “Gottesbrief.”88 Thus we find the royal hymns and related genres attested for Gudea of Lagash, all five kings of Ur III, the rulers of Isin through Enlil-bani, possibly Sin-kashid and Anam of Uruk, the rulers of Larsa from NurAdad on, Hammurapi, Samsu-iluma and Abi-eshuh of Babylon, and ˘ possibly Damiq-ilishu of the Sealand. It could, of course, be argued that the royal hymns were first composed, not in the lifetime of these kings, but more or less posthumously. This must indeed be the case, for example, with PBS 10/2:6, the Ur-Nammu composition which details his death and burial. But the apparent duplicate HS 145089 preserves the last line of this text and suggests that it actually belongs to the category of lamentations90 or liturgies for the dead.91 In spite of occasional anachronisms, there are strong indications that at least some of the hymns were contemporary with the rulers they honored, most notably where their incipits are preserved in contemporary catalogues,92 or where the texts we possess can be shown to have been

83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92

JCS 8 70, note 181. Notably in the passages quoted by Miss Reiner, Orientalia 30 (1961) 9 f. Falkenstein, MDOG 85 (1953) 1–13. AJSL 39 (1922) 40. F.M. Th. Boehl, AfO 5 (1928) 248 f. Falkenstein, ZA 44 (1938) 1; SAHG No. 41 (translation). Castellino, ZA 53 (1959) 131. Kramer cited ibid. So Lambert, RA 55 (1961) 196 ad No. 74. Above, note 26.

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copies93 or duplicates94 of stele inscriptions. For it is difficult to imagine that later generations would go to the length of newly incising on stone hymns to deceased rulers. It can also be argued that ‘local and historical considerations intervened’ in the selection of royal hymns for the libraries and the scribal curriculum.95 In other words, there may have been “extra-canonical” compositions adhering more or less to the standards of style and format set at Nippur but circulating only in the scribal centers directly controlled by the relevant dynasts. Such compositions might explain the possibly concurrent appearance of hymns to Enlil-bani and Damiqilishu (but see above) of Isin at Nippur and of texts devoted to Sinkashid and Anam of Uruk or to the kings of Larsa from Nur-Adad to Rim-Sin, none of which have hitherto appeared on Nippur copies. What must be pointed out, however, is that even within this hundredyear period, the hymns to the earlier Isin kings continued to form part of the scribal curriculum, not only at Nippur, but also at a variety of scribal centers not subject to Isin, as revealed by newly identified schooltexts with short extracts of Isin hymns from Larsa,96 Uruk,97 Ur98 and an unidentified site.99 If then all the proposed attributions and dates are granted, the extent of our genre can be said to cover close to five hundred years and as many as seven different dynasties. At no time is there a certain gap of even so much as a generation between the rulers or dynasties commemorated in the genre. The biggest assured gap lies within the dynasty of Isin, where the absence, to date, of Sumerian compositions mentioning Lipit-Enlil and Irra-imitti (1873–1861) may be connected with the

93 So the Ur-Nammu hymn TCL 15:12 according to Falkenstein, Iraq 22 (1960) 147, and the Ishme-Dagan hymn SRT 13 according to Sjöberg, ZA 54 (1961) 70. 94 Above, note 53. 95 Lambert, RA 56 (1962) 81; but the case in point cited there illustrates the hazards of this line of reasoning, for the discovery that SLTN 137 duplicates the new Ur-Ninurta hymn Sumer 11:110 (above, note 42) invalidates the contention that “pour une raison qui reste à déterminer, Nippur a probablement banni de ses rayons le nom de ce prince.” 96 Falkenstein, Baghdader Mitteilungen 2:42, note 190. 97 Ibid., 41 f. and note 190. 98 Above, note 41. 99 Above, note 41. Cf. also Falkenstein’s conclusion “dass damals im Kreise der sumerisch gebildeten Priesterschaft, und generell aller literarisch Gebildeten, die alten ‘Königshymnen’ geläufiger geistiger Besitz gewesen sind,” Archiv Orientální 17/1 (1949) 214.

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breach of the long peace between Isin and Larsa after 1897.100 Yet, at the same time, there is no certain case of contemporaries from different dynasties being honored simultaneously by what may be regarded as the “canonical” tradition of hymnography, although the century of maximum political turmoil (ca. 1865–1763) may perhaps be reflected by a temporary breakdown in the hegemony of the canonical tradition. It is this relatively brief period, including as it does the upheavals further north and involving also Eshnunna, Assur and Mari, which can truly be described as the “period of warring kingdoms”101 or even, if one wishes, as an “intermediate period.” For the rest, the Early Old Babylonian hymnography supplies a powerful argument in favor of the theoretical concept of Mesopotamian unity, recognizing a single dynast as the earthly holder of a divinely granted primacy over his fellowrulers, be these kings or ensí’s, in times of imperial unification as well as of petty-statism. Whether this recognition depended on the possession of Nippur102 or on some other factor is a question which cannot be answered here. But this much seems clear: the Early Old Babylonian period was not a departure from the norm, but as true an expression of the amphictyonic ideal as the age of Shulgi that it followed or the age of Hammurapi that it ushered in.

100 101 102

Above, note 11. Cf. Bibliotheca Orientalis 16 (1959) 238, note 27. Thus, at least tentatively, Edzard, op. cit., 103.

iii.2 THE CORONATION OF UR-NAMMU

The brief but brilliant literary productivity of Ur is second, as of now, only to that of Nippur in the Old Babylonian age, and it is therefore of particular interest to compare the oeuvre of the “Ur school” with that of other centers, and especially Nippur.1 It exhibits on the one hand striking similarities and on the other impressive differences, both in its roster of compositions and in its treatment of the traditional texts.2 To illustrate the latter point, I wish to compare the new Ur-Nammu hymn from Ur (UET VI/1: 76 f.) with an unpublished parallel from the Yale Babylonian Collection.3 While there is no intention to anticipate the edition of the Ur copies (to which the coauthors of UET VI/1 rightfully have the priority), it is hoped that this juxtaposition will underline the fact that the fixation of many neo-Sumerian texts was a continuing process which was far from having run its course when the Ur exemplars were prepared. At the same time, it should help to show that literary texts may contain significant historical material. The Yale text has a perfectly balanced structure which is entirely lacking in the Ur versions. It begins4 and ends with two five-line stanzas in which Ur-Nammu is spoken of in the third person as if by a chorus, followed (respectively preceded) by two couplets addressing UrNammu (?) in the second person. Its central and major portion is a self-predication recited by Ur-Nammu in the first person. As such, it is ˇ comparable to Sulgi A and other royal hymns of self-praise which share a common absence of liturgical classification (other than z à - m í) and are therefore attributed by Falkenstein to the courtly ceremonial rather

1 Presented, in substance, to the 175th meeting of the American Oriental Society, Chicago, April 14, 1965. 2 Cf. my review of UET VI/1 JCS 20 (1966), pp. 89–93. 3 YBC 4617; provenience unknown, but the orthography is strictly “Nippurian.” The copy will be included in a projected volume of Sumerian royal hymns and related genres from the Yale Babylonian Collection. 4 Actually 6 lines but an error may be assumed.

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than to the temple cult.5 The following paraphrase is based on the Yale version, with restorations from the Ur versions.6 In the introduction, the poet (or chorus) asks; “Who will dig the canal which purifies the reservoir and cleanses the ditches?”7 and answers: “Divine Ur-Nammu, the wealthy one, will dig it, the effective youth,8 the rich one, will dig it.” He (or it) then turns to Ur-Nammu and acclaims him king “by Enlil (and) the lord Aˇsimbabbar.” The body of the hymn begins with Ur-Nammu describing his election to kingship in Nippur by Enlil: “I am chosen in Sumer and Akkad, in Nippur, the mountain of life, he has made my fate good for me, I have ‘looked’ upon his shining forehead, kingship has been given to me.” Next, the king describes his investiture in Ur, ticking off the standard regalia:9 throne, crown,10 scepter, staff and crook. The third step in this process, preserved only in the Yale text, is a fragmentary reference to confirmation by the divine triad of Sin (Aˇsimbabbar), Enlil and Enki.11 The rest of the self-predication consists entirely of a variation on the theme of royally inspired fertility.12 Ur-Nammu, having dug a canal of abundance for Ur, and given it a name, now boasts of his city as one whose watercourses13 are fish and whose overflow is fowl, whose canals ZA 50 (1952) 91. For complete transliteration and translation, see appendix. 7 i -pa (B: p á ? ) - b i - l u h. Actually this is a name rather than an epithet (cf. line 24). 7 5 It recurs in CT 15: 16: 13930: 6 in parallelism with Tigris and Euphrates; cf. A. Falkenstein, Sumerische und akkadische Hymnen und Gebete (1953) 81:56 and Å. Sjöberg, Der Mondgott Nanna-Suen (1960) 46:6, where line 3 can perhaps be restored as i 7 - [ ( g i ˇs ) k e ˇs d a - k ù - g ] e etc. 8 S ˇ u l - z i. This epithet, which is also applied to Ur-Nammu in SRT 11: 43, was converted by the Ur scribe into d ˇs u l - g i in a mistake which, however, tends to confirm the ˇ reading of the royal name. For SUL - z i as a variant spelling of s u - z i, cf. Falkenstein, Bi. Or. 6 (1949) 54. 9 For the first three, cf. Falkenstein, Ar. Or. 17/1 (1949) 221. 10 Omitted in the Yale version, perhaps metris causae, since it disturbs the strict strophic parallelism of the two central stanzas (3/2/2/2/2/2 each). 11 The end of line 19 can perhaps be restored with the help of UET VI/1: 76, though the traces in the Yale version look more like i - b a - T [ E - . . . ] than like i - b a - e - [ n e ], “they bestow.” For i - with - b a cf. HUCA 33 (1962) 16 f., notes 132, 146. 12 For this topos and the related one of divinely inspired fertility, cf. Falkenstein, ZA 47 (1942) 197–200; AfO 16 (1952 f.) 60; Sumerische und akkadische Hymnen und Gebete (1953) 101 and 361; SGL 1 (1959) 23 f.; Landsberger, JNES 8 (1949) 281, note 110; Kramer, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 107 (1963) 501 (= CT 42 ii 19-iii 4) and correct my reference in Israel Exploration Journal 12 (1962) 19, note 32, here: I.1 accordingly. 13 a - r á - a - ( b i ), variant: a - r á - b i = alaktu. (I owe this suggestion to my student 5 6

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produce grass and honey, and are filled with carp, whose cows eat in the canebrake and whose fields grow grain like a forest. He concludes with the hope that his canal may continue to produce. Now the chorus replies to Ur-Nammu in a somewhat obscure couplet which mentions Eridu, and then concludes with a mosaic of royal titles and epithets, a reference to the king’s brilliance,14 and the usual closing doxology: “Oh divine Ur-Nammu, king of Ur, your praise is sweet.” So much for the Yale version. Space prevents me from detailing all its divergences from the Ur versions.15 But they may be illustrated by the concluding stanza, for this has a particular significance. Of the five titles and epithets attributed to Ur-Nammu in this passage, only the first, “king of the four quarters,” survives more or less intact in the Ur version. The rest are wholly or largely changed. They thus may legitimately serve to date the Vorlagen of the respective exemplars, at the same time that they underline the danger of using Sumerian literary texts to reconstruct the history of the Mesopotamian titulary.16 Let us look first at the Yale version, which reads: “King of the four quarters, who satisfies the heart of Enlil, divine Ur-Nammu, provider of Nippur, sustainer of Ur.” The divine determinative was used, in their lifetime, by all the kings of Ur and Isin except Ur-Nammu, while the title “king of Ur” was borne by all the kings of the Third Dynasty (ca. 2111–2004 bc), passed ˇ from them to the early kings of Isin (Su-iliˇ su to Lipit-Iˇstar, ca. 1984– 1924), and from these to the middle kings of Larsa (Gungunum to Abisare, ca. 1932–1895).17 But the other titles and epithets had a much more limited usage in the same span of time.18 The title “king of the four quarters” was not employed by Ur-Nammu at all, and by Raphael Kutscher.) One could also translate; “Whose increase is fish, whose surplus is fowl,” taking a - r á - a = alaktu in the mathematical sense of “multiplication factor,” “times.” 14 The notion that the king brings light to the country (both day and night?) is also a frequent topos, if less thoroughly elaborated than that of fertility; cf. eg. CH i 40–44: ki-ma dUTU a-na SAG. GI6 wa- s. e-em-ma ma-tim nu-wu-ri-im. 15 See below, Appendix. Note the partly syllabic orthography of the Ur version, especially in its second half. For another syllabically written Ur-Nammu hymn, cf. Sjöberg, loc. cit, (below, note 32). 16 My methodological reluctance to do so in Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles (= American Oriental Series 43, 1957) seems vindicated against the implied or expressed objections of some of its reviewers; cf. especially J.J.A. van Dijk, ZA 55 (1963) 270–272. 17 Cf. simply the summaries in Hallo, Titles, 150–156. 18 ˇs à - d e n - l í l - l á - d u 10 is not considered a title or epithet here. For the (otiose?) - e n in d u 10 - g e - e n, cf. now possibly J. Krecher, ZA 57 (1965) 29 f.

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Iˇsme-Dagan of Isin alone among Early Old Babylonian rulers.19 The epithets “provider of Nippur” and “sustainer of Ur” were peculiar to Iˇsme-Dagan, and only the former was revived briefly by the later Larsa kings in two rather curious inscriptions.20 It thus seems wholly reasonable to conclude that the prototype of the Yale version of this UrNammu hymn dates back to the time of Iˇsme-Dagan of Isin (ca. 1953– 1935); obviously it is blithely indifferent to the proper titles of UrNammu himself. It is less easy to date the prototype of the Ur exemplars by this means. These read: “king in heaven (and) the four quarters, favorite of Enlil, provider of Sumer and Akkad, beloved of Enlil.” The epithet “favorite of Enlil” recurs only in a late copy of an Ammi-ditana inscription,21 while “provider of Sumer and Akkad” is entirely unknown in the monumental texts.22 “Beloved of Enlil” is an epithet attested, in ˇ its Sumerian and Akkadian forms, no less than four times for Su-Sin 23 of Ur, and for no other king in the late third or early second millennium. But it does not appear to be original here, following as it does on the Enlil epithet of the preceding line. It would therefore be rash to conclude that the prototype of the Ur exemplars dates back ˇ to the reign of Su-Sin, or even that it antedates that of the Yale text at all. Perhaps most revealing in this connection is the absence of the “king of Ur” title in the Ur versions, for until the breach of the long peace between Isin and Larsa after 1897 bc,24 this had been an undisputed part of the Mesopotamian titulary for over two hundred years (see above.) Hardly less significant is the consistent omission of the “determinative of divinity” before Ur-Nammu’s name, for this usage was maintained in all the royal inscriptions of the later neo-Sumerian and Early Old Babylonian periods except in part for those emanating from the successors of Gungunum of Larsa.25 On this evidence it would

19 Hallo, Titles 52–54, where the reference to “Iˇsme-Dagan 9” (YOS 9: 25 and Sumer 13:182), implied on p. 152, should be added. 20 Ibid. 147, note 2. 21 Ibid. 139 f. (LIH 100). 22 Its substitution for “provider of Nippur” in the Yale text is interesting in the light of the conclusion that the possession of Nippur was the basis of the title “king of Sumer and Akkad”; ibid. 83–85, 126 f. 23 Cf, Su-Sin ˇ 1, 2, 5 and 14 in my bibliography of Ur III royal inscriptions, HUCA 33 (1962) 23–43. 24 JCS 17: 118, here: III.1. 25 Hallo, Titles, 60–63.

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therefore appear that the Ur versions originated in the latter part of the nineteenth century bc, perhaps as much as a century after the Yale version. All this does not mean, however, that the hymn I have described and others like it are totally worthless as a historical source.26 On the contrary, the hitherto available Ur-Nammu hymns can all to some extent be correlated with independent evidence from archaeological, monumental, or other literary sources and thereby shown to contain an authentic historical kernel. These hymns already add up to something like a poetic biography of the monarch.27 In the poem that apparently opens the cycle,28 Ur-Nammu is referred to exclusively by his early title of “king of Ur.” He is first called to “lordship” ( n a m - e n - n a ); he is given the royal title ( m u - d u10 ), he establishes justice, and for good measure he is also credited with taming the Gutians. That UrNammu, alone among Ur III kings, claimed the lordship of Uruk is confirmed by his inscriptions, though their exact date and significance is in dispute.29 The allusion to his role as lawgiver is paralleled from his contemporary inscriptions30 and now substantiated by the discovery of his lawcode31 which, analogy suggests, was promulgated very early in his reign. The warfare against the Gutians, unrecorded in his preserved date formulas, must also fall into the early part of his reign, or even into the period of his vassal status as governor of Ur under Utuhegal of Uruk, the conqueror of the Gutians (see below). All these ˘ events certainly antedate Ur-Nammu’s rebuilding of the Ekur, the great temple of Enlil at Nippur, an achievement commemorated in another hymn,32 and amply attested also by contemporary inscriptions datable to the latter part of Ur-Nammu’s reign.33 The concluding chapter of Ur-Nammu’s poetic biography is represented by a composition which 26 So Gadd, CAH I2 fasc. 28, (1965) 6: “But the style of boast and flattery . . . which swelled these courtly compositions . . . is destitute of real information upon the actual events of the reign or upon the personality of the monarch.” 27 Cf. the brief summary by Gadd, ibid. For bibliographical details, cf. JCS 17: 113, note 25, here: III.1 and add Chiera, Catalogue of the Babylonian Cuneiform Tablets in the Princeton University Library (1921) p. 28 No. Ex 389 = SRT p. 23 ad No. 11. 28 TRS 12, edited by G. Castellino, ZA 53 (1959) 118–131. 29 Hallo, Titles, 7 and notes 1–3; cf. van Dijk, ZA 55 (1963) 270 f. 30 Ur-Nammu 28. 31 Cf. below, note 73. 32 SRT 11; cf. Castellino, ZA 53 (1959) 106–118; Falkenstein, SAHG 17; Åke Sjöberg, Orientalia Suecana 10 (1961) 3–11. 33 Hallo, Titles, 82; Ur-Nammu 3 and 16 in my bibliography (above, note 23).

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describes his death and burial.34 Even this event is archaeologically confirmed in the sense that the discovery of the massive hypogaeum of the neo-Sumerian kings at Ur suggests an equally elaborate ceremonial interment.35 Into this sequence it is less easy to place the two newly republished Ur-Nammu hymns copied by Pinches.36 But our own hymn fits into it readily. In spite of its apparent preoccupation with irrigation and agriculture, it is really concerned with Ur-Nammu’s coronation, based on his contributions (perhaps “out of pocket”) to the building of canals at Ur, and the resulting fertility of the city. The coronation and enthronement of Ur III kings is attested by both literary and archival texts. Thus the well-known hymn to Enlil called d e n - l í l - s ù d u - ˇs è commemorated a royal enthronement according to Falkenstein, who edited it.37 It shares with our hymn the subscript “your praise is sweet/exalted,”38 and the alternation between (first,) second and third persons, almost as if different persons were speaking or addressed in turn. And Edmond Sollberger has edited a number of archival texts from the reign of Ibbi-Sin which refer to the coronation of that king.39 This is celebrated in Nippur, Uruk and Ur,40 presumably because Nippur is the religious center, Ur the political capital and Uruk, from all indications, the ancestral home of the dynasty (see below). Such multiple coronations are familiar from later usage both within and beyond Mesopotamia.41 It is therefore instructive to note that three cities also figure in our “coronation hymn.” Two of them, Nippur (line 12) and Ur (line 14 and, in another context, lines 22–34), are the same, but Uruk is replaced by Eridu.42 The chief deities of Nippur, Ur and Eridu, and these

PBS 10/2:6 (and HS 1450), edited by Castellino, ZA 52 (1957) 17–57; cf. ZA 53 (1959) 131 f. 35 Cf. Woolley, Antiquaries Journal 11 (1931) 345–359 and pls. xli–xlv; 12 (1932) 357–363 and pls. lix f. 36 CT 44: 16. 37. Cf. lines 5 f. 37 Sumerische Götterlieder 1 (1959) p. 10. 38 Ibid. 7 f., 107. 39 JCS 7 (1953) 48–50; 10 (1956) 18–20. 40 Jacobsen, JCS 7 (1953) 36, note 2. 41 Cf. e.g. the coronation of Assyrian kings in Nineveh and Harran to which J. Lewy has called attention in HUCA 19 (1946) 456 ff. 42 Perhaps Uruk was still too closely identified with Ur-Nammu’s late sovereign, Utuhegal, while Ur-Nammu’s coronation signalled the transfer of the hegemony from Uruk ˘ Ur (see below). to 34

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alone,43 figure in our hymn and each of them under two names or aspects: Enlil of Nippur also as Nunamnir, Sin of Ur44 also as Aˇsimbabbar, and Enki of Eridu also as Nudimmud.45 The association between Enlil and Sin (Aˇsimbabbar) is particularly stressed,46 reflecting the common hymnic conception according to which Enlil, as chief executive of the divine assembly at Nippur, confers a portion of his “Enlilship” (illil¯utu) on the god of a particular city (in this case the moongod of Ur) so that the latter may in turn pass it on to the mortal he has chosen as king.47 What, then, does the new hymn add to our knowledge concerning the circumstances of Ur-Nammu’s accession? To answer this question, we must first review what is already known on this subject from the other literary sources, and also from the monuments and archives. As is well-known, the inscriptions of Ur-Nammu after his accession are so laconic that they reveal next to nothing directly about his rise to power except that, early in his reign, he declared Ur’s independence48 by the classic device of building the walls of the city49 and, a little later, occupied himself, more than any other neo-Sumerian king,50 with irrigation.51 Indirectly, Ur-Nammu’s royal inscriptions demonstrate his close connection with Uruk, as does the evidence of the literary texts. Thus, Ur-Nammu invokes Ninsun of Uruk—or, more precisely, of Uruk-

43

If Utu occurs in UET VI/1:77:12, it is only in the sense of “daylight” like i t i x (UD. for “moonlight” in the corresponding line of the Yale version. 44 Note that the moongod does not appear as Nanna in the text. 45 Note that the Ur versions again lack this structural virtuosity. 46 Lines 7 f., 18 f. 47 Cf. JCS 17:113 and note 21, here: III.1. 48 On the “pattern of usurpation,” cf. my remarks in JNES 15 (1956) 221, 18 (1959) 55; Bi. Or. 16 (1959) 237 f. Still another element in the pattern is the change of theoˇ phoric names like Puzur-Sulgi to Puzur-Numuˇsda at Kazallu, i.e. from such as honor the sovereign to ones honoring the local deity; cf. Gadd, CAH I2 fasc. 28 (1965) 21. 49 Cf. the date formula of RTC 269 and ITT IV 7547 (Sollberger, AfO 17:12) and the inscription “Ur-Nammu 9” (SAKI 186b etc.). For the early date of these bricks, cf. Hallo, Titles, pp. 79, 82. 50 The only other inscriptionally attested project of this kind in Ur III is the reservoir ˇ ˇ (g i sˇ - k é sˇ - d u) of Sulgi at Adab (“Sulgi 8” = OIP 14:37–39). Cf. also J. Nougayrol, RA 41 (1947) 23–26, for the reservoir of Ugme of Lagaˇs. 51 Cf. “Ur-Nammu 22–24, 27–28” (HUCA 33:26 f.) and the date formulas “g” (= ˇ Sulgi 2 or 3 according to Kraus, Or. 20 [1951] 392–394, but against this hypothesis cf. now, in addition to Sollberger’s arguments, also Goetze, Iraq 22 (1960) 156 iii) and “h”; Sollberger, AfO 17 (1954–1956) 12 f. Cf. also Hallo, Titles, 82, and on the whole question, Th. Jacobsen, “The waters of Ur,” Iraq 22 (1960) 174–185 and pi. xxviii. dNANNA)

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Kullab—as his personal deity ( d i n g i r - r a - n i ).52 Similarly, in hymns to ˇ both Ur-Nammu and Sulgi, Gilgameˇs of Uruk-Kullab is referred to as friend and brother, and Lugalbanda and Ninsun are addressed as father and mother.53 Moreover, the composition of a whole cycle of epics concerning the First Dynasty of Uruk, appropriately termed “La Geste d’Uruk” by Maurice Lambert,54 can probably be dated to the Third Dynasty of Ur: the exclusive preoccupation of Sumerian epic literature with Uruk can hardly be explained other than on the assumption that the court at Ur considered Itself the legitimate successor to Uruk. For this pattern recurs at least twice: the dynasty of Agade provided much of the inspiration for the Akkadian “historical tradition,” probably created under the First Dynasty of Babylon, and the Third Dynasty of Ur, in its turn, seems to have absorbed the attention of the poets of Isin, whose royal patrons regarded themselves as heirs of Ibbi-Sin.

52 “Ur-Nammu 15” = UET I 47. The intensely personal nature of the relationship implicit in this epithet is clear from the fact that each king applied it to only one deity, while he called numerous deities his “king” or “queen.” Note, e.g., for the periods here under discussion, these kings and their personal deities as culled from the monuments, cited in part according to my bibliographies in HUCA 33 and Bi. Or. 18:

Gudea: Ningizzida (passim) Ur-Nammu: Ninsun (Ur-Nammu 15) Sin-kaˇsid: Lugal-banda (Sin-kaˇsid 8) Ur-dukuga: Dagan (Ur-dukuga 1) Damiq-iliˇsu: Martu (Damiq-iliˇsu 2) Rim-Sin: Nergal (Rim-Sin 12) In private ex-voto’s inscribed on behalf of the king, it is not always certain whether the deity invoked is the personal god of the king or of the donor: Nammahni: Nin-ˇsubur (Déc. en Chaldée pl. 44bis 5) ˘ ˇ ˇ Sulgi: Meslamtaea (Sulgi 37) Ibbi-Sin: Meslamtaea (Ibbi-Sin 4) Gungunum: Dagan (Gungunum 2) Hammurapi: Martu (Dussaud, Monuments Piot 33 [1933]1) Note that Ninsun is the only goddess in the above list, and that Ur-Nammu elsewhere (cf. the next note) refers to her as his mother. It thus seems possible to extend the concept of the personal deity to goddesses referred to, in the inscriptions, as “mother” of the king and, by extension, to widen the above list by regarding the royal d u m u DNx epithet as identifying DNX as the personal god or goddess of the king. (For these deities see Hallo, Titles, 134–136.) Note also that, in Sin-kaˇsid 8, the expressions “Lugalbanda his god” and “Ninsun his mother” stand in parallelism. 53 Falkenstein, ZA 50 (1951) 73–77 ad Sulgi ˇ A 7; cf. also the Ur-Nammu lawcode (below note 73), where Ur-Nammu is called dumu-tu-da-dnin-sun. 54 RA 55 (1961) 181 f.

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The actual circumstances of Ur-Nammu’s accession, however, must be reconstructed from texts that antedate it, notably from fragments of two limestone steles55 dedicated on behalf of Utu-hegal by a person ˘ whose name and title were restored as Ur-[Nammu], governor (GÍR. [NITA]) of Ur, by Gadd and Legrain,56 followed by Jacobsen.57 It has even been suggested that Ur-Nammu was a son or other close relative of Utu-hegal, and for this reason his governor at Ur, much as the ˘ military governors (ˇsakkanakku’s) at Uruk (and elsewhere) in the Ur III period were drawn from among the innumerable progeny of the kings of Ur.58 Certainly the two cities had a venerable history of dynastic and administrative union behind them.59 Other inscriptions of Utu-hegal also bear on the problem. Apart ˘ from the late and almost hymnic versions of his fight against the Gutians, these inscriptions are all clay cones commemorating what appears to be a single event: the revision of the boundary between Ur and Lagaˇs in favor of Lagaˇs.60 The longest version refers to the ruler or governor of Ur as the “man of Ur,” but this need not have been Ur-Nammu, as Gadd insists.61 It could have been the Luˇsaga whose “boundary cone”62 seems to have tried to assert the independence of Ur by the more modest device of acknowledging only the Moongod of Ur,63 not Utu-hegal or any other sovereign, as his king, rather than ˘ by claiming the royal title for himself;64 this Luˇsaga, in turn, may or may not have been identical with the donor of a private ex-voto to Bau UET I 30 f. Ibid., p. 7. 57 The Sumerian King List (= AS 11, 1939) 202, note 31. 58 Sollberger, AfO 17 (1954–1956) 12, note 8. Cf. also Hallo, Titles, 105, where note 2 should be corrected to read “YOSR IV/2: 31 and note 2; 33 and note 3,” and BIN V 316 added to the documentation. 59 To the evidence adduced in Hallo, Titles, 4–20, one may possibly add the cases of Kuruda and Ur-Utu, two rulers of the Fourth Dynasty of Uruk in the King List who may or may not have been identical with, respectively, a priest of Innin at Ur (YOS IX 10) and an e n s í of Ur under Naram-Sin (RTC 83; cf. Sollberger, AfO 17:30; H. Hirsch, AfO 20:24, note 256). 60 These clay cones exist in three versions; to the exemplars listed by Sollberger, AfO 17:12, note 7, add now Edzard, Sumer 13 (1957) 175: 2 (8 and 9 line versions). Note also YOS IX 112 and B. Schwartz, New York Public Library Bulletin 44:807 ff.:16 f. 61 CAH I2 fasc. 28 (1965) 4. 62 Edzard, Sumer 13 (1957) 181. 63 Even the governor of another city (Enlila-iˇsag, ensí of Nippur) dedicated an inscription at Ur to “Nanna, king of Ur,” presumably at this time (UET I 87). 64 For this practice, cf. the references above, note 49, especially Bi. Or. 16:237. For the Florentine parallel there cited, and others, see now M. Treves, Velus Testamentum 10 55 56

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of Lagaˇs.65 Or again, the “man of Ur” in the Utu-hegal cones could ˘ have been the Namhani who appears under this designation in an ˘ archival text66 and who, in his turn, may or may not be identical with the homonymous governor ( e n s í ) of Umma in the time of Iarlagan of Gutium67 and with the Nammah(a)ni, governor ( e n s í ) of Lagaˇs, whose ˘ inscriptions are known, in at least one instance,68 from Ur itself. This Nammahni is almost certainly the last “independent” gover˘ nor of Lagaˇs;69 his viceroy was Ur-abba,70 son of Utukam the overseer ( u g u l a ).71 Ur-Nammu defeated Nammahni,72 but retained Ur˘ abba as governor of the defeated city, as shown by his early dateformulas.73 Probably it was at this time that virtually all the monuments of Nammahni at Lagaˇs were systematically defaced, with a spe˘ cial effort to erase the defeated ruler’s name, as well as that of his wife Ninhedu; the effort was so nearly successful that it has escaped notice ˘ so far. As sovereign of both Lagaˇs and Ur, Ur-Nammu emphatically restored in Ur’s favor the border which Utu-hegal had redrawn for ˘ Lagaˇs.74 Summing up, then, we may say that Ur under Ur-Nammu was heir to a long history of dynastic and administrative union with both Uruk and Lagaˇs, a partnership in which Ur had fallen to a low estate vis(1960) 430 f. For another Old Babylonian example, cf. S. Simmons, JCS 14 (1960) 26, ˇ where Bel-gaˇsir is addressed as king of Saduppûm. 65 YOS I 9. 66 S.L. Langdon, Babyloniaca 7 (1923) 67: N a m - h a - n i AB.SE ˇ S.KI ˇ - a (early neoSumerian). 67 YOS 113. Cf. C.H. Johns, PSBA 38 (1916) 199 f. 68 According to Burrows, Antiquaries Journal 9 (1929) 340, “on a brick Nam-mah-ni of Lagash is for the first time represented at Ur.” 69 Sollberger, AfO 17: 31 f. Note, however, that a slight revision of the genealogy proposed there seems required on the combined evidence of Golenishev No. 5 (see next note) and SAKI 62: 13, as follows:

70 V.K. Shileico, Zapiski vostoˇ cnogo otdêlênija . . . 25 (1921) 138 f. No. 2 (= Golenishev 5152). 71 G. Cros, NFT241. 72 According to his lawcode; cf. Kramer, Or. 23 (1954) 40–48. For the problem of the spelling of his name there, cf. Falkenstein, ibid., 49. 73 Sollberger, AfO 17:11 f. Differently Kraus, Or. 20 (1951) 396. 74 “Ur-Nammu 28”; partial translation by Jacobsen, Before Philosophy (1949) 210 f.

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à-vis both. Ur-Nammu may have been a loyal vassal of Utu-hegal of ˘ Uruk during that king’s short reign of seven and a half years when Sumer as a whole was occupied with the expulsion of the Gutians. But at Utu-hegal’s death, if not before (see above), he asserted his complete ˘ independence by the classical devices of building the walls of Ur, dating by his own date formulas, dedicating his inscriptions to his personal gods and the gods of his own city,75 and other elements of the “pattern of usurpation.” In the early stages of his independence, he could not yet count on the loyalty of the whole land; before assuming the title of “king of Sumer and Akkad,” therefore, he was known simply as “strong man (that is, we might almost say, independent ruler) and King of Ur.” As such he built, besides the walls of Ur, only the temples of his personal (Urukian) deities,76 the great terrace é - t e m e n - n í - g ù r u, the wall of the temenos area é - k i ˇs-n u - g á l, and perhaps the temple of Enki at Eridu. Only later did he begin the construction of the great monuments to the patron deities of Ur, the network of canals in its vicinity, and the complex of temples to Enlil at Nippur.77 What, then, does the new hymn add to this evidence? Taking the hymn at its word, we find: (1) Ur desperately needs “hydraulic development”; (2) Ur-Nammu stands ready to supply this, perhaps from his own resources; (3) he is accordingly invested with the symbols of kingship in a ceremony involving the sanctuaries and deities of both Nippur and Ur, and possibly also Eridu; (4) he carries out the needed improvements at Ur; (5) Ur is blessed with the resulting abundance; (6) UrNammu is acclaimed by new titles and epithets. If we were to refer these allusions to Ur-Nammu’s original accession as independent king of Ur, they would stand in hopeless contradiction to the facts as reconstructed from the contemporary records above. Even discounting much of (3) and (5) as clichés of royal hymnography, the fact remains that Ur-Nammu could claim neither the kind of economic improvements which are the theme of this hymn, nor the allegiance of Nippur, and in consequence of “Sumer and Akkad,”78 at the very outset of his independent reign. If the hymn contains a historic kernel at all, it must be this: sometime after his accession at Ur, Above, notes 49 and 65. For the temple of Ninsun (above note 53), cf. also the date formula RTC 265 (Sollberger, AfO 17:11). 77 Hallo, Titles, 77–83. 78 Above, note 22. 75 76

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Ur-Nammu launched two great building programs, the irrigation projects around Ur and the reconstruction of the temples of Nippur. In consequence he was crowned “king of Sumer and Akkad” in a ceremony which symbolized and constituted the definitive transfer of national allegiance to the new dynasty. On the testimony of the date formulas, this ceremony can hardly have taken place earlier than his fourth year,79 and there is on the face of it no reason to doubt the possibility that our hymn or its prototype was originally composed for it. Indeed, the correlation between neo-Sumerian regnal years on the one hand and royal hymns on the other is a high one both in terms of numbers80 and in terms of content.81 It almost leads one to suppose that all the hymns were originally commissioned annually (or biennially) for such occasions as were also commemorated in the date formulas. The conclusion, at any rate, imposes itself: the literary tradition can be used to fill the lacunae of Sumerian history, but only where the contemporary monuments and archives have provided the framework.

Appendix Transliteration of YBC 4617 (= A) Variants from UET VI/1: 76 (= B) and UET VI/1: 77 (= C) 1) [ a - b a - a m u - u n - b ] a - a l - e a - b a - a m u - [ u n - b a - a l - e / i 7 ] a-ba-a mu-u[n-ba-al-e] 2–3) [ i 7 - k e ˇs d a - k ù ] a - b a - a m u - u n - b a - [ a l - e ] / i 7 a - b a - a mu-un-ba-al-e 4) [ i 7 - p a 5 - B I ] - l u h a a - b a - a m u - u n - b a - a l - e / i 7 a - b a - a b mu-un-ba-al-e 5) d U r - d N a m m u a k ù - t u g m u - u n - b a - a l - e b 6) ˇs u l - z i a n ì - t u g m u - u n - b a - a l - e b 7) l u g a l - m u b á r a - z a d e n - l í l - l e e n - d a ˇs - í m - b a b b a r 8) ˇs u l - d s u e n b á r a - z a d e n - l í l - l e e n - d a ˇs - í m - b a b b a r 9) l u g a l ˇs à - z i - t a a n a m - t a r - r a n a m - n i r - r a s a g - í l 10) d U r - a N a m m u a ˇs u l - i g i - í l - l a k u r - [ g a l ] b d e n - l í l - l e

79 According to Sollberger, AfO 17:14, the fourth year date “semble consacrer la royauté d’Ur-Nammu sur Sumer-Akkad.” 80 JCS 17:113 and note 24, here: III.1. 81 Cf. e.g. ZA 51 (1952) 91. Is it too daring to suggest that each date formula was formally introduced together with a new hymn?

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11) d n u - n a m - n i r - r e a k i - e n - g i k i - u r i - a b g á - e c m u - u n suh-end 12) n i b r u k i - a a h u r - s a g n a m - t i - l a - k a n a m - m u b i m - m i - i n - d u 10 c 13) s a g - k i z a l a g - g a - n i m u - u n - ˇs i - i n - b a r n a m - l u g a l ba -an- sì 14) u r ì m k i - m a a é - m u d - k u r - r a - k a b 15) g i [ ˇs - g u - z ] a - m à a s u h u ˇs - [ b i i m - m i - i n - g ] i - e n b 15a) ( a g a - m e - l á m m e - t é ˇs n a m - l u g a l - l a s a g - m à i m - m i - g á l ) 16) g i d r i a - k ù u k ù - ˇs á [ r s i s i - e - s á ˇs u - m à i m - m i - i n - s á ] 17) ˇs i b i r - b u r u x ( ˇs i b í r ) u k ù - d a g a l - l u - a . . . h [ é - l a h 4 - l a h 4 e] 18) e n - d a ˇs - i m - b a b b a r a - k e 4 z i - u 4 - s ù - [ . . . ] 19) d e n - l í l - l e - b i - d a i - b a - e ! - [ n e ] 20) m u - d a - r í m u - d u 11 - g e - d [ u 7 . . . ] 21) d e n - k i - k e 4 g i ˇs - t ù g g e ˇs t u g - d a g [ a l . . . s ] a g - e - e ˇs m[u-rig7] 22) g á - e u r u k i - m à i 7 - [ h é - g á l - l a m ] u - b a - a l / i 7 - k e ˇs d a kù mu-sa4 23) [ u r ] í m k i - m a i 7 - h é - g á l - l a m u - b a - a l / i 7 - k e ˇs d a k ù mu-sa4 24) m u - d a - r í d u 11 - g e b a - a b - d u 7 - à m i 7 - p a 6 - B I - l u h m u ˇs e 25) g á - e u r u - m à a - r á - a - b i k u 6 - à m d i r i - b i m u ˇs e n - à m 26) u r í m k i - m a a - r á - a - b i k u 6 à m d i r i - b i m u ˇs e n - à m 27) g á - e i 7 - m á ú - l à l - e m u - u n - d ù s u h u r k u 6 - e à m - s i - e 28) u r í m k i - m a ú - l à l - e m u - u n - d ù s u h u r k u 6 - e [ à m ] - s i - e 29) g á - e u r u - m à g i - z i - b i l à l - à m [ ? ] / á b - e h a - m a - k ú - e 30) u r í m k i - m a g i - z i - b i l à l - à [ m ? ] / á b - e h a - m a - k ú - e 31) g á - e [ . . . ] - x k u 6 h u - [ ] 32) u r í m k [ i - m a ] 33) g á - e i 7 - m à a - [ r á - a - b i h u - m u ] - u n - [ t ù m ] / g i ˇs - d u s u - e hu-mu-un-na-lá-e 34) u r í m k i - m a i 7 - m à a - r á - a h u - m u - u n - t ù m / g i ˇs - d u s u - e hu-mu-un-na-lá-e 35) l u g a l - b i l u g a l - e r i d u k i - g a p a - a - z u s u d - à m 36) d n u - d i m - m u d l u g a l - e r i d u k i - g a p a - a - z u s u d - à m 37) l u g a l a n - u b - d a l i m m u - b a ˇs à d e n - l í l - l á d u 10 - g e - e n 38) d U r - d N a m m u ú - a n i b r u k i s a g - u ˇs u r í m k i - m a 39) i t i x ( U 4 - d N A N N A ) - ˇs è k a l a m u r í m k i - m a - ˇs è 40) s i l 5 - a u 4 m i - n i - i b - z a l - z a l - l e - d è 41) d U r - d N a m m u l u g a l - u r í m k i - m a z à - m í - z u d u 10 - g a - à m

Variants 4) aB: i 7 - g i ˇs - B I - ( . . . ] ; bB: a - b a . 5) aB: U r - d N a m m u ; bB: + a - b a m u - u n - b a - a l - e .

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iii.2. the coronation of ur-nammu 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11)

12) 13) 14) 15) 15a) 16) 19) 21a–d)

22) 23) 24) 25) 26)

27–30) 31–34) 34a) 35–36) 37) 38) 39–40) 41)

a

B: d ˇs u l - g i ; bB: + a - b a m u - u n - b a - a l - e . B omits. B omits. aB: - d a . aB: U r - d N a m m u ; bB: + - z a l a g . aB: d n u n - n a m - n i r ; bB: u r i - e ; cB: m e - à m ; dB: m u - u n - RI - e aB: - e ; bB: n a m ; cB: m i - i m - m i . B omits. aB: - e ; bB: - k a m . aB: - a - n i ; bB: omits - e n . from B; A omits. aB: g i ˇ s!-gidri-. restoration from B; rest of B obverse lost. B reverse 1–6 inserts a four-line stanza here as follows: [ é - k i ˇs - n ] u - g á l s a g - g e g á l - l [ a ? ] [ é - t e m e n - n í - g ] ù r - r u k i - t u ˇs ˇs à - h ú l - l a / [ . . . ] - d a ú r - b i im-mi-in-gi [ g i ˇs n á ? - g i ? - r i n ? - n ] a - k a m g ú - d a - a m b i - l á ? ! [ . . . k ] ù - g i ! (C!) k ù - b a b b a r - r a g u b - b a - à m / i m - m i - i r - m i re B, C: n a r i - m u u d - h é - g á l - l a b a l a - u b - b a / i 7 - k e ˇs d a - k ù m u - ˇs e B and C omit. B, C: m u - d a - r i d u 11 - k e d u - a - b a i 7 - p á - B I - l u h m u - ˇs e B, C: g á u r u k i - m à a - r á - b i k u 6 - a b / t e - l i - b i m u - ˇs e - n a B, C: i 7 - k e ˇs d a - k ù u r u k i (c omits) - b i k u 6 - a b / t e - l i - b i m u - ˇs e - n a ( C : m u - s i g 5 ) i 7 - p á - B I - l u h a - r á - b i k u 6 - a b / t e - l i - b i m u - ˇs e - n a ( C : mu-sig5) Cf. B rev. 14 = C rev. 8: g ú - g ú - b i ( C : - m u ) Ú . I T 4 ( C : i t i ! t é ˇs - a ) lú-a (C: -ú) ú-làl-e kú-e Cf. B rev. 13 = C rev. 7: h é - g á l - b i k u 6 h u - m a - r a - a b - t ù m é - k i ˇs - n u - g á l - ˇs è B and C add: a - g à r g a l - b i ˇs e - g u - n u m ú - m ú g i ˇs - t i r - g i m lam!-lam!- ma-x B and C omit. B (breaks off here) and C: l u g a l a n - n é u b - d a l i m m u - b i sˇ e - g a d e n - l í l - l á C: [ U r ] - d ! N a m m u ! ú - a k i - e n - g i k i - u r i - e k i - á g a den-líl-lá C: [ g ] a - n a - g a r u r í m k i - m a - k e 4 i t i s i l - a d u t u mi-ni-in-[?]/za-e-en-za-e-le za-e-me-en C: U r - d N a m m u l u g a l - m u - d a - a - r i z à - m í - z u d u 10 - g a

iii.2. the coronation of ur-nammu

201

Translation 1) 2–3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 15a) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23) 24) 25) 26) 27) 28) 29) 30) 31) 32) 33) 34) 35) 36)

Who will dig it, who will dig it, the canal—who will dig it? The Keshdaku-canal—who will dig it, the canal—who will dig it? The Pabiluh-canal—who will dig it, the canal—who will dig it? Divine Ur-Nammu, the wealthy one, will dig it. The true youth, the prosperous one, will dig it. Oh my king, on your throne by Enlil (and) the lord Aˇsimbabbar! Oh youth of Suen, on your throne by Enlil (and) the lord Aˇsimbabbar! I, king from the true womb (on), (whose) destiny (is) lifting the head proudly in leadership, (I,) Ur-Nammu, the youth who is pleasing to Enlil the ‘great mountain.’ Am chosen in Sumer and Akkad by Nunamnir. In Nippur, the mountain of life, he has made my fate good for me. Looked upon me with his shining forehead, given me the kingship. In Ur, in the Mudkurra-temple, He has made the foundation of my throne firm for me. He has placed the crown peculiar to kingship on my head, Has pressed the holy scepter for guiding all the people in my hand, The staff and crook for directing the numerous people. The Lord Aˇsimbabbar a life of long days Together with Enlil—they bestow. Enduring years worthy of praise (And) extensive wisdom Enki has donated. As for me, in my city I have dug a canal of abundance, have named it the Keˇsdaku-canal. In Ur I have dug a canal of abundance, have named it the Keˇsdakucanal. An enduring name worthy of praise, the Pabiluh-canal I have named it. As for me, my city’s watercourse is fish its ‘overhead’ is fowl. Ur’s watercourse is fish, its ‘overhead’ is fowl. As for me, in my canal one produces ‘honey’ plants, it is filled with suhur-fish. In my city one produces ‘honey’-plants, it is filled with suhur-fish. As for me, my city’s zi-reeds are honey, the cows will surely eat it. Ur’s zi-reeds are honey, the cows will surely eat it. As for me, my city’s . . . may. . . fish, Ur’s . . . may. . . fish, As for me, my canal’s watercourse will surely bring it, will suspend it for him from a carrying-board, In Ur, my canal’s watercourse will surely bring it, will suspend it for him from a carrying-board. Its king is king of Eridu—your office is long, Nudimmud is king of Eridu—your office is long.

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iii.2. the coronation of ur-nammu 37) 38) 39) 40) 41)

King of the four quarters, who satisfies the heart of Enlil, Ur-Nammu, provider of Nippur, sustainer of Ur, By moonlight the nation for Ur. In rejoicing will ever pass (its) days. Ur-Nammu, king of Ur, your praise is sweet!

iii.3 NEW HYMNS TO THE KINGS OF ISIN*

On present evidence, the development of Sumerian literature passed through three major stages which may for convenience be labelled Old, neo- and post-Sumerian respectively.1 Most of its principal genres are attested in more than one of these stages, and some in addition survived in the form of Akkadian translations or adaptations. Proverbs and incantations, for example, are known from all periods; neo-Sumerian myths and epics were tradited or adapted in Akkadian in the postSumerian period, and hymns to gods and lamentations continued to be composed, to some extent on earlier Sumerian models, in both Sumerian and Akkadian, to a very late date. But each stage of Sumerian literary creativity also knew certain genres of its own, and for the neoSumerian stage, one of the most characteristic genres was certainly the “royal hymn.” Such hymns, whether invoking gods on behalf of kings, or addressed to the kings or, as it were, recited by the kings themselves, were composed and tradited in Mesopotamia only while the kings were objects of worship in their own right. Into this period (notably ca. 2100– 1800 bc in the “middle chronology”) fall nearly all the attested examples of the genre, with the exception of a few disputed forerunners, and a number of epigonic imitations,2 and within this period the genre was studied in all schools professing to teach Sumerian, even as far away as Susa,3 without regard to political or dynastic affiliation. The royal hymns are thus an important source of specifically “neo-Sumerian” history and institutions, while the very fact of their being studied in this period is in itself important testimony to the religious and scribal support of Mesopotamian unity in a period when that unity was more often an ideal than a reality.

* W.H. Ph. Römer, Sumerische ‘Königshymnen’ der Isin-Zeit. Leiden, E.J. Brill, 1965 (8vo, XII + 292 pp.). 1 Cf. W.W. Hallo, On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature, JAOS 83 (1963) 167, here: II.1. 2 Cf. Hallo, Royal hymns and Mesopotamian unity, JCS 17 (1963) 112–118, here: III.1. 3 Cf. MDP 27 (1935) 220–222 for three exemplars of “Sulgi ˇ A” not utilized by A. Falkenstein in his edition of the text in ZA 50 (1952) 63–91.

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Nowhere is this more strikingly illustrated than in the royal hymns of the first dynasty of Isin, which continued to be copied out in the schools of Uruk after that city had won its freedom from Isin,4 of Ur, Larsa 5 ˇ after the hegemony of Sumer had passed from Isin and Saduppum to Larsa, and of Nippur after the dynasty of Babylon had succeeded to both. This is clear not only from the surviving texts recovered in these and other centers, but also from the literary catalogues of Ur and Nippur which provide us with systematic information as to the scribal curriculum of these centers.6 The hymns to the kings of Isin form about 40 % of the corpus of neo-Sumerian royal hymns,7 and this important body of material has now been made the subject of a monograph by W.H. Ph. Römer, a disciple of the school of Adam Falkenstein which has done so much for the recovery of neo-Sumerian hymns and prayers. His Sumerische ‘Königshymnen’ der Isin-Zeit is, from the philological point of view, an exemplary work. All the relevant material is, to begin with, collected in a useful bibliography,8 and then a sizeable portion of the textual material is presented in more or less definitive editions.9 No study of the genre, or of the specimens selected for treatment here, will henceforth be able to ignore Römer’s exhaustive presentation. The difficulty of editing Sumerian literary texts is, as is well known, due in no small measure to the lack of a proper Sumerian dictionary in the sense of Erman and Grapow’s Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache. There is not even as yet a glossary of the type of Friedrich’s Cf. JCS 17: 117 end, and notes 96–99, here: III.1. ˇ Ibid.; for Ur cf. also below, note 8 (*32); for Saduppum (in the former kingdom of Warium = Eˇsnunna), cf. Ur-Ninurta *31b = van Dijk, Sumer 11 (1955) pls. XIII–XV. 6 Cf. Hallo, review of UET VI/1 in a forthcoming issue of JCS. 7 Cf. my tentative survey in JCS 17: 113–115, here: III.1. 8 Pp. 2 f.; the bibliography is complete with respect to published texts with the exception of UET VI/1: 89, which should be added as an Ur duplicate to *32. For additional unpublished Yale material see below. No doubt for greater ease of citation, Römer abandoned the system of sigla such as introduced by Falkenstein for the royal ˇ hymns of Sulgi of Ur. This is to be regretted, since the latter system provides for additions to the corpus, and reserves Arabic numerals for royal inscriptions while citing royal hymns by capital letters. As to whether *34 (Damiq-iliˇsu) belongs in the list, cf. my reservations, JCS 17: 116 f, here: III.1. 9 Pp. 6–55 (transliteration and translation only); pp. 77–278 (full editions). The apparatus criticus could have been relieved of numerous notations of the type “[duplicate exemplar]: wohl auch so,” etc.—a judgment of the textual evidence which is really selfevident. It would have been more to the point if the passages in question—indeed all the principal texts—had been collated, but apparently this was feasible only in the case of those from the Louvre (p. [IX]). 4 5

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Hethitisches Wörterbuch. The author thus found himself under the necessity of defending nearly every line of his translation either by reference to the latest studies of the relevant idioms by his colleagues, or by extended collections of “Belegstellen” assembled by himself. It is fair to say that perhaps 90 % of his commentary is thus largely lexicographical. An extensive index of Sumerian words, prepared by M. Dietrich and H. Hunger, (pp. 279–287) helps the reader to find his way to the relevant discussion; indeed, this index will remain an indispensable tool in the absence of the much-desired glossary. The separation of text, commentary and footnotes renders the process somewhat cumbersome, and one might almost have wished that the author had assembled all his lexicographical discussions in one simple alphabetical order at the end of the book.10 But such methodological observations should be understood as detracting in no way from the truly monumental extent or the substantive philological contributions of Römer’s work, which is singularly free from errors of omission or commission.11 On pp. 5 f., Römer proposes a classification of “royal hymns” which represents a refinement of Falkenstein’s system.12 The latter, in basic accord with the native designations, distinguished between hymns to gods described in their own colophons as “adab of D(ivine) N(ame)” or “tigi of DN” and containing, as it were, incidental allusions to the reigning (?) king, on the one hand, and royal hymns proper on the other. The latter are addressed to the king throughout, or are spoken by him, and carry no native designation, though they usually end in a doxology, “your/my praise (zà-mí) is sweet/good/exalted”, which almost has generic force.13 It may be useful to correlate the native designations, as far as preserved, with Römer’s classification in tabular form.

10 It might even be desirable in future treatments of this kind if the passages cited to establish the meaning of a word were more often quoted in full, even when they have been located and cited by previous investigators, whose contributions would not receive any the less credit by this procedure. 11 Of the neglible typographical errors not already noted in the corrigenda appended to the volume, only a few are worth noting here: p. 60 n. 96: Der numinose Begriff . . . ; p. 104 line 10: zà-til-(la); p. 204 n. 59: SLTNi 71, 3, p. 283 mú-(mú): 194 f.: p. 286 ukù-ta-è-a: 69296; umuˇs: 69290. 12 Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 1481 f.; 50 (1952) 91. 13 For EN (SÀ)-du-lugal(a) ˇ as an earlier native designation of “royal hymn”, see x Hallo, JAOS 83: 174, here: II.1.

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iii.3. new hymns to the kings of isin Römer’s No.

Native designation

Römer’s classification

Iˇsbi-Irra

*1 *2 *3 *3a

[. . .] (ki-ru-gú composition) [. . .] tigi of Nanâ

special class (but like A la) A Ic A Ic(?) see below

ˇ Su-iliˇ su

*4 *5

adab of Nergal [adab of An]

A Ia A Ia(?)

Iddin-Dagan

*6 *7 *8

ˇsìr-nam-ur-sag-gá of Ninsianna — adab of Ninezen

A IIa BI A Ia

Iˇsme-Dagan

*9 *10 *11 *12 *13 *14 *15 *16 *17 *18 *19 *20 *21 *22 *22a

adab of Baba (ki-ru-gú composition) (copy of royal inscription?) [. . .] [. . .] [adab of Nergal?] — — [adab] of Enlil bal-bal of Inanna [. . .] [. . .] bal-bal-e of Enki [. . .] [. . .]

A Ib (?) A IIa B II A Ia A Ia A IIb A III A Ia A IV (?) (?) A Ia A Ia (?)

Lipit-Iˇstar

*23 *24 *25 *26 *26a *26b *26c

(zá-mí-mu du10-ga-àm) RN zà-mí adab of An adab of Ninurta [. . .] ˇsìr-nam-gala of Ninisina [. . .]

B II BI A Ic A Ia BI (?) (?)

Ur-Ninurta

*27 *28 *29 *30 *31 *31a *31b

(ki-ru-gú composition) tigi of Enki adab of Ninurta adab of Inanna adab of An [adab of Iˇskur] –

A Ic A Ia A Ia A Ia A Ic (?) (?)

Bur-Sin

*31c *31d

adab of [Ninurta] [adab of Enlil?]

A Ia see below

King

iii.3. new hymns to the kings of isin Römer’s No.

Native designation

Römer’s classification

Enlil-bani

*32 *33

(zà-mí composition?)14 [. . .]

BI (?)

Damiq-iliˇsu

*34

[. . .]

A Ia(?)

King

207

Note that the classification A I includes: all adab and tigi-hymns as well as some of the bal-bal and ki-ru-gú compositions. On pp. 6–55, Römer illustrates the structure of the various subtypes of ‘royal’ hymns—as classified by him—by extensive transliterations and translations of well-preserved examples. In this analysis, he is chiefly guided by the content of the poems rather than by their formal structure, relying for the latter on the pioneering discussions by Falkenstein in 1949 and subsequently.15 Since the Isin texts are particularly rich in classificatory and structural notations, and since the available material has grown somewhat in the interval, a review and recapitulation of Falkenstein’s conclusions may be attempted here on the basis of the Isin material. 1. The adab16 structure in its fullest form consists of: a. b. c. d.

one or more bar-sud and ˇsà-ba-tuk sections in pairs; sa-gíd-da and its antiphone (giˇs-gi4-gál); sa-gar-ra and its antiphone,17 and urubi.

2. The tigi in its most complete form differs from this scheme only in the absence of the urubi-section and, so far, of the antiphone to the sagar-ra.18 More often than the adab, it also lacks the initial bar-sud/ˇsàba-tuk stanzas,19 but the case of *3a (see below) now shows that this was 14 Read the closing doxology as: dub-sar umún?!-aka é-dub–ba-a é-na-ri-kalamma-ka zà-mí-zu gá-la nam-ba-an-dag-ge and cf. Falkenstein, Welt des Orients I (1947) 185. 15 ZA 49 (1949) 85–105; SAHG (1953) 20–28; ZA 52 (1957) 58 f. Cf. also the useful summary by Henrike Hartmann, Die Musik der Sumerischen Kultur (1960) 197–244 which, however, does not seem to go beyond Falkenstein’s conclusions. 16 Already in Falkenstein’s survey, ten out of sixteen adab-hymns can be shown to belong to the Isin dynasty; cf. ZA 49: 87–91. 17 Cf. e.g. *31c and Falkenstein, ZA 49: 92 and 98(b) against SAHG p. 20. Cf. now also *31d (below). 18 Cf. however the fragmentary lines following the sa-gar-ra’s of *14 and *17, and the 12 unlabelled (so Falkenstein, ZA 49: 104) lines which conclude *28. 19 Present in eight out of fourteen well-preserved adab’s, in one out of six tigi’s.

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not an essential difference between the two categories, as Falkenstein was still inclined to think.20 3. Ki-ru-gú-compositions are represented by at least two and possibly more genres among the royal hymns of Isin. Thus *6 is designated a ˇsìrnam-ur-sag-gá of Nin-sianna, and *26b as a ˇsìr-nam-gala of Ninisina, In *2 and *27, the designations are lost, while *10 represents only a single ki-ru-gú of a longer text whose subscript is likewise unknown. As far as preserved, all these compositions share a common division, simpler than that of adab and tigi, into stanzas of unequal length separated by the rubric ki-ru-gú no. X. Sometimes these rubrics are followed by short antiphones,21 and in two cases, these antiphones are in turn followed by a ˇsà-ba-tuk of one or two lines.22 It may be noted here in passing that the ki-ru-gú structure is also attested for another type of sˇìr-composition, namely the sˇìr-nam-ˇsub-DN.23 Although the other examples of this genre24 do not contain the rubric ki-ru-gú, they display a similar strophic structure by virture of their dividing lines or contents.25 4. That bal-bal-(e) compositions had a place in the canon of “royal hymns” in the wider sense was already known, for Ur III, on the basis ˇ of the “song of a priestess to Su-Sin” which is designated as a bal-bal-e of the goddess Bau.26 More recently, Kramer published a fragmentary 27 ˇ and he is inclined to bal-bal-e of Inanna, also in honor of Su-Sin, connect at least two other bal-bal-e’s of Inanna with this same king.28 In the light of Iˇsme-Dagan *18 and *21, the genre must now be given a definite place among the royal hymns of Isin as well. The former is, according to the Yale duplicate (see below) a bal-bal of Inanna, while the latter is described as a bal-bal-e of E[nki].29 Poems of rather diverse ZA 49:104; SAHG pp. 20 f., followed by Hartmann, 204 f. *6 after ki-ru-gú 1, 8, and 10 (= last); *2 after ki-ru-gú 5; *26b after k. 3 and 4 (= last); *27 after k. 2, 3, and 7. 22 *6 (= Römer, p. 132), line 131; *26b, line 2. 23 Cf. VS II 68 = A. Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen No. 7. 24 SLTN 61; VS II 65; CT 42: 13; ib. 22; KAR 15 f.; JCS 16:79: HSM 3625. 25 For a balag-DN in ki-ru-gú form, cf. CT 36: 35–38. 26 SRT 23, translated by Falkenstein, Welt des Orients (1947) 43–50 and SAHG No. 25, by Kramer, ANET (1950) [496] and by Jacobsen, JCS 7 (1953) 46 f. 27 PAPhS 107 (1963) 508 and 521. 28 Ibid. 508 f., No. 9 and 510, No. 11. 29 The restoration of the divine name is based on the context. 20 21

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character belong to this genre,30 although a significant number of its representatives treat, in whole or in part, some aspect of the theme of fertility.31 The genre normally has no structural indicators, but this does not always imply a lack of strophic structure, as a glance at IˇsmeDagan *18 (below) indicates. Note also that in Iˇsme-Dagan *21, the last lines seem clearly designated as an antiphone.32 5. The royal hymns in the strict sense, i.e. those addressed to and/or spoken by the king himself (Römer’s types B I and B II respectively) generally end with a doxology in zà-mí (praise) by which we may designate the entire genre.33 Such zà-mí compositions lack the specific rubrics of the genres previously discussed, but often display an equally intricate strophic structure. This is perhaps less clear from Römer’s exposition (pp. 23–55) than from a brief but symmetrical Ur-Nammu hymn edited elsewhere.34 The absence of terminological rubrics in the royal hymns proper thus does not reflect an absence of strophic structure but is rather due, as Römer implies (p. 5), to their being part of the courtly ceremonial and not of the temple liturgy. This conclusion raises a further question of more than passing interest. If the notations of those genres at home in the temple ritual were primarily liturgical stage-directions, what validity do they also possess for the strophic structure? Römer (p. 5 and passim) takes them to apply to the entire preceding section, so that the poems of Class A are composed entirely of such “labelled” sections. It is, however, worth considering an alternative possibility, namely that the respective notations identify and designate only the immediately preceding line or lines. The neo-Assyrian copy of a tigi to Ninurta35 from Nippur36 seems to recognize this possibility by placing the notation sa-gar-ra-àm on the same line as the text. And the adab to Bau which is probably the earliest representative of the entire genre37 is clearly seen to be structured

SAHG p. 22; cf. Hartmann, 227 f. Ibid. Cf., in addition to the texts already mentioned, especially SAHG No. 1; van Dijk, Sagesse, ch. IV; Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen No. 1. 32 Cf. SRT 5 where the antiphone follows the generic rubric; for the antiphonal character of the last couplet in *18 see below. 33 Cf. the chart above, pp. 208–209; Hartmann, pp. 212–215. 34 Cf. Hallo, The Coronation of Ur-Nammu, in a forthcoming JCS, here: III.2. 35 Langdon, BL 95; cf. Falkenstein. ZA 49: 103 no. 26. Here: III.5. 36 Cf. the corrected copy of the colophon, BL pl. LXXIV. 37 CT 36: 39 f.; cf. SAHG No. 9 and my remarks JCS 17:115, here: III.1. 30 31

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in two stanzas of six strictly parallel pairs of strophes each,38 provided the one-line sa-gíd-da, its two-line antiphone, and the one-line sa-garra39 are set apart from the poem as such. Although there are perhaps no equally telling examples among the Isin hymns,40 it may be worth noting that in the few instances where extracts from these hymns are inscribed on a single tablet or Sammeltafel, the “sections” so excerpted do not begin and end with the notations under discussion. This is in contrast to the situation with ki-ru-gú compositions, extracts of which regularly feature one or more complete “ki-ru-gú’s”. It is also interesting to note that, at least at Nippur, extract tablets sometimes correspond to meaningful units of those royal hymns which lack any structural notations. Thus STVC 78, for example, represents the introduction of Lipit-Iˇstar *24 (Römer, p. 23) plus the first line of the second section by way of a “catch-line.” SLTN 69 contains precisely the succeeding “king and wisdom” section of the same poem (Römer, p. 24); its reverse is uninscribed. The case of the bar-sud and ˇsà-ba-tuk is less clear, but it may at least be noted that there are explicit instances of one-line ˇsà-ba-tuk’s,41 just as there is now42 a one-line sa-gíd-da. While therefore the liturgical notations may sometimes (and in the case of the ki-ru-gú always) occur at the end of a stanza, they should not be regarded as necessarily or originally designating the stanzas themselves.43 On pp. 55–57, Römer discusses the question of the deification of kings, and on pp. 143–149 the problem of the “sacred marriage,” both of which subjects loom large in the conceptual sphere of the royal hymns. With these brief exceptions, the more general implications of the texts dealt with are not the subject of the work under review. It is to be hoped that the author, now so intimately acquainted with the idiom of his genre, will devote himself to the fuller sense behind it

Cf. Hartmann, p. 200, note 1. Lines 30, 31 f., and 55 respectively in Falkenstein’s numbering, lines 31, 33 f., and 58 in Hartmann’s. The designation sa-gar-ra is missing from the end of the text, but justifiably supplied by Falkenstein, SAHG 9: 55; the urubi-section, which would have contained the royal name, is also missing at the end of the tablet. 40 Note however in *31d (below) that the strophic triplets are best preserved if Rev. 8’–10’ are treated as a one-line sa-gar-ra and its two-line antiphone. 41 Cf. e.g. *6 line 131. 42 *3a: 24 (see below). 43 Note that the scribe of *31b in the Harmal exemplar seems to have indicated some kind of strophic structure by means of line counts after lines 37, 63, and 71. 38 39

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in future studies. This is also the reviewer’s intention. It would, for instance, be important to consider such questions as these: what was the relationship between the royal hymns and the royal inscriptions? Were the royal hymns always composed in the lifetime of the king honored or also posthumously, as in the case of “Ur-Nammu’s Death and Burial,” perhaps even long after their death? If not, did they continue to be used cultically after the death of the ruler honored, or were they solely preserved in the schools? If the latter, why were the liturgical notations of the hymns of type A so carefully preserved, at least at Nippur? Why, on the other hand, did the Ur curriculum preserve, as it appears, primarily hymns of type B, i.e. royal hymns from the courtly sphere (viz.: *7, *12, *23, and *32; *22a, *26b and *26c are too fragmentary to permit classification)? And why, in turn, did the Sumerian curriculum of Middle Assyrian times in Assur preserve precisely an adab of An for Ur-Ninurta44 to the apparent exclusion of all other royal hymns? Which deities were honored, or addressed, most often in the royal hymns?45 Important as they are, these questions cannot be answered here.46 Here, rather, it seems more appropriate to supplement Römer’s material with the aid of eight unpublished texts in the Yale Babylonian Collection of which the author was, necessarily, largely unaware.47 The material, which will appear in copies in a forthcoming YBT volume, may be listed in accordance with Römer’s system as follows: YBC 9859 YBC 4609 (B) NBC 7270 (= T); YBC 7155 (= U); YBC 7168a (= V); YBC 7196 (= W); MLC 1839 (= X) *31d. NBC 9034.

*3a. *18. *23.

As will be seen by a comparison of Römer s bibliography (pp. 2 f.), two of these texts are entirely new; the others duplicate known compositions. They will be dealt with here in chronological order.

Cf. Römer, p. 58, note 16 ad *31. A glance at the list above, pp. 208–209, will show six male and six female deities so honored—the latter once each. Note that Enlil, Enki and Nergal are each represented twice on the list, and An and Ninurta no less than three times—but never for the same king! 46 Cf. for the present my study in JCS 17:112–118, here: III.1, which did not reach the author until his work was nearly complete (Römer 58, note 1). 47 See preceding note. 44 45

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iii.3. new hymns to the kings of isin I. 3a. Hymn to Nanâ with prayer for Iˇsbi-Irra

A. Classification. According to its own subscript, the new hymn is a tigi of Nanâ. Hymns to Nanâ are anything but common48 and tigi’s to her are so far entirely unknown. But the use of the tigi as a “royal hymn” in the wider sense, i.e., as a hymn to a god with invocation of blessing on the deified king, though not as universal as in the case of the adabcompositions, is attested,49 though only once more for the Isin dynasty (Ur-Ninurta*28). B. Structure. The new hymn is complete in 35 lines of text and eight lines of liturgical notations whose significance in terms of the tigi-genre has already been indicated above (p. 209–211). Applying the conclusions reached earlier (pp. 211 f.), we may divide the hymn into two balanced if not completely equal halves, each of which is, in turn, made up of a long opening section extolling the goddess, and a shorter concluding section in praise of the king. The basic strophic unit of the poem is the couplet, occurring eleven times; there are also three triplets and one quatrain. The last line of each of these strophes begins with the name of the goddess or king respectively.50 This analysis may be studied in detail in the transliteration and translation that follow. It could be applied ˇ without essential modification also to Su-iliˇ su *4 (Römer ch. III), which is the most carefully structured adab-composition in the Isin repertoire. C. Transliteration. (upper edge) DISˇ dNisaba I 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6)

[n]in-me!-nun-na u4-gim dalla-è hi-li-zi-da ul-ˇsè pà-da dna-na-a me-te é-an(a)-ka in-nin-ra túm-ma gal-zu nu-u8-gig-ge nin-kur-kur-ra zi-dè-eˇs-ˇsè pà-da dna-na-a kalam é-an(a)-ka igi-gál-sì-mu ba-e-zu (bar-sud-àm) an-gim-ˇsa6 mí-sag-màˇs nin-dal-dal-le-e-du7 dna-na-a kù-dinanna-ke zi-dè-eˇ s umún-aka 4

Cf. SLTN 71 for a fragmentary example. Cf. Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 102, nos. 1, 6, 7; Hartmann, op. cit. 207–209. 50 Thus, at least, on the assumption that the long passage here numbered lines 21– 22 is in fact to be divided over two lines. For their disposition on the tablet, see the forthcoming copy. Note that the ends of both line 22 and, it is assumed, line 19 are written into the blank second half of the notational lines that follow them. 48 49

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7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14)

mí-mul-an hé-me-a nin-kù-zu nì-nam-ˇsè gál-la mí-zi ˇsà-sù-rá nin inim-ˇsè gál- la -bi ì-zal-le-éˇs umuˇs kù-dInanna-ke4 aka nu-u8-gig-e ki-ága dna-na-a di-kuru -gal dingir dúr-mah ki-unugki-ga ti-la (ˇ sa-ba-tuk-àm) 5 mí-zi eˇs-bar-du10-kalam-ma-kam di-di-bi gal-zu dna-na-a si-s[á-u]ru-ukù-lu-a igi-gál mí-maha inim-kù du11-g[e-d]u7 nin hi-li-a túm-ma dna-na-a sag-íl é-an(a)-ka lú-inim?-ˇ sa6 -ge kalam-ma (bar-sud-2-[kamma-à]m) 15) an-e igi-ˇsa6 kalam-ma lugal -kur-kur-ra-[. . .] 16) dna-na-a kalam é-an(a)-[. . .] hi-li [. . .] II 17) sˇul sipa-zi dumu-dnu-nam-nir-re in-[. . .] 18) diˇs-bi-ìr-ra me gal-di [. . .] gu [. . .] 19) dna-na-a sù-ud-ˇsè a-ra-zu-ni kurun-gim su-ub-x / en-LI-zi-da-na-ka èan-na-kam (ˇsa-ba-du-ga) 20) diˇs-bi-ìr-ra sag-uˇs mùˇs-nu-túm-mu é- an-na (sa-gíd-da-àm) 21) ˇsa-mu-du-pà dna-na-a kalam-ma nu-u8-gig-e / ki-ága-zu 22) diˇs-bi-ìr-ra ul-ˇsè lú-inim-ˇsa6-ga-ni / hé-me-en (giˇs-gi4-gál-bi-im) III 23) 24) 25) 26) 27) 28) 29) 30) 31) 32) 33)

nin-gal ˇsà-ki-zi-ˇsà-gál-túm-ma nu-u8 -gig-e di-bi ˇsu-gá-gá me-kirix (KA)-zal ˇsu-dagalxxx nu-u8-gig-e ma-ra-an-sì dna-na-a nin-gal ˇ sà-ki-zi-ˇsà-gál-túm -ma nu- u8 -gig-e di-bi ˇs[u-gá]-gá ukù-e diˇs-bi-r-ra lugal sipa -bi-me-en dna-na-a inim-d[u -an-na-ta nin]-kur-kur-ra za-e-me-en 11 èˇs-e kul-aba4 . . . in- . . . ˇsa-mu-na-ab-bé ukù-e za-ra ˇsà-bi i[m-mi-ni]gín ˇsi-im-da-ab-bé-en dna-na-a mí-zi MU.HÉ.SA ˇ 6 sag-gi6-ga-me-en inim-kù-zu-zu in-nin-na-ra zal-le-eˇs im-ma-ˇsa6 ˇsul hi-li-a pà-da nu-u8-gig-e dumu dEn-líl(a)-ke4 dna-na-a in-nin me-kù-zu KA? ˇ sa-ra-mú-mú IV

34) [ki]-ná-ˇsè igi-zi nam-ti-la za-e NE? hu-mu-ni-in-du8 35) [di]ˇs-bi-ìr-ra ˇsul hi-li-a pà-da (sa-gar-ra-àm) tigi-dna-na-a-kam

D. Translation I 1) Lady of the “princely” attributes, emerging brightly like the day (light), eternally summoned in appropriate beauty, 2) Nanâ, ornament of Eanna, created for the goddess (Inanna),

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3) Omniscient one, appropriately summoned as queen of all the lands by the Hierodule (Inanna), 4) Nanâ, you teach the nation science in Eanna, (barsud) 5) As good as An, woman of the pure head (?), fitting for the “flying lady” (Inanna), 6) Nanâ, properly educated by the holy Inanna, 7) Heavenly shining woman that you verily are, wise lady who is available for everything, 8) Righteous, long-suffering woman, because you pass (the day) in being available at the command of Inanna(?), 9) Counseled by the holy Inanna, beloved by the Hierodule (Inanna), 10) Nanâ, great judge, deity who occupies the high throne of the sanctuary of Uruk. (ˇsabatuk) 11) Righteous woman who “is” the favorable verdict of the nation, who knows all its lawsuits, 12) Nanâ, who understands justice for city and scattered people, 13) Lofty woman honored by holy command, lady created in beauty, 14) Nana, pride of Eanna,. . . of the nation (2nd barsud) 15) By An, the benevolent eye of the nation, the king of all countries, 16) Nanâ, in Eanna . . . beauty. . . II 17) 18) 19) 20) 21)

The hero, the righteous shepherd, the son of Nu-namnir (Enlil), has . . ., Iˇsbi-Irra . . ., Nanâ for length of days his prayers like liquor. . . (2nd ˇsabatuk) Iˇsbi-Irra, ceaseless povider of Eanna (sagida) Summoned in song (?), your Nanâ who is beloved by the nation and the Hierodule (Inanna), 22) Iˇsbi-Irra, eternally may you be the one who “makes her words good.” (Its antiphone) III

23) Great queen, created in the “place of sustenance,” counseled (?) by the Hierodule (Inanna), 24) Luxurious attributes have been generously given to you by the Hierodule, 25) Nanâ, great queen created in the “place of sustenance,” counseled (?) by the Hierodule. 26) Of (!) the people, oh Iˇsbi-Irra, you are their king (and) shepherd, 27) Nanâ, you are the queen of all the countries [by An’s] spoken command. 28) In the chapel, in Kullaba,. . . he verily declares it, 29) The people turn their hearts towards you, you verily address them, 30) Nanâ, righteous woman, you are the. . . of the blackheaded ones. 31) Your wise word is brightly made good for the goddess (Inanna),

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32) The hero summoned in beauty by the Hierodule, the son of Enlil (IˇsbiIrra). 33) Nanâ, the goddess has verily caused your holy attributes to grow . . . for you. IV 34) You have verily opened the righteous eye of life upon (his) bedstead, 35) Iˇsbi-Irra (is) the hero summoned in beauty. (sa-gara) Drum-song of Nanâ

II. *18. Hymn to Inanna with Prayer for Iˇsme-Dagan as Dumuzi 51 A. Texts: TRS 97 (= ll. 1–26; A), edited by Römer, pp. 21 f. and notes 179–185 (p. 64); YBC 4609 (ll. 1–36; B).52 B. Classification: bal-bal-dinanna-kam (according to B). C. Structure: As usual with this genre, the poem has no structural indicators, but is clearly structured nonetheless, especially in its fuller form (B). This can best be made clear from the following transliteration which assumes two stanzas of four quatrains each,53 followed by a kind of antiphone (though not labelled as such) constituting, like the urubi of an adab, a prayer for the king in A, in B a reference to Dumuzi for which, conceivably, the appropriate royal name was meant to be substituted. The careful structuring of the poem extends even to a “strophic parallelism,” as may be seen from a comparison of, e.g., strophe 3 with 7 or 4 with 8. D. Transliteration of B; variants, emendations and most restorations from A. I 1) ab-gù du11-ga amar-gù-sù(d)-ra 2) ain-nin é-tùr-ra nì-nigín-na-me-ena 3) lú-ki-sikil anu-un-du9-na-ama 51 This interesting identification seems imposed by the variant conclusions of the two versions (cf. esp. line 34). 52 I am indebted to my student Raphael Kutscher for the identification of B with TRS 97 and for a number of suggestions in regard to its reading. 53 Line 25 does not fit into this scheme, but as it is identical with line 28, at least in B, it may probably be regarded as secondary. Line 8a occurs only in A.

216 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 8a) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16)

iii.3. new hymns to the kings of isin d

inanna dugˇsakìr-e gù hé-em-me ˇsakìr anita-dam-a zu b gù hé-em-me dugˇ sakìr ddumu-z[i] gù hè-em-me dinannaa dugˇ sakìr-e [g]ù hé-em-mea dugˇ sakìr d adumu-zi gù hé-em-mea dInanna. búr-rua dugˇsakìr-ra g[a]-mu-ra-anb-tugc-àmd dinanna ur -re gaa-mu-u b-húl-l[e]c 5 8 dugˇ sakìr kù-ge gù x ˇsa -mu-na-a[b-bé] dnin-é-gal ur -re ga-mu-u -húl-[le] 5 8 sipa-zi lú- i -lu-du10-ga-[ke4] ur-ˇsa4-àma i- lu ˇsa-mub-ra-ni-i[b-bé] in-nin ai- lu anì ku7-ku7 -[da] dinanna ˇ sà- zu hé-ema- hul -[le] dug

II 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23) 24) 25) 26) 27) 28) 29) 30) 31) 32) 33)

in-nin éa-tùr-ra ku4-[ra]- zu-dè inanna tùr ˇsa-mu-[u8a-da-húl-le] nu-u8-gig amaˇs-a ku4- ra-zu -[dè] dinanna amaˇ s ˇsa-mu-u8- da -[húl]- le a é- ubur a-ra-ka ku4-ra- zu -dè u8-u8-[zi]-dè aˇsa-mu-ra-an-bàra-gea nita- dam-zu dama-uˇsumgal-an-na gaba-kù-z[a A.A]N.MA al hé-em-me amaˇs-kù-ge ì ki ha-ra-sù-e u5 ì-sù-e ga ì-sù-e dinanna ur -re ˇ sa-mu-u8-húl-le 5 amaˇs-kù-ge ì ha-ra-sù-e dnin-é-gal ur -re ˇ sa-mu-u8-[húl]-le 5 lugal-ˇsà-ge-ne-pà- da -zu ddumu-zi dumu-d en-lil -ra é-tùr-e ì-ga ahé-en-da-ab-béa [a]maˇs-ea kirix (KA)-zal-la bhé-en-da-ab-béb d

III 34) 35) 36) 37)

[sip]a-zi-dama u4-da- ni héb-sù-ud a[si]pa-zi ddumu-zi-dé u -nam-hé-a-ke a 4 4 bal-bal-dinanna-kam amu-bi 35a Variants from A: 2. a-ain-nin-e tùr-e gin-na-e. 3. a-au4-um-du-ù-nam. 5. a-anitadam (US, ˇ MÍ.DAM); b-ke4 added. 6. Omitted. 7. a-aOmitted. 8. x a-aOmitted. 9. a-búr; b-ab; c-túg?; domitted. 10. ahé; b-e-; c-e. 11–12. Omitted. 14. aOmitted: bomitted. 15. a-anì-nam-ma, 16. a-mu-e. 17. aOmitted. 18. a-u8-mu-. 20. a-e. 21. a-bu-. 22. a-aˇsu-mu ba-ra-gi-nam. 23–24. Omitted. 25. a-ab-x-. 26–31. Omitted. 32. a-amu-ra-ab-di!-et!?.

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33. a-a; b-bhé-sù. 34. a-a dIˇs-me-dDa-gan; bomitted. 35. a-au8-e silá-bé mí-zi-didè. 36, Omitted. 37. a-a26. ˇ A adds catchline (?): nitadam(MÍ.US.DAM)-mu u6 du10-ge-eˇs hé-i-i.

E. Translation of B. I 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 8a) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16)

Cow of the good voice, calf of the far voice, You are the goddess who encompasses everything in the stall. Virgin who is a ‘lip,’ Inanna, may you call to the churn! To the churn may your husband call! To the churn may Dumuzi call! Inanna, to the churn may you call! To the churn may Dumuzi call! Inanna . . . Let me be the one who gets the churning of the churn for you. Inanna, let me make the reins glad. “To the holy churn ca[ll!”] I will verily say to him. Ninegal, let me make the reins glad. The righteous shepherd, the man of sweet song Will verily recite a song of (lit: which is) jubilation, for you. Goddess who sweetens everything (in) song. Inanna, let your heart be glad. II

17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22) 23) 24) 25) 26) 27) 28) 29) 30) 31) 32) 33)

Goddess, when you enter the stall, Inanna, you will verily make the stall glad with me. Hierodule, when you enter the sheepfold, Inanna, you will verily make the sheepfold glad with me. When you enter the ‘house of the udder,’ I will verily make all the mother sheep spread out for you. Your husband Ama-uˇsumgal-anna On your holy breast he craves . . . By the holy sheepfold may fat be extensive for you. The herdsman will make it extensive for you, he will make milk extensive. Inanna, I will verily make the reins glad, By the holy sheepfold may fat be extensive for you, Ninegal, I will verily make the reins glad. For your king who is called in their hearts, For Dumuzi the son of Enlil, By the stall decree fat and milk! By the sheepfold decree ‘fertility’!

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34) 35) 36) 37)

To him who is the true shepherd—may his days be long— To the true shepherd, Dumuzi, to days of abundance— It is a balbale of Inanna. Its lines: 35.

III. *23. Self-Predication of Lipit-Iˇstar This text was reconstructed by Römer in its entirety from nineteen different exemplars and fragments (pp. 29–38).54 Three unpublished pieces from the Jena collection could not be utilized. These exemplars are now augmented by five duplicates from the Yale Babylonian Collection which may be labelled in continuation of Römer’s sigla as follows: T U V W X

NBC 7270 (prism; orig. complete in 4 cols.) YBC 7155 (ll. 46–77) (orig. ca. 41–80) YBC 7168a (ll. 53–67) (orig. ca. 41–80) YBC 7196 (ll. 63–86) (rev. uninscribed) MLC 1839 (ll. 82–105) (orig. ca. 70-end)

This composition was clearly the most popular in the whole repertoire, attested in copies from Kiˇs (M, N) and Ur (R, S) as well as Nippur, and employed at an early stage of instruction as shown by a brief extract on a practice tablet (Q) containing also quotations from other texts, and by its presumable occurrence in the Ur curriculum.55 The new exemplars offer numerous variants from Römer’s edition, but many of these are purely orthographic and do not affect the sense of the hymn. Only the more significant revisions in the translation, as suggested by the new variants, will therefore be mentioned here. 56. T, U, V: inim-ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ge (T: -gim?) den-líl hun-gá-me-en, “I am appointed/installed (according) to the favorable dictates (of ) Enlil.” 62. U, V: MURUB-tùm é-babbar nu-ub-dab-bé-me-en, “I am one who does not carry off the . . . brought into Ebabbar.” 54 For two of these (O and P), only the notes of Kramer, BiOr 11: 17636 were available to the author. 55 Cf. my review of UET VI/1 in a forthcoming JCS.

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ˇ T: US-túm gá! nu-dág-bi-me-en, by conflation with l. 66 (T: [eridu]ki -ta gá nu-dág-ge-bi-me-en); cf. also l. 58 (T: gá la nu-dág-ge dnusku gub-ba-me-en). 69. T, W: zi-ˇsà-gál uruki-ni-ˇsè al-di(T omits)-me-en, “I am the one who desires sustenance for his city,” or “I am the sustenance desired for his city.” 71. T, U, W: lugal mè-ˇsè ku-kur-du7-du7-me-en, “I am the king who charges into battle (like) a flood.” Cf. now A. Sjöberg, AS 16 (1965) 66. 78. W: ur-sag igi-zalag-ga ka-keˇsda-ge-na-me-en, “I am the hero with the shining eyes, the firm regiment.” For ka-keˇsda in parallelism with ugnim (cf. l. 77), cf. Enheduanna A (nin-me-ˇsár-ra) 46 f.: ugnim-bi nibi-a ma-ra-ab-gin-gin-e / ka-keˇsda-bi ni-bi-a ma-ra-ab-si-il-le. For kakeˇsda with ge-na, cf. RA 12 f. 73 f. (Exaltation of Iˇstar) 11 f.: ka-keˇsda-mèa ge-ne-da-zu-dè = ki-s. ir ta-ha-za ina kun-ni-ka!- (ref. courtesy van Dijk). T’s reading (ur-sag igi-zalag-ga ka-keˇsda nu-du8-a-me-en) is based on conflation with 1. 72. 79. W: dLi-pi-it dumu dEn-líl-lá-me-en. For such abbreviations of the royal name in hymns and elsewhere, cf. my remarks in JCS 18 (1964) 67 and notes 11 f. ˇ zi-dè-eˇs KAL-me-en; 80. T: kuˇs-eden a-ˇsedx(MÙS.DI)-dè W: kuˇs-a-eden-lá a-zi KAL-a-me-en, “I am the one who . . . the waterskins effectively with cold water (var.: with effective water).” For the “life-giving water” of W (so also A?!), cf. e.g. Emeˇs and Enten (van Dijk, La Sagesse 49) 297; for a-zi-(da) in the sense of “good seed,” cf. Römer p. 249. 81. T, W: igi-gál-kaskal-la (T: -e) an-dùl erén-na-me-en, “I am the observer of the campaign, the protection of the soldier.” For the king as “protector,” cf. van Dijk, La Sagesse, p. 82 ad Dumuzi and Enkimdu 73. 83. T, W, X: sˇà-dugud-da inim-ˇsè-gál-la-me-en, “I am the ‘heavyhearted’ (i.e. serious-minded) one available for / at ‘the word’.” For this variant, cf. already S. For the construction, cf. Römer p. 124 ad *4: 62. The line thus properly excludes any reference to justice.

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84. T, W, X: dim-ma galga-sù (T adds: -e) a-rá-e kin-gá-me-en, “I am the one who has mastered planning, counsel and calculation.” Again, the intrustive moral tone can be eliminated. For kin-gá, cf. most recently Goetze, Iraq 22 (1960) 151 f., Falkenstein, ZA 56 (1964) 61. 87. (T omits this line.) X: na4 ?? úbùr-u-da ukù-ta-è-a, “I am the one who emerges from the people (like) mint (from) the stone.” Admittedly this dubious translation fits neither into the context of “the king and wisdom” (ll. 82–86), nor into that of “the king and justice” (ll. 88– 97). 96. T, X: kala-ga-me-en (X: nì-gi ) pa bi-è-a, “I am the strong one who has appeared (var. who has made justice appear).” As a royal title, kalaga has virtually the sense of “sovereign, legitimate.” The longer variant may be preferable here, or it may be due to conflation with 1. 106. 98. T, X: é-gal nam-lugal (X adds: -la) ki-tuˇs-kù du10?-du10 -ga-me-en, “I am the one whose holy dwelling has been made pleasant (?) in the royal palace.” 99–100. T, X: nitadam-mu kù-dinanna-ke4 / giˇs-gu-za-gá suhuˇs-bi mani- in-gi “My spouse the holy Inanna has made the foundation of my throne firm for me.” These two lines belong together as one couplet. They represent a cliché of royal hymnography. 101–103. These lines represent only two lines in fact. Note that their order is reversed in K, while in S the end of the first line seems to have been wrongly joined to the end of 1. 100. The different exemplars appear to represent successively more expurgated versions, with T at one extreme and A at the other. For convenience, all the textual witnesses will be recorded here. a

sù-daa u4-ul-blé-a-aˇsb cgú-dac hu-mu-dni-lád / ki-náe ní-du10 nìf-ˇsà-húl-lagkah, “For length of days she embraces me (var. ever lies . . . with me) / On the bed (var. seat) of pleasure and rejoicing.” a-aK: sù(d)-rá. b-bSo X; T: d-dSo A; T: un-ná-ná ˇ -lá-àm; K: -lé-e-éˇs; A: -a-aˇs. c-cT: AS.AM.DU.X. eA: -tuˇ f g h s. X omits, So T, S; A, K: -le-. So S; A: -da.

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IV. *31d. Hymn to [Enlil(?)] with Prayer for Bur-Sin A. Classification. Although the rubric is lost, the composition is almost certainly an adab, since the concluding sagarra is followed by an antiphone and an urubi. B. Structure. Only about half of the text is preserved, but it may be supposed that at or near the end of the obverse, which is concerned with the deity, there was a sagidda. The notations sa-gar-ra, giˇs-gi4-gálbi-im and urú[urux-bi-im] are preserved on the reverse and edge. There is no trace of bar-sud or ˇsà-ba-tuk notations, but these are occasionally absent in adab-compositions. Quite apart from such notations, however, the preserved lines show a clear triplet arrangement to judge by their content. C. Transliteration. 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) R. 1) 2) 3) 4 ) 5 ) 6) 7) 8) 9 ) 10) 11)

[ a]n-ki-ˇsè aˇs(a)-ni-ˇsè sag -[rib ˇsà-a]ˇs-ˇsa4 da-nun-ke4-ne ka-t[a]-è-a-ni ság nu-[?] dnu-nam-nir eˇ s-bar-du11-ga nu-kúr- ru sag-kù-gál ní-su-zi-ri-a aˇs-a-ni-ˇsè sag-il nun-gal-e-ne és -nibruki dur-an-ki-a-ka é -kur é-nam-tar-tar-re-da [?] ku-za-gìn-na dúr bí-in-[gar] [kù]-dnin-líl kur-gal-da zà-[?] [ ] gú-da ù-mu-ni-in-lá. [ ]-du11-ge rest of obv. and beg. of rev. lost uru- á-ág -[ ] ka-keˇsda-bi [ ] den-líl-me-en du -ga-[zu ma]h-àm 11 dingir na-me nu-mu-e-da- búr -re [na]m i-ri-tar pa-è ga-mu-ra-ab-diri [na]m-ti-zu nam-ti ga-mu-ra-ab-dah d utu-gim u -zu ga-ra-ab-sù-sù-ud 4 [k]ur-kur-ra dingir-bi za-e-me-en sa-gar-ra-àm en-nam-tar-re . . . -me-en dbur-dEN.ZU giˇ skim- lugal mu-e-ti-le-en giˇs-gi4-gál-bi-im nì- zi ni-gi-na pa bí A-è kuˇs-kalam-ma mu- su-ub

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12) [ ]-utu-è-ta utu-ˇsú-uˇs-e mu-zu hé-im- húl 13) [ s]ag-zu hé-ni-in-íl 14) [ s]ag-bi-ˇsè hé-pà Left edge uru

[urux -bi-im a-da-ab den-líl-lá-kam]

D. Translation. 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) R. 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14)

Uniquely . . . towards heaven and earth, First among equals of (all) the Anunna, Whose utterances are not overturned, Nunamnir, who does not alter the decrees (once) pronounced, Chief canal inspector who is clothed with awesome splendor. Uniquely lifting the head most proudly of (all) the Igigi, In Duranki, the sanctuary of Nippur, In the Ekur, the house where fates are to be determined, In the house of precious metal and stone he has made his dwelling. Holy Ninlil, equal in rank with the ‘great mountain’ (Enlil), When she embraces him in . . . ... The city instructions . . . Its regiments . . . You, oh Enlil, your pronouncements are lofty, No god whatever can . . . with you. “When fate is determined I will make it appear more brightly for you, To your life(span) I will add life for you, I will make your days long like the Sun for you.” You are the god of all the (foreign) lands (sagara) You are the lord who determines fate . . ... (For) divine Bur-Sin you are the royal support (Its antiphone) Righteousness and justice have appeared, the body of the nation has . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . from sunrise to sunset may your name rejoice! . . . . . . . . . . . . may you lift your head! . . . . . . . . . . . . may he summon (you) at their head! (urubi) [adab of Enlil]

iii.4 THE BIRTH OF KINGS*

“Love is strong as death.” This defiant challenge from the Song of Songs, which Marvin Pope made the motto and Leitmotif of his monumental commentary, was also the starting-point of Franz Rosenzweig’s essay on “Revelation, or the Ever-Renewed Birth of the Soul,” the center-piece of his programmatic synthesis of religious philosophy, with its “grammatical analysis of the Song of Songs” according to which “the analogue of love permeates as analogue all of revelation.”1 For an Assyriologist who has spent many profitable hours studying both authors, it would therefore be intriguing and rewarding to trace the theme of love and death in the cuneiform sources. But this would have to be done in terms of kings (or gods), the preferred focus of cuneiform literature. The reason for these preferences is not far to seek. Palaces and temples were the chief patrons of both arts and letters in Sumer and Akkad—and then as now, he who pays the piper calls the tune. As a result we unfortunately know less than we would like about the common man: his concerns, his aspirations, his reactions to life. These matters figure in literature only or chiefly in proverbs and other types of socalled wisdom texts, numerically a relatively small literary genre. And in the plastic and other representational arts, Mesopotamia preserves little to rival the revealing vignettes of the lot of the average man or woman provided in Egypt by funerary deposits and tomb paintings. By contrast we know almost too much about the king—too much at any rate to convey in the span of a brief article. I will not attempt to do

* The substance of these remarks was delivered to the symposium on Kingship in the Ancient Near East, Brooklyn Museum, October 24, 1976, organized by Madeline I. Noveck and chaired by Edith Porada. The full version, including a transcript of the ensuing discussion, will appear in the forthcoming proceedings of the Symposium. The footnotes incorporate references to the illustrations included as slides in the original presentation. 1 Franz Rosenzweig, The Star of Redemption (William W. Hallo, trans.; Boston, Beacon Press, 1972): Part Two, Book Two, esp. pp. 156, 199, 201–204.

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so here, nor even to summarize the lifetime of a typical Mesopotamian king by constructing a kind of biographical collage derived from all the abundant documentation of the third and second millennia bc. Such a composite portrait would properly begin with a study of the mystique surrounding the royal birth, and grappling with this question has convinced me that it deserves, all by itself, all the time at my disposal. It has the advantage of highlighting the differences between royalty and commoners and whatever (if anything) lies in between. Then too, it involves also the royal parents, so that it covers much of the royal lifetime anyway. And finally, it touches on a basic problem of any political system, namely the mechanics of transferring power from one administration to the next. Even in our day, the presidential succession continues to be the subject of constitutional amendments— how much more acute the problem is in authoritarian governments around the world. This is obvious from a look at the headlines: China yesterday, Yugoslavia today, Russia tomorrow—all confront problems of succession, and so did early Mesopotamian monarchy. I will therefore reject Shakespeare’s invitation “For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings”2 and focus instead on the generally happier tales of their birth and accession. The birth of the royal heir, “la naissance du dauphin” as it is put in a recent French treatment,3 has an elemental importance in the whole ideology of kingship whenever and wherever that office is hereditary. It was not always so. At the dawn of Mesopotamian history lies what archaeologists call the Jemdet Nasr period—one of the most fruitful and inventive cultural phases of all. I equate it with what native historiographic traditions call the antediluvian period, that legendary time when eight shadowy kings ruled five ancient cities until all were swept away by the Great Flood.4 In the various Babylonian versions of this tale, the kings in question were not connected to each other as father and son; they were not even necessarily consecutive. That view of

Richard II, Act III, Scene 2, line 155. Herbert Sauren apud Paul Garelli, ed., Le Palais et La Royauté (= Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale 19 [1971], 1974): 457–471. This volume is an excellent survey of the current state of studies on Mesopotamian kingship. (Hereinafter cited as RAI 19.) 4 For a convenient if schematic chart of the literary evidence, see W.W. Hallo and W.K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: a History (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovitch, 1971): 32 (fig. 6). (Hereinafter cited as ANEH.) 2 3

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the matter was injected into the antediluvian traditions, perhaps under Amorite influence, in their biblical recasting in Genesis 4 (Adam to Naama) and Genesis 5 (Enosh to Noah). After the flood mankind was vouchsafed a second chance. Once more, according to native Mesopotamian historiography, “kingship was lowered from heaven” and this time it was entrusted to a single city, Kish. We may therefore call the period after the first dynasty of Kish, and I equate it, in archaeological terms, with the First Early Dynastic Period (ca. 2900–2700).5 A dozen names of kings are recorded in one form of the native traditions but they are of no importance— mere names without associations (other than those—e.g., animals or totems—conjured up by the meanings of the names themselves) and without family connections to each other. But another tradition is more significant: it begins kingship with a certain Etana of Kish, and weaves a long legend around his lengthy efforts to secure an heir. This legend is known in fragments of neo-Assyrian, Middle Assyrian and Old Akkadian date. Thus it represents one of the most persistent, not to say perennial concerns of Mesopotamian arts and letters: how to insure male issue.6 Recent discoveries of new fragments have made a somewhat better understanding of the epic or legend of Etana possible. As interpreted by an Assyriologist who is also a historian of medicine, the new fragments are said to show that Etana married a certain Mu-dam, whose very name is pregnant with meaning—to wit she is the one who gives birth (mud-àm)!7 But her first pregnancy ended badly, almost disastrously.8 Fortunately, the queen had a dream which revealed the means needed to overcome her obstetrical problems: Etana had to get her the plant of life. Unfortunately that was easier said than done and the next ANEH 41 (fig. 7). Ibid. 40, note 29, for literary allusions to Etana, to which add M.E. Cohen, ZA 65 (1977): 3, note 6 (ad 14, line 78); G. Komoróczy, Acta Antiqua 23 (1975): 46 f. and notes 27–34. 7 J.V. Kinnier Wilson, “Some Contributions to the Legend of Etana,” Iraq 31 (1969): 8–17; idem, “Further Contributions to the Legend of Etana,” JNES 33 (1974): 240. This reading and interpretation is, however, far from certain in any of the three fragmentary passages involved (Sm 157+, first and last lines; K9610, last line), nor is the attribution of either of the fragments to Etana conclusively proven, according to W.G. Lambert, JNES 39 (1980): 74, n. 1. 8 Kinnier Wilson’s restorations and translations of the fragmentary passage (JNES 33:239) are, however, quite problematical and it is not even clear that the two fragments on which they are based belong either to each other or to Etana; cf. Lambert, ibid. 5 6

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three chapters (or tablets) concern Etana’s complicated and adventurous quest for this rare pharmaceutical, including one or more flights to heaven on the wings of an eagle, the theme most often illustrated in the Old Akkadian “Etana seals.”9 But despite at least one crash landing, his efforts were crowned with success, or so we may surmise. For one thing the Sumerian King List preserves the name of Balih, Etana’s son and successor, together with the royal descendants of his successor. For another the newly identified fragments of the legend describe just how a shoot from the plant of life was used, like a poultice, to relax the uterus at the first signs of labor-pains; and a painless delivery followed.10 The legend I have just excerpted has many other interesting features and can be understood on many levels. A recent interpretation, for instance, regards it as an elaborate astral allegory.11 The portions I have quoted might lead one to consider the tale as a paradigm for obstetrical complications—indeed, it may owe its long survival and apparent popularity to the fact (demonstratable in other myths and epics, though not here) that its recitation was prescribed as a prophylactic measure against the illness or other evil narrated in it. And the device of attaching the paradigm to the figure of a king would be of a piece with the vast majority of Sumerian and Akkadian belles-lettres generally. That still entitles us to ask why this particular legend was attached to this particular king, the first king of all (after the Flood) according to its own version of history. My answer would be that the ancient author was deliberately trying to explain the origin of royal succession, and in the process to give it the highest possible antiquity and therefore also authority. Even heaven was not too far to go when it came to facilitating the birth of the royal heir, and this was established by the very first king. Nor was it possible to substitute a concubine for the proper queen (although admittedly the passage in question is very fragmentary). Much the same theme inspired the Ugaritic epic of Keret, sometimes thought to be the Kirta who was regarded as the founder or eponymous ancestor of the royal house of Mitanni. Depending on how the text is interpreted, Keret’s difficulties began when a succession of

9 For one of many examples, see André Parrot, Sumer: the Dawn of Art (New York: Golden Press, 1961): 188 (fig. 226). 10 Iraq 31 (1969): 15 f. 11 Sauren (N 3).

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disasters wiped out either all his children12 or all his intended brides.13 Here the main quest is for a new wife of royal blood, but the birth of the heir is again the goal of the exercise.14 But for all assurances of the legend, neither hereditary kingship nor Mesopotamian unity was securely established by Etana’s alleged precedent. For as we move into the Second Early Dynastic Period (ca. 2700– 2500 bc), we see the rule of the country divided between several competing city-states, and the succession passing from father to son only intermittently.15 In fact, this is the heroic age of Mesopotamia’s early history, enshrined forever in the Sumerian epics about Gilgamesh16 and the other lords of Uruk in the south and their antagonists at Kish in the north and in Aratta far to the east The charismatic leader, chosen for his prowess in battle or his skill in diplomacy, characterized this age, and immortality (if we credit “Gilgamesh and the land of the living” as well as the later Akkadian epic of Gilgamesh) was sought not through progeny but by heroic and memorable exploits leading to lasting fame (zikir sˇumi). Election to kingship was by vote of an assembly of armsbearing citizens, and royal birth was evidently neither necessary nor sufficient to secure that election. This pattern changed by the middle of the 3rd millennium, in what archaeology likes to describe as the 3rd (and last) of the Early Dynastic periods (ca. 2500–2300).17 Actually it is only now that we are really entitled to speak of true dynasties—at least if we mean by that term a succession of kings who claimed the right to rule by virtue of birth (or, occasionally, of marriage) into a given family. This was achieved by a new alliance of royal and ecclesiastical interests: the king endowing ever more lavish temples and their growing complements of priests and tenants, and in return having his claims to the reins of government legitimized by the priesthood. Already in the heroic age, some rulers had claimed divine descent: Meskiaggashir and Enmerkar of Uruk from Utu according to the Sumerian King List and the epics respectively, 12

So most persuasively, not to say ingeniously, Joshua Finkel, “A Mathematical Conundrum in the Ugaritic Keret Poem,” HUCA 26 (1955): 109–149. 13 So most recently B. Margalit, “The Ill-fated Wives of King Krt (CTA 14:14–21a)” UF 8 (1976): 137–145. 14 Herbert Sauren and Guy Kestemont, “Keret, roi de Hubur” UF 3 (1971): 181–221; M.C. Astour, “A North Mesopotamian Locale for the Keret Epic?” UF 5 (1973): 29–39. 15 ANEH 47 (fig. 8). 16 See Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 186 f. (figs. 223–225), for what are generally taken to be Old Akkadian representations of Gilgamesh. 17 ANEH 52 f. (fig. 9).

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Mesilim of Kish from the mother-goddess Ninhursaga according to his own inscription. Beginning with the great Eannatum of Lagash, every ruler now explicitly proclaimed his divine descent. In the famous Stele of Vultures,18 Eannatum even calls himself “the seed-implanted-in-thewomb of Ningirsu” or, again, says that “Ningirsu implanted the seed of Eannatum in the womb and [Ninhursage or Ba"u] bore him.”19 His two immediate successors were regarded as sons of Lugal-uru(b) and, presumably, of Inanna, his divine spouse.20 The last Lagash rulers in this period (Lugalanda and Urukagina) were respectively sons of the goddesses Nanshe and Ba"u, while their contemporary and conqueror, Lugalzagesi of Umma, had Nisaba for a divine mother. The new ideology did not content itself with the impregnation and gestation by a divine father and mother respectively. Throughout the pre-natal and post-natal period, the gods attended the pre-ordained successor. This is stated most explicitly in the royal epithets. To illustrate, we may revert to the stele of Eannatum, which describes him as “king of Lagash, endowed with strength by the god Enlil, nourished with life-giving milk by the goddess Ninhursaga, named with a good name (throne-name?)21 by the goddess Inanna, endowed with understanding by the god Enki, heart’s choice of the goddess Nanshe,” and so on and so forth. Of course, not all Mesopotamian kings were “born to the purple.” New dynasties were founded, and old ones toppled, when usurpers seized the throne. In such cases, legitimation came of necessity after the fact, not before—in part, for example, by the very name assumed on accession, which defied all challenges, as in the instance of the most celebrated usurper of all, Sargon of Akkad,22 whose Akkadian name has been interpreted to mean “the king is legitimate.” As if Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 135 (fig. 164). Åke W. Sjöberg, “Die göttliche Abstammung der sumerisch-babylonischen Herrscher,” Orientalia Suecana 21 (1973): 87–89; T. Jacobsen, Kramer Anniversary Volume (= AOAT 25, 1976; hereinafter abbreviated as Kramer AV ): 251 and note 13, now favors Ba"u. 20 See below, note 66. 21 Literally “sweet name,” as in Hittite myths of Hurrian derivation; see H.A. Hoffner, JNES 27 (1968): 201 f. Is a loan-translation involved? Cf. Hittite “sweet sleep” (ibid., notes 36 and 39) with Sumerian ù-du10-ku-ku. I hinted at the sense “throne-name” in my Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles (= AOS 43, 1957): 133 f. Sjöberg, however, sees mu-nam-enna as the throne-name; “Abstammung” (N 19): 112. 22 Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 171 (fig. 206). But the head may equally well picture his grandson Naram-Sin. 18 19

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to make up for his lack of divine parentage and innate endowments, posterity surrounded Sargon’s birth with an extraordinary profusion of legends, the most famous of which is no doubt that according to which his mother was a high-priestess (and thus either not free to bear children or possibly specializing in the procreation of royalty!)23 who therefore exposed him in a basket of rushes in the Euphrates where, like Moses, he was rescued and raised by a foster-parent. This tale recurs in one form or another all over the world; the general tendency is to regard the Moses tale as modelled on the Sargon legend, or both as derived from a common original. A third possibility is too often overlooked—namely that the tale of Sargon is modelled on that of Moses! For its earliest textual witnesses date from the seventh century, and there are no internal indices requiring us to suppose a date of composition appreciably closer to the events of the late 24th century which it describes. The considerable family of Sargon managed to extend its sway over all the high political and priestly offices of Mesopotamia, a land which thus experienced its first truly imperial unification.24 But Sargon’s two oldest sons and first successors were (in my reconstruction) born before this unification had been achieved, and they too could not claim divine parentage. Indeed, their birth may have been complicated by a statistical rarity. Although it is only, so far, a learned guess, they may in fact have been twins. This is indicated on the one hand by the tradition that the succession passed first to the younger of the two, and on the other by the very name of the elder brother, Man-ishtushu,25 which means “who (is) with him?” and may be an abbreviation (to judge by parallel Sumerian names) of either “who compares with him?” or “who comes out with him?”26 It was only with the son of this Manishtushu that the “dynastic ideology” could be fully applied to the Sargonic kings. Naram-Sin the great, in my opinion really the greatest member of the dynasty, actually

23 On a possible son of Enheduanna and on the question whether the en-priestess was allowed to have children (inside or outside the sacred marriage), see the discussion by J. Renger, ZA 58 (1967): 131 and H. Hirsch, AfO 20 (1963): 9 and note 79. 24 ANEH 58 (fig. 10). 25 Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 178 (figs. 214 f.). 26 ANEH 59; previously T. Jacobsen, AS 11 (1939): 112n. 249. The nearest Sumerian equivalent is a-ba-an-da-è or a-ba-ì(in)-da-(an)-è, for which cf., e.g., MSL 13:87:40 and NRVNI 14, and which C. Wilcke apud D.O. Edzard, BiOr 28 (1971): 165 n. 8, regards as a possible twin-name.

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claimed divine status for himself (the first Mesopotamian king to do so),27 as did his son Shar-kali-sharri after him. The latter in addition claimed divine parentage again after the manner of the Early Dynastic rulers.28 But the empire forged by the great Sargonic kings collapsed in anarchy after the death of Sharkalisharri, and the country reverted to its characteristic pattern of small to medium-sized city-states.29 Culturally, the pendulum swung back to the south, where Lagash enjoyed a renaissance under the house of Ur-Ba"u. But a curious phenomenon characterized the succession here. Ur-Ba"u was blessed with a large number of daughters, and presumably no sons. So it appears that the throne passed successively to no less than three of his sons-in-law.30 Of these the most famous was certainly Gudea,31 whose own humble origins are only lightly concealed behind his telling autobiographical note: “I have no mother: you (oh goddess Gatumdug) are my mother; I have no father: you (oh Gatumdug) are my father.”32 With the accession of Gudea begins what I like to designate as the classical phase of Mesopotamian civilization, a half millennium (ca. 2100–1600), roughly coterminous with the Middle Bronze Age in the rest of Western Asia, when the cultural traditions crystallized into their most typical form. I will therefore spare you a detailed history of the separate stages in the evolution of the ideology of royal birth and present instead an overview of the legacy which this entire age bequeathed to posterity. This is the easier because the period as a whole is amply documented and, in particular, a new literary vehicle, the royal hymn (and to a lesser extent the royal correspondence) emerged now to give formal expression to the details of the royal ideology. Combined with the older but intimately related genres of royal date formulas and royal inscriptions, the testimony of the hymns allows us to generalize with some assurance. Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 175–177 (figs. 211–213). Sjöberg, “Abstammung” (N 19): 91 f. and note 1. 29 ANEH 66 (fig. 12). 30 Renger, “The Daughters of Urbaba: Some Thoughts on the Succession to the Throne During the 2. Dynasty of Lagash,” Kramer AV (1976): 367–369. 31 Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 204–217 (figs. 251–266). 32 Cylinder A iii 6 f. and the related passage in “The rulers of Lagaˇs,” for which see E. Sollberger, JCS 21 (1967) [publ. 1969]): 286 and note 80. At the same time the physical description in the next line of the Cylinder implies divine birth; cf. Jacobsen, Kramer AV (1976): 251, note 15; A. Falkenstein, Die Inschriften Gudeas von Lagaˇs (AnOr 30, 1966): 2 f. 27 28

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Perhaps the most significant new development is a “solution” of the mechanics of divine birth. It may have occurred to you to wonder how the concept of divine parentage was reconciled with a basic reluctance to regard the royal offspring himself as a deity—a reluctance the more conspicuous by contrast with Old Kingdom Egypt.33 Though two of the Sargonic kings and (after Ur-Nammu) all those of Ur and Isin in the classical phase claimed divinity of sorts, only one king (Shu-Sin of Ur) actually permitted himself to be worshipped like a “real” god in temples dedicated to his worship in his own lifetime,34 a practice which was apparently particularly abhorrent to the many Amorite dynasties which divided the rule of Mesopotamia among themselves about 1900 bc, a century after the fall of Ur. I would like to propose here a new solution to the paradox: that the divine parentage of the future king was achieved or symbolized in the cultic rite of the so-called sacred marriage or, in other words, that the (or at least an) object of that rite was to produce a royal heir and to establish his divine descent. In all the recent spate of discussions on the sacred marriage, this point of view has barely been considered.35 Let me therefore give you first a brief description of the institution as now known. It was a ceremony in the temple precincts in which a king and what is generally taken to be a priestess36 consummated a sexual union to the accompaniment of offerings and hymns or prayers by the clergy. The prayers make it abundantly clear that the union was, at least on one level, a symbolic one. The king symbolized a god and his partner a goddess. Most often the divine couple were perceived as Dumuzi and Inanna

33 Cf. Henri Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods (Chicago: Chicago Univ. Press, 1948): 301, who grapples with the Eannatum pasages (above, note 19) in this connection. 34 ANEH 84 and Hallo, “The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: a Typology,” HUCA 33 (1962): 18. For other possible indications of “emperor-worship” in Ur III times, see Claus Wilcke, RAI 19 (1974): 179 f. with notes 30–58 (pp. 188–192). 35 J. van Dijk, BiOr 11 (1954): 84, note 9, at least raised the question: “It is not at all certain that the sacred marriage had any relation to procreation” (translation mine). Cf. also Renger’s reference to “children of an en-priestess who (at least in part) sprang from the union in the sacred marriage,” ZA 58 (1967): 131 (translation mine). Sjöberg ponders whether the royal offspring could have been engendered in the sacred marriage, and Inanna thus regarded as divine mother as specified (only) in the case of Anam of Uruk; see Or 35 (1966): 289 f. 36 Cf., e.g., S.N. Kramer, RAI 17 (1970): 140: “And who, finally, played the role of the goddess throughout the ceremony? It must have been some specially selected votary of the goddess, but this is never stated . . . .”

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respectively, but other pairs were possible depending on local circumstances.37 The prayers also suggest a variety of symbolic meanings for the act: as the basis for the royal partner’s own claim to divinity,38 as a guarantee of fertility for the country as a whole,39 as a ritual enactment of an astral myth, as proof (or refutation) of the belief in a seasonal resurrection of Dumuzi, as a possible part of the annual new year’s ritual40 or, alternatively, as a unique element in the coronation ritual once at, or near, the beginning of each reign.41 Apart from the obvious lack of clarity in the sources themselves reflected in these partly divergent interpretations as to the significance of the sacred marriage, it must be emphasized that they all confine themselves to its symbolic level. They ignore the real act and its reality level. If we stop to consider what actually transpired, it was, after all, the consummation of a sexual union. This is explicitly stated in the texts, and may be deduced also from innumerable artistic representations, if not in quite the measure that earlier interpretations suggested.42 I would like therefore to propose that on the real, as against the symbolic level, the sacred marriage in the classical phase served to engender the crown prince, thus bridging the gap between the cosmic and the earthly which had been left open by the earlier ideology. For the king, this is expressed tellingly by substituting for his name the name

37 A novel illustration of such local variations comes from Emar, where the sacred marriage was consummated in an annual (?) seven-day ritual between the high priestess (entu) and the storm-god (Baal); see for now D. Arnaud, Annuaire de l’École Pratique des Hautes Études (Ve section) 84 (1975–1976): 223 f. 38 So especially Frankfort, Kingship (N 33): 295–299. 39 Here as elsewhere (see below, note 41), one interpretation is not necessarily mutually exclusive with another. According to Kramer, the very purpose of Ninsun’s giving birth to Shulgi was to assure the fertility of the country; see RAI 19 (1974): 165. 40 See especially van Dijk, “La fête du nouvel an dans un texte de Sulgi,” ˇ BiOr 11 (1954): 83–88; W.H.Ph. Römer, Sumerische “Königshymnen” der Isin-Zeit (= DMOA 13, 1965): cf. IV. 41 Renger, RLA 4 (1975): 257. In fact, the coronation may have been scheduled to coincide with the New Year’s ritual, but previous commentators seem to have overlooked this possibility. 42 Frankfort, Sculpture of the Third Millennium bc from Tell Asmar and Khafajah (= Oriental Institute Publications 44, 1939): pl. 112, fig. 199. Line drawing by Johannes Boese, Altmesopotamische Weihplatten (= Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie . . . [ZA Suppl.] 6, 1971): pl. IV, fig. 1 (AS 4). This, together with some half dozen seals, is the only representation of an erotic scene considered a remotely possible candidate for a sacred marriage depiction by J.S. Cooper, “Heilige Hochzeit. B. Archäologisch,” RLA 4 (1975): 259–269, esp. p. 266.

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of Dumuzi (or another god) in certain sacred marriage texts;43 for the priestess—if the feminine partner was a priestess—it is explicit in her very title (or one of them: nin-dingir) which means “the lady who is a deity” (not the lady of the god),44 a point underlined by the statue of a high priestess of the moon-god at Ur which has attachments for the horned cap symbolizing divinity—with this attachment (now lost), the statue represents the moon-god’s heavenly consort (Ningal), without it the priestess who dedicated the inscription to her.45 And just as mortal king and human priestess are god and goddess in the rite, so the product of their union emerges as divinely born without forfeiting his essential humanity. A solution has been found for uniting a transcendent conception of divinity with an immanent conception of kingship, and the solution is congenial to the Mesopotamian world-view. But if this solution is so genial, it may be asked why it has not been proposed before. One reason may be the ambivalent role of Inanna, whose multifarious roles conspicuously minimize the maternal one,46 another the relative silence of the sources. They seem to dwell in loving detail on the physical aspects of the sacred marriage on the one hand, and on the divine birth of the royal heir on the other, without ever linking the two events explicitly. It would not be difficult to account for the silence: marriage and birth were sacraments of the royal lifetime which were celebrated in an elaborate liturgy, but the gestation period which intervened was not. It therefore was not the cultic stimulus for commissioning a textual genre. Moreover, the silence of the texts is more apparent than real. Besides the frequent references in Hallo, BiOr 23 (1966): 244 f., here: III.3. Falkenstein, Inschriften Gudeas (N32): 2, note 8; cf. Renger, ZA 58 (1967): 134 f., 144. 45 L. Legrain, Museum Journal 18 (1927): 223–229. Hallo, “Women of Sumer,” apud D. Schmandt-Besserat, ed., The Legacy of Sumer (Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 4, 1976): 32 f. and fig. 16. 46 F.R. Kraus, WZKM 52 (1953): 53 f. She is invoked as mother only by two or three minor deities, notably Lulal (Kramer, JCS 18 [1964]: 38, note 13; but elsewhere Lulal seems to be regarded as son of Ninsun: Sjöberg, Or. Suec. 21 [1972]: 100 and note 1), ˇ ˇ Sara (Su-Sin 9; otherwise only in Anzu I iii 77, for which see Hallo and Moran, JCS 31 [1979]: 84 f.), and Sutitu (BRM 4:25:44; but in An-Anum IV 135, Sutitu is herself a manifestation of Inanna), and only by one king (above, note 35). In the “Descent of Inanna,” Shara and Lulal are both spared by Inanna but not identified as her sons; Kramer, JCS 5 (1951): 13:312–330. Curiously, the logogram for mother-goddess (protective goddess) is AMA.dINANNA, but here dINANNA has its generic sense of “(any) goddess”; cf. CAD s.vv. amal¯ıtu, iˇstar¯ıtu; J. Krecher, HSAO (1967): 89, note 2. The frequent reference to Inanna as kiskil (ardatu) refers to her youthfulness and (relative) childlessness, not to her virginity. 43 44

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hymns and elsewhere to the paternity of Mesopotamian kings in the royal epithet “seed of kingship” or “seed of the gods,”47 at least one of these kings, Ur-Nammu of Ur,48 seems to refer to his maternal descent with the epithet “seed of the high-priestess” or “high-priesthood.”49 And, indeed, the very solution proposed here had been adumbrated by Thorkild Jacobsen.50 Writing on early Mesopotamian political development in 1957, he analyzed the liturgical abab-hymn51 now known as Shulgi Hymn G. Jacobsen concluded “one is led to interpret (it) as meaning that Shulgir was engendered on an entu priestess of Nanna in Nippur, presumably during the celebration of the ‘sacred marriage’ between Nanna and the entu, in which Ur-Nammuk as king embodied the divine bridegroom, Nanna.”52 But except for a single and somewhat ambiguous remark in my own history of the Ancient Near East,53 and a generally negative critique by Sjöberg,54 this suggestive insight has not been followed up, even by Jacobsen himself. In his “Religious Drama in Ancient Mesopotamia”55 and even more fully in his recently published history of Mesopotamian religion,56 Jacobsen returned to the problem of the sacred marriage with never a hint of the engendering of the crown-prince. S.N. Kramer came up with a different analysis

W.G. Lambert, “The Seed of Kingship,” RAI 19 (1974): 427–440. Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 228, fig. 281. 49 Claus Wilcke, RAI 19 (1974): 180 and 194, note 72. Lambert, however, translates one of the two passages involved “seed of lordship” (“Seed” [N 47]: 428). (Note that en can mean either lord or priest[ess].) 50 Previously, Adam Falkenstein spoke obliquely of the “Gotteskindschaft des Königs, die aus der Stellvertretung eines Gottes . . . durch den König bei der Götterhochzeit erwachsen ist” in BiOr 7 (1950): 58. 51 Published by Gadd as CT 36:26 f. 52 Thorkild Jacobsen, ZA 52 (1957): 126 f., note 80; reprinted in his Towards the Image of Tammuz (= Harvard Semitic Series 21, 1970): 387 f., note 80. 53 ANEH, 49: “The crown prince, born of the sacred marriage between the king and the priestess of a given god, was considered the son of that god and subsequently invoked him as his personal patron.” Whether or not this state of affairs can be projected back into the Early Dynastic III period as proposed there, it is here maintained that, by the classical phase, the crown-prince became, rather, the son of the god represented by the king and the goddess represented by the priestess. 54 Or 35 (1966): 287–290. 55 Apud Hans Goedicke and J.J.M. Roberts, eds., Unity and Diversity (= The Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies 7, 1975): 65–97. 56 The Treasurers of Darkness (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1976): esp. 32–37. At the same time Jacobsen returned to the theme of the “birth of the hero” (i.e., king) without explicitly referring to the sacred marriage; see Kramer AV (N 19); previously: JNES 2 (1943): 119–121. 47 48

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ˇ of the Shulgi hymn,57 which he entitled “Sulgi, Provider of the Ekur: His Divine Birth and Investiture.” He has also contributed an entire monograph on the sacred marriage rite58 as well as numerous editions of new sacred marriage texts;59 nowhere does he mention any human birth resulting from it. Wilcke interprets the same Shulgi-hymn to mean that immediately upon his birth in the Ekur, the temple of Enlil at Nippur, Shulgi was recognized as crown-prince by Enlil in the lifetime of his father Ur-Nammu, but without suggesting a sacred marriage in this connection.60 Renger, who summed up the textual evidence on the institution for the authoritative Reallexikon der Assyriologie in 1975, mentions Jacobsen’s suggestion in passing only to reject it.61 For good measure he attributes a similar opinion to Adam Falkenstein,62 but it is not true that Gudea is said by the latter to have sprung from a union of priestess and male partner “anlässlich einer H[eiligen] H[ochzeit].” On the contrary, Falkenstein twice emphasizes that the nature of the cultic setting to which Gudea alludes is unknown!63 The new conception of divine birth as here proposed involves of necessity also a clarification of the royal father’s role. He had now for the first time to be regarded as the husband of the goddess, and the royal titulary duly reflects this. Beginning with Amar-Sin of Ur, and consistently with nearly all the kings of Isin, he is styled “the (beloved) spouse of Inanna.”64 The attempt to trace this usage back to Eannatum of Lagash65 was already rejected by me in 195766 and the

57 S.N. Kramer, “CT XXXVI. Corrigenda and Addenda,” Iraq 36 (1974): 93–95; idem, RAI 19 (1974): 165 f. 58 Kramer, The Sacred Marriage Rite (Indiana University Press, 1969). Cf. idem, “The Dumuzi-Inanna Sacred Marriage-Rite: Origin, Development, Character,” RAI 17 (1970): 135–141. 59 Kramer, “Cuneiform Studies and the History of Literature: the Sumerian Sacred Marriage Texts,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 107 (1963): 485–527; idem apud J.B. Pritchard, Ancient Near Eastern Texts (3rd ed.; Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1968): 637–645. 60 Wilcke, RAI 19 (1974): 181 and 195, note 76. 61 Renger, “Heilige Hochzeit A. Philologisch,” RLA 4 (1975): 258. 62 Ibid.; cf. idem, “Daughters” (N 30): note 16. 63 Falkenstein, Inschriften Gudeas (N 32). 64 Hallo, Royal Titles (N 21): 140 f.; cf. idem, JNES 31 (1972): 88. 65 Renger, “Heilige Hochzeit” (N 61): 258 f.; Wilcke, RLA 5 (1976): 80 f., even wants to extend the usage back to Mesannepada. 66 Hallo, Royal Titles (N 64); similarly Sjöberg, Abstammung (N 19): 90, and Sollberger and Kupper, Inscriptions Royales Sumériennes et Akkadiennes (= Littératures Anciennes du Proche-Orient 3, 1971): 55.

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alleged reference to it under Naram-Sin of Akkad67 is from a late copy where its authenticity must be at least questioned. Somewhat more ambiguous is the role of the female partner in the new conception of the sacred marriage. Was she exempt from the interdiction of childbirth such as we posited in the case of Sargon’s mother? Could she have been the high-priestess of the moon-god as Jacobsen suggested, given the fact that this office was, during the classical phase, regularly filled by the daughter of the king himself ? Or was she some other member of the royal family, as in the case of many other highly placed priestesses? Was she, or did she become, the wife of the king?68 Or was she, at least sometimes, the sister of the king, as has been suggested in the case of the last king of Ur, Ibbi-Sin?69 If the woman did not prove to yield a male heir, was she allowed to try again, or not? In other words, was the sacred marriage performed only one time or as many times as proved necessary? Was it performed in only one place, or were a number of cities privileged to have their temples conduct the ceremony—as seems indicated by the fact that the new king later regarded different deities as his parents in different cities of his kingdom. Did a consistent ideology emerge which defined a dynasty as a succession of kings sharing the same divine parents, and identified a change of dynasty as a change of divine parents?70 What about sons born to the king before his accession, i.e., presumably outside the framework of the sacred marriage? Were they excluded from the succession? These and other intricacies involved in the intertwining of heavenly and dynastic relationships remain to be resolved by further study of the royal hymns and other relevant sources. Such studies will also yield significant new data on the further career of the crown-prince after his birth—the solicitude of his mother or wet-nurse as expressed in royal lullabies,71 the education of the prince in such diverse fields as scribal skills, music, athletics, hunting and 67 Renger, “Heilige Hochzeit” (N 65), based on F. Thureau-Dangin, RA 9 (1912): 34 f. Cf. also Wilcke (N 65): 80 f. 68 Cf. notes 84–91 to the Discussion (above, note*). 69 Jacobsen, “The Reign of Ibbi-Suen,” JCS 7 (1953): 37 n. 6; cf. N. Schneider, “Die ‘Königskinder’ des Herrscherhauses von Ur III,” Or 12 (1943): 190, who suggests rather that Ibbi-Suen’s queen and (his!) daughter may have been namesakes. Jacobsen’s reference to Schneider, Götternamen (AnOr 19): 202, appears to be in error. 70 So most explicitly, it would seem, according to “The Rulers of Lagaˇs”; see Sollberger (N 32): 275–291, esp. 279, note 5. 71 Kramer apud Pritchard ANET, 651 f. For additional literature, see my “Women of Sumer” (N 45): 32, note 68.

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warfare,72 his service in the administration as viceroy of the ancestral domains,73 his own (earthly) marriage, his coronation,74 his actual reign,75 his death,76 and his afterlife in the cult77 and memory78 of the people. Here there is time only for a short look at what became of the concepts I have already discussed after the classical phase. The phase I have described included (in one sense indeed climaxed in) the reign of Hammurapi of Babylon.79 For after him a period of decline set in terminating with the sack of Babylon about 1600 and the ushering in of the Babylonian Dark Ages or Middle Ages. One often characterizes the period beginning with Hammurapi as marked by a gradual breakdown of the older religious values, more specifically as a time of secularization.80 But that is not entirely fair. More to the point may be again Jacobsen’s characterization of the late second millennium in terms of the rise of a personal religion, as a period, that is, in which the individual turned directly toward his own personal deity rather than, through the mediation of priests and kings, to the awesome great gods of the older pantheon.81 And he approached them, not as subject to ruler, ˇ See especially G.R. Castellino, Two Sulgi Hymns (bc) (= Studi Semitici 42, 1972). See my “The Princess and the Plea,” (forthcoming), here: V.3. 74 Hallo, “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu,” JCS 20 (1966): 13–41, here: III.2. For parallels to the text edited there, see now Wilcke, Kollationen . . . Jena (= Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie . . . 65/4, 1976): 47 f. On the coronation ceremony, see now A.K. Grayson, Babylonian Historical-Literary Texts (1975): ch. 7, with literature cited, 78 n. 2. 75 See especially Kramer, “Kingship in Sumer and Akkad: the Ideal King,” RAI 19 (1974): 163–176. 76 Kramer, “The death of Ur-Nammu and His Descent to the Netherworld,” JCS 21 (1967 [publ. 1969]): 104–122; Wilcke, RAI 17 (1970): 81–92; Kramer(N 71): 659; Piotr ˇ Michalowski, “The Death of Sulgi,” Or 46 (1977): 220–225. 77 See, e.g., Josef Bauer, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft Suppl. 1 (1969): 107–114; Ph. Tallon, RA 68 (1974): 167 f. 78 As expressed particularly in the onomasticon. Cf. on this point already Hallo, JNES (1956): 220 n. 4 and now H. Klengel, “Hammurapi und seine Nachfolger im altbabylonischen Onomastikon,” JCS 28 (1976): 156–160 (ref. courtesy R. Kutscher). For Shulgi as private name see R. Frankena AbB (1966): 65 (LIH 2:83) 24. 79 Parrot, Sumer (N 9): 305–307 (figs. 373–375). 80 Rivkah Harris, “On the Process of Secularization under Hammurapi,” JCS 15 (1961): 117–120; eadem, “Some Aspects of the Centralization of the realm . . . ,” JAOS 88 (1968): 727–732, esp. 727 f. For the emergence of seals dedicated to the king instead of the deity or his temple (ibid.) see more specifically Hallo, “Royal Inscriptions of Ur” (N 34): 18–20. 81 Jacobsen, Treasures (N 56): ch. 5: “Second millennium metaphors. The Gods as parents: rise of personal religion.” 72 73

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but as child to parent—capricious still like all the Mesopotamina gods, but potentially at least loving and caring like a parent.82 In so doing, however, he was merely following in the footsteps of royalty: the kings of the earlier era had already discovered the divine parent in the ideology of kingship. Now the common man claimed the same privilege for himself. Perhaps, then, we should characterize the Late Bronze Age not so much in terms of secularization as of democratization. Whether this prepared the Mesopotamian citizen adequately to cope with the emerging ideology of Assyrian kingship I will leave for others to decide.83

82 On some of the problems involved, such as the number, gender, and character of the personal deities, see Achsa Belind apud Yvonne Rosengarten, Trois Aspects de la Pensée Religieuse Sumérienne (Paris: de Boccard, 1971): 156–159. See now in detail H. Vorländer, Mein Gott (= AOAT 23, 1975). 83 For Middle Assyrian notions of divine parentage (of the king) see Peter Machinist, “Literature as Politics: the Tukulti-Ninurta Epic and the Bible.” CBQ 38 (1976): 455– 482, esp. 465–468. For the sacred marriage in the first millennium, see CAD and AHw s.v. haˇs¯adu; differently Renger, RLA 4 (1975): 258 § 24.

iii.5 NIPPUR ORIGINALS

Åke Sjöberg, who has devoted so much of his scholarly effort to Sumerian literature, has also provided an authoritative description of the Old Babylonian scribal schools which created and transmitted it.1 He was puzzled by the ancient designation of the scribal school as é-dub-baa, a problem only made thornier by van Dijk’s reading of the gloss to it as e-pe-ˇsá-ad-bu2 Perhaps he will accept the etymology “house of the A-tablet,” which I proposed a quarter of a century ago, and now bring out of its obscurity in his honor.3 The reference is presumably to one of the three primers with which instruction in the scribal schools began, i.e. either Proto-Ea = naqû, whose incipit is á = A, or the socalled “Silbenalphabet B” whose incipit is a-a, a-a-a.4 The importance of the latter primer was proverbial for, in Sjöberg’s translation, an old saw held that “a fellow who cannot produce (the vocabulary beginning with) a-a, how will he attain fluent speech?”5 The further notion that a-a was in exclusive use at Nippur, and replaced outside Nippur by the “Silbenalphabet A” (incipit me-me, pa4-pa4)6 seems less likely in view of the reference to both series together in an Edubba-essay known in

1

Å.W. Sjöberg, “The Old Babylonian Eduba,” in Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen, AS 20, 159–179. This paper was presented to the 35e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia, July 11, 1988. 2 AS 20, 159 n. 1; cf. J.J.A. van Dijk, VAS 24, 9 ad 6 iii 2=MSL 12, 97:133 and 112:133. Previously B. Landsberger Brief 75. In the discussion M. Civil pointed out that the expression is not a genitive. C. Wilcke cited an unpublished etymology suggested by D.O. Edzard: “house which distributes the tablets”; cf. meantime AfO 23 (1970) 92 n. 5. For the standard Akkadian translation b¯ıt .tuppi see e.g. Sjöberg, ZA 64 (1975) 140: 2, 4. 3 W.W. Hallo, “Mesopotamia, [Education in]” apud Martin M. Buber and Haim Y. Ormian, eds., Educational Encyclopedia Vol. 4: History of Education, cc. 39–46, esp. c. 41 (in Hebrew). 4 Sjöberg, AS 20, 162. The third, and perhaps most elementary, primer was called tu-ta-ti. 5 AS 20, 163. 6 B. Landsberger apud M. Çı˘ g and H. Kızıyay, Zwei altbabylonische Schulbücher aus Nippur, Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayinlarindan, 7th Series No. 35, 98. H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M.T. Roth, Dumu-E2-Dub-Ba-A: Studies in Honor of Ake W. Sjoberg, ©1989, pages 237–247. Reprinted with permission of the University of Pennsylvania Press.

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exemplars from Ur7 as well as Nippur.8 That the Nippur school set the standards in scribal education is, however, indisputable, and it is to it that I wish to turn. The great scribal school at Nippur was founded by Shulgi of Ur if we may interpret lines 272–332 of his hymn B to this effect,9 and it was here that the neo-Sumerian corpus of literature was adapted10 and shaped to the needs of the scribal curriculum. The preeminence of Nippur in this enterprise was a corollary of the prestige of the temple of Enlil and its priesthood. It was the ambition of successive or rival kings to rule Nippur, to win the allegiance of this priesthood, and to commission hymns in their honor from the graduates of the scribal school.11 The curriculum thus developed at the scribal school of Nippur became normative (perhaps even in its most elementary stages)12 for scribal schools of Old Babylonian date wherever found and it influenced those of Middle Babylonian date in the periphery as well. Much of the belletristic in Sumerian and even in Akkadian dealt with high life and low life at Nippur, be that vignettes of aristocratic life associated with figures like Ludingirra13 or the House of Ur-meme,14 or more popular entertainments like “The Poor Man of Nippur.”15 As far as the personal names mentioned in them can be identified with historical personages, they can be firmly dated to the (later) Ur III and (early) Isin periods (ca. 2050–1900 bc.); this lends some semblance of credibility to the tradition that attributes a late medical text to an apkallu of Nippur in the time of Enlil-bani of Isin.16 Sjöberg, AS 20, 162 f. (UET 6/2, 167:14 f.); cf. already D.O. Edzard, review of UET 6/2 in AfO 23 (1970) 93. 8 Sjöberg, review of UET 6/2 in OrNS 37 (1968) 232–241, esp. p. 235 (Nr. 167). 9 Hallo, JCS 20 (1966) 92, n. 33, here: III.2; The Ancient Near East: A History 83; ˇ G.R. Castellino, Two Sulgi Hymns (bc), Studi Semitici 42, 19, 223 f.; Hallo, AS 20, 198, here: I.4. 10 Hallo, AS 20, 198, here: I.4. 11 Hallo, “Royal Hymns and Mesopotamian Unity,” JCS 17 (1963) 112–118, here: III.1; Hallo and W.K. Simpson The Ancient Near East: A History 37 f., 78, 83, 86. 12 Cf. above, notes 6–8. 13 Cf. most recently Sjöberg, “The first Pushkin Museum elegy and new texts,” JAOS 103 (1983) 315–320; J.S. Cooper, “New Cuneiform Parallels to the Song of Songs,” JBL 90 (1971) 157–162. 14 Cf. most recently R.L. Zettler and M.T. Roth, “The Genealogy of the House of Ur-me-me: A Second Look,” AfO 31 (1984) 1–14. 15 Cf. most recently M. dej. Ellis, “A New Fragment of the Tale of the Poor Man of Nippur,” JCS 26 (1974) 88 f., with the first Nippur fragment of the tale (neo-Babyonian). 16 Hunger Kolophone No. 533; Lambert, JCS 11 (1957) 2 n. 8. 7

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What was the floruit of the Nippur school? The answer to this question is not as simple or obvious as might be expected. To my knowledge, there is not a single dated literary or school text from Nippur among the thousands already published, a fact not previously remarked upon. There are, however, half a dozen other lines of evidence that can be drawn upon. The first is paleography. Broadly speaking, the bulk of the Nippur canonical texts belong in the Old Babylonian period to judge by their writing, with only occasional survivals in neo-Sumerian script and, thus, presumably of Ur III date.17 Secondly, literary texts from other sites often enough do carry Old Babylonian dates, ranging “from the reign of Rimsîn to that of Ammis.aduqa,”18 i.e., at a maximum, from 1822–1626 bc. in the middle chronology. But the second half of this two-century span can effectively be eliminated from consideration in light of a third factor, the evidence of dated archival texts from Nippur. These occur more or less continuously throughout the neo-Sumerian and Early Old Babylonian periods,19 but cease abruptly in 1720 bc., the thirtieth year of Samsu-iluna.20 Fourthly, while a royal hymn,21 and perhaps one other composition,22 was still written in Sumerian for and under Abi-eˇsuh, the immediate successor of Samsu-iluna ˘ (1711–1684), neither of them occur on tablets from Nippur. Fifth, the native traditions confirm, however allusively, that Sumerian learning disappeared from Babylonia and fled to the Sealand until that was

17

E.g., two joining fragments of e2-u6-nir; cf. Sjöberg, The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns, TCS 3, 6 and 16, and pls. xxxvii f. Among the Nippur texts assigned to Yale (3 N-T, 4 N-T and 5 N-T) are a number of Ur III exemplars of literary texts; they were copied by A. Goetze and will be published by the Oriental Institute. For 6 N-T texts of Ur III date, cf. M. Civil, OrNS 54 (1985) 33 f. 18 Sjöberg, TCS 3, 6. 19 See e.g. for the interval from Lipit-Enlil of Isin to (the twenty-eighth year of ) RimSin of Larsa (1873–1795 bc) R. Marcel Sigrist, Les sattukku dans l’Eˇsumeˇsa durant la période d’Isin et de Larsa, BibMes 11, esp. p. 7. 20 Elizabeth C. Stone, “Economic crisis and social upheaval in Old Babylonian Nippur,” in L.D. Levine and T.C. Young, Jr., eds., Mountains and Lowlands: Essays in the Archaeology of Greater Mesopotamia, BibMes 7, 267–289, esp. 270 f. 21 TCL 16, 81, for which see J. van Dijk, “L’hymne à Marduk avec intercession pour le roi Abi-"eˇsuh,” MIO 12 (1966–1967) 57–74. ˘ for which see Hallo, JCS 17 (1963) 115 n. 55, here: III.1 and JCS 19 22 CT 44, 18, (1965) 57, here: III.1, has now been edited by B. Alster and U. Jeyes, “A Sumerian Poem about Early Rulers,” Ac.Sum. 8 (1986) 1–11, but col. rev. i line 5 which E, Sollberger apparently read igi A-bi-e-ˇsu!-u[h...], parallel to igi dUtudx [...] in the preceding line, ˘ e mah[...]and left untranslated in the new is read uhhur (i.e. uhhur3 = IGI.A)-bi ˘˘ edition. ˘ ˘

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reunited to Babylonia,23 presumably under the Kassite king Ulamburiash (ca. 1420 bc.).24 Finally, the general pattern of cuneiform archives and libraries is that they are best preserved from the century (or half century) immediately preceding their destruction. Combining all these lines of evidence, we may tentatively assign the bulk of the Sumerian literary texts from Nippur, and hence the floruit of its scribal school, to the century from 1820–1720 bc. In the three hundred years that followed (1720–1420 bc) under the rule of the Sealand Dynasty, Nippur was unoccupied.25 Under Kassite rule, it became the seat of a gu2-en-na (= sˇandabakku,26 or gu"ennakku27), with or without special privileges.28 Whether its scribal school reopened is not known, for there are few if any copies of Sumerian literary texts that can unambiguously be dated to the Kassite period and attributed to Nippur.29 What is apparent is that its literary heritage was not lost entirely. Already in the reign of Nazi-maruttash (ca. 1307–1282), a collection of hemerologies copied at Assur includes one with the famous colophon which, in W.G. Lambert’s translation, reads30 “Dies fas according to the seven a[pkall¯ı?], originals(s) of Sippar, Nippur, Babylon, Larsa, Ur, Uruk, and Eridu. The scholars excerpted, selected, and gave to Nazi-maruttaˇs, king of the world” etc. Although Lambert and Hermann Hunger31 differ on the significance of this colophon for the history of canonization in cuneiform,32 both agree that it provides 23 Hallo, JCS 17 (1963) 116 f, here: III.1. Differently J.D. Muhly, JCS 24 (1972) 179, who questions “the assumed migration of the scribal tradition from Babylon to the Sealand in the 28th year of the reign of Samsuiluna.” 24 J.A. Brinkman, Materials and Studies for Kassite History 1, 31 and 318 f. 25 McGuire Gibson apud Stone, BibMes 7, 270 n. 9. 26 B. Landsberger, “Das Amt des sˇandabakku (GU .EN.NA) von Nippur” in Lands2 berger Brief 75–77, Brinkman, “The Monarchy of the Kassite Dynasty,” CRRAI 19, 395–408, esp. 406 f. 27 So CAD G s.v.; cf. MSL 12, 97:135, and John F. Robertson. “The Internal Political and Economic Structure of Old Babylonian Nippur: the Guennakkum and his ‘House’,” JCS 36 (1984) 145–190. 28 Brinkman, CRRAI 19, 408, and n. 83. 29 For the alleged case of PBS 10/2, 3 see now P. Michalowski, JCS 39 (1987) 42, who considers it neither Kassite nor from Nippur. For PBS 10/4, 12 (Hunger No. 40) see below, n. 81. For Rimut-Gula and Taqiˇs-Gula as Nippur scholars and authors at this(?) time cf. Lambert, JCS 16 (1962) 75 f. 30 JCS 11 (1957) 8. S.J. Lieberman informs me that, according to collation, the text ˇ but not 7 ap-[kal-li] (forthcoming). can be restored as 7 um-[ma-ni] or 7 DUB.[MES] 31 Babylonische und assyrische Kolophone, AOAT 2, 6 and no. 292. 32 Cf. Hallo, “The Concept of Canonicity in Cuneiform and Biblical Literature: A Comparative Appraisal,” (in press), here: X.3.

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early evidence for the recovery of literary texts from Nippur in Kassite times. The same may be argued for Tukulti-Ninurta I (1244–1208 bc.), who plundered the libraries of Babylonia and kidnapped their scholars to begin some kind of renascence of learning in Assyria33—and no doubt Kassite Nippur was one of his targets. (Note that after Adad-ˇsumaus.ur [1218–1189], no major restorations were undertaken at Nippur until the time of Assurbanipal.)34 Certainly the library founded at Assur by Tiglath-Pileser I (1115–1077) incorporated copies of actual Nippur originals, as their colophons testify. These have been conveniently catalogued by Hunger and include exemplars of ana ittiˇsu tablets III35 and VI36 as well as two exemplars of a bilingual ˇsir-nam-ˇsub to Nin-Isina,37 which Hunger describes as the oldest examples of originals attributed to a private owner.38 What is particularly noteworthy about this composition is that it is duplicated by an Old Bablonian exemplar (presumably in Sumerian only) to which Mark Cohen has called attention in his edition of the text.39 It offers at most only one variant of more than trivial significance, but since it is fragmentary and unpublished, it is not the best candidate for my argument. For this purpose I prefer to move on to the neo-Assyrian period, when under royal auspices the public and private libraries of Babylonia were again searched in order to stock the royal libraries of Assyria, this time at Nineveh. This was true in particular of Assurbanipal (668– 627 bc), who is widely regarded as the author of the well-known rescript to the governor of Borsippa ordering the confiscation of all kinds of literary works both from temple and private libraries for inclusion in the Ninevite libraries.40 As Lieberman has pointed out, the text is not a letter but a school text in two (identical) copies; if at all the word

33

Peter Machinist, “Literature as Politics: The Tukulti-Ninurta Epic and the Bible,” CBQ 38 (1976) 455–482. The plunder of the libraries is detailed in vi rev. B 2’–9’ (p. 457); the kidnapping of the scholars remains for now a hypothesis on my part. Cf. Machinist, The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I (unpub. Ph.D. diss., Yale Univ., 1978), 128 f., 366–373. 34 Maximilian Streck, Assurbanipal, VAB 7, lxiv. 35 Hunger Kolophone No. 58. 36 Hunger Kolophone No. 43A. 37 Hunger Kolophone No. 44. 38 Hunger Kolophone 7. 39 JAOS 95 (1975) 611 n. 20. 40 Simo Parpola, JNES42 (1983) 11, based on CT22, 1.

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of a king, there is no demonstrable connection to Assurbanipal, for it was bought together with tablets from Sippar(?).41 However, there is other evidence that Assurbanipal followed closely in the footsteps of Tukulti-Ninurta I: as Simo Parpola has recently shown, he followed up his triumph in 648 bc. over Babylonia (which had rebelled under his brother Shamash-shum-ukin), by demanding or requesting well over 2,000 canonical tablets from private owners in Babylonia, and then carefully cataloguing them.42 Among these accessions, two are specifically said to be from Nippur, including a single tablet belonging to Aplaia and a collection of 125 tablets belonging to another exorcist, Arrabu.43 The tablets in question are, presumably, all parts of the late canon of omens, exorcisms, laments and the like. But the library of Assurbanipal also preserved examples of Sumerian literary texts that originally formed part of the neo-Sumerian canon.44 Ordinarily these had been continuously handed down in the “stream of tradition,” and provided with an interlinear Akkadian translation. Nippur may have played a part in this transmission, to judge by the substitution of Nippur deities like Ninurta for what may have been originally Ningirsu in cases like lugal-e and an-gim.45 But what of the recovery of a Nippur original that had been lost in the intervening millennium? We actually possess a parade example of a Sumerian literary text copied, according to its colophon, from a Nippur original, and of which this original, or a duplicate, has turned up in the modern excavations. I refer to the drum-song (tigi) in honor of the goddess Nintu in her guise as Aruru. This text is known both in an Old Babylonian exemplar recovered by the original University of Pennsylvania excavations at Nippur and now part of the Hilprecht Sammlung at Jena and in a neo-Assyrian copy preserved in six separate fragments from Nineveh in the Kuyunjik collections of the British museum. The Old Babylonian exemplar was published by Bernhardt and Kramer in 1967,46

41 S.J. Lieberman, “Why Did Assurbanipal Collect Cuneiform Tablets?,” paper read at AOS meeting, March 20, 1988. 42 “Assyrian Library Records,” JNES 42 (1983) 1–29. 43 JNES 42 (1983) 14. 44 P. Michalowski, JCS 39 (1987) 38 f. and nn. 4–9. 45 Hallo, AS 20, 183–185, 198, here: I.4; JAOS 101 (1981) 253–257. 46 TuM n.F. 4, 86; collations in Wilcke Kollationen 85.

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the neo-Assyrian fragments by Stephen Langdon in 191347—separately, even though Bezold had already suggested more than twenty years earlier that two of them (BL 95 and 102) belonged together.48 One of them (BL 95) was translated by Langdon49 and Witzel.50 Four of the fragments (BL 95, 97, 102 and 127) were identified as belonging to our text by Åke Sjöberg in 1969,51 and these were duly employed in the edition of the text in 197652 by Claus Wilcke, who had also collated the Jena text in the same year.53 Independently, Jacobsen had noted two of Langdon’s fragments (BL 9554 and 97) as duplicates of the Jena text in 1973 in his comprehensive “Notes on Nintur.”55 Herbert Sauren has also provided me with a detailed strophic analysis based on my transliteration, and J. van Dijk with extensive comments on my preliminary edition. My own study of the text appeared in 1973, albeit in a context not readily accessible to colleagues.56 I identified two further fragments in Langdon’s volume (BL 107 and 111) and asked Edmond Sollberger to join all six. He confirmed the join by letter of February 28, 1969, and I prepared a hand copy on the occasion of a visit to the British Museum in 1971. It is published below, together with a photograph made in 1969, with the kind permission of C.B.F. Walker and the Trustees of the British Museum. In 1976, I again dealt with the text, and its implications for the history of Sumerian literature.57 The new edition promised there is now superfluous, since it would differ only to a limited extent from that published at the same time by Wilcke, but it is worth noting the colophon of the rejoined exemplar. Although still heavily damaged, enough remains of the first line and the ends

BL Nos. 95, 97, 102, 107, 111 and 127. Bezold Cat. vol. 2 sub K. 2489 and K. 6110. 49 BL 53 f. 50 M. Witzel, AnOr 10, No. 70. 51 OrNS 38 (1969) 355 (review of TuM NF4) and TCS 3, 153 (ad line 267). 52 AS 20, 235–239; cf. already idem, Kindlers Literatur-lexikon 5 (1965–1971) 2127 top (stanzas A-B). 53 Above, note 46. 54 He wrote 75 by mistake. 55 OrNS 42 (1973) 296. See p. 288 and more recently idem, JQR 70 (1985) 45 and n. 10 for possible etymologies of Aruru. 56 “Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics,” Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5 (1973) 1–12, here: I.3. 57 AS 20, 193, here: I.4. 47 48

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of the last four lines to make a complete restoration possible. The first line clearly reads: “Copy of Nippur, written and collated according to its original.”58 The next six lines can be restored on the basis of one of the “standard” colophons of Assurbanipal59 though the precise form restored here recurs only once more, on the inscription of Agumkakrime,60 as follows: “tablet of Assurbanipal, king of the universe, king of Assyria, who relies on Assur and Ninlil. He who trusts in you will not be shamed, oh king of the gods, Assur! Whoever carries off (the tablet) (or) writes his name (on it) in place of my name, may Assur and Ninlil angrily and furiously overthrow him and destroy his name (and) his seed in the land!” In my article of fifteen years ago, I cited this example to elucidate one of the “problems in Sumerian hermeneutics,” namely the survival of Sumerian literature from Old Babylonian times to neo-Assyrian times and beyond, when they could conceivably have exercised some influence, however indirect, on other literatures, including the Bible. By the side of direct survival and what I called “organic transformation and creative adaptation” including but not limited to translation into Akkadian, I saw our text as testimony to the “Mesopotamians’ rediscovery of their own past,”61 and concluded “the rediscovery of lost texts may be added to the preservation or adaptation of surviving texts as means whereby the literary heritage of the Bronze Age passed into the Iron Age within Mesopotamia.”62 The preservation of traditional texts and the degree to which their wording was respected in later versions has often been studied, most recently by Mark Cohen in connection with the lamentations.63 Adaptation can be studied, e.g., by means of the evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic.64 But rarely has any attention been paid to the case of the recovery of literary texts in antiquity in this connection. At this time, I would like therefore to consider the extent to which the late copy of our composition did or did not adhere to the “Nippur

Entered (in part) by Hunger Kolophone as No. 538. Type e in VAB 6, 358 f.; Hunger Kolophone No. 319e. 60 5R 33. 61 Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5 (1973) 8, here: I.3. 62 Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5 (1973) 10, here: I.3. 63 Mark E. Cohen, Sumerian Hymnology: The Erˇsem-ma, HUCA Supplements 2, esp. 110–138: “Erˇsemmas preserved in both OB and First Millennium copies.” 64 Jeffrey H. Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic; cf. Jeffrey H. Tigay, Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. 58 59

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original,” referring thus, somewhat loosely, to the sole surviving Old Babylonian exemplar. We are already familiar with late copies made from monumental texts and some of these, especially of neo-Babylonian date when royalty itself set an example of antiquarian interest, show remarkable fidelity, even in ductus, to their prototypes,65 though others just as clearly do not.66 There are also imitations of Sumerian monumental inscriptions, including one from Nippur by Assurbanipal so authentic looking that Hilprecht published it as an inscription of the Kassite king Meli-Shipak.67 Even archival texts were occasionally recopied;68 typically such copies were characterized by nail markings which appear on the edges.69 So it should occasion no surprise to find the same true of literary texts. Let us see what differences they display. The poem is carefully structured into three three-line stanzas in the sagarra70 each echoed by a stanza identical except for the prefixing to the stanza of the name of the goddess (sometimes prefaced by “mother”), so the following survey will deal with two lines at a time. Of these differences, the greater part are purely orthographic (see figure 1). They occur in Old Babylonian texts as well and could easily have occurred in the Old Babylonian original from which the neoAssyrian copyist worked. This applies to items 1, 2, 3, 7, 11, 12 and 16. Simple scribal lapses are involved in items 14, 15 and probably 4, new scribal conventions in items 9 and 17. No differences are registered for items 10 and 13. That leaves only four significant differences. In item 5, the late scribe seems genuinely to have been unfamiliar with the sign LAGAR. (For an example in neo-Assyrian see the colophon of Irra I

Cf. e.g., MLC 2075, noted in Hallo, “Royal Inscriptions of Ur: A Typology,” HUCA 33 (1962) 1–43 sub Ur-Nammu 7 iii; other examples HUCA 33 (1962) sub ˇ ˇ Ur-Nammu 27 ii and 37; Sulgi 4 ii and 54; Amar-Sin 3 ii; Su-Sin 20; Ibbi-Sin 9–10; Hallo, “Bibliography of Early Babylonian Royal Inscriptions,” BiOr 18 (1961) 4–14 sub Iˇsbi-Irra 2, Iddin-Dagan 2; Iˇsme-Dagan 10, 12; Ur-Ninurta 2; Warad-Sin 9 ii and 26– 28; Sin-kaˇsid 8 ii; D.O. Edzard, RlA 6, 64 f.; CT 44, 2; M. Civil, OrNS 54 (1985) 40; A.R. George, Iraq 48 (1986) 133–146. 66 Cf. e.g. UET 1, 172 (= Amar-Sin 3 ii) and D.O. Edzard’s comment in RIA 6, 64 f. 67 BE 1, 82; cf. VAB 6, lxiii f. 68 Cf. e.g. E. Leichty, “A Legal Text from the Reign of Tiglath-Pileser III,” Studies . . . Reiner, AOS 67, 227–229. 69 AOS 67, 229; JCS 36 (1984) (= TBC 1) 2 f. 70 This strophic structure has been studied by Wilcke in his edition, but note an identical structure in the sagidda of Ibbi-Sin C, edited by Sjöberg, OrSuec 19–20 (1970– 1971) 147–149, 155–157, 166–170. (Complete lines 7–9 of Sjöberg’s edition accordingly, that is, to agree with lines 2–4, not with line 5.) 65

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in KAR 168, rev. ii 33.) It is hard to make sense of his substitution; the best I can do is suggest that he conceived of en and si as somehow the constituent parts of the office of ensi.71 Figure 1 Item Stanza 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 

“Echo” Line(s) Line(s) OB Original

A

[1] 2 3 B 7 8 9 C 13 14 15 D 20–23 E 28 29 30–31 F 36 37 38 39 (subscript) 45





4 5 6 10 11 12 16 17 18 24–27 32 33 34–35 40 41 42 43 –

NA Copy

e2-keˇs3-a tu-[da] kur-kur-ra- ka ˇsi-mi-in-e3 lagar bi2-in-u3-tu sag-bi-ˇse3-e3-a ˇsa-mu-ni-inb-gal2 –c – [mu-u]n?- na-ab -be2 [mu-u]n-na-du12-a – d[ur2-ku3 gir]i4-zal-la ama-dnin-tu KU3.GI – NAR.BALAG [dn]in-tu-ra-kam

a. 7 only. b. 17 only, 14 omits. c. Restore e2-gal (with Sauren) or tug2-ma8(ME) with RlA 4, 257. But note traces of sign.

e2-keˇs3ki-a u3-tu-da kur-kur-ra-ke4 ˇsi-mi-in-e3-SAGa si bi2-in-tuˇs sag-bi-ˇse3-e3-a-me-en mu-ni-in-gal2

lines 18–19 written as one line

– mu-na-ab-be2 nu-und-na-an-du12-a – edur -ku e giri -zal-la 2 3 4 bara3f-dNin-tu KU3.GI-gag-am3

lines 43–44 written as one line

[NA]R.BALAGti-gi dnin-urta

d. 29 only, 33 omits: e–e. 36 only, 40 omits. f. 37 only, 41 ama. g. 38 only, 42 omits.

In item 6, the late scribe again seems to have misunderstood his prototype. Unfamiliar with the concept of the divine birth and descent of kings,72 he simply had the goddess seat the king on the holy thronedais (parakku).

71 For a similar suggestion in another context see S.N. Kramer, ANET3 (1969) 574 n. 12, but see on this B. Alster, “Sum. nam-en, nam-lagar,” JCS 23 (1978) 116 f., esp. n. 12–13. For another possible explanation, see Hallo, AS 20, 193 n. 84, here: I.4. In the discussion, M. Civil pointed out that LAGAR is routinely written like SI in late texts. 72 Cf. Sjöberg, OrSuec 21 (1972) 97 for Nintu-Ninhursaga in this connection, notably ˘ a clue to the date of our text? as the mother of Hammurapi and Samsu-iluna. Is this Cf. also Sjöberg, TCS 3, 142 f.

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In item 8, the late scribe may have been unfamiliar with the asseverative preformative, and simply omitted it. Its occurrence in late texts is, at best, rare.73 The most significant—indeed surprising—variant is the final item. Where the original describes the composition, quite properly, as a drum-song (tigi) of Nintu, the copy calls it a drum-song of Ninurta. Now it is true that we know of no other tigi’s to Nintu, while we already have recovered five to Ninurta. In addition to the four listed by Wilcke,74 see now what must be a tigi for Ishme-Dagan;75 admittedly the rubric is lost, but the presence of the notation sagidda—rev. 2—and its giˇs-gi4-gal—rev. 3—and the absence of barsud and ˇsabatuk makes that seem likelier than an adab.76 And it is also true that Ninurta enjoyed particular veneration in Assyria beginning with TukultiNinurta I in Middle Assyrian times.77 But our poem is so obviously about the goddess and her “obstetric” role that it is hard to account for a confusion with the warlike Ninurta. Moreover, the literature about Nintu as Aruru was also extensive, and much of it survived into the late period. It deserves treatment in its own right; here I will content myself with cataloguing it. (See Appendix.) Thus the goddess Nintu in the guise of Aruru was no stranger to the late scribes, even though more often in the context of laments than of hymns. The subscript of the Nineveh exemplar presumably represents an outright error in comparison with its Nippur original. Assyrian access to the surviving literary heritage of Nippur may have been eased somewhat by that city’s role as a haven of pro-Assyrian loyalty in the tumultuous last decades of the empire—a loyalty for which Nippur paid dearly even before the empire fell,78 and probably even more thereafter. Nevertheless, Nippur continued to furnish originals, now for Babylonian copyists, including another hemerology of uncertain provenience.79 By Achaemenid times, it had certainly regained its commercial, if not its religious or cultural prominence, as is clear from the records of the house of Murashu and similar enterprises, and A. Falkenstein, ZA 48 (1944) 73. AS 20, 290 f. 75 Sjöberg, OrSuec 23–24 (1974–1975) No 2. 76 Cf. Hallo, BiOr 23 (1966) 246, here: III.3; Wilcke, AS 20, 258. 77 Cf. H.W.F. Saggs, The Greatness that was Babylon 336. 78 Cf. Oppenheim, “Siege Documents from Nippur,” Iraq 17 (1955) 60–89; Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia (2nd ed.), 161. 79 CT 4, 6; cf. Hunger Kolophone No, 480; Jensen, KB 6/2, 42 ff. 73 74

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Akkadian, as well as Sumerian, texts continued to be copied there.80 So it is that, even as late as Seleucid times, Nippur is still the source of literary originals. The latest known colophon to this effect,81 on an undated tablet said to have been found at Uruk, but more likely originating in Nippur, occurs on the ritual of the kalû priest. With this rapid survey I have done no more than remind all of us that the recovery of neo-Sumerian literature from Nippur as a royal objective probably began as early as Kassite times, is well attested in Middle Assyrian and neo-Assyrian times, and continued under private or priestly auspices into Seleucid times. The modern excavations at Nippur, begun a century ago, which have done so much for the rediscovery and restoration of Sumerian literature, have thus resumed a process with a millennial ancestry. appendix Hymns to Nintu as Aruru In addition to our own hymn, the roster includes: 1. An erˇsemma entitled egi2-mah-dA-ru-ru, listed in the Kuyunjik ˘ catalogue first published as 4R2 53 (No. 69 in Cohen Erˇsemma 11). The text is unknown but it is unlikely to be our tigi-hymn, which begins nin (or egi2)-dA-ru-ru. 2. A lamentation entitled ul4-ul4-la mu-un-gin, published by John A. Maynard from the Metropolitan Museum of Art Collection (No. 112) in JSOR 3 (1919) 14–18. The YBC possesses a copy made of this text by Vaughn Crawford in July 1957 and a transliteration and translation prepared by T. Jacobsen. 3. An OB lamentation (no rubric!) (CT 36, 47–50) newly edited by Kramer, “Keˇs and its Fate” in Gratz College AV (1971) 165–175 and entitled a-dA-rux-rux, (EBUR) e-dA-rux-rux, photo: Kramer, RA 65 (1971) 182 f. ] Emesal lament(?) from 4. [ a-ˇs]i-ir-zu mu2-ab-ba-ˇsi-[ Brussels? published by Speleers as Speleers Recueil 189; cf. Zimmern, ZA 32 (1918–1919) 56 f. Krecher Kultlyrik 119 ff. has shown that part of this text is paralleled in VAS 2, 25 ii 8–15 (specifically, cf. 11. 3 f. with VAS 2, 25 ii 13 and 12, 11. 7 f. with ii 14 f.) 80 81

Hunger Kolophone No. 40(!), 119–123; cf. J. Oelsner, RA 76 (1982) 94 f. Hunger Kolophone No. 110; cf. Thureau-Dangin, RA 16 (1919) 155.

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5. The third and fourth stanza (ki-ru-gu2) of a balag to dMah begin˘ ning edin-lil2-la2 ˇsa3-mu lil2-la2, edited by Scheil in RA 17 (1920) 45–50 and by Witzel in AnOr 10 as no. 18. The fourth stanza begins a e2 a e2 dA-ru-ru edin-lil2-la2. 6. PBS 10/2, 115–117 edited by Langdon there and by Witzel, AnOr 10, No. 34. 7. Zimmern, VAS 10, No. 173. 8. Genouillac Kich 2, C 56. 9. TCS 3, No. 7 (hymn to the e2-keˇs3 of Aruru). 10. Genouillac Kich 1, B471. 11. Speleers Recueil No. 203 (cf. Zimmern ZA 32 [1918–1919] 57 f.) (cf. Krecher Kultlyrik 81 ff.). 12. KAR 73 rev. // Langdon OECT 6, pl. XVI (Sm. 679 + 110), cf. pp. 56 f. 13. The Kesh temple hymn (Gragg, TCS 3). 14. Ashmolean 1930.362 (reverse?), Emesal lament to Aruru?

iv letter-prayers

iv.1 INDIVIDUAL PRAYER IN SUMERIAN: THE CONTINUITY OF A TRADITION1

I. A Sumerian Psalter? Since the first Psalm studies of Hermann Gunkel at the beginning of this century, the exegesis of the Biblical Psalter has accorded an ever more prominent place to the comparison of the hymns and prayers of the cuneiform tradition of ancient Mesopotamia.2 As early as 1922, Stammer ventured to point out numerous “Sumero-Akkadian parallels to the structure of Biblical psalms”3 in a study which, admittedly, found little favor with Assyriologists.4 In the 1930’s at least three different monographs reverted to the theme, Cumming comparing “The Assyrian and Hebrew Hymns of Praise,” Widengren “the Akkadian and Hebrew Psalms of Lamentation,”5 and Castellino both “The lamentations and the hymns in Babylonia and in Israel.”6 All these studies retain their usefulness but, with the exception of Castellino’s, they suffer from a common defect: they tend to exempt the Mesopotamian material from the very Gattungsforschung which, following Gunkel, they accept as axiomatic for Hebrew psalmody. This is the more strange since the Akkadian material comes provided with its own generic classifications, and with specific indications of its cultic Sitz im Leben. Often enough, it is cited by title only, and incorporated within elaborate cultic calendars or ritual prescriptions and 1 Originally presented, under the title of “The Psalter of the Sumerians,” to the Philip W. Lown Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies, Brandeis University, November 2, 1966. 2 For exhaustive bibliographies of current psalm exegesis, cf. the periodic surveys in Theologische Rundschau n.F. 1 (1929, by M. Haller), 23 (1955, by J.J. Stamm). For a comprehensive historical survey, cf. K.-H. Bernhardt, Das Problem der Altorientalischen Königsideologie (= VT Supp. 8, 1961) chs. 1–3. 3 Bernhardt, op. cit., 83 n. 5. 4 Cf. the review by B. Landsberger, OLZ 28 (1925) 479–483. 5 Bernhardt, loc. cit. 6 Le lamentazioni individuali e gli inni in Babilonia e in Israele (1939).

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thus clearly secondary in importance to its context.7 Indeed, Gunkel8 and Mowinckel9 relied on these aspects of the Mesopotamian material to justify a parallel approach to the Psalms, and Begrich10 had drawn elaborate comparisons between the individual laments of the Bible and the private prayers of Mesopotamia as early as 1928. In the 1940’s and 1950’s, the comparative study of the Psalms turned most of its attention, perhaps understandably, to the newly discovered Ugaritic texts which were evidently so much closer to the Psalms in language, style and imagery than any other Ancient Near Eastern parallels yet unearthed. Patton’s monograph on the “Canaanite parallels in the Book of Psalms” was followed by the briefer treatments of Coppens and O’Callaghan, and a number of penetrating contributions by Albright.11 Yet the fact remains that the Ugaritic texts adduced in all these studies are neither hymns nor prayers, and thus can only indirectly serve to illuminate the categories of Biblical psalmody as such. The present decade has, happily, witnessed a reassertion of the relevance of the Mesopotamian material while recognizing the need to confine the assessment of parallels within comparable Gattungen, at least to begin with. Thus E.R. Dalglish’s valuable study of “Psalm 51 in the light of Ancient Near Eastern Patternism”12 is a deliberate attempt to meet the methodological standards first demanded of Stammer’s book forty years earlier: to compare this unique subspecies of individual lament with the comparable penitential categories in cuneiform. Bernhardt has reviewed the entire history of Psalm exegesis with special reference to the so-called “royal psalms,” and evaluated these in the light of the Ancient Near Eastern ideology of kingship without, however, limiting himself to a specific cuneiform genre.13 More recently

7

“No adequate study of literary types in the vast Akkadian liturgy has yet appeared” although “as compared with the Psalter, the Babylonian texts promise a much larger body of definite results, as in many cases not only the liturgical texts are preserved in writing, but also the order of the ceremony in which they were sung or recited,” W.G. Lambert, AfO 19 (1959–1960) 47. Cf. already S. Langdon “Calendars of liturgies and prayers,” AJSL 42 (1926) 110–127. 8 cf. e.g. Gunkel-Begrich, Einleitung in die Psalmen (1933) § 1.3–§ 1.5. 9 Cf. now D.R. Ap-Thomas, “An appreciation of Sigmund Mowinckel’s contribution to Biblical studies,” JBL 85 (1966) 315–325. 10 Bernhardt, loc. cit. 11 Ibid. 12 (Leiden, 1962), with notes by A. Falkenstein. Cf. the review by Castellino, VT 15 (1965) 116–120. 13 Op. cit. (note 2).

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still, Mitchell Dahood’s commentary on Psalms 1–50 in the Anchor Bible has returned to the Ugaritic parallels with a vengeance, in part out of an understandable disenchantment with the excesses of the older Mesopotamian comparisons.14 But to say that recent Psalm criticism has more accurately recognized the limits of the comparative method is not to imply that it has everywhere reached them. For if the rich spectrum of Mesopotamian religious poetry was not monolithic in terms of its genres, neither was it a single unchanging canon throughout the nearly three millennia of its attested existence. Quite the contrary, I believe we can distinguish at least four different cuneiform “canons” within Mesopotamia, each the product of a very different age and set of religious presuppositions, and each thoroughly transformed before it was accepted into the next canon. Of these, only the two latest ones have hitherto been systematically invoked in any comparative study of the Biblical Psalter: on the one hand, that is, the Akkadian canon which, originating in Old Babylonian times, was expanded and organized in Middle Babylonian times and enshrined in the great libraries of the neo-Assyrians and, on the other hand, the late bilingual Sumero-Akkadian tradition of Middle Babylonian times which, elaborated in those same libraries, received its final form in the epigonic schools of Seleucid and Parthian Babylonia long after the demise of a native Akkadian body politic.14a But there were at least two other recognized bodies of cuneiform literature which preceded these. One of these is the Old Sumerian canon whose beginnings go back, it would seem, almost to the beginnings of writing itself, and which may well have been gathered into an official corpus under the Sargonic kings of Agade. Much of this literature is only at this moment beginning to yield to the spade of the excavator and the cryptographic skills of the decipherer, and it is still too early to assess its true import.15 But there is a more substantial body of Sumerian literature, which I would like to call neo-Sumerian and which, at least since the Second World War, has absorbed the attention of ever more Assyriologists. This literature, chiefly created under the dynasties of Agade, Ur III 14 M. Dahood, Psalms I (1–50), (The Anchor Bible, New York, 1966). Cf. the review by D.A. Robertson, JBL 85 (1966) 484–486. 14a Cf e.g. the numerous parallels considered by G.R. Driver, “The Psalms in the light of Babylonian research,” apud D.C. Simpson, ed., The Psalmists (1926) 109–175. 15 Hallo, JAOS 83 (1963) 167, here: II.1; M. Civil and R.D. Biggs, “Notes sur des textes sumériens archaïques,” RA 60 (1966) 1–16.

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and Isin I, was organized into a scholarly curriculum in the Old Babylonian period. It attained a high degree of literary excellence and to some extent survived the destruction of the Old Babylonian schools to influence, as I think, also the literary products of later ages. Up to now, this neo-Sumerian literature has been almost completely neglected by comparative Biblical studies, at least as far as the comparative study of the Psalms is concerned. Yet I hope to show that we now know it well enough to attempt to compare it, not only with the Akkadian and bilingual religious poetry of later Mesopotamia, but also with Biblical psalmody. In order to do so within the bounds of the methodology already set forth, it is necessary in the first place to essay a generic classification of neo-Sumerian religious poetry. Only then will it be possible to match the resulting categories with the corresponding genres in the later material, whether Babylonian or Biblical. Finally, a single genre from the several canons will be subjected to closer scrutiny in order to weigh specific comparisons and contrasts in the balance. The concise bibliography of neo-Sumerian literature compiled by Maurice Lambert may serve as a starting-point for our classification.16 His survey recognizes fifteen separate genres. Two of these, myths and epics, fall outside the purview of religious literature in the narrow sense at issue here, i.e. hymns and prayers. This is also true of the three types of wisdom literature which Lambert distinguishes17 even though, of course, a few examples of wisdom compositions may be found among the neo-Sumerian hymns just as they found their way into the Hebrew Psalter. A similar ambiguity surrounds the so-called love-poems on the one hand, and on the other the “catalogue texts” which have an analogue in Ps. 68 if Albright’s interpretation of the latter text18 is correct. Finally, we must eliminate from consideration the genre of “Learned and Scientific Texts” which are largely or wholly prose in form and non-literary (i.e. monumental or archival) in origin. That leaves us with seven genres of neo-Sumerian religious poetry, to wit: lamentations, hymns to gods, hymns to temples, liturgies, royal hymns, compositions devoted to the “philosophy of history,” and those on religious philosophy,—seven prima facie components of an assumed neo-Sumerian psalter. Let us see whether they warrant the label, first 16 17 18

“La littérature sumérienne . . . ,” RA 55 (1961) 177–196, 56 (1962) 81–90, 214. For a more detailed subdivision, cf. E.I. Gordon, Bi. Or. 17 (1960) 124. HUCA 23/1 (1950–1951) 1–39.

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collectively on the basis of their common treatment and canonical arrangement, and then individually on the basis of their distinguishing characteristics. To begin with, then, can we speak of the seven genres, taken together, as a canonical19 collection in the sense of the Biblical Psalter? The usual criteria here would seem to be an authoritative text, a reasonably fixed number and sequence of individual compositions, and the grouping of these compositions into recognizable books or subdivisions.20 Recent discoveries at Qumran have warned us not to apply these tests too rigorously even to the Biblical Psalter, and the evidence is even more tenuous in the case of the Sumerian texts. But it does suffice to show that some of them, at least, are met there as well. Duplicate exemplars of single compositions, for instance, show a large measure of agreement even when found at widely scattered sites, not only in wording but also in textual details that may be described as “masoretic” such as line counts, strophic structure, classification and so forth. Or again, compositions of the same genre, or of closely related genres, were often collected on single tablets in an order which seems to have been more or less fixed. We are not yet in a position to restore this order in anything like its entirety, nor the major groupings of the corpus as a whole, but the analogy of the later canonizations of cuneiform literature suggests that the Old Babylonian schools were busy fixing both order and grouping. In short, we will not be adjudged terribly premature if we already operate with the hypothesis that the religious poetry of the neo-Sumerian tradition constituted the materials of what, in effect, may be described as a complete Psalter from the literary point of view. Let us now turn more specifically to the individual genres as isolated above, beginning with the hymns, a category which by virtue of its importance gave its name to the entire Biblical Psalter, and which survived it as a living form in the Hodayoth of Qumran and the psalms of Sirah if not of Solomon. The same category is also well-represented in the neo-Sumerian corpus, in all of its diversity. There are, first of all, the hymns to various deities, corresponding to the Biblical hymns to God in several respects. For one thing, they are the most numerous of the hymns. More important are the structural parallels, the natural 19 I am concerned here only with the literary sense of the term, not its religious or cultic connotations. 20 Cf. Hallo, IEJ 12 (1962) 21–26, here: I.1.

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consequence of the essential nature of hymns, which, by their very definition, were “laudatory.” Thus the invocation of the deity in the vocative is followed (or, in the Sumerian, initially preceded) by one or more epithets in apposition to the divine name, and by long recitals of the deity’s attributes, and of his achievements—past, present and future—in mythology and history, whether these are properly objects of praise, or awe or outright terror. The public recital which provided the setting for the hymn is frequently alluded to in its very text by repeated exhortations to the soloist or chorus to sing the deity’s praises or to respond to them antiphonally. The typical hymn concludes with a final doxology phrased in one of a relatively limited number of stereotyped formulas. All these characteristics apply equally to the Biblical as to the neo-Sumerian examples of the genre. The more specialized hymnal genres of the Psalter are also represented in Sumerian. Thus the “Zion songs” may be likened to the more elaborate hymns to temples and sacred cities in the neo-Sumerian corpus, while the “royal hymns”21 resemble that class of Sumerian hymns to a deity which include, or conclude with, a prayer on behalf of a specific king. These hymns have been described as “royal hymns in the wider sense,” and had a place in the public worship of the temples. They must be distinguished from Sumerian royal hymns in the stricter sense, in which the king’s praises are put into his own mouth in the first person, or addressed to him in the second. Such hymns have no liturgical annotations or classifications; they have few references to the deity nor pray to him on behalf of the king, but rather emphasize the king’s merits. Presumably they belonged in the courtly ceremonial rather than in the temple service, and it is harder to find their analogue in the Biblical Psalter, though a relatively secular poem such as Ps. 45 might be cited for comparison. Conversely, it is difficult to find a precise Sumerian equivalent to the much-debated accession hymns of the Psalter. For while the ideology of Mesopotamian kingship may have somehow influenced the latter, it is there applied to God in a fundamentally different sense. This is true also in large measure of such minor Biblical categories as “pilgrim songs,” congregational thanksgivings, “legend” and “wisdom” psalms. “Liturgies” on the other hand, are represented in the neo-Sumerian corpus by a number of examples. 21 Cf. W.H. Ph. Römer, Sumerische ‘Königshymnen’ der Isin-Zeit (1965) and my review, Bi. Or. 23 (1966) 239–246, here: III.3.

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Turning next to the congregational laments, this relatively minor Psalm genre, to which most of the Book of Lamentations should be added, corresponds to the rather substantial body of lamentations over the destruction of cities in the neo-Sumerian corpus. In both cases, it is clear that real historic events, and more specifically national disasters, inspired the compositions. But both tended to sublimate the events into vague and involved allusions to the flight of the divine presence or the breakdown of cultic processes. As a result, there is sometimes uncertainty in both as to just what historic event is intended, the more so as there seems to have been no great reluctance about applying older allusions to more recent events. On the Mesopotamian side, it is clear from the number of Sumerian examples; from their intricate strophic structure and liturgical glosses; and from their survival in other forms into later periods, that the public laments represented a thoroughly institutionalized, temple-centered response to the recurrent trauma of wholesale destruction which was visited on the Mesopotamian citystates and empires throughout their history.22 What then of the prayers of the individual which form the largest single quotient of the Biblical psalter? Oddly enough, individual, or at any rate private, prayer is very poorly represented in Sumerian literature.23 In part this may be because the official cult concentrated on the king, and had little use for the private individual, who relied more often than not on a popular religion to which the official religious literature bears little direct testimony, or on the intercession of his personal protective deity with the great gods of the official pantheon. Indeed, our chief examples of private prayer in early Mesopotamia come not from canonical texts at all, but from the monuments.24 The ubiquitous seal cylinders of the neo-Sumerian and adjacent periods typically show the private seal owner led before the great god by his personal deity. And the typical purpose of private votive objects (as of royal ones) was to forward to the deity the prayer which doubled as the name of the object by leaving the object, with its inscription, on permanent deposit in the cella of the temple, close to the niche which held the statue of the deity. Such inscribed votive 22 Cf. R. Kutscher, a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha: the history of a Sumerian congregational lament (unpubl. Ph.D. thesis, Yale, 1966); J. Krecher, Sumerische Kultlyrik (1966); T. Jacobsen, PAPhS 107 (1963) 479–482. 23 Cf. A. Falkenstein, “Das Gebet in der sumerischen Ueberlieferung,” RLA 3 (1959) 156–160, where prayers contained within other literary genres are also listed. 24 Cf. Hallo, “The royal inscriptions of Ur: a typology,” HUCA 33 (1962) 1–43 esp. pp. 12–14.

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objects were, then, considered as taking the place of the suppliant, and relieving him of the need to proffer his prayer in his own person, orally and perpetually. This is stated in so many words by many of the votive inscriptions, and is implied also by the fact that the most expensive type of votive, the statue, clearly depicts the worshipper, not the deity. Other types of votive objects such as steles, bowls, and replicas of tools and weapons from the petitioner’s daily life, were simply more modest means to attain the same end. But even such objects were made of semi-precious stones or precious metals and thus beyond the means of most worshippers, and there was consequently the need for a less costly method of written communication with the divine. Apparently, then, it is out of this essentially economic context that there gradually arose a canonical literary genre as a vehicle of individual prayer. At first it took a form which was less literary, or canonical, than economic, or archival. For the formal choice fell upon the letter, a form abundantly familiar to the neo-Sumerian scribes for straightforward economic purposes. Presently, the bare outlines of the archival letters were elaborated to create what constituted, in content if not in form, true prayers, albeit in prose, and ultimately they freed themselves entirely from the style of the letter to develop into poetic parallels of the Biblical laments of the individual. It will be my purpose to examine this particular genre, its literary history, and its later affinities, more closely.

II. The Neo-Sumerian Letter-Prayers Let me begin my presentation of the genre with a translation of one of its shorter and more familiar examples (B6):25 Speak to my king with varicolored eyes who wears a lapus lazuli beard Say furthermore to the golden statue “born” on a favorable day, (to) the “sphinx” raised in the holy sheepfold, summoned in the pure heart of Inanna26 (to) my lord, the prince of Inanna: “You in your form are a child of Heaven, Your command like the command of god is never equalled (var.: is not rebutted by the foreign lands) Your words are a storm-wind (to be) rained down from heaven, having none to count them (var.: shepherd them) 25 26

Cf. below, (V), for a bibliography of the genre and previous treatments. For an Ur III example of a lapus lazuli “sphinx” cf UET 3:415:2.

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Thus speaks Urˇsagga your servant: ‘My king has watched over my person, I am a citizen (lit.: son) of Ur, If my king is (truly) of Heaven, Let no one carry off my patrimony, Let no one destroy the foundations of my father’s house.’ May my king know it.”

This brief but fairly representative example may suffice for the moment to indicate that, formally, our genre belongs to the category of Sumerian letters. As such, its literary analogues are of several kinds. There are, first of all, the preserved examples of royal correspondence in which the reigning king (not, as here, the statue of the deified king) is addressed by, or addresses himself to, one of his servants. Such letters are known to us so far only in the form of literary imitations of assumed originals allegedly emanating from the chancelleries of Ur and Isin.27 As such they share some of the flourishes and other stylistic characteristics of our genre. Secondly, the school curriculum has preserved a small number of private letters, in Sumerian as well as Akkadian, as mundane in style as in content, which served as models of everyday correspondence for apprentice scribes.28 Their purely fictional character may be judged by the fact that one of them is supposedly written by none other than a monkey.29 If, however, we wish to find the origin of our genre in the “real” world, we have to go back of all these literary letters of the Old Babylonian period to the archival documents of the neo-Sumerian period. Several hundred Ur III letters are known, and in their most characteristic form they constitute drafts, or orders to pay in kind, drawn on the great storage-centers of the royal economy in favor of the bearer, usually the representative of the king or of some high, royal official.30 Such documents, while letters in form, are orders in function, and have therefore been aptly designated as letter-orders.31 The texts 27

Cf. F.R. Kraus, “Altmesopotamische Quellensammlungen zur altmesopotamischen Geschichte,” AfO 20 (1963) 153–155. 28 See below (V), sub B , M, O, and P for Sumerian examples. For Akkadian 19 examples, cf. F.R. Kraus, “Briefschreibübungen im altbabylonischen Schulunterricht,” JEOL VI/16 (1959–1962) 16–39. To all appearances, the pitifully executed Akkadian examples come from a much more rudimentary stage of the curriculum. 29 Below, V, sub B . 14 30 Cf. E. Sollberger, The Business and Administrative Correspondence under the Kings of Ur [= TCS 1, 1966). 31 A.L. Oppenheim, AOS 32 (1948) 86 ad H 24 et passim; Hallo, HUCA 29 (1958)

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we are here considering, while essentially identical to them in form, function as prayers. I therefore propose to call them letter-prayers.32 The seven or eight separate examples in ten to twelve copies of the genre recognized until recently33 can now be more than doubled by newly published exemplars from Ur and by unpublished material from the Yale Babylonian Collection.34 Let us first consider the structure of the newly-named genre. It begins with a salutation to the divine addressee which employs the basic terminology of the archival letters: to my god speak, thus says35 NN, your servant (so I; cf. B14, B19, M, O, P), but usually elaborates on it in two significant ways. In the first place it nearly always modifies the adressee’s name with a longer or shorter succession of laudatory epithets in the form of appositions (F, G, J). In the second place, it frequently adds a second salutation, including further epithets and ending ‘to him say furthermore’ (B1, B8, C2, D, H, K, L).36 On one occasion there is even a third salutation ending ‘to him (say) for the third time,’ (B16)37 while other letters content themselves with additional epithets or predicates at this point (B6, B17, C, E). The message itself now follows, and its length varies considerably. In the longest example so far attested (H), it runs to about 45 lines, or five times the length of the salutation. But in other instances, the message is little longer than the salutation, and in a number of cases it is shorter. Indeed, there are two instances where, at least as far as preserved, the texts ends with the salutation (E, C) and one of these even lacks the phrase “thus speaks NN” (E). The body of the letter has no recognizable structural subdivisions like the salutation. However, most of its sentiments can be classified as expressing (1) complaint 97–100. For neo-Babylonian letter-orders, cf. Oppenheim, JCS 5 (1950) 195 ad UET 4: 162–192. 32 This term seems preferable to F. Ali’s “letters of petition” (Ar. Or. 33: 539), or Falkenstein’s “Gottesbrief ” which is difficult to translate. The genre is here taken to include letters to deities, as well as those to kings and other mortals couched in the elaborate style of some of the letters to deities. 33 A. Falkenstein, OLZ 36 (1933) 302; “Ein sumerischer Gottesbrief,” ZA 44 (1938) 1– 25; “Ein sumerischer Brief an den Mondgott,” Analecta Biblica 12 (1959) 69–77; J.J.A. van Dijk La sagesse suméro-accadienne (1953) 13–17. 34 See below, V. 35 na-ab-bé-a. So always except in J which has nu-ub-bé-a ub-be-a! Once na-bé-a in PBS 1/2:93:3 (= B14). 36 ù-ne-dè-dah; for the reading cf. Falkenstein, ZA 44:11 but note now the apparent ù-di! -a-dè-dah in L. 37 ù-na (yar. ne)-de-peˇs.

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(2) protests (3) prayers and (4) formal reinforcements of the appeal, though not necessarily in that order. The conclusion of the letter-prayers (when preserved) may occasionally consist of a vow to repay the kindness besought in the body of the text. More often it consists of a brief stereotyped formula either borrowed from the language of secular letters or peculiar to the genre itself. We will consider the various formulations in due course. For now, let us turn to the contents of the various letter-prayers, following the structural outline already presented. To begin with the addressees, they include five of the great gods, and two goddesses. No discernible principle governs the choice of the male deities, but two of them appear to be from the circle of Nergal, the lord of the netherworld, if not Nergal himself (C, G), which seems to bespeak a special concern with the threat of death. The others are Utu (D2), Nanna (E), Enki (H), and Martu (J). The goddesses invoked can be described more consistently. They are both healing goddesses, in one case (B17) Nintinuga, and in two or three others (F, D4) Ninisina.38 In at least two of these cases, the choice of addressee is clearly dictated by the contents of the letter, for they are petitions for relief from sickness. The letters addressed simply to “my god” (I)39 or “(my) king” (B1, B6, B8, K) pose more of a problem since, on the one hand, gods were sometimes addressed as “my king” even within the context of the letter-prayers (J) and, on the other hand, the deified (and/or deceased) king could be addressed as “my god.” In at least one case, it is clear ˇ that the letter-prayer is addressed to King Sulgi of Ur (B1), and there is another text which, though not formally a letter-prayer, has been described as a letter or prayer to the deified Rim-Sin of Larsa.40 But where neither royal name nor divine name is mentioned, it is difficult to decide the exact status of the recipient, whether addressed as “god” or “king.” Perhaps the question is of secondary importance, for both were petitioned in similar terms (albeit for different ends?), and in similar guise (i.e. in the form of their cult statue; cf. B6, K), For the sake of completeness, I will mention here also two “letterprayers” addressed neither to gods nor to kings but to private persons, or at most to officials (B16, L). One of them is from a priest of Enlil to 38 Kraus, JCS 3 (1949) 78 n. 30 recognizes a whole sub-genre of letters to healing deities. 39 Cf. also JCS 8:82; CT 44:14. 40 Falkenstein, Analecta Biblica 12 (1959) 70, n. 1 ad TRS 35.

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his son, the other from a scribe to his relative or colleague (gi-me-aaˇs). Both are stylistically identical with the authentic letter-prayers, and not with the simple literary “practice-letters” between private persons (B19, M, O, P). Perhaps they represent an intermediate stage in the development from secular letter-order to letter-prayer.41 The epithets applied to the various addressees in all these letterprayers are drawn freely from all the rich storehouse of attributes available for embellishing Sumerian religious and monumental texts in general. But the choice was not wholly a random one, for in most instances there was a decided emphasis on those qualities of the addressee which were crucial for the substance of the petition that followed in the body of the letter. Thus the letters which prayed for the restoration of health praised the healing goddess for her therapeutic skills (B17, D4, F); one which asked for legal redress stressed the unalterableness of the divine command (B6); one of those concerned with scribal problems (H) addressed Enki as the lord of wisdom. In one of the two “private” letter-prayers, a father apostrophizes his son, among many other things, as “the son who is available for his god, who respects his father and mother (var. mother and father)” (B16).42 Our next question concerns the character of the presumed writers of the letter-prayers, as far as these may be identified by their personal names or professional titles. This is not always possible, for a name like Urˇsagga in B6 (above) is common enough, the virtual equivalent of our “Goodman” or Everyman. Whether the Gudea of I is a private person or one of several city-rulers of that name is not clear. Here as in other cases (J), there is only indirect evidence for the question. However, by far the largest number of letters are clearly written by scribes (C, F, G, H, K, L). Even where the writer claims a more specialized title in the salutation (B1), he may still refer to himself as a scribe in the body of the text. This state of affairs is readily explained when we remember the origin of the letter-prayers genre in the context of the scribal schools. As in the case of the “school essays,” the scribe found in his own life and circumstances the materials for exercising his stylistic talents. One of these scribal letter-prayers (C) is even penned by a woman scribe—and thus becomes, incidentally, a rare bit of evidence for the existence of such women at this time. It is not the only letter-prayer 41 Note that some of the same personal names occur in different kinds of literary letters. Cf. B16 and B7,8 B16 and B19, K and M. 42 dumu dingir-ra-(a)-ni-ir gub-ba/a-a-ama-a-ni (var. ama-a-a-ni)-ir nì-te-gá.

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from a woman (cf. B17) but it is the only one which reveals her status, not only professionally but socially, for it seems (the passage is however broken) that she is further identified as a daughter or retainer of Sinkaˇsid, king of Uruk. As a matter of fact, we possess one example of a letter-prayer written by a king himself—in this case Sin-iddinam of Larsa, a later contemporary of Sin-kaˇsid (D4). It may be noted in passing that the Akkadian tradition of (royal) letter-prayers is first attested, at Mari, only a generation or two after this.43 So much for the writers, real or fictitious, of the letter-prayers. Let us now consider their actual messages: the petitions which were the subject of the letters, and the sentiments employed to convey them. The complaint with which the body of the letter often begins may refer to either the causes or the consequences of one’s suffering. One of the favorite stylistic devices is to describe one’s life as “diminishing” (B1)44 or as “ebbing away in cries and sighs” (B17).45 One petitioner seems already to foresee his bones carried off by the water to a foreign city (K).46 Another form of complaint is to stress the loss of friends and protectors: “those who know me, my friends, are on a hostile footing with me” (B17);48 “those who know me no longer approach me, they speak no word with me, my own friend no longer counsels me, he will not set my mind at rest” (H below).49 The loss of protection or patronage is expressed both plainly: “I have no protector” (B17, B1, L)50 and metaphorically: “like a sheep which has no faithful shepherd, I am without a faithful cowherd to watch over me” (I);51 “I am an orphan” (lit, the son of a widow, B1)52 which recalls Gudea’s moving plaint to Gatumdu: “I have no mother—you are my mother; I have no father— you are my father.”53 43 G. Dossin, Syria 19 (1938) 125 f. Cf. also Van Dijk, Sagesse 13 f.; E.A. Speiser, “Omens and Letters to the Gods,” AOS 38 (1955) 60–67 = Oriental and Biblical Studies (1967) 297–305; and below nn. 96 f. 44 zi-mu ba-e-tur; the variant (YBC 6458) has, however, ba-i. 45 im-ma-si im-ma-diri-ga-ta zi al-ir-ir-re. For a slightly different translation, cf. Römer, SKIZ 113, end. Cf. also H 23 below. 46 gìr-pad-du-mu ˇsà-uru-kúr-ra-ˇsè a nam-ma-an-tùm. 48 zu-a kal-la-mu gìr-kúr mu-da-an-gin; var, ba-an-díb-bé-eˇs (cf. Civil, Iraq 23:167). 49 Cf. the same topos in the individual laments of the Psalter, e.g, Ps. 31:12, 38:12, 41:10, 55:13–15. 50 lú-èn-tar-(re) la-ba-(an)-tug (nu-un-tug). 51 udu-gim sipa-gi-na nu-tug na-gada-gi-na nu-mu-un-túm-túm-mu. Cf Å. Sjöberg, Bi. Or. 20 (1963) 46 f. 52 dumu-nu-mu- (un) -zu-me-en. 53 Cyl. A iii 6 f.; cf Ps. 27:10.

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The petitions of the letter-prayers concern, in the first instance, the same problems as their complaints. Relief from sickness is thus one of them; in the letters to healing goddesses, it is phrased typically as “may she remove from my body (interrupt) whatever sickness demon may exist in my body”54 (B17, D4), and is followed by the hope for restoration of complete health: “may you place my feet in the station of life” (B17);55 “may Damu your son (oh healing goddess) effect my cure” (D4).56 Letters addressed to deified kings typically seek divine or royal protection where other friends and protectors fail: “oh my king, may you be my protector” (B1, B8; cf. B6).57 But some of the same texts go further and their petitions may be more specific than their complaints had been. One seeks to be confirmed in the claims to his patrimony (B6, above); another prays for his freedom, perhaps from debt-slavery (B1).58 This is also true of the two letter-prayers addressed to private persons. In one, a father seems to be pleading with his son for support in his old age (B16); in another, a scribe asks his colleague or relative for preferment to a higher post and other favors (L). Thus the letter-prayers were clearly the vehicle for expressing a variety of human needs. In addition to the complaint and the petition, the body of the letterprayer is usually reinforced by protestations of past merits and present deserts on the part of the suppliant. He argues his moral innocence or ignorance, his cultic piety, his unswerving loyalty to the god, or simply his high political or social status: “I do not know my guilt” (B8);59 “I do not know my sin, of my sin I have no knowledge” (K);60 “I observed (all) your festivals and offerings”61 or, negatively phrased, “my proper devotions (?) I have not withheld from you” (J),62 or both together: “I performed (or sent) the regular prayers, the sacrifices and the offerings generously (mah-bi) to all the gods, I did not withhold anything from them” (D4).63 To emphasize his loyalty, the penitent may insist “I do not á-zág su-mà gál-la su-mà íb-ta-an-zi; var. gá-la ha-ba- an-dag -ge (SEM 74: 14). Cf. van Dijk, Sagesse 15 f. 55 Ib. 56 dDa-mu dumu-zu nam-a-zu-mu hé-ak (SEM 74: 16). 57 lugal-mu èn-(mu) hé-tar-re; var. hu-mu-un-tar-re. 58 ki-ama-mu (var. -bi)-ˇsè hé-im-mi-íb (ib) -gi -gi . 4 4 59 ˇsul-a-lum nu-zu. 60 nam-tag-mu nu-zu nam-tag-mà geˇstú la-ba-ˇsi-gál. 61 ezen-sizkur-zu-uˇs x ba-gub-bu-da-gim, (SEM 74 = D ?) 4 62 nì-ˇsa -ga-tuku-mu la-ba-e-ˇsi-kéˇs. 6 63 dingir-re-e-ne-ir mah-bi inim-ˇsa -ˇsa -gi-nam-ma / sizkur-ra nidba(PAD. dINNIN)6 6 bi i-kin-en/nì-nam nu-mu-ne-kéˇs. 54

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speak hostile (foreign) words” (I),64 perhaps even that he has not sworn by a foreign king (G).65 On the contrary, he asserts, “I am a citizen of Ur” (B6)66 or “I am a scribe” (H, B1).67 One letter lists the past military and other service of the writer in detail (B1). Apparently the recital of past achievements or present rank is supposed to qualify their bearer for future favors. To persuade the deity to act on his behalf, however, the penitent does not rely solely on his own past merits and present status. Rather, in time-honored fashion, he seeks to persuade the deity or king to act, as it were, “for the sake of thy name,” as well as to sway him by promise of future benefits. The element of “suasion” is typically (and somewhat provocatively) phrased as the protasis of a conditional sentence: “If my queen is truly of heaven” (B17, D4); “if my king is truly of heaven” (B6).68 Note that the latter expression also occurs in the letters to living kings.69 The vows of the letter-prayers are even less subtle: if his or her petition is granted, the writer says, “I will surely be your slave-girl, will serve as court sweeper of your temple, will serve in your presence” (B17)70 or “dwell in your gate and sing your praises . . . and proclaim your exaltation” (H; cf. D4: J),71 preferably in public.72 Perhaps the most persuasive offer that the petitioner can dangle before the deity’s eyes is to endow him or her with yet another epithet, based on their latest kindness: “When I have been cured, I will rename my goddess the one who heals (?) the cripples” (B17, cf. also G 46).73 So much for the body of the letter-prayers. Their conclusion is much briefer, but it includes, in at least two instances, another important clue to the cultic situation of the entire genre, for reference is made there to “(my) letter which I have deposited before you” (H [variant], G). This, together with the fact that it is a statue which is actually addressed (B6) shows clearly that our letters reflect a practice of leaving petitions in the dingir-mu lú-kúr-di nu-me-en (Falkenstein, OLZ 1962:373.) lugal-kúr-ra mu-ni nu-mu-un-pà-dè. 66 dumu uríKI-ma-me-en. 67 dub-sar-me-en. 68 Falkenstein, ZA 44:22. 69 E.g. Sulgi ˇ to Irmu 3, 30; L.B. 2543 (unpubl.). 70 ù gá-e geme-zu(var.-ni) (hé)-me-en é-za-a (var. é-a-ni) kisal-luh-bi hé-me-en igizu(var.-ni)-ˇsè hé-gub Cf. Gadd, Ideas of Divine Rule 27 n. 3, who compares Ps. 84:10 [= 84:11 in the Hebrew version]. 71 KA-tar-zu ga-si-il (D ); palil?-e? KA-tar-zu hé-si-il-e me-tés numun hé-i-i (J). 4 72 Cf. e.g. Ps. 22:23; 26:12; 35:18 and below, note 92. 73 Van Dijk, Sagesse 15 f. (line 20). 64 65

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temple, at the feet of the cult statue or at least in its own cella.74 But the brief concluding formulas are also crucial for assigning the genre its proper place in Sumerian literary history. For of these formulas some, like “may my king know it”75 (B6), “it is urgent” (B10)76 or “do not be negligent” (O),77 are clearly borrowed from the older clichés with which the secular letter-orders and royal letters of Ur and Isin closed. Others, as befits our genre, are more florid: “at the command of Enlil may (my) eyes behold your face (B17).”78 But the most common conclusion: “may the heart of my god (or king) be appeased” (B1, G, H, I) helps to identify our genre as the lineal antecedent of the post-Sumerian penitential psalms, to which we may now turn.

III. The Post-Sumerian Penitential Psalms The Sumerian, penitential psalm, or ér-ˇsà-hun-gá,79 is first attested by a single example from Nippur dated to the Middle Babylonian period. The text in question, published and edited by Langdon as long ago as 1917, was recently re-edited by the late Father Bergmann.80 It does not actually carry any generic designation, but it ends with the typical closing of the later, labelled erˇsahunga’s: “may your heart be appeased like that of a natural mother, like that of a natural father.” This is, in

After hearing the present paper at its original presentation (above n. 1), Prof. Jacobsen pointed out that the excavations in the Diyala region uncovered a clay tablet in an unopened envelope lying near the base of a cult statue. As he recalled, the envelope bore only the ascription “to DN,” Note also that the late (?) copy of a votive inscription of Sin-iddinam published by van Dijk, JCS 19 (1965) 1–25 includes two “letters” confided by the king to the statue of his father for transmittal to Utu. 75 lugal-mu hé-en-zu; cf. BIN 2:53:3 which, according to Falkenstein, ZA 44:24 and Anal. Bibl. 12:70 n. 2, is also (an extract from) a letter to a god, although that seems hard to prove. 76 a-ma-ru-kam. For the expression, cf. Sollberger, TCS 1, p. 99 (49). 77 gú-zu na-an-ˇsub-bé-en. With this closing cf. za-e nam-ba-e-ˇse-ba-e-dè-en-zé-en in the Ibbi-Sin correspondence: CADE 48b and Hoffner, JAOS 87 (1967) 302. 78 du -ga dEn-líl-lá-ka(var. -kam!) múˇs-me-zu igi hé-bi-du (var. ba-ab-du ). Cf. UET 11 5 5 6: 173 iv 6 f.: du11 dnin-in-si-na mùˇs Iugal-mà-kam igi-bi-ib-du8, which thus is clearly also the conclusion of a letter (in spite of Kramer’s reservation, ib., p. 4), presumably to a king. 79 Cf. S. Langdon, OECT 6 (1927) pp. iii–x; RA 22 (1925) 119–125. The Akkadian ˇ 2:579:392), erˇsahungû (AHw 245 f.) or sˇigû equivalent is given variously as unnînu(?) (SL (see refs. Dalglish, op. cit., 34 f.). 80 PBS 10/2:3, ed. by B. Bergmann, ZA 57 (1965) 33–42. 74

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expanded form, also the typical ending of the earlier letter-prayers, but since the Middle Babylonian example is not otherwise cast in the form of a letter, we may see it as an early example, or at least a forerunner, of the erˇsahunga.81 Its significance for our purpose lies, then, in the fact that it provides the missing link between the neo-Sumerian letterprayers of the Old Babylonian period, and the fully developed postSumerian penitential psalms of the first millennium, whose very name (literally lament for appeasing the heart, i.e. of the god) reflects its concluding formula. At first glance, the comparison may seem far-fetched. The late genre is, to begin with, wholly poetic in style, as attested not only by the language, parallelisms and other internal features, but also by the fact that its lines, in distinction from the earlier letter-prayers, are now fixed in their division and as to their number for each separate composition. In the second place, the new genre has lost all formal traces of any epistolary origins, with one possible exception, namely the use of the phrase “your servant” to refer to the penitent, whether he otherwise presents himself in the third or in the first person.82 Thirdly, it is couched in the emesal-dialect of Sumerian, once erroneously translated as the “woman’s language”83 but more properly described as a kind of whining or wailing tone used by women or goddesses neither exclusively nor universally, but by them only in certain contexts, and also by certain men, notably the singers called gala (kalû) and in the context of lamentation. In these formal or external respects, then, the post-Sumerian penitential psalms clearly represent a new genre as compared to the neoSumerian letter-prayers. Indeed, if we were to confine ourselves to their formal characteristics, we might be forced to conclude that they were simply the later successors to the neo-Sumerian erˇsemma-psalms. The erˇsemma, however, survived in its own right and under its old designation, albeit chiefly as a subsection of longer compositions. And when we consider the penitential psalms from the point of view of contents

81 J. Krecher, ZA 58 (1967) 28 regards it as “den Erˇsahunga-Liedern nahestehend und also wahrscheinlich aus der frühen Kassitenzeit(?).” 82 Cf. the references and literature cited by Dalglish, op. cit, (note 12) 31 f. n. 58. The same usage appears to apply to the Akkadian “literary prayers of the Babylonians”; cf. W.G. Lambert, AfO 19 (1959–1960) 47 f. 83 SAL is here rather “thin, attenuated.” Cf. now J. Krecher, “Zum Emesal-Dialekt des Sumerischen,” Falkenstein AV (1967) 86 n. 1.

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and phraseology, a different picture emerges. For this aspect of their description, we may rely largely on Dalglish’s summary.84 The typical erˇsahunga, then, begins with a long hymnic introduction in which the deity invoked is apostrophized by a succession of epithets designed, in Dalglish’s words, “to remind them of their special attributes, whose exercise may have caused the distress of the worshipper or may be the cause of salvation later to be invoked in the prayer.” As such, they of course immediately recall the salutations of the letter-prayers. The complaint section of the erˇsahunga includes, like that of the letter-prayers, a description of the penitent’s distress, a confession of his sin, and a final cry of woe. The description of his distress is less specific here than in most of the letter-prayers, and even the allusions to sickness are more often meant metaphorically than literally. But the other two elements often employ the phraseology of the letter-prayers almost verbatim. Sins are typically committed in multiples of seven in both genres,85 and in both there is an emphasis on the penitent’s ignorance of his sins, or of his specific transgressions.86 The cry of desperation in both may resemble the bleating of an animal or the moans of a woman in child-birth,87 though the later genre adds a few characteristic interjections of its own. Another typical portion of each penitential psalm is the petition, or prayer in the narrower sense. Since the distress is described vaguely as an unknown sin or sins, or the resulting affliction, the petition too is, naturally, less explicit than in the letter-prayers. Even so, expressions such as “free me from my sin,” “remit my punishment,”88 or “rescue me from destruction”89 can be found in both genres. The votive formula which is so marked a part of the letter-prayers recurs with little change in the erˇsahunga’s; both thus differ from the 84 Op. cit. (above, n. 12), pp. 21–35. To Dalgish’s list add now probably CT 44:14 and 24. 85 Cf e.g. I 8 f. (Kramer, TMH nF 3 p. 21) with IV E 10:45 ff.: na-ám-tag-ga imin-ará-imin-na. Note also Jacobsen, JCS 8:86 (CNM 10099) (end): dingir-mu nam-tag-gamu imin-[ . . . ]. 86 Cf. e.g. K (above, n. 60) with IV R 10:42: na-ám-tag-ga nì-ag-a-mu nu-un-zu-àm = anni epuˇsu ul idi. 87 Cf e.g. B (above, note 45) with K. 3153 (OECT 6:21–23; BA 5:578 f.): ib-si ˇsi-mu 17 zi-ir-ra = mas. i napiˇsti ¯ıtaˇsuˇs. 88 Cf. the gate called ˇsul-a-lum-du -du (H 49, below) with the erˇsahunga-passages 8 8 cited CADE 170a. 89 Cf. H 51 f. (below) with PBS 10/2:3:7 (Bergmann, ZA 57:34): nam-da-ad-gu-ud ˇsu-bar-zi sag-ki!-tum ZA.GI.

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more or less unconditional thanksgiving formulas of other late genres. Compare for example the previously quoted “If Damu your son effects my cure, then I will surely sing your praises”90 with the later “Absolve my sin and I will sing your praises.”91 Both genres, too, stress the favorable “publicity” which will redound to the deity.92 Finally, we may return to the starting point of our comparison by considering the concluding formula of the penitential psalm. In its fullest form it includes seven different formulations, but of these, only the last two recur in virtually every instance, namely: “may your heart be appeased like that of my natural mother and father.”93 Thus we have here the closing formula of many letter-prayers expanded only to include the specific equation between personal god and parent which had been merely implicit earlier.94 In spite of certain formal and substantive differences, then, the postSumerian erˇsahunga’s in striking measure perpetuate the tradition of the neo-Sumerian letter-prayers, and Falkenstein’s assessment that they derive from Akkadian conceptions needs to be reviewed.95 The formal differences no doubt reflect a change in the cultic situation: instead of commissioning a scribe to deposit a clay tablet in letter form at the feet of the divine statue, the later penitent commissioned the galasinger to recite his prayer orally. Perhaps it was feared that gods could no longer read Sumerian, for while letters continued to be addressed to them96 or deposited before their statues,97 they no longer served as prayers but as royal reports or oracular inquiries respectively; and they

Above, notes 56 and 71. OECT 6:43:49; cf. Bergmann, ZA 57:41. 92 Cf. H 53 (below) with PBS 10/2:3r8 (ZA 57:41 f.): ukù-e pà-hé-ni-ib-bé ka-na-mé hé-ma-zu. 93 Dalglish, op. cit., p. 32. 94 On this equation, see also Hallo, JCS 20 (1966) 136 f., n. 53, here: III.2. 95 “Nach meiner Auffassung trotz sumerischer Sprache sind die ér-ˇsà-hun-gá-Kompositionen aus akkadischen Vorstellungen herausgewachsen,” apud Dalglish, op. cit., 34, n. 72. 96 Most notably the famous report of Sargon’s eighth campaign; cf. A.L. Oppenheim, “The city of Assur in 714 bc,” JNES 19 (1960) 133–147, who lists the other examples of the genre. Previously Ungnad, OLZ 21 (1918) cc. 72–76. Cf. also H. Tadnor, JCS 12 (1958) 82. 97 Referring. to Knudtzon, Assyrische Gebete an den Sonnengott, Jastrow stated long ago: “Aus Andeutungen in den Texten selbst geht. . . hervor, dass man die aufgeschriebene Frage vor dem Gottesbild niederlegte”: Die Religion Babyloniens und Assyriens 2 (1912) 175; cf also W.W. Struve, ICO 25/1 (1962) 178. 90 91

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were now written in the vernacular, like the letter-prayers to the gods of Anatolia,98 Egypt99 and elsewhere.100 The substantive changes too are readily explained in terms of historically attested changes in the Babylonian Weltanschauung as these have been delineated by Jacobsen.101 Where the earlier Babylonians worried chiefly about the divine origin of natural misfortunes and manmade disasters, the later ones were more concerned with their own sins, known or unknown, as the causes of their afflictions. The petition of the individual accordingly witnessed a corresponding shift in emphasis: the deity was now entreated to remove, not the affliction, but the sin; not the symptom but the assumed underlying cause. It is, however, not my purpose to dwell on these differences, important though they certainly are as indices of developmental stages in the history of Mesopotamian religion. From the point of view of literary history, it is the similarities between the earlier and the later genre that are most impressive. They entitle us to regard the neo-Sumerian letter-prayers as the lineal antecedents of the post-Sumerian penitential psalms, and to throw them into the balance in any comparison with the individual laments of the Biblical Psalter.

IV. A New Sumerian Letter-Prayer (H) A. Texts102 YBC 4620 (= A) complete in 56 lines YBC 7205 (= B) “rectilinear” extract tablet,103 ll. 1–15. YBC 8630 (= C) “rectilinear” extract tablet;103 ll. 36-end.

98 According to Goetze, Kleinasiatische Forschungen 1 (1930) 220, the “second plague prayer” of Murˇsili (ANET 394–396?) was in the form of a “Gottesbrief.” (Ref. courtesy H. Hoffner, Jr.) 99 G.R. Hughes, “A Demotic letter to Thoth,” JNES 17 (1958) 1–12, with other examples of the genre. 100 Cf. the Jewish custom of depositing “letter-prayers” in the Western Wall, which survives to this day. 101 Cf. for the present his “Ancient Mesopotamian religion: the central concerns,” PAPhS 107 (1963) 473–484. 102 Copies to be published in a forthcoming YOS volume. 103 Cf. Gordon, S. P. p. 8.

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B. Structure The letter-prayers have no structural labels,104 but the present text, by virtue of its great length, shows a clear strophic structure based on meaning units and the occurrence or recurrence of certain formulas. There is also the evidence, in exemplar A, of the line count. While the total (56) is correct, the subtotals are too low by two for the obverse (31 for 33) and too high by two for the reverse (25 for 23). Unless they were slavishly copied from a model (in which case it is hard to see why the disposition of the lines would have been altered), this seems to imply that the formulas of lines 2 and 7 were not counted as separate lines, while the long lines 39 and 40, which in A are written over 11/2 lines and in C over two separate lines, were in fact counted separately. On this assumption, and with one minor transposition (moving the couplet 18 f. after line 27), the poem consists of eleven five-line stanzas plus a concluding “doxology” of one line. C. Transliteration of A105 i d

en-ki en-zà-dib-an-ki-a nam-ma-ni zà nu-di ù-na-a-du11 nu-dim-mud nun(1)-giˇstú-dagal-la(2) an-da nam-ba-an-tar me-zi halha(3) a(4)-nun-ke4-ne a-rá-bi ság [nu-di] 5) gal-zu-mah u4-è-ta u4-ˇsú-uˇs igi-gál ba-ab-sè-[ga?] en-nì-zu lugal-engur-ra dingir-sag-du-ga-mu-ú[r] ù-ne-dè-dah d

ii ‘dEN.ZU-ˇ sa-mu-úh (5) dub-sar dumu Ur-dnin-[. . .] ìr-zu na-ab-bé-a 10) u4 ˇsu mu- e (6)-du11-ga(7) nam-lú-ulù-uˇs mu-e-ni-[n-. . .] mu-pà-dazu-ˇsè! IM-ˇsub li-bí-ak ab-ba-gim [. . . ] ezen-sizkur-zu-uˇs (8) gìri-mu la-ba-ni-sil lul-aˇs ì-du-un-na

iii e-ne-éˇs (9)nì-a-na(10) bí-ak-a(11)-mu di nam-tag(12)-ga(13)-mu nu-[til?] ù(14)-nam-tar-ra(15)-ke4(16) mu-DU(17) ki-lul-la ìl-la-en izkim na-ma-ab(18)-kin 15) dingir-kúr-ra nam-tag(19) (20)hu-mu-túm(21) zá-bi nu-mu-da-pà u4-la-la-má é-bi an-né bí-du-ga. sag-sìg-ˇsè nam-tag-mu nu-me-a gaba im-ma-da-ri-e[n] 104 105

On these cf. my remarks Bi. Or. 23 (1966) 241 f, here: III.3. With a few minor restorations based on B and C; these are not indicated as such.

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iv.1. individual prayer in sumerian v(b) bappir -ra-bala- bàn -da-gim kiˇsib-e ba-ab-dáb-bé-en níg-ˇsu-kaskal-la giˇs-ˇsudun-bi-TAR-a-gim har-ra-an-na bé-en

ba-gub-

(iv) 20) ki-ná ú-u8-a-a-e ba-ná-en a-nir mu-un-si-il alan-ˇsa6-ga-mu gú ki-ˇsè ba-lá giri-ˇsè ba-tuˇs-en [. . .]. PÁ.AH-mu ki ba-ni-in-íl uktin-mu ba-kúr [. . .] ù-nu-ku gìri-mu-a ab-sì zi-mu ba-da-zal u4-zalag-ga -u4-HI-da-gim im-ma-an-ak ki-túm-mu ba-an-zé-ir v(a) 25) dub-sar-me-en nì-mu-zu-zu a-na-mà uh-ˇsè ba-ku4-re-en ˇsu-mu sar-re-dè ba-DU ka-mu inim-bal-bal im-ma-an-lá ab-ba nu-me-en giˇstú-mu ba-dugud igi-du8-mu ba- gil -gil vi guruˇs-ad-hal é-lugal-a-ni íb-ta-è-a-gim sag ki-a mu-túm-túm lú-zu-a-mu na-ma-te-gá inim-ma na-ma-ab-bé 30) ku-li-mu ad nu-mu-da-gi4-gi4 ˇsà-mu la-ba-ˇse4-dè lú-in-na su-lum-mar-ˇsè ba-ku4-re-en nam-tar-mu ba-kúr-e-en dingir-mu za-ra nir-im-ta-gál-en lú-ˇsè nam-mu vii guruˇs-me-en

a-gim ki-lul-la nam-ma-bàra- gè -en

31

lower edge

reverse gùd-ús é-mu

la-la-bi nu-mu- gi-gi 35) é-dù-dù-a-mu sig4-e nu-ub-tag- ge4-a giˇs-ù-tur-tur (22) ki-píl-là-mú-a-gim(23) gurun(24) la-ba-íl giˇs-suhhuˇs gú(25)-má(26)-da-mú-a-gim pa-mu la-ba-sìg-sìg viii

tur-ra-(27)me-en(28) u4-mu nu-me-a ur5-ˇsè nam-ba-du-un sahar-ra nam-bí-ib-bala-e-en ki ama-a-a(29) nu-gub-ba(30) ba-e-dab-bé-en a-ba-a a-ra(31)-zu-mu mu-ra-ab-bé-e 40) ki im-ri-a-mu gú nu(32) -si-si-iˇs zà mu-e-tag-ge-en a-ba-a kadra-mu (eras.: mu) ma-ra-ni-íb-ku4(33) ix d

dam-gal-nun-na nitalam ki-ága-zu ama-mu-gim ha-ra-da-túm ír-mu hu-mu-ra-ni-ib-ku4- ku4 dasal (34) -alim-nun-na dumu-abzu-ke 4 a-a-mu-gim ha-ra-da-túm ír-mu hu-mu-ra-ni-ib-ku4-ku4

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45) ír-ˇsà-ne-ˇsa4-mu hu-mu-ra-[ab]-bé ír-mu hu-mu-ra-ni-ib-ku4-ku4 (35) x u4-da nam-tag (36)ga-mu-ra-túm(37) erim -ta (38)KU-mu-da(39) (40)ki-kiruda-da-da-mà(41) igi (42)ù-ba-e-ni-bar(43) (44) ama5mu ˇsu-te-ba-ab(45) ki-kukkú-ga-mu u4-ˇsè (46)ù-mu-e-ni-ku4(47) ká-ˇsul-a-lum-du8-du8-za(48) ga(49)-túˇs KA-tar-zu ga-si-il 50) nam-tag-mu(50) gu-gim ga-mu-ra-si-il nam-mah-zu ga- àm (51)-du11 xi ki-nam-tag-dugud-da ˇsu-nigin-zu ár ga-à[m-. . . ] (52) ka-garáˇs-a(53)-ka sˇu-bar zi sag-ki-tùm(54)-mu [. . .] (55) ukù-e pa ga-ni-ib-è kalam-e hé-zu-z[u] (56) dingir-mu ní-te-gá-zu gá(57)-me-en 55) ù-na-a-du11 (58)mu-ra-gub-ba-mu(59) arhuˇs(60) tuk-ma-r[a] (61) (62) xii [ˇs]à dingir-mu ki-bi ha-ma(63)-gi4-gi4 25 56

D. Variants (Other than Line Divisions) 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9–10. 11. 12–13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20–21. 22–23.

B: en-mah B adds: -ke4 B: -hal-la B: daB: -ùh B omits B adds: -ta B: ˇsè ! B: a-na-àm B: -kaB omits B omits B: -mu B: omits B: e-ne ? B: -ni-inB: -a (?) B: ha-ma-tùm C: NE-gim ba-gub

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24. 25. 26. 27–38. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36–37. 38–39. 40–41 42–43. 44–45. 46–47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53 54. 55. 56. 57. 58–59. 60. 61. 62. 63.

C: gurumx(GAM) C: omits C: má-gídC: -mu C adds -m]u C: - be-en ? C omits C: nu-mu-un-[. . .] C inverts the next two couplets, thus: 43, 44, 41, 42. C: asal-lú- HI C: omits line 45. C: hu-mu-ra-ab-tù[m] C: KU-ma-a[b] C: ki- ru -da-mu C: i -ni-in-bar C: arhuˇs tuku-mu- da-ab C: mi-ni-in-KU? C omits C: ga-anC omits C: -anC omits line 51 C omits C: -túmC: UN-x-y C omits 1. 54 C: gá-eC: im -ma-ra-sar C: giˇsC: -ta C inserts a line: [. . .]- mu-ra hu-mu- un-gál -[. . .]? C: -ma-ab-

E. Translation106 i 1. (1) To Enki, the outstanding lord of heaven and earth whose nature is unequalled (2) Speak! 2. (3) To Nudimmud, the prince (1) of broad understanding who determines fates together with An, 3. (4) Who distributes the appropriate divine attributes among the Anunnaki, whose course cannot be [reversed] 4. (5) The omniscient one who is given intelligence from sunrise to sunset, 106

See below, IV.3 for a new translation (pp. 313–315).

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5. (6) The lord of knowledge, the king of the sweet waters, the god who begot me, (7) Say furthermore! ii 6. (8) (This is) what Sin-ˇsamuh the scribe, the son of Ur-Nin [. . .], 7. (9) your servant, says: 8. (10) Since (2) the day that you created me you have [given] me an education. 9. (11) I have not been negligent toward the name by which you are called, like a father [. . .]. 10. (12) I did not plunder your offerings at the festivals to which I go regularly. iii 11. (13) (But) now, whatever I do, the judgment of my sin is not [. . .] 12. (14) My fate(3) has come my way, I am lifted onto a place of destruction, I cannot find an omen. 13. (15) A hostile deity has verily brought sin my way, I cannot find(?) its side. 14. (16) On the day that my vigorous house was decreed by Heaven 15. (17) There is no keeping silent about my sin, I must answer for it. iv 16. (20) I lie down on a bed of alas and alack, I intone the lament. 17. (21) My goodly figure is bowed down to the ground, I am sitting on (my) feet. 18. (22) My [. . .]. is lifted from (its) place, my features are changed. 19. (23) [. . .] restlessness is put into my feet, my life ebbs away. 30. (24) The bright day is made like an “alloyed” day for me107 I slip into my grave. v 21. (25) I am a scribe, (but) whatever I have been taught has been turned into spittle (?) for me 22. (26) My hand is “gone” for writing, my mouth is inadequate for dialogue. 23. (27) I am not old, (yet) my hearing is heavy, my glance cross-eyed. 24. (18) Like a brewer (?) with a junior term(?) I am deprived of the right to seal. 107 Cf. “Man and his God” (Kramer, VT Suppl, 3:175) line 69. Van Dijk also calls my attention to Ur Lament (Kramer, AS 12:36) 190: u4-HI-da ba-da-an-tab, and the new variant from Ur (UET 6/2:137:73): u-mud!-e ba-da-an-ku4. This, and parallel expressions like our line 48 or Reisner, SBH pl. 77:20 f., suggest a meaning “day of darkness” and possibly a reading u4-mux-da for our expression.; for mud = dark(ness), cf. u4-mud = ¯umu da"mu. (CADD 74c), dNanna i-mud = dSin adir (CADA/1: 103b). Note also an-usan-da = da"ummatu (CADD 123b), where USAN (USÁN) may have the ˇ reading mudx (cf. USÀN = NUNUZ + ÁB × SA and MÙD = NUNUZ + ÁB × KAS).

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25. (19) Like a wagon of the highway whose yoke has been broken (?) I am placed on the road vi 26. (28) Like an apprentice-diviner who has left his master’s house I am slandered ignobly. 27. (29) My acquaintance does not approach me, speaks never a word with me, 28. (30) My friend will not take counsel with me, will not put my mind at rest. 29. (31) The taunter has made me enter the tethering-rope, my fate has made me strange. 30. (32) Oh my god, I rely on you, what have I do to with man?! vii 31. (33) 32. (34) 33. (35) 34. (36) 35. (37)

I am grown-up, how am I to spread out in a narrow place? My house (is) a plaited nest, I am not satisfied with its attractiveness. My built-up houses are not faced with brick (?) Like little (female) cedars planted in a dirty place, I(?) bear no fruit. Like a young date palm planted by the side of a boat, (4) I produce no foliage. viii

36. (38) I am (still) young, must I walk about thus before my time? Must I roll around in the dust? 37. (39) In a place where my(5) mother and father are not present I am detained, 38. who will recite my prayer to you? 39. (40) In a place where my kinsmen do not gather I am overwhelmed, 40. who will bring my offering in to you? ix 41. (41) Damgalnunna, your beloved first wife, 42. (43) May she bring it to you like my mother, may she introduce my lament before you 43. (43) Asalalimnunna, son of the abyss, 44. (44) May he bring it to you like my father, may he introduce my lament before you. 45. (45) May he recite my lamentation to you, may he introduce my lament before you. x 46. (46) When I(6) have verily brought (my) sin to you, cleanse (?) me from evil! 47. (47) When(7) you have looked upon me in the place where I am cast down, approach my chamber!(8)

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48. (48) When(9) you have turned my dark place into daylight,108 49. (49) I will surely dwell in your(10) gate of Guilt-Absolved, I will surely sing your praises! 50. (50) I will surely tear up my(11) sin like a thread, I will surely proclaim your exaltation! xi 51. (51) As you reach the place of heavy sin, I will surely [sing your] praises. 53. (53) Release me at the mouth of the grave, [save me] at the head of my tomb! 53. (53) (Then) I will surely appear to the people, all the nation will verily know! 54. (54) Oh my god, I am the one who reveres you! 55. (55) Have mercy on(12) the letter which I have deposited before you!(18) xii 56. (56) May the heart of my god be restored!

F. Translation-Principal Variants (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13)

B: the lofty lord So B. A: On So B. A: The X of fate C: by a long-boat C omits C: he C omits C: have mercy on me! C omits C omits C omits C: Hear C: (which) I have written to you

G. Abridged Glossary109 ad-gi4-gi4 (30): von Soden, AHw s.v. mal¯aku Gt (mitluku); van Dijk, SGL 2: 98. ad-hal (28): CADB s.v. b¯arû. a-gim (33): von Soden, AHw s.v. k¯ıam. an-da nam-tar (3): Falkenstein, SGL 1:99 f. ad STVC 34 iii 7. Cf. Kramer, Two Elegies 1. 89. Only the latest discussions are listed, and occasionally an additional reference. No ˇ reference is made to words adequately explained in Deimel, Sumerisches Lexikon. I am indebted to J. van Dijk for the references marked [v. D.]. 108 109

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a-rá (4): Römer, SKIZ 108 ad SRT 12:21. arhuˇs-tuku (47[var.], 55): Römer, SKIZ 264 n. 13. e-ne-èˇs (13): CADI s.v. inanna. gaba-ri (17): Von Soden, AHw s.v. mah¯aru. gal-zu (5): CADE s.vv. erˇsu A, emqu. gil-gil (27): CADE s.v. eg¯eru. gìr-sil (12): CADH s.v. hab¯atu A [v. D.]. giˇs-suhuˇs (37): MSL 5:117:288 and 142:28. giˇs-ù (36): Falkenstein, GSGL I 72; SAHG 153:32. gùd-ús (34): Falkenstein, SGL 1:71; ZA 57:121 f. gú-ki-ˇsè-lá (21): Falkenstein, ZA 57:97 f. gú-si-si (40): Römer, SKIZ 155:28. har-ra-an / kaskal (19): Römer, SKIZ 178 f. igi-gál (5): CADB s.v. biˇs¯ıtu, biˇs¯ıt uzni [v. D.]. igi-gál-sì: van Dijk, SGL 2: 116; Hallo, Bi. Or. 23:243–244, here: III.3. im-ri-a (40): Sjöberg, Falkenstein AV 202–209. Cf. also me-a-im-ri-a-mu, MSL 4:56:660e and passim as late OB PN. IM-ˇsub-ak (11): Jestin, Thesaurus 2:24. CADA/1:305c s.v. ahu, aham nadû [v. D.]. kadra (40): von Soden, AHw. s.v. kad/trû. ka-garáˇs (52): von Soden, AHw s.v. kar¯asˇu II. KA-tar-si-il (49): Bergmann, ZA 56:34 ad SEM 74:17. Cf. the syllabic spelling CT 44:14: ka-ta-ar-zu ˇse-si-li-im. ki-kukkú-ga (48): Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 76 ad TRS 30:10. ki-lul-la (14, 33): Castellino, ZA 52:32. ki-píl-lá (36): Jacobsen apud Gordon, S.P. 461. kiruda (47): Falkenstein, ZA 56:128. kiˇsib-dáb (18): Oppenheim, Eames, 129, 242 ad P 18. ki-túm/tùm/tum (24, 52): van Dijk, Sagesse 62; Falkenstein, ZA 57:109. ku4-(ku4) in sense of “turn into” (25, 31, 48): Hallo and van Dijk, Exaltation of Inanna, Glossary, s.v. lá (26): von Soden, AHw, s.v. ma.tû II. la-la with é (16): Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 174; Krecher, Sumerische Kultyrik 141. la-la-gi4 (34): ib. lú-in-na (31): Jacobsen apud Gordon S.P. p. 461. LUL-aˇs (12): von Soden, AHw s.v. ma"diˇs; UET 6:2:5. lú-zu-a (29): Civil, Iraq 23:167; JNES 23:5, ad Ludingira 6. me-zi-hal-ha (4): Falkenstein, ZA 49:106:10; VS 2:8:26. nam-mah-du11 (50): Hallo and van Dijk, loc. cit., s.v. nam-mu (32): ib., s.v.; cf. Falkenstein apud MSL 4:42; Castellino, ZA 52:34. níg-ˇsu (19): Civil, JAOS 88:13, n. 56. nir-gál with dative (32): Falkenstein, SGL 1:103 ad STVC 34 iii 30. pa-sìg-sìg (37): cf pa-sig7 = arta banû CADS. . 139a. sag-du (6): CADB s.v. banû. ság-du11/di (4): Falkenstein, SGL 1:44; ZA 57:93. sag-sìg (17): van Dijk, SGL 2:30. sag-túm-túm (28): Landsberger, MSL 4:27:11; Hallo, Oppenheim AV 97 note 23 ad OBGT III 173 ff.

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sahar-ra-bala (38): Hallo and van Dijk, loc. cit., s.v. sahar-da . . . gi4. su-lum-mar (31): Civil, JAOS 88:8 f. ˇsà-ki-bi-gi4-gi4 (56): Civil, Oppenheim AV 89. ˇ 2:354:121 f. [v. D.]. ˇsu-bar-zi: SL ˇsu-du11 (10): Römer, SKIZ 69, n. 305. AHw s.v. liptu, lipit q¯at¯e [v. D.]. ˇsul-a-lum (49): CADE s.v. ennittu. ˇsu-te-gá (47): Römer, SKIZ 86 f. u4-HI-da (24); Hallo, BiOr. 20:139 s.v. nig-SAR/HI-a and above, n. 106. uktin (22): Falkenstein, An. Bibl. 12:72 no. 1; ZA 55:4 n. 8; CAD s.vv. bunabuttum, s. ubur pan¯ı [note: Goetze, JAOS 65:225:69 reads ukkur.] ù-na-a-du as noun (55): Hallo, Bi. Or. 20:142 [3]; Civil, JNES 23:7 ad Ludingira 7. ù-nu-ku (23): CADS. s.v. (la) s. al¯alu/ s. al¯ılu. ú-u8-a-a-e (20): Krecher, Sumerische Kultyrik 114 f. zà-dib (1): Römer, SKIZ 252. zà-pà, (15): cf. Kramer, TMH 3 p. 21:9. zà-tag (40): Falkenstein Bi. Or. 22:282 n. 24; Gordon, S.P. pp. 68, 81.

V. List of Letter-Prayers and Other Neo-Sumerian Literary Letters The letter-prayers and other neo-Sumerian literary letters were tradited in the schools both singly and in Sammeltafeln, but apparently the order was not entirely fixed. Many of the twenty items in Collection B (see below) occur in different groupings on other Nippur tablets. In BE 31:21, for example, B7 is followed by the catchline of B8 and in STVC 8, B14 and B15 follow each other without a break; but in SLTN 129, the sequence is B7, (break), B10, B14.110 B12111 and B18112 follow each other in SLTN 131, which Falkenstein has described as “einen literarischen Sammeltext,”113 and B12 recurs at the end of a collection of model contracts.114 At Ur, one tablet (UET 6:173) has the following sequence: B17, K, B1 B4, B8. Another (UET 6:174) begins with B7, continues with A, and ends with B17. Note also that B14 occurs in an

110 Gordon, Bi. Or. 17 (1960) 141 (7) regards these texts as “Essay Collection No. 7,” but it is clear that all the texts included in it are letters. 111 Cf. F. Ali, “Blowing the horn for official announcement,” Sumer 20 (1964) 66–68. 112 F.A. Ali, “Dedication of a dog to Nintinugga,” Ar. Or. 34 (1966) 289–293. 113 NG 1 (1956) 32. 114 NBC 7800 (unpubl.); separately also on YBC 12074 (unpubl.).

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Ur catalogue text together with non-epistolary entries.115 The following list therefore is necessarily arranged in a somewhat arbitrary order. I. “Royal Correspondence” A B B1 B6 B7 B8 B10 B14

B15 B16 B17 B19

Letter Collection A: royal correspondence of Ur; cf. for the present F. Ali, Ar. Or. 33 (1965) 529 ff. Eight duplicates from the Yale Babylonian Collection will be published in a forthcoming YOS Volume. Letter Collection B; cf. Ali, ibid, and Ar. Or. 34 (1966) 289 f., note*. 114a Includes the royal correspondence of Isin and the following letters more or less in the style of the letter-prayers. ˇ From Aba-indasa116 to (Sulgi) Texts: UET 6:173 ii 2-iii 6; 178; 179; YBC 6458 (unpubl.) From Ur-ˇsagga to “my. . . king” Texts: BL 5; ZA 44 pl. I; UET 6:177; YBC 6711 (unpubl.) Translation: Langdon, BL, p. 15; revised in BE 31, p. 25; Falkenstein, ZA 44:1–25; Kramer, ANET 382; above, 264 f. From Lugal-murub to (his) king Texts: BE 31:21:1–18; SLTN 129 left edge and obv.; UET 6:174a; PBS 13:46 iii. Translation: Langdon, BE 31, p. 48 From Lugal-murub to (his) king Text: UET 6:173 iv 8 ff.; cf. also BE 31:21 (catchline) From Ur-Enlila to the ensi and sanga Texts: PBS 13:48 iii; SLTN 129 rev. 1–5; YBC 7175 (unpubl.); unpubl. tablet in private possession in Ohio (ref. courtesy R. McNeill). From Ugudulbi (“the monkey”) to Ludiludi his mother Texts: PBS 1/2: 92; 93; STVC 8:1–7; SLTN 129 rev. 66 ft Cf. also above, note 114. Translations: Falkenstein, ZA 49:337; van Dijk, Sagesse 14; cf. Gordon, Bi. Or, 17:141, n. 156. From Utudug to Ilakni"id Texts: STVC 8:8; PBS I/:95; cf. Ali, Ar. Or. 33:539, n. 45. From Lugal-murub to Enlil-massu his son Texts: BE 31:47; UET 6:175; ib. 176; YBC 7170 (unpubl.) From Inannakam to Nintinugga Texts: PBS 1/2:94; 134; UET 6:173 i-l’-4’; ib. 174e; ib. 180. Translations: van Dijk, Sagesse 15 f.; Falkenstein, SAHG No. 41. From Inim-Inanna to Enlil-massu. Text: PBS 1/2:91.

115 UET 6:196:4! Some of the other entries in this catalogue duplicate or resemble entries in the Yale catalogue of royal hymns. Cf. UET 6:196:6 with Hallo, JAOS 83 (1963) 171:13, here: II.1, also UET 6:196:2 and 11 with JAOS 83:171:6 and 9 respectively. 114a After this article was completed, I obtained a Xerox copy of Ali’s dissertation from University Microfilms (Ann Arbor, Michigan); to this I owe three or four corrections or additions in the following list. 116 Perhaps identical with the Indasu whose defeat by Su-Sin ˇ is recorded in late copies; cf. Edzard, AfO 19 (1959–1960) 9–11, but note also J. Laessøe, AS 16 (1965) 195 f.

iv.1. individual prayer in sumerian C D D2 D4

285

From the daughter (?) of Sin-kaˇsid, king of Uruk, to MeslamtaeaNergal(?) (salutations only)117 Text: TRS58 Royal correspondence of Larsa,118 including the following: From [. . .] to Utu Text: UET 6:182 (?) From Sin-iddinam, king of Larsa, to Nin-isina119 Texts: UET 8:70; YBC 4705, YBC 4605 (unpnbl.); cf. also SEM 74.

II. “Scribal Correspondence” 120 From [. . .] to Nanna (salutations only) Text: Anal. Bibl. 12:71 f. Translations: Falkenstein, ib., 69–77; Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 104–107 F From Nanna-mansi to Nin-isina Text: TRS 60 Translation (in part): Kraus, JCS 3:77 f. G From Nanna-mansi to [. . .] Text: BE 31:7 Translation: Langdon, ib. pp. 21– 25 H Sin-ˇsamuh to Enki Texts: YBC 4620, 7205, 8630 (above) Translation: Hallo, above. I From Gudea to “my god.” Text: TMH n. F. 3:56 Translation: Kramer, ib., pp. 20 f. cf. Sjöberg, Bi. Or. 20:46 f. J From Etel-pi-Damu to Martu Text: YBC 5631 (unpubl.), here: IV.4. K From Inim-Enlila to (his) king Text: UET 6:173:5’–14’ L From Gudea-Enlila to An-mansi his relative Text: TMH n. F. 3:57. M From [. . .] son of Inim-Enlila to [. . .] Text: BE 31:29 Translation: Langdon, BE 31, p. 48.

E

III. “Personal Correspondence” O P

From Sag-lugal-bi-zu to Nur-Kabta Text: L.B. 1013, to be publ. in TLB III. From Etel-pi (?)-Enlila to Nudimmud-siga his father (?) Text: PBS 12: 32.

117 Was there a small collection of Uruk letters between those of Isin and Larsa as in the case of the royal hymns, for which cf. my remarks JCS 17 (1963) 116? Here: III.1. 118 Cf. S.N. Kramer, JAOS 88 (1968) 108, n. 3. 119 I intend to edit this letter elsewhere. 120 E, I and J are included here only provisionally.

iv.2 LETTERS, PRAYERS, AND LETTER-PRAYERS

Over a period of years, I have defended the comparative approach to biblical literature in a number of papers.1 At the Third World Congress of Jewish Studies in 1961, I suggested a programmatic approach to the possibilities of eliciting the processes of creativity and the mechanics of canonization from Mesopotamian examples.2 At the Fourth World Congress in 1965, again from this platform, I suggested a possible cuneiform solution to the vexing problem of the origin of biblical apocalypse.3 In 1966, I traced the origin of individual prayer in Sumerian from its beginnings in the late third millennium to a point where it could, conceivably, have inspired certain features of the individual laments in the Psalter.4 Then in 1969, I attempted to apply some of the criteria of biblical scholarship to investigate the cultic setting of various Sumerian poetic genres.5 In 1971, I addressed some of the chronological problems inherent in any attempt to compare Mesopotamian and biblical literature.6 And at the Sixth World Congress in 1973, I presented a possible Sumerian prototype to the prayer of

1

This paper represents portions of an earlier (1974) version of remarks delivered to the 7th World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, August 10, 1977. The revised paper, actually delivered under the title “The Expansion of Cuneiform Literature,” will appear shortly in the Jubilee Volume of the American Academy for Jewish Research. Both versions served as introductions to the second letter-prayer of Sin-iddinam, of which a full edition is to appear in a volume in honor of F.R. Kraus, here: V.2. 2 William W. Hallo, “New viewpoints on cuneiform literature,” Israel Exploration Journal 12 (1962) 13–26, here: I.1. 3 Idem, “Akkadian Apocalypses,” Israel Exploration Journal 16 (1966) 231–242. 4 Idem, “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 88/1 (Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, American Oriental Series 53, 1968) 71–89, here: IV.1. 5 Idem, “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry,”Actes de la XVIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Brussels, 1969 (1970) 116–134, here: I.2. 6 Idem, “Problems in Sumerian hermeneutics,” Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5 (1973) 1–12, here: I.3. Some of the points taken up in the articles listed in notes 2 and 4–6 were developed further by J.H. Tigay, “On some aspects of prayer in the Bible,” AJS Review 1 (1976) 363–379.

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Hezekiah.7 The text in question is one of several letter-prayers to which I have given the collective title of “Royal Correspondence of Larsa.” Today I wish to present a second composition from the same collection, at the same time pursuing the case for the comparative approach that can be made on its basis. Cuneiform literature provides us with an unrivalled opportunity for reconstructing a literary history within the biblical world. While the biblical scholar must rely very largely on hypotheses (including, in one form or another, the fundamental “documentary hypothesis”) to recover the pre-history of the canon, the cuneiformist disposes of documented evidence for many of the successive stages through which a given composition passed. The antiquity of the Sumerian literary corpus has now been pushed back as far as the middle of the third millennium bc.8 The corpus grew and in part endured to the Seleucid and Arsacid periods at the very end of the pre-Christian era.9 And in the interval there are examples both of faithful preservation of individual texts and of their creative adaptation. When such texts are subjected to form-critical analysis, it becomes distinctly possible to attempt to write genre-histories that take into account organic transformations of the structure, the language, and even the function of whole genres in response to the changing demands of evolving ideologies and historic circumstances. It is only by tracing such genre-histories down to their later stages that one can meet the pre-conditions for possible comparisons with biblical genres; and it is only when the same histories have been traced back to their origins that such comparisons stand to add meaningful dimension to the insights gained from the comparative approach. I could illustrate this point from new discoveries in the realm of Akkadian apocalyptic,10 but I prefer to confine my illustration to the genre of Sumerian letter-prayers with special attention to royal letter-prayers. Let me briefly review the stages by which the letter-form was wedded to the prayer-function to produce this peculiar cuneiform phenomenon.

7 Hallo, “The Royal correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian prototype for the prayer of Hezekiah?” Kramer Anniversary Volume (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 25, 1976) 209–224, here: V.1. 8 Idem, “Toward a history of Sumerian literature,” Sumerological Studies . . . Jacobsen (= Assyriological Studies 20, 1976) 181–203, here: I.4, esp. 182, note 10. 9 Ibid., note 12. 10 Idem, loc. cit. (above, note 1), with notes 25–39.

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A late fiction has left us an alleged letter (in Akkadian!) from the first antediluvian sage Adapa (= Adam) to the first antediluvian king (Alulim),11 but according to earlier native tradition, it was Enmerkar of Uruk, during the Second Early Dynastic period (ca. 2600 bc), who first resorted to a written letter.12 The first surviving example of an actual letter is said to come from Fara at the beginning of the Third Early Dynastic period (ca. 2500 bc).13 From the end of that period (ca. 2350– 2300 bc) at least a half dozen letters have survived, all in Sumerian.14 In the succeeding Sargonic period (ca. 2300–2100 bc) letters were written in both Sumerian15 and Akkadian.16 In the Ur III period (ca. 2100– 2000 bc) letter-writing really came into its own. The vast majority of letters were written in Sumerian; they have been conveniently collected by Sollberger17 and added to in numerous recent articles and reviews.18 Sollberger entitled his corpus of 373 neo-Sumerian letters “The business and administrative correspondence under the kings of Ur”.19

11 O.R. Gurney and P. Hulin, The Sultantepe Tablets 2 (1964) Nos. 176 + 185. Cf. the remarks of M. Civil, JNES 26 (1967) 208. For other implications of the text, cf. Hallo, “Antediluvian Cities,” JCS 23 (1970) 62 and note 69; for the equation see provisionally ibid. 60 and note 36. 12 S.N. Kramer, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta (1952) lines 504–507. However, the crucial phrase KA . . . gub, which Kramer hesitantly translates as “set up the words,” has the technical meaning of “assignment, instruction” in the school-essays and proverbs. For the preceding passage (lines 502 f.), according to which the letter was necessitated because the herald was “heavy of mouth,” see Tigay, “Moses’ speech difficulty,” Gratz College Annual of Jewish Studies 3 (1974) 29–42, esp. 37, note 53. 13 Cited by E. Ebeling, RLA 2 (1938) 65 s.v. Briefe, but I have been unable to find a letter among the published Fara documents, for whose date cf. Hallo, “The date of the Fara period,” Gelb Volume (Orientalia 42, 1972) 228–238. 14 See the list compiled by E. Sollberger, TCS 1 (1966) p. 3 sub 6.1.2a and add D.O. Edzard, Sumerische Rechtsurkunden (1968) No. 96 (ITT 2:5758). Cf. also J. Bauer, “Altsumerische Beiträge. 3. Ein altsumerischer Brief,” WO 6 (1971) 151 f. 15 See the list complied by Sollberger, TCS 1 (1966) p. 3 sub 6.1.2b (1-1c) and add T. Donald, MCS 9 (1964) No. 252; Edzard, Sumerische Rechtsurkunden (1968) No. 95 (Sollberger, RA 60, 1966, 71); D.I. Owen, JCS 26 (1974) 65. 16 F.R. Kraus, “Einführung in die Briefe in altakkadischer Sprache,” JEOL 24 (1976) 74–104 (with complete bibliography); K.R. Veenhof, ibid., 105–110. Cf. also the bibliography by A.L. Oppenheim, Letters from Mesopotamia (1967) 201. 17 TCS 1 (1966). 18 E.g. Hallo, “The neo-Sumerian letter-orders,” BiOr (1969) 171–175, which see also for a description of the genre. For other additions see Owen, JCS 24 (1972) 133 f. and note 1; Piotr Michalowski, JCS 28 (1972) 161–168. 19 See Hallo, loc. cit. (above, note 18) 171 f. for a critique of this title.

290

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And indeed, like nearly all their more occasional predecessors,20 they are short and business-like when exchanged between private persons, or concerned with routine administrative matters when, as was more often the case, they involved royal chancelleries. But the growing popularity of the letter format in neo-Sumerian times went hand in hand with a growing standardization in epistolary style. Not only the opening formulas21 but the message itself 22 became subject to fairly stringent rules, a process brought to a head when letter-writing entered the formal curriculum of the scribal schools. It is these schools which, along with the temples, preserved the knowledge of Sumerian alive during the Old Babylonian period (ca. 2000–1600 bc) while Akkadian became the vernacular for the population as a whole. The schools continued to teach the writing of letters in Sumerian even while nearly every real letter (and thousands of them have survived) was being written in Akkadian.23 (Whether they also taught Akkadian epistolography is open to debate).24 And as models of style to this end they turned in the first instance (as was so often the case also elsewhere in the curriculum)25 to the examples set and left by the Third Dynasty of Ur.26

20 For a pre-Sargonic letter of more than routine interest, see Sollberger, CIRPL sub Enz 1, translated by Kramer (after A. Poebel), The Sumerians (1963) p. 331 and by Sollberger in his Inscriptions Royales Sumériennes et Akkadiennes (1971) pp. 75–77 (report on an Elamite raid to En-entar-zi, the future ruler of Lagash). For a comparable Sargonic letter (report on Gutian raids by Ishkun-Dagan), see Hallo, “Gutium,” RLA 3 (1971) 710 and the translation by Oppenheim, Letters from Mesopotamia (1967) 71 f. (No. 2); but this and the other Ishkun-Dagan letter (ibid., No. 1) may be literary, according to a suggestion of P. Michalowski. 21 Sollberger, TCS 1 (1966) pp. 2 f. sub 6.1 and 6.1.1. 22 Hallo, BiOr 26 (1969) 172. 23 The huge corpus of Old Babylonian letters is being newly edited by F.R. Kraus et al., Altbabylonische Briefe in Umschrift und Übersetzung (1964 ff.). For English translations of selected Akkadian letters of all periods, see Oppenheim, Letters From Mesopotamia. For the last examples of (non-literary) Sumerian letters in Early Old Babylonian see Hallo, BiOr 26 (1969) 175 (Nos. 388–390). 24 Kraus defended this thesis in “Briefschreibübungen im altbabylonischen Schulunterricht,” JEOL 16 (1964) 16–39 and then questioned it in his introduction to AbB 5 (1972) vii f. For an Old Babylonian school letter from Sargon of Akkad, see now O.K. Gurney, UET 7 (1974) 73 I 1–17. 25 Cf. e.g. my remarks on lexical texts, HUCA 30 (1959) 136. 26 For general surveys see Hallo, “List of letter-prayers and other neo-Sumerian literary letters,” loc. cit., (above, note 4), 88 f.; C. Wilcke, “Die Quellen der literarisch überlieferten Briefe,” ZA 60 (1970) 67–69 with 4 tables. Earlier surveys by Edzard, AfO 19 (1959–1960) 3 n. 27 and Kraus, ib. 20 (1963) 153–155.

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291

It is to this ancient scholarly interest that we owe the preservation of the “Royal Correspondence of Ur,” a corpus of over twenty separate letters between the kings of the Third Dynasty and their high officials. Only about half of them have been edited or translated hitherto,27 but a new edition of most of them was the subject of a recent doctoral dissertation at Yale by Piotr Michalowski, and it is thanks to his efforts that I can characterize the collection here briefly. All the letters touch on high affairs of state: the defence of the country; the subservience or insubordination of local governors; the maintenance of trade in vital raw materials and foodstuffs; and so on. They were exchanged between the king and some of his highest officials; the prime minister Irmu,28 the military viceroy of the great defensive-wall of the country (bad-igi-hursanga), Puzur-Marduk,29 the crown prince Amar-Suen, the merchant Ur-dun, the presiding officer of the assembly, Sharrum-bani,30 the governor of Kazallu, Puzur-Numushda,31 and the founder of the Isin Dynasty, Ishbi-Irra.32 When fully restored, they will throw a bright new light on the history of Mesopotamia in the 21st century, for although our surviving examplars were written as late as the eighteenth century, there is little need to doubt that they go back to authentic originals from the royal archives. The events, the places, and especially the persons mentioned in them tally too well with what is known of Ur III times from contemporaneous documents to allow any other conclusion.32a

Note especially the following (in order of appearance): A. Falkenstein, ZA 49 (1949) 59–79; Kramer apud ANET (1950, 1955) 480 f.; T. Jacobsen, JCS 7 (1953) 36– 47; P.v.d, Meer, Chronology2 (1955, 1963) p. 45; Kramer, The Sumerians (1963) pp. 331–335; F.A. Ali, Sumerian Letters (1964) pp. 27–52; Wilcke, WO 5 (1969) 1–31; ZA 60 (1970) 54– 69; Edzard, MDP 57 (1974) No. I; Kramer, OECT 5 (1976) ch. 2. Cited in notes 28–32a, 36–38, 40–42 and 50 by name, date, and page only. 28 Kramer (1965) 331–333; Ali (1964) 27–41; Wilcke (1969) 2 f., 6 f.; (1970) 62–64; cf. also Ali, Sumer 26 (1970) 145–178; Kramer (1976) 13–15. 29 Wilcke (1969) 3–6; Note that Puzur-Marduk was previously called Puzur-Shulgi. For the significance of the name-change for the “pattern of usurpation,” see Hallo, JCS 20 (1966) 136 n. 49 and references there, here: III.2. 30 Wilcke (1969) 7 f. On the Su-Sin ˇ correspondence see also S. Lieberman, JCS 22 (1969) 53–62. 31 Falkenstein (1949) 60–63; Kramer (1955) 480 f., (1963) 333–335; Ali (1964) 42–52; Wilcke (1970) 60–62; Edzard (1974) 9–34. Note that Puzur-Numushda was also called Puzur-Shulgi; cf. above, note 29. Cf. also Ali Sumer 26 (1970) 160–178. 32 Jacobsen (1953) 39 f.; Kramer (1963) 333; v.d. Meer (1963) 45; Wilcke (1970) 55–59; Edzard (1974) 9–34; Kramer (1976) 15–18. 32a Ali (1964) 1–26; reprinted as “Two collections of Sumerian letters,” Ar.Or. 33 (1965) 529–540. 27

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The style of these royal or “historical” letters is straightforward and unembellished, and differs little from the isolated examples of actual letters on public affairs preserved in original exemplars of preSargonic and Sargonic date.33 The address is short and to the point, ˇ e.g. “Say to my king, this is what Puzur-Sulgi the governor of Kazallu your servant says.” The conclusion is equally simple, usually either “May my king know it” or (when the king is writing): “It’s urgent (literally: it’s of a flood)—don’t be negligent”.34 The body of the letter may include an occasional repetition or such clichés as “if my king is (truly) of heaven”,35 but on the whole sticks to the subject at issue. When grouping the letters, the scribes generally paired the letter to the king with his answer, in that order.36 Much the same can be said of four letters to and from Iddin-Dagan and Lipit-Ishtar, two kings of Isin who date from the following century (1974–1954 and 1934– 1924 bc respectively)37 as well as of a small number of miscellaneous letters and documents generally grouped with “Letter Collection B”38 and sometimes referred to as “the Royal Correspondence of Isin”.39 But the Ur III period also bequeathed a very different kind of letter to the curriculum. This consisted of a highly stylized document which, while epistolary in structure, was in terms of its function a true petition. Such a petition could be addressed to an individual,40 a king,41 or a deity;42 but regardless of the addressee, it appears that in each case it was in effigy that he or she was addressed. That is, the petition in letterform was meant to be deposited at the feet of the statue—whether that

Above, note 20. For a-ma-ru-kam and its variants see Sollberger, TCS 1 (1966) p. 99 s.v. 35 E.g. Hallo, TLB 3 (1973) 172: 5. 36 See the charts by Wilcke, 1970, facing p. 68. 37 Ali (1964) 63–79. A fifth letter of the same (?) type is mentioned by M.B. Rowton, JCS 21 (1967 [publ. 1969]) 273. 38 Ali (1964) 19–26; cf. the comments of Wilcke (1970) 67–69. 39 Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 88 f., here: IV.1. Note, however, that the “non-historical” items in this collection can mostly be identified with Ur III personages. Cf. also M.E. Cohen, “The Lu-Ninurta letters,” WO 9 (1977) 10–13, who claims the letter Ni 4326 + 9254: 9 ff. (ISET 2: 119) for Enlil-bani of Isin. 40 E.g. the letter of Lugal-MURUB to Enlil-massu, for which see Ali (1964) 130–136. 41 E.g. the letters of Aba-indasa, Urˇsaga and Lugal-murub, for which see, Ali (1964) 53–62, 80–98. For other treatments of the Urˇsaga letter, see Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 75 f. and 88, here: IV.1, (sub B6); JNES 31 1972) 94 f. 42 E.g. the letter of Inannaka(m) to Nintinugga, for which see Ali (1964) 137–143 and Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 89, here: IV.1, (sub B17) and JNES 31 (1972) 91 f. 33 34

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was itself a votive, royal or divine statue.43 In this function, in short, the petition served as a vehicle of communication with deceased or divine intercessors. I have therefore designated the genre as a letter-prayer, and assigned it a major role in the development of individual prayer in Sumerian.44 The typical letter-prayer began with a salutation loaded and overloaded with epithets of the addressee suitable to the purposes of the petitioner. If sickness plagued him, he might rehearse the healing powers of the deity; if unjustly accused, the king’s concern for righteousness; if promotion to higher office was his goal, he might remind a superior of his solicitousness for underlings in general and his past favors to the suppliant in particular. To accommodate the growing number of invocations, the address formula was expanded into two or even three salutations, each with its own stereotyped predicate.45 The message too assumed a more literary cast. Usually it is possible to isolate discrete sections, devoted respectively and successively to the recital of the addressee’s past beneficences, the petitioner’s past deserts and present tribulations, and his promise to sing the deity’s praises to the multitudes when and if his wishes are fulfilled. The parallels that this structure suggests to the biblical psalms of individual lament or thanksgiving are apparent, and the millennium or more that separate the respective genres can be largely bridged by the later development of the letter-prayer into the erˇsahunga, the lament for appeasing the heart of the angry god which became the typical vehicle for individual prayer in Sumerian after Old Babylonian times.46 Although the generic 43 Hallo JAOS 88 (1968) 79 and note 74, here: IV.1. Even when a private individual is addressed (above, note 40), note that he is apostrophized in terms more suitable for the statues of the protective deities that flanked the entrance to temples and palaces (dalad, dlamma). Note an Akkadian letter-prayer similarly addressed via the writer’s personal deity (a-na DINGIR a-bi-ia) to Marduk! Lutz, YOS 2:141; cf. the edition by van Dijk, La Sagesse . . . (1953) 13 f., and the remarks by Kraus, “Ein altbabylonischer Brief an eine Gottheit,” RA 65 (1971) 36. 44 Above, note 4. See there for details of the characterization offered here. 45 The first two found their way into the Old Babylonian lexical list called izi (M. Civil et al., MSL 13 [1971] 33 lines 487 f.) and, from there (?), all three were incorporated, oddly enough, into the late canonical lexicon of professional names called Lú = sˇa (Civil et al., MSL 12 [1969] 106 lines 84–86; cf. the collation of C.B.F. Walker, BiOr 29 [1972] 310 ad loc.). Cf. also the catchline of NBGT I (MSL 4 [1956] 147: cf. TCS 1, p. 1). 46 For recent discussions of this genre, see Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 80–82, here: IV.1; JCS 24 (1971) 40 ad SLTF 223; JAOS 97 (1977) 584 f. ad M.J. Seux, Hymnes et Prières . . . (1976) 139–168; W.G. Lambert, JNES 33 (1974) 267–322; Werner Mayer, Studia Pohl: Series Maior 5 (1976) 32 note 63.

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designation47 does not appear in subscripts before the first millennium, examples of the genre have been identified in Middle Babylonian copies and perhaps even earlier.48 Moreover, there is already a reference to bringing erˇsahunga-texts from Babylon to Assur as plunder in the Middle Assyrian exemplar of the Tukulti-Ninurta Epic.49 The original date of composition of the earliest letter-prayers, like that of the historical letters, can be traced back to Ur III times, for all of their writers can be identified with persons prominent under that dynasty, and specifically at the religious capital of Nippur. This assertion is made in the light of monumental and archival texts actually dating back to Ur III times, as well as of the other genres of literary texts preserved in Old Babylonian copies, all of which preserve the same names in the same functions.50 Indeed, one can weave the evidence of all these diverse genres together to reconstruct an intimate picture of the family relations and careers of the political and religious aristocracy at Nippur in the 21st and 20th centuries. I have made an attempt in this direction for one such family (“The House of Ur-Meme”) but it is not my purpose to pursue that line here.51 Nor do I propose to trace the evolution of the petitionary letter into a special vehicle for scribal concerns.52 Rather I wish to pursue the development of the literary letter in another direction, namely that of the royal letter-prayer. MSL 13 (1971) 232:15; differently AHw s.v. erˇsahungû. See the edition of CNM 10099 (obv.) and duplicates by Lambert, JNES 33 (1974) 291 f., its bilingual successor ibid. 288 f., and its (exceptionally!) unilingual Akkadian version ibid. 278 f. (lines 71–86). In the last, note especially line 155 (pp. 282 f. and Lambert’s comment p. 305) with its seven-fold sins (for which cf. JAOS 88: 81 n. 85, here: IV.1). 49 Lambert, AfO 18 (1957) 44:6. Cf. Peter Machinist, The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I (Ph.D. Thesis, Yale, 1978) 128:6 and 370 f. 50 See above, notes 40–42. For biographical details on Aba-indasa, see JAOS 88:88 n. 115, here: IV.1; on Urˇsaga, see JNES 31:94 f.; on Lugal-MURUB, sec BiOr 26:174 and below, note 52; on Inannaka, see JNES 31:91f. As for Enlil-massu (above, note 40), note that he is also the addressee of letter B 19 (Ali [1964] 149–152), where he is described as a pupil of the “academicians” (um-mi-a) Nabi-Enlil and Enlil-alˇsa (= Zuzu); for all three of these individuals, see Hallo, “Seals lost and found” in M. Gibson and R.D. Biggs, eds., Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East (= Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 6; 1977) 57 with notes 13–20. 51 Hallo, “The House of Ur-Meme,” JNES 31 (1972) 87–95. 52 For the “scribal correspondence” see provisionally the list in JAOS 88:89, here: IV.1, sub II. Its survival is attested by the bilingual version of a letter addressed to LugalMURUB (above, notes 40 f. and 50) “the Nippurian” (ni-pu-ri-ia; so J. Krecher, UF 1, 1969, 152 f.) and now known in more or less contemporaneous copies from Hattusha, Ugarit and Assur; see J. Nougayrol, Ugaritica 5 (1968) 23–28, 376 No. 15, and 628 Fig. 17. 47 48

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Up to this point in time (i.e., ca. 1900 bc), the literary letters of the school curriculum were of two discrete types, though both types were grouped together, in some instances, on large single tablets. The historical letters were written by the living king, or to him by his highest officials, while the letter-prayers were all composed by private individuals. The letter-prayer, indeed, represented the private individual’s cheapest form of communication with the deity, for though the Mesopotamian worshipper seems to have lived by the rule of í÷éø §ä éðô úà äàãé àì (Deut. 16:16; cf. Ex. 23:15, 34:20), he could rarely afford the optimal dedicatory, or votive, offering: the statue of the worshipper set up in the cella of the deity and inscribed with his prayer, which was conceived thereby as profferred perpetually by the statue of the worshipper to the statue of the deity, both statues serving as images or surrogates of their originals.53 Less costly votives were available: usually elaborate stone carvings and replicas of bowls, maceheads, seals and other tools and weapons of daily life.54 Their inscriptions might proclaim their purpose in the standard votive formulas as being “for the sake of the long life of the donor” and/or designated beneficiaries such as the king, or the donor’s wife and children. Or, alternatively, a specific prayer, whether as a petition for success in a given venture, or as thanks for favors previously asked and now granted, might be added to the basic dedicatory inscription, usually as the “name” of the votive object.55 Even such objects, however, proved too expensive for the masses. As a result, the letter was introduced as an alternate form of petition. Possibly it required a small concomitant offering and certainly a fee to the scribe, but no more. A letter addressed to the deity (or to the deified king) via his statue could be commissioned from any trained scribe, and deposited at the feet of the cult-statue much as generations of worshippers have inserted their letters to God in the chinks of the Western Wall.

53

The result was often a chapel filled with statues, such as those recovered by the Chicago expeditions to the Diyala Valley cities of the Early Dynastic period; cf. e.g. P. Delougaz and S. Lloyd, Pre-Sargonid Temples in the Diyala Region (OIP 58, 1942) 188, fig. 149. 54 For a more detailed typology of votive objects, see Hallo, HUCA 33 (1962) 12–14; for their inscriptions, ibid., 16 f.; Sollberger and Kupper Inscriptions Royales (1971) 29 f., For the view that the objects should be termed “dedicatory” rather than “votive” see A.K. Grayson, JAOS 90 (1970) 528 f.; G. van Driel, JAOS 93 (1973) 68 f. 55 See I. J, Gelb, “The names of ex-voto objects in ancient Mesopotamia,” Names 21 (1956) 65–69.

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But a more compelling analogy can be suggested, for among the “historical” or “biographical” psalms of David preserved in the biblical Psalter are five (Psalms 56–60) which share the designation MIKTAM and commemorate those events in his life which strengthened his legitimacy as king.56 These psalms, apparently inscribed on steles, are somehow related to the prayer of Hezekiah concerning his illness, designated as a “letter” (Isaiah 38:9),57 and confirm the convergence of the letter-prayer and the royal prayer in the literary tradition of Israel. In Sumerian literature, the convergence begins with Sin-iddinam of Larsa (ca. 1849–1843 bc) and anticipates five discrete aspects of the biblical tradition: royal attribution, historical or biographical context, special emphasis on illness, pestilence, war or other national crisis, monumental medium, and epistolary structure or designation. If it be argued that the chronological gap between the two traditions is prohibitively large,58 that gap can be closed in part by intervening evidence, such as the significant corpus of Hittite royal prayers.59 And the discovery of ever more examples of bilingual (Sumero-Akkadian) or trilingual (Sumero-Akkado-Hittite) hymns and prayers at the Hittite capital and at Ugarit reveals the probable mechanisms of the transmission of Babylonian models: in the major libraries and scribal schools of the periphery, it was customary to copy and translate the classical texts of the Old Babylonian tradition and at the same time to create native compositions in the local vernacular which closely followed the Babylonian prototypes.60 When, as in the case of the hymn to Nergal, recently republished in translation by Seux, we can compare the peripheral version of the second millennium with the canonical version from neo-Assyrian Nineveh, we cannot help but be impressed with the temporal and spatial extent of a literary tradition that began in Babylonia two thousand years earlier.61 And now, thanks to the discovery of a neo-Assyrian duplicate, the literary tradition of the royal Sumerian

56 See in greater detail Hallo, “The expansion of cuneiform literature,” (above, note 1). 57 Ibid., and “A Sumerian prototype . . . ” (above, note 7). 58 On this argument in general, see above, note 6. 59 On these see Ph.H.J. Houwink ten Cate, “Hittite royal prayers,” Numen 16 (1969) 81–98. 60 H. G, Güterbock, “The composition of Hittite prayers to the Sun,” JAOS 78 (1958) 237–245. 61 Seux, op. cit. (above, note 46) 78–81 and my comments JAOS 97 (1977) 584(1).

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letter-prayer can be followed from the 19th century bc all the way to the 7th. Therewith the potential link to the royal prayer in the Bible is strengthened.62

62 See above, note 1. For a possible epigraphic parallel to the cuneiform letter-prayer, see Joseph Naveh, “A Hebrew letter from the seventh century bc,” Israel Exploration Journal 10 (1960) 129–139; cf. Dennis Pardee, “The judicial plea from Mes.ad Hashavyahu . (Yavneh-Yam): a new philological study,” Maarav 1/1 (1978) 33–66, who classifies the document as “a judicial plea in epistolary form—in more traditional terms, a letter of petition” (ibid., 38; cf. ibid. 55).

iv.3 LAMENTATIONS AND PRAYERS IN SUMER AND AKKAD

The lamentations of ancient Mesopotamia are poetic responses to real or imaginary disasters. They can be broadly divided into two groups which, in keeping with usage in biblical criticism, can be described as congregational (communal) and individual laments, respectively. Within each group, the material can be further classified according to the focus of the lament: a city or temple, a deity, or a deceased king on the one hand; a living king or a deceased individual on the other. In keeping with this classification, the native scribes recognized various specific genres (literary categories), often labeling the compositions accordingly and always adhering strictly to the traditional norms that featured a common, distinctive set of characteristics. In the millennial history of these genres, language is a useful index of date, with the earliest stages generally represented by main-dialect Sumerian, followed by dialectal Sumerian, Sumero-Akkadian bilinguals, and Akkadian unilinguals. In the survey that follows, the compositions are organized by genre and within each genre by language or dialect. They are cited by the titles generally coined for them by Assyriologists, rather than by their ancient titles, which normally consisted of their opening words or “incipit.” In the conclusion, the genres are compared and contrasted with their biblical counterparts.

Congregational Laments Forerunners in Main-Dialect Sumerian The earliest example of a congregational lament dates from the Old Sumerian period and constitutes a kind of forerunner to the lamentations over the destruction of temples and cities of the Neo-Sumerian canon. “The Fall of Lagash” is a unique composition, preserved on a single clay tablet dating from, or at least referring to, Uru-inimgina (Urukagina), the last ruler of the First Dynasty of Lagash, around

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2350 bce. It catalogs the shrines of Lagash devastated by Lugalzagesi of Umma and puts the blame squarely on that ruler or his patron-deity, absolving the ruler of Lagash. Lugalzagesi went on to conquer all of Sumer but was in turn defeated by Sargon of Akkad (Agade). The story is related in a text better described as a legend than as a lamentation. But the dynasty that Sargon founded came to grief in its own turn at the hands of the Gutians. According to the “Curse of Agade,” the destruction of Akkad occurred during the reign of Sargon’s grandson, Naram-Sin, although other evidence suggests a later date for the event. This highly tendentious hymn has many features in common with the city-laments. A supposed lament for the city of Kirga is not a parody of the genre but rather a proverbial complaint about the loss of “standards” (DI.IR.GA). The linguistic evidence attests to the importance of musical accompaniment to formal lamentation. There are harps of lamentation (BALAG A.NIR.RA) and of wailing (BALAG ÍR.RA). Reed-(pipes) of wailing (GI ÍR.RA = q¯an bik¯ıti) gave rise to the technical term for ritual wailing (GI.RA.NÚM = girr¯anu). For percussion instruments see below. City-Laments in Main-Dialect and Dialectal Sumerian The Sargonic Empire was restored to some extent by the Third Dynasty of Ur whose own fall at the end of the third millennium was regarded as an especially devastating sign of divine displeasure. No less than six laments commemorated the event, and they did so in such vivid terms that they suggest the reaction of eyewitnesses. Because of their specific allusions to historic personages and events, they are sometimes described as “historical laments.” Two of them, however, mention King Ishme-Dagan of Isin, and were therefore written at least fifty years after the disaster, and so, probably, were the others as well. In fact, the laments were designed as liturgical accompaniments to the royal rebuilding of the destroyed temples, which involved the inevitable razing of their remains—a possible sacrilege against their gods. Like their forerunners, therefore, the city-laments describe the earlier destruction in lurid detail. They seek to absolve the royal rebuilder by heaping blame on the foreigners who caused the original devastation. But unlike their forerunners, they were intended for liturgical use, as indicated by their division into anywhere from four to twelve or more stanzas designated as “first genuflection” (KI.RU.GÚ), “second genuflection,” and so on. Their allusions to specific destructions made them unsuit-

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able for subsequent reuse in the liturgy, but they were adopted into the Neo-Sumerian canon and widely recopied in the scribal schools of mid Old Babylonian times (about 1800–1700). Three of them were written wholly or largely in the main dialect of Sumerian. The “Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur,” which may be the first in the series, catalogs the devastation visited on all the major cities of the Ur III Dynasty in its second stanza, while concentrating on the capital city of Ur in the other four. The laments for Eridu and Uruk (modern Warka, biblical Erech) bemoan the fates of these two cities in at least eight and twelve stanzas respectively. Three other city-laments bewailed the fate of the political capital at Ur, the religious capital at Nippur (modern Nuffar), and, in fragmentary form, the more obscure town or temple of Ekimar. They were written wholly or largely in a dialect of Sumerian called “Emesal” (literally “thin” or “attenuated speech”). This dialect was affected, in literary texts, by women or goddesses and by the liturgical singers (GALA = kalû) who specialized in reciting lamentations. Females were often described as bemoaning the fate of their cities, their husbands, or their sons, and the theme of the weeping mother (sometimes compared to the mater dolorosa of the Christian tradition) has been recognized in several types of laments. The kalû-singers may have been castrati singing in a kind of falsetto; in any case, they became the butt of unflattering references, particularly in the proverbs. Tambourine-Laments and Harp-Songs in Dialectal Sumerian Inevitably, the Dynasty of Isin came to an end, meeting its doom at the hands of the rival Dynasty of Larsa. The event was commemorated in a number of compositions in which Nin-Isina (the divine “Lady of Isin”) in one or another of her various manifestations laments the fate of her city. Most often, these compositions were labeled as “tambourineˇ laments” (ÉR.SÈM.MA, from ÉR = tazzimtu, lament, or bik¯ıtu, wailing, ˇ and SÉM = halhallatu, tambourine). Over one hundred compositions ˘ recorded in two catalog texts that list their incipits of this genre ˘were (i.e., the first line or first words of each). They were addressed or attributed to a variety of deities, and probably composed during the First Dynasty of Babylon, which, under King Hammurabi, succeeded Isin and Larsa as the main political power of the region. At least twenty-five of the tambourine-laments are preserved in whole or in part; they are invariably composed in dialectal Sumerian.

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Except for those that refer to Isin, they do not, like the city-laments, describe a specific, historical destruction or reconstruction and can better be regarded as “ritual laments.” They couched their complaints in such generalized language that they could be reused liturgically for many centuries. Indeed, some of the Old Babylonian examples of the genre recur in copies of the first millennium, and new examples were still being copied and perhaps even composed as late as the first century. But the late ershemmas served a new purpose. Except when used in certain ritual performances (KI.DU.DU = kidudû), the first-millennium ershemmas were now appended to another genre, the song of the harp or lyre (BALAG = balaggu). Harp-songs were alluded to already in the third millennium and are known from a dozen actual examples in the second and from many more in the first. They included some of the longest of all Sumerian poems. They were divided into liturgical stanzas like the city-laments, but sometimes featured as many as sixty-five or more of them. Occasionally they were accompanied by glosses (marginal annotations) possibly representing musical notations or instructions. In their late form, each harp-song concluded with a tambourine-lament, and the resulting combinations were catalogued together as “39 lamentations of gods” (literally “of Enlil”) and “18 lamentations of goddesses” (literally “of Inanna”). All were written in dialectal Sumerian, but the first-millennium recensions often added a word-for-word translation into Akkadian, which was inserted between the Sumerian lines in interlinear fashion. A survey of the entire genre as well as the detailed history of particular examples shows clearly that these long compositions became increasingly repetitive; they were filled with stock phrases; and sometimes with whole stock-stanzas. The effect is best described as litanylike. That these compositions were employed in the liturgy is clear from cultic calendars that specified their recitation on certain days of the cultic year, sometimes in identical form for different deities on different days. In this way, their divorce from specific historical events became complete. ˇ The genre known as “hand-lifting” laments (SU.ÍL.LA) consists of late compositions in dialectal Sumerian with an interlinear Akkadian translation. Like the tambourine-laments and harp-songs, these laments typically seek to appease an angry deity on behalf of the city, temple, and community. They are to be clearly distinguished from the Akkadian incantations of the lifting of the hand (see below) that deal with individual distress.

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Unilingual Akkadian City-Laments Although the liturgical lamentations in dialectal Sumerian often acquired (interlinear) translations into Akkadian in the first millennium (see above), their format and style were not much favored in new Akkadian compositions. Occasional lament-like passages were embedded in other literary genres, as in the case of Marduk’s “Lament over the Destruction of Babylon” found in the fourth tablet (chapter) of the Myth of Erra, which was composed toward the end of the second millennium (see “Myth and Myth-making in Sumer and Akkad” earlier in this volume). As late as the Seleucid period, an Akkadian text lamented the destruction of the cities in Sumer and Akkad, apparently at the hands of the Gutians. If it was alluding to the historical Gutian invasion in the third millennium, the lament may represent a late copy of a much earlier Akkadian original, or perhaps the Akkadian translation of a lost Sumerian original. More likely it was using the ethnic label in a purely geographical sense to designate any warlike enemy on the northern or eastern frontier. The text has also been regarded as “a neo-Babylonian lament for Tammuz,” the Akkadian equivalent of the ancient Sumerian deity Dumuzi. Dumuzi-Laments Ever since the domestication of plants and animals in the early Neolithic period, Mesopotamian agriculture featured a mixed economy in which farmers and seminomadic pastoralists lived in an uneasy but interdependent symbiosis. During the late spring and summer, when vegetation dried up in the Tigris and Euphrates valleys, cattle and sheep were driven to the highlands in the east, where verdure continued to grow. Sumerian mythology equated these highlands or mountains (KUR in Sumerian) with the netherworld (likewise named KUR), and the seasonal cycle with cosmic events. The desiccation of the fertile soil was thought to reflect the banishment to the netherworld of the god of fertility. The rebirth of fertility in the winter (and early spring) echoed his return to the world of the living. Most often this god was called Dumuzi, whose name can mean “the healthy child,” but other gods such as Damu, son of Nin-Isina, also filled the role. Dumuzi was the son of Duttur (or Ninsun), the brother of Geshtinanna, and the husband of Inanna. These goddesses (and others) figured prominently as reciters of lamentations designed to assure the return of the deceased

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deity to the world of the living. Even Inanna, who, according to the mythology, was responsible for consigning Dumuzi to the netherworld in the first place, participated in these appeals. The “Death of Dumuzi” is recounted in a moving Sumerian lament and incorporated in a number of other compositions of a mythological character, such as “The Descent of Inanna,” “Dumuzi’s Dream,” “Dumuzi and the GALLAdemons,” and “Inanna and Bilulu.” The historical tradition knew of two mortals who also bore the name of Dumuzi, one a “shepherd” and ruler of Pa-tibira (or Bad-tibira) before the Flood, the other a “fisherman” and ruler of Uruk just before Gilgamesh. On the basis of late laments in which the divine Dumuzi is associated (or even identified) with other antediluvian kings, and of references to him in other laments as “shepherd,” the earlier mortal (rather than the later one) may have served as prototype of the deity. Laments for Kings The deified Mesopotamian kings of the classical period (about 2250– 1750) were considered stand-ins for Dumuzi, especially in the rite of the “sacred marriage” and, albeit more rarely, in the ceremonies surrounding their death and burial. The death of kings was a major concern of Mesopotamian ideology, particularly if death was untimely or took a bizarre form. The topic was often addressed in the historiography, particularly in its characteristically Mesopotamian form of (historical) omens, which assumed connections between observed natural phenomena and historical events. At other times the issue was dealt with in the liturgy, if it can be assumed that some laments for Dumuzi were actually addressed to the newly deceased king. (See also “Theologies, Priests, and Worship in Ancient Mesopotamia” in Part 8, Vol. III, and “Love Lyrics from the Ancient Near East” in Part 9, Vol. IV.) There were also a number of compositions mentioning the king by name. Their prototype may be “The Death of Gilgamesh,” a Sumerian epic that details the legendary fate of this celebrated ruler of Uruk. Certainly this narrative has many points of resemblance with “The Death of Ur-Nammu,” a poem about how the founder of the Third Dynasty of Ur met his death in battle, a fate Mesopotamian kings normally reserved for their enemies. This lament composed for UrNammu’s burial was so moving and so personal in its language that it has sometimes been attributed to his widow.

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Lamenting the death of Mesopotamian royalty was also noted outside of strictly literary texts. Thus, for example, the founder of the ˘ First Dynasty of Isin, which succeeded the Third Dynasty of Ur, was mourned in a “great wailing” (ÉR.GU.LA) according to a simple archival text that also records a banquet for his successor. Nabonidus, the last king of the last independent Mesopotamian dynasty, ordered a seven-day period of mourning for his mother when, in 547 bce, she died at the venerable age of 104. This information is recorded in a short third-person subscript added to her lengthy autobiography, turning that monument into a funerary inscription, another genre occasionally attesting to laments for departed royalty. Excerpt from the “ ‘Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur” (Fourth Stanza) There is lamentation in the haunted city, reed-(pipes) of wailing are intoned there. In its midst there is lamentation, reed-(pipes) of wailing are intoned there. In it they (the people) pass their days in lamentation. Oh my son, you who are its native son by your own deserts, why should you wail? Oh Nanna [i.e., the Moon-god, patron-deity of Ur], you who are its native son by your own deserts, why should you wail? There is no turning back the completed judgment of the (divine) assembly! The command of An and Enlil (heads of the pantheon) knows no overturning! Ur was indeed given kingship (but) an eternal reign it was not given. From time immemorial, since the nation was founded, until the people multiplied, Who has (ever) seen a reign of kingship that would take precedence (forever)? Its kingship, its reign is wearied in extending itself. Oh my Nanna, do not weary yourself more, leave your city!

Individual Laments Elegies The destruction of cities or temples and the real or imaginary death of gods and kings were all alike cause for communal or congregational lament. The death of a private individual, however, or even the sickness or discomfiture of a king, were cause for individual lament. The death of individuals inspired the elegy, which is infrequently attested. Two such elegies, identified as I.LU (= nubû or qubbû), are attributed to a certain Lu-dingira (“man of God”) and recited over his deceased father and wife, respectively. Lu-dingira is known from another text

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(“Message to His Mother”) as a citizen of Nippur living in a distant country. It is possible that his elegies form part of a novelistic treatment of such life, and episodes of aristocratic life in Nippur are preserved in other genres. The fact that all six exemplars of the text appear to stem from Nippur may lend support to such a supposition. One of them, moreover, has interlinear glosses in Akkadian. The genre may have survived in unilingual form in “An Assyrian Elegy,” by and for a woman who died in childbirth; in the “Lament of Gilgamesh for Enkidu,” embedded in the eighth tablet of the Epic of Gilgamesh; and elsewhere. Private Letter-Prayers in Sumerian From a fairly early period on, the great gods of the Sumerian pantheon were imagined as having human form. They were so represented in the iconography, and human feelings were attributed to them in the religious literature. They were deemed subject to certain human weaknesses, such as anger or jealousy, and accordingly appeased by their mortal petitioners. Ideally, the penitent was expected to become a priest or other officiant in the temple, there to stand in permanent personal attendance on the deity, the latter represented by a divine symbol or, later, by an anthropomorphic statue. Where this was impossible, the same purpose could be served by replacing the worshiper with a statue depicting him in an attitude of permanent attendance on the statue of the deity in the temple. Stone carvers inscribed the statue with the name of the entreated deity and the name of the worshiper, as well as a formulaic prayer for the long life of the worshiper, his family, and his king. More modest votive objects could also be commissioned. These might be replicas in precious metal or in stone of tools, weapons, and other objects used in the daily life of the worshiper. But even such votive offerings were beyond the means of most people, who therefore made do with commissioning a scribe to write a clay tablet that was deposited at the feet of the divine statue. Private communication with the gods therefore typically assumed the form of a letter and the function of a prayer. The resulting genre can best be described as a letter-prayer. Letter-prayers can be traced to the Neo-Sumerian period (end of the third millennium). They are directed to many of the great gods of the Sumerian pantheon, including Enki, Nanna, Nin-Isina, Martu, Nindinugga, and Ninshubur. Occasionally they may address a king or even a deceased(?) kinsman, but here, too, most probably in the form of their

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statues. The letter-prayers typically open with an elaborate salutation in which the deity is invoked by a series of epithets selected to emphasize those divine qualities that will best serve the petitioner’s needs. Thus, the sick penitent may praise the healing capacities of the healing god or goddess, the man deprived of his patrimony may appeal to the deity’s sense of justice, and the scribe undeservedly relieved of his duties may seek the wisdom of the scribal patron deity. While standard letters make do with one simple salutation, the letter-prayers require a second and sometimes even a third salutation if they are to accommodate all these invocations. The body of the letter that follows prominently features the complaints and protests of the petitioner and reinforces the appeal for divine assistance by emphasizing the deity’s past favors and the penitent’s past deserts and innocence. The conclusion of the letterprayer may include promises to sing the deity’s praises if the prayer is answered, as well as a closing formulaic request for quick action typical of normal letters, or a new formula praying that the heart of the deity be appeased. Royal Letter-Prayers in Sumerian Although in origin a private, and more economical, alternative to prayers inscribed on expensive statues and other votive objects, the letter-prayer came to be employed by royalty, especially under the Dynasty of Larsa before that city succumbed to Hammurabi. The earliest example of “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa” is an intriguing document that recounts how Sin-iddinam commissioned a statue of his father and royal predecessor so that the latter might “forward” the son’s prayers, in the form of two letters placed in the statue’s mouth, to the sun-god Utu, the patron deity of the dynasty. The same Sin-iddinam was responsible for at least two other letter-prayers, one to Utu to lament the evil fate that has befallen Larsa, and the other to the healing goddess for restoration of the king’s health. The correspondence climaxes in a letter-prayer addressed, not to a deity but to Rim-Sin, last king of the dynasty. In it, the princess Nin-shatapada, daughter of the founder of the rival Dynasty of Uruk, begs Rim-Sin to restore her to her priestly office, urging him to treat her with the same magnanimity he displayed toward Uruk after defeating its king. The terms in which she writes mirror those employed in the date-formulas, inscriptions, and hymns of the dynasty. The incorporation of her letter-prayer in the correspondence of the dynasty suggests that the petition was granted.

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Bilingual and Akkadian Letter-Frayers Letter-prayers were not commonly written in Akkadian. The earliest example may be an Old Babylonian letter addressed to the writer’s personal deity for transmittal to Marduk. Others come from Mari under Yasmakh-Adad and Zimri-Lim in the eighteenth century, and at least one of them is quite elaborately constructed. Zimri-Lim is also the addressee of a letter-prayer, and this is in interlinear bilingual (Sumerian and Akkadian) form; whether it was an authentic letter or the creation of a learned scribe is not certain. The latter explanation seems to apply to some of the private letter-prayers known in Sumerian from the Old Babylonian schools at Nippur, Ur, and elsewhere, many of them involving a certain Lugal-murub of Nippur, and certainly to the bilingual letter to Lugal-murub—known from schools of Late Babylonian date in Assyria (Asshur), Anatolia (Khattusha) and Syria (Ugarit). There are other examples of letters to and even from the gods from Old Babylonian to Neo-Assyrian times, but these cannot be said to function as prayers. The royal Assyrian letters to the gods, in particular, allow kings to report on their military triumphs in more imaginative style than the customary annals and other royal inscriptions. There is, however, one surviving example of the classical letter-prayer in late times. “The Appeal to Utu,” originally created at Larsa by or for its king, Sin-iddinam, is reproduced in a bilingual letter from Sippar of uncertain date and in another exemplar from the seventh-century royal library at Nineveh. Babylon replaces Larsa of the original version, and a king whose name is lost no doubt replaces Sin-iddinam. So late a representative of the old genre encourages us to seek its echoes also in the Hebrew Bible (see below). Bilingual Laments for Appeasing the Heart The true successors of the Sumerian letter-prayers must be sought in ˇ HUN.GA, literally the another genre altogether. This is the ÉR.SÀ. ˘ ˇ (of the angry “lament (ÉR) for appeasing (HUN.GA) the heart (SÀ) ˘ deity).” Such laments typically conclude with the wish, “May your heart be appeased like that of a natural mother, like that of a natural father.” This is a slightly expanded form of the most common ending of the earlier letter-prayers: “May the heart of my god (or king) be appeased.” Other major characteristics of these laments also echo

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the earlier genre, abandoning only its epistolary format. In place of one or more salutations, these laments begin with a long invocation of the deity that stresses, like the earlier salutations, the divine qualities responsible for the penitent’s distress or his hoped-for salvation. The worshiper catalogs his sins, typically in multiples of seven, while claiming ignorance of their specific nature. He promises to sing the deity’s praises once he is forgiven and rescued or cured. The new genre begins to be attested in Old Babylonian times, probably at the end of the period. By the end of the Middle Babylonian period, King TukultiNinurta was carrying off examples of the genre to Asshur, according to his epic, and at least one Middle Assyrian example is known from there. The genre really became popular in the first millennium. At least 130 distinct compositions are known from surviving examples and from catalogs. They are addressed to at least fifteen different gods and six goddesses, as well as to “any god” or to a “personal god.” Like the late congregational laments (above), they are recited by the lamentation priest. This priest is even described as “the one of the heart-appeasing lament” in “The Fashioning of the GALA (lamentation priest),” an Old Babylonian harp-song. Like other compositions in his repertoire, they are invariably composed in dialectal Sumerian and typically are provided with an interlinear Akkadian translation. One lengthy ritual text prescribes the recitation of numerous heart-appeasing laments together with congregational laments. Unlike those laments, however, the heartappeasing laments are intensely personal in nature and are concerned with the fate not of city or country but of the individual penitent, even when, on occasion, that penitent is the king himself, repeating the lament after the priest like any private client. Individual Prayer in Akkadian The typical Mesopotamian gesture of prayer, lifting the hand to the mouth, is attested both linguistically and in art; it gave rise to a genre of “prayers (literally, incantations) of the lifting of the hand” (INIM.INIM. ˇ MA SU.ÍL.LA.KAM), Because they combine the form of an incantation with the function of a prayer, they are often referred to in German as Gebetsbeschwörungen (incantation-prayers); in English they are more often known as “prayers in rituals of expiation.” Collectively, they constitute a late and wholly Akkadian means of communication with the divine. They feature prominently a section devoted to complaint or

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lament, in which the individual penitent, speaking in the first person, or another party speaking on his behalf in the third, addresses the deity in the second. As in the earlier Sumerian and bilingual individual laments, these complaint sections are preceded by a salutation to the deity and introduction of the penitent. They are followed by rehearsals of his virtues, his specific request, and a conclusion that emphasizes his gratitude and vows to express it in material and other ways. Unlike the earlier Sumerian and bilingual individual laments, however, the late prayers include none, so far, on behalf of women. Just Sufferer Compositions All the genres so far reviewed are more or less liturgical in character. Apparently, they served as librettos for such activities as razing ruined temples prior to rebuilding them, praying for the resurrection of Dumuzi and the fertility he symbolized, burying a sovereign or a relative, or offering sacrifice for one’s health and welfare. As such they belong to the broader category of prayers, individual or collective, and were presumably the product of the temples, and more particularly of such clerical poets as the lamentation priests. But there was also an avenue for a more philosophical approach to the problem of human suffering and the related one of divine justice. This literature of “theodicy” debated the goodness and omnipotence of the deity in the face of unpunished evil or unrequited good; it was unconnected with sacrifice, penitence, or any other liturgical rite or activity. Presumably the product of the scribal schools, it belonged to the broad category of wisdom literature (see “The Contemplative Life in the Ancient Near East” in Part 9, Vol. IV). The theme of the “just sufferer” dealt with the apparent discrepancy between human deserts and divine rewards; if the sufferer was not wholly just, he was certainly more pious than many of those whose fortunes seemed better. While such themes are also raised in a number of letter-prayers and liturgical laments, they are central to a succession of wisdom texts, beginning with “Man and His God,” sometimes regarded as a Sumerian parallel to the biblical Job. This composition is described in the colophon of one of its exemplars as a “supplication-lament to a ˇ ˇ 4 DINGIR.LÚ.LUx.KAM), but no man’s (personal) god” (ÉR.SÀ.NE. SA other examples of such a genre are known, and it may be questioned whether it is liturgical in character. Like the later Akkadian treatments of the theme, it has a fairly simple tripartite structure, beginning with

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a description of the sufferer’s condition, continuing with his complaints to the deity, and ending with divine relief or restoration. The Akkadian treatments of the theme include one from the late Old Babylonian period, one from the late Middle Babylonian period discovered at Ugarit (in Syria), and two from the first millennium. The first of these is the “Poem of the Righteous Sufferer,” also known by its native title, ludlul b¯el n¯emeqi (“Let me praise the lord of wisdom [that is, Marduk]”). It is also sometimes called “The Babylonian Job.” The second is known as the “The Babylonian Theodicy.” Of these first-millennium examples, the former follows the traditional structure, although it is spread over four tablets (chapters) with more than a hundred lines each. The latter has a much more elaborate structure. It comprises twenty-seven stanzas of eleven lines each, and each of these eleven lines begins with the identical syllable. The twenty-seven successive syllables in turn form an acrostic that spells out the sentence “I am Saggil-kinam-ubbib the incantation-priest, worshiper of god and king.” The acrostic thus reveals (and at the same time conceals) the name of the author (who may be the sufferer himself ) and asserts his religious and political loyalty lest the poem as a whole be thought to suggest otherwise. The poem features a dialogue between the sufferer and his friend. The latter, well-meaning but stubborn in his defense of divine justice, insists, against all evidence to the contrary, that suffering must always be deserved. “The Letter-Prayer to Enki” To Enki, outstanding lord of heaven and earth whose nature is unequalled, speak! To Nudimmud, the prince of broad understanding who determines fates together with An, Who distributes the appropriate divine attributes among the Anunnaki, whose course cannot be reversed, The omniscient one who is given intelligence from sunrise to sunset, The lord of knowledge, the king of the sweet waters, the god who begot me, say furthermore! This is what Sin-shamukh the scribe, the son of Ur-Nin. . ., your servant, says; Since the day that you created me you have given me an education. I have not been negligent toward the name by which you are called, like a father. . . I did not plunder your offerings at the festivals to which I go regularly. But now, whatever I do, the judgment of my sin is not. . .. My fate has come my way, I am lifted onto a place of destruction, I cannot find an omen. A hostile deity has verily brought sin my way, I cannot find its side.

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On the day that my vigorous house was decreed by Heaven There is no keeping silent about my sin, I must answer for it. . .. I lie down on a bed of alas and alack, I intone the lament. My goodly figure is bowed down to the ground, I grovel at (people’s) feet. My. . . is lifted from its place, my features are changed. Restlessness is put into my feet, my life ebbs away. The bright day has darkened for me, I slip into my grave. I am a scribe, well versed in my craft, yet I have been turned into a dolt. My hand is fit for writing, but my mouth is inadequate for dialogue. I am not old, yet my hearing is heavy, my glance cross-eyed. Like an apprentice-diviner who has left his master’s house I am slandered ignobly. My acquaintance does not approach me, speaks never a word with me, My friend will not take counsel with me, will not put my mind at rest. The taunter has brought me to derision, my fate has made me strange. Oh my god, I rely on you, what have I to do with man?! I am grown-up, how am I to spread out in a narrow place? My house is a plaited nest, I am not satisfied with its attractiveness. My built-up houses are not faced with brick. Like little (female) cedars planted in a dirty place, I bear no fruit. Like a young date-palm planted by the side of a boat, I produce no foliage. I am still young, must I walk about thus before my time? Must I roll about in the dust? In a place where my mother and father are not present I am detained, who will recite my prayer to you? In a place where my kinsmen do not gather I am overwhelmed, who will bring my offering to you? Damgalnunna, your beloved first wife, May she bring it to you like my mother, may she introduce my lament before you. Asalalimnunna, son of the abyss, May he bring it to you like my father, may he introduce my lament before you. May he recite my lamentation to you, may he introduce my lament before you. Today let me take my sin to you, snatch me from the evildoer! When you have looked upon me in the place where I am cast down, have mercy on me! When you have turned my dark place into daylight, I will surely dwell in your gate of Guilt-Absolved, I will surely sing your praises! I will surely tear up my sin like a thread, I will surely proclaim your exaltation! As you reach the place of heavy sin, I will surely sing your praises! Release me at the mouth of the grave, save me at the head of my tomb!

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Then will I surely appear to the people, all the nation will verily know! Oh my god, I am one who knows reverence! Have mercy on the letter which I have deposited before you! May the heart of my god be appeased!

Possible Biblical Analogues It is never easy to document the relationship between biblical and Mesopotamian literature, even in the presence of striking parallels between phrases, passages, or whole compositions on both sides of the equation. Wherever borrowing is suspected, it is necessary to ask where, when, and even in what direction it might have occurred. If many centuries separate a notion that is shared by Mesopotamian and biblical literature, it may be that they both relied independently on a nowmissing third source. As an example, we can mention the remarkably similar provisions concerning the goring ox in the “Laws of Eshnunna” (twentieth or nineteenth century bce) and the Book of the Covenant (Exodus 21:28–36). But a more likely case for comparison exists when the Mesopotamian analogue, or at least its genre, survives in the Late Period. This is particularly the case with the various genres of lamentations. The laments over the destruction of cities and temples, and their successors, the tambourine-laments and harp-songs, display many features in common with the biblical Book of Lamentations and with the congregational laments of the Psalter such as Psalms 44, 74, 79, 80, and 83. In both an angry deity has abandoned his city and caused or ordered its destruction, which he is invited to inspect. There are also features found in the Mesopotamian lamentations that are lacking in the biblical texts, such as the special laments attributed to goddesses and the appeal to lesser deities for their intercession. Laments for Dumuzi are, of course, absent from the Bible as such; but Ezekiel’s condemnation of the women who sat at the gate of the Temple “wailing for the Tammuz” (8:14) shows not only that the practice was known in the exilic period but that it was so widely accepted that Tammuz (the Akkadian name of Dumuzi) had become a generic noun in Israel. Of laments for kings, the outstanding biblical example is David’s lament for Saul and Jonathan, who perished in battle against the Philistines (2 Samuel 1:17– 27). It belongs to a poetic genre (the qînâ) whose special meter has been linked to the peculiar dance accompanying a wake. Like some of its Mesopotamian analogues, it was entered in a larger written collection,

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the Book of Jashar (“Book of the Upright,” 2 Samuel 1:18) or, perhaps, the Book of Song, and it was to be taught to the Judaeans. Similarly, Jeremiah’s laments over King Josiah were entered in the anthology of qînâ-laments (2 Chronicles 35:25). The genre was also used to mourn nonroyalty, as in David’s brief lament for Abner (2 Samuel 3:33–34), an analogue of sorts to the Sumerian and Akkadian elegies for private individuals. The royal letter-prayers in Sumerian find an echo in the Psalm of Hezekiah (Isaiah 38:9–20) who, like King Sin-iddinam of Larsa, pleads for divine release from illness by composing a prayer described as a mikt¯ab (written document). It may be related to the genre of mikt¯am in the Psalter (Psalms 16, 56–60) and to other forms of individual laments there. Like the late bilingual laments for appeasing the heart, the individual laments of the Psalter have lost the explicit epistolary structure and formulas of the earlier Sumerian letter-prayers, but they retain other echoes of possible prototypes in letter form. The obvious parallels between the “Just-Sufferer” compositions in Sumerian and Akkadian and the biblical book of Job, including its ancient prose narrative frame, extend not only to their comparable treatments of a common theme but also, in the case of “The Babylonian Theodicy,” to the dialogue structure familiar from the poetic core of the book of Job. Thus, while there are undoubtedly universal elements in the language of lamentation everywhere, its particular evolution in Mesopotamia permits the reconstruction of genre histories. It also suggests the possibility that some features of this millennial tradition influenced biblical psalmody and wisdom literature before and during the exilic period (sixth century bce). Bibliography General Studies Thorkild Jacobsen, The Harps That Once. . . . Sumerian Poetry in Translation (1987), contains a number of Sumerian texts sensitively translated and annotated. Relevant to this chapter are those translated on pp. 28–84, 357–374, and 445–484 Joachim Krecher, “Klagelied,” Reallexikon der Assyriologie, vol. 6 (1980–1983), studies the lament as a literary type; and in Jack M. Sasson, ed., Studies in Literature from the Ancient Near East (1984), are discussed particular examples of laments on pp. 67–82, 143–148, 193–200, 211–215, 255–260, and 315– 320.

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Congregational Laments Forerunners in main-dialect sumerian Jerrold S. Cooper, The Curse of Agade (1983). City Laments in Main-Dialect and Dialectal Sumerian Margaret W. Green, “The Eridu Lament,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 30 (1978) Samuel N. Kramer, “Keˇs and Its Fate,” Gratz College Anniversary Volume, edited by isidore david passow and samuel tobias lachs (1971) ———, “The Weeping Goddess: Sumerian Prototypes of the Mater Dolorosa” Biblical Archaeologist 46 (1983), and “Lamentation over the Destruction of Nippur,” Acta Sumerologica 13 (1991) Piotr Michalowski, The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur (1989). Tambourine-Laments and Harp-Songs in Dialectal Sumerian Bendt Alster, “Edin-na ú-sag-gá: Reconstruction, History, and Interpretation of a Sumerian Cultic Lament,” Rencontre assyriologique internationale 32 (1985) Jeremy A. Black, “A-ˇse-er Gi6-ta, a Balag of Inana,” Acta Sumerologica 7 (1985) ———, “Sumerian Balag Compositions,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 44 (1987) Mark E. Cohen, Sumerian Hymnology: The Erˇsemma (1981), The Canonical ˇ Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia, 2 vols. (1988), and “A Bilingual Suilla to Ningeˇstinanna,” in DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, edited by Hermann Behrens, Darlene Loding, and Martha T. Roth, Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, vol. 11 (1989) ˇ Jerrold S. Cooper, “A Sumerian Su-íl-la from Nimrud with a Prayer for Sin-ˇsar-iˇskun,” Iraq 32 (1970), and “Warrior, Devastating Deluge, Deˇ stroyer of Hostile Lands: A Sumerian Suila to Mar-duk,” in A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs, edited by Erle Leichty, Maria de J. Ellis, and Pamela Gerardi, Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, vol. 9 (1988); Joachim Krecher, Sumerische Kultlyrik (1966) Samuel N. Kramer, “Two British Museum irˇsemma catalogues,” Studia Orientalia 46 (1975), 48/3 (1977) Raphael Kutscher, Oh Angry Sea (a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha): The History of a Sumerian ˘ ˘˘ Congregational Lament (1975) W.G. Lambert, “The Converse Tablet: A Litany with Musical Instructions,” in Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright, edited by Hans Goedicke (1971) Konrad Volk, Die Bala˘g-Komposition úru àm-ma-ir-ra-bi (1989). Unilingual Akkadian City-Laments Alfred Pohl, “Die Klage Marduks über Babylon im Erra-Epos,” Hebrew Union College Annual 23, pt. 1 (1950–1951).

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Dumuzi-Laments Bendt Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream; Aspects of Oral Poetry in a Sumerian Myth (1972), and “A Dumuzi Lament in Late Copies,” Acta Sumerologica 7 (1985) Samuel N. Kramer, “The Death of Dumuzi: A New Sumerian Version,” Anatolian Studies 30 (1980). Laments for Kings William W. Hallo, “The Death of Kings,” in Ah, Assyria: Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor, edited by Mordechai Cogan and Israel Ephal, Scripta Hierosolymitana, vol. 33 (1991). Individual Laments Elegies Samuel N. Kramer, Two Elegies on a Pushkin Museum Tablet: A New Sumerian Literary Genre (1960); and “The Gir5 and the ki-sikil: A New Sumerian Elegy,” Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein (= Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences), edited by Maria de Jong Ellis (1977) Erica Reiner, Your Thwarts in Pieces, Your Mooring Rope Cut: Poetry from Babylonia and Assyria (1985). Private Letter-Prayers in Sumerian William W. Hallo, “Individual Prayer in Sumerian; The Continuity of a Tradition,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 88, no. 1 (1968), here: IV.1 and “Letters, Prayers, and Letter-Prayers,” Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, 1977 2 (1981), here: IV.2. Royal Letter-Prayers in Sumerian William W. Hallo, “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah?” in Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, edited by Barry L. Eichler, Alter Orient und Altes Testament, vol. 25 (1976), here: V.1 ———, “II. The Appeal to Utu,” in zikir ˇsumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus, edited by G. van Driel (1982), here: V.2 ———, “III. The Princess and the Plea,” in Marchands, Diplomates et Empereurs, edited by D. Charpin and F. Joannes (1991), here: V.3 ———, “The Expansion of Cuneiform Literature,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 46–47 (1979–1980). Bilingual and Akkadian Letter-Prayers Rykle Borger, “Ein Brief Sin-iddinams von Larsa an den Sonnengott. Sowie Bemerkungen über ‘Joins’ und das ‘Joinen,’ ” Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen; I. Philologisch-historische Klasse (1991)

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F.R. Kraus, “Ein altbabylonischer Privatbrief an eine Gottheit,” Revue d’Assyriologie 65 (1971). Bilingual Laments for Appeasing the Heart Samuel N. Kramer, “The Fashioning of the Gala,” Acta Sumerologica 3 (1981) Stefan M. Maul, ‘Herzberuhigungsklagen’: die sumerisch-akkadischen Erˇsahunga˘ Gebete (1988) Piotr Michalowski, “On the Early History of the Ershahunga Prayer,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 39, no. 1 (1987). Individual Prayer in Akkadian Rudolf Mayer, Untersuchungen zur Formsprache der babylonischen “Gebetsbeschwörungen” (1976) Cecil J. Mullo Weir, A Lexicon of Accadian Prayers in the Rituals of Expiation (1934). Just Sufferer Compositions W.G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (1960) Gerald L. Mattingly, “The Pious Sufferer: Mesopotamia’s Traditional Theodicy and Job’s Counselors,” in The Bible in the Light of Cuneiform Literature: Scripture in Context III, edited by William W. Hallo, Bruce William Jones, and Gerald L. Mattingly, (1990) Jean Nougayrol, “Une version ancienne du ‘juste souffrant,’ ” Revue Biblique 59 (1952), and “(Juste) souffrant (R.S.25.460),” Ugaritica 5 (1968) Donald J. Wiseman, “A New Text of the Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer,” Anatolian Studies 30 (1980). Possible Biblical Analogues Jean Bottéro, Le Problems du Mal et de la Justice Divine à Babylone et dans la Bible, Recherches et Documents du Centre Thomas More, vol. 14 (1976) F.W. Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible (1993) Paul Wayne Ferris, The Genre of the Communal Lament in the Bible and the Ancient Near East (1992) William C. Gwaltney, “The Biblical Book of Lamentations in the Context of Near Eastern Literature,” Scripture in Context II, edited by William W. Hallo, James C. Moyer, and Leo G. Perdue (1983) Thomas F. Mcdaniel, “The Alleged Sumerian Influence upon Lamentations,” Vetus Testamentum 18 (1968). See also The Influence of Ancient Mesopotamia on Hellenistic Judaism (Part 1, Vol. I) and Hittite Prayers (Part 8, Vol. III).

iv.4 TWO LETTER-PRAYERS TO AMURRU*

The Akkadian name Amurru designates an ethnic entity conventionally equated with the biblical Amorites or, alternatively, ‘a social group—the Semitic nomads from the western steppe’,1 as well as the steppe itself, an area located on the frontier between Mesopotamia and the Levant. It thus seems appropriate to discuss Amurru in the context of a tribute to Cyrus H. Gordon, whose work has so often illuminated both sides of just this frontier. The first known reference to an Amorite occurs in a Fara text; more than 30 references have been identified in the Ebla corpus, and the ethnic label recurs in Sargonic times.2 In Old Babylonian times, the Amorites seem to have been regarded, and to have regarded themselves, as distinct from the Akkadians of Mesopotamia. This is suggested as early as the beginning of the First Dynasty of Babylon by the mention of an ‘assembly of Amurru’ (puhrum sˇa Amurrim) in a letter from Sippar-Yahrurum,3 largely ignored since its publication in 1967,4 which also refers to Sumu-abum, presumably the first king of that

* The substance of this paper was presented to the joint meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research and the Society of Biblical Literature, Chicago, 20 November 1994, for the session entitled ‘Scholar for all Seasons: A Tribute to Cyrus H. Gordon’. 1 J.J.M. Roberts, The Earliest Semitic Pantheon: A Study of the Semitic Deities Attested to in Mesopotamia before Ur III (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1972), p. 16. According to J. Zarins, ‘Jebel Bishri and the Amorite Homeland: the PPNB phase’, in O.M.C. Haex et al. (eds.), To the Euphrates and Beyond: Archaeological Studies in Honour of Maurits N. van Loon (Rotterdam/Brookfield, VT: A.A. Balkema, 1989), p. 44, the Amorites were ‘Semitic populations . . . from the western desert of Iraq and Southeastern Syria’ involved in ‘pastoral nomadism’. 2 A. Archi, ‘Mardu in the Ebla texts’, Or 54 (1985), pp. 7–13. 3 K.A. Al-A"dami, ‘Old Babylonian Letters from ed-Der’ Sumer 23 (1967), pp. 151– 167 and pls. 1–17 and facing p. 156, esp. pp. 153–156 (IM 19431 = IM 49341!). For the possible identification of ed-Der (Tall ad-Dair) with Sippar-Yahrarum, see L. de Meyer in Répertoire géographique des textes cunéiformes 3 (1980), pp. 208–209. 4 But cf. S.J. Lieberman in M. de J, Ellis (ed.), Nippur at the Centennial (Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, 14; Philadelphia: The University Museum, 1992), p, 129 n. 13.

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dynasty (c. 1894–1881 bce), and Alumb(i)umu of Marad, previously identified as a contemporary of the second king, Sumu-la-el (c. 1880– 1845).5 Further attesting to the distinctiveness of the Old Babylonian Amorites are the repeated references to ‘an Akkadian or Amorite’ in the edicts of the later kings of the dynasty, notably Ammi-ditana(?) (c. 1683– 1647)6 and Ammi-saduqa (c. 1646–1626).7 The latter, moreover, claimed a common ancestry with the Amorite rulers of Assyria in the so-called ‘Genealogy of the Hammurapi Dynasty’.8 A final index of Amorite selfawareness was the belief in a deity variously called ‘the Amorite god’9 or simply Amurru. The evidence on Amurru the deity has been critically assembled by Edzard; the following survey may be regarded as a supplement.10 He is not attested in the texts of Early Dynastic date from Abu Salabikh,11 Fara12 or Ebla,13 but is known from theophoric personal names beginning in Old Akkadian (Sargonic) times14 and from offering lists beginning in neo-Sumerian (Ur III) times.15 By Old Babylonian times, there are four known royal inscriptions dedicated to Amurru the deity, all dating around 1800 bce, one by Damiq-ilishu, the last king of Isin

W.F. Leemans, ‘King Alumbiumu’, JCS 20 (1966), pp. 48–49. F.R. Kraus, Königliche Verfügungen in altbabylonischer Zeit (SD, 11; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1984), p. 160 line 7; for the assignment to Ammi-ditana, see p. 293. For other suggestions see W.W. Hallo, ‘Slave Release in the Biblical World in Light of a New Text’, in Z. Zevit et al. (eds.), Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995), pp. 79–93, esp. 81 n. 5. 7 Kraus, Königliche Verfügungen, pp. 170–175, pars. 3, 5, 6, 8, 9. 8 J.J. Finkelstein, ‘The Genealogy of the Hammurapi Dynasty’, JCS 20 (1966), pp. 95–118. 9 dDINGIR. MAR. TU = ilum amurrûm. Or: ‘the god of Amurru’ (il Amurrim). 10 D.O. Edzard, ‘Martu (Mardu). A. Gott’, RLA, VII, pp. 433–438; previously E. Ebeling, ‘Amurru. 2. a) Gott’, RLA, I, pp. 101–103. See now also J. Klein, ‘The God Martu in Sumerian Literature’, in I.L. Finkel and M.J. Geller (eds.), Sumerian Gods and their Representations (Cuneiform Monographs, 7; Groningen: Styx. 1987), pp. 99–116. (This study appeared too late to be included here.) 11 P. Mander, Il Pantheon di Abu-S¯alab¯ıkh (Istituto Universitario Orientale: Series Mi. nor 26; Naples, 1986). 12 LAK 211 refers to dTU; cf. Edzard, ‘Martu’, p. 433. 13 F. Pomponio, ‘I nomi divini nei testi di Ebla’, UF 15 (1983), pp. 141–156. Previously G. Pettinato, ‘Culto ufficiale ad Ebla durante il regno di Ibbi-Sipiˇs’, OrAnt 18 (1979), pp. 85–215 and pls. i–xii. 14 Roberts, The Earliest Semitic Pantheon, pp. 15–16, 69–70. 15 N. Schneider, Die Götternamen von Ur III (AnOr, 19; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1939), p. 41 No. 307. 5 6

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(1816–1794),16 two on behalf of Rim-Sin, the last king of Larsa (1822– 1763),17 and one on behalf of Hammurapi of Babylon (1792–1750).18 We are also reasonably well informed on what the deity looked like, or at least how he was pictured on Old Babylonian cylinder seals, thanks especially to the study by Kupper; by contrast, the contemporaneous canonical cuneiform literature on Amurru is not extensive.19 In Akkadian, a 45-line hymn to the ‘Amorite deity’ (of Old Babylonian date) was published by Gurney.20 In Sumerian, Amurru was known as Martu (or perhaps Mardu or Marru or Amarru).21 The earliest literary text addressed to Martu (and Numushda) may be a dialectal (eme-sal) hymn in syllabic orthography from Lagash published by Thureau-Dangin22 and partly edited by Poebel.23 There are three fragmentary collections of compositions which include hymns to the deity,24 one of them, also in syllabic orthography, edited by Bergmann.25 There is a short ‘tambourine-lament’ (ér-ˇsém-ma)26 published by Figulla,27 and

16 W.W. Hallo, ‘Oriental Institute Museum Notes 10: The Last Years of the Kings of Isin’, JNES 18 (1959), pp. 54–72. Latest re-edition by D. Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 bc ) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods, 4; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990), pp. 103–104. 17 Frayne, Old Babylonian Period, pp. 305–308. 18 Frayne, Old Babylonian Period, p. 360. 19 J. -R, Kupper, L’Iconographie du dieu Amurru dans la glyptique de la I re dynastie babylonienne (Académie Royale de Belgique, Classe des Lettres, Mémoires, 55,1; Brussels: Palais des Académies, 1961). Cf, pp. 69–76, for the ‘sources littéraires’. 20 O.R. Gurney, Literary and Miscellaneous Texts in the Ashmolean Museum (OECT, 11; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), No. 1; cf. pp. 15–19 and W. von Soden, ‘Zu dem altbabylonischen Hymnus an Anmartu und Aˇsratum mit Verheissungen an R¯ım-Sîn’, NABU (1989), p. 78 No. 105. 21 For various proposals see A. Falkenstein, Sumerische Götterlieder (Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Klasse 1959/1; Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1959), p. 120 n. 2. 22 F. Thureau-Dangin in G. Cros, Nouvelles fouilles de Tello (Paris: E. Leroux, 1910), p. 207. 23 A. Poebel, ‘Sumerische Untersuchungen. II: V. Der Emesal-Text AO 4331 + 4335 Vs. 2–5’, ZA 37 (1927), pp. 161–176, 245–272. 24 VS 2.75–77. 25 E. Bergmann, ‘Untersuchungen zu syllabisch geschriebenen sumerischen Texten: 3’, ZA 57 (1965), pp. 31–33. 26 For this genre, and the translation offered here, see in greater detail Hallo, ‘Lamentations’, apud J.M. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. III (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1995), pp. 1871–1881, here: IV.3. 27 CT 42.7 iv; cf. S.N. Kramer, ‘CT XLII: a Review Article’, JCS 18 (1964), p. 41. The text is 28 lines long.

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two ‘long songs’ (ˇsìr-gíd-da)28 published by Chiera.29 One of these, a fairly standard hymn of 58 lines, was edited by Falkenstein.30 The other one, longer and more important, is mythological in character, and was characterized as ‘an Amorite creation story in Sumerian’ by Chiera, who provided a first transliteration and translation of the text.31 It was renamed ‘The Marriage of Martu’ by Kramer,32 and seems to involve the deity’s wooing of the daughter of the god Numushda of Kazallu, already linked to Martu in the Lagash hymn mentioned above (n. 22). Since Kazallu lay upstream from Nippur between the Euphrates and Arahtum Rivers, the city may well have served as a kind of way station for Amorites on their way to Sumer.33 In Buccellati’s words, the composition may be said to have dealt with the ‘marriage of a Mesopotamian woman to an Amorite nomad, and it could well be that a princely marriage had provided the Sitz im Leben for the myth’.34 In a recent study, Klein subtitles it ‘the urbanization of “barbaric nomads” ’.35 For my purposes here, perhaps the most relevant literary text is a prayer to Martu published by Langdon which has the characteristic conclusion of a lament for appeasing the heart [that is, of the angry

28 On this genre see C. Wilcke, ‘Formale Gesichtspunkte in der sumerischen Literatur’, in S. J. Lieberman (ed.), Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen (AS, 20; Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1975), p. 287; it is entered among other genres in line 594 of the unilingual lexical list known as ‘Old Babylonian Proto-Lú’; see Materials for the Sumerian Lexicon 12 (1969). p. 54. 29 E. Chiera, Sumerian Religious Texts (Crozer Theological Seminary Babylonian Publications, 1; Upland, PA, 1924), No, 8; idem, Sumerian Epics and Myths (Oriental Institute Publications, 15; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1934). No. 58. 30 Falkenstein, Sumerische Götterlieder, No. 4. 31 Chiera, Sumerian Religious Texts, pp. 14–23. 32 S.N. Kramer. Sumerian Mythology (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society, 21; Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1944; 2nd edn. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1961), pp. 98–101 and n. 89. Cf. idem, The Sumerians (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), p. 253; new edition idem. ‘The Marriage of Martu’, in J. Klein and A. Skaist (eds.), Bar Ilan Studies in Assyriology Dedicated to Pinhas Artzi (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1990), pp. 11–27. 33 Kupper, L’Iconographie, p. 75. 34 G. Buccellati, The Amorites of the Ur III Period (Istituto Orientale di Napoli Ricerche, 1; Naples: Istituto Orientale di Napoli, 1966), p. 339. 35 J. Klein, ‘The Marriage of Martu: The Urbanization of “Barbaric Nomads” ’, in M. Malul (ed.), Mutual Influences of Peoples in the Ancient Near East (Michmanim, 9; Haifa: University of Haifa, 1996), pp. 83–96. Cf. also idem, ‘Additional Notes to “The Marriage of Martu” ’, in A.F. Rainey (ed.), kinatt¯utu ˇsa d¯arâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, 1993), pp. 93–106.

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deity]’ (ér-ˇsà-hun-gá),36 although not its generic subscript. It was dated to the Kassite period by Bergmann,37 but to the Old Babylonian period by Michalowski,38 and is partially paralleled by another Old Babylonian text, possibly from Sippar39 or Lagash.40 Since I hold fast to my conviction that such laments may be considered successors to the letterprayers as means of personal communication with the divine,41 it raises the question whether there were, in fact, letter-prayers to Amurru in the Old Babylonian repertoire. The answer is yes—and not only in Sumerian but also in Akkadian. To begin with the Akkadian evidence, van Soldt has published what he regards as ‘probably a school exercise’,42 containing a late Old Babylonian letter to Amurru43 in Akkadian.44 The letter is said to be a ze"pum,45 defined by Kraus as a kind of letter46 and by Finkelstein more particularly as a roughly square tablet, typically used for letters which centered on an order or directive to the addressee to deliver some commodity to a third party or to the sender, and dated to the late Old Babylonian period beginning with Ammi-ditana.47 This text, however, does not answer to this description as regards its contents.

36 On this genre see most recently Hallo, ‘Lamentations’, here: IV.3. Previously S.M. Maul, ‘Herzberuhigungsklagen’: Die sumerisch-akkadischen Erˇsahunga-Gebete (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1988), and the reviews by M.E. Cohen, JAOS 110 (1990), pp. 571– 572 and by Hallo, BiOr 49 (1992), pp. 77–78. 37 Bergmann, ‘Untersuchungen’, pp. 33–42. 38 P. Michalowski, ‘On the Early History of the Ershahunga Prayer’, JCS 39 (1987), pp. 37–48, esp. p. 42 (4). 39 Michalowski, ‘Early History’, pp. 42–43 (6). 40 Hallo, review of M, Çi˘ g and H. Kizilyay, Sumerian Literary Tablets and Fragments in the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul I, JCS 24 (1971), p. 40. 41 See Hallo, above, n. 36. 42 A parallel of sorts may be found in the tradition of ‘model-letters’ in Chinese culture; cf. A. McNair, ‘The Engraved Model-letters Compendia of the Song Dynasty’, JAOS 114 (1994), pp. 209–225. My colleague H. Stimson assures me that the modelletters in these compendia indeed refer to epistles not characters. 43 Misspelled dMAR.MAR.TU, but this is just one of ‘many mistakes’ noted by the editor. 44 W.H. van Soldt, Letters in the British Museum (AbB, 12; Leiden: E J. Brill, 1990), pp. 84–85, No. 99. 45 Van Soldt, Letters, p. 84. 46 F.R. Kraus, ‘Altbabylonisches ze"pum’, BiOr 24 (1967), pp. 12–14. Previously Hallo, ‘The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: a Typology’, HUCA 33 (1962), p. 14. 47 J.J. Finkelstein, Late Old Babylonian Documents and Letters (YOS, 13; New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1972), pp. 4–6; cf. S. Greengus, review of CT 58 and AbB 7, JAOS 101 (1981), p. 258.

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It is not a ‘letter-order’, to use the term first coined by Oppenheim,48 but a ‘letter-prayer’, using the term first introduced into the discussion by me.49 Herewith van Soldt’s translation of the letter: (1–3) Speak to my lord Amurrum whose pronouncement is heard before Shamash: (4) Thus says Ardum, your servant. (5–6) You have created me among men and you have made me pass (safely ?) along the street. (7–9) Also, I used to bring you a sheep offering every year and I prepared (it) in honor of your venerable rank (ana il¯utika kabittim). (10–12) (But) now an enemy has befallen me (ikˇsudannima) and I am miserable (muˇsk¯enek¯uma). (Even) my brothers do not come to my help (ul i"arir¯uni). (13–14) If your great divine power (?) (AN-ka rab¯ıtum) . . . (ˇsa-ra-am) (me), raise me up from the bed on which I am lying. (15–17) (Then) let me come to you, to your divine presence, bringing a generous (.tahdam) sheep offering. (18–19),.. (da mu za sˇi ki il ma zu / la ma x ma). May my family not be dispersed (qinni la ipparar). (20–22) May the one who sees me submit a petition (?) (uˇsaqrib) to your lofty divine power.

The evidence for the existence of a tradition of Old Babylonian letterprayers written in Akkadian has been mounting steadily.50 In 1968, I was able to list only four possible examples, three of them from Mari.51 One of these is probably addressed, not to a personal deity (lamassu), but to an Assyrian princess named Lamassi or Lamassi-Assur.52 The others have been newly translated by Moran,53 Charpin and Durand54 and Foster55 respectively. (Whether the appeal of Kussulu56 to the Hallo, ‘The Neo-Sumerian Letter-Orders’, BiOr 26 (1969), pp. 171–175, esp. p. 172. Hallo, ‘Individual prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition’, JAOS 88 (1968), repr. in Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser (ed, W.W. Hallo; AOS, 53. 1968), pp. 71– 89, here: IV.1, esp. p. 76. 50 Cf. the survey by R. Borger, RLA 3 (1957–1971), pp. 575–576, to which the following may be considered a supplement. 51 Hallo, ‘Individual Prayer’, p. 78 n. 43, here: IV.1. 52 M. Birot et al., Répertoire analytique 2 (ARM, 16/1; Paris: Geuthner, 1979), p. 143 s. vv. (ARM 4.68). 53 W.L. Moran, ‘A Letter to a God’, ANET (3rd edn, 1969), p. 627, based on G. Dossin, ‘Les archives épistolaires du palais de Mari’. Syria 19 (1938), pp. 125–126). 54 D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand, ‘La prise du pouvoir par Zimri-Lim’, MARI 4 (1985), pp. 339–342, with a new copy; cf. pp. 293–299; cf. J.M. Sasson, ‘Yasmah-Addu’s Letter to God (ARM 1:3)’, NABU (1987), pp. 63–64 No. 109. 55 B.R. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 1993), p. 157 No. II 38 = idem, From Distant Days: Myths, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 1995), p. 294; previous translation by T. Jacobsen et al., Before Philosophy (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1949), p. 221 (YOS 2:141). 56 I follow the transcription of Foster, Before the Muses, I, pp. 154–155 = idem, From Distant Days, pp. 293–294, on the assumption that the name alludes to a bodily defect, perhaps involving the kaslu/kislu. 48 49

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moon-god57 is a letter-prayer58 or an exercise in rhetoric59 or even a parody60 remains a matter of debate.) In addition, Kraus61 and Foster62 have identified additional examples of the genre, and de Meyer has published a new one from his excavations at Sippar-Yahrurum,63 addressed by the lamentation-priest Ur-Utu to a goddess.64 There is now even a bilingual letter-prayer addressed to Zimri-Lim of Mari, according to Charpin.65 When we turn to unilingual Sumerian letter-prayers, there were already nine addressed to various deities in the ‘list of letter-prayers and other neo-Sumerian literary letters’ which I compiled in 1968,66 and their number has been augmented by at least one entirely new example of the genre, addressed to Nin-Shubur.67 The list today is in need of updating, since some of its entries have meantime appeared in proper editions, most notably the letter-prayer of Sin-iddinam, king of Larsa, 57 C.J. Gadd and S.N. Kramer, Literary and Religious Texts: Second Part (UET, 6/2) No. 402. 58 So Charpin, Le clergé d’Ur (1986), pp. 326–329, followed by K. Hecker and W.H.P. Römer, Lieder und Gebete (Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, 2.5; Gütersloh: Mohn, 1989), pp. 750–752. 59 W.L. Moran, ‘UET 6, 402: persuasion in the plain style’, JANESCU 22 (1993), pp. 113–120; W.W. Hallo, Origins: The Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East, 6; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), p. 173. 60 So tentatively D.O. Edzard, review of Lieder und Gebete. I, by W.H.P. Römer and K. Hecker, Or 63 (1994), pp. 138, 139. 61 F.R. Kraus, ‘Em altbabylonischer Privatbrief an eine Gottheit’, RA 65 (1971), pp. 27–36; idem, AbB 5 (1972), p. 140 (TCL 1.9). New translation by Foster, Before the Muses, I, p. 156 No. II 37 = idem, From Distant Days, p. 294. F.R. Kraus, ‘Eine neue Probe akkadischer Literatur: Brief eines Bittstellers an eine Gottheit’, JAOS 103 (1983), pp. 205–209: repr. in J.M. Sasson (ed.). Studies in Literature from the Ancient Near East . . . dedicated to Samuel Noah Kramer (AOS, 65; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1984), pp. 205–209. 62 S. Dalley et al., The Old Babylonian Tablets from Tell al Rimah (London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq, 1976), No. 150, as interpreted by B.R. Foster, ‘Letters and Literature: A Ghost’s Entreaty’, in M.E. Cohen et al. (eds.), The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (Bethesda: CDL Press, 1993), pp. 98–102. 63 L. de Meyer, ‘Une lettre d’Ur-Utu galamah à une divinitè’, in M. Lebeau and P. Talon (eds.), Reflets des deux fleuves: Volume de Mélanges offerts a André Finet (Akkadica Supplementum, 6; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), pp. 41–43. Cf. above, n. 3. 64 On this Ur-Utu, see for now M. Tanret, ‘Les tablettes scolaires dècouvertes à Tell ed-Der’ Akkadica 26 (1982), p. 39. 65 Charpin, ‘Les malheurs d’un scribe ou de l’inutilité du sumérien loin de Nippur’, in deJong Ellis (ed.), Nippur, pp. 7–27. 66 Hallo, ‘Individual Prayer’, pp. 88–89, here: IV.1. 67 C.B.F. Walker and S.N. Kramer, ‘Cuneiform Tablets in the Collection of Lord Binning’, Iraq 44 (1982), pp. 78–83.

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to Nin-Isina,68 and that of Nin-shatapada daughter of Sin-kashid, king of Uruk, to Rim-Sin, king of Larsa.69 Others have been republished70 or duplicated by newly published or newly identified exemplars.71 In particular one should add to the list the letter-prayer of Sin-iddinam to Utu,72 which survived in recognizable if altered, bilingual form into neo-Assyrian times.73 One of the letter-prayers in the list was addressed to Amurru (Martu).74 In 1989, van Dijk found its incipit in a late Old Babylonian catalogue of literary letters from Uruk,75 and even thought he could posit a possible duplicate though this proves not to be the case.76 I provide here a transliteration and translation of the Yale text, leaving the discussion of philological details for another occasion.77 YBC 5641 (1)

d

Mar-tu dumu-an-na dingir me kù-kù-ga

To divine Amurru, son of Heaven, deity of all the positive (or: holy) divine attributes,

68 D4 on the list. Cf. Hallo, ‘The Royal Correspondence of Larsa. I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah?’, in B.L. Eichler (ed.), Kramer Anniversary Volume (AOAT, 25; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1976), pp. 209–224, here: V.1. 69 C on the list. Cf. Hallo, ‘The Royal Correspondence of Larsa. III. The Princess and the Plea’, in D. Charpin and F. Joannès (eds.), Marchands, diplomates et empereurs: Etudes sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli (Paris: Editions Recherches sur les Civilisations, 1991), pp. 3787–3888, here: V.3. 70 Notably M, republished in ISET 1 (1969), p. 126 (Ni 972). 71 Note, for example, VS, 17, p. 36 (duplicate of B6), YBC 16550 (unpublished duplicate of B7), and UM 29-15-995 (unpublished duplicate of I according to M. Civil, ‘Enlil: the Merchant: Notes to CT 15 10’, JCS 28 [1976], p. 78 [b 3]). 72 W.W. Hallo, ‘The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: II. The Appeal to Utu’,. in ˇ G. van Driel et al. (eds.), ZIKIR SUMIM: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R, Kraus . . . (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1982), pp. 95–109, here: V.2. 73 R. Borger, ‘Ein Brief Sîn-idinnams von Larsa an den Sonnengott’, Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen I. Phil.hist. Klasse (1991), pp. 39–81. 74 Hallo, ‘Individual Prayer’, p. 89 (J). Correct the museum number listed there to YBC 5641. 75 J. van Dijk, ‘Ein spätaltbabylonischer Katalog einer Sammlung sumerischer Briefe’, Or 58 (1989), pp. 441–452, esp. pp. 444–445. (line 19). Now republished by A. Cavigneaux, Uruk: Altbabylonische Texte aus dem Plaquadrat Pe XVI —4/5 (Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka Endberichte, 23; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1966), pp. 57–59 and p. 157, No. 112. 76 BE 31.30. 77 My thanks to Miguel Civil for collating my transliteration with the original and suggesting several improvements (October 1994) and to Piotr Michalowski for ceding his prior rights to publication (cf. NABU 1991, 32 No. 48).

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(2) sˇà-lá-sù lú-zi-dè ki-aga2 inim!-ˇsùd a-ra-za giˇs-tuku (3) (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9)

(10) (11) (12)

(13) (14) (15) (16)

Merciful one, enamored of the upright man, hearing words of prayer and supplication, lugal-mu-ù-ra ù-na-du11 My king, speak! [#] E-te-el-pi 4-dDa-mu ìr-zu This is what Etel-pi-Damu your nu-ub-bé-a servant says. mu-mu ba-sa4-a si-sá-aˇs dib-bé mu My name by which I am called, bí-in-du11-ga ‘Proceeding-in-righteousness (or: straightforwardly)’, (is) the name which one had pronounced (on me) there, ú hé-tuku mu-zu ba-e-ni-pà (With) ‘Let-him-have-food (of life? is) your name’ I was summoned by you here, a hé-tuku mu-zu ba-e-ni-pà (With) ‘Let-him-have-water (of life? is) your name’ I was summoned by you here. níg-ˇsa6-ga-tuku-mu la-ba-e-ˇsi-kéˇs My accumulated treasures have not been withheld from you. é-la-la-zu e-ra-ni-gá-gá ˇsu-a-gi-na Your luxuriant temple I am e-ra-gál establishing for you here, I have deposited the regular offerings for you. níg-gig-ga-zu en-nu- un bí-ag (Over) your sancta I stood guard mu-zu sag li-bí-in-sì there, your name no one (else) took care of there igi -zu nigin2 ! -na-mu-dè hi ! -li-a When I turned around before you, BI li-bí-ib-dib no one surpassed it in beauty there. lugal ? mu-zu nu-mu-ni-in-pà ‘King’(?) (is) your name—no one ne-gim e-ra-nigin2 ! -me-en (else) invoked it here, (but) I am the one who turns around to you like this. [u4-n]u-du10-ga? u4-mu ár-ni An unfavorable day (??) (is) my day, ˇ SU.BA.ZI mi-ni-in-TAR ... [x y z] kúr-ra-ta kar-mu-da? ì-nigin2 When I escape from a hostile. . . he nam-mu-en turns around—what is it to me? e ? -ne ? dingir-mu-da ? ˇsà-ne-ˇsa4-mu With ‘This is my god’ may your holy heart proffer my plea! ˇsà-kù-zu hé-tùm ˇ SI ˇ da-ríka ! -tar-zu hé-si-il-e For enduring ages (?) may I recite [DI]S. me!-téˇs hé-i-i your praises, in unison may I bless you!

Although they belong to two distinct linguistic and literary traditions, the two letter-prayers have much in common besides only their divine addressee. In particular they share an essentially similar structure or

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rhetorical strategy.78 Both begin with a short salutation, continue with a brief self-introduction of the letter-writer, and proceed to the body of the letter, divided each time into five sub-sections as follows: 1. rehearsal of past benefactions by the addressee on behalf of the letter-writer; 2. rehearsal of past services rendered or devotions shown by the letter-writer to the addressee; 3. specification of the letter-writer’s present plight; 4. petition for redress of grievances; 5. vow to demonstrate gratitude in the future if the petition is granted. The body of the letter thus moves logically through time, from past to present to future. The Akkadian example adds to the end of the body an additional request which is largely unintelligible, and concludes with a formal closing that may be described as instructions to the human (or divine?) mailman. The suggested structure of the body of the two letters can be represented graphically as follows: BM 97298 YBC 5641 (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) additional request

ll. 5–6 ll. 7–9 ll. 10–12 ll. 13–14 ll. 15–17 ll. 18–19

ll. 5–7 ll. 8–12 ll. 13–14 l. 15 l. 16

All these structural or rhetorical features can be paralleled, singly or collectively, in other examples of the genre, most conspicuously so in other examples of the subgenre of letter-prayers from private individuals. The letter-prayer to Enki by Sin-shamuh the scribe, for example, has all four of the major subdivisions and all five of the subsections identified above.79 By contrast, the royal letter-prayers of the ‘Royal Correspondence of Larsa’ tend to elaborate greatly on the salutation 78 Foster, ‘Letters and Literature’, p. 98, uses the latter term; for a fuller study of rhetorical features in cuneiform literature, see Hallo, Origins, pp. 169–187 and here: I.7. 79 Hallo, ‘Individual Prayer’, pp. 85–87; here: IV.1, see pp. 75–80 for the structural analysis of the genre as a whole. New translation in ‘Lamentations’ (above, n. 26), p. 1876. Cf. also B. Böck, ‘ ‘Wenn du zu Nintinugga gesprochen hast. . . ’: Untersuchungen zu Aufbau, Inhalt, Sitz-im-Leben und Funktion sumerischer Gottesbriefe’, Altorientalische Forschungen 23 (1992), pp. 3–23.

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and the description of the present plight, while dealing lightly or not all with the subsections devoted to past deserts80 and the vow, and with the closing formula.81 It must be left for another occasion to compare and contrast all the respective elements of the letter-prayers thus identified from examples in both languages. Here I will confine myself to just one of them, as an indication of where such investigations may lead. I refer to what may be called the ‘mailing instructions’ of the letter-prayers. These form the conclusion of the Akkadian letter-prayer to Amurru, which I would retranslate as follows: ‘May whoever sees me forward (my message) to your well-disposed godliness’.82 In the Sumerian letter-prayer they constitute, in its entirety, the petition: ‘With “This is my god” may your holy heart proffer my plea’!83 The implication here seems to be that Amurru, acting as the petitioner’s personal deity, will forward his plea to an even higher authority, presumably one of the great gods of the Sumerian pantheon. Such ‘mailing instructions’ are implicit in votive inscriptions beginning with the most expensive kind as represented by statues, and for which letter-prayers are simply a cheaper substitute. Sometimes, indeed, they are explicit, as when Gudea instructs his statue to speak to (the statue of ?) Ningirsu, using precisely an epistolary form of salutation: ‘Gudea said to (or: placed a word into the mouth of ) the statue (saying): Statue! Speak (to) my king’,84 or when Sin-iddinam of Larsa ‘commissioned a statue of his father Nur-Adad and two letters which that statue was asked to convey to the sun-god Utu, patron-deity of Larsa’.85 They are justified by the philological evidence to the effect that prayers were placed in the mouth of statues86 and the

Cf. ANET, p. 399 for comparable emphasis in a Hittite royal prayer. See above, nn. 68–69 and 72–73. 82 amir¯uia ana il¯utika ban¯ıtim uˇ saqrib. 83 Above, line 15. 84 gù-dé-a alan-e gù im-ma-sì-mu alan lugal-mu ù-na-du = Gudea Statue B vii 21– 11 25 as transliterated by J. van Dijk, ‘Une insurrection générale au pays de Larˇsa avant l’avènement de Nur-Adad’, JCS 19 (1965), p. 12; cf. Falkenstein, Die Inschriften Gudeas von Lagaˇs I: Einleitung (AnOr, 30; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1966), p. 177 and n. 5. Cf. Wilcke, ‘Formale Gesichtspunkte’, p. 252. 85 W.W. Hallo, ‘The Expansion of Cuneiform Literature’, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 46–47 (1979–1980), pp. 307–322, esp. 318, based on van Dijk, ‘Une insurrection genérale’, pp. 1–25. Cf. Wilcke, ‘Formale Gesichtspunkte’, p, 252. 86 Van Dijk, ‘Une insurrection genérale’, p. 12; W.W. Hallo, ‘The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry’, in A. Finet (ed.), Actes de la XVIIe RAI (Ham-sur-Heure: Comité Belge 80 81

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archaeological evidence that letters were placed at their feet,87 and that hymns,88 laments89 and even royal inscriptions90 occasionally show physical signs of means for attachment to what may have been statuary. The Akkadian and bilingual corpus has so far not produced further examples of ‘mailing instructions’. But there are at least two other ones from the conclusions of Sumerian letter-prayers. The penultimate line of the letter of Sin-shamuh to Enki, already mentioned, reads, in one version:91 ‘Have mercy on the letter which I have deposited before you!’92 Another version expands this to two lines which, as far as preserved, read: ‘Hearken to the letter which I have written to you / to my . . . may you(?) place(?) it.’93 The letter of Nanna-mansi to an unknown addressee94 has a self-reference near its end as follows: ‘The letter which I have deposited for you—may it make the heart of my king glad / may I cause someone to recite my . . . to him’.95 To bring these ruminations to a conclusion, then, we can say that, in literary terms, the two letter-prayers to Amurru which we have considered are thoroughly assimilated to Sumero-Akkadian norms of Old Babylonian times, while yet displaying certain common distinctive features of their own. That may be a serviceable characterization as well for the people and land with whom the deity shared his name.

de Recherches en Mésopotamie, 1970), pp. 116–134, here: I.2 esp. 119 and n. 5, 122 and n. 3. 87 Hallo, ‘Individual Prayer’, p. 79 and n. 74. 88 Hallo, ‘The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry’, p. 122 n. 3, here: I.2, with reference to the stone tablet published by F. Thureau-Dangin, ‘La déesse Nisaba’, RA 7 (1910), p. 107. 89 Hallo, ‘The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry’, p. 134, here: I.2, addendum to p. 122 n. 3, with reference to ‘The Fall of Lagash’; differently H.E. Hirsch, ‘Die “Sünde” Lugalzagesis’, in G. Wiessner (ed.), Festschrift fur Wilhelm Eilers (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1967), pp. 99–106, esp. 102 n. 36. 90 BE I 15 (Shulgi 41) = Shulgi 66 in D.R. Frayne, Ur III Period (2112–2004 bc) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods, 3/2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), pp. 170–171. 91 Hallo, ‘Individual Prayer’, pp. 82–87, here: IV.1. 92 ù-na-a-du mu-ra-gub-ba-mu arhuˇs tuk-ma-r[a]. 11 93 ù-na-a-du 11 im-ma-ra-sar giˇs tuk-ma-ta / [ . . . ] -mu-ra (or: -ke4) hu-mu-un(or:-ebar-x)-gál [ . . . ]. 94 Rim-Sin of Larsa according to Piotr Michalowski (orally). 95 ù-na-a-du mu-ra-ab-gub-ba ˇsà lugal-mu húl ma-ak-e /[ . . . ] ˇsà-x-dim-ma-mu ga11 mu-na-ab-du11 -du11.

v royal correspondence

v.i THE ROYAL CORRESPONDENCE OF LARSA: I. A SUMERIAN PROTOTYPE FOR THE PRAYER OF HEZEKIAH?1

Five years ago I addressed myself to the subject of individual prayer in Sumerian, tracing its evolution from the epistolary format of neoSumerian times to the dialectal poems for “appeasing the heart” of the deity in post-Sumerian times.2 Many parallels could be cited, throughout the long history of this evolution, to the structure and formulations of individual laments in the Psalter and elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. No direct connection was proposed, since the parallels could also be explained as equivalent reponses to comparable situations, but the way was opened to the investigation of such connections. About the same time, it was suggested by Boehl that the Bible itself preserved a prayer in the form of a letter, namely the so-called Psalm of Hezekiah inserted in the account of his illness in Isaiah 38, though absent from the parallel narrative in II Kings 20.3 Actually this psalm is not a letter in formal terms, but rather betrays many of the generic characteristics of an individual lament or thanksgiving psalm, with form criticism tending to favor the latter classification.4 ¯ a word It is described in the Hebrew text (Is. 38:9) as a MIKTAB, ¯ which came to mean “letter” in later Biblical Hebrew (e.g. II Ch. 21:12),5

1

This paper, presented to the Sixth World Congress of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, August 14, 1973, is dedicated to Professor Samuel Noah Kramer on the occasion of his 77th birthday. 2 “Individual prayer in Sumerian: the continuity of a tradition,” JAOS 88 (1968), 71–89; also published in Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, ed. W.W. Hallo (= AOS 53 [1968]), pp. 71–89, here: IV.1. 3 F.M.Th. de Liagre Böhl in Studia Biblica et Semitica Theodoro Christiano Vriezen dedicata (1966), p. 213, note 1. 4 Joachim Begrich, Der Psalm des Hiskia: ein Beitrag zum Verständnis von Jesaja 38:10–20 (1926). Cf. P.A.H. de Boer, “Notes on the Text and Meaning of Isaiah XXXVIII 9–20,” Oudtestamentische Studiën 9 (1951), 170–186. 5 The usual term for letter in this period is SE ¯ PER; cf. e.g. Isaiah 37:14. Later ¯ 30:1) as did Aramaic (Ezra 5:6) Biblical Hebrew also used the term IGGERET (II Chr. ¯ (Ezra 4:7, 18) and PITGAM ¯ (ib. 17) occur. ˇ eWAN where, in addition, NIST

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but which critical opinion, both modern and traditional, here tends ¯ to associate with MIKTAM, found as superscription in a number of ¯ psalms linked to events in the life of David (Pss. 16, 56–60). And while ¯ is translated in the Greek Bible simply by PROSEUCHE¯ MIKTAB ¯ ¯ ¯ (prayer), MIKTAM is consistently rendered by STELOGRAPHÍA, ¯ inscription on a stele. H.L. Ginsberg long ago drew attention to this significant correlation between “Psalms and inscriptions of petition and acknowledgement,” adducing a number of West Semitic epigraphic finds to support the conclusion that the psalm of Hezekiah likewise was published. Given “the nature of the document” and “the rank of its author,” Ginsberg suggested that “it was published by being engraved in stone.”6 More recently, Greenfield and Zobel have both independently found numerous points of contact between the Zakir Stele and the Biblical psalms of individual thanksgiving and lament respectively.7 But the Ancient Near Eastern convention of royal communication with the deity by means either of a letter or of a stele extends beyond the confines of the West Semitic area and of the first millennium. A sub-genre of royal letters to the gods (and of occasional divine letters to the king) has long been recognized in Akkadian, the former either in the context of specific petitions or of a kind of annual report in the form of an “open letter” to the deity. The material has been summarized in separate surveys by Hirsch and, more recently, by Borger, and traced from the middle of the first millennium back to the beginning of the second.8 And the popularity of the stele as a royal medium goes back even further. Hammurapi was not the first to employ it for his famous laws, for earlier Sumerian laws also originated on steles and, as I have pointed out elsewhere, a number of other Sumerian genres— cadastres, royal inscriptions, hymns to kings and deities—also go back

6

H.L. Ginsberg, “Psalms and Inscriptions of Petition and Acknowledgment,” in Louis Ginsberg Jubilee Volume (1945), pp. 159–171, esp. p. 169. (Reference courtesy J. Tigay.) 7 Jonas C. Greenfield, “The Zakir Inscriptions and the Danklied,” Proceedings of the Fifth World Congress of Jewish Studies 1 (1971), 174–191; Hans-Jürgen Zobel, “Das Gebet um Abwendung der Not und seine Erhörung in den Klageliedern des Alten Testaments und in der Inschrift des Königs Zakir von Hamath,” VT 2 (1971), 91–99. 8 R. Borger, “Gottesbrief,” Reallexikon der Assyriologie 3/8 (1971), 575 f.; H.E. Hirsch, “Akkadische Briefe an Götter,” Kindlers Literatur Lexikon 1 (1964), cc. 325 f. Add below, note 12.

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to monumental prototypes on public display.9 But these prototypes, as well as the more-common monumental genres including building and dedicatory inscriptions, do not constitute prayers. They follow several firmly fixed stylistic conventions depending on their function, to which prayer was at best on optional addendum.10 The earliest literary letters, for their part, were either sober exchanges between the kings of Ur and Isin and their high officials or, in the case of the true letter-prayers, were addressed to a deity (or to a deified king) by a scribe or other commoner. Among the latter, a whole sub-category of Sumerian letter-prayers addressed by ailing persons to a healing goddess was recognized by Kraus,11 who has meantime also recovered the first Akkadian example of this sub-genre.12 What has hitherto been lacking to complete the parallelism with the psalm of Hezekiah on the Sumerian side was either a monumental or petitionary letter addressed to the deity by a king, and neither Sumerian nor Akkadian had hitherto provided a letter-prayer in the context of royal illness. It is the purpose of this paper to fill in these gaps. The king in question is Sin-iddinam of Larsa, who reigned from 1849–1843, half a century before the accession of Hammurapi of Babylon. Despite his short reign of just seven years, he has left an impressive corpus of both monumental and literary texts, which has already grown larger even since my recent summary of the material.13 Nor is this mere coincidence. For during the century of political turmoil before Hammurapi reunified Mesopotamia, Larsa was the preeminent power in the south (1865–1763). As such it controlled the ancient scribal center at Ur, inheriting there the literary traditions of the Third Dynasty of Ur and of the early kings of Isin.14 At the same time (as I have begun to demonstrate elsewhere) it carried forward the venerable literary heritage (and

9

Hallo, Actes de la XVIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. A. Finet (1970), p. 121, here: I.2. Much additional evidence could be cited on this point. 10 Hallo, “The Royal Inscription of Ur: A Typology,” HUCA 33 (1962), 1–43, esp. p. 22 and note 197; cf. now also E. Sollberger and J.-R. Kupper, “L’inscription royale comme genre littéraire” in IRSA, pp. 24–36. 11 F.R. Kraus, JCS 3 (1949), 78, note 40; cf. Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968), 77, note 38, here: IV.1. Add now the text noted below, note 26, and SLTN 131 Item I in the reconstruction of M. Civil, Or NS 41 (1972), 90. 12 Kraus, “Ein altbabylonischer Privatbrief an eine Gottheit,” RA 65 (1971), 27–36. 13 Hallo, “New Texts from the Reign of Sin-iddinam,” JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 95–99. Cf. id., JANES 5 (1973), 169–171. 14 Hallo, JCS 20 (1966), 92.

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political aspirations) of Lagash.15 The royal scribes of Larsa appear to have fused these two traditions into a productive and even ornate literary style which found expression in both monumental and canonical texts. Sin-iddinam and Rim-Sin in particular are the subjects of large numbers of prayers of various kinds. I shall confine myself here to the letter-prayers and other literary letters of Sin-iddinam. Two of these were first made known in 1965 by J. van Dijk.16 Both were found on a single tablet in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin, and republished in van Dijk’s volume of Sumerian literary texts from that collection.17 They are preceded on this tablet by the copy of an inscription whose original had graced a statue of Nur-Adad, Sin-iddinam’s father and predecessor. The statue was commissioned and dedicated by Sin-iddinam in keeping with the practice, well attested in the date formulas and archival texts of the Kingdom of Larsa, of so honoring one’s ancestors and predecessors.18 But beyond this the text explicitly states (line 32, as restored by van Dijk) that the statue had “an inscribed clay tablet deposited” (i[m - sa]r - ra sì - ga), presumably at its feet, exactly as reconstructed from circumstantial evidence in my study of the letterprayer tradition.19 What follows in the Berlin text is, no doubt, the text of the clay tablet or rather tablets, for in fact two separate letters ensue. As far as preserved, they appear to be petitions to the statue to address these letters to Utu, the sun-god and patron-deity of Larsa. The letters themselves are detailed accounts of events preceding and following the accession of Nur-Adad. They appear designed to emphasize the difficulties that Nur-Adad overcame, his contributions to peace and stability, and his pious works. We are already familiar in the letter-prayers with “protestations of past merits and present deserts on the part of the suppliant”.20 Here the concept appears to extend to a kind of “merit of the father(s)” as the basis for the request for a long life on behalf of the son. But this request essentially falls outside the framework of the letters per se, which are not so much letter-prayers as letter-reports 15 Hallo, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” (in press), notes 29 and 103, here: I.4. 16 J. van Dijk, “Une insurrection générale au pays de Larˇsa avant l’avènement de N¯ur-Adad,” JCS 19 (1965), 1–25. 17 van Dijk, Nicht-kanonische Beschwörungen und sonstige literarische Texte (= VS 17 [1971]) No. 41. 18 Cf. e.g. Edwin C. Kingsbury, HUCA 34 (1963), 2 and note 3; 14 f.: lines 142 f. 19 JOAS 88 (1968), 79 and note 74, here: IV.1. 20 Ibid.

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(I introduce this term with some misgivings in view of the strictures regarding epistolary terminology by Veenhof ).21 Their functional affinity is rather with the very much later “open letters to the gods” already cited above from the neo-Assyrian tradition.22 The same characterization applies to the first of two new letters from Sin-iddinam to the gods that are incorporated in a corpus best entitled “the royal correspondence of Larsa.” This corpus forms a worthy counterpart to the “royal correspondence of Ur” now being edited in a definitive manner by my student Peter Michalowski, and to the “royal correspondence of Isin” most of which has been edited by F.A. Ali.23 The three corpora form an interesting historical sequence, and display a distinct literary development. The earliest material, that concerning the kings of the Third Dynasty of Ur, deals in fairly sober and unembellished terms with the relations between the king and his high officials. The intermediate stage, represented by the correspondence of Isin, chiefly involves that dynasty’s disputes with the early kings of Larsa over water-rights,24 but in addition usually incorporates letter-prayers properly speaking as well as a miscellany of dedicatory and other texts. The latest stage is represented by the Larsa corpus, which features the elaborate style already identified with the “school of Larsa” above, and includes moving letter-prayers addressed to Rim-Sin of Larsa by the daughter of Sin-kashid of Uruk,25 and to Nin-isina the healing goddess by a scribe,26 in addition to the two Sin-iddinam letters. Unlike the two earlier corpora, which are known chiefly from Nippur texts, the royal correspondence of Larsa has been reconstructed K.R. Veenhof, Bi.Or. 28 (1971), 349–351. It is not entirely clear to me whether the Berlin text represents Sin-iddinam as king addressing his deceased predecessor or as (crown-)prince addressing his reigning father; he is referred to as prince (nun) but also, in the initial dedicatory inscription, as “strong man, provider of Ur” (nita-kala-ga ú-a uríki-ma), i.e. with standard elements of the royal titulary of Larsa in general and Sin-iddinam in particular; cf. Hallo, Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles(= AOS 43 [1957]), pp. 70 f., 147. Note that lines 19–23 are almost identical with the titulary of Sin-iddinam 2 (= UET 1,117). 23 Fadhil A. Ali, Sumrian Letters: Two Collections from the Old Babylonian Schools (1964), pp. 63–79 (Letters B2–B5). 24 Cf. M.B. Rowton, “Watercourses and Water Rights in the Official Correspondence from Larsa and Isin,” JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 267–274. 25 TCL 16, Nos. 58, 59,46; ISET 1,181 (Ni. 9729), and unpublished duplicates, here: IV.1. My remarks concerning “Letter Collection C” (JOAS 88 [1968], 89) have to be revised accordingly. 26 TCL 16, 60 (“Letter F” in my list, ibid.) and unpublished duplicate; identified by S.N. Kramer. 21 22

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from texts of diverse (and chiefly unknown) provenience. Among them, however, are enough Nippur exemplars to demonstrate that this corpus was no mere local manifestation of the Larsa schools but had likewise entered the standard scribal curriculum. The published texts of the correspondence are chiefly in the Louvre and the British Museum; but the reconstruction of the corpus is based on unpublished materials from the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, the University Museum at Philadelphia, and the Yale Babylonian Collection. I am happy to acknowledge my deep debt to Professors Gurney, Kramer, Civil and Sjöberg for permitting me to study these materials in advance of their publications. The first of the new Sin-iddinam letters is addressed, once more, to Utu. It begins with an elaborate salutation of eleven lines filled, as usual, with selected epithets of the deity. Significantly, those chosen here allude, among other things, to Utu as healer (“righteous god who loves to keep men alive, who listens to their prayers”), foreshadowing the body of the letter. Another describes him as “bearded son of Ningal, (who) wears a lapis lazuli beard”—most probably reflecting the fact that it is, again, a statue of the deity that is being addressed.27 The body of the letter can be divided into four sections of approximately nine lines each, beginning with a dramatic statement of the disaster that has befallen the city of Larsa. Although the technical term used can mean to commit sacrilege or evil (níg - gig - ga . . . ak), in the light of what follows it must here have its literal implication of breaking out in sickness of epidemic proportions. The effect on troops, young men, children and the whole people is graphically rendered. The second section contrasts this sad state of affairs with the happy circumstances in which Elam and especially the godless Subarians find themselves. There is a virtual appeal to the argument from theodicy. The Subarian, it is averred, “knows no reverence, does not install priests and priestesses in the shrines of the gods, does not even know the shrines of the gods, nor libations and offerings” and yet “his troops grow like grass, his seed is wide-spread; death, evil, paralysis and sickness have not carried him off; his men escape illness, his army is safe.” The concluding sections, noting that the plague has raged for seven years already, contrast Sin-iddinam’s cultic piety and plead, as a reward, for Utu’s compassion and mercy toward Larsa, so that the pestilence may depart from the city and its people survive to sing his 27 This was already intimated by A. Falkenstein in his pioneering study of the letterprayer genre, ZA 44 (1938), 1–25, esp. pp. 7 f. Cf. Hallo, JOAS 88 (1968), 77, here: IV.1.

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praises. This is, incidentally, early and important testimony for the Mesopotamian conception according to which royal piety is the warrant for national well-being (and fertility), in sharp distinction to the Biblical, and especially Deuteronomic, concept of collective responsibility for the common weal. The final two lines invoke the king’s own personal case: “And as for me, for my reverence give me health, bestow on me long life as a present!” They thus form a fitting transition to the other new letter prayer of Sin-iddinam. This is preserved in its entirety on two unpublished tablets of the Yale Babylonian Collection, and in part on three published and unpublished duplicates from other collections. It is addressed to Nin-isina, tutelary goddess of the rival kingdom of Isin, but revered throughout Sumer as a healing goddess.28 It is a classic of the genre, and is presented below, with thanks to Professor Jacobsen for many helpful suggestions.28a Once more, the letter displays a fairly clear five-fold structure, beginning with the elaborate salutation characteristic of the genre (lines 1–11). The body of the letter begins with the historical (or in this case biographical) background, stressing the king’s past piety and effective rule (12–15), until a dream at night reversed his fortunes (20–22). There follows a praise section which, in the context of his illness (23–25), emphasizes his total dependence on the healing arts of the goddess in face of the failure of human help (26–29). Next comes a petition section which pleads for mercy from both the goddess and her healer-son Damu (34– 40). The concluding petition looks to both deities for merciful restoration of health and long life (45–50). A final line in only some exemplars seems to imply reconciliation with Babylon or its hostile deities; in others, the granting of the petition (52). In general, then, one may posit a structural correspondence between the Sumerian letter-prayers and the individual prayers (both laments and thanksgiving) of the Bible, including those concerned with sickness. For the specific assessment of the prayer of Hezekiah, one may note the following: we now have evidence that an Old Babylonian king, writing in Sumerian, addressed prayers to the gods in the form of letters, and

28 Cf. most recently W.H.Ph. Römer, “Einige Beobachtungen zur Göttin Nini(n)sina auf Grund von Quellen der Ur III-Zeit und der altbabylonischen Periode,” = AOAT 1 (1969), pp. 279–305. 28a I am also indebted to Professor Shaffer for supplying me with Text F (identified by P. Michalowski), which I was able to incorporate in the page-proofs.

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in two or even three cases these were, if not actual inscriptions on steles, intimately connected with the erection of monumental stone statues. In addition, the specific occasion for at least one of the new letter-prayers was the king’s illness. We cannot yet fully reconstruct the historical circumstances surrounding each of the letters: whether those regarding Nur-Adad date to that king’s reign when Sin-iddinam was only the crown-prince;29 whether the seven-year plague was coterminous with his seven-year reign;29a whether his illness resulted from it; whether his victory over Babylon in his fourth year30 was alluded to; or even whether he recovered, as might seem to he implied by his famous omen.31 But, even without going into these questions, or into the numerous verbal correspondences between the prayer attributed to Hezekiah and the comparative Sumerian material, we may already conclude that this material provides an early Mesopotamian model for the notion of a king praying to the deity for recovery from illness by means of a letter inscribed on or deposited before a public monument.31a

Above, note 22. FLP 1331 and 1333, two unpublished texts kindly called to my attention by David I. Owen (letter of 4-19-74), are dated to the fifteenth day of the sixth month of the “year following the year the great wall of Maˇskan-ˇsabra was built.” Since “the great wall of Maˇskan-ˇsabra” gave its name to the sixth or seventh year of Sin-iddinam (Goetze, JCS 4 [1950], 93 f. and 101) we have here evidence either for a variant formula for the seventh year or a possible eight-year reign. 30 A. Goetze, JCS 4 (1950), 101; cf. D.O. Edzard, Zwischenzeit, p. 146. 31 Hallo, JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 96 f. 31a Note also the apocryphal Syriac “psalm of David” entitled “The prayer of Hezekiah when enemies surrounded him” first published by William Wright, PSBA 9 (1887), 257–266. 29

29a

Letter of Sin-iddinam to Nin-isina A = Ashm. 1932.520 B = YBC 4705 C = UET 8:70 (collated) D = YBC 4605 E = CBS 7072A obv. F = UET 6/3: “225” (joins C)

lines 1–52 lines 1–25 lines 1–13, 39–52? lines 25–52 lines 23–46 lines 14–26

copy by O.R. Gurney copy by W.W. Hallo copy by E. Sollberger copy by W.W. Hallo copy by M.E. Cohen copy by A. Shaffer

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1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Nin-in-si-na dumu-ki-ág An-mah nin-é-gal- mah -ra aù-na-a-du11 ˘ gu-za-lá ki-dutu-è-aa na-ri a-ra-li ˘ d nitlam ki-ág ur-sag Pa-bil-sag-gá-ke4 é-gi4-a-mah ki-ùr-ra sa12-sug5-mah An dEn-líl-lá-ke4a sag-íl nin-e-ne ˘ EN.LIL.KI-a˘a dur-an-ki-ka me-bé ˇsu-du7-du7 aé-gal-mah é-nam-nin-a-bka-nib nam-mah-béc dpa-èd ˘ g bára-mah-bi ri-a Laa-ra-akKI˘ b éc-nigxd-gar aˇse-tef gé-sa-bad é-sa-sì-ma ˘ a-zu-gal atu6 b-du11-ga-nia nam-ti-la ctu6- tu6 c dtu-rad b[a-ni-i]b-gi 4-gi4 ˇ ama-kalam-ma arhuˇs sux(KAxSU)-dè ki-ág a-r[a-zu giˇs-tu]g ˘ h] nin-mu-ra ù-ne-d[è-da dEN.ZU-i-din-nam lugal˘ UD.UNU.KI-ma-ke ìr-zu na-ab-bé-a 4 d

12. u4-tu-da-mu-ta dUtu-ra ù-naa-ab-du11 nam-sipa kalam-ma-né ma-an-sì 13. gú-mua nub - ˇsub -bub-dè-en c gá -eC ù-du10d nu-emu-dae-ku-ku nam ti ì-kin-kin 14. dingir-re-e-ne-era mah-bi KA-ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ge-mu-da 15. sizkura bninda-bab-bic d˘ì-kin-end níg-name fnu-muf-ne-kéˇsg 16. [dAsa]l-lú-hi lugal ká-dingir-raKIa dumub dI7-lú-ru-gú x-y u4-zal ˘ 17. [u]ru? -bi uru-mu-ˇ sè u4 -ˇsú-uˇs-ea ki imb-sì-sìc-ge 1. 2. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

aNew

line begins here in B. adds - ˇsè ? aSo B?! A: -ta? So A and C; B omits. aIn B, this line follows line 7. b-bSo A and B; C: -zu. CSo B; C: -zu. d-dSo B? (or: ba-tùm?); C adds -[ak]? aSo B; C: é. bSo B; A and C omit. cSo A and C; B omits. di.e.: nigìn; glossed by níg in B. eSo A (broken) and B; C omits? fSo B; A: ti; C: ta. g-gSo A (broken) and B; C: é - sa - sì?!- ma?! é-sa-[bad]! a-aSo B and C; A: ˇsu-du -ga. bGlossed by tu-ú in B. c-cSo A (?); B omits; C adds: 11 gá- ni ? d-dSo A; B: u[g5-ga?]. B only. B only (the verb may be restored at the beginning of C 10). aSo A and C; B: n e. bSo A and C; B omits. aSo A (restored); B adds: -ˇsè. b-bSo A: B: ˇse-bi. C-CSo A; B omits. dSo B; A omits. e-eSo B; A omits. aSo B; A: [dingir-gal-ga]l-e-ne-ra? 9So F? A adds: - re; B adds: - ra. b-bSo F; B: nindaba (PAD.dINANNA); C: nindaba-ninda-[ba]? CSo B; A and F; -ta. d-dSo B; A: è - a; F: AK. eSo B (and F); A: na-me. f-fSo B; A: la-b [a- . . . ]. ggloss in B: ik? - ˇsi. aSo A; F omits. bSo F; A: en-tur; B: NÍG. TUR? aSo F; A omits. bSo B; A and F omit. cSo A and B; F omits. aA

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Translation I 1. To Nin-isina, beloved daughter of lofty An, mistress of Egalmah, speak! 2. To the chair-bearer of the Orient, the counselor of the netherworld, 3. The beloved (chief-)wife of the warrior Pabilsag, the senior daughter-inlaw of Ki"ur, 4. The senior record-keeper of An and Enlil, proudest of goddesses, 5. Who perfects the attributes of Duranki in Nippur. 6. Who makes theira exaltation appear in Egalmah, the house of her queenship. 7. Who has founded (in) Larak the Eniggar (as) a throne, the Esabad, the house of . . . , (as) their lofty dais. 8. Great healer whose incantationa is life (health), whose spells restore(?) the sick man,b 9. Mother of the nation, merciful one, who loves prayer and supplication, 10. My lady, say furthermore to her— 11. (This is) what Sin-iddinam, the king of Larsa, says: II 12. Since the day of my birth, after you spoke to Utu (and) he gave me the shepherdship over his nation. 13. I do not neglect my duties, I do not sleep sweetly, I seek life (or: I work all my life). 14. To the gods greatly in my worship 15. aI perform prayers and sacrifices,a I have withheld nothing from them. 16. Asalluhi the king of Babylon, ason of Illurugua (the divine Ordeal-river), persisting [in wrath?], 17. Their city against my city daily overruns the land, 6. aC: your 8. aA: (whose) creation. bB: the dead man? 15. a-aA: In prayers, emerging from sacrifices; F: Prayers performed with sacrifice. 16. a-aA: (and) the young lord Ilurugu

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18. lugal-bi lugal UD.UNU.KI.ˇsèa nígb-hul-dibc-béd ìe-kin-kin ˘ b la-ba-abc-gi 19. sipa kalama-bé nu-me-en-na nindaba-bi 20. ˇsul gá-rá gi6-aa níb-ma-mú-dac-ke4 dgìrie-néf gma-an-dib-bég 21. sag-gá im-maa-gub igi-huˇs-bi gá-e igib muc-ni-du8 22. a[giˇs?-g]isal (BI+IZ)? -i7˘ -[da-tù]m tu6-hul-bi sì-[ga]a ˘ 23. u4-bi-ta nam-ˇsul-mu si nu-sá kiˇsiba-nib muc-un-díb!-bé-en 24. ní-tug-mu-ta ní-mu ala-ba-ra-èa tu-ra- gig b ba-an-dib-bé-en 25. ku4-ra-mu kukkú nu-zalaga-geb cgar-rac-àmd lú igie nu-mu-ni-ín-du8-a 26. a-[zu]-e igi-bi nu-mu-un-du8-e túg-níg-láa nu-mu-ˇs[ed7-dè] 27. tu6-ea tu6-e bdu11-ga nu-ˇsid-dèb ènc-tukun ZI d tu-ra-m]u izkim nu-tukuad 28. tu-ra-mu ú-ˇsima bedin-na hur-sag-gáb nu-umc-mú-ad lú nu-mu-unTUG.TUG.TUG-e ˘ 29. [t]i-la tu-ra-mu za-aa -da ì-gál nam-mah-zu ga-àm-du11 30. [ama]-mu u4 a-tur-ra-mu-ta bmu-unb-tag˘ 4-àm 31. [ama-n]u-tug-ame-ena bír-mub nu-mu-ra-cab-béc za-e ama-mu-me-en 32. [za-e]-nua amalu-bkúr-rab nu-tugc darhuˇs-mu nu-mu-ra-ab-béd ˘ 33. x-[. . . -m]u nu-mu-ra-aba -kin-kin-eb za-e amaluc-mu-dme-end 18. aSo B; F (and A): - ma. bSo A and B; F: ki cSo A and F; B omits. dSo A; B and F omit. eSo A and B; F: i b -. cSo B; F: an. ˇ 19. agloss in B: ka. bSo A and F; B adds: ˇsè SU? 20. aSo B; A and F omit. bSo B; A and F omit. cSo B (and A); F omits. dSo A; B and F omit. eSo A and B; F omits. fSo B; A: ta; F omits. g-gSo B; A: mu-un-da-g [ub?]; F: mu-da-gub-b [a]. 21. aSo B; A: mi - in; F: mi. So A and B; F omits. cSo A and B; F: i m - in i -. 22. a-aA only. 23. F omits line (other notes as before). 24. a-aSo B (and A); F: ba-ra-an-è-a. b-bSo B (and A?); F omits. 25. aSo B and D; A: sì. bSo A and D; B omits. c-cSo B, F (and A); D omits. dSo F; B and D omit. eSo B and D; 26. aSo A; D: lám?? 27. aSo A; D omits. b-bSo D; E: [d]u11-ga nu-ˇsub-bu-dè; A: n [u-ˇs] ub-bu d [u11-g] a-bi-ta. cSo A (and E?); D omits. d-dFrom E, where this forms separate line. 28. aSo E (and D?!); A:BI. b-bSo A; D: edin-hur-sag- gá; E: hur-sag-gá? edin-na. ˘ ˘ cSoD; A omits.dSo A; D omits. a 29. So A; D and E omit. 30. So E; D omits. b-bSo A and D; E: ma-an-. 31. a-aSo D; A omits? b-bSo D: A arhuˇs. c-cSo D and E; A: du11. ˘ b-bSo D; A: kúr; E: níg - kúr. cSo A; D: 32. aSo D; A: [- n] a?; E: [ . . . ] -na-an-na. d-d tug (erased)-tug. So D (from middle of next line); A: arhuˇs nu-mu-ra-du11 [ ˘ . . . ]; E omits. a b c 33. From D; A omits; E: ]-in. So A (!) and D; E omits. So D; E: AMA.INANNA. d-dSo D; E omits?

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18. Their king seeks out the king of Larsa as an evildoer. 19. (Though) I, not being the shepherd over their nation, have not coveted(?) their sacrifices, 20. A young man to me at night in the guise of a dream apassed by me on his feet,a 21. He stood at my head, I myself saw his terrible glance, 22. Carrying a river-oar(?), having cast a spell most evilly. III 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

Since that day my manhood is not in order, his hand has seized me. I cannot escape from my fears by myself, an evil sickness has seized me. My sickness isa an unlit darkness, not visible to man. The physician cannot look upon it, cannot [soothe?] it with a bandage,a The exorcists cannot recite the spell(?), since suddenly(?) my sickness has no diagnosis. 28. My sickness: its (healing) herb has not sprouted fortha on plain (or) mountain,a no one gets it for me. 29. Healing my sickness is with you (alone), let me declare your supremacy: 30. “As my [mother] has abandoned me since my childhood 31. I am one who has no [mother], no one recites my lament to you, you are my mother! 32. Except [for you], I do not have another personal goddess, no one pleads for mercy to you on my behalf. 33. No one seeks [for mercy?] from you for me, you are my personal goddess!” 20. a-aor: seized me by the feet; A and F: stationed himself at my feet. 25. a A and B: is placed in 26. a A: regal robe? 28. a-aE: on mountain and plain

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34. lú-gal5-lá ur-girx(KU)a -zu bgá-eb héc-me-en keˇs-da-zu-ˇsèd muˇs nam-ba˘ an-túm-mu-un d a 35. Da-mu dumu-ki-ág(a)-zu uku-uˇs bsag-gá!--nab giˇs-tukul ˇsu-cdu8-ac-ni dgá-ed-me-en 36. aarhuˇs-mu bigi-ni-ˇsèb hu-mu-ra-ab-bé ˘ ˘ b-kúr csi-sá-dè nu-ubd-zu 37. tu-ra-mu tu-ra-ˇsèa ba-an a 38. an-birx(NE)-ta ú-a na-ma-da-ana-sì-mu gi6 -a ù nu-bmu-un-da-anb-kuku-unc 39. a ama-níg -ú-ruma-mu kù-dNin-in-si-na nin-arhuˇs bhé-me-enb ˘ ˘e 40. ù-nu-ku-kua-mub ˇse-ˇsa4-mu gi6-ac gad-mu-ra-ab-tùm a b b 41. igi-ˇsa6-ga-zu-ˇsè har-mu-ˇsi-ib zi-du10-ga sì-ma-ab 42. [gá-e]? muˇsen-ˇsè súr-dùmuˇsen-taa-bkar-rab-gim zi-mu al-tùm-tùm-muc-un 43. [g]á-e igi-a nam-tar-ra-ke4 a úr-zab cku4-mu-ni-íbc ˇsu-ta dkar-mud 44. a guruˇs -me-ena ˇsu-nam-tar-rab-ka a-nir ìc-gá-gád zi-mu im-mi-in-zal 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

ába-ˇsilamb-a-gim arhuˇs tug-ma-ra-abc ˘ arhuˇs tug-ma-ra-aba [ -l]a?-na-gim [ama-t]u-da-mu-gim uzu˘?-SAL.ÁSˇ ? hé-ea-díb-bé arhuˇs tug-ma-ra ˘ ˇ ˘ nu-ˇse-ga [x]- ad ka- tab -ba giˇs-tug MAS.KA d d [ Da-m]u dumu-ki-ág(a)-zu a-zu-gal En-líl-lá-ke4 ú-nam-ti-la mu-un-zu a-nam-ti-la mu-un-zu [. . .. ]-ka dingir sag-[du-ga-mu] a-ba za-ra [. . .] a[dAsal-l]ú-hi dumu d [I -lú-r]u-gú na-ab-d[u -ga]a bhu-mu-un-ti-leb 7 11 ˘ ˘

34. aSo D and E; A: giˇs-gu-za-tur. b-bSo D and E; A omits. cSo E; A and D omit. So D; E omits. 35. aNew line begins here in D. b-bSo E; A and D omit. C-CSo D (and [A]); E: gál-la. d-dSo D; E: h[é . . . ]. 36. aNot a new line˘ in D; E omits line. b-bSo A; D omits. 37. aSo D and E; A: ta. bSo A and D: E omits. c-cSo D? (or: dé?); A: ˇsedx (A. MUSˇ X)d[i]; E: si-bi with gloss: ˇsedx(MUSˇ x)-di-bi? dSo D; E omits. 38. a-aSo D; A: nu-; E: nu-mu-un-. b-bSo D; E omits. So E; D omits. 39. a-aSo E; D: x-y-ma?-. b-bSo E; D: -a-ke4 40. aSo D; E omits. bSo D; E omits. cSo E (and C?); D: -e; A omits. dSo A; C, D and E: hu-. eSo D; E: túm-mu. 41. aSo E;˘D omits. b-bSo D; E: ù-mu-ˇsi-bar. In A, this either belongs with line 41 or there is something lost at the beginning. 42. aSo D; A and E omit; C: da? b-bSo A, C! and D; E: dal-a. cSo D; E omits. 43. a-aSo D and E: C: nam -[ . . . ]; A: dingir-bi-ta ù-mu-[ . . . ]. bSo E; A: -za-a: D: zu-ˇsè; C: -da- zu?. c-cSo E; D: ù-me-ni-ku4; C: [ù]?-me-[ . . . ]; A: mu-e-[ . . . ]. d-dSo E; D: kar-(ra, erased)-mu-da. 44. a-aSo D; C: gá?!-e?!. bSo A and D; C omits. cSo D; C omits. dSo C; D adds: -an. 45. aFrom C (collated). bFrom C (collated). CSo E?; C: an?; D omits. 46. aSo C (and A); D omits. 47. aSo D; A: -ri-ib-. 48. Line in A only; D omits. 51. Line in A only; D omits. 52. So A; D omits except for a few traces. b-bSo D; A: [ . . . ]-an-ti-[ . . . ].

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IV 34. I am verily your constable (and) dog,a I do not cease from being tied to you. 35. Damu, your beloved son: I am verily his private soldier (and) weapon holder, 36. May you plead for mercy for me before him! 37. My sickness has been changed into (worse) sickness, one does not know how to rectify it. 38. At midday I am not given any sustenance, by night I cannot sleep. 39. My very own mother(?), holy Nin-isina, verily you are the merciful lady, 40. With my not sleeping, let me bring my wailing to you at night: 41. a “Let me behold your favorable glance, give me sweet life! 42. As for me, alike a bird fleeing from a falcon,a I am seeking to save my life. 43. As for me, alet me enter your lap in the face of Death (Fate)a, save me from (its) hand. 44. aI am a young man,a I set up lamentation in the face of Death, my life ebbs away from me.” V 45. Like a mother-cow, have mercy on me! 46. Like a [. . .], have mercy on me! 47. Like the mother who bore me, who verily took me from the womb(?), have mercy on me! 48. (Like) the father who . . ., hear the . . ., the disobedient . . . 49. Damu, your beloved son, the great healer of Enlil, 50. He knows the plant of life, knows the water of life, 51. . . ., the god who cre[ated (?) me], who can [. . .] to you? 52. Asalluhi, son of Ilurugu, has verily spoken: “Let him live!” 34. aA: your little lap dog (little chairdog) 41. aE: When I shall have beheld . . . 42. a-aE: like a falcon flying up against a bird 43. a-aA: when I . . . from the face of its god 44. a-aC: as for me,

348

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1. The reading Dingir-mah, does not recommend itself, since Ninisina’s ˘ “mother” is Uraˇs (Römer, AOAT 1, p. 282) whereas Dingirmah is a ˘ form of Ninhursaga-Nintur. Instead of the proposed emendation (for ˘ which cf. e.g. TCL 16, No. 60:9) at the end of the line, one may also consider nin-gal- dingir-re-ne - ra, as in SRT, 6:iv 16 = 7:64 (Römer, ibid., p. 292). 2. These epithets seem more at home with other deities; cf. e.g. UET 8, 85 (inscription of Rim-Sin) which begins: dNin-giz-zi-da . . . gu-za-lá ki-an-a-na-ˇsú-a-aˇs32 na-ri eri11-gal-la, “Ningizzida . . . chair-bearer of the universe, counselor of the underworld.” For the connection of the Orient (literally, the place of the sun-rise; originally a poetic designation of Dilmun) with Ningizzida, see Sjöberg, Temple Hymns No. 15. Cf. ISET. 1, 201:9789; dNusku . . . na-ri An Uraˇs-a. 3. As spouse of Pabilsag, Ninisina was daughter-in-law of Enlil ( é-gi4-a gal en dnu-nam-nir-ra: TRS 60:2; cf. Kraus, JCS 3 (1949), 77 f.; Römer, AOAT 1, p. 282). Evidently, this also made her the daughter-in-law of Ninlil, whose temple at Nippur was called Kiur (see CAD K s.v. ki¯uru B; Falkenstein, Götterlieder, p. 33; Sjöberg, TCS 3, p. 59; van Dijk, Acta Or. 28 [1964], 44 f.). 4. “(Senior) record-keeper of An” is a standard epithet of Ninisina (see Krecher, Kultlyrik, pp. 120 f.); the variant with -ta recurs only once (TCL 15, 2:i 5). She is addressed as the “proudest of goddesses” also in TCL 16, 60, for which see above, note 26. 5–7. The sequence Nippur-Egalmah-Larak or Nippur-Larak-Egalmah (so in text C) here replaces the sequence Isin-Egalmah-Larak which is standard in Isin contexts; see Krecher, Kultlyrik, p. 167. 6. The Egalmah is the temple of Ninisina in Isin; ibid., p. 86. 7. The Eniggar (note the gloss in B) is connected with Ninisina, Gula and Ninkarrak through the divine name “Lady of Eniggar” (Krecher,

32

The same form occurs in UET 6, 182: 6; variant: ki - an - na - a ki - ˇsú - a - aˇs.

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Kultlyrik, p. 129) and Ninkarrak may in turn be connected with Larak (Hallo, JCS 23 [1970], 65 n. 94). The throne (aˇs-te or aˇs-ti) is connected to Larak through the equation of the divine names or epithets “Lady of the throne” and “Lady of Larak” (Krecher, op. cit., pp. 131 f.). The Esabad is associated with Gula in later texts (Ebeling, RIA 2 s.v.; E. Ritter, AS 16, p. 313, n. 18). An alternative translation might be “founded . . . the dais mightily (mah-bi),” but bára-mah can best be ˘ ˘ taken as a technical term (cf. the loanword param¯ahu in Akkadian). That ˘ in lines 5–6) seems -bi has a plural (or impersonal) antecedent here (and to follow from the correct use of the personal singular suffix in line 6 (note, however, the variants from C). Compare also the statement in Lipit-Ishtar Hymn *24:50 (Römer, Konigshymnen, p. 27): “Ninisina has founded your (sic?) lofty dais in Isin.” 8. For Ninisina as healing goddess, see at length Römer, ATOT 1, pp. 283–291. The lines missing in A and C are required by the context and can be restored safely with the help of TCL 16, 60:10 f. 12–13. These lines recall the beginning of the second letter-prayer of Sin-iddinam to Utu via the statue of Nur-Adad his father (JCS 19 [1965], 9:189–193: (u4) nam-sipa-kalam-ma-ni-ˇsè ˇsu-ni-ˇsè mu-un-gar-raa nu-ˇse-bi-da?! gú-ni nu-mu-un-da-ˇsub ù ki-ˇsà-du10 ba-ra-an-ku?!33 Indeed it may be necessary to compare the entire passage 170–190 and to revise van Dijk’s rendering of it somewhat as follows: “Since (lit.: on) the day that you entrusted to his hand the shepherdship of his nation, he has not been negligent, he has not been idle, he has never slept the sweet sleep of contentment (?; lit. the sleep of the place of contentment).” 14–15. These lines (note the gloss) were already quoted in JAOS 88 (1968), 79, here: IV.1 with n. 63 and, in part, YNER 3, p. 81 s.v. keˇsda. I cannot explain the variant for line 15 in A. For kèˇs34 in the sense of withhold (kalû) cf. Sjöberg, JCS 24 (1972), 72 f. For the “virtual ablative” infix n e (plural) cf. Jacobsen, TIT, pp. 293 ff.

33 34

or dib; cf. CAD s.v. s. ab¯atu. CAD reads sìr.

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16–18. These lines are crucial but difficult. Do they allude to the dispute between Babylon and Larsa which, according to the name of Siniddinam’s fourth year, led to a defeat of Babylon by Larsa in 1847 bc, three years before the end of Sumu-la-el’s reign? 20–23. This is an expansion of the classic dream image. For the heroic figure standing at the head, see Oppenheim, Dream-book, p. 189 and ˇ CAD E, p. 409 b s.v. etlu (= SUL). The seizing of the feet and hand is a new element, but cf. line 18 in the letter-prayer to Enki, Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968), 83, here: IV.1. 22. This line, omitted in B and F and largely broken in A, is restored and translated with all due reserve. It is included here in part to preserve the quatrain-structure of the letter as a whole. Jacobsen suggests that “The oar is probably meant to identify him as belonging to the circle of Íd-lú-ru-gú (i.e. Enki) if not as a form of Asalluhe himself.” 25. Could the reference here be to the netherworld (unlit) as in the Akkadian loanword? See CAD s.v. kukkû. 26. In TCL 16, 60:6, Römer translates as the (cooling) bandage: AOAT 1, p. 291. For tùg-níg-lá see CAD s.v. simdu. 27. For (èn)-tukun see AHw. s.v. (adi) surri:, CAD s.v. zamar. For izkim in the sense of symptom or diagnosis see CAD s.v. ittu A la l’. 28. For ú-ˇsim = urq¯ıtu see most recently MSL 13, p. 193:268. 29. Cf. úˇs ti-ti za-da ˇsa-mu-e-da-gál, “reviving the (near) dead is surely with you (alone)” in another letter-prayer to Ninisina or Nin-tin-ugga (SLTN, 131 rev. ii; cf. above, note 11). Cf. also the latter’s epithet nin-ti-la-ug5-ga, Hallo, JNES 18 (1959), 54. For nam-mah . . . du11 see ˘ YNER 3, p. 86 s.v. 30–33. These sentiments are familiar from other letter-prayers and from the Gudea cylinders: Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968), 78, here: IV.1, with notes 50–53 and 83 lines 39 f. Cf. now also Sollberger, JCS 21 (1967 [1969]), 286 note 80.

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34–35. This couplet recurs, mutatis mutandis, in another letter-prayer to Ninisina (above, note 26): [ké]ˇs-da-zu-uˇs muˇs nam-ba-an-túm-mud[é]/dDa-mu dumu-ki-ág(a)-zu giˇs-tukul nam-ur-sag-gá-ka-ni gá-e-meen nam-uku-uˇs-bi g[a-à]m-ak. For uku-uˇs-sag-gá(! written RU?)-na (text E only), see MSL 12, p. 37:114. 38. For an-NE in parallelism with gi6, see YNER 3, p. 71. For the reading an-birx, cf. now also Sjöberg, Or NS 39 (1970), 82; in Or. Suec. 19–20 (1972), 146:5 etc. he reads an-barx. 42. For the two similes involving the falcon (note variant), see Heimpel, Tierbilder, pp. 422–425 and add Ali, Sumerian Letters B 8 line 13. 44. The complaint that life is ebbing or flowing away in one’s prime recurs in other letter-prayers; cf. Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968), 78, here: IV.1, with notes 44 f.; 83 lines 33, 38. 45–47. For the form arhuˇs tug-ma-ra-ab, cf. Limet, Les Légendes des ˘ Sceaux Cassites, p. 4:21 f. It occurs already on a seal assigned to the very late Old Babylonian period: P.R.S. Moorey and O.R. Gurney, Iraq 35 (1973), 78 No. 20. 50. Plant of life and water of life recur together in the Descent of Inanna (cf. e.g. Kramer, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 107 [1963], 512:246) and in Lugalbanda and Hurrum-kurra (YBC 4623:5 f.). The former is equated in Akkadian variously with the loan-word únattila, the loan translation sˇamme bal¯a.ti, and the specific species irrû (CAD s.v.); cf. for the last also Labat, RA 53 (1959), 2 note 4. 51. For the restoration cf. the letter-prayer to Enki, Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968), 82:6, here: IV.1.

v.2 THE ROYAL CORRESPONDENCE OF LARSA: II. THE APPEAL TO UTU

In recent years, F.R. Kraus has devoted much effort to the study of early Akkadian epistolography. In addition to his long labors on behalf of a definitive edition of Old Babylonian letters,1 he has provided an introduction to their Old Akkadian precursors,2 as well as specialized studies on model letters as taught in the scribal schools3 and on letters addressed to the deity.4 My own concern with Sumerian epistolography has also ranged widely, from “real” (i.e., archival) letters5 to literary ones, with special emphasis on “letter-prayers”.6 It thus seems fitting to offer here a second installment of one of the principal collections of Sumerian literary letters. Because of the space limitations imposed by the requirements of a Festschrift, the present contribution confines itself to the edition of the text, including literary parallels and other philological notes to selected lines. For extensive introductory remarks, the reader is referred to the first installment in the series,7 as well as to two separate attempts—published elsewhere—to place the new text in its literary context. Of these, the first stresses its generic connections within Sumerian literature,8 the

F.R. Kraus, ed., altbabylonische Briefe in Umschrift und Übersetzung (Leiden 1964 ff.). Idem, Einführung in die Briefe in altakkadischer Sprache, JEOL 24 (1976) 74–104. 3 Idem, Briefschreibübungen im altbabylonischen Schulunterricht, JEOL 16 (1964) 16–39. But cf. also AbB 5 (1972) vii f. 4 Idem, Ein altbabylonischer Privatbrief an eine Gottheit, RA 65 (1971) 27–36. Cf. also JCS 3 (1949) 78, note 30. 5 W.W. Hallo, The neo-Sumerian letter-orders, BiOr 26 (1969) 171–175. Cf. also HUCA 29 (1958) 97–100. 6 Idem, Individual prayer in Sumerian: the continuity of a tradition, JAOS 88/1 (= Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, AOS 53, 1968) 71–89. Here: IV.1. 7 Idem, The royal correspondence of Larsa: I A Sumerian prototype for the prayer of Hezekiah?, Kramer Anniversary Volume (= AOAT 25, 1976) 209–224. Here: V.1. 8 Idem, Letters, prayers and letter-prayers, Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies (Jerusalem 1977) [I:] Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East (1981) 17–27. Here: IV.2. 1 2

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second its implications for the broader theme of Sumerian interconnections with Ancient Near Eastern literature generally.9 A third aspect of the text, namely its significance for the history of the bilingual SumeroAkkadian tradition within Mesopotamia, will be taken up elsewhere by Miguel Civil, who called my attention to the neo-Assyrian duplicates and allowed me to incorporate the unpublished copy by W.G. Lambert in my edition. I am deeply grateful to both these scholars for their generosity. Letter of Sin-iddinam to Utu I. Old Babylonian-unilingual (Sumerian) A = Ashmolean 1922–258 lines 1–46 copy by O.R. Gurney, OECT 5 (1976) 25, sides A-B lines 15–58 B = CBS 7072A Rev. * lines 1–24 copy by M.E. Cohen, below, fig. 2–3 C = AO6718 lines 24–46 copy by H. de Genouillac, TCL 16 (1930) 56 D = CBS 3829 lines 23–25 copy by E. Chiera, STVC (1934) 13 E = CBS 4078 line 25 photo by S.J. Lieberman, below, fig. 1. II. Neo-Assyrian-bilingual (Sumerian and Akkadian) F = K 8937 G = K 7171

lines 1–8 copy by Th.J. Meek, BA 10/1 (1913) No. 3 lines 22–39 copy by W.G. Lambert (unpubl.)

* For obverse see Hallo, Kramer AV (1976) 214.

Transliteration I 1. DUtu lugal-mu-úr [en?] di-kuru5-mah an-kia [ s. ]i-i-ru sˇá ˘AN-e u KI-tim 2. sag-èn-tar kalam-ma ka-aˇs mu-un-bar-bar-rea [ pa]-ri-is pu-ru-us-se-e 3. dingir-zi lú-ti-le-dè ki-ág a-ra-zu giˇs-tug [ i-r]am-mu sˇe-mu-ú tas-li-ta 4. arhuˇs-sù ˇsà-gur-ru mua-un-zu-a [ ˘ l]a mu-du-ú 5. aníg-si-sáb ki-ág níg-zi bar-tam-mec NE.[RU záh] d ù -[na-a]- du11 ˘ bi-ma [ ]-ti qí

d

9 Idem, The expansion of cuneiform literature, Jubilee Volume of the American Academy of Jewish Research (= Proceedings 46–47, 1979–1980) 307–332.

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6. su6-mú dumu DNin-gal su6-na4-za-gín- duru5 a bba-an- il b [ sˇa ziqni uq-n]i-i zaq-nu 7. kíd-lá kisalb si-gar-an-ki kukkú zalagc-ˇsèd gar [ ] uk-la ana na-ma-r[u] 8. en sag-kal aˇs-a-ni pa-è-a nam-mah-a-ni zà nu-di ˘ sú la iˇs-ˇsá-[na-nu] [ ]-ˇ D 9. ur-sag dumu Nin-gal-e tu-da me sag-keˇsda ur4-ur4 10. dingir-zi nun nam-tar-tar-re a-a sag-gi6-ga lugal-mu-úr aú- na -dè-daha ˘

1. aSo A; F adds: -a. 2. aSo A; F: -ra. 4. aSo A and B; F: nu-. 5. aNot a new line in B. bSo A; B omits. cSo A; B adds: bar-ra. d-dSo A; F: ù-mu-un-dè-du11. 6. aSo A?; F: na ?; B omits. b-bSo B (and A?); F: lá-e. 7. aSo B; A omits? bSo B?; A omits. cSo A and B; F: zalág. dSo F (and B?); A: -gá? 10. a-aSo B; A omits?

Translation I 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

To Utu, my king, lord, senior judge of heaven and earth, Protector of the nation who renders verdicts, Righteous god who loves to pardon men, who hears prayer, Long on mercy, who knows clemency,a Loving justice, choosing righteousness, [destroying ev]il(?), speak! To the bearded son of Ningal, (who) wears a greenish lapis lazuli beard, Opener of the courtyard (and) locks of heaven and earth, who makes the dark (places) bright, 8. Lord who alone is a resplendent leader, whose greatness is unequalled, 9. Warrior, son born by Ningal, who guards and gathers together the divine attributes, 10. Righteous god, prince who determines all fates, father of the blackheaded ones, my king, say furthermore! 3. aSo A and B; F: who does not know [ . . . ].

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11. 1DEN.ZU-i-din-nam lugal UD.UNU.KI-ma ìr-zu na-ab-bé-a 12. uru-zu UD.UNU.KI-maa ˇsà-ge-pà-da-zu níg-gig-ga im-ma-an-ak 13. sila-dagal ki-e-ne-di u4-zal-zal-la si-ga im-ma-an-sia 14. erín-ˇsa6-ga-zu gú-gar-gar-ra ì a-gi-gi gu?!-gim si-il- si-li-dè ba-an-til-leeˇs 15. guruˇs-zu ˇsah-ím-ma-gim ab-ur4 aba-an- hul -eˇsa e -ne-ma bim-ma-anb˘ su8?-uˇs ˘ 16. ukù-gá alan ní-ba im-ma-ana-gul-lu-uˇs ní-bi-a ba-an-til- le -[eˇs] 17. du13-du13-lá ad!-ama-bi-nea-ta u4-ba-an- da-kar -[re-eˇs] 18. ukù-gá igi-hur-re mùˇs-bi-aa ba-an-kúr-r[e-eˇs] 19. erín gaa-an-ˇs˘a-ˇsa ˇsu-bar-ra-àmb kalam túg-gim dul4 ‘è’[a] 20. ˇsul-DUtu uru-za UD.UNU.KI-ma lú- kúr -gim bar-ta ba-ea-da-gub

III 21. kur-nimKI-ma [. . .]-muˇsen-gim mah-bi lú-aúˇs-aa bnu-gál-lab ˘ 22. su-bir4KI im-dugud-dugud-da dingir-re-e-ne ní-te-gá nu-una-zu-a [ ]- × la i-du-ú 23. ma-da-bia nu-bub-tab-be4 u4-bi nu-gál-la [ la] ib-ba-áˇs-ˇsi 24. lú-SU-ea bki-dingir-re-e-ne-ke4b nu-gig cnu-bar-ec dnu-mu-da-íl-ed 25. erín-aa-nia ú-gim lu-lu-ab numun-ca-nic ddagal-lad [ ] ru-up-pu -[ˇsá] 26. za-lam-gar ti-la ki-dingir-re-e-ne-ke4 nu-mua-unb-zu-a [ ] la i-du-ú 27. ú-maa-am-ginx(GIM)-nam u5-ab-ˇsè ca-déc sizkur díl-lad nu-mue-un-zu-a [ sˇ]á-as-qu-ú i-sin-nu la i-du-u 28. nam-tar hul-gál á-sàg níg-gig-ga nu-mu-una-na-te-gáb ˘ [ u]l i-.te-eh-hi-˘sú ˘ b 29. lú-MU.AN.SAL.LA-bi níg-gig-gaa ì-kú-e ˘ugnim-bi silim-ma ! [ i-ku]l-ˇsú-nu um-man (wr.MAT)-ˇsú-nu sˇal-ma 12. aSo A; B omits. 13. aSo B; A; -gar? 14. aSo A; B omits. 15. a-aSo B; A: x bí-in-y-[ . . . ]. b-bSo B; A: mu-x-y- 16. aSo B; A: ab 17. aSo B; A omits. 18. aSo B; A omits. 19. aSo B; A: ka -.bSo B; A omits. 20. aSo B; A omits. 21. a-aSo A; B: adda (LÚ-ˇseˇsˇsig)? b-bSo A; B: i[n-nu]? 22. aSo G; A omits. 23. aSo x A; D omits. b-bSo A; D: TAG? 24. Precedes lines 22–23 in G? aSo A; C and D omit. b-bSo A (and D?); C: dingir-ra-ni. c-cSo D; A and C: lukur d-dSo A (and D?); C: íl-la nu-mu-un-zu-a. 25. Precedes lines 22–23 in G(?). a-aSo A and C; D: -bi. bSo A and D; C: -àm. c-cSo A (and D); C: -bi. d-dSo A and C; E (by confusion with line 43?): hé-mah. 26. aSo C; A and G omit. bSo C and G; A omits. 27. ˘ bSo A; C omits, c-cSo A; G: A.TIR(eˇsa) ezen; C omits. d-dSo C aSo A; C omits. (by confusion with line 24?); A and G omit. eSo A and C; G omits. 28. aSo A and G; C omits, bSo G (and A?); C omits. 29. aSo C; A: -bi? bSo C; G: -a-ni; A omits.

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II 11. This is what Sin-iddinam, king of Larsa, your servant, says: 12. In your city Larsa, your heart’s choice, a plague has broken out, 13. The broad streets where they passed the days in play are filled with silence. 14. Your goodly troops who were subdued have returned, they have been finished off like thread for tearing. 15. Your young men are scared like running pigs, they have been destroyed, they have been made to stand there. 16. They have broken the image of self-respect of my people, they have finished them off by themselves, 17. They have snatched(?) the little ones from their parents on an evil day. 18. The visage of my people has been changed into a foreign(?) face, 19. The troops who were subjugated are (now) freed, (while) the nation emerges covered as with a garment. 20. Oh youthful Utu, in your city Larsa you stand aloof like an enemy/ stranger. III 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

Elam like a [ ]-bird greatly not being a dead man— Subir, the heavy fog of the gods, who knows no reverence, Its country is not sundered, its day (of reckoning?) has not occurred. The Subarian does not install qadiˇstum and kulmaˇsitum priestesses in the places of the godsa— His troop grow like grass, his seed is wide-(spread). Living in tents, he who does not know of the places of the gods, Who, being mounted as if on a wild beast, does not know alibation and offerings,a Fate, evil, paralysis (and) illness have not approached him. Their. . . -men are committing a sacrilege, (yet) their army is safe. 24. aSo A (and D); C: The Subarian, his god does not know the installation of qadiˇstum and nad¯ıtum (or sˇug¯ıtum) priestesses. 27. a-aSo A; C: offering a prayer; G: emmer flour, festival (and offering).

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30. mu-imina-kam-ma-ta urub-gá mèc-ˇsen-ˇsen-nad ela-bae-anf-du8g namh-úˇsi á!j-bi nu-gá-gá [ ta-ha]-zu qab-lu ul ip-pa.t-.tar nam-ta-ru iz-z[u 31. edin-naa ur-mah-eb addax!c-kúd-e nu-mu-nie-ibf-lá- e g [ i-k]a-la ul ú-ma.t-[.tí] 32. dingir inim-ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ge-dèa nu-mub-unc-zu-ad gá-e eim-mae-daf-akg en h [ la i-du]- ú a-na-ku at-ti-pu-uˇs 33. dingir-gal-gal-e-ne sizkur u4-ˇsú-uˇs-e al-gub-bea-enb inim-cˇsa6-ˇsa6-gec-mu mah-àmd ˘ [ az?]-za-zu te-mi-qu-ú-a ma-a"-du D a 34. ˇsul- Utu nam-bi-ˇsè uru -zu UD.UNU.KI-mab igi-zi cbar-mu-un-ˇsi-ibc [ URU-k]a? ba-bi-lu ki-niˇs nap-li-is-su-ma IV 35. a uru-zu a gig -ga ul4-la-bia du11 i-ga-bab-ab [ ] sˇum-ru-s. a ár-hiˇs qí-bi ˘ a 36. a éˇs en !-ˇsè adu11-ga-ab [ a]-di ma-tí qí-bi-iˇs 37. arhuˇs- sù [UD.UNU].KI-ma ˇsu tea-ba-ab [ ]- ka ? le-qe 38. níg-gig-ga-ak-bi én atar-bi-ib!a [ sˇi-t]a-a"-al-ˇsu-ma 39. [uru-z]u UD.UNU.KI-ma aè-ni-iba [ ]ˇsu-ú-s. i 30. aSo A; C: iá. bSo A; C: uruki. cSo A; C omits. dSo C; A omits. e-eSo A and C; G: [nu-]? fSo A; G: -u]b; C omits. gSo C; G: -du8-a; A: -du12(TUG). hSo C; A omits. iSo A; C: úˇs-a; G: tar-ra. jSo G; A and C: DA. 31. aSo C; A: -ta. bSo C; A omits. ci.e. LÚ x ÚS or LU-ˇseˇsˇsig; A and C: LÚ. dSo A; C: KA. eSo A and C; G: un fSo A; C: íl; G: íb. gSo A (and G?); C omits. 32. Precedes lines 30–31 in G. a-aSo C; A omits. bSo C; A omits. cSo C; A omits, dSo A and C; G omits? e-eSo A and C; G: ba. fSo C and G; A: -an-. gSo A and G; C: kèˇs. hSo A; G: -eˇs; C omits. 33. aSo A and G; C omits. bSo A and G; C omits. cSo A and C; G: -sí-sí-ke-da-. dSo A (and G?); C: [a]? 34. aSo A; C: uruKI, bSo A; C and G omit? c-cSo A and C; G: ù-mu-un-ˇsi-te-bar. 35. a-aSo G; A (and C?) omit. bSo A; C and G omit. 36. a-aSo A and C; G: inim nu-un-na-ab-bé. 37. aSo A; G: ti. 38. a-aA: tar-bi-MA; C: tar-bi; G: [bí]-íb-tar-ra. 39. Not a new line in A? a-aSo C; A: #na-ab-ta-ˇsub-e1; G: ib-ta-è,

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30. Since (or: in) the seventha year, in my city one has not been released from strife and battle, pestilence does not stay its arm, 31. In the open country (even) the lion who eats corpses does not carry3 (anything off ) there. 32. (Like) one who does not know how to entreat god I am dealt with— 33. (Yet to) the great gods, whom I serve with daily offerings, is my urgent entreaty. 34. Oh youthful Utu, on that account (or: for their sake) look with favor upon your city Larsa!a

IV 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.

Quickly say “woe to your stricken city!”a Say “woe! (its) sanctuary! How long?” Take pity on [Larsa]! Inquire into the plague which has broken out in it! aCause it to leavea your city Larsa! 30. aSo A; C: fifth. 31. aSo A; C: lift; G: diminish. 32. In G, this line precedes line 30! 34. aSo A and C; G (Akkadian version): Babylon (ba-bi-lu)!. 35. a-aSo G; A (and C?): Let “woe!” be said of your city. 39. a-aSo C; A: may it drop from.

360 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

v.2. the royal correspondence of larsa: ii [. . .] níg-gig-ga ˇsà-bia zi-ab-ta!b gú ?-dù-aa ˇsà UD.UNU.KI-ma-ka ˇsu × -[. . .] lú-a -ru-a-bia ˇsu nam-úˇs-ab ba-e-ˇsub-bu-dè azà!-til-le-eˇ s numun-bi-eb hé-mah ˘ ˘ l[ú-a?]-ru-a-bia ka-tar-zu hé-si-il-le ˘ a b ù gá-e ní-te-gá-mu -uˇs nam-ti sì-mu-na-ab zi-sù-ud-gál níg-ba-ea-éˇs ba-mu-na-ab a

40. So C; A: UD.UNU.[KI-ma]. bC: AL. 41. C omits line. a-aOr: [igih]uˇs-a?. 42. aSo A; C omits. bSo A; C: -ta. 43. aNot a new line in A. bSo A; C omits. 44. aSo A; C: -ba. 45. aSo A; C omits. bSo A; C omits. 46. aSo A; C omits.

v.2. the royal correspondence of larsa: ii 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

Remove [...] (and) illness from its midsta! . . . the enemy inside Larsa (or: the terrible glance). You will remove (drop) the hand of pestilence (from) its votaries(?). For all time may its seed be very great! May its votaries(?) recite your praises! And as for me, for my reverence give me (him?) health! Bestow on me (him?) long life as a present! 40. aSo C; A: from the midst of Larsa.

361

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v.2. the royal correspondence of larsa: ii Notes to Selected Lines

1. The restoration is suggested by the first line of Sin-iddinam 5 (and duplicate), edited by Hallo, JCS 21 (1967) 97–99 and JANES 5 (1973) 169–171. Another parallel to this text occurs in line 5. 2. The translation is based on the (late) equation sag-èn-tar = p¯aqidu; cf. lú-èn-tar in this sense in other letter-prayers (Hallo, JAOS 88 78, n. 50, here: IV.1). But in line with the judicial sense of this strophe, and the equation èn-tar = ˇsa"¯alu, one may also consider a translation “interrogator”; cf. A. Falkenstein, Gerichtsurkunden 1 (1956) 62 f.; 3 (1967) 108. 3–4. Of the five epithets in this couplet, the second recurs with Ninisina in the letter-prayer of Nanna-mansi (TRS 60:10) and, in the form lú-ti-ti ki-ág = sˇa awilam bullu.tu irammu, with Nanna in an anonymous letter-prayer (Falkenstein, AnBi 12, 71:4 = Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen 104:4; cf. ˇ ki-ág in Letter Collecalso dNin-tin-ug5-ga . . . lú-ti-ti sux[KA × SU]-dè tion B 17:5) which also apostrophizes him with the next three epithets (in slightly different order) thus: arhuˇs-sù ˇsà-gur-ru a-ra-zu-e giˇs-tuku ˘ = rem¯enim tajj¯arim sˇemi tesl¯ıtim. Only the first (for which see also line 10) recurs with Utu in a letter-prayer (UET 6, 182:8). For ˇsà-gur-ru cf. also the loanword ˇsagurrû, attested only in synonym lists where it is equated with tajj¯aru. 5. For the association of Utu and righteousness with the compound verb bar-tam or the doubly compound verb bar-tam-me/e/ak = bêru, “choose, select,” see Hallo, “Choice in Sumerian,” JANES 5 (1973) 165– 172; Sjöberg, JCS 29 (1977) 5 ad Nungal-hymn line 11, for which see also Hallo loc. cit. 168 n. 29. Our line is restored on the basis of the hymn to Numuˇsda by Sin-iqiˇsam of Larsa first published in photograph by Falkenstein, SAHG pl. 9 (cf. already JCS 17 (1963), 115 n. 49), copied by Van Dijk as VS 17 no. 38 and edited by M.-A. Dupret, OrNS 43 (1974) 327–343 and by Sjöberg, OrSuec. 22 (1973) 107–116, where line 32 may be read: níg-zi-dè bar-tam-me níg-NE.RU-e za-ha al-ak with the ˘ glosses sˇi-te-a-[at (or ta?] and tu-ha-la-aq. Additional examples of bar-tam in UET 6:104:49 and PBS 5, 68 ii 9’ for which see H. Steible, R¯ımsîn, mein König (1975) 66. 6. For these epithets of the sun-god see CAD s. vv. darru and zagindurû and add the references collected by Falkenstein, ZA 44 (1938), 8, n. 1,

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and Sjöberg, TCS 3 (1969) 87 ad Temple Hymn 13 (to Utu of Larsa) line 173 (where F is cited). 7. kukkú-zalag is a frequent cliché in the letter-prayers. (1) To Utu (UET 6, 182, 4a): en utah-he-ta-è-a-ni kukkú zalag-ge. (2) Sin-iddinam ˘ ˘ to Nin-isina (Hallo, Kramer AV 216 f., here: V.1) 25a: tu-ra-mu kukkù nu-zalag-ge. (3) Nin-ˇsatapada to Rim-Sin 35b, here: V.3 (= TRS 59:16): ka-ba-zu kukkù hu-mu-un-zalag-ge. In late bilinguals, it is regularly ˘ rendered by ikl¯eti nummuru (CAD s.v. ikl¯etu). The Sumerian of F (but not the Akkadian!) is entered almost verbatim in Izi = iˇs¯atu (MSL 13, 209:5); ku10 -zalag-ˇsè-gar = ekl¯etu nummurum. 8. Again the sun-god virtually shares an epithet with the moon-god, who in Ibbi-Sin 9 (UET 1, 289:4) and Iddin-Dagan 2 (ib. 293 f.:6) is called en aˇs(a)-ni dingir-pa-è-a, “lord who alone is a resplendent deity”; cf. Falkenstein, SGL I (1959) 95. The second epithet in this line may perhaps be restored for Ninurta in Bur-Sin *31c (BE 29, 1 iii 37). 12. níg-gig-(ga) and its dialectal equivalent ám-gig-(ga) have three equivalents, anzillu, ikkibu and maruˇstu; all occur with the verb ep¯esˇu (= AK) in the sense of “violate a taboo, commit a sacrilege” (CAD E 203, 209, 212; cf. CAD M/l. 317: “do evil”). But in our text (see line 29), this idiom is expressed with the verb ak¯alu (= KÚ). And since maruˇstu is simply the feminine of mars. u, “sick,” it is here taken to allude specifically to sickness or even, in line with nam-úˇs (var.: nam-tar-ra = namtaru) in lines 30 and 42, pestilence. Note that in the letter-prayer of Ninˇsatapada which follows our text in exemplar A, níg-gig-ga . . . ak occurs in the context of ba(var.: úˇs)-úˇs . . . è (line 25) and nam-úˇs-a (line 28). According to H.L.J. Vanstiphout, Phoenix 20 (1974) 351–370, a pestilence may have been the cause of the fall of the Ur III empire. For theories about the role of epidemics in ending the Bronze Age in Western Asia, see Carol Meyers, BiAr 41 (1978) 91–103. [See Vanstiphout, Mesopotamia 8 (1980), 83–89.] 13. “Passing the days in play” is a topos recurring in the Lugalannemundu inscription; see Güterbock, ZA 42 (1934) 43 A 6’: ki-e-ne-di u4 mi-ni-ib-zal-zal-e. For sila si-ga or sìg-ga, “the silent street,” see van Dijk, SGL 2 (1960) 48; MSL 13; 182:24 f.; for sila-dagal, “the broad street, square,” cf. ibid. 181, 1’–3’, Sjöberg, AfO 24 (1973) 41 and B. Alster, Mesopotamia 2 (1974) 81 f. ad Nungal-hymn line 46.

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14. gú-gar-gar is taken here to equal kan¯asˇu though it also varies with gú-gur = puhhuru, “assemble.” The image of “tearing like a thread” recurs in the˘ ˘ letter-prayer to Enki (Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 84, here: IV.1) 50a: nam-tag-mu gu-gim ga-mu-ra-si-il; cf. also “Man and his god” (Kramer, VT Supp. 3 (1955) 173) 3b: gu-gim ha-ba-si-il-e; Kramer ˘ translates “moan(?)” (cf. also idem, ANET3 (1969) 589), apparently by analogy with gù-si-il, “scream,” for which see Alster, Mesopotamia 2 (1974) 77. Cf. also below, ad line 44. 15. For the “running pig” see Lugalbanda and Enmerkar (C. Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos, 1969) line 325 as interpreted by W. Heimpel, Studia Pohl 2 (1968) 361 f. but with the reading (ibid., 261 f.) KAS4 = ím (or gim4) = sˇanû V, “trot”(?); cf. AHw 1167. For ur4 with ˇsah or ˇsáh, cf. Heimpel, op. cit. 265 f.; an equation with ar¯aru V, “to fear, become agitated, panicstricken” is here proposed. 16. Or: “they have broken the image of my people altogether.” For níba in a collective (or reciprocal) sense, see Heimpel, ibid. 153–155. 18. Igi-hur-re, if correctly read, may be related to hu-ru-(um), hur˘ ˘ ˘ rum = ahurrû, hurru, “stupid, barbarous” (CAD s. vv.), hence “foreign.” ˘ ˘ d hu But cf. also the divine name Lugal-igi-hur -ra in An = Anum VI 62 ˘ (CT 25, 38: 11928: 1) where hur may be equated with banû, “beautiful”; so already H. Radau, BE 30 (1913) p. 41 n. 1; followed by Tallqvist, Akkadische Götterepitheia (1938) s.v., J. Lewy, HUCA 23/1 (1950–1951) 260. 19. ga-an-ˇsa-ˇsa is taken here as an allomorph for ka-(ˇsa)-an-ˇsa-ˇsa, for which see most recently Hallo, JANES 5 (1973) 166, note 37. The reading kalam is preferred over ukù because of the frequent image of “the nation (or foreign land or GN) covered as (with) a garment” as in the passages collected by Falkenstein, AnOr 29 (1950) 107 and note 2; ZA 55 (1963) 62; Wilcke, Lugalbandaepos (1969) 143 f. Cf. especially SRT 15: 4a: zalag-me-lám(a)-ni kalam-ma bi-dul4; CT 15, 15:12: me-lám-zu kalamma túg im-mi-in-dul5 (cf. W.H. Ph. Römer, BiOr 32 (1975) 148: 11, 12). An alternate reading of the line may be suggested in light of CT 26, 25: 46 f.: pirig ka-ˇsá-an-ˇsa-ˇsa = [¯umu] muktaˇssˇaˇssˇu; cf. CAD M/2 188; B. Kienast, OrNS 26 (1957) 45–50. 20. For “standing outside/apart/aloof like an enemy” (nu-erím-gim bar-ta. . . gub) see the references collected by G.B. Gragg, Sumerian

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Dimensional Infixes (= AOATS 5, 1973) 36 and 48 from Ur Lament 254 and 374 and Summer and Winter 111 (= van Dijk, La Sagesse, 1953, 45 line 24’). 22. “Knowing reverence” recurs in the letter-prayer to Enki (Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 84, here: IV.1) line 54: dingir-mu ni-te-gá-zu gá-(e)-meen and in Gudea, Cyl. A xvii 27: ní-te-ni mu-zu. 23. For be4 (BA) = naˇs¯aru, nuˇssˇuru, (sap¯ahu) see Gragg, op. cit. 34 and note 1; 93. 26. “Living in tents,” here said of the Subarians, is said of the Amorites in The Marriage of Martu (SEM 58) iv 24; cf. G. Buccellati, The Amorites of the Ur III Period (= Ricerche 1, 1966) 92 f. and 330. Both descriptions occur in pejorative contexts. In the Assyrian King List, the loan-translation aˇsib¯ut kult¯ari occurs without any negative overtones; cf. Hallo, Assyrian historiography revisited, Eretz-Israel 14 (1978) 5* with notes 48–52. 28. The sequence “evil fate, debilitating paralysis” is an almost literal forerunner to the standard catalogue of diseases or demons in the late “medical” series asakki mars. ¯uti in CT 17, 1–28 etc.; cf. B. Meissner, Babylonien und Assyrien 2 (1925) 221 f.; CAD A/2: 326a: nam-tar hul-gál ˘ á-sàg gig-ga = namtaru lemnu asakku mars. u. 29. See above, ad line 12. 30. For earlier translations of this line (based on C), see van Dijk, SGL 2 (1960) 31; Sjöberg, ZA 54 (1961) 60; Alster, Mesopotamia 2 (1974) 132 f. ˇ A comparable image is found in the Sulgi Prophecy (R. Borger, BiOr 28 [1971] 14) iv 4’–8’: rubû sˇ¯u maruˇsta (cf. NÍG.GIG.GA) immar . . . adi ˇ ˇ sˇarr¯utiˇsu tah¯azu u qablu (cf. MÈ.SEN. SEN.NA) ul ipparrasu (cf. KUD?). For nam-úˇs-(a) as pestilence cf. van Dijk and Sjöberg, loc. cit., and (in our passage) the late variant nam-tar-ra = namtaru. For the Akkadian equivalent m¯ut¯an¯u see F.R. Kraus, RA 65 (1971) 97–99, who translates “fatalities” (Todesfälle) but does not rule out the sense “epidemic” etc. Alster (loc. cit.) translates “disaster” and elsewhere “sentence of death” (JCS 24 (1972) 125).

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31. For addax-kú = sˇalamta ak¯alu see Hallo and van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna (= YNER 3 (1968)) 70 and add Hendursanga-hymn (Edzard and Wilcke, Kramer AV (1976) 139–176) line 81. The present line alludes to the disruption of the normal order of nature, as in the Incantation to Utu (G. Castellino, OrAnt 8 (1969) p. 10) line 47: “Utu, if you do not rise, the wolf smites not the lamb, the lion in the (open) field does not strike or [carry off?]”; for this analogy and its implications, see P. Michalowski, The Royal Correspondence of Ur (Yale Dissertation, 1976) 10 f. 32. For KA-ˇsa6-(ˇsa6) as a verb (= sˇut¯emuqu) see Steible, R¯ımsîn (1975) 52 and 61; the reading of the first sign can be determined by reference to the dialectal rendering in The Descent of Inanna (Kramer, PAPS 85 (1942) 293–323) line 30: sukkal e-ne-èm-ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ga-mu; cf. Kraus, JCS 3 (1949) 10; SD 5 (1958) 63, note 1. Note also MSL 12, 106:78: inim-sìsì-ga = sˇut¯emuqu (for this variant cf. line 33 below) corresponding to MSL 12, 32:472: inim-ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ge. The curious variant in C (if correctly read) seems to depend on a dictation-error: im-ma-da-ak-eˇs > im-mada-kèˇs. 33. For inim-ˇsa6-(ˇsa6) as a noun (= suppû, tadmiqtu, t¯em¯ıqu) see Alster, Mesopotamia 2 (1974) 96 who reads ka-ˇsag5-ˇsag5 and translates our passage: “(this is) my most urgent request.” That a dative is implied with “the great gods” seems likely from the parallel in the letter-prayer of Sin-iddinam to Nin-isina (Hallo, Kramer AV [1976] 209–224, here: V.1) line 14: dingir-re-e-ne-er (var.: [dingir-gal-ga]l-e-ne-ra) mah-bi inim˘ ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ge-mu-da, “when I entreat the (great) gods urgently.” For the “daily service” in this connection, cf. especially Lipit-Iˇstar *26 (Römer, SKIZ 7) rev. 8 f.: inim-ˇsa6-ga dLi-pí-it-eˇs4-tár-ra-da [ . . . ] u4-ˇsú-u[ˇs . . . ] ha˘ ra-da-gub. For the roughly synonymous construction with terminative and gál, cf. the letter-prayer of Gudea-Enlila to Dingir-mansum (TMH n. F. 3, 57) 4a: inim-ˇsa6-ˇsa6-ge inim-inim-ma-ˇsè gál-la. For the late variant inim-sì-sì-ke-da-mu see comment to previous line. 37. “Take pity, have mercy” is expressed in the letter-prayers variously by arhuˇs tuk and arhuˇs sˇu-te/ti. (1) Sin-iddinam to Nin-isina 45–47 ˘ ˘ (Hallo, Kramer AV 220, here: V.1)b: arhuˇs tuk-ma-ra-(ab). (2) Sin˘ ˇsamuh to Enki 47 (Hallo, JAOS 88, 84)b: arhuˇs tuk-mu- da-ab with ˘ variant: arhuˇs-mu ˇsu-te-ba-ab. In Kassite seal inscriptions, which also ˘ constitute individual prayers, arhuˇs-tuk became the preferred form, ˘

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equivalent to the Akkadian adjective r¯em¯enu; see H. Limet, Les Légendes des Sceaux Cassites (Brussels, 1971) 127, 136. But the verbal equivalent was r¯ema raˇsû, as is clear from a Kassite seal published subsequently (Hallo apud Madeline Noveck, The Mark of Ancient Man: Ancient Near Eastern Stamp Seals and Cylinder Seals: the Gorelick Collection [The Brooklyn Museum, 1975] 47 and 95) which reads: dNIN.É.AN.NA / tab-bi-i tab-nii / usri(URÌ-ri) gi-im- li ù sˇu-zi-bi / arda (ÌR) pa-lí-ih- ki / re-ma re-ˇsi-ˇsu. The late version of our text abandoned this common idiom in favor of [r¯ema?] leqû, which is not otherwise attested. 44. The promise to recite the deity’s praises is a standard feature of the letter-prayers: cf. Hallo, JAOS 88 (1968) 79, here: IV.1 with note 71; for the reading cf. ibid. 87 s.v. KA-tar-si-il. Additional examples: (1) Ninˇsatapada to Rim-Sin 28, here: V.3 (TRS 59:9)b: ka-tar-zu hé!-si-il-le-eˇs. (2) Ibid. 53 (TRS 46: 17)b: ka-tar-zu ga!-si-il-le (3) Nanna-mansum to Nin-isina 27 (OECT 5, 138)b: ka-tar-zu mu-un-si-il-le-eˇs. 45. “And as for me” also opens the conclusion of the letter-prayer of Gudea-Enlila to Dingir-mansum (TMH n:F. 3, 57) rev. 8b: ù gá-e u4da-ri- ˇsè ˇseˇs-tam- ma -zu hé-me-en, “and as for me, may I be forever your favorite brother (tal¯ımu).” (Note, apart from the derivation of (ˇseˇs)tam-ma from tam, “choose,” which I proposed in JANES 5 [1973] 172, the suggestion to derive it from (ˇseˇs)-tab-ba by Falkenstein, ZA 50 [1952] 89, note 1, and van Dijk, SGL 2 [1960] 93.)

v.3 THE ROYAL CORRESPONDENCE OF LARSA: III. THE PRINCESS AND THE PLEA

The letter-prayer offered herewith in transliteration and translation was restored by me in large measure on the basis of text A, during a sabbatical spent at Oxford in 1971–1972. Thanks to the generosity of Professor Oliver Gurney, I was able to study his copy of the cylinder on which text A is inscribed well in advance of its publication by him in OECT 5. In 1975, I discussed the text in a paper delivered to the American Oriental Society.1 Other duties have prevented me from providing a proper edition. Even now, time constraints do not permit the full presentation of the historical, structural and linguistic questions raised by this highly intriguing text, which is offered here to Prof. Paul Garelli as a contribution to the general theme of administration and diplomacy in the Ancient Near East. I will content myself here with referring the interested reader to a number of studies, by myself and Piotr Michalowski, relevant to the text. In 1976, I discussed it briefly in the context of “Women of Sumer” in general and of woman authors in particular.2 In 1983, I summarized the contents of the text and their relationship to contemporary monuments and date-formulae in the context of an assessment of “Sumerian historiography”.3 Michalowski, to whom I owe Civil’s transliteration of Exemplar F, mentioned the text in 1980 in his survey of royal correspondence for the Reallexikon der Assyriologie (esp. Section 5.3).4 He also dealt in detail with the role of the southern Babylonian Durum.5

1 “The princess and the plea,” presented to the 185th meeting of the American Oriental Society, Columbus, Ohio, April 22, 1975. 2 “Women of Sumer,” Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 4 (1976) 23–40, 129–138; esp. pp. 33 f. 3 “Sumerian historiography,” in H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld, eds., History, Historiography and Interpretation (Jerusalem, Magnes, 1983) 9–20, here: VI.2, esp. pp. 13–17. 4 “Königsbriefe,” RLA 6 (1980–1983) 51–59, esp. p. 56. 5 “Durum and Uruk during the Ur III period,” Mesopotamia 12 (1977) 83–96.

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It is hoped that a fuller edition of the text can be offered in my prospective treatment of the entire “Royal Correspondence of Larsa.”6 Here there is room only for some brief introductory remarks.7 The new composition is a letter-prayer addressed, not by but to a king of Larsa, in this case its last and longest-lived member, RimSin. And its writer is a woman scribe, the daughter of Sin-kashid of Uruk, the princess Ninshatapada. The reconstructed text, complete in 58 lines with minor breaks, throws welcome new light on the history of Babylonia in the neo-Sumerian and Early Old Babylonian periods, and particularly on the relations between the dynasties of Ur, Isin, Uruk and Larsa, the pre-eminent powers in the south at that time. In addition, its frequent and sometimes verbatim allusions to the royal idiom of Larsa as found in the date formulae and inscriptions of that dynasty go far toward clarifying the literary processes by which new compositions were created in the service of the royal ideology of Larsa and, in this case, incorporated in its royal correspondence. Since the writer of the letter was high-priestess of the city of Durum, that city may serve as the thread of our discussion, as will the practice of princely appointments. It was the Sargonic dynasty which had elevated the latter practice to the level of state policy. In this process, princes were typically made provincial governors, and princesses installed as high-priestesses of cities sacred to male deities.8 But there was at first no special role for the crown-prince (nam-dumu).9 On present evidence,10 it was left for a petty-ruler of the late Sargonic period, Urnigin of Uruk, to appoint his son Urgigir as viceroy (ˇsakkanakku)11 of the god Dumuzi at Ur, then as 6 The transliteration follows, in general, the practice adopted by Jerrold S. Cooper, The Curse of Agade (= The Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies [13] 1983) pp. 72 ff., with some modifications. Note especially that ” means the same sign as in the eclectic text; ’ means the sign is partially preserved; = means the sign is missing. 7 Reproduced here from my 1975 paper (above, note 1) with some revisions made in 1980. 8 W.W. Hallo and W.K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: a History (New York, Harcourt Brace and Jovanovich, 1971) 57–61. To the chart on p. 58 add Tuta-napshum, daughter of Naram-Sin and high-priestess of Enlil at Nippur (?), following A. Westenholz, Early Cuneiform Texts in Jena (1975) p. 16; J. and A. Westenholz, AoF 10 (1983) 387 f.; J. Oelsner, ibid., 212–216; B.R. Foster, JANES 12 (1980) 29 f. and 38 f.; P. Michalowski, RA 75 (1981) 173–176. 9 D.O. Edzard, Die “zweite Zwischenzeit” Babyloniens (1957) 74, note 357; cf. Hallo, Bi.Or. 16 (1959) 236 f. (with reference so Jones and Snyder, SET 66:36). 10 UET 8:15; cf. A. Falkenstein, Bi.Or. 23 (1966) 165; E. Sollberger and J.R. Kupper, IRSA (1971) 129 f. 11 Ezard, op. cit. (above, note 9) 145, note 766; Hallo, Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles (= AOS 43, 1957) 100–107, 127.

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frequently ruled together with Uruk in what appears to have been a kind of condominium.12 Urgigir duly succeeded his father as king, and the rest of the fourth dynasty of Uruk may well have followed a similar cursus honorum.13 Almost certainly the fifth dynasty continued the practice. Utu-hegal, its sole member, is generally held to have appointed Ur-Nammu as viceroy of Ur, a step which led to the foundation of the Third Dynasty there,14 whether Ur-Nammu was his son15 or, as more recently suggested, his brother,16 or even his son-in-law.17 In turn, the Ur III kings appointed their (oldest) sons as viceroys of Uruk and, at least in one case, of another city, normally read as Der. Der, however, lies more than 200 km away almost due north of Ur on the far side of the Tigris; why it should have been singled out for this special treatment was never satisfactorily explained. The full name of ancient Der was Dur-ilim or Dur-Anim, “Fortress of God” or “Fortress of An.” But there were many other city-names compounded with the element “Fortress,” and at least one called simply “the fortress,” in Akkadian Durum. The weight of the evidence strongly points to a location near Uruk, more precisely between Uruk and Larsa, for one such Durum.18 And it is at least conceivable that this Durum represents the vice-regal domain, sometimes in conjunction with Uruk, under the Ur III kings. This becomes almost a certainty for Ibbi-Sin. Åke Sjöberg edited a hymn in honor of this last king of Ur which is addressed to the deities Meslamtaea and Lugalgirra, twin gods of the netherworld.19 There was a gate of the latter at Uruk.20 The former has usually been regarded as patron of Gudua (Kutha), where he was equated with that other 12 Ibid., 4–20; idem, JCS 20 (1966) 137; The Exaltation of Inanna (with J.J.A. van Dijk) (= YNER 3, 1968) 7–9; ANEH (1971) 50, 53 f., 59 f., 77. 13 Idem, JCS 20 (1966) 137, note 60. 14 Ibid., with notes 56–58. 15 Ibid., note 59. 16 Cl. Wilcke, “Zum Königtum in der Ur III-Zeit,” in Paul Garelli, ed., Le palais et la royauté (= RAI 19, 1974) 192–194, note 67. 17 Idem, Bi.Or. 39 (1982) 144. 18 Hallo, loc. cit. (above, note 11); Michalowski, loc. cit. (above, note 5). I omit here my detailed discussion of the location of Durum and the history of the problem which has now been reviewed and updated by Michalowski. 19 Åke W. Sjöberg, “Hymns in honour of King Ibbi-suen of Ur,” Orientalia Suecana 19–20 (1970–1971) 140–178, Nos. 1 and 1a. 20 A. Falkenstein, BM 2 (1963) 45. Presumably a road to Durum led through it. As late as Seleucid times, there was still a Lugalgirra-district in Uruk named, presumably, after the gate; tee Falkenstein, Topographic von Uruk (Ausgrabungen . . . in Uruk/Warka 3, 1941) 50–52; L.T. Doty, JCS 30 (1978) 70.

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principal chtonic deity Nergal;21 it has also been argued that he was worshipped at Uruk22 and indeed there is a veiled allusion to that city as the “place of sustenance” in the Ibbi-Sin hymn.23 At Nippur, Lugalgirra and Meslamtaea guarded the gates of the temple of Nusku,24 or its cella.25 But our new letter, and other evidence, makes it clear that the principal seat of the combined worship of the twin deities26 was at Durum, and to this city there is an explicit reference in the hymn, whether we read the logogram as Kisiga (EZEN × KÙ) with Sjöberg27 or Durum (EZEN × BAD), a reading which is equally compatible with the photograph.28 Ibbi-Sin’s solicitude for Durum (and Uruk) may reflect a period of service there before his own accession. If so, it provides further precedent for the early kings of Isin, who reigned as kings of Ur and strove to perpetuate the institutions of the Third Dynasty.29 One of them installed a high-priestess (nin-dingir) of Lugalgirra,30 presumably at Durum (Date “C”); whether she was his daughter is not known. The third king of Isin, Iddin-Dagan (1974–1954 bc), certainly assigned the city to his son Ishme-Dagan, the crown-prince, who ruled there as 21 The equation is traced back to Ur III times by Sjöberg, TCS 3 (1969) 11 f. Cf. now Horst Steible, Archív Orientální 43 (1975) 346–352. 22 Van Dijk, SGL 2 (1960) 23 and note 36, followed by Falkenstein, BM 2 (1963) 32 and note 143; J. Renger, ZA 58 (1967) 139 f. and Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient (= Falkenstein Anniversary Volume, 1967) 161. Apart from lines 17 f. of our letter (which now calls for a different interpretation), the chief basis for this assumption is a single Ur III text from Drehem (Chiera, STA 31) listing offerings of one sheep each to Meslamtea and Lugalgirra “in Uruk” (ˇsà unuki-ga). Note that Lugalgirra is here written Lugal-ir!-ra. 23 Line 3. For ki-zi ˇsà-gál-la as epithet of Uruk, see Hallo, Bi.Or. 23 (1966) 243, here: III.3, lines 23, 25; YNER 3 (1971) 58 and note 52. Another referent seems implied in ˇ Shulgi Hymn B, line 41; see G. Castellino, Two Sulgi Hymns (bc ) (= Studi Semitici 42, 1972) 34 f. 24 R. Marcel Sigrist, “Offrandes dans le temple de Nusku,” JCS 29 (1977) 170 ii 25 f.; 180. 25 For SÀ.ABZU ˇ = “inner temple chamber, cella,” see MSL 13 (1971) 69:95 and Hallo, HUCA 38 (1962, with B.A. Levine) 51, note 31. Differently CAD s.vv. atmanu, em¯asˇu. 26 Cf. below, line 53. For later examples of twin deities, including Nergal and Sin, see L.R. Bailey, “The cult of the twins at Edessa,” JAOS 88 (1968) 342–344, esp. note 19. 27 So also according to “repeated collation”; cf. Michalowski, loc. cit. (above note 18) 86. 28 Sjöberg, loc. cit. (above, note 19) 173. 29 Hallo, “The last years of the kings of Isin,” JNES 18 (1959) 57. 30 Usually written Lugal-ír(A.SI)-ra; ˇ once Lugal-A, once Lugal-gìr-ra; see F.J. Stephens apud V. Crawford, BIN 9 (1954) pp. 17 f. and cf. above, note 22.

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viceroy before becoming king himself (1953–1935).31 For the next ninety years, little or nothing is heard of the city, although it needs to be investigated whether some alleged references to Transtigridian Der in this interval do not actually refer to Durum. The next certain reference to the city comes from newly published inscriptions of Sin-kashid on clay nails32 and tablets.33 The clay nail inscriptions were found in many duplicates together with other Sinkashid nails in the kiln on the north wall of court 28 of the Sin-kashid palace in the winter campaign of 1963–1964, i.e., in Uruk.34 Clearly, however, they were intended not for Uruk but for Durum, since the two closely parallel inscriptions are dedicated respectively to Lugalgirra and Meslamtaea and refer to their temples as é-ní-huˇs-íl(a) and é-mes-lam respectively, the latter temple name recurring in our letter.35 In these inscriptions, and nowhere else, Sin-kashid refers to himself as “viceroy of Durum,” thus raising the distinct possibility that he too had once served the Isin dynasty, much like the predecessors of Gungunum of Larsa.36 It may even be possible that Sin-kashid was a son of LipitEnlil (1873–1869), perhaps his intended successor. Lipit-Enlil was the last of a line of three Isin Kings that began with Ur-Ninurta, but, unlike his predecessors, was not honored by a royal hymn at Nippur.37 Neither was Irra-imitti (1868–1861). Irra-imitti was a man of unknown parentage at whose death the normal succession at Isin was interrupted by the peculiar circumstances of Enlil-bani’s accession as preserved in the late chronographic tradition.38 During Irra-imitti’s reign also fell the upheavals that led to the beginnings of a new dynasty at Larsa

YOS 9:22 f. (= Iˇsme-Dagsn 6). G. Pettinato, “Unveröffentlichte Texte des Königs Sink¯aˇsid von Uruk,” Oriens Antiquus 9 (1970) 97–112, Nos. 12 and 13; David I. Owen, JCS 26 (1974) 63 f.; Horst Steible, “Ein Terrakottanagel von Sînk¯aˇsid aus D¯ursînk¯aˇsid?” Archív Orientální 43 (1975) 356–352. 33 C.B.F. Walker, “A new inscription of Sin-kaˇsid,” AfO 23 (1970) 88 f. 34 Pettinato, loc. cit. (above, note 32) 97. 35 Line 53. Admittedly, é-mes-lam was also the name of the temple of Nergal at Gudua; see Edzard, op. cit. (above, note 9) 124, note 653; Sjöberg, TCS 3 (1969) 11 f. 36 Hallo, ANEH (1971) 89–92. Both his father Samium and his brother Zabaia pointedly disclaim the royal title; see Edzard, op. cit. (above, note 9) 78 f.; M. Birot, Syria 45 (1968) 243, No. I; Daniel Arnaud, RA 71 (1977) 3 f. 37 Hallo, “Royal hymns and Mesopotamian unity,” JCS 17(1963), here: III.1, esp. p. 118. 38 A.K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (= TCS 5, 1975), 155, lines 31–36; cf. 192 ii 1–8. 31 32

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under Nur-Adad (1865–1850).39 Already under Lipit-Ishtar (1934–1924) the kings of Isin had given up the rule of Ur to Larsa, and abandoned the title “king of Ur” in favor of the more modest “king of Isin.” Now, under Enlil-bani (1860–1837), they surrendered for good, and apparently in Larsa’s favor, claims to royal hymnography,40 the viceregal office,41 and the remaining royal epithets that linked them to Ur—and to Uruk—and reflected their aspiration to rule these southern cities again.42 Under these conditions43 it is not inconceivable that Sinkashid now claimed to be the true successor of the Ur III dynasty; indeed he invoked the same divine parents as Ur-Nammu and Shulgi, namely Ninsun and Lugalbanda of Uruk.44 He could not wrest Ur from Larsa’s control, as is clear from inscriptions left there by his Larsa contemporaries, including one by Sin-iqisham (1840–1836) which refers to the god Ningizzida as “viceroy of Ur.”45 But he established a new dynasty at Uruk and sought to ally himself with Larsa’s opponents, notably Babylon.46 He married the daughter of Sumulael (1880–1845), second ruler of that emerging kingdom and founder of its long-lived dynasty. The close relations of Uruk and Babylon continued throughout the second half of the nineteenth century as now well documented in the (Akkadian) letter47 addressed to Sin-muballit. of Babylon (1812–1793) by An-am of Uruk (ca. 1821–1817), who himself may have derived from Durum, if we may judge by the names of his father, Ilan-shemea (“O twin gods, hear!”) and of his successor, Irdanene (“Their [i.e. the two (?) Van Dijk, “Larsa avant N¯uradad,” JCS 19 (1965) 1–25. Hallo, loc. cit. (above, note 37) 114 with notes 45–47. The “unpublished (hymn) to Nur-Adad” mentioned there was edited by van Dijk in 1965 (above, note 39) and republished by him in 1971 (VS 17; 41) as a “Statueninschrift Siniddinams.” Thus the transfer of the hymnic focus falls in the later years of Enlil-bani, and coincides with the change in the Isin titulary (below, note 42). 41 Already Sin-iddinam of Larsa seems to have served as viceroy (of the obscure Aˇsdub) in the lifetime of his father; cf. YOS 5: 152: 4 f. with the comments of Edzard, loc. cit. (above, note 9) note 166. 42 Hallo, loc. cit. (above, note 29) 57. 43 Idem, loc. cit. (above, note 37) 116, note 66. 44 Idem, JCS 20 (1966) 136 f. with note 53; for the principle involved, see Sollberger, JCS 21 (1967) 279, note 5. Cf. also Sjöberg, “Die göttliche Abstammung der sumerischbabylonischen Herrscher,” Orientalia Suecana 21 (1972) 93 f., 98. 45 UET 8:73; cf. Sollberger, ib. p. 16 and IRSA 193, IV B IIa. 46 For Uruk’s friendly (economic) relations with Ur and other cities under Larsa’s rule even during Uruk’s anti-Larsa phase see Falkenstein, BM 2 (1963) 46. 47 Ibid., 57–71. I follow Falkenstein dates for the rulers of Uruk (ibid., pl. 14) although they are clearly in need of revision; An-am, in particular, must be contemporary with Sin-muballit.. 39 40

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gods’s] servant”). The latter (ca. 1816–1810) also maintained friendly relations with Isin, but the coalition headed by Uruk and Isin was defeated by Rim-Sin of Larsa in 1810, and Irdanene was captured, an event apparently alluded to in our letter.48 It is not certain which of all the kings of Uruk appointed Ninshatapada to be high-priestess of Meslamtaea at Durum, but it may well have been her father Sin-kashid himself;49 at any rate she speaks of herself as having reached old age by the time she composed the letter (line 39), an event that can be dated with unusual precision. For at this time she had endured an exile of 5 years (variant 4 years) from Durum, which she calls “my city” (lines 36, 51). And since Durum fell to Rim-Sin in 1804 (according to his 20th year-formula), it is clear that her letter was written in 1799 (or 1800 with the variant) or, by inclusive reckoning, in 1800 (or 1801 with the variant). Now it is precisely the date formulas for Rim-Sin’s 23rd to 26th years that employ the relatively rare epithet “faithful shepherd” for the king, and that is exactly how Ninshatapada addresses him in her letter (line 3), which thus reflects the official designation of the years 1800–1797.50 From the 22nd date-formula on, moreover, Rim-Sin’s dates all invoke An in addition to Enlil (and Enki), exactly as does our letter (line 21). Both these developments reflect Rim-Sin’s capture of Uruk itself in 1803 (Rim-Sin 21), which is represented in our letter (and in the royal inscriptions)51 as done with the approval of An, and in any case entitled Rim-Sin to invoke the tutelary deity of that city and to assume an epithet which had been borne last by An-am of Uruk, as well as by an unnamed deliverer of the city in an Akkadian literary text of this period.52 More fundamentally, Rim-Sin may have earned these privileges not so much by his conquest of Uruk as by his magnanimous treatment of its population, which he spared in identical terms in his date formula and in our letter (line 24).53 Ninshatapada enlarges on this theme with a Line 23. a. Edzard. op. cit. (above, note 9) 155. Note that he appointed another daughter, Nish-inishu, as high priestess of Lugalbanda at Uruk; see Sin-kashid 5 and Falkenstein BM 2 (1963) 32 f. 50 See in detail Hallo, “Sumerian Historiography”, here: VI.2 (above, note 3). Previously Steible, Rimsin, mein König (FAOS 1, 1975) 48; Edzard, op. cit. (above, note 9) 180. 51 Rim-Sin 7. 52 R.D. Biggs, ANET 3 (1969) 604. 53 Note that Larsa in turn was spared by Hammurabi according to CH ii 32, where ˇ the choice of the root gam¯alu may reflect the SU.GAR GAR of our letter and the Rim-Sin date formula, since the sparing of other cities was expressed differently; see J. Klíma, Studies . . . Beek (= Studia Semitica Neerlandica 16, 1974) 164, note 83. 48 49

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veritable hymn to Rim-Sin detailing Uruk’s gratitude, and concludes by invoking the same royal magnanimity for Durum and herself. The fact that her letter-prayer was incorporated in the royal correspondence of Larsa makes it appear likely that her plea was granted.54 An edition of the letter follows.

Letter of Ninshatapada to Rim-Sin A = OECT 5:25 lines 59–111 = 11. 1–58 B = TRS 58 = 11. 1–19 C = TRS 59 = 11. 20–35 D = TRS 46 = 11. 36–58 E = SLTF 1:181 (Ni.9729) = 11. 35–40, 54–58 F = N. 4101 (Courtesy M. Civil) = 11. 25–30, 37–40 1. lugal-mu-ra ù-na-a-du11 A. " " " " " [ ] B. [ ]' " 2. d Ri-im-d EN.ZU èn-tar bàn-da ˇsà d En-líl-lá-ke4 nam-mi-in - hun-gá ] A. " " " ' " " " " " " ' ! "" " " ! ' / ' [ ]/ ' " B. " ! ta [ 3. sipa-zi kalam-ˇsár-ra túm-túm-mu-dè en-gal d Nin-urta-ra zi-dè- e -eˇs pà-da " " " " ' [ ]/ ' ' " [ ] A. " " " "! " " B. [ ] " " " " tùm-tùm? " ? ? " " ! " " " " /" " = " " " 4. géˇs tu-dagal igi-gál-bi diri-ga níg -nam-ma ur4-ur4 A. " ' ' ' " " " " ' " ' [ ] B. ' " ' " " ' " KI.NÍG . ZI.KI " ! " 5. ad-gi 4-gi 4 umuˇs-bi ˇs ed12 - ˇs e d x níg-sù-rá-bi-ˇs è igi nu-bar-re ˇ . DI " " " ' ' [ ] A. " ' ' ' " "!MÙS.A B. ' " " " " " " " " " " " " na/ " " " "

54 The fact that the Louvre exemplars B+C+D together formed a duplicate to A became clear to me as soon as Prof. Gurney showed me his copy of A in 1971, when I prepared a preliminary edition of the entire royal correspondence of Larsa for him based on the Oxford exemplars. The identification of E and F, and the transliteration of F which I owe to Prof. Civil, followed in 1973. Earlier statements regarding the Louvre exemplars (including my own) have now to be revised accordingly; see e.g. above, note 22; Hallo, JCS 17 (1963) 116, here: III.1 and note 65; JAOS 53 (1968) 89, here: IV.1 and note 116; van Dijk apud Hallo, IEJ 16 (1966) 242, note 79. The last note has found its way also into W.G. Lambert, Or. 39 (1970), note 3, and Grayson, Babylonian Historical-Literary Texts (1975) 22, note 36. Cf. also Kraus, Bi.Or. 22 (1965) 289 (5).

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii 6. di-kuru5 níg-gi-na d Utu-gim l ú-zi-dè-eˇs ki-ága A. " " ' ' ' ' " " " " ' ' ' ' B. " " " " " " " " n í g" " " " ' 7. ù-ne-dè-dah A. ' " " [ ] B. " " " ' 8. sˇ a-lá-sù ma-da-bé dagal-la ur-sag ˇs u-gar-gi 4-uruki'- ˇs è A. [] ' ' ' ' ' " " " " " " ' [ ] " " " " " " " " "! B. " " ! " " " " 9. am-du7-du7-sig5 mè-ˇsen-ˇsen-na ur-sag giˇs-giˇs-lá sag-í l ] A. [ ] ' ' ' " " ? " ' "? [ B. " " " "! " " " = = = " " " " " 10. libiˇs- tuku ki-ús-sa-g i 4 a-ma-bi gi 4-gi 4-da nu-zu ˇ " " " " " " "! ' ' ' [ ] A. ÁB+SÀ B. " " b i " " " ! bi " " " " " " " ' 11. nir-gál- e igi-ni-ˇs è lú nu-gub-bu á-gál nu-si-sá A. " " " " ' ' " " [ ] B. " " = " " " " ! " " " " ! " " " " 12. nun sag-maha ù-ma-ni sá-sá húb-dar-sag nam-lugala A. " ' ' ' [ ] " B. " " " ! " " " " " " ? "? " " 13. kala-ga A.RU.UB giˇs-tukul lú-kúr-ra-ke4 kèˇs-di nam-ra A. " " " ' " " ' ' [ ] B. [ ] ' " " " ? " " ! " " " ? " " " " ? ' 14. dumu-ù-tu-ud-da e n d Nè-iri11-gal-ta ˇs à-ta nam-gal-ta A. " = " = " " "" [ ] B. [ ] " " " " = " " " " " " " " " " 15. ù- ne- dè- p e ˇs5 A. " ' [ ] B. = = = = 16. m í Nin-ˇs à-ta- pà-da mídub-sar A. ' ' " " ' ' ' [ ] B. [] " " " " " " " " 17. nin-dingir d Mes-lam-ta-è-a A. [ ] ' ? ' ? [] (not a new line) B. [ ] " " " " " " " 18. dumu-mí d EN.ZU- ka-ˇsi -i d lugal unu ki-ga A. [ ]'' [ ] ' ' ' [ ] B. [ ] ' "" " " " " " " " " 19. géme-zu na-ab-bé-a A. [ ] (not a new line?) B. [ ] " " " " " (ends)

377

378

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii

20. UD.UNU.KI uru hur-sag-gim íl-la á-bi sá nu-du11-ga ] A. [ ] ' ' [ ] " " " " ' '? ' [ C. " " ! " " " " " " " " " '? ' ? '? " 21. du11 An d En-líl-lá-ta mu-un-da-a n-zi-ga- t a sahar-duba mu-un-dáb-bé A. [ ]' ' " " " " " = " " " [ ]/ " = " ' "? " " "! "! C. " " " " " " " " " " " " " =/" ? 22. sag unu ki- ga uru ùz-sag-kur-kur-ra-ke4 am-gim si tu11-tu11 A. ' ' []' '? ' ' " " " " ' ' ' [ ] C. " " " = = " " " = " " " " " " " 23. á mah-zu-ta lugal-bi e-ne- t a urbigu-bi mu-un-dab5-bé A. ' ' ' ' [ ] ' " ' [ ] C. " " " " " " " " = U R.UR" ? " " " ' 24. u-gù nam-lú-u 18-lu-bi ˇs u-gar m u -un-gar-ra zi-du10-ga sì-mu-un-ne ]/ ' [ ] ' [ ] A. []" " ' ' ' ' " ! ' ! i m [ C. " " " " = " ! " " " m u " " " /" " " " " " ' 25. A. F. C.

sag dumuga- kú-a ba-úˇs nu-mu-un - è-a níg-gig-ga nu-mu-un-ak ' ' ' [ ] " " " " ' [ ] " " " " " "" " " " ""/ " " " " = = " " " ! " gim= úˇs " " ! " ni - i n" []/ " " " " " " '

26. A. F. C.

nam-lù-u18-lu-bi ku6-gim a lu - ga ˇsub-ba - bi u4-ˇs è mu-ni-in-tag4 " " " ' " [ ] ' ' " " [ ] " " " = " " " " " " " " " /" " " " " ' [ ] " " = " " " d e? -a-ni ba-e-n i -ˇs ub/ " " " " " " ?

27. A. F. C.

ur-sag-b i gi ˇs - tukul- e igi-zu-ˇs è im - mi - i n-da - bu- r i ˇs u- z u sá bí - i n-du1 1 - ga " " = " " " " ' [ ] ' - n i -gub = = " = " àm-m[ i ] " " - e -ne" " = " " " ' [ ] - i n-da " " " " - ˇsè " im -m i - í b-du 1 1 [ ] " b i ""= " " " " " = du " ! HI / " ! " " bí - i n-du1 1 - ga

28. A. C. F.

nam-úˇs-a mu-un-da-kar-re-e ˇs ka-tar-zu hé -si-il-le-eˇs " ' " " = ' ' [ ] ' ' ' ' ' ' [ ] [ ] ' " " " " " "/ " " " ì " " " " ' " " " = " " " ne " " " mu-" " " "

29. A. C. F.

unu ki-ga ír-ra-bi húl-la- ˇs è mu - un-ku 4 i- d utu-bi mu - un- è " " " " ' [] ' ' ' " " ' " " ' []/ ' " [] [ ] ' " " " = " " " /"" " " " " " [ ] ' " " " " " = mi - n i - in - "/ [ ] ' " mi - n i - in-"

30. A. C. F.

nu-síg nu-mu-un-zu-bi-ˇsè " " " " " ' " ' [ ] " " " = = [ ] " = =

ú-a lu- l u -a mu-un-gar ú-sal mu-un-dúr-ru-un - ne-e ˇs " ' " " ? = " ' [ ]/ " ' " ' ' " = ' [ ] " = " KU " " " " / " " = = = = n à ? " " ' " " KU = " " " / [ ] ' " " " un = = (obv. breaks off)

31. u4-ˇs ú-uˇs-e ukù kur-kur bar -b i- t a KA im-m i - gub " [ A. [ ]" " " " " " AN? .BI.GIM ' ' " C. ' " " " " " " bar -b i- t a ! ' " ma-an- " 32. mu-ˇs a6-ga-zu ˇs à-lá-sù-me-eˇs kur-kur i m-du-ud A. ' " " " " " [ ] " " " " [ C. ' ! " " " " ! " " " " " " mu-u n -" "

]

]

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii

379

33. u4-ul-lé-a-ta lugal za-e-gim mè a-ba-a igi mu-ni- i n - du8 -a A. [ ]" " " " " [] " " " " " " ' ' ' = ' ' C. " " " " " " " a " " " " = " " " " / IM 34. ur5 -ˇs è-àm d Utu é-babbar-ra-ka u4-nam-ti-la m u -un-tuˇs A. [ ] ' ' " " " " " " " " " ' " " [ ] C. " " " " " " bábbar = = " " " zu mi - ni- " 35. e-ne-éˇs gá-a-ra igi-zi bar-mu - un - ˇs i-ib ka-ba-zu u 4 - kúkku hu-mu-un-zalag-ge C. " " " " = " " " " " " " " / " " " = " " " " " " (ends) ' [] A. ' " ' " " ' ' " " -r a mu - bar ' ' ' - l a ?/ ' " " " = E. [ / ]" ' [ ] 36. D. A. E.

mu-5-kam-ma- t a uru-mà nu-me-a sag-gim im-ma-an-ti lú-géˇstug nu-t ug = = = " " " " " " " " " " " " " " ? " ? "? = " " " " = " ' ' " " ' ' " " " "/ ' " " " ' " ' [] ' [ ]/ ' " hu-x - x " 4 "!

37. F. E. D. A.

sag-sìg-zu múˇs-me-mà ba-kúr-kúr su -mu ug-g a GAM GAM-e i m-du-du [ ] " " " " ' [ ]/ " " " ] " " " " " " KI " [ ] '? [ ˇ " " " " " " ì - in - " su " " " / NU . SU mu-u n -" " i m-du-du ' " ' ? -e mùˇs " ' ba-n i - " ' ' ' ' = GAM GAM-e

38. F. E. A. D.

níg-me-gara ˇs u-mu da- l am im-ma-ab-ra KA ab- b i -mu nu-um-zu [ ] " " " " " " '? " " " " [ ] " " " " " " -m i - í b-[ ] " = í b-" " " - b i " " = " " " " " " " ? " " " " " ba-b i r -bi r " " - ba- " ' = '

39. A. D. E. F.

nam-ab-ba u4 ba-t il-la-gim bàn-da tag4-a-mu ama5-mu ba-ab-bir-bir- r e ] " " " " " ' " " " " " " = ' " " " '? [ " " tug = mu/ " " " = " " = " " " " ga? " " " ]/ ' ? [ ] [ ] " " ' ba? " " ! [ [ ]" " " " " tag4 " " / ' " " ! = " " "

40. muˇs en giˇs-búr- r a dab-ba - g i m amar - bi gùd - b i - ta ba-ni-ib-zà h A. " " " " " " BI " " Ú.KI . SÈ = " " " " uˇs gùd " "/ " " " SIKIL.A D. " " bar = dab5 " g i m " " ] E. " '? [ (obv. breaks off ) F. ' ' ' " dab5 - dab 5 " " mu Ú.KI . SÈ - mu- "/" " " zà h ? (ends) 41. du13-du13-mu bar- t a a l -bir-bir- r e lú kin-aka-dè la -ba-ab - tuk " b i " " " " ' " " " " ' [ ]/ " A. [ ] ' ? " D. " " " " t a ba- " " = " " k i n = = ga? - " " 42. sig4-mu la-la-bi nu-mu-un-g i 4-g i 4-a tumu ˇs en-gim ˇs e mi-ni-ib-ˇs a4 A. [ ] ' " " " " " " '[ ] D. ' " " " " " " " kú = "/" " " " " " " " 43. ninda-kú-mu i-si-iˇs-bi ma- l á-lá ur5-ˇs è nu-te-en-te-en D. " " " " ! " ! " " " " ! " ! /" " " " " " " A. [ ] mu-un-" " ' [ ]

380

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii

44. zi in-sù níg-gig-ga-mu im-ma-da-ab-du1 1 mísikil-dù-a-ˇs è ba-an-ku4 D. " " " " " " " " " = " " / = " " " " " " [ ] ] A. [ ] ' ' " = " " " '? [ 45. ki-mu sag-gá bí-íb-gub-bé-en D. " " " " " " " " " A. [ ] ' ' ' ib " " " 46. níg-ˇs u-a gizzal ak-ab ˇ D. " " " GÉSTUG.DÙ " " A. "[ ](not a new line) 47. túg géme-mu la-ba-dím suluhu im-ma-an-mu4 a-ba-a inim hu-mu-re-du11 D. " " " " " " " " " " " /" " = " " " " " A. [ ] ' " " ' ' " " = " "" ' [ ] 48. ír a-nir-ra-zu gá im-ma-a n-ˇs ìr gá- ra im-ma-an-dúru-nu D. " " " " " " " " = " /" " " " " " " A. [] ' [ ] ' " ' ' ' ' [ ] 49. u4 nam-lú-ùlu la-ba-ni- i n-ul4-la-ta u 4 nam-ti nu-du10-ga KA- mu la-ba-ni-ib-du12 D. ' " " " " " [] ' ! " ! " "/ " " " " " " ' " " ' [ ] A. [ ] ' ' = ' ' ' BA ' ' [ ] " " " 50. e-ne-éˇs d En-líl bí-in-du11-ga kur-zà-til-la-bi-ˇs è ˇs u-zu-ˇs è mu-un-si ] D. ' " " " " " " " ' [ ]/ " " " " " ! " " " " [ ] A. [ ] "? ' [ 51. zabal am ki ki-tuˇs-gim bàd ki uru k i -mu gal-[bi ]x y mu-un-[ ] D. " " " " " " " " = " [ ] A. [ ] " ' [ /] " " " [] 52. uru-lu-ùlu-gim ki-tuˇs na-me nu-du1 0 igi uru-mu-ˇs è hu-mu-un-[gin?] ] D. " " " " " " " " ' [ ]/ " " " " " " ! " [ " '! ' ! [ ] A. [ ] ! " " " 53. é-mes-lama dingir-min-a-bi du11-mu-na-ab ka-tar-zu ga-si-il-le D. " " " " " " " " " " ' /" " " " ? ! " " ' A. ' " ' ' " ' [ ] 54. D. E. A.

ù im-ri-a-mu-ke4 zà gi4-mu-un-na " " " "! " " ! " "! " " " " ' ' ' ' ' ' [ ] ] [ ] ' ? '? ' ? [

55. D. E. A.

du 11 -ga-zu- t a du 1 1 hu-mu-r a-ab-du7 " " " " " " " " " ' " " " " ' [ ] (not a new line) [ i ]m-n i -in-du1 1 / ' " -un-na ? - "

56. E. D. A.

ur5-zu g i z z a l -aka - dè ka-mu sag hu-mu-un-dù-uˇs " " g é ˇs t ug " " [ ]/ " " " ' [ ] " " " = " " " " nam-mah ? ? -x - zu " " = ' -en [ g]a-àm ' ' uˇs ' ? '

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii 57. E. D. A.

381

kur-sù - rá zà-til-la-b i- ˇs è mu-un-UD a-ga-ˇs è " su 1 3 " " " ' = = ' ? ' ? [ ] /" " [] " sù " " " " " = = = " " " " ] [ ] ' ? " " ' ? /[

58. nam-ba-da-ha-lam-ma-me-en A. ' ? ' ? ' ? ' ? " " " " (not a new line) ] E. ' ? [ D. " " " " " - e

I 1. Speak to my king! 2. To Rim-Sin, the young protector who soothes the heart of Enlil, 3. The faithful shepherd legitimately summoned by the great lord Ninurta in order to rescue the entire nation, 4. Wide of understanding, whose insight is surpassing, who gathers everything together, 5. Counsellor whose wisdom is soothing, whose full extent no eye can see, 6. Judge of righteousness, who loves the righteous man like Utu (himself ) 7. Say furthermore! II 8. To the merciful one whose land is broad, the warrior who avenges the city (of Larsa), 9. Impetuous goodly aurochs, in battle and combat the warrior who raises the head (proudly) in the conflict, 10. Having courage, turning the ‘steps whose progress (?) no one knows how to turn back, 11. The standard bearer before whom no man can stand, the strong(est) is distraught, 12. Prince of the lofty head who attains victory, the most triumphant in kingship, 13. Mighty one who verily smites the . . ., tying up the mace of the enemy, 14. Son engendered by the lord Nergal with greatness from the womb (on) 15. Say for the third time! III 16. 17. 18. 19.

This is what Nin-shata-pada the woman-scribe, Priestess of the divine Meslamtaea, Daughter of Sin-kashid king of Uruk, Your servant-girl, says: IV

20. Larsa, the city lofty like a mountain whose might none can attain, 21. Having taken the field at the command of An and Enlil, has seized the heaped-up earth(?).

382

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii

22. The army of Uruk, bond of all the lands, (is) lowering the horns like an aurochs. 23. With your great might you have seized its king from them in single combat. 24. Having spared its populace, grant them sweet life! 25. Among slaves (and) children fed on milk pestilence not having emerged, a plague has not broken out. 26. Its populace whose collapse is like fish deprived (?) of water—they have left it to the daylight 27. Its warriors are uprooted before you by the mace, it is your hand which overtakes them. 28. They were able to escape pestilence; they sang your praises. 29. The lament of Uruk has turned to rejoicing; its complaints have departed. 30. Orphan and widow one has placed in lush pastures; they let them repose in verdure. 31. Daily the people (and) all the lands eat from its surroundings. 32. Your good years are merciful, all the lands dance(?). 33. From time immemorial, a king like you in battle who has seen? 34. It is thus Utu himself dwells in Ebabbar for a lifetime. V 35. Now look favorably (also) on me, let your declaration brighten the dark day! 36. Since the fifth year not being in my city, they make me live like a slave, I have none who understands (me). 37. At your falling silent, I am changed in my appearance (and) whole being; my body being dead, I walk about bowed down. 38. In the silence I now clap my hands, I do not know the sound of my . . . 39. Though vigorous, I am abandoned in old age like a day which has ended, I am scattered (from) my chamber. 40. Like a bird caught in a trap whose fledglings have fled from their nest 41. My children are scattered abroad (and) I have no man to do (my) work. 42. (Since) the attraction of my brickwork (i.e. home) no longer satisfies, they moan over it like doves. 43. The bread I eat fills me with crying, thus I cannot rest 44. Life is long! They have informed me of my sacrilege, I have been turned into a slandered woman. 45. As my station they have placed me as a slave. 46. Pay attention to the “things in hand!” 47. My slave-girl will not fashion a garment (for me), I who am dressed in a flounced garment(?), who will intercede for me with you? 48. I, even I, have intoned the crying of your lament; will they sit (still) for me? 49. Since the day that the populace is no longer directed aright, the day (has become) a lifetime of bad luck, my words have not been “sung there”

v.3. the royal correspondence of larsa: iii

383

VI 50. Now that Enlil has ordered it, the lands to their furthest limit he has assigned to your hand. 51. Zabalam as a residence (and) Durum as my city are greatly . . . 52. No residence is good like the city (of ) the populace; let them but see(?) my city! 53. Speak to the twin deities of Emeslam (and) I will surely sing your praises! 54. Restore the border to the domain (?) of my family! 55. By your command let them give praise to you! 56. May they make my mouth ponder how to heed your ordinances! 57. To the furthest reaches of distant lands you shine, 58. may you never be destroyed!

v.4 A SUMERIAN APOCRYPHON? THE ROYAL CORRESPONDENCE OF UR RECONSIDERED* In 2001, Fabienne Huber published a lengthy study of the Sumerian compositions known collectively as The Royal Correspondence of Ur and concluded that they were not the product of the Third Dynasty of Ur with which they purport to deal, but of the scribal schools of the Old Babylonian period, perhaps as much as three centuries later. She arrived at this conclusion primarily on linguistic grounds, arguing at length from grammatical and phonological features in the texts that placed them squarely in the later period.1 She also considered historical and prosopographic factors, admitting that the Correspondence undoubtedly rests in part on historic data,2 but that these data were distorted to suit the didactic and other purposes of the authors.3 Sumerian literary texts occasionally carry dates indicating when a particular exemplar was copied out by a master or student scribe— though such dates are largely confined to the first half of the 18th century bce, beginning with Manana of Kiˇs4 and including Hammurabi, Samsuiluna, and Rim-Sin II; at other times they can be dated by the archival texts found with them.5 But their dates of composition are, by contrast, notoriously lacking, and even when external sources such as (later) literary catalogues presume to supply these, the evidence is universally suspect.6 Modern research has therefore resorted to other criteria to make good the omission. In the case of compositions like the ˇ Instructions of Suruppak or the Hymn to the Temple of Ninhursag at Keˇs, the existence of forerunners firmly datable on paleographic grounds to the Early Dynastic Period provides a terminus post quem non for the *

Presented to H.L.J. Vanstiphout, with respect and admiration. Huber 2001. 2 Huber 2001:195. 3 Huber 2001:206. 4 Cf. Michalowski 1995:50 ad CT 58:27 (Nungal Hymn). 5 Hallo 1966:92; previously Hallo 1963b:167 and nn. 6–8, (mis)-cited by Sjöberg and Bergmann 1969:6; cf. Stol 1976:52 f., 56 f. (ad Rim-Sin II and TRS 50). 6 Hallo 1996:144–147. 1

386

v.4. a sumerian apocryphon?

creation at least of the core of these compositions. In the case of the compositions attributed to the princess Enheduanna, the existence of contemporaneous monumental inscriptions with her name serves to date her to the Sargonic period; the attribution of various compositions to her—either anciently or by modern research—remains a muchdebated point in each case.7 The Temple Hymns, for example, which according to their colophon were composed or at least compiled by her, ˇ at Ur, include one hymn in honor of the e2-hur-sag, the palace of Sulgi which can hardly be earlier than his reign; but whether this apparent anachronism serves to date the entire composition or represents an isolated insert in an earlier recension remains an open question. Where paleographic and other criteria fail to provide an answer, linguistic criteria may well be resorted to for attempts to arrive at a date of composition. Thus Jacobsen famously dated the original composition of the Sumerian King List before the middle of the Ur III period—the ˇ reigns of Amar-Sin (“Bur-Sin I”) and Su-Sin—by observing the use of the verbal forms in the plural of the verb ib-ak, “they exercised (kingship)” and in other formulas recurring in the text.8 Specifically, he posited “an original version which came to an end with Utu-hegal of Uruk and which can therefore be assigned to the reign of that ruler”9 or, in a later formulation, “the dating of its first composition to the time of Utuhegal.”10 At the other end of the time scale, Falkenstein introduced a whole category of “post-Old Babylonian Sumerian” for compositions whose defiance of the simplest grammatical rules—and occasional lapses into loan translations from Akkadian—bespoke their late composition. (I prefer to call these simply “post-Sumerian,” since I regard spoken Sumerian as having survived into (Early) Old Babylonian times.) But linguistic criteria are not always so reliable. Even in the case of the Sumerian King List, there are dissents from Jacobsen’s dating, some lesser some greater. Rowton, for example, thought that “The original king-list is probably to be dated about the beginning of the Third Dynasty of Ur, that is either shortly before, or shortly after the accession of Ur-Nammu, ca. 2113.”11 Kraus dated it to the time

7 8 9 10 11

Westenholz 1989. Jacobsen 1939:128–135. Jacobsen 1939:136; cf. 138. Jacobsen 1957:125 n. 73; reprinted in Jacobsen 1970:386. M.B. Rowton in CAH 1/1 (1970) 200; cf. Rowton 1960.

v.4. a sumerian apocryphon?

387

of Ur-Ninurta of Isin.12 I myself hold out for a date nearer the end of the Isin I Dynasty with which it concludes.13 The reason for the apparent reluctance to rely on linguistic criteria is that, in the course of transmission via the scribal schools, compositions could well have been subject to modernization of orthography, morphology, and even lexicon to bring them au courant with the language of the scribe’s time. This caveat applies in heightened degree to Huber’s arguments. Let us examine one of them in some detail. She finds eight examples of the enclitic suffix -ma in the Royal Correspondence of Ur, each time used in a conjunctive function between two independent phrases (clauses).14 These examples are taken from four out of a corpus of 23 letters, and in one of them (21) only one or two exemplars display the feature. It can thus hardly be described as characterizing the corpus as a whole. She dates the appearance of the phenomenon, which is admittedly an Akkadianism, to the Early Old Babylonian period (Lipit-Iˇstar) in archival texts, and finds it also in certain canonical genres such as wisdom texts and literary letters.15 All this is beyond dispute. But the reciprocal borrowing of grammatical features between Sumerian and Akkadian, as of lexemes, was an enduring consequence of the long symbiosis of the two languages and their speakers. It was the subject of the 9th Rencontre in 196016 and is illustrated equally well by the earlier and well-attested borrowing of Akkadian u into Sumerian (replacing older -bi-da) as a conjunction between nouns. Its evidentiary value for dating purposes applies only to the exemplar or exemplars in which it occurs, not to the date of first creation of any given composition. Huber denies that such grammatical lapses could be the consequence of a progressive “akkadisation” of the Sumerian language during the neo-Sumerian period, or a corruption of texts undergone in the course of their transmission.17 I question that judgment, but prefer to move on to those of her arguments which are based on prosopography and history. In challenging her views, I am not motivated by her total

12 13 14 15 16

stein. 17

Kraus 1952:44. Hallo 1963a:55 and n. 41, here: VI.1. Huber 2001:173. We can already add model court cases; see Hallo 2002. Sollberger 1960; note especially the contributions by Edzard, Gelb, and FalkenHuber 2001:172.

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failure to cite even a single one of my many contributions to the discussion,18 but by a perceived obligation to defend long held and carefully arrived at positions.19 This will be attempted here under ten headings. 1. The existence of a “royal chancery,” or a scribal center under royal auspices, can be argued, if not conclusively proved, on several grounds. The most persuasive of these is the striking correlations among wholly different genres glorifying the king, notably date formulas, royal inscriptions, and royal hymns. These correlations have been demonstrated repeatedly and explicitly by Frayne not only in his (unpublished) thesis but also in his contributions to the RIM. The royal correspondence similarly correlates with date formulas and inscriptions. A particularly impressive illustration is the case of Nin-ˇsatapada, daughter of Sin-kaˇsid of Uruk, who appeals to Rim-Sin of Larsa in a letter reflecting precisely the wording of the official date formulas of Rim-Sin following his conquest of Uruk as well as his inscriptions celebrating it.20 As I have said elsewhere, Nin-ˇsatapada, or whoever was the “author” of our letterprayer, wrote it in response to a real historical situation, and wrote it, moreover, in full knowledge of the requirements of royal phraseology. This phraseology of the court scribes I would like to designate the “chancery style.”21 2. Such a style, if granted, implies the existence of a royal chancery and, unless that chancery was always and necessarily destroyed upon the fall of a given kingdom, invites the further assumption that some of its contents survived into subsequent dynasties. In other words, the documents written in it, or copies or drafts of the same, could have been preserved in it for future use by student scribes or others. If so, what did these later scribes choose to use? Where royal correspondence is concerned, I have long held that they chose primarily or even exclusively those letters which dealt with issues of primary concern to them and their times, not necessarily to the times in which they are set. This would explain the abiding preoccupation of the Royal Correspondence of

18 19 20 21

Even Hallo 1957 is cited only via Wilcke; see p. 196. See especially Hallo 1983b, here: VI.2, concluding paragraph. Hallo 1991, here: X.3. Hallo 1983b:18 f, here: VI.2.

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Ur with the coming of the Amorites who were, after all, ancestral to the ruling classes of the eighteenth century, or of the Royal Correspondence of Isin with watercourses.22 3. The Royal Correspondence is not the only genre to which this characterization applies. Others could be cited to the same effect. I will confine myself here to two related ones, the model contracts and the model court cases. The former mostly remain to be properly published and edited, and until then it remains an open question whether they were based on “functional” documents and, if so, whether these documents dated from an earlier period.23 Model court cases are better known, and typically involve prominent citizens, e.g. of Nippur, well-known from other sources; the possibility that they were fictitious creations utilizing known names cannot be excluded, but neither can the contrary conclusion, i.e., that they represent actual cases thought worthy of inclusion in the curriculum because illustrating important points of law or ethical behavior. “A Model Court Case Concerning Inheritance” which I published in 2002 illustrates these points.24 It is so far known in only one exemplar, and thus not demonstrably part of the (Nippur) curriculum, but “its prosopography ties it securely to Old Babylonian Nippur,” specifically in the 20th and 19th centuries.25 And “the selection of this particular case for the scribal school curriculum . . . from the presumably vast stock of authentic court cases on deposit in the archives of Nippur” may be due to the fact that it “appears to be an apt illustration” of the proverbial abhorrence of (the first-born heir’s?) driving out the younger son from the patrimony.26 4. Clear cases abound where literary copies of later date correlate with archival and/or monumental evidence contemporary with the events described. Apart from the case of Nin-ˇsatapada already cited, they include in the first place the case of “The Bride of Simanum.” In his article of that name, Michalowski showed conclusively that the name of Kunˇsi-matum is preserved in the Royal Correspondence of Ur.27 Huber does

22 23 24 25 26 27

Hallo 1983b: 12, here: VI.2. Bodine 2001 esp. pp. 53 f. Cf. Hallo in Hallo and Younger 2003:307. Hallo 2002. Hallo 2002:144. Hallo 2002:151 and n. 68. Michalowski 1975; cf. Hallo in Hallo and Younger 2003:296.

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not cite this article, only Michalowski’s summary of it in his thesis, and his view there that the Sumerian version represents a back-translation from the Akkadian.28 In fact, the situation is much more complex. Kunˇsi-matum occurs in only one letter (Michalowski’s No. 6) and this letter is known in only one exemplar, the bilingual OB text PBS 10/4:8. Here her name occurs only in the Akkadian version; the Sumerian version misunderstood it as a masculine personal name and provided a mistaken back-translation into Kur-gammabi. But Michalowski found evidence of the correct form of the name in a number of Ur III archival texts, as well as an integral report of her history in an OB ˇ copy of Su-Sin’s royal inscriptions, albeit without name. Here is my own reconstruction of this history: ˇ Simanum, in the far northwest, was too distant to be subjected militarily. It apparently retained its own Hurrian ruler, a certain Puˇsam, while diplomatic ties were pursued through his messenger called, interestingly enough, Puzur-Assur (Amar-Suen 7). The immediate object was a dynasˇ tic marriage, specifically a daughter of the crown-prince Su-Sin was sent ˇ to Simanum, intended for one of Puˇsam’s two sons, Arib-atal or Iphuha. ˇ What happened when Su-Sin himself succeeded to the throne can best be seen from the Old Babylonian copies of his triumphal inscriptions. According to these, it appears that an internal revolt deposed both ˇ ˇ Puˇsam and Su-Sin’s daughter (Kunˇsi-matum). Su-Sin therefore marched ˇ against Simanum, an event commemorated in the name of his third year, and restored both the native dynasts (now perhaps as dependent governors) and his daughter.29

Today I would reconstruct a possible literary history of the Kunˇsiˇ matum letter as follows: the relationship between Ur and Simanum ˇ ˇ proceeded as indicated in the date formulas of Sulgi, Amar-Sin and SuSin. The particular part played in it by diplomatic marriage is spelled ˇ out in Collection B of Su-Sin’s royal inscriptions, of OB date but substantiated by the king’s date formulas, especially for his third year.30 The ˇ names of the bride and of the “men of Simanum” to whom she was affianced in some way are all well attested in Ur III archival records.31 The name of Kunˇsi-matum was preserved in the course of transmitting the Royal Correspondence of Ur, but misunderstood by the time of the bilingual exemplar which is the only witness to the particular letter in Huber 2001:191. Hallo 1978:79 and nn, 81–84. Cf. also Hallo (In press: n. 73). 30 For the emergence of dynastic or diplomatic marriage under the Ur III kings see already Hallo 1976b:31. 31 Michalowski 1975:717–719; Frayne 1997:287–290; add Sigrist 1983:480. 28 29

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question. The notion that her name would have somehow been resurrected in an Old Babylonian scribal school defies credibility. More likely, the letter “ultimately derived from genuine archival copies in the royal chanceries, as suggested by (its) many correspondences with details known from contemporaneous sources.”32 5. A parallel case to the preceding, though not directly connected to the Royal Correspondence of Ur, is that of “The House of Ur-Meme.”33 In my reconstruction of the genealogy of this prominent Nippur family through five generations, covering the entire time of the Ur III Dynasty, I deliberately made use of later (canonical) as well as contemporaneous (monumental and archival) evidence. The later literary sources conformed with the contemporary ones to a degree that makes it unlikely that they were works of creative imagination. Nor do the additions and corrections proposed by Zettler for the genealogy in 1984 and 1987 affect this conclusion materially.34 Specifically, one side of this family held the office of governor of Nippur four times, while the other inherited Ur-Meme’s own position of prefect of the temple of Inanna, adding to it that of priest of Enlil. It would be possible to write a veritable novella of high life at Nippur around the fortunes of this family; perhaps, indeed, the canonical sources were preserved with some such goal in view. One point of Zettler’s reconstruction does deserve some notice here. As I had already speculated in 1977,35 and as he agreed, the name of the last known member of the House of Ur-Meme is not Inim-Inanna, as I suggested in 1972, but Nabi-Enlil. Therewith a connection is established between the House of Ur-Meme and the text first published by Ali under the title of “Blowing the Horn for Public Announcement,”36 where Nabi-Enlil appears as a former um-mi-a. That text fairly teems with personal names known from other sources as at home in Nippur during the later Ur III period. One of them is Lugal-melam, governor of Nippur under Amar-Sin, when that office apparently passed out of the hands of the house of Ur-Meme for the duration of his reign. Another is Ur-DUN, the owner of the lost seal which is the subject

32 33 34 35 36

Hallo in Hallo and Younger 2003:296. Hallo 1972. Zettler 1984; Zettler 1987:199–203. Hallo 1977:57 and n. 118. Ali 1964a; and Ali 1964b: 113–116.

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of the text; he is the author of a literary letter included by Michalowski in his edition of the Royal Correspondence of Ur. The others are known from other literary documents of Old Babylonian date.37 While it may be theoretically possible that these names were generated by the ummi-a’s themselves for insertion in such a variety of literary contexts, a more reasonable proposition would be that they reflect and preserve the reality of life at Nippur in the late Ur III period. 6. If so far we have considered the Royal Correspondence of Ur and other specific literary compositions from the viewpoint of probabilities—that they were, or else were not, cut out of whole cloth—it is now necessary to move closer to certainty. We can do this in connection with the well-documented history of the scribal schools and their methods. In suggesting that the Royal Correspondence of Ur was the product of the scribal schools of the 18th century, Mlle. Huber neglects to say how she visualizes the process which might have gone into that production. Are we to suppose that an um-mi-a ignored the models of real royal letters still at hand and instead sat down with his clay tablet and reed stylus and composed de novo a coherent corpus of letters employing genuine personal names, correctly identifying their official titles, and reconstructing scenarios uncannily in harmony with those attested by contemporaneous documents? Where did he find his data? Huber seems to rule out the library of the school at Nippur or the archives of the Ur III Dynasty at Ur. Is she justified in this? I think not! Here, in fact, is how I visualize the process. The existence of scribal schools is implied, though it cannot as yet be definitively demonstrated, by the proliferation of lexical texts and other “school texts” such as mathematical exercises which can be traced back to the origins of “cuneiform” writing before the end of the 4th millennium; indeed they represent a principal means of propagating the invention of writing.38 How were these ever more extensive lexical texts created? For the earlier ones the answer remains elusive, but beginning with the OB period, I have long suggested that the process involved was not so very different from more modern lexicographical approaches, specifically that the lexical lists represent—initially—abstractions from real archival and canonical texts which were combed for lexemes (or, in the case of the Grammatical Texts, verbal forms and other morphemes 37 38

For details see Hallo 1977:57. See e.g. Nissen 1981.

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in context), and that the texts so mined date primarily to the Ur III or early OB period. A recent study of the terminology for animal parts found in an Ur III account seems to bear this out.39 The gradual emergence of literary texts is also best explained as the result of the existence of scribes and scribal schools as early as the Early Dynastic period, for which we have surviving exemplars of ˇ such compositions as the Instructions of Suruppak and the Keˇs Temple Hymn. Together with Ur III exemplars, e.g., of portions of Lugalbanda in the Cave of the Mountain,40 these add up to what I have called an Old Sumerian canon.41 A neo-Sumerian canon began to take its place under Ur III auspices. Even though it is no longer possible to speak with certainty ˇ of Sulgi of Ur as the founder of the scribal schools at Ur and Nippur, he certainly was their patron. Nor is the existence of scribal schools in the Ur III period, or in the subsequent Early Old Babylonian period, in doubt. A few exemplars of literary texts datable by paleography to the 21st or 20th–19th centuries have survived, but more importantly, the preservation on 18th century exemplars of texts recognizably dependent on earlier models implies the continuity of textual tradition, however many changes and even distortions individual compositions may have undergone in the process of transmission. One of the techniques of scribal training involved the copying of free-standing monuments in the open areas of Nippur and Ur, as attested both by explicit references to this technique in Sumerian compositions dealing with the life of the scribal schools,42 and by preserved examples of the products of the “field-trips” that one can visualize in this connection. The comparison of Sargonic inscriptions known from both original monuments and from late (OB) copies shows that by and large the copies were reliable.43 But even where the originals are not preserved, we can reconstruct a very likely monumental origin for other parts of the neo-Sumerian canon preserved—so far—only or mainly in canonical form, i.e. on clay tablets; one can mention here the laws of Ur-Nammu and Lipit-Iˇstar (of the latter we actually have some stone Hallo 2001a. Cohen 1976:99–101; for a fuller edition see Hallo 1983a, here: VII.1. 41 Hallo 1976a, here: I.4. 42 Hallo 1991a: 17, here: X.3, n. 80; with the reservations of Yoshikawa 1989. 43 Cf. Gelb and Kienast 1990:129: “Prinzipiell machen die Abschriften einen sehr zuverlässigen und vertrauenerweckenden Eindruck, . . . ” This “reliable and confidenceinspiring impression” can be illustrated by the juxtaposition of OB copies and their Old Akkadian originals, e.g. in the case of the disc-inscription of Enheduanna, ibid. 64 f. 39 40

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fragments of the monumental originals), and royal hymns (here too we have at least one example known in both clay tablet and stone form).44 What is demonstrably true of royal inscriptions, royal law collections and royal hymns is, by analogy, likely to be similarly true, though so far only ex hypothesi, for royal correspondence. I visualize an initial resort to the royal archives by the first um-mi-a to venture to copy some of the originals, and thereafter generations of his successors recopying his copies for educational purposes. The character of scribal education in the OB schools was much more sophisticated, and at the same time more traditional, than initially realized, as Vanstiphout was the first to show,45 with Sauren following closely behind,46 and as Veldhuis and Tinney have more recently succeeded in detailing. The elementary stage of scribal education was based on lexical texts and proverbs.47 Beyond that, the student proceeded to mastery of what, on the medieval analogy, might be called a kind of quadrivium and “decivium” or, in Tinney’s terms, a tetrad and a decad, i.e., two groups of texts which formed the core curricula of the next two stages of instruction.48 The tetrad consisted of four traditional texts of relatively short length which were copied, probably via dictation, from model exemplars inscribed, at least at Larsa, on sixsided prisms in such a way that each standard line of text (verse) was divided over three (or occasionally two) cases. The constituent compositions were three hymns to the kings of Isin (Iddin-Dagan B, Lipit-Iˇstar B, and Enlil-bani A) and the Blessing of Nisaba by Enki (nin-mul-an-gim), hereafter referred to, following Tinney, as Nisaba A. At 79, 63, 91(?), and 57 lines respectively, they have a total of only 290 verses and an average of 72.5 verses each. The decad consisted of ten texts of intermediate length, adding up to 1329 verses and averaging 133 verses each.49 Presumably they 44 45 46 47 48 49

Sjöberg 1961: esp. p. 70. Vanstiphout 1978:51; Vanstiphout 1979. Sauren 1979. Veldhuis 1997. Previously Landsberger 1959. Tinney 1999. ˇ 1. Sulgi A: 104. 2. Lipit-Iˇstar A: 109. 3. giˇs-al: 107. 4. nin-me-ˇsar2-ra: 153. 5. enlil-suraˇse: 171. 6. Keˇs Temple Hymn. 131. 7. Enki’s Journey to Nippur. 129.

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constituted the intermediate stage of post-elementary instruction. No doubt they were followed by the other texts known from the standard literary catalogues, some of which were considerably longer, and which apparently constituted the advanced stage of the curriculum.50 But the difference between the tetrad and the decad was more than only a matter of length, or of placement in the catalogues. Before their collective character had ever been recognized, Vanstiphout published two important analyses of one of the texts from the tetrad which indicated its primarily pedagogical function. In 1978, he edited Lipit-Iˇstar B and offered multiple reasons for concluding “that the hymn was composed in and primarily for the Edubba, to be used there as a beginner’s text,” and the following year he generalized from this conclusion to answer the broader question “How did they learn Sumerian?”51 Here the criteria for the first stage of post-elementary instruction are laid out more systematically, and the hope is expressed that other texts answering to these criteria might yet be identified.52 The four main criteria are: (1) a high percentage of lenticular school texts and other types of exercise texts; (2) illustrative uses of diverse grammatical forms; (3) brevity, and (4) preoccupation with the e-dub-ba-a and scholarly activity in general. To these might be added a fifth criterion, namely the provenience of the six-sided prisms, which appears to be Larsa in at least three cases53 and is likely as well in the fourth.54 We have already seen that the rest of the tetrad meets the third of these criteria. Let us now test it against the other criteria. The least likely candidate may seem to be Nisaba A (nin-mul-an-gim). Of the six exemplars in my edition of 1970, none is a lenticular or similar school-text. But four additional exemplars have been published and/or identified since then,55 and they tell a different story. One of them is 8. Inanna and Ebih: 182. 9. Nungal Hymn: 121. 10. Gilgameˇs and Huwawa: 202. 50 Lamentation over the Destruction Ur: 436; but cf. Gilgameˇ s and Akka: 114. 51 Vanstiphout 1979. 52 See Vanstiphout 1979:126 for a summary. 53 Tinney 1999:162 f. 54 I.e. nin-mul-an-gim. Implicit in the provenience of many of the Sumerian literary texts at Yale (but note the high accession number!) and the connections with Lagaˇs noted in my edition, Hallo 1970:121 f., 133 f., here: I.2. 55 ISET 1:198 (Ni. 9942); CT 58:47; Cavigneaux 1996:96 and 192, no. 222; Cavigneaux and Al-Rawi 1993:95 (from Me-Turan). Civil 1983:44, n. 2, mentions in addition three Nippur texts and several small fragments from Ur, none published.

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a lenticular school text,56 one is a Sammeltafel containing, apparently, the entire tetrad,57 and one may be a fragment of a similar collective tablet in that it includes the end of Enlil-bani A and the beginning of nin-mul-an-gim in that order.58 As for the paradigmatic character of the verbal forms chosen, verses 40–49 of Nisaba A, or what I called its Stanza VII, all illustrate what used to be called the “pronominal conjugation,”59 i.e., the non-finite form of a verb followed by a pronominal suffix and, typically, a temporal postposition. This construction may conceivably be a loan translation from the corresponding form in Akkadian, where it is well attested, and where it is paralleled in other Semitic languages such as Hebrew.60 Perhaps it is not entirely coincidental that the Akkadian equivalents of just these lines are best represented, or at least best preserved, in the (published) bilingual exemplar of our text. Finally, though the é-dubba-a as such is not mentioned in the hymn, it is, after all, addressed to Nisaba, the patron goddess of the institution, and refers indirectly to it when it speaks in line 29 of the “House of Learning of Nisaba”61 and in lines 45 f. of the “house of learning” and the “door of learning.” Again it is perhaps not entirely coincidental that the single lenticular school tablet so far known of the composition cites one of these lines. The remaining members of the tetrad can be dealt with more briefly. All of them are well represented by lenticular and other exercise texts.62 The e2-dub-ba-a receives honorable mention in Iddin-Dagan B 64–70, and in the doxologies which conclude Lipit-Iˇstar B (lines 58–61) and Enlil-bani A (lines 89–91). And the gradually increasing rate of difficulty of the verbal forms encountered in the successive portions of the tetrad has been noted.63 The multiple criteria which led Vanstiphout to his conclusion regarding Lipit-Iˇstar B thus apply as well to the rest of the tetrad. Even with all this evidence in favor of the pedagogical character of the tetrad, however, Tinney hesitates to commit himself on the question Cavigneaux 1996:96 and 192, no. 222. Cavigneaux and Al-Rawi 1993:95, H 156; cf. Tinney 1999:163. 58 CT 58:47. 59 Cf. Falkenstein 1949,149 f.; Falkenstein 1950:78. 60 Aro 1961: chs. VII, XXVIII, XXIX. 61 Note that this Sumerian name is translated in a lexical text from Hattuˇsa by Akkadian b¯ıt ni-im-ni-gal = Nanibgal(?); cf. MSL 13:152:4; George 1993:91, 362; 129, 836. 62 Tinney 1999:162 and nn. 20–22; 171 f. 63 Tinney 1999:61:166 f.?? 56 57

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of whether their four constituents were in their entirety composed ad hoc in the scribal schools for pedagogical purposes, referring instead to “the difficulty (often impossibility) of determining for any given component in a text whether it was ‘original’ or additive; and for any given text whether it was an abstract exercise in scribal virtuosity or a concrete production for the latest monumental offering in Nippur.”64 This difficulty becomes even greater for the decad and the constituents of the higher levels of the scribal curriculum, which notably do not share the characteristics of the tetrad. Each genre and each composition should be judged on its own merits before conclusions are drawn as to its “authenticity.” Let us now see how this applies to the royal correspondence. 7. The compositions of the tetrad seem designed to teach Sumerian grammar, but an equally prominent place in the scribal curriculum was devoted to mathematics. And the knowledge of applied mathematics could similarly be inculcated with the help of literary compositions. Within the Royal Correspondence of Ur, two letters stand out for their systematic employment of large numbers. These are the texts designated ˇ ˇ by Michalowski as 11. Puzur-Sulgi to Sulgi and 19. Iˇsbi-Erra to Ibbi-Sin.65 The former deals with the fortification known as “the wall facing the mountain” (bad3-igi-hur-sag-ga) and includes a passage (lines 15– 22) specifying the lengths of wall under various officials but with so many variants that Michalowski abstained from translating it, referring instead to Wilcke’s earlier translation.66 The latter, like the response by Ibbi-Sin (Michalowski 20), deals with the purchase of grain in the north and its transport to Ur, besieged and starving. Both letters were used by Jacobsen in 1953 to reconstruct a dramatic picture of rising, indeed inflationary prices during “the reign of Ibbi-Suen,”67 and by Wilcke in 1970 to delineate the “three phases of the collapse of Ur.”68 But already in 1976, Kramer showed that Jacobsen’s readings of the figures were in error.69 And now Eleanor Robson has reviewed the entire Old Babylonian scribal curriculum in light of the finds from a single school at Nippur, and convincingly demonstrated that No. 19 is 64 65 66 67 68 69

Tinney 1999:166 f. Michalowski 1976:200, 243. Wilcke 1969:3 ff. Jacobsen 1953. Wilcke 1970. Introduction to OECT 5 (1976) 7 and n. 38; 16 and n. 6.

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an exercise in applied mathematics. “The letter,” she points out, “reads suspiciously like an OB school mathematics problem.”70 That makes it a prime candidate for a late invention together, presumably, with the response. But Robson’s demonstration does not condemn the entire corpus! Absent such a pedagogical or other motive for impugning its authenticity, each letter of the Royal Correspondence of Ur merits consideration on its own as a possible historical source. In the letter from Puzurˇ Sulgi (or Puzur-Numuˇsda)71 of Kazallu to Ibbi-Sin, for example, the juxtaposition of Subartu and Hamazi (lines 35 f.) conforms to the “close connection—if not outright identity—between the two” in the third millennium, according to Steinkeller.72 And although the very notion of Subartu is an anachronism in an Ur III context, its governor in this letter, a certain Zin(n)um, is probably “a historical figure,” given the occurrence of the name in an archival text dated to the reign of IˇsbiIrra.73 The next four lines of the same letter (lines 37–40) fit into the history of Eˇsnunna at the close of the Ur III period as reconstructed from contemporaneous sources according to Reichel.74 And given the fact that Numuˇsda was the patron deity of Kazallu, the replacement of ˇ the name Puzur-Sulgi with Puzur-Numuˇsda75 by the governor of Kazallu is part and parcel of what I have called “the pattern of usurpation” at the end of the Ur III period.76 8. None of this is to deny that there are, in fact, cuneiform compositions which betray genuine traces of their late composition and which can therefore truly be described as apocryphal. The cruciform monument of Maniˇstuˇsu, for example, is mostly or wholly of this character.77 It betrays the late date of its creation by its pretense at monumental character—in distinction to clay tablet copies of true monuments with or without modernizing (or archaizing) tendencies, such as the OB copies of Sargonic inscriptions from Ur and Nippur. The motive for Robson 2002:350 f. The names vary with each other in Letter 11 though not in Letter 19. 72 Steinkeller 1998:79 f. and n. 17. 73 Ibid., citing BIN 9:332:18. 74 Reichel 2003:359 f. and n. 15. 75 Thus (so far) only in Michalowski 1976 Letter 11, where Puzur-Numuˇsda figures ˇ variously as governor of Bad-igihursanga (line 2; variants Puzur-Marduk, Puzur-Sulgi) ˇ ˇ and of Girlumturra (line 15, variants Su-Marduk, Su-Numuˇ sda. 76 Most recently in Hallo and Simpson 1998:81 f. 77 Sollberger 1968. 70 71

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the cruciform monument is also transparent—to give the appearance of hoary antiquity to the priestly benefits and temple privileges conveyed by it—anticipating by a millennium the Donation of Constantine. Similarly, the “sun tablet” from Sippar is presumably a fraus pia with comparable motives. Of course much depends on the definition of apocrypha. The concept originates as early as Jerome, who thus identified the corpus of intertestamental compositions included in the canon of the Greek Bible but not of the Hebrew Bible (or of later Protestant Bibles). There is relatively little difficulty in distinguishing an apocryphal book such as Tobit from a canonical book such as Esther, or even the apocryphal additions to Daniel from the canonical book of that name, though the latter example serves as a reminder that genuine aspects of the cultural heritage may be preserved even there.78 And the Dead Sea Scrolls (and the Nag Hammadi papyri) have taught us that the corpus can still grow with a real apocryphon like the Genesis Apocryphon, not just copied late but composed late. 9. Huber operates freely and repeatedly with the concept of plagiarism—indeed she treats it as a further criterion of apocryphal status.79 But plagiarism is a modern concept, not to say conceit. It implies a high respect for originality and for another concept, that of authorship, which is notably lacking in the ancient Near East.80 There, by contrast, originality had to be achieved by new and possibly minor variations within familiar norms. The few exceptions to this rule strike us as the random musings of a bored scribe, or the disjointed doodles of an inattentive pupil—for example the unique exemplar of the composition which Martha Roth has edited under the title of “The Slave and the Scoundrel.”81 10. In two recent papers, I offered a systematic defense of the use of later literary sources for the reconstruction of ancient Mesopotamian (and biblical) history—and a cautionary critique against the uncritical privileging of contemporaneous sources for the same end. In the first 78 For an example see Hallo 1987:7 and 12, nn. 20–22, here: VII.2; Hallo 1996:216 and nn. 23–27; Reeves and Lu 1988:267 f. 78. 79 Huber 2001:170, 180 ff., 195. 80 See in detail Hallo 1996:144–149. 81 Hallo 1996:148.

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paper I warned of the virus of skepticism first displayed with respect to the Sargonic period.82 In the second I applied my strictures to the fall of empires, especially that of Ur III.83 In Mlle. Huber’s work the virus seems to have spread to the Ur III period. Yet I defy anyone to write the history of that period without its Royal Correspondence and other literary sources. It is not enough to condemn an entire canonical genre on linguistic or other grounds. What is long overdue is a judicious approach to the reconstruction of ancient history where the evaluation of each source proceeds hand in hand with the probability of the results achieved. There is no space for such an effort here but, if and when undertaken, it will certainly show that some members of each genre are genuine, if “modernized,” survivals of original sources, while others are demonstrably late fictions. Nearly forty years ago I raised the question: “A Sumerian Psalter?” and was inclined to answer “yes.”84 To the question: is there an entire corpus of royal correspondence—or any other genre—that can be described as a Sumerian apocryphon the answer would seem to be: no! References Cited Ali, Fadhil Abdulwahid 1964a Blowing the Horn for Official Announcement. Sumer 20:66–68. 1964b Sumerian Letters: Two Collections from the Old Babylonian Schools. Doctoral dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Aro, Jussi 1961 Die akkadischen Infinitivkonstruktionen. Studia Orientalia edidit Societas Orientalis Fennica 26. Helsinki: Societa Orientalis Fennica. Bodine, Walter R. 2001 A Model Contract of an Exchange/Sale Transaction, Pp. 41–54 in Historiography in the Cuneiform World. Proceedings of the XLVe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. Part I, eds. Paul-Alain Beaulieu, John Huehnergard, Peter Machinist and Piotr Steinkeller. Bethesda: CDL Press. Cavigneaux, Antoine 1996 Uruk: Altbabybnische Texte aus dem Planquadrat Pe XVI-4/5. AUWE 23. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. 82 83 84

Hallo 1998, here: VI.3. Hallo 2001b, here: VI.4. Hallo 1968:71, here: IV.1, and n. 1.

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Cavigneaux, Antoine and Farouk N.H. Al-Rawi 1993 New Sumerian Literary Texts from Tell Haddad (Ancient Meturan): A First Survey. Iraq 55:91–105. Civil, Miguel 1983 Enlil and Ninlil: The Marriage of Sud. JAOS 103:43–66. Reprint, pp. 43–66 in Studies in Literature from the Ancient Near East Dedicated to Samuel Noah Kramer, ed. Jack M. Sasson AOS 65 (1984). New Haven: American Oriental Society. Cohen, Sol 1976 Studies in Sumerian Lexicography, I. Pp. 97–110 in Kramer Anniversary Volume, Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, eds. Barry L. Eichler, Jane W. Heimerdinger and Åke W. Sjöberg. AOAT 25. Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag. Falkenstein, Adam 1949 Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaˇs I. Schrift- und Formenlehre. AnOr 28. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. 1950 Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaˇs II. Syntax. AnOr 29. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. Frayne, Douglas R. 1997 Ur III period, 2112–2004 bc. RIME 3/2. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Gelb, Ignace J. and Burkhart Kienast 1990 Die altakkadischen Königsinschriften des dritten Jahrtausends v. Chr. FAOS 7. Stuttgart: F. Steiner. George, Andrew R. 1993 House Most High. The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia. MC 5. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Hallo, William W. 1957 Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles. AOS. New Haven: American Oriental Society. 1963a Beginning and End of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur Recension. JCS 17:52–57, here: VI.1. 1963b On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature. JAOS 83:167–176, here: II.1. 1966 Review of: C.J. Gadd and S.N. Kramer, Literary and Religious Texts, First Part (UET 6/1), London 1963. JCS 20:89–93. 1968 Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition. JAOS 88:71–89. Reprinted, pp. 71–89 in Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, ed. William W. Hallo. AOS 53 (1968). New Haven: American Oriental Society, here: IV.1. 1970 The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry. Pp. 116–134 in Actes de la XVII e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. Bruxelles, 30 juin – 4 juillet 1969, ed. André Finet. Ham-sur-Heure: Comité belge de recherches en Mésopotamie, here: I.2.

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1972 The House of Ur-Meme. JNES 31:87–95. 1976a Toward a History of Sumerian Literature. Pp. 181–203 in Sumerological Studies in Honor of Tkorkild Jacobsen on his Seventieth Birthday June 7, 1974, ed. Stephen J. Lieberman. AS 20. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, here: I.4. 1976b Women of Sumer. Pp. 23–40 and figs. 1–18 in The Legacy of Sumer, ed. Denise Schmandt-Besserat. BiMes 4. Malibu: Undena Publications. 1977 Seals Lost and Found. Pp. 55–60 in Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East, eds. McGuire Gibson and Robert D. Biggs. BiMes 6. Malibu: Undena Publications. 1978 Simurrum and the Human Frontier. RHA 36:71–83. 1983a Lugalbanda Excavated. JAOS 103:165–180. Reprinted, pp. 165–180 Studies in Literature from the Ancient Near East Dedicated to Samuel Noah Kramer, ed. Jack M. Sasson. AOS 65 (1984). New Haven: American Oriental Society, here: VII.1. 1983b Sumerian Historiography. Pp. 9–20 in History, Historiography and Interpretation. Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures, eds. Hayim Tadmor and Moshe Weinfeld. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, here: VI.2. 1987 The Origins of the Sacrificial Cult: New Evidence from Mesopotamia and Israel. Pp. 3–13 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, eds. Patrick D. Miller, Paul D. Hanson and S. Dean McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. 1991 The Royal Corespondence of Larsa III. The Princess and the Plea. Pp. 377–388 in Marchands, diplomates et empereurs: études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli, eds. Dominique Charpin and F. Joannès. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, here: V.3. 1991a The Concept of Canonicity in Cuneiform and Biblical Literature: a Comparative Appraisal. SIC 4:1–19, here: X.3. 1996 Origins: the Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions. Leiden: Brill. 1998 New Directions in Historiography (Mesopotamia and Israel). Pp. 109– 128 in Dubsar anta-men. Studien zur Altorientalistik. Festschrift für Willem H.Ph. Römer zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahres mit Beiträgen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen, eds. Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz. AOAT 253. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, here: VI.3. 2001a Carcasses for the Capital. Pp. 161–171 in Veenhof Anniversary Volume. Studies Presented to Klaas R. Veenhof on the Occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday, eds. Wilfred H. van Soldt, Jan Gerrit Dercksen, Nico J.C. Kouwenberg and Theo J.H. Krispijn. PIHANS 89. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. 2001b Polymnia and Clio. Pp. 195–209 in Historiography in the Cuneiform World. Proceedings of the XLV e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. Part I, eds. Tzvi Abusch, Paul-Alain Beaulieu, John Huehnergard, Peter Machinist and Piotr Steinkeller. Bethesda: CDL Press, here: VI.4. 2002 A Model Court Case Concerning Inheritance. Pp. 141–154 in Riches Hidden in Secret Places. Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Memory of Thorkild Jacobsen, ed. Tzvi Abusch. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

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In press Day Dates in the Ur III Period. In The Growth of an Early State in Mesopotamia: Studies in Ur III Administration, Proceedings of the Workshop on the Administration of the Ur III state at the 49e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, London 2005, eds. Steven Garfinkle and Gale Johnson. Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas: Madrid [published 2008]. Hallo, William W. and W.K. Simpson 1998 The Ancient Near East a History. 2nd. ed. Fort Worth: Harcourt Brace. Hallo, William W. and K.L. Younger, eds. 2003 Archival Documents from the Biblical World. The Context of Scripture 3. Leiden: Brill Huber, Fabienne 2001 La Correspondance Royale d’Ur, un corpus apocryphe. ZA 91:169– 206. Jacobsen, Thorkild 1939 The Sumerian King List. AS 11. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. 1953 The Reign of Ibbi-Suen. JCS 7:36–47. Reprinted, pp. 173–186 in Thorkild Jacobsen, Toward the Image of Tammuz, ed. William L. Moran HSS 21. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1970. 1957 Early Political Development in Mesopotamia. ZA 52:91–140. Reprinted, pp. 132–156 in Thorkild Jacobsen, Toward the Image of Tammuz, ed. William L. Moran HSS 21. Cambridge: Harvard University Press 1970. 1970 Toward the Image of Tammuz and Other Essays on Mesopotamian History and Culture, ed. William L. Moran. HSS 21. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Kraus, Fritz Rudolf 1952 Zur Liste der älteren Könige von Babylonien. ZA 50:29–60. Landsberger, Benno 1959 Zum “Silbenatphabet B.” Pp. 97–116 in Muazzez Çig and Hatice Kizilyay, Zwei altbabylonische Schulbücher aus Nippur, Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi. Michalowski, Piotr 1975 The Bride of Simanum. JAOS 95:716–719. 1976 The Royal Correspondence of Ur. Doctoral dissertation, Yale University. 1995 Review of: Bendt Alster and Markham Geller, Sumerian Literary Texts (CT58), London 1990. JNES 54:49–51. Nissen, Hans J. 1981 Bemerkungen zur Listenliteratur Vorderasiens im 3. Jahrtausend. Pp. 99–108 in La Lingua di Ebla, ed. L. Cagni. Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale. Reeves, John C. and Waggoner Lu 1988 An Illustration from the Apocrypha in an Eighteenth Century Passover Haggadah. HUCA 59:253–268.

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Reichel, Clemens 2003 A Modern Crime and an Ancient Mystery: The Seal of Bilalama. Pp. 355–389 in Festschrift für Burkhart Kienast zu seinem 70. Geburtstage dargebracht von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen, ed. Gebhard J. Selz. AOAT 274. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Robson, Eleanor 2002 More than Metrology: Mathematics Education in an Old Babylonian Scribal School. Pp. 325–365 in Under One Sky: Astronomy and Mathematics in the Ancient Near East, eds. John M. Steele and Annette Imhausen. AOAT 297. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Rowton, M.B. 1960 The Date of the Sumerian King-list. JNES 19:156–162. Sauren, H. 1979 E2-dub-ba-literatur: Lehrbücher des Sumerischen. OLA 10:97–107. Sigrist, Marcel 1983 Textes économiques néo-sumériens de I’université de Syracuse. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Sjöberg, Åke W. 1961 Em Selbstpreis des Königs Hammurabi von Babylon. ZA 54:51–70. Sjöberg, Åke W. and E. Bergmann 1969 The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns. TCS 3. Locust Valley: J.J. Augustin Publisher. Sollberger, Edmond 1960 Aspects du contact suméro-akkadien. Genava 8, 241–314. 1968 The Cruciform Monument. JEOL 20:50–70. Steinkeller, Piotr 1998 The Historical Background of Urkesh and the Hurrian Beginnings in Northern Mesopotamia. Pp. 75–98 in Urkesh and the Hurrians. Studies in Honor of Lord Cotsen. Urkesh/Mozan Studies 3, eds. Giorgio Buccelati and Marilyn Kelly-Buccellati. BiMes 26. Malibu: Undena Publications. Stol, Marten 1976 Studies in Old Babylonian History. PIHANS 40. Leiden: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut. Tinney, Steve 1999 On the Curricular Setting of Sumerian Literature. Iraq 61:159–172. Vanstiphout, Herman LJ. 1978 Lipit-Eˇstar’s Praise in the Edubba. JCS 30:33–61. 1979 How did they Learn Sumerian? JCS 31:118–126. Veldhuis, Niek C. 1997 Elementary Education at Nippur. The Lists of Trees and Wooden Objects. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Groningen.

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Westenholz, Joan 1989 Enheduanna, En-Priestess, Hen of Nanna, Spouse of Nanna. Pp. 539– 556 in Dumu-E2-dub-ba-a. Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, eds. Hermann Behrens, Darlene Loding and Martha T. Roth. OPSNKF 11. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum. Wilcke, Claus 1969 Zur Geschichte der Amurriter in der Ur-III-Zeit. WdO 5:1–31. 1970 Drei Phasen des Niedergangs des Reiches von Ur III. ZA 60:54–69. Yoshikawa, Mamoru 1989 maˇs-dàra and sag-tag. ASJ 11:353–355. Zettler, Richard L. 1984 The Genealogy of the House of Ur-Meme: a Second Look. AfO 31:1–9. 1987 Sealings as Artifacts of Institutional Administration in Ancient Mesopotamia. JCS 39:197–240.

vi historiography

vi.1 BEGINNING AND END OF THE SUMERIAN KING LIST IN THE NIPPUR RECENSION

I The newly discovered fragment of exemplar L2 of the Sumerian King List (N 3368) published by M. Civil in this journal1 makes possible a new reconstruction of the first six kings of Kish. The text offered here employs the line count and sigla of Thorkild Jacobsen, and attempts to bring pp. 76–79 of his standard edition up to date.2 The figures in the margin enumerate the kings of Kish I. (1) WB

i 43 K i ˇsk i *-ù r

L2 WB 44 WB L2 45

l u g a l-àm m u 1200 ì-a g

Text from WB. L2 (according to L. Legrain’s copy):3 K[i ˇsk i *-** lugalàm)/ 1200 m[u ì-ag]. Berossos’ excerpters give the first post-diluvian king as Eu¯echoios, which may plausibly be supposed a corruption of Eu¯echoros,4 and contains in the (emended) element -or(os) a possible reflection of the cuneiform spelling. There is, however, another tradition in which Berossos evinced considerable interest, that of the socalled apkallu’s, or legendary sages. In this tradition, the first postdiluvian king, or at least the first one associated with such a sage, is En-me(r)kar of Uruk. This is shown not only by the apkallu-text cited by Jacobsen5 and newly edited with the help of additional duplicates

“Texts and Fragments (36),” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 15 (1961) 79 f. The Sumerian King List (= Assyriological Studies 11, 1939), quoted hereafter as AS 11. 3 PBS 13 (1922) No. 2. 4 Jacobsen, AS 11: 86 f., note 115. 5 Ibid. 1 2

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by E. Reiner,6 but even more explicitly by a new late text from Uruk published by J.J.A. van Dijk.7 The identification of Eu¯echoios (etc.) with En-merkar8 thereby gains in probability, and the necessity of identifying the Greek transcriptions with * - ù r diminishes. Given the fact that a number of star names recur as royal names in the ante-diluvian portion of the King List (lu-lim = ajjalu, Dumu-zi, Sipa-zi-an-na) as well as among the first post-diluvian rulers of Kish (Kalibum, Zuqaq¯ıp), it is tempting to restore the traces of the present name in WB as (g i ˇs -) g á n -ù r, for this is the name of one of the “southern stars.”9 (2) WB L2 Su2 46 Ku -la-zi-na-be- el WB L2 Su2 47 900 mu ì-ag

Text from L2, following Civil’s copy. The first element of the name is taken to be kullassina  *kullat-ˇsina, “all of them (the people?).”10 The second element is restored, with all due reserve, on the basis of the Greek sources, which give the name of the second post-diluvian king as Kh¯omasb¯elos.11 Su2 has [ . . . ]-na-i-be-el /[900 mu] ì - a g. WB’s Kúlla-d*-AN.NA-**-el/m u 960 ì - a g remains a crux. The discrepancy in the figures amounts to only one vertical wedge, exactly as in the case of the seventh king of Kish, Kalibum. But d*-AN.NA is hard to reconcile with L2’s zi-na. S. Langdon read the * in question as 14 ˇ Jacobsen as NIDABA.15 NIDABA12 or EZEN,13 i.e., EZINU (SE.TIR), d The copy favors a reading TIR, and TIR.AN.NA is well known as the logogram for marratu or dmanzât, “rainbow,”16 Moreover it varies “The Etiological Myth of the Seven Sages,” Orientalia 30 (1961) 1–11. XVIII. Vorläufiger Bericht . . . Uruk (1962) 44–52. 8 Cf. Jacobsen, AS 11: 87, note 115. 9 Article “Fixsterne,” Reallexikon der Assyriologie 3 (1957) 79; cf. Deimel, Sumeˇ risches Lexikon 2 (1928) No. 105: 13 f. 10 For this form, cf. I.J. Gelb, Materials for the Assyrian Dictionary 2 (2nd ed., 1961) 121 f. and 3 (1957) 145 and, with another interpretation, A. Goetze, RA 52 (1958) 147. 11 F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker III C (1958) 384; P. Schnabel, MVAG 13 (1908) 5 and Berossos (1923) 184 and 267 f. For a different identification, cf. Jacobsen, AS 11: 88, note 122. 12 OECT 2 (1923) p. 9. 13 Ibid., note 9. 14 The copy looks more like TIR or SE.NIR, ˇ ˇ but this writing of EZINU/ASNAN is attested; cf. e.g. E.I. Gordon, Sumerian Proverbs (1959) 542, note 4. 15 AS 11: 76 f. and note 40. 16 Cf. Deimel, SL ˇ 2:375:15 and M. Streck, Assurbanipal (1916) 266, note c and 267, note 3. For the various astronomical meanings of dTIR.AN.NA cf. F. Kugler, Sternkunde und Sterndienst in Babel, Ergänzungen 2 (1914) 184, note 4. 6 7

vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension

411

ˇ with dSE.TIR-n a (i.e. da ˇs n a n - n a or de z i nx -n a) in the Hymn to the Temple of Nin-hursag at Kesh (é ˇs - n u n - e).17 For line 34 ˇ - n a - a n - n é (35) of one version of this text has é - dSE.TIR d ú s - s a, where another has é - NIDABA.AN - n a - a n - n é - ú s - s a,18 a variant reading to which E. Chiera called attention, comparing it to our King List passage,19 but which S.N. Kramer’s collation20 showed to be actually é - dTIR.AN.NA - a n - n é - ú s s a.21 Interestingly enough, an unpublished Yale exemplar of the same text has instead é - dBAN.AN.NA - a n - n é - ú s - s a.22 These ˇ variants suggest that SE.TIR.(AN)-na too had the sense of “bow of heaven, rainbow,” possibly with the reading e z i n (a),23 since the reading a ˇs n a n is associated with the concept of grain.24 If, then, ˇ ?)TIR.AN.NA-**-el, it is we are entitled to read WB i 46 as Kúl-la-d(SE conceivable that it represents a somewhat awkward Kúl-la-(e)zinx-na- ib el.25 If, on the other hand, Jacobsen’s reading of dNIDABA.AN-na is retained, one may perhaps compare the name of the Ur III e n s í of Nippur written Ur-dAN.NIDABA,26 for which no reading is, however, here suggested. ii 1 Na-an-giˇs-li-iˇs-ma

(3) L2 Su2 P5 L2 Su2

2

670 mu ì-ag

For literature, cf. M. Lambert, RA 55 (1961) 195, No. 70. Langdon, OBCT 1 (1923) pl. 43:2 and Chiera, Sumerian Religious Texts (1924) 16: 21 respectively. 19 AJSL 40 (1924) 267. 20 ZA 52 (1957) 83. 21 Cf. also lugal-e I 9, where the older exemplars have dSE.TIR-an-na ˇ and the younger ones dTIR-an-na according to A. Falkenstein, Sumerische Götterlieder 1 (1959) 65, note 97; he considers the latter spelling erroneous. 22 NBC 7799. The confusion or conflation of BAN and TIR in the complex “bow of heaven” may be due to the near homophony in Akkadian of qaˇstu, “bow” (BAN) ˇ B"NN, “(rain)bow and qîˇstu, “forest” (TIR), and recalls at once the Biblical QST in the cloud” of Genesis 9:(13), 14, 16 (cf. Ezekiel 1:28). As a theophoric element, (d)BAN.AN.NA occurs in Neo-Babylonian personal names; cf. Deimel, Pantheon Babylonicum (1914) No. 2971. 23 Cf. Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, vol. E, s.v. ezennû. 24 Cf. W. von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch, s.v. aˇ snan. 25 For a comparable orthographic development, cf. the syllabic value iˇ sin, izin, or isin derived from EZEN; Gelb, MAD 22: 210 ad No. 72. 26 TMH n. F. 1–2:346; de Clercq, Cyl. Or. No. 86 = pl. x and p. 68; unpubl. 1st. Ni. 372 (courtesy E. Sollberger). 17 18

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vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension

Text from L2. The restoration of the figure as 1200 seems less probable by comparison with the form of the signs for 1200 four lines above. Su2: [ . . . ]-li- is-ma / [ . . . ] ì - a g. P5: traces. 3 En-dàra-an-na

(4) L2 Su2 P5

420 m u a r á - * - [?] - ám i t i - 3 u4 - 3 1/2 ì-ag

L2 Su2

Text from L2 and Su2, the latter preserving the last sign of each of the three lines. WB has only room for two lines here; the first sign of the second resembles the * of L2. P5: E n - t a r - * - a n - n a /[ . . . ]. This entry supplies not only an entirely new name,27 but also the basis for the months and days in the total of Kish I. (5)

L2 Su2 WB L2

5 Ba-bu-um-*-[?] P5 5 300 mu ì - a g

Text from L2. WB: Ba-b[u- . . . ]. P5: Ba-u-um-E [ . . . ]. Su2 preserves only ¯ a vertical wedge at the end of the name. (6)

L2 WB L2

P5 6

Pu-An- na -[um] 240 m u [ì - a g]

Text from L2. WB: Pu-An- nu-um m u [8]40 ì-ag . P5: Pu-An-*-um [ . . .]. The new text confirms Langdon’s copy and rules out F.R. Kraus’ otherwise plausible conjecture sír-ri-mu-um.28 L2’s 240 represents the lowest figure in a kind of arithmetic progression formed by the first six reigns, as follows: 1200 , 900 (variant: 960), 670 , 420+, 300, 240 ; it may therefore be preferable to WB’s [8]40.

For the type cf. D.O. Edzard, ZA 53 (1959) 15–19. ZA 50 (1952) 58, note 4. For names of the Pu-DN type, cf. Gelb. MAD 3:210 f. (I owe this and several other suggestions to the kindness of Prof. Gelb.) 27 28

vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension

413

II The remaining kings of Kish I are not affected by the new fragment.29 It is interesting to note that their number remains twenty-three as given in the dynasty summary. But the discrepancy between the regnal totals as calculated and as given in the summary is not reduced by the discovery of the new figures except in respect to the months and days. The hope that L2 might be assigned to its proper place in a presumed original by physical inspection was expressed by Kraus.30 Even without such inspection, the new fragment makes it seem highly probable that L2 represents, in fact, the upper left-hand corner of a tablet, since L1 and P2, two twelve-column tablets of identical lay-out, undoubtedly began with the post-diluvian kings, and the new fragment breaks off at the very point where P2 (as well as P3) begins. The conclusion that L2 is part of either L1 or P2 (or possibly P3) seems almost inescapable. In response to my inquiry regarding the latter two texts, M. Civil kindly stated: “CBS 14223 + N 3368 is ‘compatible’ with both P2 and P3; personally I am inclined to assume that it belongs to P2. It is not however a physical join, although the fragments must be quite close.”31 If we suppose, then, that L2 represents the upper left-hand column of the obverse of either P2 or L1 (or conceivably P3), then all the extant Nippur exemplars of the Sumerian King List32 begin with the first postdiluvian dynasty, Kish I, with one possible exception, namely P5.33 In the case of P5, however, we are dealing with a copy later than the others; moreover, while the shape of the tablets suggests that at least twenty double-lines were lost from before the beginning of the Kish I section, we can hardly be sure what, if anything, the missing portion contained. In short, the Nippur scribes of the Early Old Babylonian period were not in the habit of joining the ante-diluvian traditions to the King List. This is also the conclusion arrived at on internal grounds most recently by J.J. Finkelstein.34 It is difficult to place the stray -a of Kraus’ transliteration of Ni. 9712a i (ZA 50:35, 38), which does not appear in Kramer’s copy, University Museum Bulletin 17/2 (1952) 19. 30 ZA 50:54, note 3. 31 Letter of 11-16-1961. 32 For P and P , see below, notes 45 f. 4 6 33 For previous discussions of this question, cf. Jacobsen, AS 11:55–68 and Kraus, ZA 50:31–33, 51–53. 34 American Oriental Society meeting, Cambridge (Mass.), 1962; cf. now above, sub General Conclusions (A). 29

414

vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension

The same conclusion follows from the fact that the same Nippur scribes, and only they, regularly concluded their exemplars with a final summary limited to the post-diluvian dynasties.35 These summaries were not included in Jacobsen’s edition of the King List, which was based on the non-Nippurian exemplar WB 444, though of course he made full use of them in his reconstruction of the rest of the text.36 Here too we now dispose of additional material: Ni. 9712c, a part of L1 copied by Kramer37 and edited by Kraus who identified it;38 N 1610 = CBS 15365 (P6), first published, in transliteration only, by A. Poebel and now re-identified and copied by Civil;39 and CBS 13484, a small fragment joining CBS 13293 (P4) which was identified by Civil and is published herewith with the kind permission of Professor Kramer.40 In view of the new material, it has been deemed appropriate to edit the Nippur summaries here. P2, as the most complete of the versions, is used as the basis for a text; the newly copied material is presented in the right hand column. No attempt has been made to resolve the troublesome question of regnal totals for the separate cities or the grand total for all the cities; the restorations are simply based on the preserved figures from the body of the King List, where possible from the Nippur exemplars. One observation may, however, be in order in connection with the newly-found fragment of P4. It knows of all sixteen kings of Isin and, while there is some doubt about the precise number of years assigned to the dynasty, goes far toward confirming what Poebel had argued from internal evidence: that it was, in effect, written in the last year or years of Damiq-iliˇsu, the last king of Isin.41

For P3, cf. below, note 46. Cf. also his edition of P6 in AS 11:8, note 15. 37 University Museum Bulletin 17/2 (1952) 19. 38 ZA 50 (1952) 37 ff. 39 “Texts and Fragments (37),” JOS 15 (1961) 79 f. 40 The obverse of the new fragment adds no more than half a sign to Poebel’s copy of P4, and has therefore not been recopied below. 41 Cf. Jacobsen, AS 11:6 f., note 9. 35 36

vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension P2 ˇsu-nigín 40!-lal-[1 lugal] mu-bi 14, 400 [ + ? + ] 9 mu [3 i t i 3 1/2 u4] íb-ag a - rá 4 - [kam ] ˇs à - Kiˇs[ki] (2) ˇsu-nigín 22 l[ugal] mu - bi 2610 [+ ?] 6 iti 15 u4 íb-a[g] a - rá - 5 - kam ˇsà-unugki-ga (3) ˇsu - nigín 13 lugal mu - bi 396 m u íb-ag a - rá - 3 - kam [ˇs à] -uríki-ma (4) ˇsu - nigín 3 lugal mu-bi 356 mu íb-ag a-rá-1-kam ˇsà - A - wa - ank I (5) [ˇsu] - nigín 1 lugal mu-bi 7 mu [ì - ag] a - rá - 1 - [kam] ˇsà- H[a? - ma - ziki- a] (break)42 (9) [ˇsu-nigín 11] lugal [mu-bi 60 + ] 137 [mu] íb-ag [a - r]á -l - kam [ˇsà] - A - ga - dèk i (10) [ ˇsu - nigín 21 lugal mu - bi 125 mu 40 u4 íb - ag a - rá -1 - kam ˇsà - ugnim [G]u - ti - umk i

415

duplicates

(1)

P6(CBS 15365) [mu] - bi 125 [. . .] íb - ag [a - r]á - 6 - kam [ˇsá - unu]gk i - a [ . . . luga]l

L1 (Ni. 9712c) [ˇsà - A - wa - ank] i [ˇsu -nigín 1 luga]l [7 mu ì] -ag [a - rá] - 1 - kam] [ˇsà - Ha - ma -z]iki - a

P4 (CBS 13293 + 13484) [na] m - lugal - A - g[a - dèk i] 23 lugal [m]u - bi 9943 nam - lugal- ugnim Gu - NU - umk i

42 This break must have contained summaries for (6) Adab, (7) Mari and (8) Akˇsak, each of which was once the seat of kingship. 43 These new figures for the kings and years of Gutium will be dealt with separately in a study of the Gutian period.

416

vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension P2 (continued)

(11) [ˇsu-nigín] 11 lugal [mu-b]i 159 mu íb-ag [ˇsà - i] - si - i n - na 11 [uruk]i nam-lugal-la [í] b - ag - ga [ˇsu] - nigin 134 lugal [ˇsu] - nigin mu-bi 28800 [*] + 76 21

duplicates (continued) 16 lugal mu - bi 226! * nam - lugal - ì - si - ink i - na 11 uruk i 139 lugal mu - bi ** + 3000 + 443 mu traces

In the above reconstruction, P6 has been treated as a variant of the summary dealing with Uruk, although it is apparent that this raises serious difficulties. In addition to those mentioned by Jacobsen,44 one may mention the near-impossibility of assigning the fragment a logical place in the extant one-tablet45 or two-tablet46 Old Babylonian recensions from Nippur, and the problem of identifying the names of the fragment with those of the Old Babylonian dynasty at Uruk as they are emerging from the excavations there.47

III Thus all the evidence points to a Nippurian King List tradition which began with the first post-diluvian dynasty (Kish I) and ended with a summary of the eleven cities which shared the kingship till the end of the First Dynasty of Isin. One other new bit of evidence deserves to be mentioned in conclusion, for it enables us to specify the precise line with which this tradition began the text of the King List, even though that line is not preserved on any of the Nippur recensions. In a “New Literary Catalogue from Ur,”48 Kramer has, in fact, discovered

AS 11:8, note 15, end. L1; P2. 46 P -P4; I use this notation to indicate successive tablets of exemplars that appar3 ently belong together; cf. also Kraus, ZA 50:32. 47 Ibid., 58, note 1. 48 RA 55 (1961) 169–176. 44 45

vi.1. the sumerian king list in the nippur recension

417

the incipit of the King List. It takes the form of nam-lugal (No. 25) and seems to show that the Old Babylonian version began with i 4149 and not with i 43.50 Of course, nam-lugal is also the incipit of the ante-diluvian section, and it could therefore be argued that the new catalogue entry identifies the fuller form of the King List. I would, however, suggest that the line nam - lugal an - ta e11 - dè - a - ba is originally more at home in the post-diluvian King List, and secondary in the ante-diluvian addition and in the Sumerian Flood myth. Were it otherwise, it would be difficult to justify the repetition of the line in the middle of the expanded version of the King List. There is nothing in the preserved Sumerian traditions to suggest that kingship reverted to heaven during the flood.51 Moreover, the line that precedes our incipit in the postdiluvian section (egir a - ma - ru ba - ùr - ra -ta) is clearly transitional, and results in an awkward juxtaposition of two uncoördinated temporal clauses. This could easily have been avoided had not the second clause been an already established part of the existing text. If, on the other hand, nam-lugal was in fact the incipit of the Nippur King List, it is easy to see the identical opening of the ante-diluvian addition as an intentional imitation of the existing, post-diluvian King List,52 betraying a desire to adapt the expanded version to the familiar patterns of the Nippurian ones, even as to its title.

So already Jacobsen with respect to P2; cf. AS 11:55 f., note 100. Ibid. 77, note 38 and references there. 51 Expressions like “From [heaven] kingship has come down [!; text has: si-il) to you [i. e., Ur]” (G. Castellino, “Urnammu/Three Religious Texts,” ZA 53 [1959] 124, line 114; cf. ibid. 107, line 44), if correctly restored and emended, may simply represent attempts to legitimize a new dynasty. An echo of the notion that the attributes of kingship must be removed for safekeeping during a/the flood—albeit to the apsû, not to heaven—may perhaps be seen in the Irra Epic, but there it is primarily the divine kingship of Marduk that is involved; cf. especially W.G. Lambert, Archiv für Orientforschung 18 (1958) 398–400. For a similar tradition in connection with the King List itself, cf. Finkelstein, JCS 17 (1963) 46, note 24. 52 Granted that its immediate model may have been the Sumerian flood myth; cf. Jacobsen, AS 11:58 ff. 49 50

vi.2 SUMERIAN HISTORIOGRAPHY

I am going to use the expression “Sumerian historiography” in a double sense here—one to describe the Sumerian texts dealing with history, and the other to identify the attempts of modern scholars to reconstruct Sumerian history.* My object is to test the validity of the proposition that literary sources may be used, with due caution, in historiographical reconstructions. In the case of ancient Israel, this proposition is virtually axiomatic. For many periods, institutions and topics of Biblical history, the Bible is our only resource, and it is a literary source. The debate over its admissibility in evidence has raged long and hard all the same, and I have reviewed it at length elsewhere.1 I will not dwell on it here except to note that my recent animadversions on Assyrian historiography were in part an attempt to bring that analogy to bear on the debate.2 On the Egyptian side, I may perhaps cite the opinion of Gun Björkman who, in an article entitled “Egyptology and historical method,” argued against the uncritical use of New Kingdom literary texts to reconstruct the history of the First Intermediate Period.3 Two of these are commonly used for this purpose, the Admonitions of Ipuwer and the Instructions of Merikare. But “since the date and historical value

*

Presented to the Third Assyriological Colloquium, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, May 9, 1979, on “Aspects of Cuneiform Historiography” under the sponsorship of the Institute for Advanced Studies. For an earlier treatment of the subject, see Samuel Noah Kramer, “Sumerian Historiography,” IEJ 3 (1953), pp. 217–232. 1 See my “Biblical history in its Near Eastern setting: the contextual approach,” in Carl D. Evans, William W. Hallo and John B. White (eds.), Scripture in Context: Essays on the Comparative Method (Pittsburgh Theological Monograph Series 34), 1980, pp. 1–26. 2 W.W. Hallo, “Assyrian Historiography revisited,” Eretz Israel 14 (H. L. Ginsberg Volume), 1978, pp. l*–7*. Of other recent contributions, note especially J. Krecher and H.P. Müller, “Vergangenheitsinteresse in Mesopotamien und Israel,” Saeculum 26 (1975), pp. 13–14, and B. Hruˇska, “Das Verhältnis zur Vergangenheit im alten Mesopotamien,” Archív Orientální 47 (1979), pp. 4–14. 3 Gun Björkman, “ ‘Egyptology and historical method,” Orientalia Suecana 13 (1964), pp. 9–33.

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of the literary composition called Admonitions is not established, it should consequently not be used,”—not at all it appears.4 And as for the Instructions, confronting them with an elaborate list of sources contemporary with the period in question leads to the conclusion that while they rarely contradict each other, neither do they confirm each other since, on the whole, they do not cover the same ground.5 To me, this view seems a little bit naive. It implies that, in the first place, our sources are abundant enough even for so obscure a time as the First Intermediate Period to enable us always to weigh contemporaneous documentation against later literary formulations. (In fact, of course, we cannot even be sure that the Admonitions refer to the First Intermediate Period and not the Second.) In the second place, it suggests a degree of objectiveness and infallibility for contemporaneous sources which flies in the face of abundant examples of their own tendentiousness and other subjective features. I still prefer the principle I enunciated in the preface to The Ancient Near East: a History, namely that the modern historian’s function is to write “not only a history but a commentary on ancient history and historiography.”6 If, with Huizinga, “history is the intellectual form in which a civilization renders account to itself of its past,”7 then we must listen to the native traditions in which these accounts are rendered. In this enterprise, a critical attitude is of course desirable, indeed essential; but it must be applied to all the textual sources, contemporary as well as later, documentary as well as literary. And it cannot be applied to the later, literary sources unless these are included in the enterprise in the first place. This does not imply indiscriminately equating all sources, and I doubt anyone would accuse me of wanting to do that. In fact, I have devoted a good part of my Assyriological efforts to identifying and demarcating the broad categories of cuneiform writings. For the loose and purely functional distinctions such as Gadd’s “sacred, ceremonial,

Ibid., p. 16 (citing J. van Seters, JEA 50 [1964], pp. 13–23). Ibid., pp. 20–31. For a different view, see R.J. Williams, “Literature as a medium of political propaganda in Ancient Egypt,” in W.S. McCullough (ed.), The Seed of Wisdom: Essays in Honor of T.J. Meek, Toronto, 1964, pp. 14–30, esp. pp. 16–19. 6 W.W. Hallo and W.K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: a History, 1971, p. vi. 7 J. Huizinga, “A definition of the concept of history,” in R. Klibansky and H.J. Paton, (eds.), Philosophy and History: Essays Presented to Ernst Cassirer, Oxford, 1936, p. 9. See further to this point Hallo (above, n. 1). 4 5

vi.2. sumerian historiography

421

or everyday,”8 I substituted categories based on form as well as function,9 defining these respectively as canonical,10 monumental,11 and archival.12 Within these broad categories, I have been at pains to delineate the individual genres into which they could be broken down,13 to trace the evolution of these genres over time,14 and thus to reconstruct the separate genre-histories from which a literary history of Mesopotamia could ultimately be assembled.15 To a growing extent, my classification system has been gaining acceptance in the field.16 Classification is not, however, the be-all and end-all of our efforts. Even if our modern taxonomy tallies with the native categories, it remains no more than a working hypothesis, a means to an end, or to diverse ends. One of these is to reconstruct a literary and cultural history of Mesopotamia, juxtaposed with the political, social, and economic history of the area, to the reciprocal illumination of both. Another end is closer to our purpose here. For, having once defined and distinguished our categories and genres, we can more safely aspire to re-unite them, in other words to draw on all of them jointly and severally in order to reconstruct the historical reality lying behind them. I made a first conscious attempt in this direction with “The House of Ur-Meme,” the aristocratic family which held some of the highest political and priestly offices at neo-Sumerian Nippur for five generations.17 My reconstruction of the genealogy of the family and the careers of C.J. Gadd, Teachers and Students in the Oldest Schools, London, 1956, p. 6. Hallo, (above, n. 6), pp. 154–156; previously e.g. in JNES 17 (1958), p. 210 n. 6. 10 Idem, “New viewpoints on cuneiform literature,” IEJ 12 (1962), esp. pp. 21–26, here: I.1. 11 Idem, “The royal inscriptions of Ur: a typology,” HUCA 33 (1962), pp. 1–43. 12 Idem, Sumerian Archival Texts (TLB 3), Leiden, 1963–1973. 13 Idem (above, n. 11) for monuments; cf. “The neo-Sumerian letter-orders,” Bib Or 26 (1969), pp. 171–175 for an archival genre. 14 Idem, “Individual prayer in Sumerian; the continuity of a tradition,” JAOS 88 (Speiser Memorial Volume; AOS 53), 1968, pp. 71–89, here: IV.1. 15 Idem, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen (AS 20), Chicago, 1976, pp. 181–203, here: I.4. 16 I.J. Gelb, deploring the lack of “any comprehensive study of the typology of written records in ancient times,” singled out my studies (above, nn. 10–11) “for preliminary thoughts on the topic as applied mainly to ancient Mesopotamia” in his “Written records and decipherment” in Thomas A. Sebeok (ed.). Diachronic, Areal and Typological Linguistics (Current Trends in Liguistics 11), 1973, p. 254. Cf. previously E.C. Kingsbury, HUCA 34 (1963), p. 1, n. 1. 17 “The house of Ur-Meme,” JNES 31 (1972), pp. 87–95; cf. idem. “Seals lost and found,” Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 6 (1977), p. 57 and nn. 18–20. 8 9

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its members drew in equal measure on account-texts, seal inscriptions, and literary letters, and served incidentally but happily to confirm the essential historicity of the later canonical texts by means of the contemporaneous archives and monuments. The same purpose was pursued on a more ambitious scale by my student Piotr Michalowski in his dissertation on “The Royal Correspondence of Ur.” He demonstrated that the literary letters to and from the neo-Sumerian kings of Ur constitute an essentially authentic record of the events they describe, though preserved in copies post-dating these events by two to three hundred years. All of the letters deal with the same general theme, namely the coming of the Amorites, which leads one to suspect that they were selected from the surviving royal records of the Ur III empire for use in the scribal school by pupils (or professors) with some interest in this particular subject. And their personal names, geographical names, events, and other data are repeatedly corroborated by the evidence of the Ur III archives and monuments.18 A companion piece to this corpus is formed by “The Royal Correspondence of Isin,” which is so far represented by two pairs of letters to and from the kings Iddin-Dagan and Lipit-Ishtar19 and possibly one from Enlil-bani.20 Though the focus of interest changes (from the coming of the Amorites to the struggle over water rights), this corpus shares with the Ur correspondence a sober style and matter-of-fact tone appropriate to authentic letters on affairs of state. But even while the royal correspondence developed along these prosaic lines a more poetic format was evolving for private letters. Petitions addressed to superiors,21 to kings,22 and to gods23 combined an epistolary format with a hymnic style which apostrophized the addressee and enumerated the petitioner’s wants in ever more elaborate terms.

18

719. 19

See, for now, P. Michalowski, “The bride of Simanum,” JAOS 95 (1975), pp. 716–

M.B. Rowton, “Watercourses and water rights in the official correspondence from Larsa and Isin,” JCS 21 (1967), pp. 267–274. 20 So according to M.E. Cohen, “The Lu-Ninurta letters,” WO 9 (1977), pp. 10–13. 21 E.g. the letter of Lugal-murub to Enlil-massu his son (!) = No. 16 in “LetterCollection B” (below, n. 57); it can be dated to the time of Ibbi-Sin (more or less) if the author’s father is Zuzu; cf. Hallo (above, n. 17). 22 E.g. Letter-Collection B , from Ur-shaga to Shulgi(?) (below, n. 57); cf. Hallo 6 (above, n. 14), p. 75 f. 23 E.g. Letter-Collection B , from Inannakam to Nintinuga, which can perhaps be 17 dated to the time of Amar-Sin; cf. Hallo, (above, n. 17), p. 91 f.

vi.2. sumerian historiography

423

Thus the literary letter developed along two separate but parallel lines in neo-Sumerian (Ur III-Isin) times: one the royal letter and the other the letter-prayer. The two lines converged under the Larsa dynasty, when we have no less than four royal letter-prayers addressed by King Sin-iddinam (ca. 1849–1843 bc) to Utu, the patron-deity of Larsa, and (in one case) to Nin-Isina, goddess of Isin. Since I have dealt with these letters in some detail on previous occasions here in Jerusalem in 197324 and 1977,25 I will pass over them now and turn instead to a fifth letter-prayer which follows directly on one of the Sin-iddinam letters to Utu in a prism from Oxford recently published by Gurney and Kramer,26 and which thus forms part of the Royal Correspondence of Larsa. It is, in fact, in many ways the pièce de résistance of this correspondence. The new composition is a letter, not from the king but to the king, and that king is Rim-Sin, last and longest-lived member of the “Larsa dynasty.” It is addressed to him by a woman, Ninshatapada. Like the famous Enheduanna, she is a princess, priestess and poetess in one. Like her predecessor more than four centuries earlier, she was born to the founder of a new dynasty, in her case, the founder of the Old Babylonian dynasty of Uruk, Sin-kashid. She was removed from her office and exiled from Durum, the city in which she served, when it fell to Larsa. Now she pleads with the conqueror to spare her city and restore her to her priestly office. The text is complete, in six duplicates and 58 lines. Its elaborate structure features a three-part salutation and a three-part body so disposed that each portion of the body is twice as long as the corresponding section of the salutation. There is little difficulty in correlating the newly recovered letter with the history of southern Babylonia in the late nineteenth century bc

24

Hallo, “The royal correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the prayer of Hezekiah?” S.N. Kramer Anniversary Volume (AOAT 25), 1976, pp. 209–224, here: V.1. 25 Idem, “The royal correspondence of Larsa: II. The appeal to Utu,” C.B.F. Walker ˇ in G. van Driel el alii (eds.), Zikir Sumim, Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, Leiden, 1982, pp. 398–417, here: V.2. Cf. idem, “Letters, prayers, and letter-prayers,” Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, 2: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Jerusalem, 1981, pp. 17, 27, here: IV.2. 26 OECT 5:25. A full edition of this text and its duplicates will appear shortly as “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa; III,” here: V.3, together with a study of its historical implications. My remarks here will be confined to its literary, and specifically its historiographic dimensions.

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as this is known from monumental inscriptions and date formulas.27 But in addition it gives us precious new insights into the period. Sinkashid’s solicitude for the southern city of Durum, expressed in our letter by the appointment (either by himself 28 or less likely by one of his successors) of his own daughter to be high-priestess there, now adds new significance to the title “viceroy of Durum” which he affected on recently published inscriptions in honor of the chthonic deities worshipped there.29 Apparently he himself served there as an appointee (or perhaps even a member) of the dynasty of Isin, much as IshmeDagan, fourth king of the dynasty, had served as viceroy of Durum in the lifetime of his father Iddin-Dagan,30 thus carrying on a tradition that can now be traced back as far as Ishbi-Irra, first king of Isin,31 and Ibbi-Sin, last king of Ur III.32 But what is most revealing in the new letter is its use of repeated allusions to historical events known from the Larsa date formulas and even in the very words of those formulas. There are also many phrases in the letter taken from, or shared in common with, the inscriptions of Rim-Sin. To begin with, Ninshatapada addresses Rim-Sin as “shepherd” (sipa) or possibly even as “good shepherd” or “faithful shepherd” (sipa-zi)33 an epithet used attributively, i.e. before the royal name, by only two rulers throughout what I call the “Classical Period” of Mesopotamian history (ca. 2100–1600 bc): Gudea of Lagash in his cylinders34 and Rim-Sin of Larsa in his date formulas and one of his hymns.35

For this history, see especially A. Falkenstein, Bagh Mitt 2 (1963), pp. 22–41. Note that he appointed another daughter, Nish-inishu, as high priestess of Lugalbanda at Uruk; cf. Sin-kashid 6 (republished Falkenstein, above, n. 27, Pl. 8); P. Weadock, Iraq 37 (1975), p. 125. 29 C.B.F. Walker, AfO 23 (1970), pp. 88 f.; G. Pettinato, Oriens Antiquus 9 (1970), pp. 105–107; David I. Owen, JCS 26 (1974), pp. 63 f.; H. Steible, Archiv Orientální 43 (1975), pp. 346–352. 30 YOS 9:22 f. (= Ishme-Dagan 6) (written BÀD.KI). 31 The high-priestess (nin-dingir) of Lugal(g)irra installed according to “Isin Date C” presumably functioned at Durum, probably under Ishbi-Irra. 32 In view of his hymn to Meslamtaea and Lugalgirra, edited by Å. Sjöberg, Orientalia Suecana 19–20 (1970–1971), pp. 140–178, No. 11a. 33 Hallo, “Royal titles from the Mesopotamian periphery,” O.R. Gurney Anniversary Volume (Anatolian Studies 30, 1981) n. 75. 34 Perhaps in an effort to translate Akkadian r¯e"ûm epˇ sum; cf. Hallo, Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles (AOS 43), 1951, p. 148 and n. 2. Is the comparable utul9-zid applied to one of the earliest “Rulers of Lagash” a parody on this epithet? Cf. E. Sollberger, JCS 21 (1967), pp. 281, 284, 289 (line 113). 35 Hallo (above, n. 33), n. 74. 27 28

vi.2. sumerian historiography

425

In between, it was used predicatively, i.e. after the royal name, by Shulgi of Ur in his royal hymns, by An-am of Uruk in his inscriptions, and by Nur-Adad and Sin-iqisham of Larsa in letter-prayers and hymns respectively.36 The Akkadian equivalent r¯eu k¯ınu occurs in a fragmentary literary letter reminiscent in many ways of our Sumerian letter.37 Now Rim-Sin used the attributive title only in the date formulas of his 23rd to 26th years (1800–1797 bc); before that (year 22 = 1801) he called himself simply “shepherd” (sipa) and afterwards “obedient shepherd” (sipa-giˇstug) (year 27 = 1796) and “reliable shepherd” (sipa-gi-na) (years 28 ff. = 1795 ff.). Thus our text reflects the official designation of the years following the capture of Uruk (year 21 = 1802). In the second (really: third) salutation, Rim-Sin is apostrophized, among other things, as “natural-born son of the lord Nergal.” This epithet occurs verbatim in a fragmentary literary letter also, presumably, addressed to Rim-Sin,38 and, less literally, in several inscriptions of the king.39 It assumes special significance in the present context in view of the equation of this chthonic deity with Meslamtaea, the god whom the writer served as high-priestess. The body of the letter begins with a 15-line hymn praising Rim-Sin’s magnanimous treatment of the defeated Uruk which is so far unique in cuneiform literature, but which draws everywhere on the official diction of the conqueror’s scribes. Larsa is referred to as “the city lofty like a mountain” (uru-hur-sag-gim-íl-la), a simile used exclusively in the inscriptions of Warad-Sin and Rim-Sin during this period.40 The king “takes the field at the command of the gods An and Enlil” (du11 dAn En-líl-lá-ta mu-un-da-an-zi-ga), the phraseology of his date formulas from his 22nd year (1801) on; previously, notably in date formulas 17– 21 (1806–1802), only Enlil was invoked. The implication is that the conquest of Uruk commemorated in year 21 (1802) entitled the king to

Ibid., nn. 68, 71–73. J. van Dijk, UVB 18 (1962), 61 f. and pl. 28c; Falkenstein (above, n. 27), and n. 91; R.D. Biggs, ANET, p. 604. All tend to associate the text with Sin-kashid. 38 Line 19 of BE 31:7 (= Letter-prayer G in Hallo, above, n. 14, p. 89), republished as OECT 5:31 (dumu-tu-da en-dNè-iri11-gal-la-ka). 39 Hallo (above, n. 34), pp. 134–136. For Nergal as Rim-Sin’s personal god (dingir-rani) cf. Rim-Sin 12 (UET 1:141) and Hallo, JCS 20 (1966), p. 136 n. 53, here: III.2; for Nergal as divine begettor (dingir-sag-du) of Rim-Sin cf. Rim-Sin 10 (UET 1:144), 30 f., Rim-Sin 12:21 f., and UET 8:85:23. 40 Cf. I. Kärki, Studia Orientalia 35 (1967), pp. 232 f. 36 37

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invoke An, the tutelary deity of Uruk, in his subsequent date formulas, the more so if his treatment of the conquered city was magnanimous.41 And so indeed it was, as is clearly stated in the next three lines, where we read (i.a.) “of Uruk: its king . . . you captured (but) spared its populace” (unuki-ga lugal-bi . . . . mu-un-dab5-bé u-gù nam-lú-ux -lu-bi ˇsu-gar mu-un-gar-ra). The captured king may be Irdanene, whose defeat RimSin recorded in his 14th year formula (= 1809 bc) and whose capture he claimed in his inscriptions.42 But the sparing of the population is surely a reference to the events commemorated in identical terms in the 21st year formula (= 1802 bc); our letter even makes it possible to improve on the current reading and understanding of the date formula,43 which seems to be quoted once more three lines later on.44 In the second 15-line strophe of the letter, the writer turns to her own plight, speaking of the exile from her city and her priestly office which she has endured for five years45 or, in a variant, for four years.46 If she met this fate upon the defeat of Uruk in 1803, then her letter was composed, or at least worded as if composed, in 1798, or 1797 according to the variant. If “inclusive reckoning” is involved, the corresponding dates are 1799 or 1800 respectively. All these dates fall within the time span—1800–1797—already argued above on the basis of the royal epithets. But more likely her exile began one year earlier, for in the concluding 9-line stanza of her letter she speaks of Durum as “my city”47 and as cult-seat of the twin-gods of the underworld, Meslamtaea and

41 Some date formulas add Enki to An and Enlil, implying a similar “conquest” of Eridu. Cf. also Rim-Sin 7, which has all three deities giving Uruk to Rim-Sin. 42 Rim-Sin 10 and 15 (from Ur); cf. D.O. Edzard, Die “zweite Zwischenzeit” Babyloniens, Wiesbaden, 1957, p. 155, and the additions of E. Sollberger, UET 8 (1965), pp. 31 f. (sub Nos. 28 and 32). 43 ugu nam-lu-ulu -bi ˇsu-gar mu-un-gar-ra. Edzard (above, n. 42), 156, read egir x instead of ugu but ugu is clear in the date lists as well as some of the attested texts (e.g. YOS 5:79). M. Stol, Studies in Old Babylonian History, 1976, p. 23, does not comment on Edzard’s reading. 44 Cf. line 27: ur-sag-bi (var. -e-ne, ø) . . . ˇsu-zu (var. -ˇsè, ø) sá bi (var. am-mi)-in-du 11 -ga with the date formula’s erín-á-dah-bi sá bí-in-du11-ga. Cf. also UET 8: 82 as read by Michalowski, (below, n. 50), p. 87. 45 Cf. line 36: mu-5-kam-ma-(ta) uru-mà nu-me-a etc. So OECT 5:25:92; TCL 16, no. 46:1. 46 So with M. Çi˘ g and H. Kizilyay, Sumerian Literary Tablets and Fragments in the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul I, Ankara, 1979, p. 181 (Ni. 9729). 47 Cf. line 51: BÀD.KI uru(ki)-mu.

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Lugal-girra.48 This Durum is undoubtedly the same city whose capture in 1804 Rim-Sin recorded in his 20th date formula (= 1803).49 Its location has been much disputed, but was clearly close to Uruk,50 for its capture ushered in the fall of Uruk itself in the following year. The confusion is due in part to the almost generic character of the cityname, whose full form may have been Dur-Sinkashid.51 An analogy is provided by Dunnum, a synonymous toponym;52 of the many sites so named, one lay close to Isin and its fall precipitated the capture of that capital by Rim-Sin in the following year.53 Our letter, then, illuminates the linked fate of Durum and Uruk. Ninshatapada has drawn an accurate picture of her life and times that enables us to refine and correct the historical record based on monumental and archival sources. If it be asked how her letter-prayer came to be incorporated into the scribal curriculum, I would answer that it did so via the Royal Correspondence of Larsa, to which it found entry because its complimentary portrait of King Rim-Sin suited the ideology of that semi-official corpus. Its very language was that of the royal scribes who formulated the hymns, inscriptions and date-formulas of the dynasty. We may also assume that the princess and her plea found favor with Rim-Sin, and that he spared Durum as he had previously spared Uruk. Nor need we look far for the source of her inspiration. For between her princely birth and her priestly appointment, she was trained as a scribe (1. 16)—indeed she is one of the few women outside of Sippar54 known to have borne that proud honorific in the Old Babylonian period.55 She thus stands in a long tradition of princely women Cf. line 53: é-mes-lam-ma dingir-min-a-bi. A. Falkenstein, “Zur Lage des südbabylonischen Durum,” AfO 21 (1966), pp. 50 f. On this date formula, see most recently Stol, (above, n. 43), pp. 22 f., but read there D¯urum, not D¯er. 50 P. Michalowski, “D¯ urum and Uruk during the Ur III period,” Mesopotamia 12 (1977), pp. 83–96. 51 Ibid, p. 88, n. 27. Previously Falkenstein (above, n. 27), pp. 28 f.; Steible, (above, n. 29), pp. 347 f. 52 For the possible equivalence of dunnum and d¯urum, see now Jean-Marie Durand, “Notes sur l’histoire de Larsa,” RA 71 (1977), p. 21, n. 1; Dominique Charpin, RA 72 (1978), p. 18 n. 25. Cf. also MSL 13 (1971), 69:89; 84:14. 53 Hallo, “Antediluvian cities,” JCS 23 (1970), p. 66 and nn. 110–114. 54 Rivkah Harris, JESHO 6 (1963), pp. 138 f.; B. Landsberger and M. Civil, MSL 9 (1967), pp. 148 f.; cf. Civil, MSL 14 (1979), p. 135. 55 B. Meissner, Babylonien und Assyrien, II, 1925, p. 329 with references to ABL 1367 rev. 4 and 1368 rev. 6; R. Harris, Orientalia 38 (1969), pp. 140 and 145; idem. Ancient Sippar, 1975, pp. 196 f. For dub-sar as an honorific, see Hallo apud B. Buchanan, Early 48 49

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of Sumer who enriched Sumerian literature with their creative talents: the daughter of Sargon, the widow of Ur-Nammu, the mother of ShuSin among them.56 What are the implications of these findings for our topic? If we retrace our steps for a moment, we will recall that the general reliability of canonical texts known only in copies of the 18th century (more or less) was defended by comparing them to and integrating their data with the evidence of monumental and archival texts of the 21st century. Specifically, one could point to numerous prosopographic correspondences (names, patronymics, professions etc.) between the “House of Ur-Meme” and the literary letters generally grouped with the “Royal Correspondence of Isin” in support of this assessment of the so-called “Letter-Collection B.”57 Much the same could be said for “LetterCollection A” and the “Royal Correspondence of Ur”; here, indeed, the points of convergence go beyond prosopography to historical context and details. But the “Royal Correspondence of Larsa” now offers something more: verbatim identity between the very diction of this canonical corpus on the one hand, and the building inscriptions and date formulas of the dynasty on the other. What does this imply? Ideally, I would like to be able to draw the conclusion that our case authenticates the literary correspondence as a primary historiographic source, i.e., as a group of documents copied with little or no change from originals on deposit in the royal archives. For it would be stretching credulity to suppose that a scribe would so accurately imitate the diction of the court if he was composing far away from it, in time or space. But in fact the letter-prayer of Ninshatapada does not warrant this conclusion. Of its six extant exemplars, two come from Nippur, the others are of unknown provenience and, though none is dated, all are likely to belong to the same 18th century whose opening years are described in the text. This contrasts with the two and three centuries that separate the extant copies of the Isin and Ur correspondence from the events described therein. Thus we cannot simply “validate” Near Eastern Seals 1981, pp. 490 f. There is an extensive “correspondence féminine” from Mari but its authors do not claim the scribal title; cf. G. Dossin and A. Finet, ARMT 10 (1978). 56 Hallo, “Women of Sumer,” Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 4 (1976), pp. 29 and 31 f. with nn. 49 and 66–69. 57 F.A. Ali, Sumerian Letters (University Microfilms), 1964. Cf. Claus Wilcke. “Die Quellen der literarisch überlieferten Briefe,” ZA 60 (1970), pp. 67–69 with 4 tables.

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that correspondence on the strength of the Larsa evidence. But we are entitled to draw another conclusion, equally important from the historiographic point of view.58 I submit that Ninshatapada, or whoever was the “author” of our letter-prayer, wrote it in response to a real, historical situation, and wrote it, moreover, in full knowledge of the requirements of royal phraseology. This phraseology of the court scribes I would like to designate the “chancery style,”59 and I further suggest that it applied, if not equally then at least with due allowance for generic distinctions, to all three categories of cuneiform texts. In this connection I find it necessary to reiterate a hypothesis advanced more than a decade ago: “There are striking and sometimes even literal parallels between the date formulas and the royal inscriptions, between the date formulas and the royal hymns, and between the royal hymns and the royal inscriptions. I am, therefore, inclined to reconstruct an annual or biennial ceremony, perhaps related to the New Year’s celebration, in which one and the same event was memorialized in three distinct formulations: at its most concise in the official proclamation of the date formula; more fully in an appropriate building or votive inscription; and at its most elaborate in the royal hymns.”60 The significance of this observation was not entirely lost on our Assyriological colleagues,61 and indeed, a couple of years later I was invited by F.R. Kraus to enlarge on it for the Rencontre Assyriologique at Leiden devoted to “The Temple and its Cult.” To do it justice would, however, have required more than the sampling of documentation which I was then able to offer for my hypothesis; it called for a systematic survey of all three genres during the “Classical Phase” of Mesopotamian civilization in order to establish all the attested correlations among them. Meanwhile, such a survey has now been completed as a doctoral dissertation at Yale.62 It is not my purpose here to duplicate this investigation or anticipate its results. Suffice it to say that the 58

The importance of Ninshatapada’s letter for Sumerian historiography was recognized, on the basis of my remarks in “Women of Sumer” (above, n. 56) by Hruˇska (above, n. 2), p. 11. 59 Cf. F. Charles Fensham, VT 13 (1963), p. 133 on “the impact of the royal chancellery language in the latter part of the second millennium bc on the greater part of the ancient Near East,” citing Klaus Baltzer, Das Bundesformular (1960), p. 28. 60 “The cultic setting of Sumerian poetry,” RAI 17 (1970), pp. 118 f., here: I.2. 61 Cf. Michalowski (above, n. 18), p. 716, n. 2; J. Renger, RLA 6 (1980), p. 68. 62 D.R. Frayne, The Historical Correlations of the Sumerian Royal Hymns (2400–1900 bc.) (PhD dissertation, Yale University, 1981).

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original hypothesis quoted above seems to be confirmed at numerous points along the 500-year span for which its validity is claimed.63 What I am proposing here is that this very hypothesis can be extended to include not only the royal hymns but also the royal letterprayers, and, presumably, other historiographical genres such as the socalled “triumphal inscriptions,” in short, all the vehicles of the “chancery style.” Together, they constitute impressive evidence that, already in Sumerian-speaking times, or should I say in Sumerian-writing times, the great political, military and cultic events of the court were chronicled as they happened. As this evidence grows, it may yet have to be thrown into the balance in the search for the origins of later, more sophisticated cuneiform historiography. But already it allows us to reclaim at least some of the finest examples of Sumerian literature from the realm of legend or historical tradition and claim it instead for historiography.64

63 With this important proviso: that we do not insist “that all royal hymns were written to commemorate events recorded in year formulae, or that all year formulae were commemorated in hymns” (Frayne, ibid., p. 500). 64 Comparable conclusions were reached for some Akkadian literary texts by J.J.M. Roberts, “Nebuchadnezzar’s Elamite Crisis in Theological Perspective,” in Maria de Jong Ellis (ed.), Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein (Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, Memoirs 19), Hamden. Conn., 1977, pp. 183–187.

vi.3 NEW DIRECTIONS IN HISTORIOGRAPHY (MESOPOTAMIA AND ISRAEL)1

In the field of Assyriology, the term historiography is used in two very different senses. On the one hand it refers to the manner in which the ancients remembered their own past, on the other hand to the theoretical problems raised by our modern reconstructions of that same past. The former sense is implied in the classic study of H.G. Güterbock, who long ago wrote a doctoral dissertation under Benno Landsberger on what they called “die historische Tradition.”2 The same ground has been gone over many times since then, often in comparative perspective. I will mention here in passing only two titles, one on each side of the debate, and both heavily critiqued upon their appearance: John van Seters’ In Search of History (1983), subtitled “Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History,” and a new collective volume edited by Millard, Hoffmeier and Baker under the title Faith, Tradition, and History (1994), and subtitled “Old Testament Historiography in its Near Eastern Context.”3 The latter sense was introduced into the general field of history–writing by such philosophically minded figures as Giambattista Vico, Benedetto Croce, and R.G. Collingwood,4 and is reflected in Assyriology in some of the more recent literature, which it will be my purpose to assess here. But first I would like to review my own previous contributions to the debate, proceeding in chronological order not, however, of their appearance but of the topics dealt with.5

1

The substance of this paper was presented to the Institut für Orientalistik of the University of Vienna, Prof. Hermann Hunger presiding, October 21, 1996, and to the Oriental Club of New Haven, February 13, 1997. It is here offered to W.H.Ph. Römer in fond recollection of our encounters in Leiden in 1950–1951. 2 Güterbock 1934, 1938. 3 Van Seters 1983; Millard et al. 1994; cf. also Cancik 1976 and the reviews by Zevit 1985 and Brettler 1996. 4 Collingwood 1993. 5 For a spirited defense of some of my positions, see Millard et al. 1994, especially Averbeck 1994.

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For my definition of history I turned to the Dutch historian Johan Huizinga,6 in this respect following my late colleague Finkelstein,7 though correcting him in an important respect. “History,” Huizinga had said in 1936, “is the intellectual form in which a society renders account to itself of its past”—not “of the past” which Finkelstein had quoted him as saying.8 In practical terms this meant, to me, “an attempt to write ancient history by taking the ancient documents seriously without taking them literally” as it was put in the preface to the history which I co–authored with my Egyptological colleague W.K. Simpson, and which was presented as “not only a history but a commentary on ancient history and historiography.”9 The new edition of that work holds fast to this motto: it “treats the ancient sources critically but respectfully.”10 The same principle guided my other systematic surveys of Ancient Near Eastern history, Mesopotamian, Egyptian and Israelite,11 and some of its critical turning points.12 And it was put to the test in shorter contributions as well, beginning with the Sumerian sources. Whether attempting to date the Fara Period, or assembling data on the Gutians, or reconstructing the history of an aristocratic family at Nippur, or setting the letter–prayer of Ninshatapada in its historical context, I invariably combined and collated the evidence of all available sources, archival, monumental and canonical.13 In connection with Assyrian historiography, I considered primarily the Assyrian King List,14 in reference to Babylonian historiography, chiefly the concept of eras.15 But it was in regard to Biblical historiography that I repeatedly enunciated the principle to which I wish to address myself here: neither to exempt Biblical historiography from standards applied to other Ancient Near Eastern data, nor to subject it to standards demanded nowhere else.16

Huizinga 1936. Finkelstein 1963:462 and n. 4. 8 Hallo 1980:6 and 20, n. 27. 9 Hallo and Simpson 1971:vi. 10 Hallo and Simpson, 1997:vii. 11 Hallo 1996 ch. 9 and see the bibliography in Studies Hallo (1993) xi–xvi, items 7,8,10 (ch. 9) and 125. 12 Ibid., Item 146. 13 Ibid., Items 60, 56, 58, 109 (and 141). 14 Ibid., Items 17 and 81. 15 Ibid., Items 108, 114, and 127. 16 Ibid., Items 10:107; 59:4; 91:5; 136:193 and Hallo 1996:314 f. 6 7

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When I first offered that formulation, the field of Biblical history was already polarized into two camps that I chose to label—as neutrally as possible—maximalists and minimalists,17 a terminology which I credited to W.G. Dever (i.a.),18 though Dever himself has since disavowed paternity,19 and I now sometimes receive credit for it20—or should I say blame (Another early use of maximalist was by D. Pardee in reference to what he called ‘Dahoodic.’).21 Speaking very generally, the maximalists are willing to accept the Biblical version of events unless and until falsified by extra–Biblical sources, preferably contemporaneous, bearing on the same matters—a position stated with unusual candor by Bob Becking when he declared; “The dates in the Book of Kings can only be considered as untrustworthy when they can be falsified by contemporaneous evidence.”22 The minimalists, by contrast, demand that the Biblical version of any given event must have extra–Biblical verification, preferably again contemporaneous, before it can be regarded as historical. And they set themselves up as arbiters of what constitutes extra– Biblical verification, as we shall see. No wonder that most scholars prefer to place themselves in the golden mean between these extreme (and irreconcilable) positions,23 especially today, when this polarization has gone much further, with the very term ‘Biblical history’ under fire.24 What is more to the point here, however, is that today it is no longer so clear that the historiography of Mesopotamia and the rest of the ancient Near East still provides a methodological model for avoiding this kind of polarization. Let me illustrate. My illustration will be taken from the Sargonic dynasty. As I already put it in 1971, the rise and fall of this dynasty is so much the stuff of later legend that the chief historiographic problem is to peel away the legendary accretions in order to get at the authentic core, Hallo 1980:3 and 19, n. 13; 1990:193. Hallo 1980:19, n. 14, referring to Dever apud Hayes and Miller 1977:77. 19 Shanks 1996:35: “How would you define the minimalists and the maximalists?” Dever: “I didn’t coin those terms. I’m not sure who did.” Shanks 1997 and 1997a still uses the term without attribution. 20 Yamauchi 1994:6, referring to Hallo 1990:187 (correct to 1990:193). But see above, note 17, for the earlier formulation in Hallo 1980. 21 Dennis Pardee, JNES 40 (1981) 69. 22 Becking 1992:52. 23 As did I (Hallo 1980:3) despite Yamauchi’s characterization of some of my opinions as maximalist (1994:13 and n. 68). 24 Whitelam 1996, and his paper at the SBL meeting, Philadelphia, 1995, for which see Shanks 1997:50 f. 17 18

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the Sargonic kernel at the center.25 True to the principles already reviewed here, I applied this test to all the relevant sources in reconstructing the history of the dynasty.26 I even utilized glyptic evidence to justify a measure of credence in the traditional version of the death of three of its members as enshrined in the so–called “historical omens.”27 In short, I applied my own dictum that “the literary tradition can be used to fill the lacunae of Sumerian history, but only where the contemporary monuments and archives have provided the framework.”28 But the newer historiograhy, in part, rejects this approach. For some of its practitioners, the very term historical kernel is anathema,29 and the only valid sources are contemporaneous ones; the later ones are, at best, testimony to the concerns of the later age that produced them. This point of view, so redolent of the minimalist position in Biblical historiography, is expressed with greatest force and clarity in the volume Akkad the First World Empire which appeared in 1993.30 It is based on a symposium held in Rome three years before that (1990) at the invitation of Mario Liverani, who edited the volume and himself contributed two important articles to it. He summarized what he called Güterbock’s “first principle” as contending that “information contained in a literary text could not be accepted unless it was confirmed by another source” and took issue with it as too “loose,” implying that another source could confirm a later literary tradition only if it was contemporaneous and not likewise literary. Güterbock’s second principle, that of the “historical kernel,” was also rejected as leading to “very burdensome results.”31 The contributors are by no means all of one mind on these issues, but most of them go a long way toward similarly narrow criteria of historicity. This is hardly surprising, since they were selected with that consideration in mind or, as Liverani puts it: “Recently . . . new interests and more advanced positions are to be noticed, mostly by the participants to our conference.”32

Hallo and Simpson 1971:54 f. See especially ibid. 54–68. 27 The point was first made in Hallo 1962:13 f., n. 107 (an item inadvertently omitted from the bibliography in my Festschrift) and subsequently elaborated on in items 45:773, 110:13 f., 117:26, and 140:156. 28 Hallo, Item 36:139, cited Averbeck 1994:81, n. 6. 29 Liverani 1993:6, 42 f., 51 f. 30 Liverani 1993. 31 Liverani 1993b:43. 32 Liverani 1993b:45. 25 26

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The over–all result is a kind of sparse, not to say censored version of Sargonic history, almost as if a blue pencil had been run through the histories hitherto reconstructed. There is also, inevitably, a much heavier emphasis on social and economic developments than on purely political or military ones, given the greater reliance on contemporaneous documentation, and its greater abundance. There is much of value in the book, as is to be expected from any project to which Liverani has put his name. Already in 1973, he had laid down a “memorandum on the approach to historiographic texts,”33 and in the last decade, he has published a half–dozen syntheses on the history of Mesopotamia (and beyond), whether as author,34 co–author,35 or co–editor,36 and including a massive history of the entire Ancient Near East.37 In the last, I particularly welcome his adoption of the chronological terminology which I had taken over from archaeology for my own history.38 In the present book, I specifically endorse two points from his introductory observation: “[1] that Sargon is still ‘pre–Sargonic’ (only apparently a paradox!)”,39 and [2] that the proper Akkadian experience is better represented by the short time lag of Naram–Sin and–Shar– kali–sharri.40 In this perspective, Naram–Sin with his wide range of enterprises and institutional innovations is no doubt the leading character.”41 My purpose here, however, is neither to endorse nor to question specific details of his reconstruction of Sargonic history, but rather to challenge the volume and some of its individual contributions on the level of methodology, as we are indeed invited to do by its avowedly programmatic, even revolutionary, character.42

Liverani 1973. L’Origine della cittá (Rome, Riuniti, 1986); Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Near East ca. 1600–1100 B.C. (Padua, Sargon srl, 1990). 35 La Palestina, with Andrea Giardina and Biancamaria Scarcia (Rome, Riuniti, 1987). 36 I Trattati nel mondo antico: forma, ideologia, funzione, with L. Canfora and C. Zaccagnini (Rome, “L’Erma” di Brettschneider, 1990). 37 Antico Orients: Storia, Società, Economia (Rome, Laterza, 1988). 38 Early/Middle/Late Bronze Age, Iron Age, etc. 39 Cf. Hallo 1992:70, n. 5. 40 Cf. my concept of the “high” or “classic” Sargonic period, most explicitly in Hallo forthcoming; previously: Item 90:191, Item 175:255, 1993:19, n. 26. Differently Zhi, 1989:4. 41 Cf. e.g. Hallo and Simpson 1971:60–63, 1997:57–62. 42 Liverani describes the new historiography in terms of “a real ‘Copernican revolution’,” (p. 6 et passim). See also below, at n. 68. 33 34

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Methodologically, I see four major problems with the approach championed by Liverani and followed, more or less, by some of his contributors. (1) The essentially exclusive reliance placed on contemporaneous sources threatens to attribute to them far more evidentiary value than they deserve. (2) The reluctance to use later sources unless verified by contemporaneous ones deprives the modern historian of potentially invaluable evidence from a time which, even though admittedly later than the events reported, is still millennia closer to them than we are. (3) The ‘consolation prize’ offered to those not ready to discard the later sources in their entirety consists of treating these sources as potential clues to the concerns of the times that produced them—but as often as not that time is here established on the basis of identifying the concerns expressed or implied, and placing them in the continuum of Mesopotamian history—however reconstructed—at the point where such concerns seem most appropriate. This certainly courts the danger of circular reasoning. (4) In general, the winnowing of the sources, and the reconstruction of Sargonic history from what is left, operates, not on the valid assumption that we can hope to know more than the ancient sources told, but on the questionable assumption—I would call it a conceit—that we can know more than they knew. This is a fallacy worthy of adding to the long list of ‘historians’ fallacies’ catalogued by David Hackett Fischer a quarter of a century ago.43 Let me justify my criticisms in some greater detail. (1) Contemporaneous written sources come in two of the three categories of cuneiform texts that have long been identified in my taxonomy, namely monuments and archives.44 Of royal monuments—as against private votive, seal and weight inscriptions—it must be said at once that they are indubitably products of the royal chancery, and as such reflect the royal point of view. They are thus very far from being objective, disinterested accounts of any given reign. Liverani himself seems to admit as much when he notes that “the royal inscriptions are and have always been considered possibly affected by their celebrative purpose,”45 or when he lumps them with canons and questions “How to ‘read’ (for the sake of historical reconstruction) a royal inscription or a

43 44 45

Fischer 1971. Cf. simply Hallo and Simpson 1971:154–158; 1997:154–157. Liverani 1993b:41.

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later literary text.”46 Royal inscriptions thus become part of the pattern of ‘literature as politics’ which has been identified for many periods and cultures—Egyptian by Williams, Hittite by Hoffner, Assyrian by Machinist and more recently Barbara Porter, Israelite by Brettler47— and which is demonstrated for the neo–Sumerian period by Cooper in Liverani’s volume.48 Even when more or less contemporary with the events they describe, they are not unimpeachable witnesses to them. As for archival texts, most of these are not, it is true, products of the royal chancery, or instruments of royal propaganda. But they suffer from another disability, their laconic character. It is only the rare archival text which throws explicit light on courtly ceremonial, on diplomacy, on warfare and on other broad affairs of state. As a shining exception we may cite the example of the two letters of Ishkun–Dagan, one invoking (though not naming) the king and queen, the other mentioning the depredations of the Gutians who, according to the historic tradition, were destined to topple the great Sargonic Empire. They are duly cited by Aage Westenholz in the Liverani volume49 but they turn out to be the exceptions that prove the rule, for though they have been repeatedly cited and anthologized since they were first published in 1926 and 1932 respectively,50 their like has not recurred among the considerable number of letters of Sargonic date available by now.51 The proverbial character of the first52 has even tended to cast doubt on its contemporary status. And though the figure of Iskkun–Dagan has acquired additional reality by the discovery of an indubitably contemporaneous monument, namely his seal impression, in the Yale Babylonian Collection,53 one would hardly want to base the history of the fall of the dynasty on his ‘Gutian letter,’ at best an ambiguous piece of contemporary testimony—on the contrary, one needs to use it with utmost caution.54 Archival texts, of course, are more revealing of management and administration, especially of the royal lands and enterprises, than they

46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

Liverani 1993a:7. Williams 1964, Hoffner 1975, Machinist 1976, Porter 1993 and 1996; Brettler 1989. Cooper 1993. Westenholz 1993:158 f. Thureau-Dangin 1926; Smith 1932. Cf. e.g. Michalowski 1993:27 f. Kienast and Volk 1995. For the Ishkun-Dagan letters see pp. 53–55, 89–94. On which see Hallo 1990a:209 and nn. 46–48. Hallo apud Buchanan 1981:445. Cf. the comments of Westenholz 1993:159, n. 3. Glassner 1986:40, 50.

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are of affairs of state as such. No matter how laconic, here their sheer numbers provide valuable insights, as fully documented in Benjamin Foster’s two contributions to Liverani’s volume. Of these the first deals with “Management and administration in the Sargonic period,” and does so without noticeable concession to any particular philosophy of history.55 The second is a bibliography of the Sargonic period running— for all its ostensibly select character—to twelve pages; what is particularly noteworthy about it is that it devotes only half a page to ‘historical studies’ and almost ten times as much space to ‘archival sources and studies,’ ‘letters’ (also archival in my taxonomy), and ‘society and economy.’56 To the extent, then, that one chooses to equate history with social and economic history, one is justified in exploiting these sources to that end. (2) But the reverse of that proposition is equally valid: to the extent that one thinks of history as embracing more than just social and economic phenomena, one is required to resort to other than only ‘social and economic’ sources, i.e., in particular, to later sources. Not to belabor the obvious, I will confine myself here to a single illustration of this point, the very concept of a ‘Sargonic period.’ How would modern historians have ever arrived at such a concept without the promptings of the native historiography and chronography?57 One looks in vain for it in histories written before 1925 by such early synthesizers as Hugo Radau,58 R.W. Rogers,59 Stephen Langdon,60 or even L.W. King.61 Except for the last, these are the very authorities whom Liverani faults for their indiscriminate utilization of late and early sources.62 And no wonder, given the piecemeal recovery of the Sumerian King List and the relatively belated publication of a first working edition. To quote Thorkild Jacobsen, “The first fragment of the Sumerian King list of any importance was published by Hilprecht in 1906, the second Foster 1993. Foster 1993a. 57 For the latter concept see most recently Hallo, Item 127:178 and nn. 26 f. 58 Early Babylonian History (London, 1900), esp. pp. 154–175: “Kings of Agade.” 59 A History of Babylonia and Assyria I (London, 1902), esp. pp. 363–367. 60 In: The Cambridge Ancient History I (Cambridge 1923) 402–434; (2nd ed., Cambridge, 1924) 402–436: “The dynasties of Akkad and Lagash,” “The dynasty of Sargon.” 61 A History of Sumer and Akkad (London, 1916), esp. pp. 216–251. 62 Liverani 1993b:42, n. 3. Cf. also Boscawen 1903:127–132. 55 56

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by Scheil in 1911 . . . , and lastly, in 1923, came the magnificent Weld– Blundell prism, which in many respects was to close the earlier phase of the study of our document.”63 That document, best dated in its present form to the end of the Isin I Dynasty,64 postdates the Sargonic period by several centuries. If the fall of Akkad is dated about 2150 bc65 and the death of Damiq–ilishu to 1794, it is at least three and a half centuries later. But our own vantage point is more than forty centuries later. Unless we want to go back to some of the wild speculations of the earliest stages of Assyriology,66 we have little choice but to begin our structural outline with the help of the native historiography, and then to refine the results in the light of newly recovered contemporaneous documentation. In the process we may well find that the despised literary sources deserve a better reputation as we fathom their true meaning. To return to the Sumerian King List, it was initially accused of presenting its dynasties as successive, in part because the formula for the change of dynasty came at the end of each dynasty and in part because, in its Nippur recension, the King List added all the regnal years of all the dynasties together to come up with a grand total of regnal years since the Flood.67 But I have long argued that the native scribes knew better: compositions like Gilgamesh and Agga or the History of the Tummal show clearly that the first dynasties of Kish, Uruk and Ur were thought of as contemporary even though entered in succession in the King List. The transfer of kingship, though listed formulaically at the end of each dynasty, was clearly not implied to have taken place (necessarily) at the end of that dynasty, nor to have correlated (necessarily) with the beginning of the next dynasty; rather, the implication was that the transfer might have taken place anytime within both dynasties. But, having once rated inclusion in the King List (by the possession of Nippur or whatever criterion proves to be determining), the dynasty was then treated to a complete record of Jacobsen 1939:1. See below, n. 69. 65 Glassner 1986:41, 53, who accepts my dating of the succeeding Gutian period for which see Hallo Item 56. 66 The second (1901) edition of Rogers (above, n. 59) is a good example. Its Sargonic kings are confined to “Shargani-shar-ali cir. 3800” (a.k.a. Sargon), his son Naram-Sin, and his grandson Bingani-shar-ali (pp. 337, 361–367). Rimush and Manishtushu figure but not as members of the Sargonic dynasty (pp. 359–360). 67 Hallo Item 29. 63 64

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its members—both those who reigned before the dynasty assumed the hegemony of Sumer and Akkad and those who reigned after that hegemony had been lost again. When seen in this light—and there is nothing inherent in it to militate against this interpretation—the King List gains considerably in credibility. (3) The notion that historiographic literature is a valid clue to the period that produced it—indeed that the search for this clue is the only valid reason for studying it—is put in admirably candid fashion by Liverani when he speaks of the veritable ‘revolution’ in historiography that focused attention on “the search for the author and the environment of the text itself, its purpose, its audience, and the historical knowledge that was really available at that time.”68 We can see the pitfalls in this position if we revert once more to the Sumerian King List. Even to speak of the Sumerian King List is to beg the question, for a major problem in arriving at its date is to decide whether it was composed by stages over an extended period of time (as, e.g. both the Assyrian King List and the Babylonian Chronicle are widely assumed to have been), or whether it is the product of a single ‘author’ who composed it at the end of its last dynasty, or at any rate in the course of its last dynasty. The dates proposed for it have therefore diverged by as much as 325 years, from the reign of Utuhegal (so Jacobsen) to the accession of Hammurapi (so Hallo).69 How then do we search for the author, environment, purpose, audience, and historical knowledge of the time of composition of the King List? Do we date the composition on the basis of our assumptions about these factors, or do we reconstruct these factors on the basis of our assumption about its date? If this example seems unduly fatal to Liverani’s programme, let us consider one of his own. He cites five well–known compositions in which the principal Sargonic kings serve as vehicles, in his opinion, for the views espoused by their authors. The first is sˇar tamh¯ari, “The king of battle.” Liverani dates this text to the reign of Shamshi–Adad I, more specifically to a time when the resumption of the Old Assyrian trade with Anatolia, interrupted by Naram–Sin of Assur (and Eshnunna) was a matter of debate. By comparing Shamshi–Adad to Sargon and showing how the difficulties of the trade had been overcome by Sargon, the text was designed to lend support to those who favored its resumption 68 69

Liverani 1993a:6. Hallo Item 29:55, 127:179, 181. For an over-all survey see Chavalas 1994:111, n. 47.

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now. Although he acknowledges that all this is no more than a hypothesis, he “believe(s) that the logical procedure of this analysis is the right one.”70 I beg to differ. This analysis piles assumption on assumption to arrive at a most debatable conclusion. It presupposes a degree of “political debate” at the time which remains to be demonstrated;71 it appeals to Sargon’s inscriptions including their later copies as evidence that he did not cross the Euphrates, and to Naram–Sin’s inscriptions as evidence that Naram–Sin was the first to do so, thus (a) ignoring his own strictures against the monuments, (b) treating Sargon’s contacts with “lands further far–away in the north–west” as “only indirect or mediated,”72 and (c) taking Naram–Sins claim at face–value in spite of its propagandistic cast. I am not insisting that the attribution of the composition to Sargon of Akkad is necessarily valid; I could as easily, for example, imagine that the composition originally dealt with Sargon I of Assyria and was subsequently transferred to Sargon of Akkad.73 But to assume that the composition dates to the reign of Shamshi–Adad and then to write the history of that reign based on such a dating and such an assumption seems to me to defy logic. Much the same could be said for the attempts by Liverani to associate the other four compositions with specific dates of composition and political contexts or purposes: “The Curse of Akkad” with the reign of Ishme–Dagan of Isin, “The General Insurrection” with that of Sumu– la–El of Babylon, the Naram–Sin Legend with Hammurapi or perhaps Samsu–ditana, and the geographical treatise generally known as “The Empire of Sargon of Akkad” with Esarhaddon or Assurbanipal of Assyria. In each case his objections to an uncritical and literal reading of the texts are valuable, but his total rejection of any historical kernel leads him to new hypotheses about the compositions that are if anything even more difficult to justify. (4) The proposition that we cannot aspire to know more than the ancient sources knew, only more than they told was put forward by me long ago in an utterly obscure book review,74 but I have repeated it often

70 71 72 73 74

Liverani 1993b:52–56. Liverani 1993b:52 and n. 26. Liverani 1993b:53. Hallo and Simpson 1971:94; 1997:89. Hallo Item 149.

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if briefly75 and continue to stand by it. It is of course only a working hypothesis, ready to be abandoned whenever, in a specific instance, it can be disproved. But Liverani turns the whole proposition on its head, effectively implying that we cannot even know—or reconstruct— more than the ancient sources told! In his own words: “If the Old Baylonian scribes knew more or less what we also know about the kings of Akkad, if they had access to the same kind of data (namely, the celebrative monuments) that we also have, then the search for the ‘historical kernel’ must be abandoned.”76 He seems to be saying that the historical tradition is based solely on the monumental texts and their later copies; that we have already recovered all these texts; that therefore there is nothing more to be said! This position can best be dealt with by confronting it, however briefly, with some alternative interpretations of Sargonic historiography in some other, equally recent publications. The first of these actually antedates Liverani’s by a few years. It is Glassner’s dissertation on the fall of Akkad which appeared in print in 1986.77 True to its subtitle “L’événement et sa mémoire,” it makes an attempt to write two entirely separate narratives, one based on contemporaneous data, the other on the tradition, a distinction elsewhere somewhat invidiously labelled as “history and tradition.”78 The attempt is a gallant one, but doomed to failure because even the ‘historical’ narrative has constant reference to elements of the ‘tradition.’ Like the very concept of a Sargonic period (above, p. 440), the putative regnal lengths of the dynasty, and the notion of “the fall of Akkad” (ˇsulum Agade), are borrowed from the tradition as preserved chiefly in the Sumerian King List and in a later monument of Shamshi–Adad I respectively. The inscription of Utu–hegal is used as a significant source79 though clearly a secondary one by his own definition, along with all other copies of royal inscriptions no matter how faithful to their originals.80 In contrast to Liverani, however, Glassner does not attempt to utilize such ‘secondary sources’ to rewrite the history of their presumed date of composition, nor to rewrite Sargonic history entirely without their help. His act of ‘source criticism’ must be hailed as a brave attempt to put 75 76 77 78 79 80

Eg. Item 10:41. Liverani 1993b:51. Glassner 1986. Cf. Redford 1970; van Seters 1975. Glassner 1986:45. Glassner 1986:2 f.

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theory into practice, to see what can actually be achieved when the sources are split into more and less reliable ones. It is thus comparable to those few attempts that have been made in Biblical criticism to actually present the text of documents identified by one or another documentary hypothesis, of which one of the best to my mind remains the effort of Pfeiffer and Pollard to reconstruct the early source in Samuel.81 A completely different approach is taken by Giorgio Buccellati in his study of a single Sargonic inscription, or what he argues persuasively is a single inscription.82 As is true of much of his best work, his study combines archaeology and philology, and it does so here to focus on an inscription of Rimush, son and successor of Sargon, as preserved in Old Babylonian copies from Nippur. Virtually for the first time,83 and certainly for the first time systematically, he tries to reconstruct the physical appearance of the statue of Rimush from which the late copies of his inscription were presumably made. In this effort he is greatly aided by the scholarly notations inserted in the ancient copies as to where precisely the respective texts were located on the monument. The results of his research over many years are presented in the form of actual drawings as well as schematic transliterations and translations. I would differ with him on some details, notably I would take mùˇs to be a circular base not a plaque given its other attested meanings.84 But the overall result is an important step in the direction of a realistic appraisal of the Sargonic inscriptions and their late copies: the inscriptions are powerful instruments of royal propaganda, and their copies are faithful to an extraordinary degree, even displaying a kind of scholarly interest in the physical details of the original. This is not as surprising as it might at first seem, given what we now know about the copying of royal monuments, presumably from their originals in Nippur, Ur and perhaps other places, as a portion of the scribal curriculum.85 If Buccellati is correct, then the skepticism displayed by the new historiography towards the late copies of Sargonic inscription needs to be tempered. In a recent article, Steve Tinney confronts the Old Babylonian traditions about the Great Rebellion against Naram–Sin with the evidence of the contemporaneous monuments. Like Liverani he concludes

81 82 83 84 85

Pfeiffer and Pollard 1967. Buccellati 1993. But see Hallo Item 2:28, cited by I.J. Gelb in Kraeling and Adams 1960:320 n. 13. Hallo Item 50:59. Sjöberg 1976:166 and nn. 26 f.; Klein 1986; Yoshikawa 1989.

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that the traditions “may be used to illuminate the socio–political background of the Old Babylonian period itself, but have no place in the reconstruction of the events of the Old Akkadian period.”86 However, he rejects any a priori “separation of literary and historical texts on the basis of apparent veracity,” implying that each case must be judged on its own merits.87 The most recent addition to the list deserves more notice than it has so far received. The Groningen dissertation by Gerdien Jonker is by far the most systematic and ambitious attempt yet to assess the Sargonic period not only in its own right but in the total context of Mesopotamian historiography including the ritual remembrance of the dead.88 It succeeds admirably in this purpose, reviewing a huge mass of literature along the way. In brief, its conclusions can be summarized as follows: Memory is of necessity selective; since we cannot remember everything, it is essential that much be forgotten. Within the family, the ancestral cult provides for memorizing up to four previous generations at the most, and if a particularly illustrious distant ancestor is to be included among the honored dead, as e.g. in the case of the second millennium (Kassite) period eponyms of the first millennium (neo– Assyrian and neo–Babylonian) scribal families, then the intervening generations are readily dropped by means of “telescoping.” In the royal houses, a comparable process was at work, but the availability of scribes and written records made possible the construction of very lengthy and detailed genealogies beginning in Old Babylonian and Old Assyrian times (from my point of view on the basis of the Amorite or Akkadian/Amorite interest in family relationships).89 They were pressed into service in what were explicitly or by implication cultic invocations of the dead in connection with the kispu–ritual, the coronation of new kings and possibly other occasions. The kispu–ritual and possibly others were conducted in front of the statues of the deceased, and in the case of Sargon and Naram–Sin, the cult of their statues is attested as far away as Mari and as late as neo–Babylonian times. Historiography may thus be said to have followed ritual: to the extent that the veneration of royal predecessors and ancestors was constantly winnowed out to meet the limitations of memory, so was the retelling and recopying of 86 87 88 89

Tinney 1995:14. Tinney 1995:2. Jonker 1995. Hallo, Item 127:180–183.

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narratives about them, with lesser royalty either forgotten entirely or their tales reattributed to the more enduring names. Thus Jonker’s thesis, like Liverani’s, casts serious doubt on the historicity of the historical tradition, or at the very least on the accuracy of its particular attributions. Like Liverani’s, it proposes an alternative context for that tradition. But whereas Liverani’s alternative has a suspiciously modern ring to it, in that it presupposes a political atmosphere of spirited debate among an educated citizenry about the major issues of the day,90 Jonkers’ is much less dependent on hypothesis. Rather it rests on the surer ground of the Mesopotamian cult in general, and the cult of the dead in particular, the latter subject well illuminated thanks to such recent studies as those of Tsukimoto, Lewis, Scurlock and others.91 In conclusion, a few words may be ventured about the comparable situation in Biblical historiography. Here the United Monarchy and particularly that portion of it which belongs to the Davidic Dynasty may well be said to play somewhat the same role as the Sargonic Dynasty in Mesopotamian historiography. As long as the Hebrew Bible was the only source for reconstructing Biblical history, the historicity of David and Solomon was not a subject for debate. Even after the rediscovery of Near Eastern antiquity, that situation continued unchanged for a long time in spite of the total silence of the epigraphic sources with respect to these two kings. But skepticism in this regard grew in tandem with that about the historiographical validity of the Biblical text. One can perhaps read it off best in the work of J. Alberto Soggin, who has gradually moved the starting point of Israelite history, and of Biblical historiography, from the period of the United Monarchy92 to the Exilic period,93 though retaining a more flexible position in works directed at more general readerships.94 As noted at the outset, the demand for extra–Biblical verification has replaced the test of inherent plausibility where Biblical historiography is concerned. In this light, it would appear that even this severe test had recently been passed with the discovery of an inscription mentioning “The house of David” in parallelism with “the king of Israel,” and in a

90 91 92 93 94

Liverani 1993b:46–48 et passim. Cf. Hallo, Item 144 with previous literature. Soggin 1977, 1978. Soggin 1991. Soggin 1993.

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context which clearly seemed to point to a triumph over both of these dynasties by an Aramaean opponent around 800 bc,95 most likely to be identified as Hazael.96 It provided yet another independent extra– Biblical witness to the Divided Monarchy of Israel and Judah to add to the many previously available. More significantly, for the first time it furnished epigraphic evidence that the southern dynasty could be designated after its founder and that this founder was not a figment of a greatly posterior imagination but already firmly entrenched in the terminology of the late ninth century. The chance that he was an invention of this century, and not a reality two centuries earlier thus became ever more remote.97 The minimalist opposition was not quite silenced by this discovery, but the quandary in which it found itself can be gauged by the lengths to which it went to avoid drawing the obvious conclusions from the new evidence. It was suggested that the fragmentary nature of the monument made any interpretation of its over–all significance hypothetical or at least premature—a point considerably weakened by the discovery, the following season, of a substantial new fragment which clearly belonged to the same monument even if it did not actually join it.98 It was argued that since the words for “House” and for “of David” were not separated by a word–divider, the reference had to be to a toponym, an argument hardly worthy of refutation. In utter desperation, it was hinted that the monument had been ‘planted’ in the excavation—if not by the excavator himself then behind his back. This gratuitous insult was answered in a most convincing way when André Lemaire, the respected epigrapher of the École Biblique in Jerusalem, found the identical idiom in another monument by the simple device of restoring one missing letter.99 The monument in question is the stela of Mesha, king of Moab, contemporary with the Tell Dan stela though from the other side of the Jordan. It has been known since 1868 and on display in the Louvre for all to see since 1873.100 No one could possibly suggest that it was a recent forgery. Biran and Naveh 1993. Margalit 1994. 97 Cf. now similarly Rainey 1996:546. 98 Biran and Naveh 1994. See also the excellent photo in Shanks 1996:34, and the discussion ibid. 35 f. 99 Lemaire 1994. 100 See the translation by W.F. Albright in ANET 320 f. and the recent study by Stern 1991:19–56. 95 96

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What I am suggesting then is this. Methodologically, it continues to make sense to treat Mesopotamian history and Israelite history alike— to exempt neither from criticism, to expose neither to unreasonable tests of authenticity. Absent an overabundance of documentation such as applies to some much more recent periods, the historian of antiquity has no alternative but to use every scrap of evidence available—making allowances for its biases, for the intentions of its presumed authors and the expectations of its presumed audiences in order to reconstrcut a remote past. To do otherwise is to commit and compound the very error of which the ancient historiographers and chronographers stand accused by the skeptics, namely injecting the concerns of our own time into the recital of past events. References Averbeck, Richard E., 1994: “The Sumerian historiographic tradition and its implications for Genesis 1–11,” in: Millard et al, 1994:79–102. Becking, Bob, 1992: The Fall of Samaria: an Historical and Archaeological Study (= Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 2) (Leiden, E.J. Brill). Biran, A. and J. Naveh, 1993: “An Aramaic stele fragment from Tel Dan,” IEJ 43:81–98. ———, 1995: “The Tel Dan inscription: a new fragment,” IEJ 45:1–18. Boscawen, William St. Chad., 1903: The First Empires (London/New York, Harper and Bros.). Brettler, Marc, 1989: “The Book of Judges: literature as politics,” JBL 108:395– 418. ———, 1996: Review of Millard et al. 1994 in Shofar 14/3:183–189. Buccellati, Giorgio, 1993: “Through a tablet darkly: a reconstruction of Old Akkadian monuments described in Old Babylonian copies,” in: Studies Hallo 58–71. Buchanan, Briggs, 1981: Early Near Eastern Seals in the Yale Babylonian Collection (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.). Cancik, Hubert, 1976: Grundzüge der hethitischen und alttestamentlichen Geschichtsschreibung (= Abhandlungen des deutschen Palästinavereins) (Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz). Chavalas, Mark, 1994: “Genealogical history as ‘charter’: a study of Old Babylonian historiography and the Old Testament,” in: Millard et al. 1994:103– 128. Collingwood, R.G., 1993: The Idea of History, rev. ed ed. by Jan van der Dussen (Oxford, Clarendon Press). Cooper, Jerrold S., 1993: “ “Paradigm and propaganda”: the Dynasty of Akkade in the 21st Century,” in Liverani 1993:11–23. Finkelstein, J.J., 1963: “Mesopotamian historiography,” PAPS 107:461–472.

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Fischer, David Hackett, 1971: Historians’ Fallacies (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul). Foster, Benjamin R., 1993: “Management and administration in the Sargonic period,” in Liverani 1993:25–39. ———, 1993a: “Select bibliography of the Sargonic period,” in Liverani 1993: 171–182. Glassner, J.–J., 1986: La chute d’Akkadé: L’événement et sa mémoire (= BBVO 5) (Berlin, Reimer). Güterbock, H.G., 1934, 1938: “Die historische Tradition und ihre literarische Gestaltung bei Babyloniern und Hethitern bis 1200,” ZA 42:1–91, 44:45– 145. Hallo, William W., 1962: “The royal inscriptions of Ur: a typology,” HUCA 33: 1–43. ———, 1980: “Biblical history in its Near Eastern Setting: the contextual approach,” SIC 1:1–26. ———, 1990: “The limits of skepticism,” JAOS 110:187–199. ———, 1990a: “Proverbs quoted in epic,” Studies Moran 203–217. ———, 1992: “The Syrian contribution to cuneiform literature and learning,” in New Horizons in the Study of Ancient Syria, ed. M.W. Chavalas and J.L. Hayes (= Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 25) (Malibu, CA, Undena) 69–88. ———, 1992a: “From Bronze Age to Iron Age in Western Asia: defining the problem,” in The Crisis Years: the 12th Century bc from Beyond the Danube to the Tigris, ed. W.A. Ward and M.S. Joukowsky (Dubuque, Kendall/Hunt) 1–9. ———, 1993: “Sumerian religion,” in: kinatt¯utu sˇa d¯arâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume, ed. A.F. Rainey (Tel Aviv, Tel Aviv Institute of Archaeology) 15–35, here: I.6. ———, 1996: Origins: the Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions (Leiden, EJ. Brill). ———, forthcoming: “The classical moment.” ———and W.K. Simpson, 1971: The Ancient Near East: a History (New York, Harcourt Brace Jovanovitch). ———, 1997: The Ancient Near East: a History (2nd ed.), (Fort Worth, Harcourt Brace). Hayes, John H. and I. Maxwell Miller, eds., 1977: Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia, Westminster). Hoffner, Harry A., Jr., 1975: “Propaganda and political justification in Hittite historiography,” in Unity and Diversity: Essays in the History, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East, ed. H. Goedicke and J.J.M. Roberts (Baltimore/London, Johns Hopkins U.P.) 49–62. Huizinga, Johan, 1936: “A definition of the concept of history,” in: Philosophy and History: Essays Presented to Ernst Cassirer, ed. R. Klibansky and H.J. Paton (Oxford) 36–44. Jacobsen, Thorkild, 1939: The Sumerian King List (= Assyriological Studies 11) (Chicago, Oriental Institute). Jonker, Gerdien, 1995: The Topography of Remembrance: the Dead. Tradition and Collective Memory in Mesopotamia (= Studies in the History of Religions 68) (Leiden/New York/ Köln, E.J. Brill).

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Kienast, Burkhart, and Konrad Volk, 1995: Die Sumerischen und Akkadischen Briefe (= Freiburger Altorientalische Studien 19) (Stuttgart, Franz Steiner). Klein, Jacob, 1986: “On writing monumental inscriptions in Ur III scribal curriculum,” RA 80:1–7. Kraeling, Carl H. and Robert M. Adams, 1960: City Invincible (Chicago, University of Chicago). Lemaire, André, 1994: “ ‘House of David’ restored in Moabite inscription,” Biblical Archaeology Review 20/3:30–37. Liverani, Mario, ed., 1973: “Memorandum on the approach to historiographic texts,” Orientalia 42:178–194. ———, 1993: Akkad the First World Empire: Structure, Ideology, Traditions (= History of the Ancient Near East / Studies 5) (Padua, Sargon srl). ———, 1993a: “Akkad: an Introduction,” in Liverani 1993:1–10. ———, 1993b: “Model and actualization. The kings of Akkad in the historical tradition,” in: Liverani 1993:41–67. Machinist, Peter, 1976: “Literature as politics: the Tukulti–Ninurta Epic and the Bible,” CBQ 38:455–482. Margalit, Baruch, 1994: “The Old–Aramaic inscription of Hazael from Dan,” UF 26:317–320. Michalowski, Piotr, 1993: Letters from Early Mesopotamia (= Writings from the Ancient World 3) (Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press). Millard, A.R., J.K. Hoffmeier and D.W. Baker, eds., 1994: Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in its Near Eastern Context (Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns). Pfeiffer, Robert H. and William G. Pollard, 1967: The Hebrew Iliad (New York, Harper). Porter, Barbara A., 1993: Images, Power, and Politics: Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy (= Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 208) (Philadelphia, The American Philosophical Society). ———, 1996: “Politics and public relations campaigns in ancient Assyria: King Esarhaddon and Babylonia,” PAPS 140/2:164–174. Rainey, Anson F., 1996: review of Soggin 1993 in JAOS 116:546–548. Redford, Donald, 1970: “The Hyksos invasion in history and tradition,” Orientalia 39:1–51. Shanks, Hershel, 1996: “Is this man a Biblical Archaeologist? BAR interviews Bill Dever-Part One,” BAR 22/4 (July/August 1996) 30–39, 62 f. ———, 1997: “The Biblical minimalists: expunging ancient Israel’s past,” BR 13/3:32–39, 50–52. ———, 1997a: “Face to face: Biblical minimalists meet their challengers,” BAR 23/4 (July August 1997) 26–42, 66. Sjöberg, Åke, 1976: “The Old Babylonian Eduba,” in: Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen (= Assyriological Studies 20), ed. S.J. Lieberman (Chicago, Oriental Institute) 159–179. Smith, Sidney, 1932: “Notes on the Gutian period,” JRAS 1932:295–308. Soggin, J, Alberto, 1977: “The Davidic–Solomonic kingdom,” in: Hayes and Miller 1977, ch. vi.

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———, 1978: “The history of ancient Israel: a study in some questions of method,” Eretz–Israel 14:44*–51*. ———, 1991: “Gedanken zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte Altisraels,” in: Near Eastern Studies Dedicated to H.I.H. Prince Takahito Mikasa . . ., ed. Masao Mori et al. (Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz) 383–392. ———, 1993: An Introduction to the History of Israel and Judah (2nd ed.) (Valley Forge, PA, Trinity Press International). Stern, Philip, D., 1991: The Biblical Herem: a Window on Israel’s Religious Experi. ence (= Brown Judaic Studies 211) (Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press). Studies Hallo 1993: The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo, ed. by M.E. Cohen, D.C. Snell and D.B. Weisberg (Bethesda, MD, CDL Press). Thureau–Dangin, François, 1926: “Une lettre de l’époque de la dynastie d’Agade,” RA 23:23–29. Tinney, Steve, 1995: “A new look at Naram–Sin and the Great Rebellion”, JCS 47:1–14. Van Seters, John, 1975: Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.). ———, 1983: In Search of History (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.). Westenholz, Aage, 1993: “The world view of Sargonic officials: differences in mentality between Sumerians and Akkadians,” in Liverani 1993:157–169. Whitelam, Keith W., 1996: The Invention of Ancient Israel: the Silencing of Palestinian History (New York, Routledge). Williams, R.J., 1964: “Literature as a medium of political propaganda in ancient Egypt,” in The Seed of Wisdom: Studies in Honor of T.J. Meek, ed. W.S. McCullough (Toronto, University of Toronto) 14–30. Yamauchi, Edwin, 1994: “The current state of Old Testament historiography,” in Millard et al. 1994:1–36. Yoshikawa, Mamoru, 1989: “màˇs–dàra and sag–tag,” Acta Sumerologica 11:353– 355. Zevit, Ziony, 1985: “Clio, I presume,” BASOR 260:71–82. Zhi, Yang, 1989: Sargonic Inscriptions from Adab (Changchun, China, IHAC).

Abbreviations Hallo Item 1, 8 2 6 8 10 17 29 36 45. 50

= = = = = = = = = =

Heritage; Civilization and the Jews Early Mesopotamian Titles. The Ancient Near East: a History. s. under Nr. 1 The Book of the People. JNES 15:220–225. JCS 17:52–57, here: VI.1. JCS 20:133–141, here: III.2. JAOS 88:772–775. JCS 23:57–67.

vi.3. new directions in historiography 56 58 59 60 81 90 91 108 109 110 114 117 125 127 136 140 141 144 146 149 175

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

451

RLA 3:708–720. JNES 31:87–95. Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5:1–12, here: I.3. Or 42:228–238. Eretz–Israel 14:1*–7*. AnSt. 30:189–195. SIC 1:1–26. Bulletin of the Society for Mesopotamian Studies 6:7–18 Tadmor and Weinfeld 1983:9–20, here: VI.2. Gorelick and Williams–Forte 1983:7–17 and pl. xii. JANES 16–17:143–151. Bible Review 1/1:20–27. History of the World, vol. I, ed. John W. Hall. Studies Sachs 175–190. JAOS 110:187–199. Studies Tadmor 148–165. Studies Garelli 377–388. Studies Talmon 381–401. Hallo 1992a. Studies in Bibliography and Booklore 3:71–73. JAOS 101:253–257.

Addendum The important new work by Joan Goodnick Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade: The Texts (= Mesopotamian Civilizations 7) (Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns, 1997) appeared too late to be taken into account here.

vi.4 POLYMNIA AND CLIO1

For me personally, this is an anniversary, even a jubilee of sorts. Fifty years ago, in 1948, I was a junior at Harvard University, wrestling with the question of choosing a major. Torn between history and literature, I went so far as to consult the good doctor at the University Health Clinic about my dilemma. He listened patiently for one or two minutes and then said with some exasperation: “Get out of here! I’ve got students with real problems waiting to see me!” And so I settled for history—Roman history in fact—but my problem persisted. I had not lost my interest in literature. As a doctoral student at the Oriental Institute in Chicago, I subtitled my 1955 dissertation: a philological and historical analysis. Apparently I was still serving two masters or, more precisely, two mistresses or, to be more politically correct, two muses. I identified them as Clio, the muse of history, and Polyhymnia or Polymnia, the muse of sacred poetry. Ten years later (1965), I returned to Chicago to lecture on the topic “Polymnia or Clio.”2 But by then I had resolved my personal quandary. With the riches of the Yale Babylonian Collection at my disposal, I decided to dedicate most of my efforts to those Sumerian literary texts that threw light on historical questions on the one hand, and to the reconstruction of Mesopotamian history with their help on the other. After all, I argued (or could have argued) the muses were sisters, all alike virginal daughters of Zeus and Mnemosine (Memory). Two or more of them could well be the inspiration of a single devotee. And I could have comforted myself with the thought that the best historians of the Western tradition, from Thucydides and Livy to Gibbon and Churchill, wove literary evidence seamlessly into their magna opera, which in their own right rank as works of literature as well as of history.

1 The substance of this paper was delivered to the XLVe Rencontre Assyriologique, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., July 5, 1998. 2 The same lecture was delivered to the Oriental Club of New Haven in April 1965; see Welles and Beckman 1988: 61.

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My Chicago paper never appeared in print, but some of its themes echoed in my presidential address to the American Oriental Society, published twenty-five years later.3 At that time I was concerned, i.a., with the emerging debate on biblical historiography. At one extreme, the operative principle there seemed to be that the biblical data “can only be considered as untrustworthy when they can be falsified by contemporaneous evidence,” to cite one particularly candid formulation.4 This is a sort of “innocent until proven guilty” principle, against which the other extreme has set up the “guilty until proven innocent” principle, according to which nothing in the biblical record is to be considered historical until and unless confirmed by extra-biblical evidence. For a long time I have been referring to these positions as “maximalist” and “minimalist” respectively,5 a terminology that now dominates the debate, for better or worse.6 In my AOS paper, I still thought that Assyriology was happily free of such extreme positions, and held it up as a model of moderation to biblical historiography. But the sequel has proved me overly optimistic. While we have no maximalists in our ranks, none who would defend the cuneiform canon as revealed truth, we have our own minimalists, those who now hold that no later, literary source can be used for the reconstruction of Mesopotamian history unless verified by contemporaneous, non-literary evidence. At best, they say, it can throw light on the history and concerns of its own time of composition, whatever that time may be thought to be—and often enough deduced from its putative concerns in truly circular fashion. The champion of this new view is Mario Liverani, and he has set it forth with admirable clarity in Akkad: The First Empire.7 I have dealt with this book, and a number of others on the Sargonic Dynasty, in an article that has just appeared in a volume in honor of W.H.Ph. Römer. So I will not repeat here what I have written there.8 Suffice it to say that I find all parts of the view questionable: the notion that we can privilege Hallo 1990. Becking 1992: 52; previously idem 1985, esp. pp. 22–34. Becking was specifically referring to “The Dates in the Book of Kings,” but was only stating with greater candor what others have implied or assumed in their work. Cf. in general Millard, Hoffmeier and Baker 1994. 5 Hallo 1980: 5. 6 Cf., e.g., Shanks 1997, 1997a. See also Addendum. 7 Liverani 1993. 8 Hallo 1998, here: VI.3. 3 4

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contemporaneous royal monuments, although they are notoriously tendentious; that we can rely on archival records, although they may be hopelessly laconic; that we can reconstruct ancient history without benefit of the overall structure provided by native historiography; that we can dispense with the significant details incorporated in literary reminiscences; or that we can hope to date these canonical texts with sufficient certainty to use them as evidence for the concerns of their own times. The Sargonic Period remains a parade example, a test case par excellence, for the methodological issues involved in the debate over Mesopotamian historiography. The rise of Sargon so captured the imagination of later ages that it spawned much of the literature at the heart of that debate. The literary oeuvre of his daughter Enheduanna is still growing,9 as is her attestation on contemporaneous seals inscriptions10 and other monuments;11 at present she even has her own website!12 The reign of Naram-Sin, her nephew, and more particularly his deification represent in some ways the “classical moment” of Mesopotamian history and is treated as such in another recent article of mine that need not be repeated here.13 The fall of Akkad left such a deep impression on later generations that they not only composed lengthy disquisitions on it as represented by the “Curse of Agade” but, in the case of ShamshiAdad I,14 even enshrined the concept of the “end of Akkad” (ˇsulum Agade) as a chronological fixed point on a par with “before the flood” and “after the flood” (l¯am ab¯ubi, arki ab¯ubi).15 Not wishing to repeat Jean-Jacques Glassner’s monographic treatment,16 however, I would rather try to set the subject in a kind of comparative perspective, concentrating instead on the Ur III dynasty as another example of the end of empire in order to draw a lesson for historiography based on the fall of the great empires of the ancient Near East in general. Westenholz 1989. To the three seals inscribed by her retainers we may now add a fourth in the collection of Jonathan Rosen, which formed part of the exhibition at the Morgan Library in 1998. 11 On her famous disc, see lastly Winter 1987. 12 http://www.angelfire.com/mi/ninmesara.html. Information courtesy Michelle Hart (Los Angeles). 13 See now Hallo 1999. 14 Grayson 1987: 53. 15 See for these most recently Hallo 1991. 16 Glassner 1986; cf. my comments in Hallo 1998, here: VI.3. 9

10

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If one major problem of all ancient historiography is the scarcity of contemporaneous sources and the need (as I would say) or the temptation (as others might see it) to fill in the lacunae with evidence of later, in large part literary sources, then this problem is compounded where the fall of a dynasty is concerned, for that is rarely recorded by contemporaries, least of all by the scribes of the failing and falling dynasty. There are shining exceptions to this rule, and two of them may be recalled here in tribute to the scholars who have identified them. The first is the “Fall of Lagash,” which is chronicled not only in the clay tablet that usually goes by this name,17 but also—less dramatically and quite inadvertently—by the scribes of the last ruler of the “first dynasty of Lagash,” Uru-inimgina. This was recognized by Maurice Lambert, who showed how the royal scribes worked down to the last days of the threatened city, patiently continuing in their set ways to catalogue the ever diminishing deliveries to and disbursements from the state storehouses.18 As I put it only a little later, “The numerous archival records from Lagash dating to Urukagina and his immediate predecessors give us a vivid picture of the declining fortunes of the city in these difficult years, and we must marvel at the almost blind dedication with which the scribes continued to record the day-to-day minutiae of a contracting economy.”19 The pattern was repeated, more or less, during the reign of Ibbi-Sin, as analyzed in the brief but classic study by Thorkild Jacobsen, and more recently by Tohru Gomi and Bertrand Lafont.20 Again quoting my history, “In short order, dated texts ceased at the major archives . . .. Only those of Ur itself continued in abundance, faithfully dating by the king’s formulas to the end of his long reign of twenty-four years. But Ur could not sustain its own population, let alone all those loyal to the king who now sought refuge behinds its walls, without the continued tribute of its provinces. As this was more and more withheld, commodity prices soared, sometimes to sixty times their normal level, and the capital was confronted by the twin crises of inflation and famine.”21 In some ways the most telling evidence to this effect is that of the bala: that venerable institution continued, but in name only, as the governors of

17 18 19 20 21

See the latest translation by Cooper 1986: 78. Lambert 1966. Hallo and Simpson 1971: 53 f.; 1998: 51. Jacobsen 1953, Gomi 1984, Lafont 1995. Hallo and Simpson 1971: 86; 1998: 81.

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now-defunct provinces retreated to the capital and continued to be credited with (ever more?) pitifully reduced contributions as “ensi’s of the bala.”22 What else do the contemporaneous sources tell us about the fall of Ur? If we look at the date-formulas of Ibbi-Sin, conveniently collected by Edmond Sollberger,23 we find most of them blithely oblivious of or indifferent to the impending catastrophe. They involve the usual references to accession (year 1), the selection and installation of high priests and priestesses (years 2, 4, 10, 11), the building of temples (18 f.), the dedication of precious votives (12 f., 16, 21), and dynastic marriages (5). Only rarely are there tell-tale references to battles against Amorites (17), to war on the Hurrian frontier (3) or on the Elamite front (9, 14), or to the fortification of cities in the interior (6 ff.). There are two obscure references to divine beneficences to the king (15, 20). We have to wait till the 22nd year-name of Ibbi-Sin’s 24-year reign before the royal scribes will admit to a hint of trouble—and even then they put the best possible spin on matters. In Sollberger’s translation, it was the year that “Ibbi-Sin, the king of Ur, (when) a flood decreed by the gods had blurred the boundaries of heaven and earth, caused Ur to weather out the storm.”24 Flood and storm are well-attested metaphors for foreign invaders in Sumerian literature,25 but whether we are dealing with a metaphor here or with a natural catastrophe remains a question. For Miguel Civil, on the basis of a new text, translates “the year that IbbiSuen, king of Ur, secured Ur and URU×UD stricken by a hurricane, ordered by the gods, which shook the whole world.”26 Suffice it to say that the next year name is back to normal, so to speak, if, according to Sollberger, it recorded the gift of a huge ape to the king! Åke Sjöberg, on the other hand, translates “the year when the heavy ape (from) the/its mountain struck Ibbisin, the King of Ur.”27 Again, we may be dealing with a metaphor, for Ibbi-Sin’s enemies are so designated also in his correspondence.28 The difference here is not one of reading but of the interpretation of the verbal chain: mu-na-e-ra-a could be regarded 22 Hallo 1960: 96. For the last-known bala of the old sort (Ibbi-Sin 3/II/27), see Guichard 1996 (ref. courtesy T. Sharlach). 23 Sollberger 1976–1980: 4–7; cf. Sykes 1973; Frayne 1997: 361–366. 24 Sollberger 1976–1980: 7. 25 Hallo 1990: 195–197. 26 Civil 1987. 27 Sjöberg 1993: 211, n. 2. 28 See below, note 55.

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as a plural form (ere-a) of DU/GÍN, “to go, cause to go, bring” (so apparently Sollberger),29 or as the dative with “to strike” (so Sjöberg). The last year-name is attested only in fragmentary form. Another contemporaneous source is represented by royal inscriptions. In the case of Ibbi-Sin these are even less revealing than his date formulas. The few discrete examples that have survived speak once of the fortification of Ur30 and in passing of victories on the eastern frontier (and then only in the context of a late copy),31 and for the rest only of the usual pious dedications. The best we can say about them is that their very paucity bespeaks the ill health of the kingdom—especially when set against the relatively large number of seal inscriptions dedicated to the king by his officials, which suggests a bloated bureaucracy.32 A similar conclusion is drawn, albeit from different evidence, for a later period by Norman Yoffee, who has made a special study of imperial decline: “as the political strength and territory of the First Dynasty of Babylon waned,” he writes, “the number of titled officials in the service of the crown expanded and their offices became more highly articulated.”33 The royal hymns are a later source. Though hardly likely to have been invented out of whole cloth in the scribal schools of the time of Hammurabi or Samsu-iluna, neither are they entirely free of some modernizing and other editorial tendencies as can be detected in some examples of the genre.34 In the case of Ibbi-Sin, a respectable number of royal hymns have been recovered, thanks to the efforts of Sjöberg.35 But they have little to offer by way of historiographical data. Such data can better be extracted from the “Royal Correspondence of Ur.” We still await its full edition by Piotr Michalowski, but can already read off much of it in his survey in RLA, as well as in Claus Wilcke’s earlier studies.36 It is a precious clue to the gradual deterioration of the empire as exemplified among other things by: the 29 Krecher 1967, to which add Hallo 1978: 72, n. 16; YBC 13286 (unpubl., dated Ibbi-Sin 3): u4 kaskal mar-tu-ˇsè i-ri-sa-a; Fish, CST 252: uku-uˇs uri5-ma u4 díd-lú-ru-gúˇsè ì-ri-ˇsa má-a ba-na-a-gub; Michalowski, OA 16 (1977) 288 f.; Lugal-banda 1127. 30 Frayne 1997: 368 f. 31 Frayne 1997: 370–373. 32 So already Hallo 1962: 8, n. 58; Hallo and Simpson 1971: 86. 33 Yoffee 1977: 145; a similar formulation appears in Yoffee 1979: 12. Cf. also below, note 63. 34 Cf., e.g., “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu,” for which see Hallo 1966, here: III.2. 35 Sjöberg 1970–1971. 36 Michalowski 1976, 1984; Wilcke 1969, 1970.

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progressive diminution of central power in its attempt to control the governors of outlying provinces; the preoccupation with the building of a defensive wall at the narrow waist of the valley where Tigris and Euphrates come closest together; the machinations of Ishbi-Irra, posing as defender of the kingdom against the threat of Elamites and Shimashkians from the East while at the same time preparing to start his own (“Isin”) dynasty in the ruins of the empire; and so forth. The texts of this correspondence are all up to three hundred years later than the events they describe, but their historicity can be affirmed over and over by numerous details, such as personal names of minor actors in the drama that tally with those known from documents of actual Ur III date. Michalowski has illustrated that himself with the case of Kunshi-matum, “the bride of Simanum.”37 In a brief communication, he showed that “The utilization of a combination of monumental, archival and canonical sources casts new light on the affairs surrounding . . . the ˇ betrothal of a daughter of the Neo-Sumerian ruler Su-Sin to the royal 38 house of Simanum.” He was able to recover the fact of the dynastic marriage from an Old Babylonian copy of the royal inscriptions of Shu-Sin, to correct the misunderstanding of the daughter’s name in the royal correspondence, and then to identify it in a number of archival Ur III texts.39 His exercise provides a model for the judicious combination of contemporaneous and later evidence in the reconstruction of historical events. The same purpose has been pursued by myself and others, i.a., in connection with “The House of Ur-Meme”40 and with the Royal Correspondence of Isin and, more particularly, of Larsa.41 In fact, it can be argued that the royal correspondence of all three dynasties represents copies of actual letters originally deposited in the royal archives and selected by later generations of scribes for their bearing on matters of particular interest to them. In the case of the Royal Correspondence of Ur, that was evidently the role of the “Amorites,” presumably their own ancestors, in the great events of history, including particularly the unraveling of the powerful Ur III empire.42 A novel thesis has even proposed to see the Amorites as mercenaries rather than 37 38 39 40 41 42

Michalowski 1975. Michalowski 1975: 716. To these we may now add Sigrist 1983: 480:16. Hallo 1972; cf. also Zettler 1984. See the references in Hallo 1983, here: VI.2. Hallo 1983: 12, here: VI.2.

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nomads, based largely on the Royal Correspondence.43 Are we then to accept only those portions that have an actual overlap with contemporaneous evidence? Or can we not reasonably extend a measure of cautious confidence also to those portions of the correspondence that have not or not yet been so confirmed? When we turn to the actual end of the Ur III empire, we find that our best sources are the lamentations composed under the early kings of Isin, especially Ishme-Dagan. Ishme-Dagan was an intriguing figure in the twentieth-century history of Mesopotamia. He commissioned more royal hymns than any other Mesopotamian ruler except Shulgi, as now conveniently documented by Marie-Christine Ludwig.44 In these hymns, he modelled himself on that Ur III king to an extraordinary degree, as shown by Jacob Klein.45 It is to this Ishme-Dagan that we can attribute the lamentations over the destruction of Nippur and Uruk, for his name appears in both of these compositions. And it is possible that the lament over Eridu also was commissioned by this king, though no royal name appears in its preserved portions.46 The lamentation over the destruction of Sumer and Ur may be earlier.47 But what all of these compositions, as well as the laments over Ur and Ekimar, have in common is that they were composed, not at the time of the destruction of the cities of the Ur III empire, but considerably later, presumably on the occasion of their rebuilding, more particularly the rededication of their temples. Apparently the kings of Isin were at pains to absolve themselves of the potential sacrilege involved in the razing of the remains of the destroyed temples, which was an inevitable prerequisite to reconstructing them on their old sacred sites, and therefore made every effort to pin the blame for their destruction on those who had initiated it. That is why the pictures of these destructions are so graphic and their perpetrators so carefully identified. Once we recognize this barely hidden agenda of the genre, we can make allowance for its exaggerations and distortions, and extract a valid “historical kernel” from it, though both their status as a genre48 and the concept of the historical kernel have been challenged.49 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

Weeks 1985, esp. pp. 53 f. Ludwig 1990. Cf. the review article by Römer 1993. Klein 1985. Michalowski 1989: 6. Michalowski 1989: 6. Michalowski 1989: 5 f. Liverani 1993: 51.

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(Even later than the lamentations are certain litanies in which IbbiSin figures in long lists of deceased kings,50 and the semi-legendary versions of his exile to Elam and death and burial there.)51 A key concept of the lamentations is again the bala—an office rotated among the members of a Sumero-Akkadian polity—not, as in the case of the provinces of the Ur III empire, on a monthly basis,52 but rather on a long-term basis among the independent cities, dynasties and kingdoms that inherited the Ur III legacy. The concept is stated most memorably in the fourth stanza of the “Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur and Sumer” (ll. 365–369). In Kramer’s translation, it reads: “The verdict of the assembly cannot be turned back, / The word commanded by Enlil knows no overturning, / Ur was granted kingship, it was not granted an eternal reign (bala), / Since days of yore when the land was founded to (now) when people have multiplied, / Who has (ever) seen a reign of kingship that is everlasting!”53 In other words, no city or dynasty rules forever. The same concept is implicit in a later source that is the best known of all—the Sumerian King List. Here we have ancient historiography in its most schematic form. It insists that, in Sumer and Akkad, royal hegemony was always the prerogative of only one city or dynasty at a time and divinely fated to devolve in turn on different cities, dynasties, or kingdoms. Jerrold Cooper has noted that it shared this ideology with the lamentations, whereas royal inscriptions and royal hymns, both being products of the royal chanceries, promoted the opposite ideology, namely that kingship was divinely ordained to stay with the present ruler for length of days and with his dynasty forever.54 This dichotomy is certainly to be preferred to a simple dichotomy between contemporary and later formulations. In fact, it is not for the modern historian of antiquity to prejudge the value of any given source or genre, but to subject each to scrutiny and to make allowances for its particular agenda and prejudices. If we apply that rule of thumb to the fall of Ur, we will soon enough realize that lamentations and the King List both overemphasize the extent of the break with the succeeding age that the disaster represented, Jacobsen 1970: 346, n. 50. Jacobsen 1970: 346, n. 50. 52 Above, note 22. 53 Kramer apud ANET (3rd ed. 1969) 617. Cf. also PSD B: 69 f.: “who has ever seen a reign of kingship take the lead” (bala-nam-lugal-la sag-bi-ˇsè-e-a); Michalowski 1989: 59. 54 Cooper 1990: 39 f. 50 51

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and each for its own ideological reasons, as already suggested. Even the royal correspondence weighs in on this side of things with its unflattering characterization of Ishbi-Irra as a non-Sumerian and an ape from the mountain.55 And a proper reading of the Larsa King List leaves no room for the widespread misconception that he, or his first three successors, had to compete with Naplanum and his first three successors in the rule of the land. Other evidence, both contemporaneous and retrospective, suggests major aspects of continuity between the Third Dynasty of Ur and the First Dynasty of Isin in matters of economy, cult, literary convention, and even political organization. Suffice it to emphasize, in connection with the last factor, that Ishbi-Irra and Shu-ilishu, the first two socalled kings of Isin, actually ruled under the title “king of Ur” or its poetic equivalent “king/lord/deity of his nation/country.”56 It is only under Iddin-Dagan that an inscriptional use of the title “king of Isin” is attested, and then only once.57 And his successor Ishme-Dagan, though using the new title more liberally, still allowed the older one to be employed once on a fragmentary votive bowl, at least as generally restored.58 The same observation applies to the evidence of the “Isin” year names, conveniently assembled by Marcel Sigrist. They exhibit an almost studied avoidance of the royal title “king of Isin,” indeed any royal title, even after the royal inscriptions have begun to use it.59 The contemporary seal inscriptions are more creative in their use of a variety of royal titles and epithets. Here, “king of Ur” appears as late as Lipit-Ishtar60 and “king of Isin” not until Bur-Sin.61 The fall of Ur was thus not as cataclysmic an event as the lamentations, for their own reasons, made it out to be, and certainly not a watershed event on a par with the fall of Akkad earlier or the fall of Babylon at the end of its First Dynasty. But neither was the transition to Ishbi-Irra and his successors quite as smooth as their royal titles and epithets might suggest. For the full story of the fall of Ur, as of Sjöberg 1993. Previously Franke and Wilhelm 1985: 26, n. 53. lugal-ma-da-na, b¯el m¯atiˇsu, dingir-kalam-ma-na; cf. Hallo 1957: 16–20. 57 Haldar 1977, republished by Frayne 1990: 22. 58 Frayne 1990: 46. 59 The sole exception noted by Sigrist 1988: 14 is a text from the twelfth year of Ishbi-Irra that calls him “king of his land” (BIN 9: 52). 60 Frayne 1990: 61 f. 61 Frayne 1990: 72. 55 56

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other kingdoms both before and after, we are inevitably dependent on the recollection of later ages, often enough on the hostile or self-serving point of view of those who toppled and/or succeeded the fallen dynasty. The fall of empires has been a focus of much recent discussion. Paul Kennedy even wrote a best-seller on the subject, though he took matters back only as far as Philip II of Spain.62 The lacuna has been partly filled by Norman Yoffee and George Cowgill’s Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations,63 with contributions on Mesopotamia by Robert Adams and Yoffee himself.64 Harvey Weiss has taken up the issue of the collapse of Akkad from a North Mesopotamian perspective. As in the case of Ibbi-Sin’s date formula, I choose to leave open the question whether human or natural agency can best explain the archeological hiatus he has identified in the late third millennium.65 More recently, an entire issue of RA was devoted to the end of archives as a symptom— and concomitant—of political collapse.66 In conclusion: it is widely acknowledged that the ancient Mesopotamians had a vivid sense of their own long history, as shown among others by Krecher, Hruˇska, Wilcke, and Cooper.67 Many of their literary compositions had a historiographic character, although Cooper has pointedly abstained from “any attempt . . . to discover which ancient texts may be ‘historically accurate,’ whatever that might mean,” citing my own study of Sumerian historiography in that connection.68 I have never actually used the phrase “historically accurate”—though in other connections I have referred to “the essential historicity” of certain (biblical) narratives—and been taken to task for it.69 So perhaps I can sum up my position thus: the function of the historian of antiquity, like that of the chronicler of more recent periods, is not to prejudge the value of any given source or genre, but to subject each to scrutiny and, after allowing for its particular agenda and prejudices, to extract what value is left. It is time to restore the responsible use of literary sources to their traditional and rightful place in the

62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69

Kennedy 1987. Yoffee and Cowgill 1988. 64. Ibid., 20–48. Weiss and Courty 1993. Joannès 1995. Krecher and Müller 1975, Hruˇska 1979, Wilcke 1988, Cooper 1990. Cooper 1990: 39 citing Hallo 1983, here: VI.2. Hallo 1980: 16; Cooper and Goldstein 1992: 21 f.

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reconstruction of ancient Near Eastern history. That place is the history of the times about which they report, and emphatically not the history of their presumed time of composition. Those skeptics who accept the latter proposition court the danger of committing the very error of which they accuse the ancient historiographers and chronographers, namely of injecting the concerns of their own time into the recital of past events. It is little short of presumptuous to suppose that we can escape that charge ourselves if we impute it to the ancient authors who, after all, were so much closer than us to the events in question. Epimenides the Cretan (sixth century) is said to have pronounced all Cretans liars, thereby casting doubt on his own pronouncement, for all that it is echoed in Paul’s Epistle to Titus (1:12 f.). This solipsism has generated a substantial literature under the general heading of “the liar paradox” or “the Epimenides paradox”70 Let it not be said that we reject all historiography that is not contemporaneous with the events it chronicles, or confirmed by contemporaneous sources, lest we commit our own solipsism and lest our own attempts to reconstruct ancient Near Eastern history stand thereby condemned even more than the sources we disdain to use.71 Bibliography Anderson, Alan Ross 1970 “St. Paul’s Epistle to Titus,” in Martin 1970: 1–11. Becking, Bob 1985 De Ondergang van Samaria (Th.D. Thesis; Utrecht: Meppel, Krips Repro). 1992 The Fall of Samaria: An Historical and Archaeological Study (Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East 2; Leiden: Brill). Civil, Miguel 1987 “Ibbi-Suen, Year 22,” N.A.B.U. 1987/2: 27 f. No. 49. Cooper, Alan and Bernard R. Goldstein 1993 “Exodus and Mas. s. ot in History and Tradition,” Maarav 8: 15–37. Cooper, Jerrold S. 1986 Presargonic Inscriptions (New Haven: American Oriental Society).

70 Of the considerable literature on the subject, I content myself here with citing Anderson 1970 (reference courtesy Jeffrey Larson of the Yale University Library). 71 For a thoughtful review of some of the topics touched on here, see now Renger 1986.

vi.4. polymnia and clio 1990

465

“Mesopotamian Historical Consciousness and the Production of Monumental Art in the Third Millennium bc,” in Gunter 1990: 39–51.

Franke, S. and Gernot Wilhelm 1985 “Eine mittelassyrische fiktive Urkunde . . .,” Jahrbuch des Museums für Kunst und Gewerbe, Hamburg 4: 19–26. Frayne, Douglas R. 1990 Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 bc ) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods 4; Toronto: University of Toronto Press). 1997 Ur III Period (2112–2004 bc ) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia; Early Periods 3/2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press). Glassner, J.-J. 1986 La chute d’Akkadé: L’événement et sa mémoire (Berlin: D. Reimer). Gomi, Tohru 1984 “On the Critical Economic Situation at Ur Early in the Reign of Ibbisin,” JCS 36:211–242. Grayson, A. Kirk 1987 Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia (to 1115 bc ) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Assyrian Periods 1; Toronto: University of Toronto Press). Guichard, M. 1996 “Le dernier BAL du gouverneur d’Umma,” N.A.B.U. 1996/4: 113–115. No. 131. Gunter, Ann C., ed. 1990 Investigating Artistic Environment in the Ancient Near East (Washington: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution). Haldar, Alfred 1977 “A Votive Inscription from the Reign of Iddin-Dagân,” in Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities (Stockholm), Medelhavsmuseet 12: 3–6. Hallo, William W. 1957 Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles: A Philologic and Historical Analysis (American Oriental Series 43; New Haven: American Oriental Society). 1960 “A Sumerian Amphictyony,” JCS 14: 88–114. 1962 “The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: A Bibliography,” HUCA 33:1–43. 1966 “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu,” JCS 20:133–141, here: III.2. 1972 “The House of Ur-Meme,” JNES 31: 87–95. 1978 “Simurrum and the Human Frontier,” RHA 36: 71–83. 1980 “Biblical History in Its Near Eastern Setting,” in Scripture in Context: Essays on the Comparative Method, ed. Carl D. Evans et al. (Pittsburgh Theological Series XX; Pittsburgh: Pickwick) 1–26.

466 1983 1990 1991 1998 1999

vi.4. polymnia and clio “Sumerian Historiography,” in History, Historiography and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literature, ed. H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld (Jersualem: Magnes) 9–20, here: VI.2. “The Limits of Skepticism,” JAOS 110: 187–199. “Information from Before the Flood: Antediluvian Notes from Babylonia and Israel,” Maarav 7: 173–181. “New Directions in Historiography (Mesopotamia and Israel),” in dubsar anta-men: Studien . . . für Willem H. Ph. Römer, ed. M. Dietrich and O. Loretz (AOAT253; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag) 109–128, here: VI.3. ‘ “They Requested Him as God of Their City’: A Classical Moment in the Mesopotamian Experience,” in The Classical Moment: Views from Seven Literatures, ed. G. Holst-Warhaft and D.R. McCann (Lanham etc.: Rowan and Littlefield) 22–35.

Hallo, William W. and William K. Simpson 1971 The Ancient Near East: A History (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich); 2nd ed. 1998. Hruˇska, B. 1979 “Das Verhältnis zur Vergangenheit im alten Mesopotamien,” Archìv Orientální 47: 4–14. Jacobsen, Thorkild 1953 “The Reign of Ibbi-Suen,” JCS 7: 36–47, repr. Jacobsen (1970) 173–186. 1970 Toward the Image of Tammuz and Other Essays on Mesopotamian History and Culture (Harvard Semitic Series 21; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Joannès, Francis, ed. 1995 Les Phénomènes de fin d’archives en Mésopotamie (RA 89/1). Kennedy, Paul M. 1987 The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500–2000 (New York: Random House). Klein, Jacob ˇ 1985 “Sulgi and Iˇsme-Dagan. Runners in the Service of the Gods,” Beer Sheva 2: 7*–38*. Krecher, Joachim 1967 “Die pluralischen Verba für ‘gehen’ und ‘stehen’ im Sumerischen,” WO 4: 1–11. Krecher, Joachim and H.P. Müller 1975 “Vergangenheitsinteresse in Mesopotamien und Israel,” Saeculum 26: 13–44. Lafont, Bertrand 1995 “La chute des rois d’Ur et la fin des archives dans les grands centres administratifs de leur empire,” RA 89: 3–13.

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Lambert, Maurice 1966 “La Guerre entre Urukagina et Lugalzaggesi,” RSO 41: 29–66. Liverani, Mario, ed. 1993 Akkad the First World Empire: Structure, Ideology, Traditions (History of the Ancient Near East/Studies 5; Padua: Sargon srl). Ludwig, Marie-Christine 1990 Untersuchungen zu den Hymnen des Iˇsme-Dagan von Isin (Santag 2; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz). Martin, Robert L., ed. 1970 The Paradox of the Liar (New Haven/London: Yale University Press). Michalowski, Piotr 1975 “The Bride of Simanum,” JAOS 95: 716–719. 1976 The Royal Correspondence of Ur (Ph.D. Thesis; Yale University). 1984 “Königsbriefe,” RLA 6: 51–59. 1989 The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur (Mesopotamian Civilizations 1; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns). Millard, A.R., J.K. Hoffmeier and D.W. Baker, eds. 1994 Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in Its Near Eastern Context (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns). Renger, Johannes 1986 “Vergangenes Geschehen in der Textüberlieferung des alten Mesopotamien,” in Vergangenheit und Lebenswelt, ed. H.-J. Gehrke and A. Möller (Tübingen: Günter Marr) 9–69. Römer, W.H. Ph. 1993 “Die Hymnen des Iˇsme-Dagan von Isin,” OrNS 62: 90–98. Shanks, Hershel 1997 “The Biblical Minimalists: Expunging Ancient Israel’s Past,” Bible Review 13/3: 32–39, 50–52. 1997a “Face to Face: Biblical Minimalists Meet Their Challengers,” Biblical Archaeology Review 23/4: 26–42, 66. Sigrist, Marcel 1983 Textes Économiques Néo-Sumériennes de l’Université de Syracuse (Études Assyriologiques Mémoire 29; Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations). 1988 Isin Year Names (Andrew University Assyriological Series 2). Sjöberg, Åke 1970–1971 “Hymns to Meslamtaea, Lugalgirra and Nanna-Suen in Honour of King Ibb¯ısuen (Ibb¯ısîn) of Ur,” Or. Suec. 19–20: 140–178. 1993 “The Ape from the Mountain who Became King of Isin,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo, ed. M.E. Cohen et al. (Bethesda, Md.: CDL Press) 211–220.

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Sjöberg, Åke, ed. 1984 The Sumerian Dictionary Vol. 2: B (Philadelphia: The University Museum). Sollberger, Edmond 1976 “Ibbi-Suen,” RLA 5 (1976–1980) 1–8. Sykes, Kevin L. The Year Names of the Ur III Period (MA thesis, University of Chicago (1973, MS). Weeks, Noel 1985 “The Old Babylonian Amorites: Nomads or Mercenaries?” OLP 16: 49–57. Weiss, Harvey and Marie-Agnès Courty 1993 “The Genesis and Collapse of the Akkadian Empire: The Accidental Refraction of Historical Law,” in Liverani 1993: 131–155. Welles, C. Bradford and Gary Beckman 1988 The Oriental Club of New Haven 1913–1988 (New Haven: mimeograph). Westenholz, Joan Goodnick 1989 “Enheduanna, En-Priestess, Hen of Nanna, Spouse of Nanna,” in Behrens, Hermann et al., eds. (1989) Dumu-e2-dub-ba-a. Studies in Honor of Å. Sjöberg (Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, 11; Philadelphia) 539–556. Wilcke, Claus 1969 “Zur Geschichte der Amurriter in der Ur-III- Zeit,” WO 5: 1–31. 1970 “Drei Phasen des Niedergangs des Reiches von Ur III,” ZA 60: 54–69. 1982 “Archäologie und Geschichtsbewusstsein,” Kolloquien zur allgemeinen und vergleichenden Archäologie 3: 31–52. 1988 “Die sumerische Königsliste und erzählte Vergangenheit,” Colloquium Rauricum 1: 113–140. Winter, Irene 1987 “Women in Public: The Disc of Enheduanna, the Beginning of the Office of en-Priestess, and the Weight of Visual Evidence,” RAI 33: 189–201. Yoffee, Norman 1977 The Economic Role of the Crown in the Old Babylonian Period (Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 5; Malibu, Calif.: Undena). 1979 “The Decline and Rise of Mesopotamian Civilization: An Ethnoarchaeological Perspective on the Evolution of Social Complexity,” American Antiquity 44:5–35. Yoffee, Norman and George L. Cowgill, eds. 1988 The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations (Tucson: University of Arizona Press).

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Zettler, Richard 1984 “The Genealogy of the House of Ur-Me-me: a Second Look,” AfO 31: 1–9.

Postscript Of the many relevant studies and remarks that have come to my attention in the last three years, the following are particularly worth quoting here: There is one school which I would define as ‘maximalist-optimist’, convinced that analysis can and must be pushed as far as possible . . . in such a way as to draw the greatest possible significance from the material available. There is, on the other hand, a ‘minimalist-pessimist’ school . . . which holds that . . . this use of evidence in a ‘forceful’ way, is not justified given the quality, quantity and distribution of the finds . . .. As for myself, I clearly belong to the ‘minimalist-pessimist’ school of thought and hold that the more material we have available, the more we will realize how difficult it is to reach precise, unequivocal conclusions. Mario Liverani in Archives Before Writing, Piera Ferioli et al., eds. (Turin: Scriptorium, 1994), pp. 414 f.

vi.5 SUMERIAN HISTORY IN PICTURES: A NEW LOOK AT THE “STELE OF THE FLYING ANGELS”*

Among his many seminal studies on the genre of Sumerian royal hymns, Jacob Klein has contributed an analysis of Shulgi A (“Shulgi the Runner”) that goes far toward setting that hymn and the IshmeDagan hymn modelled on it in their literary and historical contexts.1 The royal statues to which the two hymns allude well illustrate the role of monuments as a fourth medium for the commemoration of royal achievements beyond the three previously identified as royal hymns, royal inscriptions, and date formulas.2 The “stele of the flying angels” may be confidently added to the roster of such figurative commemorations. In 1925, Sir Leonard Woolley announced the discovery of important fragments of a massive stone stele found during the excavations at Ur.3 He was in charge of these excavations, which were conducted jointly by the British Museum and the University Museum (now the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology) of the University of Pennsylvania. In the division of the finds among the two museums and the host country in 1926, the stele fragments fell to the share of the University Museum. Leon Legrain, who was then curator of that museum, as well as epigrapher of the expedition,4 lost no time in restoring the stele from * This paper is presented in warm tribute to Jacob Klein. A very much earlier version was presented to the American Oriental Society, Philadelphia, March 19, 1996. 1 Jacob Klein, “Sulgi ˇ and Iˇsmedagan: Runners in the Service of the Gods (SRT13),” ˇ Beer-Sheva 2 (1985): 7*–38*; cf. also Douglas R. Frayne, “Sulgi the Runner,” JAOS 103 (1983): 739–748. 2 William W. Hallo, “Texts, Statues and the Cult of the Deified King,” VTS 40 (1988): 54–66; cf. Frayne, The Historical Correlations of the Sumerian Royal Hymns (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, 1981). 3 Cf. Leonard Woolley, “The Excavations at Ur, 1924–1925,” Antiquaries Journal 5 (1925): 398–410 and pls. 46–48; idem, “The Expedition to Ur,” Museum Journal 16 (1925): 50–55. 4 A. Dussau, “Legrain, Leon,” RLA (1980–1983), 543 lists him as curator, or at least active at the Museum, from 1919 to his death in 1963, and epigrapher from 1924–1926.

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its fragments and publishing the results. He was, in fact, so concerned with preserving all the pieces in his reconstruction that he included some that may not have belonged to it at all. His first publication appeared in 1927 under the title “The Stela of the Flying Angels,” and a second one six years later under the title “Restauration de la stele d’Ur-Nammu.”5 For some fifteen years, this truly monumental monument has been the subject of intense scrutiny by Jeanny Vorys Canby. She devoted a first article to it in 1987,6 wrote another one ten years later,7 and published a whole monograph on the subject in 2001.8 Meantime, the stele itself has been disassembled under her supervision, allowing for a better placement of the fragments from which it had been reconstructed in 1927 when it is eventually reassembled. In the process, it is hoped to settle the question of whether the attribution to Ur-Nammu is correct (his name appears on a fragment that may not belong rightfully to the reconstruction) or whether it has to be changed in favor of Shulgi.9 It will here be attributed to Ur-Nammu for reasons to be dealt with below. The Stele of Ur-Nammu is certainly one of the most important monuments of its kind. It is the only one between the Old Sumerian Stele of Vultures and the Neo-Assyrian obelisks to arrange its materials in registers that follow each other in a vertical sequence, and the only royal stele altogether between Naram-Sin and Hammurapi, as Dr. Canby has noted.10 Several questions remain to be answered: whether we are to “read” the registers up or down, whether the two sides are to be “read” together or in sequence, and, if the latter, in which sequence. But, in any case, it is already apparent that the stele is to be Leon Legrain, “The Stela of the Flying Angels,” Museum Journal 18 (1927): 74–98; cf. idem, “Restauration de la stele d’Ur-Nammu,” RA 30 (1933): 111–115 and pls. i–ii; for Woolley’s prior report, see above, n. 3. 6 Jeanny Vorys Canby, “A Monumental Puzzle: Reconstructing the Ur-Nammu Stele,” Expedition 29/1 (1987): 54–64. 7 Eadem, “The Stela of Ur-Nammu Reconsidered,” RAI 34 (1998): 211–219 and pls. 39–48; note that the paper was presented to the Rencontre in 1987 (hereinafter cited as “The Stela”). 8 Eadem, The “Ur-Nammu” Stela (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 2001; hereinafter cited as The Stela). I am grateful to her for sharing many of her findings with me prior to publication, and to the University of Pennsylvania for permission to republish her reconstructions (below, figs. 1–2). 9 A similar question with respect to the “Laws of Ur-Nammu” can probably be settled in favor of Ur-Nammu; see a forthcoming paper by Frayne and the author. 10 The Stela 8 f. But note perhaps the Ebla stele dating ca. 1800 bce; cf. Paolo Matthiae, “Les dernières découvertes d’Ébla en 1983–1986,” CRAIBL 1987, 135–161. 5

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“read,” i.e., that it represents some form of narrative in largely pictorial form, though supplemented by captions or inscriptions that may have been more extensive when the stele was complete than the traces now preserved suggest. And if the stele belongs to the roster of figurative commemorations,11 does it commemorate the royal achievements of a single year, as in the case of the statue of “Shulgi the Runner,”12 or of several years, as illustrated, for example, by the statue of NurAdad of Larsa commissioned by his son Sin-iddinam together with an inscriptional outline of the achievements of at least five years of his sixteen-year reign paralleled by his date-formulas?13 To begin to answer some of my own questions: it is my suggestion, based on the current state of the restoration of the stele, that its two sides must be read separately. That is to say, it is impossible to read all five registers on the two sides as following each other around the stele. There are three reasons for this conclusion. (1) Registers III and IV of side A are separated by only a single dividing line14 and are apparently to be read together, while the corresponding registers of side B are separated by a double dividing line and are evidently to be read separately.15 (2) The broad band between registers IV and V of side B preserves considerable traces of an inscription, while the corresponding band of Side A, although largely lost, is clearly uninscribed as far as preserved. (3) There is no evidence that the narrow sides of the stele, as far as they are preserved, carried the narrative from one side to the other.16 Having said this, however, we should note the strong correlation between the two top registers, both including the “flying angels” for which Legrain named the stele. The “angels” are pouring water from 11 Hallo, “Texts, Statues and the Cult,” (above, n. 2); cf. Frayne, The Historical Correlations of the Sumerian Royal Hymns. 12 Above, n. 1. 13 See the latest translation and discussion by Madeleine A. Fitzgerald, “The Rulers of Larsa” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Yale, 2002), 83–93. 14 Dr. Canby informs me that it is in fact “not a dividing line but the top of the building on which several people stand” (letter of January 18, 2003). 15 Side A is what is conventionally called the “obverse” or, by Canby, the “Good Face” of the stele, i.e., the better preserved one: “The Stela,” 213. Side B is the “reverse” or “worn face”; ibid. Registers are numbered with Roman numerals from top to bottom following Canby. 16 Dr. Canby informs me that “There are no scenes on any of the several sections of the side faces that are preserved, in fact the sides were never completely smoothed down like the relief surface” (letter of January 18, 2003). Cf. also Andrea Becker “Neusumerische Renaissance?” BaM 16 (1985):229–316 esp. p. 295.

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Fig. 1: Side A

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Fig. 2: Side B

475

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vessels on the scenes below them, which, at least on Side A, feature two seated deities—actually, it could be argued, in the guise of their statues.17 The flying figures are regarded by Jacobsen as symbolic rainclouds, though on what basis is not clear; Canby considers them possibly representations of Enki.18 These upper registers have the crescent shape characteristic of other Mesopotamian steles, a shape familiar, e.g., from the double steles of Amar-Suen found at Ur,19 from kudurru’s (“boundary-stones”) in phallic shape,20 and many items in the “Stelenreihen” of Assur, where the shape has also been regarded as phallic and interpreted as a pars pro toto representation of the individuals commemorated on them.21 It was a shape favored in Egypt as well,22 and for some reason favored in much more recent times not only for tombstones in various traditions but more particularly for the representations of the Tablets of the Law in Jewish iconography from at least the thirteenth century ce on.23 More to the point, the two uppermost registers are each twice the size of any of the lower registers in height, and the figures in them are twice the size of the figures in the lower registers. They share these characteristics with the Stele of Vultures and, like that monument, can be argued to represent the climax of the narrative represented by the stele as a whole. If Irene Winter is correct in reading the Stele of Vultures (as well as the even earlier Uruk Vase) from bottom to top,24 17 Jutta Börker-Klähn, “Sulgi ˇ badet,” ZA 64 (1974): 235–240, esp. p. 237; cf. Hallo, “Sumerian Religion,” Studies Kutscher (1993), 15–35, esp. pp. 18 f. Here: I.6. 18 Thorkild Jacobsen, The Harps That Once. . . (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1987), 393 n. 24; Canby, “The Stela,” 217–218; The Stela, 17, n. 2. 19 Woolley, “Excavations at Ur, 1925–1926,” Antiquaries Journal 6 (1926); 365–401 and pls. xliv–lxii, esp. pp. 371 f. and pl. xlvib. 20 So at least according to Walter Burkert, Homo Necans: the Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth, tr. P. Bing (Berkeley etc.: University of California, 1983), 58; cf. p. 72. 21 Heinz Genge, Stelen neuassyrischer Könige, Ph.D. Dissertation, Freiburg/Breisgau (2 vols., 1965); cf. idem, “Sinn und Bedeutung der Menhire,” Jahrbuch für Prähistorische und Ethnographische Kunst (IPEK ), 122 (1966–1969), 105–113 and pl. 77. 22 R.J. Demaree, The #h ikr n R" -Stelae: on Ancestor Worship in Ancient Egypt (= Egyptologische Uitgaven 3) (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1983). 23 Ruth Melnikoff, “The Round-topped Tablets of the Law,” Journal of Jewish Art 1 (1974), esp. p. 6 and n. 35. 24 Or at least its “narrative” side (reverse) if not its “iconic” side (obverse); see Irene Winter, “After the Battle is Over: The Stele of the Vultures and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Art of the Ancient Near East,” in Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. H.L. Kessler and M.S. Simpson, Studies in the History of Art 16 (1985), 11–26, esp. pp. 18–21.

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and if André Parrot is correct in reading the Standard of Ur from bottom to top, analogy and the power of tradition would suggest the same sequence for our stele.25 This is by now the communis opinio, and much the same goes for the notion that monuments generally narrate the events of several years,26 although there are dissenters from both of these positions.27 What then does the upper register of Side A represent? Jes Canby suggests a sacred marriage and, indeed, the flowing water, and its divine source, remind us of the cosmic aspect of this rite, intended to assure the fertility of field and stream.28 The prominence of the lunar crescent of Nanna and of the two seven-pointed stars, the symbols of Inanna (as morning and evening star respectively?), in both top registers might seem to bolster that interpretation for, as Cooper has put it in the latest comprehensive survey of the institution, “Because Inana was the daughter of the moon god Nanna-Suen, god of Ur, the marriage of Ur III rulers to Inana had the added advantage of making the kings of Ur sons-in-law of the god of their capital.”29 Nevertheless, the same evidence can be said to point elsewhere, specifically to the designation of the high-priestess (en) of Nanna, who served at the same time as devotee of Inanna at Uruk (or Karzida).30 This high-priestess was selected from the ranks of the royal progeny,

25 André Parrot, Sumer: the Dawn of Art (New York: Golden Press, 1961), 146 (at least with respect to the side picturing “the king at war”). 26 See, e.g., Michelle I. Marcus, “Geography as an Organizing Principle in the Imperial Art of Shalmaneser III,” Iraq 49 (1987): 77–90 and pls. 16–22, esp. p. 81; note, however, that the Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser reads from top to bottom, according to Stephen J. Lieberman, “Giving Directions on the Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III,” RA 79 (1985): 88. 27 Jerrold S. Cooper thinks that the narrative can run from top to bottom; see “Mesopotamian Historical Consciousness and the Production of Monumental Art in the Third Millennium bc,” in Investigating Artistic Environments in the Ancient Near East, ed. Ann C. Gunter (Washington: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, 1990), 39–51, esp. p. 50, n. 37. V.K. Afanasieva thinks that the Ur-Nammu stele presents “single-momentness of the action” rather than a succession of events; see “On the Composition of the Ur-Nammu Stele,” in Studies Vinogradov (2000), 7–28 (in Russian; English summary pp. 28 f.). 28 Canby, “The Stela,” 217. 29 Cooper, “Sacred Marriage and Popular Cult in Early Mesopotamia,” in Official Cult and Popular Religion in the Ancient Near East, ed. E. Matsushima (Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1993), 81–96, esp. p. 91. 30 Hallo and J.J.A. van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna, YNER 3 (New Haven/London: Yale University Press 1968), 7–9.

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accounting for the presence of the king in the scene. This was so since the time of Sargon according to one reconstruction.31 In Winter’s view, it could have begun even earlier,32 in Steinkeller’s, conceivably later.33 As reconstructed by Canby, the top register of Side A prominently features a female deity seated in the lap of a male deity. She regards this as symbolic of love-making suitable to the sacred marriage, and cites a plaque from Tello (Girsu) inscribed to the goddess Bau as an iconographic parallel.34 But one searches in vain for textual confirmation of the gesture in the richly attested love literature of Sumerian. The knee (du10 = birku) is not mentioned there at all and as for the lap (ùr = sûnu, utlu), it is more often the lap of the female partner that is mentioned;35 when the male partner’s lap is alluded to, it is in the context of lying in bed, not sitting in a chair;36 the only possible exceptions to this rule are ambiguous on this point.37 The only textual evidence for the gesture that I am aware of is that of lifting a child on one’s knees as a sign of acknowledging paternity—whether natural or adoptive—or, more generally, as a sign of legitimation; as such, it is attested equally among Babylonians, Hittites, and Greeks,38 as Canby has pointed out elsewhere,39 and can be reconstructed for Israel as well.40 A particularly telling example is a Mari letter quoting the deity as saying of the

31

Ibid. Winter, “Women in Public: The Disk of Enheduanna, the Beginning of the Office of EN-Priestess and the Weight of Visual Evidence,” RAI 33 (1987), 189–201, esp. p. 196, n. 31. 33 Piotr Steinkeller, “On Rulers, Priests and Sacred Marriage: Tracing the Evolution of Early Sumerian Kingship,” in Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East, ed. K. Watanabe (Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1999), 103–137, esp. p. 125, n. 77. 34 Canby, “The Stela,” 216 and pl. 47 (fig. 13). 35 See Yitschak Sefati, Love Songs in Sumerian Literature, Bar-Ilan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1998), 105:188; 188:14, 16; 225:32; 305:35, 37; 306:64–66; CT 58:16:43 f. 36 Ibid. 105:189–190. 37 Ibid. 137:41; 225:7, 9. 38 J.D. Muhly, review of M.C. Astour, Hellenosemitica in JAOS 85 (1965): 585–588, esp. pp. 586 f.; Hallo, review of RLA 3/1 in JAOS 87 (1987): 62–66, esp. p. 64. 39 “The Child in Hittite Iconography,” in Ancient Anatolia: . . . Essays in Honor of Machteld J. Mellink, ed. J.V. Canby et al. (Madison, Wisc: University of Wisconsin Press, 1986), 54–69, esp. p. 69 nn. 24–25. It may be noted that her interest in this subject prompted Dr. Canby’s investigation of the stele in the first place; cf. The Stele, 12. 40 Theodore H. Gaster, Myth, Legend, and Custom in the Old Testament (New York/ Evanston: Harper & Row, 1969), 788 f. No. 296 with reference to Job 3:12. 32

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king, i. a., “Am I not Adad the lord of Kallassu who reared (raised?) him between my thighs41 and restored him to the throne of his father’s house?”42 The fact that there is no figure seated in the lap of the female deity on the left side of Register A I is seen by Canby as further evidence in favor of her interpretation of the entire scene as representing a sacred marriage. But it accords equally well with the notion that it is the high priestess who is seated on the lap of the male deity. Nor is her wearing the horned crown of divinity an objection to it, since it has long been demonstrated that the high-priestesses of Nanna shared some of the divine status of their royal parents, and donned and doffed the characteristic divine headdress at will.43 The first of the line, Enheduanna, “was considered the embodiment of the goddess Ningal,” ˘ and shared the title “hen of Nanna” (zirru) with her, according to Joan Westenholz.44 One can also cite in this connection the translation of the priestly title nin-dingir or rather ereˇs-dingir by “lady (who is) a deity” in CAD, though this translation “obviously makes no sense” in the opinion of Steinkeller.45 Finally, we may note with Canby that the stele stood near the entrance to the temple of Ningal and the gip¯aru, the residence of the high-priestess of Nanna, and at least one face of it would have been visible to those walking there.46 Now for the remaining registers on “Side A.” Register II is relatively very well preserved even after the removal of many of the elements of the 1927 restoration. Canby does not offer an interpretation of the scene, but it can be plausibly regarded as representing the investiture or coronation of the king. While on the left he is shown libating to the

41

pahalliya, more properly “my testicles” according to Moran’s note. ˘ Latest translation by W.L. Moran, ANET (3rd ed., 1969), 625; to the previous translations listed there, add especially H.B. Huffmon, “Prophecy in the Mari letters,” BA 31 (1968): 101–124, esp. pp. 106 f.; reprinted in The Biblical Archaeologist Reader 3 (1970), 199–224, esp. pp. 204 f. 43 Hallo, “Women of Sumer,” in The Legacy of Sumer, Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 4, ed. D. Schmandt-Besserat (Malibu: Undena, 1976), 23–40 and 129–138, esp. pp. 32 f., 136; cf. also Sjöberg, JCS 29 (1977): 16 and now Giorgio Buccellati, Studies Oates (2002), 16 f. 44 Joan Goodnick Westenholz, “Enheduanna, En-Priestess, Hen of Nanna, Spouse of Nanna,” in Studies Sjöberg (1989), 539–556, esp. pp. 539, 541–544, citing i.a. Å. Sjöberg, JCS 29 (1977): 16. 45 CAD E, 173d s.v. ¯entu; Steinkeller, “On Rulers,” 121, n. 59. 46 The Stela, 7 f. and pl. 5. 42

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seated statue of a goddess, presumably Ningal, on the right he is clearly receiving the symbols of the royal office from the seated statue of a god, presumably Nanna, each time in the company of a woman, possibly the queen. The regalia in question are familiar from the iconography as well as the hymnography of the half millennium from Sargon to Hammurapi or what may be called the “classical phase” of Mesopotamian civilization. As in the stele(s) carved with the Laws of Hammurapi, the king receives from the deity the rod and the ring, an iconographic theme still echoed in early Kassite glyptic47 and late Kassite sculpture.48 Unlike these later treatments of the theme, however, the ring in Ur-Nammu’s case is visibly associated with a rope,49 and thereby hangs a tale.50 In the royal hymnography, the staff of royal (and divine) office is routinely designated ˇsibir2 = sˇibirru, but there is no term for “ring” in the standard lists of regalia. Instead we meet repeatedly with a sign differing from the ˇsibir2-sign only by a prefixed u.51 The ligature that results is variously read as ˇsibir and eˇskiri, i.e., eˇs-kirix(KA),52 or “staff” and “nose-rope” respectively. The conclusion seems inescapable that the nose-rope was so regularly attached to the ring (and perhaps sometimes to the staff as well) that it gave its name to both. Indeed Canby shares my opinion, albeit only in a footnote, where she says: “The rope on our stela could rather be the rope to tie enemies by the nosering used by Ishtar at the rockrelief of Anubanini. . . or Esarhaddon at Sinjirli.”53 In contrast, Jacobsen saw here a measuring rope and a

47 Edith Porada and W.W. Hallo, “Cylinder of Kurigalzu I?” in Studies Hrouda (1994), 229–234 and pls. xxiii f. 48 Winfried Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, Propyläen Kunstgeschichte 14 (Berlin: Propyläen, 1975), fig. 190 and p. 305 (top of a stele from Susa, uninscribed). 49 Cf. two stele fragments from Tello showing a figure holding a coil of rope and a peg, as noted by Claudia E. Suter, “Gudeas vermeintliche Segnungen des Eninnu,” ZA 87 (1997): 1–10 and figs. 1–4, esp. pp. 8 f. and figs. 3 f. 50 Cf. briefly Hallo, Origins (Leiden etc.: Brill, 1996), 199, and at length Agnes Spycket, “La baguette et l’anneau: un symbole d’Iran et de Mésopotamie,” in Studies Calmeyer (2000), 651–666. See also below, Appendix. 51 For both together cf., e.g., Åke W. Sjöberg, “Miscellaneous Sumerian Texts, III,” JCS 34 (1982): 72 obv. 5’. 52 For eˇs-kiri written syllabically, see CAD s.v. serretu, “reins.” Proverbs such as 4 . S.P. 1.153, formerly interpreted as “his nose has not borne the rope” (kiri4-ni eˇse nu-íl), is now read “he . . . is not raised to prosperity” (kiri4-zal-ˇsè nu-íl) by Bendt Alster, Proverbs of Ancient Sumer (Bethesda, Md.: CDL, 1997), vol. 1, 31. 53 The Stela, 9, n. 66.

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measuring staff, thus connecting the scene with the building activity depicted in the next register below.54 In answer to Jacobsen, it may be further noted that, according to royal hymns and inscriptions, both staff and nose-rope and, for good measure, the scepter, were bestowed on the king so that he could guide the people aright.55 This may best be illustrated by reference to the Ur-Nammu hymn first edited by myself as “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu” and more recently by Esther Flückiger-Hawker as “UrNamma D” and by Tinney as “Ur-Namma the Canal-Digger.”56 I would now translate lines 16 f. of this hymn: “He has pressed the holy scepter for guiding (si si-e-sá) all the people in my hand / The noserope and staff so that I might direct (he-lah4-lah4-e) all the numerous ˘ ˘ ˘in the people.” The use of the verb si-sá, “guide,” first image seems to be a clear allusion to Ur-Nammu’s role as author of the Laws and thus of the enactment of justice (níg-si-sá). But we can be more specific still. Iconography and hymnography alike conjure up the image of the king as “good shepherd” (sipa-zi = r¯e"um k¯ınum) first attested in the Cylinder Inscriptions of Gudea of Lagash, then frequently in the hymns of Shulgi of Ur.57 With or without other epithets, this image emphasizes the king’s concern with justice; in the Hammurapi Dynasty, the epithet regularly occurs in those dateformulas that refer to a royal proclamation of debt-release (m¯esˇ¯arum).58 This, then, is the ruler in his gentle, popular guise. But the king can also be pictured as a stern and powerful oxherd, able to control the fiercest bull by means of a ring fastened to the animal’s nose and connected to a rope by which the animal can be pulled 54

Thorkild Jacobsen, “Pictures and Pictorial Language (the Burney Relief ),” in Figurative Language in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. Mindlen et al. (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1987), 1–11, esp. p. 4: “The rod and the ring.” 55 Cf. simply CAD, S s.v. serretu A, and note the discussion there, adding the late . . copy of Akkadian royal inscriptions that refers to “the nose-rope of the people” (s. errat niˇs¯e) divinely entrusted to Shulgi; cf. Frayne, RIME 3/2:134 i 9–13. 56 Hallo, “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu,” JCS 20 (1966): 133–141, here: III.2; Esther Flückiger-Hawker, Urnamma of Ur in Sumerian Literary Tradition, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 166 (Fribourg: University Press 1999), esp. pp. 228–259; Steve Tinney, “UrNamma the Canal-digger: Context, Continuity and Change in Sumerian Literature,” JCS 51 (1999): 31–54. 57 Klein, Three Sulgi ˇ ˇ Hymns: Sumerian Royal Hymns Glorifying King Sulgi of Ur. BarIlan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture. (Ramat-Gan, Israel: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1981), 54 and n. 128. 58 Hallo, Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles: A Philologic and Historical Analysis. American Oriental Series 43 (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1957), 147–149.

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along. This is best illustrated by wall paintings from Old Babylonian Mari showing bulls thus led to sacrifice.59 The rod, which in modern usage can also be connected to the ring, was probably used in ancient times by itself to push and prod the animal along, as suggested by the proverbial saying that originally concluded Ecclesiastes (12:11):60 “Words of wise men are like ox-goads, given (i.e., thrust) backward61 by a shepherd, and like scepters that are set up62 by the masters of the assemblies.” Such ox-goads are called usan3-bar-uˇs in Sumerian, qinnazu u paruˇssˇu in Akkadian. Since they are not mentioned among the regalia, it is possible that the ˇsibir2 of the royal hymns refers to the shepherd’s crook and the combination ˇsibir2 eˇskiri to the king’s double function as good shepherd and stern oxherd. The clinching argument, however, comes from the iconography. A remarkable stone carving in the collection of Jonathan P. Rosen (New York), probably a mold intended for a work in beaten precious metal, shows a victorious Akkadian king, perhaps Naram-Sin, in the act of pulling his defeated enemies by means of rings held in his hand and attached to ropes that pass through their noses; the ropes pass behind the seated figure of a goddess and the gaze of the principals makes it clear that the enemies look upon her as the source of their captivity.63 The next two registers (A III–IV) represent a single scene, but not a simple one. In fact it is complex since, as already indicated, the two registers are divided at most by only a single, dividing line, representing a minimal baseline. Moreover, they reflect aspects of one and the same activity, namely a building project. Exactly the same arrangement, and with the same theme, characterizes the Stele of Gudea.64 In Register III, the king carries over his shoulder, and with the help of an attendant, two tools and a basket, perhaps intended to represent the first, ceremoParrot, Sumer, figs. 344 f. For the verses added by a pious Massorete (12–14), see Judah Goldin, “The End of Ecclesiastes: Literal Exegesis and its Transformation,” in Biblical Motifs: Origins and Transformations. Studies and Texts 3, ed. A. Altman (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966), 135–158. 61 Reading #HR for #HD. . 62 or NTWYM, “stretched out.” 63 Donald P. Hansen, “Through the Love of Ishtar,” in Studies Oates (2002), 91–112; idem in Art of the First Cities, ed. Joan Aruz (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2003), 206 f. I am grateful to Mr. Rosen for letting me see the piece in advance of its publication. 64 Ref. courtesy M. Noveck. See the reconstruction in Orthmann, Der Alte Orient 200, fig. 36a. 59 60

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nial basket of earth or clay. The tools have been described as an axe and a plow65 respectively, but if the former is in fact an al, variously translated as “pickaxe” or “hoe,” we may have here the pictorial combination of pickaxe and hod that became the symbol of corvée labor, known as dusu = tupˇsikku, literally “hod” or “mortarboard.”66 (Written variously with gi, “reed,” or giˇs, “wood,” as a semantic indicator or determinative, it was presumably a reed basket carried on the head or mounted on a wooden pole for carrying by hand.)67 This is expressed most tellingly in the so-called Song of the Hoe, where we read (lines 9 f.): “By distributing the shares of duty he (Enlil) established daily tasks / and for the hoe and the (carrying) basket even wages were established,” or again (line 98): “The hoe and the basket are the tools for building cities.”68 The latter passage is echoed in the Hymn to Nippur,69 which ends thus (iv 23–30): “In order to make all the Anunna gods of heaven and earth do the work, he (Enlil) placed in their(!) hands the hoe and plow that are for establishing cities.”70 This shows that corvée labor was also the lot of the (lesser) gods before the creation of humanity. Similarly, we read in the myth of Ninurta (Lugal-e ll. 336– 338): “Because the gods of the nation were ‘subjected’ (literally, made to stand/serve), and had to carry hoe and basket (hod), that being their corvée . . ..” Iconographically, the theme of the king as carrier of the (first) hod is familiar from the canephore figurines of Ur-Nammu and Shulgi, as well as Gudea.71 In Register IV, the king’s subjects carry baskets on their heads and up a ladder to build what is presumably a temple or other monumental building. According to Andrea Becker, it could be part of a canalcomplex, since canals were known to involve structures along their Canby, The Stela, 20. Armas Salonen, Die Hausgeräte der alten Mesopotamier I, Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae B 139 (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1965), 247–249. 67 For an example of the latter, see, e.g., Hallo, “Contributions to Neo-Sumerian,” HUCA 29 (1958): 99 f., and pl. 22 = E. Sollberger, TCS 1:270. Sollberger translates “levers.” 68 Gertrud Farber in COS 1 (1997), 511, 513. 69 UET 6/1:18; ed. by K. Oberhuber, ArOr 35 (1967): 262–270; duplicates published by Sjöberg, “Miscellaneous Sumerian Texts I,” Orientalia Suecana 23–24 (1974–1975): 159–181, esp. pp. 159, 163 f., 174 f., 179. 70 Cf. Adam Falkenstein, “Die Anunna in der sumerischen Überlieferung,” Studies Landsberger (1965), 127–140, esp. p. 132 and n. 69. 71 Hallo, “The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: a Typology,” HUCA 33 (1962): 1–43, esp. pp. 10–11. 65 66

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banks and were often named after these. Becker based her suggestion on the assumption that the stele illustrated the narrative sequence of The Coronation of Ur-Nammu.72 In their new editions of the text, neither Esther Flückiger-Hawker nor Steve Tinney mention Becker’s interpretation.73 It may, however, find some support from a fragmentary UrNammu hymn, which can be interpreted as giving him credit for restoring the “house of the Inun-canal.”74 The register between IV and V, which on the other side of the stele carries an inscription, is uninscribed on this side as far as preserved. For the wholly lost bottom register, Jutta Börker-Klähn suggests a restoration, based on the Gudea stele, of transport of materials over mountains and water.75 Turning now back to Side B, the “poor face,” its Register II includes a scene of slaughtering of bulls, almost certainly in the context of a sacrificial act, since meat was rarely consumed on other occasions. The case of the “Royal Correspondence of Ur” may be the exception that proves this rule, since in it Irmu denounces Apillasha to Shulgi precisely for the fact that, in Michalowski’s translation, “six grass fed oxen and sixty grass fed sheep were placed (on the tables) for (a mere) lunch.”76 In passing, it may be noted that the proportion of one large to ten small cattle is standard for the sacrificial cult in Ur III. Rather, the topos of “slaughtering oxen and sacrificing sheep” is a fixture of the description of festival rites.77 As such it already occurs in an UD.GAL.NUN text from Abu Salabikh, though here both times Becker, “Neusumerische Renaissance?” (above, n. 16), 290–295. Flückiger-Hawker, Urnamma of Ur; Tinney, “Urnamma the Canal-digger.” But see now Margarete van Ess, “Ein Bauwerk Amar-Suens vor den Mauern Uruk-Warkas,” BaM 33 (2002): 89–108, esp. pp. 100 f., who connects the building in question with Amar-Sin’s extensive canal-building operations, and notes that it was built entirely of bricks stamped with his nine-line standard inscription, for which see Frayne, RIME 3/2: 245–247. 74 Miguel Civil, “Literary Text about Ur-Namma,” AuOr 14 (1996): 163–167. In i 6’ (not read by Civil), I would take in-nun-na-ke4 as a syllabic Ur III spelling for i7-nunna-ke4, and restore ki mi-in-gi4 or the like at the end. 75 Apud Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, 203 f. 76 Piotr Michalowski, The Royal Correspondence of Ur (Ph.D. Dissertation, Yale, 1976), 142. 77 My translation attempts to render the difference between gu -gaz and udu-ˇsár, 4 for which see Hartmut Waetzoldt, BiOr 32 (1975): 384, who says “der Unterschied der Schlachtmethoden ist noch zu untersuchen.” For literary topoi in general, see A.J. Ferrara, “Topoi and Stock-strophes in Sumerian Literary Tradition: Some Observations, Part I,” JNES 54 (1995): 81–117. 72 73

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with the same verb.78 In classical Sumerian literature, it is typically followed by mention of the pouring of beer and the playing of drums and sometimes other instruments, for example in Shulgi’s Hymn A: 52– 54,79 in the myth Inanna and Enki (II iv 45–48),80 and in the Disputation between Pickaxe and Plow.81 In the later bilingual tradition, the meaning of the second verb is understood as “provided abundantly” or the like.82 The topos also occurs in the context of mourning, notably in UrNammu’s Death and Burial (11. 80–82 [81–83]), where we may read with S.N. Kramer: “The king slaughters oxen, multiplies sheep, / They seated Ur-Nammu at a huge banquet / Bitter is the food of the Netherworld, brackish is the water of the Netherworld!”83 But the “banquet” ˇ (or “banquet-table”) is written KI.KAS.GAR and can have the reading gizbun (not ˇsubun as in Kramer’s transliteration), and I have suggested elsewhere that this word is a loan from Akkadian kispum, the funerary repast.84 It is thus conceivable that the pictorial allusion in Register B II is to the burial of the king. Given its position in the sequence of registers, however, this seems highly unlikely. Register B III, according to Canby, shows the king, not the deity, seated on a stool set on a high pedestal or podium.85 This judgment is based primarily on the “humble seat, which occurs on the stela only here,” though one could also cite the traces of the seated figure’s garment, which seem not to represent the “tufted robe” or flounced garment (“Zottenrock”) typically associated with divinity. In spite of the fragmentary character of this register, it emphatically reminds us of the formula by which the king is acclaimed in the Coronation of Ur-Nammu (lines 7 f.): “Oh my king, on your throne by Enlil (and) Ashimbabbar

gu4 àm-ma-GÍR udu àm-ma-GÍR. Cf. W.G. Lambert, BSOAS 76, n. 7. ˇ Klein, Three Sulgi Hymns 194 f., with variants ˇsum and úˇs for ˇsár. 80 Gertrud Farber-Flügge, Der Mythos “Inanna und Enki”. . . , Studia Pohl 10 (1973), 52 f. and 89; based on PBS 5:25, partly restored. 81 Latest translation by H.L.J. Vanstiphout in COS 1 (1997):578–581. For this and other references, see Hallo, “The Origins of the Sacrificial Cult: New Evidence from Mesopotamia and Israel,” in Studies Cross (1987), 11 and 13, n. 35, here: VII.2. 82 Cf., e.g., KAR 16 rev. 24 = 15 rev. 10: udu mu-un-na-ab-ˇsár-re = UDU.MES ˇ ú-daáˇs-ˇsa-ˇsi (from deˇsû). 83 Samuel Noah Kramer, “The Death of Ur-Nammu and His Descent to the Netherworld,” JCS 21 (1967): 104–122, esp. p. 118. Latest edition by Flückiger-Hawker, Urnamma 93–182, esp. p. 116. 84 Hallo, “Disturbing the Dead,” Studies Sarna (1993), 183–192, here: VII.3, esp. pp. 191 f.; Origins (1996), 208. 85 The Stela 23. 78 79

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(= Suen)! / Oh youth of Suen, on your throne by Enlil (and) Ashimbabbar!”86 The first half of this formula recurs in the concluding doxology of Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur (II. 349), where Ferrara follows my translation.87 Edzard took issue with the rendering,88 as did Wilcke.89 The newer renderings by Flückiger-Hawker and Tinney agree neither with Edzard and Wilcke nor with each other. But given the evidently formulaic character of the couplet, it remains likely that we are here dealing with a formula of acclamation for the (new?) king. Register B IV is better preserved and provides three discrete images: on the left the playing of a great kettle-drum, on the right the seated statue of a deity serviced by a priest, and in between a wrestling match. There is room for a fourth image but not enough preserved to identify it. Canby interprets Registers B III and IV as probably “a single episode which, like the building activities on the opposite face, occupies two registers.”90 But in distinction to Registers A III and IV, Registers B III and IV are divided by a full baseline and a double dividing line. The wrestling match is thus not the central motif of the scene, observed by a seated king on one end and a seated deity on the other. Rather, the focus of B IV is on the (statue of the) seated deity on the right end much as the focus of B III was on the seated king on the left end. The nude priest servicing the deity is holding a towel in his right hand as the clothed priest to his left is holding one in his left hand, and Börker-Klähn took both to be involved in lustrations, after rejecting any connection with the mouth-opening ceremony.91 But the nude priest appears to be reaching approximately for the mouth of the statue with the whisk (“Wedel”) in his left hand. That leaves little doubt that what is illustrated here is the ceremonial vivification of a divine statue by means of the double ceremony known as mouth washing (ka-duh-a = p¯ıt p¯ı) and ˘ mouth opening (ka-luh-a = m¯ıs p¯ı) respectively. ˘ This double ceremony is attested as early as the Ur III period, including once for a statue of (the deceased and deified) Gudea of

86 Hallo, “Coronation,” 141, here: III.2; Origins (1996), 129. For the reading of the divine name, see M. Krebernik, RLA 8 (1993–1997), 362 f. 87 A.J. Ferrara, Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur, Studia Pohl series maior 2 (1973), 106 and 155–157. 88 D.O. Edzard, review of Ferrara in ZA 63 (1973): 296–300, esp. pp. 299 f. and n. 10. 89 Claus Wilcke, RAI 19 (1974), 187. 90 The Stela 25. 91 Jutta Börker-Klähn, “Sulgi ˇ badet,” ZA 64 (1975): 235–240.

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Lagash.92 It has now been dealt with in detail by Walker and Dick.93 It should be added, however, that—in Neo-Assyrian times at least—the coronation of the king, whether a one-time or a recurrent event, was accompanied by the mouth-washing ceremony. The ritual tablet of this investiture ceremony was in fact originally thought to have belonged to the mouth-washing series.94 As Angelika Berlejung has emphasized, it is not the king’s mouth that is washed, nor does he enter the picture till the mouth-washing has been carried out.95 Still, it establishes a connection between the two rituals—investiture and mouth-washing— that may already be anticipated in Registers B III and B IV. Between Registers B IV and B V there is a relatively narrow band entirely given over, so far as preserved, to an inscription.96 The inscription includes the beginning of a curse formula typical of the royal inscriptions of Ur,97 Isin,98 and Larsa.99 But for the rest it is entirely devoted to canal-building. Now canals figure prominently in the cadastre of Ur-Nammu,100 and the king is celebrated for his canal-building in his date-formulas101 in his inscriptions,102 and in his coronation-hymn, 92 Cf. (Erica Reiner and) Miguel Civil, “Another Volume of Sultantepe Tablets,” ˇ JNES 26 (1967): 177–211, esp. p. 211; previously Börker-Klähn, “Sulgi badet”; Nikolaus Schneider, Die Götternamen von Ur III. AnOr 19 (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1939), 30. 93 Christopher Walker and Michael B. Dick, “The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian m¯ıs pî Ritual,” in Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East, ed. Michael B. Dick (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 55–121. 94 G. Meier, “Die Ritualtafel der Serie ‘Mundwaschung’,” AfO 12 (1937–1939): 40– 45. 95 A. Berlejung, “Die Macht der Insignien,” UF 28 (1996): 1–35, esp. p. 17 and n. 87 (ref. courtesy Eckhart Frahm). 96 Latest edition by Tinney apud Canby, The Stela, 49–51. Previous edition by Frayne, RIME 3/2:57 f., with earlier literature. 97 Shulgi 54 = Frayne, RIME 3/2:144–146: copy of a stele inscription in logographic Sumerian, syllabic Sumerian, and Akkadian. 98 Note especially Iddin-Dagan 2 = Frayne, RIME 4:23 f., where lines 25 f. and 27 are verbatim identical to the stele inscription as restored. 99 Cf. the identical phrases in Abi-sare 1 = Frayne, RIME 4:121–124 v 21 f. and 25 f. as emended by Frayne. 100 Latest edition by Frayne, RIME 3/2:50–56. A new fragment will be published soon by Frayne and this author. 101 Formulas (m) and (q) in Frayne, RIME 3/2:17–19. In his The Historical Correlations of the Sumerian Royal Hymns (2400–1900 bc ) (Ann Arbor, Mich.: University Microfilms, 1981), 74, Frayne also reconstructed a date commemorating the digging of the Keshdaku-canal, but no such date formula has yet turned up. 102 Ur-Nammu 22–24, 27–28 and Al-Rawi, Sumer (1989–1990) = Frayne, RIME 3/2: Ur-Nammu Nos. 19, 26–28, 39–40.

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where, indeed, this achievement figures as his foremost claim to kingship in the first place.103 Moreover, at least one and possibly two of the very canals identified by name on the Stele were dug by Ur-Nammu according to his inscriptions.104 Shulgi, on the other hand, has not a single canal-building project to his credit in all his 48 regnal years.105 This then is perhaps the strongest argument in favor of assigning the stele as a whole to Ur-Nammu, even if his name is no longer on it. But there are other arguments. We may note them here without pausing for Register B V, whose fragmentary scene of royal sacrifice adds little or nothing in the way of new details. I would argue that the stele is, in effect, a commemoration of the first part of Ur-Nammu’s eighteen-year reign. If read from bottom to top, it recalls successively his canal-building in the inscription on Side B, and other building activity (possibly connected with the canals) on Side A (Registers III and IV), which earned him his coronation that, on other grounds, “can hardly have taken place earlier than his fourth year.”106 This coronation is symbolized by Register A II, while the popular acclamation that accompanied it (or perhaps preceded or followed it) is symbolized by Register B III. The details of the coronation scene, moreover, strongly hint at the king’s role as lawgiver, a role that should be attributed to Ur-Nammu, not Shulgi, in light of new evidence.107 The ritual scenes in Register B IV seem to involve the dedication of a divine statue, while that in B II may involve the dedication of a divine chariot if the traces on the right are correctly so interpreted. A date formula commemorating the fashioning, presumably at Nippur, of a chariot for Ninlil, the consort of Enlil, is attested, and Frayne assigns it

103

For an appreciation of Ur-Nammu’s canal-building efforts, see already T. Jacobsen, “The Waters of Ur,” Iraq 22 (1960): 174–185 and pl. xxviii; rep. in Toward the Image of Tammuz . . . , Harvard Semitic Series 21, ed. W.L. Moran (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970), 230–243. 104 “ ‘Nanna-gugal’, the boundary canal” of Ningirsu or Nanna (Ur-Nammu 28) and possibly Inun(na), the great canal of Nanna (Ur-Nammu 24 = 40). 105 The closest he comes is in the inscriptions Shulgi 8 = Frayne, Ur III Period 125, commemorating a weir (giˇs-kéˇsd-rá), and Shulgi 71 (Kärki) = Frayne, RIME 3/2:140 f. (from Susa?), commemorating a ditch or moat (hir¯ıtum). ˘ 106 Hallo, “Coronation,” 139, here: III.2. 107 See the forthcoming article above, n. 100. A new example of the Code in BAR 28/ 5 (Sep/Oct 2002): 29 f. does not settle the issue.

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to Ur-Nammu in part on the basis of the Stele.108 (A chariot for Enlil is commemorated in a hymn of Ishme-Dagan of Isin.)109 Finally, the oversized top-registers on both faces appear to commemorate the installation of a royal daughter as high-priestess of the moon-god Nanna at Ur—presumably En-nirgalanna110 on Side A, and perhaps of a son as high-priest of Inanna at Uruk (his selection was commemorated in UrNammu’s fifth date-formula according to Waetzoldt)111 on Side B or, alternatively, both top registers illustrate the former event. Without wishing to claim that each register can be unambiguously identified with a dated event in the early reign of Ur-Nammu, I would submit that enough points of contact have been established with occurrences in his reign attested in other sources to maintain the longasserted connection of the Stele with the founder of the Ur III Dynasty. At the same time, the Stele can be added to the “one class of work in the corpus of ancient Near Eastern art—the battle scene” that meets Winter’s definition of pictorial narrative.112 Like one side of the earlier “Standard of Ur” it shows the king at peace, and like the Stele of Vultures, it represents Sumerian history in pictures.

Appendix Further to the rod and ring (above at nn. 50–63), the following details may be provided.113 While rod and rope begin as early as the Ur-Nammu stele, rod and ring do not appear in the iconography before the extraordinary seal design of Lugal-engardu dedicated to Amar-Sin, first published by

RIME 3/2:17. Three of the four texts cited by Frayne have been republished by G. Pettinato as MVN 6 (1977), 515, 517, and 521, and dealt with by Daniel C. Snell, “The Rams of Lagash,” ASJ 8 (1986): 133–217, esp. pp. 142, 160; Snell dates them to Shulgi 3. 109 M. Civil, “Ishme-Dagan and Enlil’s Chariot,” JAOS 88 (1968): 3–14, repr. Studies Speiser 3–14; cf. Klein, “Building and Dedication Hymns in Sumerian Literature,” ASJ 11 (1989): 27–67, esp. pp. 36: “Appendix 1: A Revised Edition of Iˇsmedagan I.” 110 Ur-Nammu 35 = Frayne, RIME 3/2:87 f. 111 Hartmut Waetzoldt, “Zu einigen Jahresdaten Urnammus,” N.A.B.U. 1990:4 No. 6. 112 Winter, “After the Battle,” (above, n. 24), 12. 113 Cf. already my remarks in “Cylinder of Kurigalzu I?” (above, n. 47), Origins (above, n. 50), and in Privatization in the Ancient Near East and Classical World, ed. by Michael Hudson and Baruch A. Levine. Peabody Museum Bulletin 5. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University, 1996), pp. 61 (as reported by Eva von Dassow) and 64. 108

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Buchanan in 1972,114 and again in 1981,115 and redrawn from additional impressions by Zettler in 1987.116 In the same year it was discussed by Winter in the context of the legitimation of authority of officials in the Ur III administrative bureaucracy,117 and more recently, based on Zettler, by Canby.118 The theme survived as a symbol of royal authority in Iran on rock reliefs of the Old Elamite period (ca. seventeenth century bce),119 and possibly even into Sassanian times.120 The interpretation of both rod and ring and rod and rope as measuring tools goes back at least to Frankfort,121 though greatly strengthened by Jacobsen with textual as well as iconographic evidence.122 They are followed by Black and Green,123 Englund124 and others. The question remains: given the fact that the ring is not remotely associated with measurements, how could it evolve out of the image of rod and rope? Perhaps Frankfort had the answer when he suggested that “since measuring instruments may metaphorically become symbols of justice, it is understandable that they became a general emblem of divinity, generally simplified as ‘ring and staff.’ ”125 Ten years later, in the first major study of the themes, van Buren claimed that both 114 Briggs Buchanan, “An Extraordinary Seal Impression of the Third Dynasty of Ur,” JNES 31 (1972): 96–101. For the seal inscription, see Hallo, “The House of UrMeme,” ibid. 87–95. 115 Buchanan, Early Near Eastern Seals in the Yale Babylonian Collection (New Haven/ London: Yale University Press, 1981), No. 681; for the seal inscription see Hallo, ibid. 454. 116 Richard L. Zettler, review of Buchanan, JNES 46 (1987): 59–62, esp. p. 60. 117 Irene J. Winter, “Legitimation of Authority through Image and Legend: Seals Belonging to Officials in the Administrative Bureaucracy of the Ur III State,” in The Organization of Power: Aspects of Bureaucracy in the Ancient Near East. SAOC46(1987), 69–106, esp. p. 78. 118 Canby, The Stela 22 and pl. 14b. 119 Ursula Seidl and P.O. Skjaervo, Iranische Felsreliefs H: Die elamischen Felsreliefs von Kurnagun und Naqs-e Rustam. Iranische Denkmäler 12. Reihe II. (Berlin: Reimer, 1986), p. 20. 120 Franz Altheim and Ruth Stiehl, Ein asiatischer Staat: Feudalismus unter den Sasaniden und ihren Nachbarn (Wiesbaden: Limes, 1954), 241–243, Abb. 6; interpreted as the enthroned Sassanian King Artabanos V and a satrap standing in front of him. 121 Henri Frankfort, Cylinder Seals (London: Macmillan, 1939), 179. 122 Jacobsen, “Pictures and Pictorial Language” (above, n. 54), 4. 123 Jeremy Black and Anthony Green, Gods, Demons and Symbols of Ancient Mesopotamia (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1992), 156 s.v. 124 “I have normally explained the rod and ring to my students as signs of royal standards, the rod the GI [= reed] used in urban, the ‘ring’ the ESH2 used in rural / agricultural linear measurements” (Letter of 9/20/99). 125 Cylinder Seals (1936), 179.

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491

rod and ring and rod and rope were represented, as divine symbols, on the stele of Ur-Nammu.126 But she rejected the suggestion “that as the symbol originally represented measuring implements its significance was later extended metaphorically to symbolize the measuring out of justice.”127 More recently the notion has found a new defender in Cooper, who illustrates the disconnect between text and image in the third millennium by reference to the “measuring line and cord held out to Ur-Nammu on the Ur-Nammu stele” but adds that “these objects metamorphose in later centuries into ‘rod and ring.’ ”128 The problem is avoided if both manifestations are treated as royal rather than only divine insignia. In his survey of the subject, Krecher emphasized that deities and kings shared the same insignia; in both cases these included staff and nose-rope, but the ring (GAN-ma, kippatu) only occurs late and only with deities.129 Rod and nose-rope, on the other hand, are frequently mentioned together in the literature of all periods. For rod and nose-rope as symbols of royal authority cited in this order, see above, n. 51; for the opposite order see, e.g., the hymn Ishme-Dagan A in the recension published by Sollberger130 and discussed by Frayne.131 Most significantly, they occur together—originally four times—as one(!) of the royal attributes in the myth Inanna and Enki.132 It is also noteworthy that the profession of kir4-dab, kartappu, literally “the one who holds the nose-(rein),” became a general term for “groom” and later developed into a high administrative official.133

E. Douglas van Buren, “The Rod and Ring,” ArOr 17/2 (1949): 434–450 and pls. ix–xi, esp. p. 436, referring to Legrain, MJ18 (1927), 96. However, Canby lists this piece among “fragments from other monuments” (The Stela, 56 sub El). 127 “The Rod and Ring,” 435. 128 Jerrold S. Cooper, “Mesopotamian Historical Consciousness and the Production of Monumental Art in the Third Millennium bc,” in Investigating Artistic Environments in the Ancient Near East, ed. by Ann C. Gunter (Washington: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, 1990), 39–51, esp. p. 46. 129 Joachim Krecher, “Insignien,” RLA 5 (1976–1980), 109–114. 130 UET 8 (1965), 95 iii 8’. 131 Douglas Frayne, “New Light on the Reign of Iˇsme-Dag¯ an,” ZA 88 (1998): 6–44, esp. p. 10 iii 62a. 132 Gertrud Farber, Der Mythos “Inanna und Enki”, (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1973); p. 28:19, 54:7. Eadem, “Inanna and Enki,” in COS 1:522–526; note she translates “staff and rein” here (523 II). 133 CAD K, s.v. 126

492

vi.5. sumerian history in pictures Abbreviations

COS 1

The Context of Scripture, vol. 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, ed. William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger, Jr. (Leiden etc.: Brill, 1997). RAI 19 Le Palais et la Royauté, ed. Paul Garelli, Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale 19 (Paris: Geuthner, 1974). RAI 33 La Femme dans le Proche-Orient Antique, ed. J.-M. Durand, Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale 19 (Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations). RAI 34 Relations between Anatolia and Mesopotamia, ed. H. Erkanal et al. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale 34 (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 1998). RIME 3/2 D.R. Frayne, Ur III Period (2112–2004 bc), The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Early Periods 3/2 (Toronto: University of Toronto, 1997). RIME 4 Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 bc), The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia 4 (1990). Studies Calmeyer Variatio Delectat: Iran und der Westen: Gedenkschrift für Peter Calmeyer, ed. R. Dittmann et al. AOAT 272. (n. 50). Studies Cross Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. P.D. Miller et al. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). Studies Hrouda Beiträge zur altorientalischen Archäologie und Altertumskunde: Festschrift fur Barthel Hrouda. . ., ed. P. Calmeyer et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994). Studies Kutscher Kinatt¯utu sˇa d¯arâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology, 1993). Studies Landsberger Studies in Honor of Benno Landberger . . ., Assyriological Studies 16 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965). Studies Oates Of Pots and Pans: Papers. . . Presented to David Oates. . ., ed. L. al-Gailani Werr et al. (London, 2002). Studies Sarna Minh. ah le-Nah. um: . . . Studies Presented to Nah. um N. Sarna . . ., ed. M. Brettler and M. Fishbane (JSOTS 154, 1993). Studies Sjöberg Dumu-e2-dub-ba-a: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, ed. H. Behrens et al. (Philadelphia: University Museum, 1989). Studies Speiser Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser, ed. W.W. Hallo, American Oriental Series 53 (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1968). Studies Vinogradov Assiriologia e Egiptolgia, ed. Natalia Koslova and A.B. Nemirobskae (St. Petersburg: St. Petersburg University Press, 2000).

vii myths and epics

vii.1 LUGALBANDA EXCAVATED

I. Introduction When he first heard of my call to Yale two decades ago, Professor Kramer immediately urged me to devote myself to the large corpus of Sumerian literary texts in the Yale Babylonian Collection. He was familiar with their riches, having been the first to prepare a systematic catalogue of them based on his own identifications and those of Goetze, Stephens and others. Among them, the large tablet numbered YBC 4623 particularly interested him. He asked me to copy it for him so that it could be incorporated in an edition of the full text by him or one of his students. Accordingly I prepared a copy, complete except for dividing lines, and submitted it to him in 1965. Sol Cohen was thus enabled to incorporate the text of the Yale tablet in his preliminary edition of the entire composition, from which I in turn have greatly benefited. But neither his edition nor my copy has been published, and it thus seems appropriate to make at least the latter available in this volume. While there is no intention to anticipate the definitive edition, an attempt will be made to provide an overview of the whole text, and an appreciation of the significance of the central portion of it which the Yale exemplar covers. Duplicates will be taken into account as far as they are published. The reader’s indulgence is requested for the imperfections of a copy made before many of these duplicates were available or known to me; a few improvements, plus dividing lines, have been added to the copy by Randall McCormick. The text of the composition was the subject of a seminar in Sumerian Myths and Epics offered in the fall of 1980; the members of that seminar (Mary Rebecca Donian, Jean Svendsen and Marc Van De Mieroop) provided a critical sounding-board for some of the suggestions now offered here. A word about the name of the composition may be in order first. Its incipit was restored as u4-ul-an-ki-ta by J. Klein, JAOS 91 (1971), 297, but as long as the restoration is uncertain, it is risky to employ it as the

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modern designation. More commonly, it is referred to as “Lugalbanda in (or and) Hurrumkurra,” and indeed these elements represent the protagonist and principal scene of the composition. But it is not wholly clear whether the latter term is a toponym or a generic term (“cave of the mountain” or the like; Klein, ib. 296 f. n. 7; previously Kramer in La Poesia Epica, 1970, 827, n. 9.). Since there can be little doubt of the intimate connection (including verbatim resemblances) between this composition and the so-called Lugalbanda-epic, and since the action of the former clearly precedes that of the latter, it is here proposed to refer to the two compositions as Lugalbanda I and II respectively. (Note that Klein, Kramer AV, 1976, 288 ad 1.57, seems to do likewise.) For the latter, the edition of C. Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos (1969; hereafter cited as LE) provides an indispensable guide; Wilcke has also edited much of the first half of Lugalbanda I, as indicated below. Significant portions of the second half were dealt with by Cohen, first in his dissertation, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta (University of Pennsylvania, 1973), 10–14, and then in his “Studies in Sumerian lexicography,” Kramer Anniversary Volume [AOAT 25] 1976, 99–101.

II. Structure of the Composition The basic themes and structure of Lugalbanda I have been characterized by B. Alster in JCS 26 (1974), 180 n. 9 and in the Kramer Anniversary Volume (1976), 15 and may be further refined to yield the following outline (previous treatments in parentheses): A. Exordium 1–11 12–18 19–39 40–56 57–69 70–72 73–82 83–136

“Prologue in heaven”: the separation of heaven and earth Uruk given to Enmerkar the son of the Sun (Utu) Levy and departure of the troops of Enmerkar (Wilcke, LE, 196) The first part of the march to Aratta (LE, 35 f.) The seven brothers and friends (LE, 49 f.) ? Lugalbanda becomes ill (LE, 189 f.) The brothers and friends deal with Lugalbanda’s illness (LE, 54–60)

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B. The Argument-Part I 137–168 169–195 169–222 223–256

Lugalbanda prays to the Sun at dusk (LE, 78–81) He prays to the evening-star (Inanna) (LE, 68 f.) He prays to the moon (Su"en) (LE, 75–77) He prays to the Sun at dawn (LE, 81–84)

C. The Argument-Part II 257–276 Lugalbanda leaves the cave 277–291 He lights a fire to bake cakes and bait a trap 292–316 He captures an aurochs and two(?) goats (Cohen, ELA, 10–14; in part: Kramer AV, 99–101) 317–338 He lies down to sleep 339–353 Lugalbanda’s dream 354–376 The dream fulfilled: the divine repast (t¯akultu)

D. Peroration 377–386 387–445 446–475 476–490

The moon appears The powers of darkness arrive from the apsû lnanna arrives as the morning–star and enters the gate of battle The Sun rises and the powers of light and justice fill the universe (text breaks off )

Assuming that the text as now extant is nearly complete, it thus can be broken down into three “rhetorical” portions (cf. a similar analysis proposed for nin-me-ˇsár-ra by Hallo and van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna, 1968) and four sections of more or less similar length. The Yale exemplar covers the first 88 lines (out of 120) of the third of these sections (plus the immediately preceding line as a catchline?) and it is this section to which the following brief remarks will be addressed.

III. The Argument-Part II Mythic and epic elements are conspicuously intermingled in Lugalbanda I. We are thus entitled to look behind the plain sense of the narrative even of a seemingly straightforward section like the one under discussion for some more transcendent meaning, perhaps, more particularly, for an aetiology. Aetiology informs many a myth: it is the explanation of a presently observed condition by appeal to an imaginary one-time event in the past or, in other words, the use of the punctual

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to explain the durative (cf. Hallo, 17 RAI, 1970, 117 n. 1, here: I.2; cited with approval by F.R. Kraus, Vom mesopotamischen Menschen, 1973, 132). But aetiologies (along with proverbs!) are also found in Sumerian epic, as noted, e.g., by G. Komoróczy (“Zur Ätiologie der Schrifterfindung im Enmerkar–Epos,” AoF 3, 1975, 19–24). And it is possible that there is one here. Lugalbanda is alone (note the recurrent emphasis on this fact, e.g. in lines 271 and 317; cf. also l. 286 and in Lugalbanda II lines 231 f. = 335 f.) as befits an epic hero (cf. Alster, JCS 26, 1974, 180), and must fend for himself. In so doing, he recapitulates what for the author may have constituted the beginnings of an essential aspect of civilized human life—the consumption of animal meat. Both the practical and the ritual aspects of this process are spelled out in detail. By his own efforts, Lugalbanda traps and tethers the wild animals. He then gets divine approval in a dream for slaughtering them. In repeating the latter action in his waking state, he confirms the divine approval by inviting the four principal deities of the Sumerian pantheon to a ritual meal. These deities are entirely distinct from the three (astral) deities who hear Lugalbanda’s four prayers in Section B and who dominate the denouement in Section D, thus underlining the discrete and possibly aetiological character of Section C. Both aspects of this section—the “practical” and the ritual—are worthy of deeper study than present space permits. Suffice it only to note here that Lugalbanda seems to employ a combination of methods to catch and dispatch his quarry. As interpreted below, he first places a trap (giˇs-umbin; l. 264) on the ground, then baits it with dainties (l. 288); the aurochs stumbles into the trap (l. 294; not repeated in the goat-passage); both it and the goat(s) are caught in the ambush (restoring [ˇsubtu]mx-ma-na in ll. 301 and 313) or, more likely, by the snare (restoring [giˇs-di]m-ma-na) presumably attached to the trap; all are tethered with rope made of rushes (ll. 305–316). In slaughtering the animals, a pit (si-du11-ga) seems to have been of practical or ritual importance, receiving the blood (ll. 349–359) and providing a site for the divine repast (l. 365). The practical role of pits and pitfalls, and to a lesser degree of traps, has received a great deal of attention in Assyriological circles of late. A brief review of the literature may therefore be in order. The older evidence was summed up in one short paragraph by E. Ebeling. RLA 3/1 (1957) 5. My review (JAOS 87, 1967, 64) noted, i.a., the contribution

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by A.K. Grayson, “Ambush and animal pit in Akkadian,” in Studies . . . Oppenheim (1964) 90–94. Grayson returned to the subject in 1970 with his “New evidence on an Assyrian hunting practice” in J.W. Wevers and D.B. Redford, eds., Essays on the Ancient Semitic World, 3–5. In the same year, G. Dossin discussed ARM 14:2 in “Une capture de lion au Habour,” Bulletin de l’Académie Royale de Belgique, Lettres 27.7.1970. pp. 307–320. M. Held dealt with “Pits and pitfalls in Akkadian and Biblical Hebrew” in the Gaster Volume (JANES 5:173–190) in 1973. In the same year, A. Salonen devoted a chapter to “Vogelfanggeräte” in his Vögel und Vogelfang im alten Mesopotamien (Teil II). In 1976, he followed this with a chapter on “Jagd- und Fanggeräte der Jäger” in his monograph on Jagd und Jagdtiere im alten Mesopotamien (Teil II), as well as a briefer article on “Die Fallgruben der sumerischen Jäger,” in Kramer Anniversary Volume (AOAT 25), 399 f. Finally, mention may be made of P. Michalowski’s “An Old Babylonian literary fragment concerning Kassites,” AION, Ann. 41 (1981), 389 f. and of M. Greenberg’s “Two new hunting terms in Psalm 140:12,” Hebrew Annual Review 1 (1977), 149– 153. The wealth of lexical and technical data assembled in these and other studies cannot be exploited here. The ritual aspect is also extremely intriguing. If indeed the text offers an aetiology of meat-consumption, it is interesting that the highest figures of the pantheon are invoked to render the (original) act acceptable. What this suggests is that the act evoked guilt feelings and that these were assuaged by turning mere consumption into a ritual act, making it sacred, a sacrifice. Comparable notions have been detected in the Old Sumerian archival texts by Y. Rosengarten, Le Concept sumérien de consommation dans la vie économique et religieuse (1960), and in the Levitical legislation of the Pentateuch (see my “Leviticus and Ancient Near Eastern literature,” in W.G. Plaut, B.J. Bamberger, and W.W. Hallo, The Torah: a Modern Commentary (1981), 740–748, and previously J. Milgrom, “A prolegomenon to Leviticus 17:11,” JBL 90 [1971], 149–156).

IV. The Text The transliteration is based on the Yale exemplar (A) as far as l. 344, and on CBS 7085 (Kramer, From the Tablets of Sumer, 1956, 246) thereafter (F). Restorations [in brackets] in the text and variants in the footnotes are cited from published duplicates according to the following sigla:

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Siglum Museum No. Place of Publication A B

YBC 4623 HS 1449

C

HS 1471

D

HS 1479

E

CBS 10885

F

CBS 7085

G

Ni. 9933

Kramer, FTS 246 (obv. only) History Begins at Sumer 3 (1981), 242 ISET 1. 198

H

Ni. 4405

ISET 2:43

I

Ni. 4553

ISET 2:45

J

Ni. 9913

ISET 1:196

K

Ni. 4441

ISET 1:156

L M

Ni. 2511 3 N–T 917, 368 3 N–T 919, 467 3 N–T 902, 74 6 N–T 638

SRT 33 SLFN pl. 8

N O Z

below TMH n. F. 3: 8; Wilcke, Kollationen, 16 TMH n. F. 3: 9; Wilcke. Kollationen, 17 TMH n. F. 3:10; cf. Wilcke, Kollationen, 18 HAV 4

Lines of Text 256–344 282–308 325–342; 387–396 1–258 288–252; 253–274 327–387; 388–441

SLFN pl. 8

306–310; 325–333 307–313(or 294–301?); 321–329 277–302; 336–348 308–319; 321–323? 351–359; 376–379 357–374 256–262; 283–285 345–359

SLFN pl. 7

290–296

(Cohen, ELA, 10–14; Kramer (292–316) AV 99–101) (Ur III exemplar)

(Note that A has 10–line marks in the left margin.)

Based on the assumption of a text of approximately 495 lines, a tentative typology of the published manuscripts may be offered here along the lines laid down by Hallo and van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna [YNER 3], 1968, 38 f. The suggested joins (indicated by +) remain to be tested against the originals.

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated One–tablet recension in 10 columns of about 50 lines each: SEM 20 +(?) SEM 111 (2) Two–tablet recension in 11 columns of about 45 lines each: a. Tablet I (1–258): D; ISET 2:42 Ni. 4291 b. Tablet II (259–495) (3) Three–tablet recension in 10 columns of about 50 lines each: a. Tablet I (1–200): ISET 2:44 Ni. 9677 b. Tablet II (201–495) (4) Five–tablet recension in 9 columns of about 55 lines each: a. Tablet I (1–109) b. Tablet II (110–218) c. Tablet III (219–326) d. Tablet IV (327–441): F e. Tablet V (442–495) (5) Six–tablet recensions in 11 columns of 40–50 lines each: a. Tablet I (1–90) (1–81) b. Tablet II (91–179): ISET (82–162) 1:202 Ni. 9959;* c. Tablet III(180–255) (163–243) d. Tablet IV (256–344): A (244–324) e. Tablet V (345–430) (325–396): C + K + L f. Tablet VI (431–495) (397–495) (6) Seven–tablet recension in 14 columns of about 35 lines each: a. Tablet I (1–69) b. Tablet II (70–138) c. Tablet III (139–207) d. Tablet IV (208–276) e. Tablet V (277–328): G + H + I + J f. Tablet VI (329–422) g. Tablet VII (423–495) (7) Ten–tablet recension in ± 20 columns of about 25 lines each: c. Tablet III (87–133): CT 42:46 e. Tablet V (227–274): E j. Tablet X (430–487): TRS 90 (8) 13–Tablet recension in 25 columns of about 20 lines each: c. Tablet III (82–120): OECT 1 pl. xix (9) Fragments: M, N, O ISET 1:138: Ni. 4276; 153 Ni. 4427; 140 Ni. 4237 (10) Exercise tablet: B (note dittography of ll. 282–285) (1)

*TMH n. F. III 11 + ISET 1: 128 f. Ni. 4012 f. + ISET 2:44 Ni. 9648

501

502

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated V. Transliteration

256 ur-sag dumu dnin-gal-la me-téˇs héa-[i] i -[ne] 257 u4-bi-a zi-du ˇsà-kúˇsa d En-líl-lá-ka˘b 258 ú!a-nam-ti-la ìb -[im-mú]c 259 i7 [ hal-h]al-la ama-hur-[sag]-gá-ke4 a-nam-ti-la ˘ a˘ ˘ im-túm AEM 260 ú-nam- ti -la- ka KA nam-mi-in-[gub] AEM 261 a-nam-ti-la- ka DUB nama-rig7 AEM 262 ú-nam-ti-la KA hé-im-gub-bu-a-ka AE 263 a-nam-ti-la DUB˘ hé-im-rig7-a-ka ˘ sb-ni ki mu-un-dab -dab AE 264 gú-e-ta giˇsa umbin-diˇ 5 5 a AE 265 ki -bi-ta anˇse-kur-kur- ra -gim àm-gul-e a-dˇ ˇ AE 266 dùrùr-AS.DU.GIM sakan-nab-ke4 hur-sag ì-si-il-(le) ˘ ì-tag!-tag-ge AE 267 dùrùr-urux(EN)-gal-gim kuˇsu(U.PIRIG) a AE 268 anˇse-libir kas4-e kin-gá-àm ím-mi-DU.DU AE 269 gi6-bi-ta u4-te-en-(na-ˇsè?) na-DU AE 270 hur-sag (ˇsà-sig) dEN.ZU-naa-ka?b kas4 mi-ni-ib-kar˘ kar-re AE 271 aˇsa-a-nib lú-igi-nigin lú nu-mu-un-dad -abe-bar-re AE 272 kuˇsmaˇs-ali-uma níg-si-sá-e AE 273 kuˇsa-gá-lá-e níg-sá-du11-du11-gea AE 274 ˇseˇs-a-ne-ne ku-li-ne-ne A 275 a-ˇsed7,-gim ninda ki-e mu-un-da-an-du8-uˇs-àm A 276 kù-dLugal-(bàn-d)a hur-ru-um-kur-ra-ta im-ma-ra-an˘ íl-íl ? AI 277 gú-izi-ur5-ra-ka ba-an-sa4 AI 278 giˇsbuginx-ÚR a bí-in-ra / igi-ni-ˇsè mu-un-taa-gar-ra mu-un-si-i(l)b AI 279 na4!-ga? ˇsu im-ma-an-ti AI 280 téˇs -bi! hé-im-ra-ra-a-t(a) ˘ ma-ra-sig edin-ea ba-ni-i[n-k(u )?] AI 281 ù-dúb-gùn 4 ABBI 282 na4KA-sa ì-la izi bí-in-(mú)? ABBIM 283 izi-bi ˇsà-sig-ga u4-gim mua-na-an- è ABBIM 284 ninda-gúg-du8 nu-zu im-ˇsu-rin-na nu-zu ABBIM 285 izi-ur5-imin-ta ninda-gi-izia-eˇs-b dé-ab ba-rac-an-du8 ABI 286 ninda ní-bi-a en-na àm-ˇseg-ˇseg6 ABI 287 gi-ˇsul- hi -kur-ra úr-ba mi-in-in-sù-sù pa-ba mi-ni-in-suh-suh ABI 288 gúa-en-gúg-ga-ka pad babbar-ˇsè KA ba-ni-in-íl-íl ABI 289 ninda-gúg-du8 nu-zu im-ˇsu-rin-na nu-zu ABIO 290 izi-ur5-imin-ta ninda-gi-izi-eˇs-dé-a ba-ra-an-du8 ABIO 291 aninda ní-bi-a en-na ˇség-ˇsèg ABIO 292 am-síg am-sa7 am-si-agùr-gùra ABIO 293 am-ˇsà-sig-ga nam-aa-a-ak ADEM ADEM ADM AEM

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated ABIO ABGHIO ABGHIJO ABGHIJ ABHIJ AHIJ A AI AI AI A A A AG AJ AJ AGJ AJ A AHJ AHJ AHJ AH ACGH ACGH ACFGH ACFGH ACFGH ACFG ACFG ACFG ACFG ACF ACF ACFI ACFI ACFI ACFI

294 295=307 296=308 297=309 298=310 299=311

503

am-si-si hur-sag ki-sikil-la umbin-bi kin-gá ù -ur5-re ˇsim-gig ˇse-àm ì-tukur2-rea giˇsaha-ˇ ˇ ˇ su-úr-ra únumun2-bur-[g]imb ì-KA × SÈ-KA × SÈ pa-giˇsa ˇse-nu úKI. KAL-gim úb ka-ba mu-un-simc a-i7-hal-hal-la-kaa i-im-nag-nag-NEb úi-li-in-anu-uˇ sa ú-sikil-kur-ra-ke4 b bu-lu-úh mu-un-si-ilsi-il-le 312 máˇs- si4 (máˇs-ù)z ú-a su8-[ba]-bi 300 am-si4 am-kur-ra ú-a su8-ba-bi 301=313 diˇs-àm (giˇs-di)m-ma-na im-ma-ra-an-dab5 giˇsˇ 302 se-dùg-kur-ra úr-ba mi-ni-in-sù-sù pa-ba mi-ni-insuh-suh 303=314 giˇsi!-rix (LÚ × ˇseˇsˇsig)- na -bi úA.U4. SAKKARx-gíd-daa-ˇsà-ga-ke4 304 = 315 kù-dLugal- bán-da gír-ta ba-ra-an-ˇsab ˇ ˇ 305 am-si4 am-kur-ra samanx(ÈS.SU.NUN.È S.DU)-e bí-in-lá ˇ ˇ 306 máˇs-si4 ! máˇs-ùz (máˇs-za)-lá máˇs-sa-KÉS.KÉ S-sa máˇs-gú-è-gú-èa 307=315 [see above] 316 máˇs-si4 máˇs-ùz máˇs-min-a-bi du10-gurum éˇs bi-in- lá 317 diˇs-a-ni lú-igi-nigin lúa nu-mu-un-da-ab(erased)-bar-re 318 lugal-ˇsè ù-sá-ge sà nam-ga-mu-ni-ib-du11? 319 ù-sá-ge kur nam-gú-ga-( )-ke4 320 KU. KUR-galam-gim-ma ˇsu É-SIG4-gim- gul -la 321 ˇsu-bi galam-àm gìr-bi galam-àm 322 nig igi-bi-ta AD? ˇsú-ˇsú-e 323 igi-bi-ta AD?diri-diri-ga-e 324 ugula nu-zu-e nu-banda nu-zu-e 325 níg ur-sag-ra á-gál-láa-e giˇsada-ha-ta dNin-ka-si-ka-ke 326 4 dLugal-bàn-da ù-sá-gea sá nam-ga-bmu-nib-ib-du 327 11 úi-li-in-anu-uˇ 328 sa ú-sikil-kur-ra-ka ki-ná-gar-ˇsè mu-un-gar 329 zulumhi (TÚG. SÍG.SUD) mu-un-dag gad(a)-babbar abi-ina-búr 330 è-ur5-ra a-tu5-tu5 nu-gál-la ki-bi-ˇsè sá im-du11 331 lugal ù-sá-ge la-ba-ana-ná-ab ma-mú-dac ba-ná 332 ma-mú-daa giˇsig-e nu-gi4-e za-ab-ra nu-gi4-e 333 lul-da lul -di-da zi-da zi-di-dam 334 lú-húl-húla-le-dè lú-ˇsìr-re-dè gipisan-kad dingir-re-e-ne-kama 335 5 336 unu6-igi-ˇsa6 dNin-líl-lá-kama 337 ad-gi4-gi4 dInanna-kam 338 gu4-NE? ura-dib-dib-nam-lú-ulu3b-ka am?! lú nu-ti-la 339 An-za-ana-gàr-ra dingir-ma-mú-(d)a-ke4

504

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated

ACFI ACFI ACFI ACFI ACFI FIN FIN

340 341 342 343 344 345 346

FIN FIN

347 348

FN FN FKN KN

349 350 351 352

KN KN KN FKN

353 354 355 356

FKLN 357 FKLN 358 FKLN FL FL L L FL Ft

359 360 361 362 363 364 365

FL FL FL FL FL FL FL FL FL F FK

366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376

d a

Lugal-bàn-da ní-teb-ni gu4-gi(m ur5 im)-ˇsa4 amar-áb-ˇsilim-ma?a-gim gù-nun ì? -( ) amar-si4-e gá-aa-ra a-ba-a ma-ra-ab-sa(r)?-[e] ìa-udu-bi gá-a-ra a-ba-a ma-ra-ab-zal-z(al)?-[e] uruduha-zi-in-mà kù-bi an-na ˇ su im-m(a-an-t)i [gír-ù]r-ra-mà an-bar-sù-àm im-m[a-da-(sur-re)] [am]-si4 am-k[ur-ra-k]e4 lú-geˇspu2-gim hé-im-(maab-gin) (lú)-liru-ma-(gim) (hé)-[im-ma-ˇsi-gam] lipiˇs-bi[hé-im-t]aa-zi dUtu-è-a-ra [ù-mu-na-gur] máˇs-si4 [máˇs-ù]z máˇs-min-a-bi SAG. DU-bi ˇse-gim aum-ta-ana-dub úˇs-bi [si]-du11-ga uma-ma-nib-dé-dé ì-bi edin-(na) DU.DU-a-bi muˇs-u(l4)-kur- ra -ke4 si-im hé-im-ˇsi-ak(a)-ne Lugal-bà(n-d)a i-zi-im ma!-mú-da im-bu-lu!-úh ù-sá-ga-àm igi-(né) ˇsu bí-in-gur10 níg-me-gar sù-ga-àm uruduh[a-z]i-in-na-ni kù-bi [an]-na ˇ su im-ma?-an-ti gír-[ùr]-ra-ka-ni an-bar-sù-àm im-ma-daa-ak a(m-s)i4 am-kur-ra-ke4 lú-geˇspu2a-gim im-ma-ab-gin lú-liru-mab-gim im-ma-ˇsi-gam [lip]iˇs-bi im-ta-an-zi dUtu-è-a-ra amu-naa-an-gar [máˇs]-si4 máˇs-ùz máˇs-min-a-bi SAG.DUa ˇse-gim im-ta-an-dub [ú]ˇs-bi si-du11-ga im-ma-ni-ina-bdé-déb ì-bi edin-na DU.DU-a-bi muˇs-ul4-kur-ra-ke4a si-im im-ˇsi-ak(a)-ne dUtu nam-ta-è-a-aˇ s ˇsilam? ( ) d Lugal-bàn-da mu En-líl-le zi!-( ) An dEn-líla b dEn-kib dNin-hur-sag-gá-ke4 ˇ si-du11-ta gizbun(KI.KAS.GAR)-na im-ma-ni-in-dúrru kur-ra ki-gar-ra mu-un-aka-a gizbun ba-ni-in-gar ane-saga ba-ni-in-dé kaˇs-gi6 kurun ziz-babbar geˇstin-nag-nag gú-me-zé-du10-ga ˇ edin-na a-ˇsedx(MÙS.DI)-ˇ sè im-ma-ni-in-dé-dé uzu-máˇs-si4-ke4 gir bí-in-ak HAR? ninda-gi6 izi im-mi-nia-in-sìg NA-izi-si-ga-gim i-bí-[B(A)]-ni bí-in-mú i-gi-in-zudDumu-zi ì(ir)-du10-ga gi4-a ku4-ra níg-ˇsu-du11-ga Lugal-bàn-da An dEn-líl dEn-ki dNin-hur-sag-gá-ke4 du10-ga-bi mu-un-kú-uˇsa

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated VI. Variants 256 257 258 259 261 264 265 266 268 270 271 272 273 278 281 283 285 288 290 291

a

D: àm; E: mu. D and E add: ù; bD and M: ke4. aD and M omit; bD: i; M omits?; cnot a separate line in A. aM; tùm. aE and M add: -mi-in. aE omits; bE adds: a. aE: u ? 4 aE: e; bE: ne. aE: NITA.ÙR.SAL.LA. aE omits; bE omits. aE: DIS; ˇ b E adds: im; cE omits; d E: du; eerased in A; E omits. a-aE: lum-e. aE: ga. aI: DU; bseparate lines in A. aI: na. aB (once) adds: un. aB, I and M: zi; b–bB, I and M: ta; cB (twice) omits. aI: gi? variants (B and I) as in 1. 285. a–aB. I and O: bar?-ba? zú-lum-ma ninda-ku -ku -da hi-li 7 7 ba-ni-in-du8-du8. a–aB: gur -gur . 292 6 6 aB: mu; O: me. 293 295=307 aB and G: e. 296=308 aH omits; bA (1.296 only) omits. 297=309 aH omits; bJ omits; cB: si-im. 298=310 aJ adds: ab-sin; bB: e. 299=311 a–aJ: um?; bA (1. 299 only): ka. aG adds: e. 306 aJ omits. 317 aC: la. 325 aC and H omit. 326 aC: ke ? b–b C: ri. 327 4 a–aF: uˇ 328 s; H: um? a–aC: mu-u[n]. 329 aC: omits; bC: e; cC, F and G: dè. 331 aC and G: dè; bC omits. 332 aC and F omit. 334 aF: ke . 335 4 aF: ka? 336 aC: ib?; bC: u -lu; cC: gù(KA) 338 x aI omits. 339 aF and I omit; bC adds: a. 340 aC omits. 341 a

505

506

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated

342 343 347 348 349 355 356 357 358 359 361 362–363 364 366 367 372 376

a

F omits. C, F and I add: ì? aN adds: ab. a–aI: hé-im. aN: ù?; bN adds: in. aK adds: an. aK: liru; bK omits. a–aK: im-ma; N: ù-mu-[na]. aN adds: bi. aN omits; b–bN: sì-sì? aL: ka. from L; F omits, aL adds: le; b–bF omits. aL: LU. a–aL: nesag. aL omits. aF: kú? a

VII. Translation Lugalbanda’s Departure from the Cave (257–276) (256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 275 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276

Hero, son of Ningal, let them praise you as you deserve.) At that time the righteous one who takes counsel with Enlil Caused the plant of life to grow. The fast flowing stream (or: the Tigris), the mother of the mountain, brought the water of life. The plant of life he verily placed in (his) mouth, The water of life he verily drank (with his) hand(?). In the act of verily placing the plant of life in (his) mouth, In the act of verily drinking the water of life with his hand— From this side he caused his one trap to “seize” the ground (i.e. he set the trap?). From that ground he “tears off” like a horse(?) of the mountain. ˇ Like a wild donkey of Sakkan, he runs over the mountains. Like a large powerful donkey he gallops, As the slender donkey, eager to run, he rushes forth. From that night until the (next) day grew cold he verily wandered. The mountains, the wasteland of the moon, he hurries through. Being alone, no one, even with a roving eye, can see him. Things filled into leather pails, Things put into leather bags, By (his) brothers (his) friends— It is they who are able to bake bread on the ground with (like?) cold water Holy Lugalbanda lifts himself out of the cave of the mountain.

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated

507

Lighting the Fire and Baking the Cakes to Bait the Trap (277–291) 277 278 278a 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291

By the side of the embers? he was summoned(?). The bucket/trough he filled(?) with water. That which had been placed in front of him he smashed(?) He took hold of the . . . stones After he repeatedly(?) struck them together. The glowing coals . . ., they entered(?) the open ground. The fine red (flint?)–stone struck a spark (lit. raised a fire). Its fire came forth for him like the sun on the wasteland. Not knowing how to bake a cake, not knowing an oven. With seven coals he baked the gizeˇsta-dough. The bread, (left) by itself until well baked, The sˇalalu-reed of the mountain(?)—its roots he tore out, its tops he took away. The totality of the cakes as a white morsel were lifted into the mouth (of the trap). Not knowing how to bake a cake, not knowing an oven, With seven coals he baked the gizeˇsta-dough, On its outside it was decorated with dates and sweet breads.

Capture of the Wild Oxen and Wild Goats (292–317) 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306

A woolly aurochs, a handsome aurochs, an aurochs tossing (its) horns, An aurochs with weakened insides was reposing. A horned aurochs of the hills, the pure place, having found that trap(?), He (the ox?!) in melancholy languor was chewing kanaktu-(seed) as if it were barley. He was grinding up the wood of the haˇsurru-cedar as if it were alfa grass, He was sniffing with open mouth at the foliage of the sˇenu-tree as if it were grass, He was drinking in the water of the fast-flowing stream (or: Tigris), He was crumbling into pieces soapwort, the pure herb of the mountain. While the red aurochs, the aurochs of the mountain, was milling about in the meadow. There being (only) one (trap), with (this) his (one) snare he (Lugalbanda) captured it. The juniper tree of the mountain—its roots he tore out, its top he took away. Its roots which were like the long rushes of the field Holy Lugalbanda cut off from them with a knife. The red aurochs, the aurochs of the mountain, he tethered. A red goat, a goat of a nanny, a diseased(?) goat, a sick goat, a flabby goat.

508 307 315 –316 317

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated see above 295–304 The red goat, the goat of a nanny, the goats both of them, he tied to a rope with bended knee. Being alone, no one, even with a roving eye, can see him.

Lugalbanda’s First(?) Dream (318–337) 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337

To the king (i.e. Lugalbanda) sleep finally overcame him too, Sleep, the land of oppression(?). It is like an extensive flood, a hand destroyed like a brick wall, Whose hand is extensive, whose foot is wide. The thing in front of it covers over the. . . In front of it, it overflows with. . . One who knows no lieutenant, knows no captain, Something which is a commander for the warrior By means of (her) wooden DA.HA, Ninkasi Let sleep finally overcome Lugalbanda too Soapwort, the pure herb of the mountain, she(?) placed as food on (his) bed, She(?) spread out a linen (blanket?), she(?) loosened there the white linen (garment). There being no slave girl or bath-attendant, he “made do” with that place. The king had no sooner laid down to sleep when he laid down to dream. In the dream: a door which does not close, a door-post which does not turn(?). “With the liar it acts the liar, (with) the truthful one it acts truthfully.” In order for someone to celebrate joyfully, in order for someone to sing (dirges), It is the huppu?-basket of the gods It is the beautiful (connubial) chamber of Ninlil, It is the counselor/consort of Inanna.

Lugalbanda’s Second(?) Dream (338–353) 338 The (domesticated) ox, the captive animal of mankind, the (once) wild ox whom man would not allow to live, 339 Anzaqar, the god of dreams, 340 Bellowed (at) Lugalbanda himself like a domesticated ox. 341 Like the bullock of a domesticated cow he roared [and said?] 342 “The red bullock—who will tie it up for me? 343 Who will make its animal fat flow for me? 344 He must be able(?) to take my axe whose metal is meteoric iron(?), 345 He must be able to wield(?) my hip–dagger which is of (terrestrial) iron.

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated

509

346 The red aurochs, the aurochs of the mountain, like an athlete let him carry it away, like a wrestler let him make it submit, 347 Let its strength leave it when he turns toward the rising sun. 348 The red goat, the goat of a nanny, the goats both of them—when he has heaped up their heads like barley, 349 When he has poured out their blood in the pit 350 —their fat running(?) over the plain— 351 Let the snakes hurrying through the mountains sniff it (the blood and fat).” 352 Lugalbanda awoke—it was a dream. He shivered—it was sleep, 353 He rubbed his eyes, he was terrified.

The Divine Repast (t¯akultu) (354–376) 354 He took his axe whose metal is meteoric iron, 355 He wielded his hip–dagger which is of (terrestrial) iron. 356 The red aurochs, the aurochs of the mountain, like an athlete he carried it away, like a wrestler he made it submit. 357 Its strength left it, he placed it toward the rising sun, 358 The red goat, the goat of a nanny, the goats both of them, their heads heaped up like barley, 359 He poured out their blood in the pit 360 —Their fat running(?) over the plain— 361 The snakes hurrying through the mountains sniff it. 362 As the sun was rising [. . .] 363 Lugalbanda, [invoking] the name of Enlil, 364 Makes An, Enlil, Enki (and Ninhursag) 365 Sit down to a banquet at the pit, 366 In the mountain, the place which he had prepared, 367 The banquet was set, the libations were poured— 368 Dark beer, mead, and emmer-beer, 369 Wine for drinking, sweet to the taste— 370 On the open ground he poured all of it as a cold water libation. 371 He put the knife to the flesh of the red goat(s), 372 . . . and the black bread he roasted there for them. 373 Like incense placed on the fire, he let the smoke rise to them. 374 As if Dumuzi had brought good fat(?) into the. . . 375 So of the food prepared by Lugalbanda 376 An, Enlil, Enki and Ninhursag consumed the best part.

510

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated VIII. Notes to Selected Lines

257

I.e. Lugalbanda; cf. LE 50 n. 158. In Lugalbanda l. 40, Enmerkar bears this epithet. 259 Cf. LE p. 162; Moran, JCS 31 (1979), 70 n. 16 and below, line 298. The identical phrase in a late namburbi-text favors the translation as “Tigris”; cf. R. Caplice, Or. 40 (1971), 141: 35’; idem, SANE 1 (1974), 18 f.; W.G. Lambert, RLA 6 (1981), 219 f. See also ad 1. 294. 260 Or tooth, reading zú. . . gub with van Dijk, Or. 44 (1975), 62 ad VS 17:33:6; cf. also Civil, JNES 23 (1964) 9 (46). 261 Cf. rig7 = sˇatû in MSL 14: 133: 16; kiˇsib = rittu in AHw s.v. 262–263 I.e. no sooner had he eaten and drunk; for the syntax contrast l. 331 below. 264 giˇs-umbin = uturtu; Hh VI 9 and Salonen, Jagd 34: “a round, claw-shaped, hair-clasp shaped trap with a string attached to it.” 266–268 Same lines in Enmerkar and Ensuhkeˇsdanna (ed. A. Berlin) 45–47. Cf. also Heimpel, Tierbilder, 29. 2. But si-il-si-il here probably equals, not duppuru, “absent oneself ” (Berlin ad.loc.) but nutturu, sˇal¯a.tu or sˇar¯a.tu, “split, tear.” Cf. the English idiom “to tear along/through” = make haste. Cf. IV R 26:3:37 f.,: kur-kur-ra gal-gal-la mu-un-si-il-si-il = mu-ˇsat-ti-ir sˇadi 1 zaq-ru-ú-ti, emended with Lugale 1 11 (for which see Sjöberg, AS 16, 1965, 67 n. 3): kur-kur-ra si-il-lá = mu-ˇsat-tir sˇadi 1. 267 for kuˇsu. . . tag see Civil, AS 20, 135. 270 Cf. LE 77 n. 319; Alster, Kramer AV, 14 n. 6: “Suen’s horrible mountain”—a stage of the moon? But cf. Hallo, JNES 37 (1978), 273 (2) ad loc. For ˇsa-sig as “deep (narrow) interior/midst” or as variant of ˇsà-sù-ga = hurb¯u, m¯erênu, “wasteland, emptiness” see Sjöberg, TCS 3, 10. 271 Cf. l. 317, below. 272–274 Cf. Lugalbanda I 96–98 (Wilcke, LE, 55). 274 Cf. Alster, Kramer AV, 15. For the seven heroes cf. Klein, ibid., 288 ˇ ad Sulgi 0 57; for seven brothers, cf. also the Cuthean legend of Naram–Sin. 276 Cf. Perhaps Enlilsuduˇse 37 for x-ta . . . -ra-íl (Gragg, Infixes, 95). 277–283 See below, APPENDIX I. 278 The bugin–vessel recurs in Lugalbanda II 22 in connection with Ninkasi (cf. below, line 326) and 402 f. in connection with Enmerkar’s catching fish for Inanna. 282 For na4zú-sal-la = na4 su -ú see Stol, “The stone called sûm,” On Trees, etc. (1979) 94–96. But cf. also NA4.KA = s. urru, obsidian or flint. 283 For u4-gim. . . è cf. Römer SKIZ, 232 ad Iddin–Dagan *7:70. For ˇsa-sìg-ga cf. 1.270.

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated 284

511

Cf. line 289. For im-ˇsu-rin-na (etc. etc.) = tin¯uru see Salonen BM 3 (1964), 101–103; Civil, JCS 25 (1973), 172–175. According to Jerrold Cooper, all the different Sumerian and Akkadian forms of this word go back to Indian tandoor, “oven”; letter to N.Y. Times, 2-8-1977. 285 Cf. line 290 and LE, 152 ad 1. 53. 287 Cf. line 302. 291 Translation follows B, I, and O. A repeats 1. 286 (more or less; reading courtesy M. Civil). 292–316 Cf. S. Cohen, ELA, 12 f. 292 Cf. S. Cohen, ELA, 10 ff.; Heimpel, Tierbilder 5. 1 (differently Civil, Oppenheim AV, 79). 293 For ˇsà-sig-ga cf. l. 270; for nam-a-a cf. l. 224 and CT 17: 22: 155 = IV R2 4 iii 13–15: nam-a-a-ta = ina nu-uh-hi. 294 hur-sag = hills or foothills, to distinguish from kur = mountain; cf. T. Jacobsen, Or. 42 (1973), 281–286. But cf. l. 17 for umbin kin-kin-ba? 295–299 Cf. S. Cohen, Kramer AV, 99–101. Cohen takes Lugalbanda as the subject of these lines, but more likely it is the ox (respectively the goat). 296 For the various orthographies of únumun = elpetu see most recently Hallo, ZA 71 (1981), 49. For únumun-búr-(ra), “alfa grass from reed clearings,” = elpet mê purki, “alfa grass (growing) in stagnant water,” see CAD E, 109. The terra recurs in the Tummal History 6 (Sollberger, JCS 16, 42) and in Iddin-Dagan *6: 176 (Römer, SKIZ, 133); the simile recurs in Inanna and Ebih 142 (Limet, Or 40: 15) and in the Eridu Lament 5: 6 (M.W. Green, JCS 30 [1978], 137). 297 For si-im (var. sim) cf. si-im (var. sim)-ak in 1. 361 and the references collected by Heimpel, Tierbilder, 356, 48 2 f. 298 Cf. l. 259. 299 Cf. LE, 188; Alster, Or. 41 (1972), 355. 300 In view of l. 305, I take this ox to be the (single) victim, and the verb therefore iterative not plural. ˇ 94: 20 301 Cohen restores [giˇs-di]m-ma-na, “snare” and compares SL = um¯asˇu! Note that in the equivalent line 313, the Ur III version (though differing) introduces the PN Lugalbanda here. Is it possible to restore instead ˇsubtu(m) = sˇubtum, “ambush”? Cf. MSL 3:136:78; 14:191:283 f.; B. Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream (= Mesopotamia 1), 1972, 98 f. 303 Cf. Civil, JCS 15:125 f. for erina/arina/irina =ˇsurˇsu, root. 306 For máˇs-za-lá = ibhu, máˇssa-sar-kés-da! = miqq¯anu, and máˇs-gú-ègú-è = tahlappanu see Hh. XIII (MSL 8: 33), 234–236. The fact that all three occur together in the lexical text lends support to the hypothesis that they, and many other lexical entries, are taken from literary and archival sources (cf. already Hallo, HUCA 30 (1959), 136). If correctly translated, the implication is that sick animals were not sacrificed.

512 317 318 319 327 330 331 332 332–337 338 339–341 342–343 343 344 345

346 347

348 349

351

vii.1. lugalbanda excavated Cf. l. 271. Cf. l. 327. Cf. 2nd Ur Lament (ANET 3, 614) 176 f. for sá-du11 in sense of “caught up with (someone/ thing).” Cf. nam-gú-(aka-a) = dullulu, hab¯alu(CAD S. v. v.) Cf. l. 318. Cf. Lugalbanda I 244 (Wilcke, LE, 82). Cf. B. Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream (1972) p. 88; M. Civil, Kramer AV (1976), 92 (22). For the syntax, cf. Gordon, SP, 2. 68 and contrast l. 263. Taking gi4 as turru = close (doors) for which see AHw, 1335 (16b); Salonen, Türen, 145. For za-ra = s. erru cf. ib. 66 f.; CAD S, . s.v. See below, APPENDIX II. Or: captive lion (ur-dib = girru). Cf. Heimpel, Tierbilder, 9. 1, but restore line 340 in light of ibid., 5.35–5.39. Note the ma- prefix with first person dative, as in Gregg, AOATS 5, (1973), 83. The -ra- infix is essentially ablative. This is effectively the last line of the Yale tablet, if we may regard 344 as a catch-line to the following tablet. For ì-udu cf. Gordon, SP, 1. 190 and 5. 86. Cf. line 107, translated by Wilcke, LE, 58. For the other literary reference to an axe of iron (or tin?) cited there (n. 210) see also Civil, RA 63 (1969), 180 (14). Cf. line 110, translated by Wilcke, LE, 59. But it is not necessary to follow him (ib., n. 212) for sù = filigree, since an-bar-sù = parzillu (MSL 13: 173). For gír-ùr-ra (var. gìr-ùr-ra) = patar sˇibbi see Wilcke, LE, 59 n. 212 and Lipit-Iˇstar *23:73 (cited below ad 1. 371). For the restoration of the verb, see line 355. Cf. the translation of this line by Civil, Oppenheim AV, 79. For lú-geˇspu2 = sˇa um¯asˇi and lú-lirum = sˇa ab¯ari see CAD A/1, 38 and B. Landsberger, WZKM 56 (1960), 113–117; 57 (1961), 22. Alster, Kramer AV 15, takes this line as an injunction “to overpower bulls and present them as offerings to the sun.” In this he is following Kramer in La Poesia Epica (1970), 827. But cf. ll. 362–365 below, where the goats, if not the bulls, are consumed by other gods at sunrise. Cf. 11. 306 and 316. For si-du11-ga = sˇuttatu and huballu and sidug (LAGAB × DAR) = haˇstu and many other Akkadian equivalents for pit or pitfall, see Salonen, Jagd und Jagdtiere, (1976), 36 and 55 f. For the alleged TÚL.KA = hu-ba-al-lum quoted there and CAD H, s.v. read rather si-dug4 with MSL 13, 30: 385 and Å. Sjöberg, ZA 63 (1973), 46 n. 15. For the translation, cf. Heimpel, Tierbilder, ad 81. 10 and 84. 3. Cf. also si-im-si-im = sniff, said of a dog in Gordon SP, 2. 109.

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352–353

This literary topos describing the end of a dream recurs with minor variants in Gudea Cylinder A xii 12 f.; Gilgameˇs and Huwawa 72 f.; and Dumuzi’s Dream, 17 f.; cf. Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream, 88. The second line could also be translated: “before him(?) he bowed down, he was filled with silent acclaim”; cf. YNER 3: 86 s.v. níg-me-gar. 354–361 Cf. ll. 344–351. For the reading of the verb in l. 355, cf. Römer, SKIZ 166: kur-gar-ra urú(!)-na-ka gír nu-ak-a-na. For another alleged occurrence (Jestin and Lambert, Thesaurus 2 (1955), 18 f.) read rather gír-ùr-ra ù-sar-ak-a-me-en (Lipit-Iˇstar *23: 73; cf. already Sjöberg. Or. 35. 293 ad loc.). 362–363 These lines occur only in S; they are omitted in F. 364 Read with L and line 376 against F. The four deities head the Sumerian pantheon. 365 See above, 1. 349 for the pit. For causative dúr with gizbun = t¯akultu, cf. Lugalbanda II 12 and Wilcke’s comments ad loc., LE, 136. 366 Translation based on context, and on the assumption that the periphrase with ak has the same sense as would ki. . . gar. 367 Cf. the translation of this line by Römer, SKIZ 194, For gar (or gál) with gizbun, cf. Iddin-Dagan *6: 202 (Römer, SKIZ 134) and the passages cited by Römer, 197 ad loc. LE p. 136. For ne-sag, nisag (= nisannu) cf. van Dijk, JCS 19 (1965), 18–24; for n. with dé, cf. nin-mul-an-gim 22 (Hallo, 17 RAI, 1970, 124 and 131, here: I.2). 368–369 Cf. lines 101 f. as translated by Wilcke, LE p. 57. gú-me-zé, literally “edge of the chin” or “palate.” 371 For the verb, see above, ad 1. 355. 372 For izi-sìg = s. ar¯apu, sˇamû, kamû see MSL 13: 157 and Inanna and Ebih 44: giˇs-tir-ús-sa-bi-ˇsè izi ga-àm-sìg. 373–376 See Wilcke, JNES 27 (1968), 2351f.

IX. Appendix: The Invention of Fire1 The reading of lines 279–283 owes much to suggestions of M. Civil. We have in this short pericope a veritable aetiology of yet another cultural fundamental: fire-making. The sense seems to be that Lugalbanda arrived at the campfire of his brother-friends (1. 277) only to find the 1 Even for a dream, the lines 332–337 appear exceptionally enigmatic, and utterly unrelated to the surrounding narrative. They begin and end, however, with precious clues to their possible significance. The door and its various components are intimately connected and even identified with Inanna in the Akkadian epic of Gilgamesh, and this symbolism has been traced back to its Sumerian sources by J.D. Bing, “On the Sumerian epic of Gilgamesh,” JANES 7 (1975), 1–11. Moreover, the symbolism strongly

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last embers dead so that he was thrown on his own resources to restart the fire. He accomplished this by striking a spark with a suitable stone. The operative terms are ne-mur and ù-dúb, both of which are equated with Akkadian p¯emtu / p¯entu; see AHw s.v. and previously Hallo, Bi. Or. 20 (1963), 139 f. and 142(6) s.v. p¯entu; YNER 3 1968), s.v, izi-ur5 The reading ne-mur seems preferable in view of that reading, now well-attested, in connection with the near-synonym tumru, “glowing ash, ember”; see AHw s.v. That may indeed be the intended meaning of ne-mur here. For ù-dub = p¯emtu see now also MSL 13: 36(A) 11. The Akkadian word, which is clearly cognate with Hebrew PHM, “coal” (so already Hallo, . loc. cit.), was expanded by the addition of the nisbe-ending to form pentû, explained as aban iˇsati, “firestone, stone for making fire”; cf. AHw s.v. pe/indû, and MSL 10:32:92: na4-izi = aban i[ˇsati] = [pindû]; ib. 35a: na4. dˇ SE.TIR = pindû = aban iˇsat. This in turn was borrowed into Sumerian as (na4) pí-in-di; cf. UET V 292 and 558 as interpreted by W.F. Leemans, Foreign Trade (1960) 28 and 30. In our text, however, the stone employed is identified more specifically as flint or silex (line 282; cf. line 279). Udub also occurs as a logogram, written lagab × izi, i.e. “block (lagabbu) with inscribed fire” (Hallo, Bi. Or. 20, 140 n. 61) and in late, purely syllabic orthography as u-tu-ba (Salonen, JEOL 18, 338). Phonologically, it resembles i-ˇsub / ù-ˇsub, “brickmold” (Salonen, Bi. Or. 27, 1970, 176 f. and Ziegeleien, 1972, 80 f., 87–100) and other “cultural” terms ending in -ub. Salonen does not list it among these “substrate” nouns (ibid., 7–14; Fussbekleidung, 1969, 97–119, esp. 110 f.; Zum Aufbau der Substrate im Sumerischen = St. Or. 37/3, 1968, 5 f.) but its appearance in Lugalbanda I, in the context of an aetiology (?), is suggestive of its antiquity.

alludes to Inanna’s sexual aspect and her role as generator of fertility as celebrated in the sacred marriage. If Enmerkar and Lugalbanda were, like Gilgamesh, partners of Inanna in this rite, then line 337 probably alludes to this role; for the doublemeaning of ad-gi4-gi4 in this context, cf. Hallo and van Dijk, YNER 3 (1968), 53 and note 20. The preceding line similarly suggests the place where the sacred marriage was consummated; for unu6 (usually: dining-hall) as the place where the crown-prince was born of this union cf. Å. Sjöberg, Nanna-Suen, 94 and Hallo, “Birth of Kings,” Pope Festschrift (forthcoming), here: III.4. Thus the first dream of Lugalbanda (or the beginning of his single dream) may anticipate the royal role for which Inanna has helped to save him.

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X. Appendix II: Remarks by Th. Jacobsen After this paper had gone to press, Thorkild Jacobsen kindly agreed to study it. His 13–page critique deserves separate publication; here there is room only to signal his principal divergences from my understanding of the text, particularly as to the technique used by Lugalbanda for catching his prey. In line 264, Jacobsen understands giˇsumbin as im.tû, “chisel” (not “trap”), i.e. Lugalbanda got out of “a steep ravine such as is characteristic of mountain streams . . . presumably by cutting footrests” with “a single . . . stone chisel.” He then moved “a full day’s journey away” (line 269), hence could not have intended to trap his prey there. In lines 277–291, “the idea of baiting a trap for a herbivorous animal like an ox with a cake decorated with dates seems rather odd,” hence line 288 should be understood as “with fibers (?) of sˇiˇsnu-grass (gúg for gug4) he tied them together (ka ba-ni-in-sír-sír) for a sˇutukku reed hut (ˇsudug, var. ˇsudug-UD)” and in line 291 the repetition of line 286 is to be preferred over the variant. Line 294 should be understood as “the reddish brown aurochs (am-si-si, phonetic for am-si4-si4 in Z), searching with its hooves (umbin-bi; cf. ˇsu urx (ÚR×U)-bi in the copy of Z, against Cohen’s reading umbin; i.e. its front and hind-legs) the clean (i.e. ‘snow-clad’?) ground, the foothills” [cf. already my comments ad loc.]. Space considerations suggest an alternate restoration in line 301: “he caused by his approaching ([t]e-gá-na [but collation rules this out!]) the first one to make its way out toward him,” In short, “Lugalbanda puts halters on the animals as they graze” rather than trapping them; cf. lines 305 and 316. The more explicit version in Z inserts before one of these lines the following: mu-dar ˇsu bí-gur10 saman mu-[dím], “he split them and twisted them (ˇsu-gur10 for later ˇsu-gur) and made a halter.” Note also that egar (É. SIG4) in line 320 is probably to be understood not as ig¯aru, “brick wall,” but as em¯uqu, “strength” [or as l¯anu, m¯elû, damtu, (pa)dattu, gattu, “figure, height”]; for all these equations see PBS 5: 106 rev. ii 5’–10’ = Diri V 276–282. In the (single!) dream of Lugalbanda (lines 332–353), the introductory lines (332–338) all serve as anticipatory descriptions of Za(n)qara (line 339; “loan from Proto-Akkadian zaqqara ‘to call up mental images,’ ‘to remember’,”): he is “the one not turning back at the door, not turning back at the pivot, who will talk lies with the liars, talk truth with the truthful, who will rejoice one man, have a (nother) man lament, the

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gods’ tablet–box, the one for whom Ninlil has a favoring mouth (unu6 = pû) and eye, Inanna’s counsellor, saying to mankind: ‘Let me restore!’, the border district of men no (longer) alive.”

vii.2 THE ORIGINS OF THE SACRIFICIAL CULT: NEW EVIDENCE FROM MESOPOTAMIA AND ISRAEL1 In 1975, I.J. Gelb discussed the role of singers, musicians, snake charmers, and bear wards in ancient Sumer in an article which, no doubt with a nod to J. Huizinga,2 he entitled “Homo Ludens in Early Mesopotamia.”3 If I turn in this chapter from this “playful” side of the Sumerians to their more “murderous” aspect, it is with an eye not only to Gelb’s study but also to a monograph published just three years earlier by the Swiss classicist W. Burkert under the title “Homo Necans: Interpretations of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Rites and Myths.”4 In his important study, Burkert surveyed the anthropological and more particularly the Greek literary evidence for the origins and motivations of animal sacrifice. His conclusion, to which this summary cannot begin to do justice, is that the sacrificial rites as described in Greek literature or observed to this day in “primitive” cultures reflect a prehistoric origin which can be reconstructed approximately as follows. Prior to the domestication of plants and animals, hunting and gathering groups divided between the sexes the essential functions of victualing themselves, with men assigned to the hunt and women to the gathering of edible plants. But the hunt required collective action and the aid of traps and weapons, and these mechanics held a potential threat in that they could conceivably be turned inward against members of the group. Hence the catching and dispatching of the animal prey 1

In its original form, this material was first given at the University of Puget Sound, Tacoma, Wash., on 13 March, 1983, R.G. Albertson presiding. In slightly different form, and under the title of “Homo Necans in Early Mesopotamia,” it was read to the 193d meeting of the American Oriental Society, Baltimore, 22 March, 1983. 2 J. Huizinga, Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture (Boston: Beacon Press, 1955). 3 I.J. Gelb, “Homo Ludens in Early Mesopotamia,” StudOr 46 (= Armas I. Salonen Anniversary Volume, 1975) 43–76. 4 W. Burkert, Homo Necans. Interpretationen altgriechischer Opferriten und Mythen (= Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten 32, 1972). This has meantime been translated by P. Bing under the title Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1983). From Ancient Israelite Religion edited by Miller, Hanson and McBride copyright ©1987 Fortress Press, admin. Augsburg Fortress Publishers. Reproduced by special permission of Augsburg Fortress Publishers.

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were gradually hedged about with “ritualistic” restrictions designed to reduce the likelihood of internecine conflict among the hunters. With the domestication of plants and animals, the earlier sexual specialization tended to disappear, but the replacement of wild prey with domesticated victims created new problems. Now the bull, cow, goat, or lamb led to the slaughter was not only defenseless but familiar and more or less humanlike in appearance and disposition. Thus, dispatching it could not be justified in terms of self-defense or as an act of manly valor but on the contrary evoked feelings of guilt to add to those of terror previously present. To assuage these new feelings, the earlier “ritual,” which essentially consisted of “agenda,” or the performance of prescribed actions, was complemented by “dicenda,” or the recitation of prescribed formulas which, at their most elaborate, evolved into mythologems. Myth and ritual, thus combined, invested what otherwise might have constituted essentially “profane slaughter” (see below) with the aura of sanctity, literally “making it holy”—the etymological sense of sacrifice.5 The sacrificial character of animal slaughter was confirmed by dedicating the victim to the deity and treating the human consumption of the meat as a kind of fringe benefit redounding to the participants in the rite.6 In the very same year that Burkert published his monograph, R. Girard published La violence et le sacré, since then translated into English as Violence and the Sacred.7 Girard covers much of the same ground as Burkert, though with less specific attention to Greek sources and somewhat more to biblical and other analogies. His premises are similar to Burkert’s but his conclusions diverge. Thus he too postulates an inherent threat of internecine violence in the primitive group but sees it not so much activated by the hunting or slaughtering of the animal but rather defused by it. In other words, the animal serves as a substitute 5

The word “sacrifice,” which means “to make a thing sacred” or “to do a sacred act” (sacrum facere), was used in Latin to describe “various rites which arose from the common meal when that meal was held . . . for the purpose of entering into union with [the divine]” (R.K. Yerkes, Sacrifice in Greek and Roman Religions and Early Judaism [London: Adam & Charles Black, 1953]) 25–26. 6 “What we call by the Latin word ‘sacrifice’ is nothing else than a sacred meal” (L. Bouyer, Rite and Man [Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1962] 82). Note that the Greek terms for “offering” (th´yos, thysía) acquired the sense of incense, presumably because for the celestials the smoke of the burning offering was adequate, according to L.L. Mitchell, The Meaning of Ritual (New York: Paulist Press, 1977) 17–21. 7 R. Girard, La violence et le sacré (Paris: Bernard Grasset, 1972); trans. by P. Gregory as Violence and the Sacred (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977).

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for the human victim of aggression, the hunt or the sacrifice as an outlet for the innate disposition toward violence which, once aroused, must be satisfied or assuaged. On this theory, the role of the deity recedes into the background or, rather, becomes a secondary embellishment to an essentially human or, at best, human-animal nexus of relationships. (Often enough, the substitute victim is also human.) What counts, on this view, is that the murder of the substitute victim not be avenged, as this might unleash an endless cycle of vengeance threatening to wipe out the entire group. It is to this end that the murder is invested with the mythic and ritual sanctions that turn it into a sacrificial act. And it is for this reason that sacrifice loses its significance in societies that have substituted a firm judicial system for more “primitive” notions of private or public vengeance. Of these two comparable but discrete analyses, the former comes nearer to providing a clue to unraveling the mysteries of the sacrificial cult as these are enshrined in the Hebrew Bible. Many gallons of ink have been spilled on this issue over the decades, but it may perhaps suffice to cite my own remarks by way of orientation in the current state of the question. According to Israelite belief, then, “the spilling of animal blood was in some sense an offense against nature and courted the risk of punishment, although never on the level of human bloodshed. It was to obviate such punishment that successive provisions were made to invest the act of animal slaughtering with a measure of divine sanction . . . . The common denominator of these provisions was to turn mere slaughter into sanctification. The ‘sacrifice’ was a sacredmaking of the consumption that followed.”8 Biblical attitudes toward the consumption of animal meat underwent three distinct transformations. In the primeval order of things, men and beasts alike were vegetarians by divine command. This is most explicit in the mythic version of creation prefaced to the Priestly narrative: “See, I give you every seed-bearing plant that is upon the earth, and every tree that has seed-bearing fruit; they shall be yours for food. And to all the animals . . . [I give] all the green plants for food” (Gen 1: 29– 30).9 It is only slightly less explicit in the epic version that begins the

8 W.W. Hallo apud W.G. Plaut, B.J. Bamberger, and W.W. Hallo, The Torah: A Modern Commentary (New York: Union of American Hebrew Congregations, 1981) 743; previously apud Plaut, Numbers (1979) xxvi. 9 Translations are according to the New Jewish Version (NJV) unless otherwise indicated.

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so-called J document: “Of every tree of the garden you are free to eat” (Gen 2:16). It is also the state to which beasts, at least, are to revert in the messianic age when, according to the prophetic view, “the lion, like the ox, shall eat straw” (Isa 11:7). This original dispensation was superseded after the flood by a new promulgation which, while echoing it, reversed it completely: “Every creature that lives shall be yours to eat; as with the green grasses, I give you all these” (Gen 9:3). The only restriction added immediately (Gen 9:4) is: “You must not, however, eat flesh with its life-blood in it.” This act is virtually equated with homicide (Gen 9:5). In the later rabbinic view, the new dispensation is one of the seven “Noachide laws” that are binding on all the descendants of Noah, that is, on all mankind.10 An entirely different principle was invoked in the legislation of the Holiness Code (Leviticus 17–26), generally held to be one of the oldest strata surviving within the so-called Priestly Document. The Levitical enactment postulates that “the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have assigned it to you for making expiation for your lives upon the altar; it is the blood, as life, that effects expiation” (Lev 17: 11). In J. Milgrom’s view, the expiation involved here is nothing less than ransom for a capital offense. Under the Levitical dispensation, animal slaughter except at the authorized altar is murder. The animal too has life (older versions: “a soul”), its vengeance is to be feared, its blood must be “covered” or expiated by bringing it to the altar.11 The final biblical revision of the law of meat consumption was promulgated by Deuteronomy, presumably in the context of the Josianic reform of the seventh century. Again following Milgrom,12 who in this instance, however, was preceded by A.R. Hulst,13 we may see the repeated formulas introduced by “as I/He swore or commanded or promised” as citations of earlier legislation, whether written or (in this case) oral. What Josiah in effect instituted reconciled the older prohibition against “profane slaughter” with the newer centralization of the cult: 10

See EncJud s.v. J. Milgrom, “A Prolegomenon to Leviticus 17:11,” JBL 90 (1971) 149–156. 12 J. Milgrom, “Profane Slaughter and the Composition of Deuteronomy,” HUCA 47 (1976) 1–17; idem, “A Formulaic Key to the Sources of Deuteronomy,” EI 14 (1978) 42–47 (English summary, pp. 123*f.). 13 A.R. Hulst, “Opmerkingen over de Ka"aˇser-Zinnen in Deuteronomium,” Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 18 (1963) 337–361. 11

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If the only authorized altar was to be in Jerusalem, then slaughter without benefit of altar had to be permitted outside Jerusalem as a matter of practical necessity.14 This theory of the evolution of the Israelite sacrifice, essentially based on Milgrom, differs significantly from earlier theories. The classical Wellhausenist position, for example, which still finds adherents today, insists on the chronological priority of Deuteronomy over the Priestly Code and thus regards the provisions of Leviticus as intended to abrogate those of Deuteronomy, rather than vice versa. A novel modification of this view would make the abrogation temporary: An early postexilic reform was intended by those who returned from Babylonian exile to discourage pagan practices among the peasants they had left behind and “perhaps also to increase the prestige and income of . . . the small shrine which had replaced the grand Temple of Solomon,” but the new law became impracticable and soon enough a dead letter.15 R. de Vaux, in his authoritative treatment of the subject, reconstructs a dual origin for Israelite sacrifice. The importance of blood and the consumption of meat by the faithful, already illustrated by the paschal sacrifice, represents the earliest stage, associated with the desert wanderings and derived from, or at least similar to, pre-Islamic Arab practices. In Canaan and Greece, on the other hand, indigenous usage tended to favor the burning on the altar of the entire sacrificial animal (holocaust) or at least a significant part of it (thysía), and this usage gave rise to the Israelite concept of whole burnt offering ( #¯olâ) or partial burnt offering (zebah. ) respectively. The latter, the commoner of the two (at least at first), left part of the victim to be consumed by the priests and part to be eaten by the worshipers in a sacral meal. But whatever the historical analogues to nomadic or autochthonous precedent, Israelite sacrifice was transformed and sublimated. It did not serve to appease, to feed, or to achieve union with the deity. Rather, it came to constitute, in varying proportions, an act of donation to, communion with, or exculpation by the deity.16 Let us then turn to the Mesopotamian evidence, by far the most richly documented of all in the preclassical world. For here we have not Cf. already J. Milgrom, IEJ 23 (1973) 160. Bamberger apud Plaut, The Torah, 874; previously idem, Leviticus (1979) 179. Cf. also B.A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1974) 47–52. 16 R. de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions (trans. J. McHugh; New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., 1961) 440–441. 14 15

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only, as in Israel and elsewhere, the canonical (literary) formulations of how sacrificial rites are to be performed, or what can be designated “prescriptive rituals,” but also the archival (economic) texts, the afterthe-fact accounts of the actual course of events taken by the ritual and duly recorded from the objective point of view of those charged with detailing the expenses incurred for each step of the ritual against the possibility of a future audit by a higher authority. These are the so-called “descriptive rituals” and they survive in far greater numbers than the “prescriptive rituals” and from many successive periods.17 The “economy of the cult”18 that can be reconstructed with their help leaves no doubt that, in Mesopotamia, animal sacrifice, though ostensibly a mechanism for feeding the deity, was at best a thinly disguised method for sanctifying and justifying meat consumption by human beings—a privilege routinely accorded to priesthood, aristocracy, and royalty and sporadically, notably on holidays and holy days, to the masses of the population.19 As noted by de Vaux,20 the late Jewish author of “Daniel, Bel and the Dragon” saw through the Mesopotamian pretense involved in the “care and feeding of the gods”21 and took a dim view of it.22 But the ritual texts, whether prescriptive or descriptive, tell us little about the true motivation for the sacrificial cult or the related question of its origins in the native conception. For this we must turn to the higher forms of literature, notably the mythology. Until now, this has served to underline the “official” interpretation which stressed the divine need for sustenance. Indeed, if there is one common thread running through both Sumerian and Akkadian myths about the relationship between gods and men, it is that men were created to relieve the B.A. Levine, “Ugaritic Descriptive Rituals,” JCS 17 (1963) 105–111; idem, “The Descriptive Ritual Texts of the Pentateuch,” JAOS 85 (1965) 307–318; idem, “Offerings to the Temple Gates at Ur” (with W.W. Hallo), HUCA 38 (1967) 17–58; A.F. Rainey, “The Order of Sacrifices in Old Testament Ritual Texts,” Bib 51 (1970) 485–498. 18 For this concept of R.M. Sigrist, see W.W. Hallo, State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East (ed. E. Lipinski; ´ Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 5, 1979) l. 104– 105. See now R.M. Sigrist, Les sattukku dans l’Eˇsumeˇsa durant la période d’Isin et Larsa (= Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 11, 1984). 19 See now the dramatic proof of this proposition for ninth-century Babylonia by Gilbert J.P. McEwan, “Distribution of Meat in Eanna,” Iraq 45 (1983) 187–198. 20 De Vaux, Ancient Israel, 434. Cf. also Jer 7:21. 21 A.L. Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964) 183–198. 22 Cf. now also R.C. Steiner and C.F. Nims, “You Can’t Offer Your Sacrifice and Eat It Too: A Polemical Poem from the Aramaic Text in Demotic Script,” JNES 43 (1984) 89–114. 17

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gods of the need to provide for their own food. Thus, for example, in the Sumerian myth known as “Cattle and Grain” or “Lahar and Ashnan”23 man was created (lit. “given breath”) “for the sake of the sheepfolds and good things of the gods.”24 To quote W.G. Lambert, “The idea that man was created to relieve the gods of hard labor by supplying them with food and drink was standard among both Sumerians and Babylonians.”25 This conception is even thought to find a faint echo in the primeval history of Genesis. For the epic (J) version of the creation begins: “When the Lord God made earth and heaven—when no shrub of the field was yet on earth and no grasses of the field had yet sprouted, because the Lord God had not sent rain upon the earth and there was no man to till the soil” (Gen 2: 4b-5). And it continues, after the creation of man (Gen 2: 15): “The Lord God took the man and placed him in the garden of Eden, to till it and tend it.” But a newly recovered Sumerian myth puts matters into a rather different light and permits considerably more precise analogies to be drawn with biblical conceptions. The myth, or mythologem, is embedded in an ostensibly epic tale dealing, as do all other Sumerian epics, with the exploits of the earliest rulers of Uruk, that well-nigh eternal city where writing first emerged in full form late in the fourth millennium and where cuneiform continued in use almost to the Christian era, the city whose name is preserved in the table of nations as Erech (Gen 10:10). The earliest rulers of Uruk were preoccupied with heroic campaigns against distant Aratta, the source of lapis lazuli and other precious imports from across the Iranian highlands to the east, perhaps as far away as Afghanistan. On one of these campaigns the crown prince Lugalbanda fell ill and had to be left behind in a cave of the mountains by his comrades, with only enough food and fire to ease his 23

Unedited; see the texts listed by R. Borger, Handbuch der Keilschriftliteratur (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter) 1 (1967) and 2 (1975), under G.A. Barton, Miscellaneous Babylonian Inscriptions (New Haven; 1918), no. 8, and the discussion by G. Pettinato, Das altorientalische Menschenbild und die sumerischen und akkadischen Schöpfungsmythen (AHAW 1971/I) 86–90. 24 Translated thus or similarly by S.N. Kramer, Sumerian Mythology (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 21, 1944; 2d ed.; New York: Harper & Row, 1961) 73; idem, From the Tablets of Sumer (Indian Hills, Colo.: Falcon’s Wing Press, 1963) 221; idem, History Begins at Sumer (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981) 109. 25 W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard, Atra-has¯ıs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969) 15. Cf. in detail˘ G. Komoróczy, “Work and Strike of the Gods: New Light on the Divine Society in the Sumero-Akkadian Mythology,” Oikumene 1 (1976) 9–37.

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dying days. Left for dead, he prayed to the sun at dusk, followed by the evening star, then the moon, and finally the sun again at dawn—and there the text effectively broke off in the first systematic presentation of the plot by C. Wilcke in 1969.26 The thread of the epic is taken up at this point by a large tablet from the Yale Babylonian Collection first identified by S.N. Kramer, copied by me in 1965, incorporated into a preliminary but unpublished edition by S. Cohen some years later,27 and finally edited by me in full and with the help of numerous fragmentary duplicate texts from other collections for a volume in honor of Professor Kramer.28 From all of this, the following sequel can be reconstructed. The prayers of Lugalbanda were answered: He arose from his sickbed and left the cave. He refreshed himself from revivifying “grass” and the invigorating waters of the nearest stream, but then he faced a problem: The food left for him by his comrades-in-arms had given out; the fire they had left had died out. How was he to nourish himself henceforth? He was still in the mountains, or at least the foothills of the Zagros, surrounded by wild plants and wild animals. The plants are pointedly contrasted with the domesticated varieties familiar to him from the cultivated plains of Uruk, and the animals consume them with relish. It is implied, however, that they are not fit for human consumption. In this extremity, Lugalbanda decides to make a virtue of necessity and turn carnivorous. But this is easier said than done when a solitary man confronts a thundering herd of aurochsen. He must select one that is weak and languid from overeating29 and try to trap it as it mills about the meadow. To do this, he must bait the one trap he has presumably constructed. As I translate the relevant passage, he does so by baking some delectable cakes—admittedly a questionable procedure in these circumstances but one that would justify a subsidiary aetiology inserted in the text at this point, namely, the invention of fire, or at least of fire-making! The embers of the last campfire left by his companions C. Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1969). Cf. also S. Cohen, “Studies in Sumerian Lexicography, I,” in Kramer Anniversary Volume, ed. B.L. Eichler et al., AOAT 25 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1976) 99–101. 28 W.W. Hallo, “Lugalbanda Excavated,” JAOS 103 (1983) 165–180, here: VII.1. See there for a detailed exposition of the text. 29 See Hallo, “Lugalbanda Excavated,” here: VII.1, 175 line 293. T. Jacobsen proposes an alternative translation: “the curly (haired) aurochs, fatherly, protective” (private communication). 26 27

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having died out, Lugalbanda must start a new fire by striking flintstones (?) together until they generate a spark. And even then, “not knowing how to bake a cake, not knowing an oven” (11. 284, 289) he has to improvise. But one way or another, the aurochs is caught and then tethered by means of a rope made on the spot from the roots and tops of the wild juniper tree uprooted and cut with a knife. The process is then repeated with two goats, taking care to select healthy ones from those in sight. But with the practical problems disposed of, Lugalbanda’s real problems are just beginning. His companions have left him supplied with an ax of meteoric iron and a hip dagger of terrestrial iron (the latter presumably used already to cut the juniper trees), but how can he presume to wield them against his quarry? Only the appropriate ritual can solve this problem. Providentially, the answer is vouchsafed in a dream, by none other than Za(n)qara, the god of dreams himself. He must slaughter the animals, presumably at night and in front of a pit, so that the blood drains into the pit while the fat runs out over the plain where the snakes of the mountain can sniff it, and so that the animals expire at daybreak. Upon wakening, Lugalbanda follows these prescriptions to the letter, needless to say. But he goes them one better—significantly better. At dawn he summons the four greatest deities of the Sumerian pantheon—An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag—to a banquet at the pit. This banquet is called in the text gizbun (written logographically as ki-kaˇs-gar [lit. “place where beer is placed”]), a Sumerian word later equated with Akkadian t¯akultu, the technical term for a cultic meal or divine repast.30 Lugalbanda pours libations of beer and wine, carves the meat of the goats, roasts it together with the bread, and lets the sweet savor rise to the gods like incense. The intelligible portion of the text ends with these two lines (11. 375–376): “So of the food prepared by Lugalbanda/An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag consumed the best part.” What is offered here is a first glimpse at a tantalizing new bit of evidence regarding early Sumerian religious sensibilities. Admittedly, the text can be translated differently here and there by other interpreters or, upon maturer reflection, by myself. But some salient points are already more or less beyond dispute. They are enumerated here, together with the conclusions that I propose to draw from them.

30

Cf. R. Frankena, Takultu: de sacrale maaltijd in het assyrische ritueel (diss., Leiden, 1953).

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1. The highest deities of the Sumerian pantheon—three gods and one goddess who traditionally represent and govern the four cosmic realms—physically partake of the best of the meat at a sacred meal convoked in their honor. Presumably, then, they sanction the slaughter of the animals that has made this consumption of their meat possible. 2. The slaughter itself is carried out according to divinely inspired prescriptions, by a divinely chosen individual, with weapons made of rare metals. Presumably, then, we are to understand it as sacred, not profane, slaughter, indeed as the aetiology of the sacrificial cult. 3. The capture of the animals is related in the context of an elaborate narrative that is ostensibly of epic character but presumably has the typical mythic function of explaining a continuing phenomenon observed in the present by appeal to a real or, more often, imaginary one-time event in the past.31 In this case, then, we are led to conclude that we are presented with an aetiology of meat-eating that explains its origins as derived from the straits in which Lugalbanda found himself, thus replacing a prior, vegetarian order of things. 4. Other and perhaps lesser aetiologies are found in the epic cycle of Uruk. Our own text thus seems to include the invention of fire; another, the Epic of Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, includes the invention of writing.32 That neither invention is placed chronologically quite where modern research would date it does not detract from the deduction that Sumerian epic was a conscious vehicle for mythologems in general and for aetiologies in particular. 5. Finally, the new text offers a fresh perspective on the comparable biblical conceptions as current scholarship sees their evolution. In both cases, an original dispensation provides for vegetarianism in the divine as well as the human (and perhaps even animal) realm, with mankind assigned the task of domesticating and cultivating the vegetation. Although in the biblical case the domestication of animals followed as early as the second human generation (Abel), its purpose may be construed as limited, in the time-honored Near Eastern manner, to Hallo, “Lugalbanda Excavated,” 170, here: VII.1. G. Komoróczy, “Zur Ätiologie der Schrifterfindung im Enmerkar-Epos,” Altorientalische Forschungen 3 (1975) 19–24. 31 32

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the exploitation of their renewable resources, such as wool, milk, dung, and draft power.33 Although Abel sacrifices “the choicest of the firstlings of his flock,”34 and his sacrifice is accepted, it is not until Noah’s sacrifice of the animals that he had brought safely through the flood that humanity is specifically given dominion over the animals and allowed to consume them. In the Sumerian flood story, the flood hero (Ziusudra), celebrating his emergence from the ark, “slaughtered a large number of bulls and sheep” in “a stock phrase often found in Sumerian literature”35—but the text breaks off at this point before we learn whether human beings shared in the feast. In the Old Babylonian Epic of Atra-hasis, the passage about the end of the flood is fragmentary, but the sacrifice is described simply as an “offering” (n¯ıqu) of which the gods sniff the smell as they gather around like flies and which they then eat.36 Finally, in the Neo-Assyrian version of the flood as incorporated in the Gilgamesh Epic, the sacrifice is specified as burned over cane, cedarwood, and myrtle (qanû erûnu u asu),37 thus attracting the gods, again like flies, to the sweet savor. Thus the cuneiform tradition may not have linked the inauguration of meat-eating with the immediate aftermath of the flood as did the Bible. But Lugalbanda, as the third member or generation of the postdiluvian dynasty at Uruk,38 could represent the corresponding Sumerian conception of this innovation. With relatively minor differences, then, Babylonian and biblical myths reflect remarkably similar conceptions of the origins of the sacrificial cult. Where the two cultures diverged widely was in its subsequent 33 Cf. K. Butz apud Lipinski, ´ State and Temple Economy, 305–339 on dung (putru) in the Old Babylonian economy; G. Maxwell, A Reed Shaken by the Wind (London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1957) on its role among the Marsh Arabs of contemporary Iraq; A. Sherratt, “Plough and Pastoralism: Aspects of the Secondary Products Revolution,” Patterns of the Past: Studies in Honor of David Clarke (ed. I. Hodder et al.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981) 261–305. 34 See NJV. Lit.: “from the firstlings of his flock and [specifically] from their fat [parts or pieces],” i.e., the parts later—in Levitical legislation—especially reserved for the deity or, in the Blessing of Moses, for strange gods (Deut 32:38); cf. Lugalbanda I 350 and 360. 35 M. Civil apud Lambert and Millard, Atra-has¯ıs, 145 line 211 and 172 ad loc. Addi˘ tional references: Pickaxe and Plow (uned.), 25–29; Uruk Lament (MS M.W. Green), 129–115; UD.GAL.NUN hymns (W.G. Lambert, OrAnt 20 [1981] 85–86). 36 Lambert and Millard, Atra-has¯ıs, 99. ˘ 37 ANET, 95 line 158. 38 Cf. W.W. Hallo and W.K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: A History (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971) 47.

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evolution. In Mesopotamia, the sacrificial cult was literally taken as a means of feeding the gods and specifically, beginning with the end of the third millennium, their cult statues.39 In Israel, where anthropomorphic conceptions and representations of the deity were proscribed, and where the worshiper already participated in the consumption of the earliest (paschal) sacrifice, the later cultic legislation explicitly provided priesthood and laity with a share of the sacrificial offerings. Thus Israelite sacrifice, though in origin designed, as in Mesopotamia, to sanctify the very act of consumption, “ultimately served as well to sanctify other human activities and to atone for other human transgressions.”40

39 W.W. Hallo, “Cult Statue and Divine Image: A Preliminary Study,” Scripture in Context II (ed. W.W. Hallo, J.C. Moyer, and L.G. Perdue; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1983) 1–17. 40 Hallo apud Plaut, The Torah, 743; previously apud Bamberger, Leviticus (1979) xxvi.

vii.3 DISTURBING THE DEAD*

Disturbing the dead was fraught with danger not only in the biblical view but across the whole ancient Near East, from Mesopotamia to Phoenicia. In what follows, old and new documentation will be offered to this effect, and some recent discussions of the theme will be considered. In ‘Death and the Netherworld according to the Sumerian Literary Texts’, S.N. Kramer decried the fact that ‘the Sumerian ideas relating to death and the netherworld . . . were neither clear, precise or consistent’.1 Much the same could probably be said of most cultures. But in fact the consistency and continuity of the Sumerian view, and its survival in Akkadian texts, is quite impressive. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the tale to which Kramer himself gave the title ‘Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld’.2 The first half of this tale was edited by Kramer under the title ‘Gilgamesh and the Huluppu-Tree’ at the start of his long career of editing Sumerian literary texts.3 Its second half, translated verbatim into Akkadian, became the last (12th) tablet of the latest recension of the Akkadian Epic of Gilgamesh4—itself a literary phenomenon almost without parallel in the history of cuneiform literature.5

Paper submitted to the 24th Annual Conference of the Association for Jewish Studies, Boston, December 13–15 1992, and here offered in warm tribute to Nahum Sarna. 1 Iraq 22 (1960), pp. 59–68, esp. p. 65. 2 PAPhS 85 (1942), p. 321; JAOS. 64 (1944), pp. 7–23, esp. pp. 19–22. 3 Gilgamesh and the Huluppu-Tree (AS 10 [1938]); preceded by ‘Gilgamesh and the Willow Tree’, The Open Court 50 (1936), pp. 18–33. 4 A. Shaffer, Sumerian Sources of Tablet XII of the Epic of Gilgameˇ s (Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms, 1963). 5 W.W. Hallo, ‘Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics’, Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5 (1973), pp. 1–12, here: I.3, esp. p. 7; ‘Toward a History of Sumerian Literature’, in S.J. Lieberman (ed.), Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen (AS, 20; 1976), pp. 181–203, here: I.4, esp. pp. 189–190 and n. 57; review of B. Alster, The Instructions of ˇ Suruppak, JNES 37 (1978), pp. 269–273, esp. p. 272 (D). *

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According to this account, when Enkidu descended to the netherworld to recover the hoop and driving stick6 of Gilgamesh, or his drum and drumstick7 if a ‘shamanistic’ reading is preferred,8 the latter counseled him not to offend or disturb the dead.9 In particular, he warned, ‘Do not take a staff in your hands [or] the spirits will panic before you’.10 Enkidu, however, ignored the warning, and a few lines later on we read that ‘he took a staff in his hands and the spirits panicked [because of him]’.11 In a recent study of the passage, Aase Koefoed interprets the warning as ‘taboo rules’ which ‘seem to correspond to the actual rules for conduct during a mourning ceremony’12 and their violation by Enkidu as the reason for his untimely death.13 She compares the staff of cornel-wood14 to the ‘rhabdos in Greek religion, where it is the stick or magic wand used by Hermes to invoke and drive the ghosts’.15 These ghosts (gidim = e.temmu) could easily turn into demons (GIDIM4 = udug = utukku) which, if improperly buried or disturbed, could return to haunt and terrify the living.16 The Sumerian incantations known as ‘Evil Spirits’ (udug-hul)17 and the bilingual series into 6 Sumerian giˇs-ellag and giˇs - E. KÌD - ma, Akkadian pukku and mekkû; cf. CAD M/2 s.v. mekku A, based on B. Landsberger, WZKM 56 (1960), pp. 124–126; 57 (1961), p. 23. 7 This is Landsberger’s earlier translation, and survives in ANET (3rd ed., 1969), p. 507. 8 ‘I judge that the readings “drum” and “drumstick” are clinched by the widespread Siberian tradition that the frames of shaman-drums come from wood of the World Tree’; A.T. Hatto, Shamanism and Epic Poetry in Northern Asia (London: SOAS, 1970), p. 4. But cf. C.R. Bawden, BASOS 35 (1972), p. 394. 9 ‘Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld’, ll. 185–199; see Shaffer, Sumerian Sources, pp. 74–76, 108–109. 10 ‘Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld’, ll. 191–192; cf. CAD A/2, pp. 236–237; ˇ s.v. ar¯aru B; CAD S/1, s.v. sˇabbitu. 11 ‘Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld’, ll. 213–214. 12 See pp. 535–536 for possible elements of such ceremonies. 13 A. Koefoed, ‘Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld’, ASJ 5 (1983), pp. 17–23, esp. p. 20. 14 giˇs-ma-nu, ordinarily translated by Akkadian e"ru, which ‘is well-known as the magical wand used in incantations against demons’; cf. Koefoed, ‘Gilgameˇs’, p. 23 n. 13. 15 Koefoed, ‘Gilgameˇs’, p. 20. 16 W. W, Hallo, ‘Royal Ancestor Worship in the Biblical World’, in Sha #arei Talmon: Studies . . . presented to Shemaryahu Talmon (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), pp. 381– 401, esp. p. 389 and nn. 56–59. 17 M.J. Geller, Forerunners to Udug-hul: Sumerian Exorcistic Incantations (Freiburger Altorientalische Studien, 12; 1985).

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which they evolved (utukk¯u lemn¯utu)18 were designed to ward off that possibility. This is illustrated by such lines as ‘[these demons] agitated the distraught man’19 and ‘[the demons] caused panic in the land’.20 The former passage recurs in a bilingual exercise text where the Akkadian verb used is the same as in Gilgamesh XII (exceptionally in transitive usage).21 Violation of a grave was therefore considered a particularly severe form of punishment, as for example when Assurbanipal of Assyria (668–627 bc) destroyed the tombs of the Elamite kings during his sack of the Elamite capital at Susa,22 carrying their bones to Assur, condemning their spirits to restlessness, and depriving them of funerary repasts23 and water libations (e.temmeˇsunu la s. al¯alu ¯emid kisp¯ı n¯aq mê uzamm¯esˇun¯uti).24 Perhaps this was a specific revenge for their having been ‘the disturbers (munarri.t¯u)25 of the kings my ancestors’, that is, of the graves of the departed royalty. But more likely the reference here was simply to the harassment and terrorism to which the royal Assyrian ancestors had been subjected during their reigns.26 The prevention of such desecration thus became the particular objective of another genre of texts, that of the funerary inscription. This genre is relatively less well attested in cuneiform than in some other ancient Near Eastern corpora of inscriptions. Such evidence as was by then available, was assembled and discussed by Jean Bottéro in 1981.27 A good illustration of the genre is the mortuary inscription of R.C. Thompson, The Devils and Evil Spirits of Babylonia, I (London: Luzac, 1903). Thompson, Devils, pp. 20–21, l. 2. 20 Thompson, Devils, pp. 34–35, l. 255, with note ad loc. (p. 99). 21 UET 6.392, cited CAD A/2, pp. 236–237; s.v. ar¯aru B. 22. 22 For this event and its aftermath cf. W.W. Hallo, ‘An Assurbanipal Text Recovered’, The Israel Museum Journal 6 (1987), pp. 33–37; P.D. Gerardi, Assurbanipal’s Elamite Campaigns: A Literary and Political Study (Ann Arbor, MI: 1987), esp. pp. 195–213; E. Carter and M.W. Stolper, Elam (Near Eastern Studies, 25; University of California Publications, 1984), p. 52. 23 For these see below, pp. 536–537. 24 CAD E, 399a; Z, 156d. 25 CAD N/l, 349a; cited Hallo, loc. cit. (see next note), but correct citation accordingly. 26 A. Tsukimoto, Untersuchungen zur Totenpflege (kispum) im alten Mesopotamien (AOAT, 216; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1985), pp. 114–115; cited in W.W. Hallo, ‘The Death of Kings: Traditional Historiography in Contextual Perspective’, in M. Cogan and I. Eph"al (eds.), Ah, Assyria . . . : Studies . . . presented to Hayim Tadmor (ScrHier, 33; 1991), pp. 148–165, esp. p. 162 n. 126. 27 J. Bottéro, ‘Les inscriptions cunéiformes funéraires’, in G. Gnoli and J.-P. Vernant, (eds.), La mort, les morts dans les Sociétés Anciennes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), pp. 373–406. 18 19

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Shamash-ibni,28 the Chaldean of Bit-Dakkuri who died in Assyria and whose ‘body was returned to his native land for burial only in the time of Ashur-etel-ilani, about half a century later’,29 that is, under one of the last kings of Assyria (626–624 bc). The most famous example may well be the Autobiography of Adadguppi, which can be dated to the ninth year of Nabonidus, last king of Babylon (547 bc).30 But recent discoveries have added significantly to the corpus. The graves of three neo-Assyrian queens recovered together with their spectacular contents at Nimrud in 1989 have yielded as many funerary inscriptions, two of them published by A. Fadhil the following year.31 These include explicit injunctions against disturbing the entombed bodies, using the verb d¯ekû, ‘to arouse (from sleep or rest)’,32 but here in the sense of ‘to disturb the dead’, as seen by A. Livingstone.33 He compares the language of neo-Assyrian royal land grants where the same verb is used in the same sense in connection with the verb s. al¯alu, ‘to lie down, to sleep’,34 concluding ‘that “to wake the sleeper” was a euphemistic expression for “to disturb the dead” ’. The same idiom already occurs in Sumerian literary texts, where lúná-a zi-zi means ‘to wake the sleeper’ as in a ‘tambourine-lament’ (érˇsèm-ma) of Inanna and Dumuzi where a demon (gala) ‘wakes Dumuzi, who is sleeping, from [his] sleep . . . wakes the spouse of holy Inanna, who is sleeping, from [his] sleep’.35 That ‘the phrase is also employed, however, as a euphemism for those who sleep the “treacherous” sleep Bottéro, ‘Les inscriptions’, pp. 384–385, based on YOS 1. 43; 9.81–82. J.A. Brinkman, Prelude to Empire: Babylonian Society and Politics, 747–626 bc (Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund, 7; 1984), p. 80 and n. 388, based on YOS 1. 43 and YOS 9.81–82. 30 ANET (3rd ed., 1969), pp. 560–562; latest translations by T. Longman, Fictional Akkadian Autobiography: A Generic and Comparative Study (Winona Lake, IN; Eisenbrauns, 1991), pp. 225–228; cf. pp. 97–103, and P.-A. Beaulieu, The Reign of Nabonidus, King of Babylon 556–539 BC (YNER, 10; 1989), pp. 78–79 and passim. 31 A. Fadhil, ‘Die in Nimrud/Kalhu aufgefundene Grabinschrift der Jabâ’, BaM 21 (1990), pp. 461–470; ‘Die Grabinschrift der Mullissu-mukanniˇsat-Ninua aus Nimrud/Kalhu’, BaM 21 (1990), pp. 471–482 and pls. 39–45. 32 CAD 123d and 125bc. 33 A. Livingstone, ‘To Disturb the Dead: Taboo to Enmesarra?’, NABU I. I (1991). 34 Livingstone, ‘To Disturb the Dead’, citing J.N. Postgate, Neo-Assyrian Grants and Decrees (Studia Pohl Series Maior, 1; 1969), no. 9 (p. 29), ll. 55–57, 60; cf. also nos. 10–12. 35 M.E. Cohen, Sumerian Hymnology: The Erˇ semma (HUCA Supplements, 2; 1981), pp. 76 and 81, ll. 48–49. The same lines were dealt with earlier by T. Jacobsen, ‘The Myth of Inanna and Bilulu’, JNES 12 (1953), pp. 160–187, esp. pp. 182–183 n. 50; repr. in Toward the Image of Tammuz and other Essays on Mesopotamian History and Culture (ed. W.L. Moran; HSS, 21; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970), p. 346 n. 50. 28 29

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(ù-lul-la) of death’ was recognized long ago by T. Jacobsen,36 although it must be admitted that the sleep in question can also be a ‘feigned sleep’, for example when it is attributed to Enlil in one of that deity’s standard ‘heroic’ epithets’ as seen by R. Kutscher.37 Sleep as a premonition of death is familiar from the eleventh tablet of the Gilgamesh Epic, when the hero complains to Utnapishtim, ‘Scarcely had sleep surged over me, when straightway thou dost touch and rouse me (taddekkanni)!’—when in fact he had already slept for seven days.38 The common use of ‘sleep’ as a metaphor or euphemism for death also explains the use of ‘place of silence’ as a circumlocution or epithet for ‘grave’ in an inscription of Shamshi-Adad I of Assyria (c. 1813– 1781 bc),39 and more particularly of ‘rest house’ as a poetic designation for the grave. This is clearest on bricks from the royal sepulcher at Assur, which describe the grave of Sennaherib (704–681 bc) as ‘a palace of sleeping, a grave of rest, a habitation of eternity’ (ekal s. al¯ali kimah tapˇsuhti sˇubat d¯arâti), or as a ‘palace of rest, habitation of eternity’ (ekal tapˇsuhti sˇubat d¯arâti).40 While the concept of ‘eternal habitation’ can be paralleled in West Semitic usage, both biblical (Eccl. 12. 5) and epigraphic,41 that of ‘place’ or ‘house of rest’ can be traced back to Sumerian usage. The Sumerian equivalent to ‘house of rest’ (bit tapˇsuhti) is é-ní-dúb-bu(-da).42 It occurs in a unilingual lexical list43 and as an epithet of temples and storage

36 Jacobsen, ‘The Myth of Inanna and Bilulu’, pp. 182–183 n. 50; Toward the Image, p. 346 n. 50. 37 R. Kutscher, Oh Angry Sea (a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha): The History of a Sumerian Congregational Lament (YNER, 6; 1975), p. 49. 38 ANET (3rd edn, 1969), p. 96, ll. 220–221. 39 É KI.SI.GA É qú-ul-ti-ˇ su; A.K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennium bc (to 1115 bc ) (RIMA 1; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1987), pp. 59– 60, no. 8; cf. Bottéro, ‘Les inscriptions’, p. 403 n. 18, who, however, seems to take É KI.SI.GA as a phonetic (?) spelling for É KI.SÌ.GA, hence rendering it ‘Salle-au-kispu’. Differently CAD Q 302d. 40 OIP 2. 151. 14. 3 and 13. 2 respectively; cf. Bottéro, ‘Les inscriptions’, p. 382. 41 See in general H. Tawil, ‘A Note on the Ahiram Inscription’, JANESCU 3 (1970– 1971), pp. 32–36, esp. p. 36; A. Negev, ‘A Nabataean Epitaph from Trans-Jordan’, IEJ 21 (1971), pp. 50–53, esp. pp. 50–51, with nn. 4–9. 42 W.W. Hallo, ‘Oriental Institute Museum Notes No. 10: The Last Years of the Kings of Isin’, JNES 18 (1959), pp. 54–72, esp. p. 54 and n. 2, based on A. Deimel, ˇ Sumerisches Lexikon, III.2 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1932), no. 399, 177 based in turn on K.D. Macmillan, ‘Some Cuneiform Tablets . . . ’, BA 5 (1906), p. 634 l. 13; cf. p. 573, ll. 13–14 and p. 588 l. 11. 43 MSL 13.69.108.

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houses built by the kings of Isin and Larsa.44 The Sumerian equivalent to ‘resting-place’ (aˇsar tapˇsuhti) is ki-ní-dúb-bu-da; it occurs in an inscription of Warad-Sin of Larsa (c. 1834–1823 bc) as an epithet of the temple of Nin-Isina called E-unamtila, literally ‘house [of] the plant of life’.45 To return to the idiom of ‘waking the sleeper’, Livingstone has also discovered it in a late Akkadian literary text46 which he treated under the heading of ‘works . . . explaining state rituals in terms of myths’ in 198647 and as ‘mystical miscellanea’ in 1989.48 Here Jacobsen had read ‘The sill of the temple of Enmesharra: he hitched up at the wall, / the tallow of fleece (Ì.UDU it-qi) is taboo for Enmesharra’.49 Livingstone, however, reads, ‘He hung the ladders of the house of Enmesarra on the wall and woke up the sleepers (s. al-lu id-ki). Taboo of Enmesarra’,50 and adds, ‘it would not be difficult to suppose that disturbing the dead was anathema to the underworld deity Enmesarra’.51 The concept of a divine taboo or anathema has been the subject of two recent studies. In 1985 I selected some fourteen examples of the theme from Sumerian and Akkadian literature, and compared them with the biblical concept of divine abominations.52 Klein and Sefati covered much the same ground in 1988, in another volume dedicated to the memory of Moshe Held.53 I concluded that, between the early second millennium and the early first millennium, ‘the emphasis of the taboos . . . shifted from a principal preoccupation with morals and manners to an at least equal concern with cultic matters’,54 and eventually

Hallo, ‘The Last Years’, p. 54 and nn. 5–6. D.R. Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC) (RIME, 4; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990), pp. 244–245, no. 22 (l. 14). 46 KAR 307.28–29. 47 A. Livingstone, Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), ch. 4, esp. pp. 124–125. 48 A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (SAA, 3; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1989), pp. 99–102. 49 T. Jacobsen, ‘Religious Drama in Ancient Mesopotamia’, in H. Goedicke and. J.J.M. Roberts (eds.), Unity and Diversity (Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies, [7]; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1975), pp. 63–97, esp. p. 95 n. 58. 50 Livingstone, Court Poetry, p. 100. 51 NABU 1991.1. 52 W.W. Hallo, ‘Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos’, JQR 76 (1985), pp. 21–40, here: VIII.3. 53 J. Klein and Y. Sefati, ‘The Concept of “Abomination” in Mesopotamian Literature and the Bible’, Beer-Sheva 3 (1988), pp. 131–148 (in Hebrew; English summary pp. 12*ff.). 54 Hallo, ‘Biblical Abominations’, p. 29, here: VIII.3. 44 45

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‘to normally legitimate activities which happen to be conducted on an unacceptable day’.55 The ‘taboo of Enmesarra’ fits well into this scheme, as it appears to represent a cultic infraction whether on Jacobsen’s reading or Livingstone’s. A third meaning was suggested as the common denominator of the biblical abominations: they are primarily, ‘acts enjoined by alien cults but anathema to God’.56 At first blush the biblical evidence does not seem to bear on our theme. Disturbing the dead is not a cultic requirement in paganism—on the contrary it is a taboo already there. It is not implied in the idiom for waking the sleeper; when used in a literal sense, that idiom refers rather to the impossibility of waking the dead;57 when used in other than a literal sense, it alludes to resurrecting the dead.58 It may be noted in the latter connection that the modern renaissance of Jewish culture was promoted by a society for the publication of medieval Hebrew literature founded in 1862 under the name of Mekize Nirdamim, ‘rousers of those who slumber’.59 But in fact biblical Hebrew does feature a functional equivalent of the Sumero-Akkadian idiom. It employs not the root ‘to awake’ (qys. , yqs. ) but the root ‘quiver, agitate’ (rgz), and occurs in two telling contexts. The first concerns Saul who persuaded the witch of En-Dor to ‘bring up’ the deceased Samuel, who thereupon complained, ‘Why have you disturbed me (hirgazt¯ani) and brought me up?’ (1 Sam. 28. 15) and presumably cursed Saul and his progeny with imminent death (1 Sam. 28.19).60 The second involves Sargon II of Assyria whose death in battle in 705 bc—a royal fate almost without precedent in Mesopotamian history—was, in the biblical view, at least partially the punishment for his rousing the dead kings from their rest. In the words of Isaiah (Isa. 14.9), ‘Sheol below was astir (ragz¯ah) to greet your coming—rousing for you the shades (rep¯ ¯a"îm)61 of all earth’s chieftains, raising from their

Hallo, ‘Biblical Abominations’, p. 33, here: VIII.3. Hallo, ‘Biblical Abominations’, p. 38, here: VIII.3. 57 Cf. 2 Kgs 4.31; Jer. 51.39, 57; Job. 14.12. 58 Isa. 26.19; Dan. 12.2. 59 EncJud, XI, pp. 1270 ff.; s.v. Mekize Nirdamim. . 60 J.C. Greenfield, ‘Scripture and Inscription: The Literary and Rhetorical Element in some Early Phoenician Inscriptions’, in H. Goedicke (ed.), Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1971), pp. 253– 268, esp. pp. 258 ff.; Hallo, ‘The Death of Kings’, pp. 151, 162. 61 On the rep ¯ ¯a"îm see most recently Hallo, ‘Royal Ancestor Worship’, esp. pp. 382– 386. 55 56

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thrones all the kings of the nations’.62 For good measure it may be pointed out again that the same root (rgz) is employed in Phoenician funerary inscriptions,63 notably those of Tabnit of Sidon64 and of the son of Shipit-Baal of Byblos.65 By contrast to such practices, subject to dreadful curses and dire punishments, the proper respect for the departed required, in the first place, the recitation of appropriate lamentations, presumably at the time of interment. That appears to be the sense of the Sumerian notation ‘when he entered [‘turned into’ is a possible translation but unlikely here] the office of lamentation-priests’ (u4 nam-gala-ˇsè in-ku4ra) which is frequently encountered in neo-Sumerian accounts justifying the expenditure of modest numbers of sacrificial animals66 by the next of kin (?), whose ranks include two cooks, a courier, a bowman, a foot-soldier—all lay professions—and three Amorites.67 Given the diversity of these origins, it seems unlikely that we should translate here, ‘when they entered the office of lamentation-priest’,68 the more so since a single name at most recurs among the numerous named lamentation-priests on neo-Sumerian documents.69 Once buried, the dead required above all a ‘commemorative funerary meal’, called kispu in Akkadian and ki-sì-ga in Sumerian.70 Because the Sumerian term, in the form ‘house (e) of the ki-sì-ga’, is otherwise 62 See previous note and cf. H.L. Ginsberg, ‘Reflexes of Sargon in Isaiah after 715 bce’ in W.W. Hallo (ed.), Essays in Memory of EA. Speiser (AOS, 53; New Haven: American Oriental Society), repr. from JAOS 88 (1968), pp. 47–53. 63 On their typology see H.-P. Müller, ‘Die Phönizische Grabinschrift aus dem Zypern-Museum KAI 30 und die Formgeschichte des Nordwestsemitischen Epitaphs’, ZA 65 (1975), pp. 104–132, esp, pp. 109–110, 118–119: Cf. also K. Galling, ‘Die Grabinschrift Hiobs’, Welt des Orients 2 (1954), pp. 3–6 ad Job 19.23–27. 64 ANET (3rd edn, 1969), p. 662. Cf. above n. 60, but correct the reference in ‘The Death of Kings’ (n. 125) accordingly. 65 H. Donner and W. Röllig, KAI, II (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1973), pp. 10– 11. 66 Typically five sheep and/or goats; once two grain-fattened sheep and once three adult goats. 67 T. Fish, ‘Gala on Ur III Tablets’, MCS 7 (1957), pp. 25–27; M. Sigrist, AUCT 3 (1988), no. 42; idem, Tablettes du Princeton Theological Seminary: Epoque d’Ur III (Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, 10; 1990), no. 90; see below n. 6. 68 As implied by H. Hartmann, Die Musik in der Sumerischen Kultur (Frankfurt 1960), pp. 141–142. 69 Hartmann, Die Musik, pp. 166–179, 356–361. The possible exception, as noted by Hartmann (p. 173 n. 4), is N. Schneider, ‘Keilschriftutkunden aus Drehem und Djoha’, Or o.s. 18 (1925), no. 17, pp. 17–19; the profession of ù - k u l registered there is otherwise unknown to me. 70 See Hallo, ‘Royal Ancestor Worship’, p. 394 and cf. above n. 39.

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equated with Akkadian words for grave (kim¯ahu, qub¯uru),71 the existence of a true Sumerian equivalent has hitherto been overlooked. I propose as such an equivalent gizbun, a Sumerian word generally translated by ‘(festive) meal, banquet’, based in part on its logographic writing 72 ˇ Later with the signs for ‘place where beer is put’ (KI.KAS.GAR). the Sumerian term was equated with Akkadian takultu, ‘divine repast’,73 illustrating once again the tendency of cultic terms to evolve out of everyday language.74 The fact that the ‘logogram’ was at times still pronounced as written (ki-kaˇs-gar-ra)75 strongly suggests that gizbun is an alternate reading of the signs, and hence a loan-word from Akkadian, rather than vice versa.76 Since the cultic meal in question is most at home in Mari, at or near the border between the Mesopotamian and the biblical worlds, its evidence may be added to that of the other common features of funerary practices and beliefs as yet further testimony to the interconnectedness of the entire ancient Near East.

Hallo, ‘Royal Ancestor Worship’, p. 392 and n. 69. Cf. e.g. Lugalbanda I ll. 365 and 367 for which see W.W. Hallo, ‘Lugalbanda Excavated’, in J.M. Sasson (ed.), Studies . . . Dedicated to Samuel Noah Kramer (AOS, 65; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1984), repr. from JAOS 103 (1983), pp. 165– 180, here: VII.1, esp. pp. 174 and 178–179. 73 Cf. Hallo, ‘Lugalbanda Excavated’, and idem, ‘The Origins of the Sacrificial Cult: New Evidence from Mesopotamia and Israel’, in P.D. Miller et al. (eds.), Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), pp. 3–13, here: VII.2, esp. p. 9, for the significance of the equation for the given context. 74 Cf. B.A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord: A Study of Cult and some Cultic Terms in Ancient Israel (SJLA, 5; 1974), esp. pp. 8–20. 75 Cf. M. Civil, ‘The Anzu-Bird and Scribal Whimsies’, JAOS 92 (1972), p. 271. 76 For the Semitic etymologies proposed for kispum, see Tsukimoto, Untersuchungen, pp. 23–26. 71 72

vii.4 ENKI AND THE THEOLOGY OF ERIDU*

Three discrete ideologies may be identified in Sumer: the theologies of Nippur, Lagash, and Eridu. In focusing on the god Enki, the book under review provides the first systematic survey of the third of these theologies. That such a survey can be offered for one major Mesopotamian deity attests to the maturing of Assyriology.

Ancient Egytian religion viewed the world through three discrete intellectual perspectives which modern Egyptologists have labeled the theologies of Thebes, Heliopolis, and Memphis.1 Similarly, the older Mesopotamian Weltanschauungen can be subsumed under three headings best described as the theologies of Nippur, Lagash, and Eridu.2 The first and oldest of these theologies centered upon Enlil, effectively the head of the Sumerian pantheon, and reflected conditions in Early Dynastic times, a period when Nippur, Enlil’s cult city, also served as the religious center of a league of all Sumer (Jacobsen’s “Kengir League”)3 and later, under the Sargonic and Ur III Dynasties, of Sumer and Akkad.4 It survived into Old Babylonian times when the First Dynasty of Isin tried to present itself as the heir to all Sumerian traditions since the Flood. It was enshrined at this time in the Neo-Sumerian canon as fixed in the scribal schools, particularly at * Review article of: Myths of Enki, the Crafty God. By Samuel Noah Kramer and John Maier. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989. Pp. viii + 272. 1 Cf., e.g., James P. Allen, Genesis in Egypt: the Philosophy of Ancient Egyptian Creation Accounts, Yale Egyptological Studies, 2 (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1988), 62. 2 W.W. Hallo, “The Limits of Skepticism,” JAOS 110 (1990): 187–199, esp. pp. 197 f.; idem, “Sumerian Religion,” in kinatt¯utu ˇsa d¯arâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume, ed. Anson F, Rainey, Tel Aviv Occasional Publications, 1 (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv Univ. Press, 1993), 15–35, here: I.6, esp. pp. 26 f. 3 Cf. W.W. Hallo and W.K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: A History (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovitch, 1971), 38 f. and 43. For even earlier evidence of such a league, see now Roger J. Matthews, Cities, Seals and Writing: Archaic Seal Impressions from Jemdet Nasr and Ur, Materialien zu den frühen Schriftzeugnissen des Vorderen Orients, 2 (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1993). 4 In the words of the (Sargonic) hymn to the temple of Enlil in Nippur, “your right and your left hand are Sumer and Akkad”; cf. Hallo, “Sumerian Religion,” 26, here: I.6.

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Nippur.5 In addition to the hymns, lamentations, and other genres on Enlil and/or his consort Ninlil (or Sud6 or even Ashnan),7 the theology of Nippur is exemplified primarily in the Nippur recension of the Sumerian King List.8 The theology of Lagash revolved around Ningirsu, “the lord of Girsu,” the capital city of the Lagash city-state, a leading actor in the outgoing Early Dynastic Period and once again in the late Sargonic Period. Lagash was dormant, if not actually suppressed, in the Ur III and early Isin Periods but surfaced once more under the Dynasty of Larsa thereafter. It is reflected in myths about Ninurta (who took Ningirsu’s place in the Nippur curriculum);9 in hymns to Ningirsu’s consort Bau or to the goddess Nanshe who was “born in Eridu,”10 but whose cult center had moved from Eridu to Lagash, more specifically to Nina (Sirara);11 in non-Nippur versions of the Sumerian King List, which prefixed an antediluvian section featuring Larsa; and finally in a polemical parody of the Nippur recension of the Sumerian King List, which described the history of the world entirely in terms of Lagash.12 The theology of Eridu centered on the cult of Enki, the “junior Enlil” (Enlil-banda)13 of the Sumerian tradition, equated with Ea of the Akkadian tradition. His cult center was at Eridu, and Eridu was the oldest city in fact as well as in tradition (Sumerian, Akkadian, and even Hebrew).14 It was thus possible to claim a hoary antiquity for this 5 W.W. Hallo, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” in Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen, ed. Stephen J. Lieberman, Assyriological Studies, 20 (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1975), 181–203, here: I.4. 6 Miguel Civil, “Enlil and Ninlil: The Marriage of Sud,” JAOS 103 (1983): 43–66. 7 W.G. Lambert apud Civil, ibid., 64–66. 8 W.W. Hallo, “Beginning and End of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur Recension,” JCS 17 (1963): 52–57, here: VI.1. For the latest study of this recension, see Jacob Klein, “A New Nippur Duplicate of the Sumerian Kinglist . . . ,” Aula Orientalis 9 (1991): 123–129. 9 W.W. Hallo, review of Jerrold S. Cooper, The Return of Ninurta to Nippur, JAOS 101 (1981): 253–257. 10 Wolfgang Heimpel, “The Nanshe Hymn,” JCS 33 (1981): 65–139, esp. pp. 82 f., line 8. 11 W.W. Hallo, “Back to the Big House: Colloquial Sumerian, Continued,” Or. 54 (1985): 62, here: IX.1, based on Temple Hymn no. 22, for which see Åke W. Sjöberg and E. Bergmann, The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns, TCS, 3 (Locust Valley, N.Y.: J.J. Augustin, 1969), 33. 12 E. Sollberger, “The Rulers of Lagash,” JCS 21 (1967): 279–291. 13 Cf., e.g., p. 90, line 14 of the book under review. 14 W.W. Hallo, “Antediluvian Cities,” JCS 23 (1970): 57–67, esp. p. 64; idem, “Information from Before the Flood: Antediluvian Notes from Babylonia and Israel,” Maarav 7 (1991): 173–181, esp. p. 174.

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theology, though, in fact, it was probably not systematized before the middle of the Old Babylonian Period and the rise to prominence of Babylon. Here Marduk, the local deity, was equated with Asar-luhi, the ˘ son of Enki, and turned, like his Sumerian prototype, into a patron of incantation and magic. The Sumerian flood story, in which Enki bests Enlil to assure the survival of humankind,15 was modified to provide a new antediluvian prologue, beginning with Eridu, to the Sumerian King List. A whole host of myths focusing on Enki developed the theme of his solicitude for humanity as a counterweight to the terror inspired by Enlil and his unalterable “word.” The book under review speaks of a “theology of Ea” (p. 146). It does not operate with the notion of a “theology of Eridu,” but it provides for the first time a systematic survey of the Sumerian and Akkadian literary texts that go to make it up, i.e., the myths and other compositions about Enki/Ea. It is the product of a collaboration between Samuel Noah Kramer, the late dean of Sumerology, and John Maier, a professor of English at the State University of New York at Brockport. Their respective roles are partially delineated in the introduction (pp. 17 f.). Maier is the coeditor of two volumes of essays on the Bible.16 He is known to Assyriologists chiefly through his contribution to the second Kramer Festschrift17 and through his collaboration with the poet John Gardner (and the Assyriologist Richard A. Henshaw) in the preparation of a new and rather imaginative rendition of the Gilgamesh Epic.18 He has also addressed the American Oriental Society on the subject of “Enki Speaks” (cf. p. 193) and has written on “Three Voices of Enki” (p. 244, n. 42).19 The present book is the outgrowth of these essays, according to the introduction, which seems to be at least in part Maier’s.

15 M. Civil, “The Sumerian Flood Story,” apud W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard, Atra-has¯ıs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), 138–145, ˘ 167–172. Civil, however, considers this text as possibly late and secondary; cf. ibid., 139. 16 The Bible in Its Literary Milieu: Contemporary Essays, ed. Vincent I. Tollers and John R. Maier (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979); eidem, Mappings of the Biblical Terrain; The Bible as Text (Lewisburg, Pa.: Bucknell Univ, Press, 1990). 17 John R. Maier, “Charles Olson and the Poetic Uses of Mesopotamian Scholarship,” JAOS 103 (1983): 227–235. 18 John Gardner and John Maier, Gilgamesh (New York: Knopf, 1984). 19 J. Maier, “Three voices of Enki: Strategies in the Translation of Archaic Literature,” Comparative Criticism 6 (1984): 101–117.

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In the rest of the book, Kramer is responsible for the translation of all the Sumerian myths (chapters one through five) and other literary genres (chapter six), most of them more or less revised versions of his earlier editions. Many of these, in their time, were pioneering efforts that first revealed these compositions to the world of scholarship. Maier appears to be responsible for the translation and discussion of the later literary traditions about Enki/Ea in Sumero-Akkadian bilinguals and in other works in Akkadian, Hittite, Hebrew, Greek, and even beyond (chapters seven through nine). A final chapter (by Maier?) deals more generally with “myth and literature” (chapter ten). Between them, the authors have omitted relatively little of relevance. Of the secondary literature, one misses particularly the dissertation of Hannes D. Galter.20 Among the more notable textual omissions is the composition known by its ancient title (incipit) as nin-mul-an-gim, which describes “The Blessing of Nisaba by Enki”.21 For the sake of completeness, the admittedly fragmentary text described by Gadd as “part of a myth in Akkadian concerning principally the god Ea”22 might have been presented. And the corpus of compositions has grown in the meantime with “A Litany for Enki.”23 Secondary literature about the deity since the book’s appearance includes studies by Cooper,24 Limet,25 and Vogelzang.26 But even without these omissions and additions, Myths of Enki presents a rich feast. It serves as testimony to the maturing of Assyriology: the field has arrived at a new plateau when a comprehensive survey 20 “Der Gott Ea/Enki in der akkadischen Überlieferung: Eine Bestandsaufnahme des vorhandenen Materials” (Ph.D. diss., Karl-Franzen-Universität Graz., 1983). 21 W.W. Hallo, “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry,” CRRA 17 (1970): 116–134, here: I.2. (Abbreviations of text series follow Erica Reiner, ed., The Assyrian Dictionary of ˇ Part II [Chicago: The Oriental the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, vol. 17: S, Institute, 1992], ix–xxvi.) For the latest additions to this composition, sec CT 58, no. 47; and A. Cavigneaux and F. al-Rawi, “New Sumerian Literary Texts from Tell Hadad (Ancient Meturan): A First Survey,” Iraq 55 (1993): 95. 22 UET VI.2, 396 and p. 7. 23 A.R. George, “Babylonian texts from the Folios of Sidney Smith, Part One,” RA 82 (1988): 139–162, esp. pp. 155–161. 24 Jerrold S. Cooper, “Enki’s Members: Eros and Irrigation in Sumerian Literature,” in DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, ed. Hermann Behrens et al., Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund, 11 (Philadelphia: The University Museum, 1989), 87–89. 25 Henri Limet, “Les Fantaisies du dieu Enki: Essai sur les techniques de la narration dans les mythes,” ibid., 357–365. 26 M.E. Vogelzang, “The Cunning of Ea and the Threat to Order,” Jaarbericht . . . Ex Oriente Lux 31 (1989–1990): 66–76.

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can be offered for the figure of a single Mesopotamian deity among the dozen major ones and the more than five thousand lesser ones that make up the Sumero-Akkadian pantheon.27 And when we recall that, in Mesopotamia, deification was the functional equivalent of generalization or of abstract conceptualization,28 then the equation of “the myths of Enki” with “the theology of Eridu” is not so farfetched. The following detailed comments may be added here. P. 7: “The first inkling of its existence” (i.e., that of Sumerian literature) dates not to 1875 and the first edition of Rawlinson’s The Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia, vol. IV, as stated here and elsewhere,29 but to 1873, when Lenormant began the publication of a sizable body of bilingual texts.30 P. 88: Whether Aratta is “now part of Iran” may be debated. One authority thinks so,31 but another places it in Afghanistan,32 and a third regards it as an essentially imaginary locale.33 Pp. 92–94: For “crafty” in this hymn (ll. 1, 12, 20, 27) the original has galam, which Kramer (p. 237) equates with Akkadian naklu. Presumably this is the inspiration for the title of the book. Sjöberg, in his original edition of the text, “Miscellaneous Sumerian Hymns,” ZA 63 (1973): 40–48, translated galam by “clever” in ll. 1 and 12, by “surpassing” in l. 20, and by “(accomplishing) everything” in l. 27 (for kin-galam-ma ak). P. 105, ll. 42–45: for “the curse of his father/mother” in physiognomic omens and elsewhere, cf. W.W. Hallo, The Book of the People, Brown Judaic Studies, vol. 225 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 30 f. The theme is treated in early modern times by Jean-Baptiste Greuze (1725– 1805), La Malédiction paternelle. 27 The first edition of Anton Deimel’s Pantheon Babylonicum (Rome: Pontifical Biblical ˇ IV.1) 5580 by actual Institute, 1914) listed 3300 divine names, but the second (= SL count (5367 net after subtracting cross-references). 28 Hallo and Simpson, The Ancient Near East: A History, 171. 29 E.g., S.N. Kramer, From the Poetry of Sumer: Creation, Glorification, Adoration (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1979), 1. 30 François Lenormant, Études accadiennes (Paris: Maison-neuve, 1873–1879). Cf. already Hallo, “Toward a History,” 181, here: I.4. 31 Yousef Majizadeh, “The Land of Aratta,” JNES 35 (1976): 105–113. 32 J.F. Hansman, “The Question of Aratta,” JNES 37 (1978): 331–336. 33 Piotr Michalowski, “Mental Maps and Ideology: Reflections on Subartu,” in The Origin of Cities in Dry-Farming Syria and Mesopotamia in the Third Millennium bc, ed. Harvey Weiss (Guilford, Conn.: Four Quarters Publishing Co., 1986), 129–156, esp. p. 131.

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P. 107, l. 72: For Nindinugga, the “Woman who Revives the Dead” in Shurpu,34 cf. already the inscription of Enlil-bani of Isin dedicated to Nintinuga as nin-ti-la-ug5-ga, “the mistress who revives the (near-) dead.”35 The same epithet, applied to Ninisina in a hymnal prayer,36 was translated by Kramer as “queen of the living and the dead.”37 P. 112: The incantation against the seven evil gods from Utukki Limnuti XVI is reminiscent of that in the fifth tablet of the same series which inspired, indirectly, the Russian poem, “They Are Seven,” by Konstantin Balmont, set to music by Sergei Prokofiev.38 P. 116: It may be questioned whether adapu means “wise.” That Berossos’ Oannes is derived from Sumerian u4-an-na (thus rather than uma-an-na) and is “none other than Adapa” has long been clear from the compound forms umun-a-da-pà,39 u4-an-na-a-da-pà,40 and u4-mad a-num-a-da-pà.41 Pp. 138 f.: “The exaltation of Kingu”—if this characterization of the passage in question is granted—provides an interesting new example of “the typology of divine exaltation.”42 The pericope occurs in the second chapter (tablet) of Enuma Elish, the composition conventionally known as the “Babylonian Epic of Creation,” but which would be better entitled, “The Exaltation of Marduk” (cf. pp. 172 f.).43 P. 145: The term nagbu, “everything,” is not “ordinarily ‘groundwater’ or ‘depth’.” Rather we may be dealing here with two homophones. The same ambiguity occurs in the opening line of the canonical version

ˇ Erica Reiner, Surpu, 36–38. W.W. Hallo, “Oriental Institute Museum Notes, no. 10: The Last Years of the Kings of Isin,” JNES 18 (1959): 54. Cf. now Douglas R. Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 bc), The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods, 4 (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1990), 82 f. 36 OECT 5, no. 8, line 21. 37 Ibid, p. 21. 38 See Sasson apud Maier, “The Poetic Uses of Mesopotamian Scholarship,” 235. 39 ABL 923, 1. 8; cf. W.W. Hallo, “On the Antiquity of Sumerian Literature,” JAOS 83 (1963): 176, n. 83, here: II.1. 40 W.G. Lambert. “A Catalogue of Texts and Authors,” JCS 16 (1962): 59–77, esp. pp. 64 f., l. 6. 41 Verse Account of Nabonidus ii 3; cf. Paul-Alain Beaulieu, The Reign of Nabonidus, King of Babylon 556–539 bc, Yale Near Eastern Researches (hereafter, YNER), 10 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 218; cf. ibid., 215 and n. 47. 42 W.W. Hallo and. J.J.A. van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna. YNER, 3 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), ch. 6. 43 Ibid., 66 f.: cf. already J. van Dijk, “L’Hymne à Marduk avec interecession pour le roi Ab¯ı"e˘suh,” MIO 12 (1966–1967): 57 (“L’Exaltation de Marduk”). ˘ 34 35

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of Gilgamesh (“He Who Saw Everything”) where, however, Maier failed to note it, since he allowed Gardner (above, note 18) to translate there unambiguously “the one who saw the abyss.” A defense of this translation was provided by Kilmer.44 P. 155: It is perhaps a bit surprising to see Sumerian influence claimed for Psalm 104, more often regarded as the biblical psalm most indebted to Egyptian models.45 P. 159: The concept of “intertextuality” was introduced to the literary criticism of cuneiform sources by Erica Reiner in 1985 and has been invoked by Assyriologists quite often since then.46 P. 161: While it is true that the biblical version of the Flood has no particular role for the flood-hero’s wife and daughter, one may note the intertestamental tradition that made the first sibyl a daughter-in-law of Noah. For post-biblical traditions about Noah’s wife, see pp. 162– 165. P. 189: The reference here and on pp. 193 f. is to the text translated by Kramer on pp. 77–82 and transliterated by him on pp. 228–231. For the couplet “You are (or: he is) true with those who are true/not true with those who are not true” (l. 139), cf. the proverbial saying, “With the liar he acts the liar, with the truthful one he acts truthfully.”47 P. 192: Helga Piesl’s theory of “the emergence of anthropomorphic... forms of the divine in Sumer” has been roundly criticized by Hruˇska.48 Typographical corrections are called for on pp. 1 (chapter 6, not 7), 11 (Altra-has¯ıs), 84 (of of its hand), 85 (it awesomeness), 94 (delete ˘ note 25), 104 (actually, not actual), 116 (seen the plan, not been the plan), 117 (takkabu, not takkakbu), 121 (chapter 8, not 6), 154 (denonced),

44

Anne Draffkorn Kilmer, “A Note on an Overlooked Word-Play in the Akkadian Gilgamesh,” in zikir ˇsumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus . . . . ed. G. van Driel et al. (Leiden E.J. Brill, 1982): 128–132, esp. p. 131. 45 Cf., e.g., R.J. Williams, “The Hymn to Aten,” in Documents from Old Testament Times, ed. D. Winton Thomas (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1958), 142–150. 46 W.W. Hallo, “Proverbs Quoted in Epic,” in Lingering Over Words: Studies . . . in Honor of William L. Moran, ed. Tzvi Abusch et al., Harvard Semitic Studies, 37 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 203–217, here: VIII.4, esp. pp. 1 f. and nn. 8 f. Add W.L. Moran. “Some Considerations of Form and Interpretation in Atra-has¯ıs,” in Language, Literature ˘ AOS, 67 (New Haven: and History: . . . Studies . . . Reiner, ed. F. Rochberg-Halton, American Oriental Society, 1987), 253. 47 Hallo, “Proverbs Quoted in Epic,” 214, here: VIII.4. 48 B. Hruˇska, “Zur Geschichte der sumerischen Religion: Die Grenzen einer Methode,” Archív Orientální 39 (1971): 190–199.

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157 (charism), 180 (undersand), 208 (effectiveness), 224 (William K. Hallo), 235 (rstorations), 235 (ZA 49 [1950], not CA 49 [1930]), 237 (ZA, not AZ), 240 (Erne zweisprachige Königsritual), 256 (úinnush). As these comments and suggestions imply, Myths of Enki, the Crafty God is worthy of careful study and eventual reprinting.

vii.5 URBAN ORIGINS IN CUNEIFORM AND BIBLICAL SOURCES (FOUNDING MYTHS OF CITIES IN THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST: MESOPOTAMIA AND ISRAEL)1

Mesopotamia is indeed, in A. Leo Oppenheim’s felicitous phrase, a “land of many cities.”2 It therefore properly belongs in any survey of urbanism in antiquity. Professor Azara and the other organizers of this conference and exhibit are to be congratulated on recognizing this fact. They have given Mesopotamia equal billing with Greece and Rome, the twin foci of classical antiquity. But in setting as the theme of the conference the “founding myths of cities in the ancient world,” they have confronted their Assyriological colleagues with a challenge. Foundation myths, in the sense so familiar from the classical world, barely exist in pre-classical antiquity. The archaeologists and historians of the ancient Near East speaking here today have thus been permitted—and required—to expand their treatments beyond the original limits of the theme. Some have gone beyond myth to ritual; others have added the founding of temples and palaces to the founding of cities; I myself will include Israel as well as Mesopotamia in my purview. The organizers have themselves recognized the first of these modifications by subtitling the preliminary publication prepared for this meeting “Myths and Rituals in the Ancient World.”3 I have perused this publication with interest and profit, but my own remarks were composed without its benefit, and are here presented, on the whole, as originally prepared. Cities are an essential ingredient of civilization. Both words derive from the Latin civitas, “citizenry, city-state.” The importance of cities to

1 The substance o1 this paper was presented to the International Conference on “Founding Myths of Cities in the Ancient World.” Barcelona, June 8, 2000. under the direction of Professor Pedro Azara. 2 Oppenheim 1970. 3 Azara et. alii 2000.

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civilization is recognized in most modern treatments.4 It was acknowledged as well in ancient historiography and mythography. These two genres are difficult to disentangle in pre-classical antiquity. Both will therefore be taken up in what follows. The sources to be considered are preserved in Sumerian, Akkadian, and Hebrew. But rather than classify them by language, it is proposed to divide them according to other, internal criteria. The principal categories to be distinguished are: (1) versions of the “first city”; (2) the notion of “antediluvian cities”; (3) myths associated with the origins of specific Mesopotamian cities; (4) the case of Babylon; (5) tales of specific cities in Israel; (6) the case of Jerusalem. In conclusion, (7) a short comparison with a more modern mythologem will be attempted.

I. The “First City” The first city in Sumerian tradition was undoubtedly Eridu. This is stated in so many words, albeit negatively, in one of the oldest, if not the oldest, examples of Sumerian mythology—hence also one whose translation is beset with difficulties. Following Jan van Dijk, I translate lines 7 ff., as follows: “At that time Enki and Eridu(!) had not appeared Enlil did not exist Ninlil did not exist Brightness was dust Vegetation was dust The daylight did not shine The moonlight did not emerge.”5

In other words, the poet pictures a primordial time before day and night, before vegetation, before some of the great gods, and before any cities, even the first one, Eridu. True, the line mentioning Eridu (NUN.KI) is rendered differently in some translations. Sollberger, for example, rendered it “en ce temps-là, Enki ne créait plus dans Eridu.” Wilcke translated: “Damals wohnten die Herren der Orte, die Fürsten der Orte, noch nicht.” Alster echoed this with: “At that time the (divine) earth lord and the (divine) earth lady (NINI.KI) did not exist yet.” And even van Dijk modified his 4 5

E.g. Hallo 1996, ch. I; Hallo and Simpson 1998. ch. II. Hallo 1996:14.

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earlier reading from NUN.KI to nun-ki, i.e., presumably, from “Eridu” to “prince(s) of the earth/place(s).”6 But if these scholars have succeeded in recovering the original understanding of the line, that understanding must have been lost long ago. The bilingual myth7 sometimes entitled “The Founding of Eridu,”8 or “The Eridu Story of Creation”9 which can be ascribed to (late) Kassite times (ca. 1400–1100 bce)10 includes a line that states (in Heidel’s translation): “The Apsu had not been made. Eridu had not been built.” Since the deity Enki is intimately associated with the Apsu, we have here a virtual equivalent of the older version. The myth in its full form makes it clear that Eridu was built when “No holy house, no house of the gods, had (yet) been made in a holy place; No reed had sprung up, no tree had been created; No brick had been laid, no brick-mold had been built; No house had been made, no city had been built; No city had been made, no living creature had been placed (therein); Nippur had not been made, Ekur had not been built; Uruk had not been made, Eanna had not been built; The Apsu had not been made, Eridu had not been built; No holy house, no house for the gods, its dwelling, had been made; All the lands were sea;”

and then goes on to describe the foundation of Eridu (see below). The priority of Eridu, explicit and detailed in the mythography, is dealt with implicitly and summarily in the historiography. Three texts stand out here. The first is the “Sumerian King List.” This exists in (at least) two versions, one shorter and the other longer. The shorter, or canonical, version is the Nippur recension. It begins with the flood, and names Kish as the first city to house kingship after the flood, if not the first city altogether.11 But this is part and parcel of the “theology of

6

Ibid. It is by no means certain that, in this case, the Sumerian is original and the Akkadian secondary. Note e.g. KI.MIN in the first line of the Sumerian, apparently referring to the ina aˇsri elli of the Immediately preceding Akkadian! 8 So Borger 1975:126 ad CT 13:35–38; differently Borger 1967:225 ad loc. 9 So Heidel 1942:49; differently Heidel 1951:61. 10 Falkenstein 1953, nn. 57 f. This relatively early date is supported, i.a., by the peculiar arrangement of the bilingual text, with the Akkadian in the middle between the two halves of the Sumerian line, and typically (though not universally) separated from it by a Glossenkeil at the beginning of the insertion; cf. Hallo 1996:159 f. 11 Hallo 1963, here: VI.1. 7

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Nippur,” seeking to deny and supplant the claims of the “theology of Eridu.”12 The longer version begins in antediluvian times, and here we are told unambiguously: “When kingship came down from heaven The kingship was in Eridu.”

The same tradition is preserved in the Sumerian Flood Story, or “Eridu Genesis,” as Thorkild Jacobsen called it. Here we read, in Jacobsen’s translation:13 “When the royal scepter was coming down from heaven, the august crown and the royal throne being already down from heaven. he (the king) regularly performed to perfection the august divine services and offices, laid the bricks of those cities in pure spots. They were named by name and allotted half-bushel baskets.14 The firstling of those cities, Eridu, she (Nintur) gave to the leader Nudimmud (Enki).”

As in the case of the mythography, the historiography preserves this tradition also in later, bilingual form. Thus we read, in the “Dynastic Chronicle,” with the restorations by Finkel:15 “After they (i.e. the great gods) lowered kingship from Heaven, After kingship descended from Heaven, Kingship was in Eridu.”

The latest exemplars of this chronicle (“Chronicle 18” in Grayson’s scheme), and its antediluvian section in particular, date to the Late Babylonian period, i.e. ca. 500–300 bce. But the cuneiform sources are not alone in preserving into late preChristian times the tradition of Eridu as the first city. I have long argued that the primeval history in Genesis did likewise.16 As I understand the successive etiologies of Genesis 4, they are completely parallel. Thus I read in verses 1–2: “And the man (ha-adam) knew Chava his wife, and she conceived and bore Qayin for she said: Hallo 1996a. Apud Hallo 1996:5; COS 1 (1997) 514. 14 For other interpretations of Sumerian kab-du ..-ga see Hallo 1985:26 and n. 24, 11 here: VIII.3; 1996:5 f. and nn. 33–38; Civil 1994:153–166. 15 Finkel 1980; cf. Hallo 1988:184 f. 16 Hallo 1970:64; 1996:10 f.; Hallo and Simpson 1971:32 = 1998:28. 12 13

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I have acquired (q¯anîti) a man with the Lord. And she continued to bear his brother, Hevel, and Hevel became the (first) herder of sheep but Qayin became the (first) cultivator of the ground.”

And likewise in verse 17: “And Qayin knew his wife, and she conceived and bore Chanoch, and he became the (first) builder of a city, and he called the name of the city like the name of his son—did Chanoch.”

Generations of translators and exegetes have taken Qayin (Cain) for the first city builder in the Biblical tradition, and Chanoch (Enoch) for the name of his city—misled, no doubt, by the peculiar repetition of the name Chanoch at the end of the verse. They ignored the parallelism with verses 1–2, the previous generation, where the etiology concerns the domestication of plants and animals, innovations unambiguously attributed to the sons—since there are two of them. But Qayin has only one son, hence the ambiguity about the subject of “he became the (first) builder of a city, and he called the name of the city like the name of his son.” But there is no city-name that remotely resembles the name Chanoch anywhere in ancient Near Eastern tradition. By contrast, the name of Chanoch’s son—#Irad—is close indeed to Eridu—and it is a name which defies all other explanations. Among the few Biblical scholars who have taken notice of my suggestion are Robert Wilson and Patrick Miller, the latter even accepting it.17 It may be worth noting that this reading of the Biblical text was not entirely lost to mind in post-Biblical exegesis. It is preserved in the book of Al-Asatir, a medieval Samaritan text dating ca. 1000 CE. My colleague Steven Fraade informs me that, in “chap. 2, each of Adam’s antediluvian descendants is associated with the building of a city, some of which are named for the builder’s son . . .. This tradition attributes the building of the first city to Enoch the son of Cain and not to Cain”;18 he notes, however, that Cain is the builder of seven cities in a tradition preserved by Pseudo-Philo in his Biblical Antiquities, which dates to the first century ce.19 Wilson 1977: 138–141; Miller 1985:157 f. and n. 9. Gaster 1927:196. Note, however, that the first chapter of this work already speaks of cities inhabited by Cain (pp. 186, 190) and Adam (pp. 192, 194). 19 The first of which was named after his son Enoch (II 3): cf. Kisch 1949:113. 17 18

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To return to the cuneiform sources, there are some other claimants to the role of first city, notably Ku"ara, Babylon, Dilmun and especially Nippur, but none of these claims carry much weight. (For Kish, see above.) Ku"ara is substituted for Eridu in one exemplar of the Sumerian King List, but the city in question is so near to Eridu as to be readily identified with it.20 It may even have been a part of Eridu.21 Babylon is substituted for Eridu in the Babyloniaca of Berossos, hardly a very reliable witness.22 For Dilmun the evidence is at best circumstantial, and comes mainly from the myth of “Enki and Ninhursag.”23 Dilmun was a land as well as a city, and embraced, on one estimate, the island of Bahrein in the middle of the Persian Gulf, the island of Failaka at the head of the Gulf, as well as the Arabian littoral lying between them. As such it may well have served as a way-station for the Sumerians, or some of those who later constituted the Sumerians, on their presumed voyage from a more distant prior home to Sumer. The beginning of the myth lends credence to this assumption by picturing Dilmun as a virtual paradise, hence set beyond the borders of Sumer. (Just so, the Biblical paradise was set outside of Israel—curiously enough within Sumer, i.e. in the edin.) It begins, in Jacobsen’s translation:24 “Pure is the city— and you are the ones to whom it is allotted! Pure is Dilmun land! Pure is Sumer— and you are the ones to whom it is allotted! Pure is Dilmun land!”

And it continues with “Dilmun at the beginning of time.” The claim of Nippur is more explicit. The myth of “Enlil and Ninlil” is set there and begins “Is it not the city, is it not the city?” (uru naAl-Rawi and Black 1993. Cf. also Steinkeller 1980. Hallo apud Finkestein 1963:46, n. 22. 22 See the translation by Burstein 1978:18, with n. 29. 23 Latest edition by Attinger 1984. Cf. the rather divergent recent translations by Jacobsen 1987:181–204 and Kramer 1989 ch. 1. 24 Jacobsen takes the first four lines to be direct addresses to visitors from Dilmun at the court in Sumer, and that court respectively. Attinger takes them to be imperatives meaning “distribute them (i.e. the cities, resp. the land) to them (i.e., probably, the gods)”. 20 21

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nam uru na-nam), referring to Nippur.25 However, the “Nanshe hymn” begins with the exact same words, and is referring to the city of Nina.26 The Old Sumerian collection of temple hymns begins with Nippur, the city as old as Heaven itself, reaching to heaven, perhaps even deified in it own right.27 Over against this must be set the neo-Sumerian collection of temple hymns, which begins with Eridu.28 The claims of Nippur are advanced on the basis of two additional literary passages by Joan Goodnick Westenholz in a recent publication. One is an almost casual reference to its brickwork in a hymn to Nippur by Ishme-Dagan of Isin; she says that the lines “in all the brickwork established in the land, Your brickwork is the primary brickwork” (sig4[!]-zu sig4 sag-bi-im) “should be taken as an allusion to the tradition of Nippur as the first city.”29 But it should be noted that the latest editor of this hymn understands the allusion rather as referring to the superlative character of Nippur’s brickwork, and not to its priority.30 Westenholz further argues that the Uzumua myth, also known as the Myth of the Pickaxe, describes Nippur as the original city.31 But in the first place this composition is less a myth than an exercise in scribal virtuosity, a “Lehrgedicht” according to Claus Wilcke, whose mythological part, and especially its cosmological introduction, has to be taken cum grano salis.32 In the second place, in placing the creation of mankind in “the place where the flesh (i.e. of man) came forth, resp. grew forth” (uzu-è-a, uzu-mú-a), this version of matters differs from all other Sumerian conceptions of the creation of mankind. In the third place, while uzu-mú-a is indeed located in Nippur, it does not follow that Nippur already existed when mankind was, according to this version of matters, created there; it is in fact equally plausible to regard Nippur as having grown up around the site venerated in this tradition as that place. If that is the case it would represent an implicit foundation myth—and a unique one at that.

Jacobsen 1987:171 translates: “It was just a city, just a city.” See the latest translation by W. Heimpel, COS 1:526–531. Earlier translation by Jacobsen 1987:125–142. 27 Hallo 1996:4. 28 Sjöberg and Bergmann 1969. 29 Westenholz 1998a:49. 30 Ludwig 1990:100: “Unter allen Ziegelbauten, die im Lande errichtet sind, ist deiner der hervorragendste.” 31 Westenholz 1998a:46. Latest (partial) translation by Farber 1997. 32 Wilcke 1972:5–36. 25 26

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vii.5. urban origins in cuneiform and biblical sources II. Antediluvian Cities

Eridu was thus the first of all cities in the Mesopotamian tradition, or in most of it. But it was not the only antediluvian city. There were others. Their number, names and sequence vary somewhat in the various exemplars of the Sumerian King List and in other sources, as follows (= means: same as entry to the left):33 WB44434 Eridu Bad-tibira Larak Sippar Shuruppak

WB62 Kuara Larsa = = = =

UCBC Eridu

Ni.3195 lost

Chr. 18 lost

Berossos35 Babylon

=

Larak Bad-tibira rest lost

Bad-tibira Sippar Larak =

Pautibiblon

= =

Laragchos

The number of the cities is five in all the most reliable texts where these are completely preserved, and this number can probably be restored where they are not. It is increased by one in WB 62, a Larsa version of the Sumerian King List where local pride evidently dictated the insertion of Larsa. It is decreased by one in UCBC, a casual schoolboy’s version, apparently through simple omission. It is decreased by two in the late Hellenistic version tradited under the name of Berossos. The substitution of Kuara and Babylon for Eridu has been discussed above. Otherwise the names agree in all sources as far as preserved. As for the order of the names, this is relatively fixed as to the first and last members of the series. No doubt this is due to firm notions, preserved outside the antediluvian schemes, as to the first of all cities36 and as to the home of the flood-hero. The maximum divergence occurs in the middle of the sequence, which seems to be arranged more or less at random. Similar discrepancies in another historiographical text, the “History of the Tummal,” can best be interpreted as implying the essential contemporaneity of the kings in question; perhaps this analogy allows us to see the three cities as more or less contemporary, rather 33 Hallo 1996:8 f. See already Finkelstein 1963:45 f. with Table 1, and Finkel 1980 for the Dynastic Chronicle (“Chronicle 18”). The King List from Uruk published by van Dijk 1962:44–52 does not contain the names of the cities. 34 The same configuration also in the “Eridu Genesis” (above, note 13). 35 Ni. 3195 was meantime published (in transliteration) by Kraus 1952:31; for Berossos see the edition by Burstein 1978. 36 See above for the “Founding of Eridu.”

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than successive seats of kingship. But it may be preferable to maintain the notion of eight successive kings ruling in five different cities for a total of eight generations. At 25 years per generation, the resulting 200 years would accord reasonably well with the archaeological evidence, according to which a period of about that length, sometimes identified as the Jemdet Nasr period, marked the transition from the end of the proto-historic or Uruk period to the fully historic Early Dynastic period.

III. The Origins of Specific Mesopotamian Cities There are comparatively few myths about the founding of specific Mesopotamian cities, especially in comparison to the abundance of the genre in classical antiquity. I will dispense with remarks about Akkad, except to note that its foundation is credited to Sargon of Akkad in three slightly divergent texts, all known only in first millennium copies. In the Late Babylonian “Chronicle of Early Kings,” we read (with Grayson): “He (Sargon) dug up the dirt of the pit (eper esê issuh) of Babylon and made a counterpart (GABA.RI = mihir) of Babylon next to (itê) Agade.”37 In the “Weidner Chronicle,” now seen to constitute a (fictitious) letter from a king of Isin to a king of Babylon (or Larsa?),38 we read: “he (Sargon) [neglected] the word which Bel(?) spoke; he took earth from his pit (eper sˇatpîˇsu is(s)uh) and built a city opposite (ina mahrat) Agade; and called its name Babylon.”39 In a fragmentary passage of the neo-Assyrian omen collection, we read: “Omen of Sargon who by this ominous sign (UZU = sˇ¯ıru) [exercised] power [and] Babylon [ . . .] to him and he dug up the [earth] of xxx and [next to/opposite?] Agade built a city and called its name Babylon.”40 I will also pass over the cities of Assyria, the subject of Sylvie Lackenbacher’s presentation, and consider just three candidates, from the third, second and first millennia respectively.

Grayson 1975:153 f. Al-Rawi 1990; previously Grayson 1975:43–45, 145–151, 285; Finkel 1980:72–75, 78, 80. 39 Al-Rawi 1990:10. Al-Rawi proposes an emendation to: “built a city opposite Babylon; and called its name Agade.” 40 Cf. Grayson 1975:153, note to 18 f. 37 38

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The oldest foundation myth allegedly concerns a city written with the sign UNKIN.(KI). According to Giovanni Pettinato,41 an Old Sumerian text from Shuruppak deals with the foundation of this city. The geographical problems raised by this assumption, involving as it does territories of Adab, Lagash and Umma, were recognized by others.42 But even if, by chance, the text deals with the foundation of a city, it is only a simple archival account, certainly not a canonical text, let alone a myth. For the founding of Eridu, we pick up the story where we left it (above): “All the lands were sea; The spring which is in the midst of the sea was only a water-pipe; Then Eridu was made, Esagila was built— Esagila, whose foundation Lugaldukuga laid within the Apsu— Babylon was made, Esagila was completed . . . .”

As Avigdor Hurowitz has noted, this section of the myth (as well as lines 36–40) anticipates enuma elish in dating the building of Babylon to the time of creation.43 In some ways the most intriguing foundation myth comes from the latest period. It is often referred to as a theogony, specifically the theogony of Dunnum, for it combines both theogony and foundation myth.44 Jacobsen reedited the text under the title “The Harab Myth.”45 Although dating in its sole surviving exemplar from the Late Babylonian period, it deals with matters at the beginning of time, and seems to climax in the creation of the city or fortress called Dunnum. This is itself a generic name for fortress, and there are many different placenames that consist of or contain the word dunnum.46 A new theory would even have it that the text is an aetiology of the institution of rural fortifications.47 But in our case the reference appears to be to a specific Dunnum, namely the one named in the 29th date-formula of Rim-Sin of Larsa, i.e. 1795 bce in the middle chronology. Its fall to Rim-Sin ushered in the fall of the city of Isin the following year, and with it the fall Pettinato 1977. Pomponio and Visicato 1994:12 f.; cf. Selz 1998:307 n. 127. 43 Hurowitz 1992:94, n. 4. 44 Latest translation by Hallo, COS 1:402–404, which is followed here. 45 Jacobsen 1984. 46 Hallo 1970:66 n. 110. 47 Wiggerman 2000. I did not hear the lecture in person. Cf. also the institution of the fortified manor (dimtu) at Nuzi and in Kurruhanni: Al-Khalesi 1977:18. 41 42

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of the chief rival to Larsa. In the date formula, the city was described as the “lofty capital city” (uru-sag-mah) of Isin—or perhaps we can better understand it as its “bolt” (gamiru).48 The myth begins as follows: “In the beginning, [Harab married Earth.] Family and lord[ship he founded.] [Saying: “A]rable land we will carve out (of ) the plowed land of the country.” [With the p]lowing of their harbu-plows they cause the creation of Sea. [The lands plowed with the mayaru- pl]ow by themselves gave birth to Sumuqan. His str[onghold,] Dunnu, the eternal city, they created, both of them. Harab gave himself clear title to the lordship of Dunnu, but [Earth] lifted (her) face to Sumuqan, his son, and “Come here and let me make love to you!” she said to him. Sumuqan married his mother Earth and Hara[b his fa]ther he killed (and) In Dunnu which he loved he laid him to rest. Moreover Sumuqan took over the lordship of his father. Sea, his older sister, he married.”

There follow several more generations of sons killing fathers and mothers, and marrying sisters. All the principals bear names evocative of creation stories and of early stages of culture: Heaven, Earth, Sea, river, plow, domesticated animals, herdsman, pasture, fruit-tree, vine. Only the last pair, Haharnum and his son Hayyashum, so far do not answer to this description, but they recur as incipit of the “Marduk Prophecy” for which see below, as well as in a broken context.49 In contrast to Jacobsen,50 I take the opening words of the composition to be “in the beginning” (ina r¯esˇ ); they are not only reminiscent of the beginning of the Biblical account of creation in Genesis 1:1, but also recur as a title (incipit) twice in a late literary catalogue.51 That makes it the more reasonable to regard them as the opening words of the composition; the small break before them may have contained, if anything, only a rubric such as “incantation.”

48 So first suggested by Jacobsen 1934:116 (22) on the basis of CADG s.v., for which see meantime MSL 17:218:233. But CAD overlooked the same equation in MSL 6:30:293. noted by Salonen, Türen 75. 49 Hallo 1997:403, n. 11. 50 Jacobsen 1984:100 f. Cf. Hallo 1997:403, nn. 1, 14. 51 Van Dijk BaM Beiheft 2 (1980) 90:3 f.

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The rationale for assigning such a transcendent origin to Dunnu(m) may well be found in its various epithets. In the myth itself it is called s. a-a-tu, the eternal.52 On this see below. In a lexical text, it is equated with the “heavenly capital city” or perhaps the “pristine heavenly city” (uru-sag-an-na),53 and followed by an entry for “the fortress of the hunters” (URU-dun-nu-s. a-i-du) which is equated with what I take to be an allusion to the Gutian king Siaum (ˇsa Si-a-im),54 and which in turn bears comparison with Ishtar the huntress (s. a-i-[di-tu]) equated with Sumerian Inanna-[ˇsa-Si-a-im]KI.55 Most important is the evidence of the date formulas. The twentysecond year of Gungunum of Larsa is named for the construction of Dunnum and the digging of the Ishartum-canal, presumably passing through Dunnum.56 In the date formula for Rim-Sin 29, Dunnum is called the “bolt of Isin.”57 And indeed, its fall in 1794 ushered in that of Isin itself the next year.58 As translated above, the Theogony of Dunnum also refers to the city as “the eternal city,” and that epithet bears some further scrutiny. It is claimed by many different Mesopotamian cities, including Sippar, Babylon, Nippur and Uruk, as well as Ur, Eresh, Kullab, Kisiga and, in Assyria, Nineveh.59 If indeed Dunnum is counted in this exalted company, it may well be a fit subject for theogony.

IV. The Case of Babylon As we have seen, the Theogony of Dunnum shares its ancient title or incipit with the Biblical account of creation, and the Sumerian Flood Story shares its modern title of “Eridu Genesis,” bestowed on it by Jacobsen, with the Greek name of the first book of the Hebrew Bible. For this reading, against a-s. a-a-tam or perhaps s. a-pa-a-ta-am implied by Lambert’s “towers” and Grayson’s “pillars” see already Hallo 1970:66 and n. 112. Jacobsen 1984:14 entertains both possibilities. 53 See now MSL 17 (1985) 226:188. 54 Hallo 1971a;712 right. For Dunnu-sa"idi cf. also Unger 1931:138 and 261:39; Wise. man 1967:495–497. Wiseman’s text may be a late copy of a royal letter according to Grayson 1975a:6, n. 5. 55 Litke 1998:157 IV 120. 56 For the geographic implications, see most recently Frayne 1998:27. 57 See above, note 48. 58 For details and references see Hallo 2000. 59 For details and references see Hallo 2000. 52

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But it is the famous Babylonian “Epic of Creation” that is more widely known to modern readers as the “Babylonian Genesis.” This modern title is, however, something of a misnomer. The poem, it is true, recounts the creation of the world from the carcass of the monster Ti"amat (“Sea”) after her defeat by Marduk. But its main point is the reward bestowed on Marduk by the rest of the gods, and this consists of three parts: the acclamation of Marduk as head of the pantheon (V 77–116; VI 92–120);60 the building, with the help of all the gods, of his city of Babylon and of his temple Esagila (V 117–156; VI 39– 81) (together, presumably, with Etemenanki, its great temple-tower or ziqqurratu), and the proclamation (and elucidation) of the fifty names of Marduk (VI 121–VII 144). The poem can therefore be better entitled “The Exaltation of Marduk.” As such, it has ample precedent in Mesopotamian tradition, as well as an important parallel in the exaltation of Israel’s God at the Reed Sea in the Book of Exodus.61 And the key role played in the myth by the building of the deity’s city and temple can be paralleled not only in the Bible but widely across the entire ancient Near East, as Hurowitz has amply documented.62 The poem, known by its native incipit as enuma elish, was a regular part of the liturgy at Babylon. It formed an important element of the New Year’s ceremonies, and probably was recited as well on other days of the liturgical calendar.63 From the point of view of the present discussion, it is important to note that its etiology of the founding of Babylon puts this event almost immediately after creation, as Hurowitz has noted.64 The creation of mankind is in fact little more than a subsidiary theme in the middle of the story of the building of Babylon; it is intended in large part to relieve the (lesser) deities of their labors on behalf of Marduk (VI 1–38). This lends weight to the claims of Babylon to be, not only the first city (see above), but also the capital city or the eternal city. As such, it rates a degree of sanctity and centrality unmatched within Babylonia and comparable only to the role of Jerusalem in Biblical and post-Biblical perspective. These claims have been examined, for Jerusalem, in a book on that subject edited by Lee Levine which appeared last year, and compared there to Babylon’s

60 61 62 63 64

Numbering after Lambert 1966 and Foster 1993:381 ff. Hallo and van Dijk 1968, ch. 6; Mann 1977; Hallo 1991:53 f. and 136 f. Hurowitz 1992 ch. 5. Lambert 1968:107 f. based on Thureau-Dangin, Rituels Accadiens 136. Hurowitz 1992:94, n. 4 ad enuma eliˇsh VI 1–33 and 45–73 respectively.

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comparable claims by myself.65 The particular parallel which I sought to draw between the ideological status of these two cities revolved around their “inviolability.” This bears some scrutiny. Clearly neither Babylon nor Jerusalem enjoyed total immunity from attack or even destruction in actual historical fact, but in ideological terms both asserted a special status that commanded respect for lengthy periods of time. For Babylon this status is best revealed in two rather curious texts, the first a literary letter that was long thought of as a chronicle, the other a prophetic or perhaps better an apocalyptic text. The text long known as the “Weidner Chronicle” is now seen to be a literary letter.66 Its core is a chronicle-like sampling of historic rulers of various kingdoms in Mesopotamia whose fate varied according to how well or badly they treated Babylon, its temple and its deity. The survey begins with Akka of the first Dynasty of Kish, continues with Enme(r)kar of the First Dynasty of Uruk, Puzur-Nirah of Akshak, KuBau and Ur-Zababa of Kish II, Sargon and Naram-Sin of Akkad, the “horde” of Gutium, Utu-hegal of Uruk IV, and Shulgi, Amar-Suena and Shu-Sin of Ur, and ends with Sumu-la-il of Babylon. The other composition is the so-called Marduk prophecy, better described by its latest translator as an example of the genre of fictional autobiography.67 Here Marduk recounts in the first person his intermittent periods of enforced departure from his city, i.e. presumably the capture and exile of his cult statue. His absence means devastation for Babylon and prosperity for his temporary abode. But his restoration to Babylon reverses these terms, and the lesson is the same as that of the Weidner Chronicle: rulers violate the sanctity of Babylon at their peril. History bears out the lesson. Only three times in its long existence was Babylon’s inviolability flouted, and each time the perpetrator paid for his temerity. Murshili I the Hittite was unable to follow up his capture of the city ca. 1600 bce and had to rush back to his distant capital in order to save his throne. Tukulti-Ninurta I of Assyria, who took the kingship of Babylon for seven years and levelled the city ramparts, met a fiery death at the hands of rebels in his own capital city of Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta.68 Sennacherib leveled the whole city only Hallo 1999. See above at note 38. 67 Latest translation by Longman 1997. 68 Olmstead 1923:53. Tiglath-pileser I burned the palaces of Babylon according to ibid, 66. 65 66

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to be assassinated by his own sons—an event seen as retribution by the Chaldean kings of Babylon, perhaps even as inflicted by Marduk himself.69

V. Founding Myths of Specific Cities: Israel In its own native view, Israel regarded itself as a newcomer to the land of Canaan, whose cities were already old and established at the time of the Conquest. The Israelite role was to capture and often enough to destroy them, not to found them. Nevertheless, there are hints of foundation stories here and there, most of them connected to pre-conquest times, to the conquest or to the ensuing period of the Judges. The case of Hebron illustrates the point. “The name of Hebron was formerly Kiriath-arba; [Arab] was the great man among the Anakites”—so we read in Joshua 14:15 (with NJV; cf. also Joshua 15: 13, 21:11). With this tantalizing hint, the Bible provides us at once with an “explanation” for the double name of one of the major cities in the narratives of the patriarchs and of the conquest, and with a mythologem about the founding of Hebron by the ancestor of the mysterious giants (can¯aqim) who nearly frightened the Israelites into abandoning the conquest. The “explanation” depends on a dubious etymology—“city of Arba”—and the mythologem tells us nothing about the details of the founding. But it does serve to remind us that foundation myths were part and parcel of the lore associated with cities not only in classical antiquity but in pre-classical Israel. Other examples of cities renamed in the process of being conquered and (re-)founded include Heshbon, which may be identified with the #Ir-Sihon or Kiriath-Sihon of the “ballad of Heshbon” (Num. 21:27–30; cf. Jer. 48:45 f.),70 and Devir, formerly Kiriath-sefer or Kiriath-sannah according to Josh. 15:15, 49.71 Only a few foundation stories date from the period of the United Monarchy or even the Divided Monarchy. Samaria, for example, whose name in Hebrew is Shomron, is said to have been built on a hill purchased by King Omri of Israel for two talents of silver from a man by the name of Shemer (I Kings 16:24). A few verses further on, we are 69 70 71

Hallo 1999:44 and 50. notes 102–104. Van Seters 1972:196. Hallo, in preparation.

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told that in the time of Ahab, the son and successor of Omri, a certain Chi"el from Beth-el rebuilt the city of Jericho in defiance of the curse laid upon it by Joshua centuries before—but paid the price of violating Joshua’s ban: he had to sacrifice his eldest son Aviram to found it and his youngest son Seguv (Ketiv: Segiv) to set up its gates (I Kings 16:34; cf. Joshua 6:26).72 This suggests an analogy to archaeological evidence of child-burials within the gate-complex of cities; whether the children were dead of natural causes or represented “foundation-sacrifices” is uncertain.73 Joshua’s ban on the rebuilding of Jericho has a parallel of sorts in the ban imposed by Abimelech, son of Gideon, on Shechem. In the case of Shechem, it involved sowing its ground with salt (Judg. 9:45; cf. Deut. 29:22), a usage widely attested in stories of destruction and cursing of cities across the ancient world.74 The actual founding of Shechem is implicitly attributed to Hamor, the father of Shechem (Gen. 33:19; Jud. 9:28). What we have here, then, may be regarded as a secondary etiology, more particularly an attempt to account for a place name by equating it with a personal name. For while there is ample Near Eastern precedent for (royal) foundations named after their (royal) founders, there are none for a more modest naming after a son. The nearest parallel is the Biblical one of Cain or rather Enoch building a city and naming it after his son (see above). There are also Biblical traditions regarding the founding of Mesopotamian cities. The proof-texts here are Genesis 10 and 11:1–9. These one and a half chapters form the conclusion of the “primeval history” of Genesis, or shall we say of Biblical pre-history, and share many obvious traits with the corresponding traditions of Mesopotamia.75 Chapter 10 is more specifically known as the tabula gentium, or “table of nations,” a kind of early geography of the world as known to the Biblical authors of the tenth and sixth centuries respectively, cast in the form of a genealogy of the sons of Noah or, if one prefers, of their “lines” or simply their history.76

For the ban in Joshua 6, see Stern 1991:139–145. Green 1975:169; ABD 1:23 f. s.v. Abiram. 74 Gevirtz 1963; Gaster 1969:413 f. (No. 105); 428–430(No. 114). Cf. also RoszkowskaMutschler 1992. 75 See in detail Hess and Tsumura 1994. 76 On the genealogies of Genesis in general, see Tengstrom 1981; on those of Gen. 10 see e.g. Simons 1954; Oded 1986. 72 73

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Embedded in this genealogy is the curious digression on Nimrod (v.v. 8–12), where we read (NJV): “Cush also begot Nimrod, who was the first man of might on the earth. He was a mighty hunter by the grace of the Lord; hence the saying, ‘Like Nimrod, a mighty hunter by the grace of the Lord.’ The mainstays of his kingdom were Babylon, Erech, Accad and Calneh in the land of Shinar. From that land Asshur went forth and built Nineveh, Rehobothir, Calah, and Rezen between Nineveh and Calah, that is the great city.”

Much ink has been spilled over the identification of Nimrod, and some of his cities.77 Here I only want to point to the Biblical notion that some of the principal Assyrian cities in the northern half of Mesopotamia were built by a mighty conqueror from the south whose realm included Babylon, the ancient city of Uruk, and the traditional realm of “Sumer (Shin"ar) and Akkad.” That this conqueror is more likely to have been a king of Akkad like Naram-Sin78 than a king of Assyria like TukultiNinurta I79 strikes me as almost axiomatic. More familiar than the Table of Nations is the story of the “Tower of Babel” in the next chapter of Genesis. Here too the Mesopotamian setting is obvious, and the Mesopotamian analogues to the resulting “confusion of languages” have by now also become familiar.80 What is less often realized is that the denouement of the Biblical story includes the dispersion of peoples from their Mesopotamian origins (Gen 11:9b), thus setting the stage for the “Line of Shem” or, if you like, the history of the (Western) Semites which follows, and what is most often overlooked is that the story begins with the resolve to build, not just a tower, but first and foremost: a city (11:4). So we have here, in a sense, an etiology or myth of the founding of Babylon. The native Babylonian conceit was that the city was the “gate of god” (bab-ilim) by virtue of its very name as rendered in Sumerian or logographic form (KÁDINGIR-RA), contrary to the evidence of older syllabic spellings. The Biblical author showed up this self-serving etymology by substituting his own, “scurrilous etymology,” according to which the city got its name because there God “confused” (BLL) the languages of mankind.81

77 78 79 80 81

Among innumerable studies, I will cite here only Sasson 1983. So first Hallo 1971. So Speiser 1958. Cf. simply Hallo 1996:154–168. Hallo 1995, esp. pp. 768–770, and nn. 13, 19 f.

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vii.5. urban origins in cuneiform and biblical sources VI. The Case of Jerusalem

We may pass over minor founding stories82 and on to the parade example of an Israelite city as the focus of Biblical myth. This is of course Jerusalem, whose sanctity and centrality in the Hebrew canon rival those of Nippur and Babylon in Sumerian and Akkadian literature, and were the subject of a recent conference and book.83 The oldest references to Jerusalem occur, not in the Bible, but in Egyptian sources, beginning with the so-called “Execration texts” of the 19th to 18th centuries bce.84 The hieroglyphic spelling 3-w-ˇs-3-m-m stands for *rwslmm, perhaps to be read as Rushalimum.85 Next we find Jerusalem as the subject of numerous letters, written in cuneiform, in the Amarna archive of the fourteenth century bce, both in the letters of its king Abdi-Hepa to Akh-en-Aton, and in other correspondence to and from that “heretic” pharaoh’s archive at El Amarna.86 In this correspondence, it is consistently referred to as (uru)ù-ru-sa-lim, possibly to be interpreted as “City of (the deity) Salim.” If that etymology is correct, it may provide a link of sorts to what, by general critical opinion, is the oldest Biblical name of the city, Salem, for ancient Near Eastern cities occasional went by the name of the deity to whom they were sacred—as for example Assur. For Syria, Westenholz cites the examples of Ebla,87 Halab, Emar, Neirab and Carchemish (i.e. Kar-Kemosh).88 The divine name Salem or Shalim is well known in “the earliest Semitic pantheon” to cite the title of J.J.M. Roberts’ book on that subject.89 The city-name stands in parallelism with Zion in the Psalms (76:3), i.e. is effectively equated with Jerusalem there.90

E.g. Ono and Lod in 1 Chr. 8:12; Ramat-Lehi in Jud. 15:17. Levine 1999. For notions of Jerusalem’s inviolability, see Hallo 1999:43 f. 84 ANET 328 f. One of the rulers of Jerusalem mentioned there is called YaqarAmmu; for Ammu as a theophoric element cf. Good 1983. 85 RLA 5:279; ABD 3:751. 86 For orthographic and stylistic peculiarities in the letters written by the scribe of Jerusalem, see Moran 1975; for a new translation of all the Amarna letters, see Moran 1992. 87 But note that Ebla may possibly be the name of the first king of Ebla; see Hallo 1992:143. 88 Westenholz 1998:49 with nn. 43–45. 89 Roberts 1972:51 and 113, notes 414–418; Roberts interprets the name to mean “twilight” or “dusk.” 90 wayyehi bheshalem sukko, ume"onato bhesiyyon. . 82 83

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All this entitles us to treat the first Biblical reference to Salem as a kind of foundation story for Jerusalem. It occurs in Genesis 14, one of the most enigmatic chapters in the book, indeed in the whole Bible. Chaim Cohen has provided the most recent treatment of its first half,91 but the reference occurs in the second half (w. 18–20), where we read that Melchi-zedek, king of Salem, blessed Abraham in the name of God the Most High, Creator of heaven and earth, using a succession of divine names and epithets with numerous echoes in the literature of the ancient Near East: El, Aliyin (Ba"al), Elkunirsha. The last has even been read in an inscription on a potsherd (ostracon) found in Jerusalem itself and dating to the 8th or 7th century bce.92 Melchi-zedek is met with once more in the Bible, in Psalm 110:4, where King David presumably is promised an eternal priesthood after the manner of Melchi-zedek, though the New Jewish Version has an alternative rendering: “You are a priest forever, a rightful king (melekh s. edeq) by My decree.” E.A. Speiser even proposed to compare the name with that of Sargon in the cuneiform tradition, the famous usurper(s) whose name means “the kings is just, legitimate”93—though I would rather compare the Amorite royal name Ammi-s.aduqa, “my kinsman is my kinsman,”95 borne by is just,”94 or possibly “the divine Saduqa . one of the descendants of Hammurapi of Babylon. The epigraphic evidence from Egypt and the Biblical allusions to Melchi-zedek combine to take the origin of Jerusalem back into and perhaps even before patriarchal times—whatever their historicity—but they provide no very satisfactory foundation legend for so important a city. That is furnished rather by the next Biblical allusion—again indirect, and again linked with Abraham, the first patriarch. In Genesis 22 we read the narrative of the Aqeda, the binding of Isaac his son. It is set on a mountain in the Land of Moriah (v. 2), traditionally identified with the Mount Moriah on which, according to the Book of Chronicles (2 Chr 3:1), the Temple of Solomon was later built. This identification is in the opinion of some scholars a secondary one intended, perhaps, to lend additional sanctity and antiquity to the site of the Temple.96 Still, it Cohen 1991. Miller 1980. 93 Speiser 1964:104. 94 So Huffmon 1965:93, 98 f. who regards Saduq(a) as a divine epithet or even as a . theophoric element. 95 So McCarter 1999:124. 96 Kalimi 1990. Cf. J.R. Davila in ABD 4:905. 91 92

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is tempting to follow the tradition that links the (near-)sacrifice with the foundation, if not of the city, then of its most important edifice.97 The first Biblical reference to Jerusalem by name occurs in the Book of Joshua (10:1 et passim), where it is listed among Joshua’s conquests (12:10) and linked both with the Jebusites (15:8) and with its king, Adonizedek (10:1, 3), whose name sounds suspiciously reminiscent of Malchizedek. Critical scholarship generally does not give much credence to the triumphant conquest narratives of the Book of Joshua, preferring the often more sober accounts of painful and incremental infiltration in the Book of Judges. But that book itself begins with a rather curious reference to Jerusalem in Chapter 1. We are told there that Judah and “his brother Simon” began the conquest of the Promised Land on this side of the Jordan (Cisjordan) with a victory over the king Adonibezek (whose name in turn sounds suspiciously like Adoni-zedek, and is sometimes so read)98 and his burial in Jerusalem, presumably his city (Jud 1:3–7). Judah then attacked and burned the city. The reference must be, of course, to the tribe, not the patriarch as some would have it.99 Even so, it is hard to square this tradition with those traditions which attribute the conquest to Joshua or, more plausibly, to David. With David, I like to think that we pass out of the realm of myth and legend and into that of history. So my survey can stop here.

VII. Conclusion Summing up, I must admit that founding myths of cities are far less abundantly attested in the ancient Near East than they are in classical antiquity, where the founding of cities was virtually a way of life. Nevertheless, some results have been obtained from my survey, and some common distinctive characteristics emerge from them. In Mesopotamia, many cities claim to be as old as heaven (or An, the heaven-god); the optimal founder of a city would be a deity, preferably its patron-deity; foundation by mortals, even by kings who were deified or later were counted as deified, usually invited disaster, as in the case of Akkad. In Israel, where most cities had a long existence prior to 97 Though not its largest: it took only seven years to complete, whereas Solomon’s palace took thirteen! (Cf. I Ki 6:1, 37:f.; 7:1.) 98 BH ad loc. 99 E.g. Thompson 1992:361.

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their becoming Israelite, the emphasis was on the story of their acquisition for Israel, whether by force of arms (Jerusalem) or by purchase (Samaria). Only occasionally was there a genuine myth of foundation, or re-foundation, typically involving child-sacrifice (Jericho and perhaps Jerusalem). But in neither Mesopotamia nor Israel did the founding of cities give rise to a distinct genre in the literature. Let me then conclude with a more modern analogy. Every American schoolchild knows that New York began as New Amsterdam, and that New Amsterdam began with the purchase of Manhattan by Pieter Minuit for twenty-four dollars, the equivalent at one time (in 1856) of 60 Dutch guilders. This happened in 1626 CE (November 5, to be exact). But recent research has forced a revision of that comforting myth. It was based on a letter first published in 1856, and lacks any verification in contemporaneous records. According to the authoritative Encyclopedia of New York City, the Lenape Indians of Manhattan regarded land as a gift to all, which it was not theirs to sell; they looked upon land stewardship as temporary, and did not expect the Dutch to settle there permanently!100 So much for a city-founding myth about the 17th century of our own era. Can we hope to do better with those of the 17th century bce—and earlier? Bibliography Al-Khalesi, Y.M. 1977, “Tell al-Fakhar (Kurruhanni), a dimtu-settlement,” Assur 1:81–122. Al-Rawi, F.N.H. 1990, “Tablets from the Sippar Library, I. The ‘Weidner Chronicle’: a suppositious royal letter concerning a vision,” Iraq 52:1–13. Al-Rawi, F.N.H., Black, J.A. 1993, “A Rediscovered Akkadian city,” Iraq 55:147 f. Attinger, P. 1984, “Enki et Ninhursag,” ZA 74:1–52. Azara, P. et alii, (eds), 2000, La fundación de la ciudad: Mitos y ritos en el mundo antiguo (Barcelona, Edicions de la Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya). Borger, R., 1967–1975, Handbuch der Keilschriftliteratur, vols. 1–2 (Berlin, de Gruyter). Burstein, Stanley M., 1978, “The Babyloniaca of Berossus,” SANE 1:141–181. Civil, M. 1994, The Farmer’s Instructions: a Sumerian Agricultural Manual (Aula Orientalis Supplementa 5). Cohen, Ch. 1991, “Genesis 14:1–11—an early Israelite chronographic source,” SIC 4: 67–107. Falkenstein, A. 1953, “Zur Chronologie der sumerischen Literatur,” MDOG 85; 1–13. 100

Schenitz 1999:E45.

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Farber, G. 1997, “The Song of the Hoe” in COS 1:511–513. Finkel, I.L. 1980, “Bilingual chronicle fragments,” JCS 32:65–80. Finkelstein, J.J. 1963, “The antediluvian kings: a University of California tablet,” JCS 17:39–51. Foster, B.R. 1993, Before the Muses: an Anthology of Akkadian Literature (2 vols.) (Bethesda, MD, CDL Press). Frayne, D. 1998, “New light on the reign of Iˇsme-Dagan,” ZA 88:6–44. Gaster, M. 1927, The Asatir: the Samaritan Book of the “Secrets of Moses” (Oriental Translation Fund, new series 26) (London, Royal Asiatic Society). Gaster, T.H. 1969, Myth, Legend, and Custom in the Old Testament (New York/Evanston, Harper & Row). Gevirtz, S. 1963, “Jericho and Shechem: a religioliterary aspect of city destruction,” Vetus Testamentum 13:52–62. Good, R.M. 1983, The Sheep of His Pasture: a Study of the Hebrew Noun #am(m) and its Semitic Cognates (Chico, CA, Scholars Press). Grayson, A.K. 1975, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS 5) (Locust Valley, NY, J.J. Augustin). Grayson, A.K. 1975a, Babylonian Historical-Literary Texts (Toronto Semitic Texts and Studies 3) (Toronto/Buffalo, University of Toronto Press). Green, A.R.W. 1975, The Role of Human Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East (ASOR Dissertation Series 1) (Missoula, MO, Scholars press). Hallo, W.W. 1963, “Beginning and end of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur recension,” JCS 17:52–57, here: VI.1. Hallo, W.W. 1970, “Antediluvian cities,” JCS 23:57–67. Hallo, W.W. 1971, “Akkad,” EJ 2;493 f. Hallo, W.W. 1971a, “Gutium,” RLA 3:708–720. Hallo, W.W. 1985, “Biblical abominations and Sumerian taboos,” JQR 76:21– 40, here: VIII.3. Hallo, W.W. 1988, “The Nabonassar Era and other epochs in Mesopotamian chronology and chronography,” Studies Sachs 175–190. Hallo, W.W. 1991, The Book of the People (Brown Judaic Studies 225) (Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press). Hallo, W.W. 1992, “Ebrium at Ebla,” Eblaitica 3:139–150. Hallo, W.W. 1995, “Scurrilous etymologies,” Studies Milgrom 767–776. Hallo, W.W. 1996, Origins: the Ancient Near Eastern Background of some Modem Western institutions (SHCANE 6) (Leiden, Brill). Hallo, W.W. 1996a, “Enki and the theology of Eridu,” JAOS 116:231–234, here: VII.2. Hallo, W.W. 1997, “The theogony of Dunnu,” COS 1:402–404. Hallo, W.W. 1999, “Jerusalem under Hezekiah: an Assyriological perspective” in Levine 1999:36–50. Hallo, W.W. 2000, “Dunnum and its epithets,” N.A.B.U. 2000:61 f. (No. 55). Hallo, W.W. in preparation, “New light on the story of Achsah.” Hallo, W.W., Simpson, W.K. 1971, 1998, The Ancient Near East: a History (2nd ed., 1998) (New York, Harcourt Brace). Hallo, W.W., Van Dijk, J.J.A. 1968, The Exaltation of Inanna (YNER 3) (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.).

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Heidel, A. 1942, 1951, The Babylonian Genesis: the Story of (the) Creation (Chicago, University of Chicago; 2nd ed., 1951). Hess, R.S., Tsumura, D.T., (eds.) 1994, I Studied Inscriptions from Before the Flood: Ancient Near Eastern, Literary, and Linguistic Approaches to Genesis 1–11 (Sources for Biblical and Theological Study 4) (Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns). Huffmon, H.B. 1965, Amorite Personal Names in the Mari Texts (Baltimore, the Johns Hopkins Press). Hurowitz, V. (Avigdor) 1992, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in the Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOTS 115) (Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press). Jacobsen, T. 1984, “The Harab Myth,” SANE 2:99–120. Jacobsen, T. 1987, The Harps That Once . . . Sumerian Poetry in Translation (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.). Jacobsen, T. 1996, “Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta,” COS 1:547–550. Kalimi, I. 1990, “The Land of Moriah, Mount Moriah, and the site of Solomon’s temple in Biblical historiography,” HTR 83:345–362. Kisch, G. 1949, Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (Notre Dame, IN, University of Notre Dame). Kramer, S.N. 1989, Myths of Enki, the Crafty God (with John Maier) (New York/Oxford, Oxford U.P.). Kraus, F.R. 1952, “Zur Liste der älteren Könige Babyloniens,” ZA 50:29–60. Lambert, W.G. 1966, Enuma Eliˇs: The Babylonian Epic of Creation: the Cuneiform Text (Oxford, Clarendon). Lambert, W.G. 1968, “Myth and ritual as conceived by the Babylonians,” JSS 13:104–112. Lapidus, I.M. (ed.) 1970, Middle Eastern Cities: a Symposium on Ancient, Islamic, and Contemporary Middle Eastern Urbanism (Berkeley, University of California Press). Levine, L.I. (ed.) 1999, Jerusalem: its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (New York, Continuum). Litke, R.L. 1998, A Reconstruction of the Assyro-Babylonian God-Lists (TBC 3) (New Haven, Yale Babylonian Collection). Longman, Tremper III, 1997, “The Marduk Prophecy,” COS 1:480. Ludwig, M.Ch. 1990, Untersuchungen zu den Hymnen des Iˇsme-Dagan von Isin (SANTAG 2) (Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz). Mann, T.W. 1977, Divine Presence and Guidance in Israelite Traditions: the Typology of Exaltation (Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies [9]) (Baltimore/London, The Johns Hopkins U.P.). Mccarter, P. Kyle, Jr., 1999, “Two bronze arrowheads with archaic alphabetic inscriptions,” Eretz-Israel 26 (Frank Moore Cross Volume) 123*–128*. Miller, P.D., Jr. 1980, “El, the Creator of Earth,” BASOR 239:43–46. Miller, P.D., Jr. 1985, “Eridu, Dunnu, and Babel: a study in comparative mythology,” Hebrew Annual Review 9:227–251; reprinted in Hess and Tsumura 1994:143–168. Moran, W.L. 1975, “The Syrian scribe of the Jerusalem Amarna letters,” in Unity and Diversity 146–168.

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Moran, W.L. 1992, The Amarna Letters (Baltimore/London, The Johns Hopkins U.P.). Oded, B. 1986, “The Table of nations (Genesis 10) -a sociocultural approach,” ZATW 98:14–31. Olmstead, A.T. 1923, History of Assyria (New York/London, Scribners). Oppenheim, A.L. 1970, “Mesopotamia—land of many cities,” in Lapidus 1970:3–18. Pettinato, G. 1977, TSS 242: Fondazione della citta Unkenki,” OA 16:173–176. ˇ Pomponio, F., Visicato, G. 1994, Early Dynastic Administrative Tablets of Suruppak (Naples, Istituto Universitario Orientals di Napoli). Roberts, J.J.M. 1972, The Earliest Semitic Pantheon (Baltimore/London, Johns Hopkins U.P.). Roszkowska-Mutschler, H. 1992, “ ‘. . . and on its site I sowed cress . . .’; some remarks on the execration of defeated enemy cities by the Hittite kings,” JAC 7:1–12. Sasson, J.M. 1983, “Rehovot #ir” RB 90:94–96. Selz, G.J. 1998, “Über mesopotamische Herrschaftskonzepte,” Studies Römer 281–344. Shenitz, B. 1999, “New York’s beginnings, real and imagined,” The New York Times (December 3, 1999) E 35, 45. Simons, J. 1954, “The ‘Table of Nations’ (Genesis 10): its general structure and meaning,” Oudtestamentische Studiën 10:155–184; repr. in Hess and Tsumura 1994:234–253. Sjöberg, Å., Bergmann, E. 1969, The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns (Texts from Cuneiform Sources 3) (Locust Valley, NY, Augustin). Speiser, E.A. 1958, “In search of Nimrod,” Eretz-Israel 5:32–36; repr. in Speiser 1967:41–52. Speiser, E.A. 1964, Genesis (AB 1) (Garden City, NY, Doubleday). Speiser, E.A. 1967, Oriental and Biblical Studies; Collected Writings of E.A. Speiser, ed. J.J. Finkelstein and M. Greenberg (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania). Steinkeller, P. 1980, “On the reading and location of the toponyms ÚRxÚ.KI and A.HA.KI,” JCS 32:23–33. Stern, P.D. 1991, The Biblical Herem; a Window on Israel’s Religious Experience . (Brown Judaic Studies 211) (Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press). Tengström, S. 1981, Die Toledotformel und die literarische Struktur der Erweiterungsschicht im Pentateuch (Conjectanea Biblica-OT Series 17). Thompson, T.L. 1992, Early History of the Israelite People from the Written and Archaeological Sources (SHCANE 4) (Leiden, Brill). Unger, E. 1931, Babylon (Berlin/Leipzig, de Gruyter). Van Dijk, J.J.A. 1962, “Die Inschriftenfunde,” UVB 18:39–62 and pls. 27 f. Van Seters, J. 1972, “The conquest of Sihon’s kingdom: a literary examination,” Journal of Biblical Literature 91:182–197. Westenholz, J.G. 1998, Capital Cities: Urban Planning and Spiritual Dimensions (Bible Lands Museum Jerusalem Publications 2) (Jerusalem, Bible Lands Museum).

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Westenholz, J.G. 1998a, “The theological foundation of the city, the capital city and Babylon,” in Westenholz 1998:43–54. Wiggerman 2000, unpublished lecture of 4-7-2000 at Harvard. Wilcke, C. 1972–1975, “Hacke—B. Philologisch,” RLA 4:33–38. Wilson, R.R. 1977, Genealogy and History in the Biblical World (YNER 7) (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.). Wiseman, D.J. 1967, “A late Babylonian tribute list?” BSOAS 30:495–504.

Abbreviations Abbreviations as in The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago 14 (1999) (CAD Q) with the following additions: AB ABD BaM BH COS 1 EJ JAC NJV SANE SHCANE SIC 4 Studies Hallo Studies Levine Studies Milgrom Studies Römer Studies Sachs

Anchor Bible. Anchor Bible Dictionary (1992) Bagh. Mitt. Biblia Hebraica (Stuttgart, Privileg. Württ. Bibelanstalt, 1949) William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger, Jr., eds., 1997: The Context of Scripture I: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World (Leiden etc., Brill, 1997). Encyclopaedia Judaica (Jerusalem, Keter, 1971). Journal of Ancient Civilizations New Jewish Version (Philadelphia, Jewish Publication Society) Sources from the Ancient Near East (Malibu, Undena) Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East (Leiden, Brill) K.L. Younger et al., eds. The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective (= Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 11. 1991) (Lewiston, Edwin Mellen) M.E. Cohen et al., eds., The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (Bethesda, MD, CDL Press) R. Chazan et al., eds., Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns, 1999) D.P. Wright et al., eds., Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies . . . in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns, 1995) M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, eds., dubsar anta-men: Studien zur Altorientalistik: Festschrift für Willem H.Ph. Römer . . . (AOAT 253) (Münster, Ugarit-Verlag, 1998) E. Leichty et al., eds., A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (= Occasional Publications

572

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of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 9) (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania, 1988) Studies Talmon M. Fishbane and E. Tov, eds., “Sha‘arei Talmon: Studies . . . Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon (Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns, 1992) TBC Texts from the Babylonian Collection (New Haven, CT, Yale Babylonian Collection) Unity and Diversity H. Goedicke and J.J.M, Roberts, eds., Unity and Diversity: Essays in History, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East (The Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies [7]) (Baltimore/London, The Johns Hopkins U.P.) U.P. University Press YNER Yale Near Eastern Researches (New Haven/London, Yale U.P.).

viii proverbs

viii.1 THE LAME AND THE HALT

‘In the city where there is no dog, the fox is oxherd.’ This pointed paradox, of a type dear to the guardians of proverbial wisdom, is the sense of Proverb 65 in the Sumerian Proverb Collection One, edited by Gordon,1 as is clear from a variant text now published by Gadd and Kramer from Ur.2 The identical proverb recurs in Collection Two as No. 118,3 and in both instances there follows another saying of precisely the same form and intent, as Jacobsen indicated by translating ‘In the town of the vagrants(?), the lame is courier!’4 It is now possible to clear up the one questionable element remaining in this translation, thanks to a lenticular school-tablet from the collection of the University of Illinois Oriental Museum (now the Classical and European Culture Museum).5 This is published in autograph below through the courtesy of the Director, Rear Admiral O.H. Dodson, USN (Ret.). Restoring the breaks in the superior obverse from the student’s hand on the reverse, it reads: uru ad4-lú-ù-[ka]/ba-za lú-ím6-[e-kam]: ‘in the city of the lame, the halt is courier.’ The texts published by Gordon in copy or photograph have essentially the same wording, but a number of variants can be made out. For convenience sake, all the texts are transliterated here, using Gordon’s sigla. (1.66)

B: C: Y: Z:

[. . .]-ne-ka uruKI ad4-x-ka uru ad4-[. . . (traces only)

ba-za lú-ím-e ba-za lú-ím-e b]a-za/lú-[í]m-e

1 E.I. Gordon: Sumerian Proverbs, Philadelphia, 1959, p. 72: uru(KI) nu-ur-gi -ra(re) 7 ka5-(a) nu-bànda-(àm). 2 UET 6:221: uruKI ur-gi nu-me-a. 7 3 Gordon, op. cit. (above, n. 1), p. 262. 4 Ibid., p. 459. 5 No. 1999 in the catalogue of the collection prepared by Professor Goetze. 6 Or girím.

576 (2.119)

viii.1. the lame and the halt A: BBB: OOO:

uru ad4-e-ne?!-ka/ uru ad47-e-ne!-ka [. . .]-ka

ba-za lú-ím-a-kam [. . .]-e-[?] ba-[. . .]

The reading ad4-e-ne-ka is easier to accept, but nowhere palaeographically certain. Thus the lectio difficilior may have to be preferred. Compound expressions with ‘man’ (lú or lú-ulù) as second element can possibly be detected as early as the Fara period,8 and are well attested in later Sumerian. Note such terms as gír-tab-lú-ux-lu = girtablilu, the ‘scorpion-man’, and ku6-lú-ux-lu =kul¯ılu, kulullu, the ‘fish-man’.9 Note also such purely Akkadian examples as h¯abilu-am¯elu and lullu-am¯elu in ˘ 10 They are otherthe Gilgameˇs Epic, which favors such compounds. wise rare in Akkadian, and von Soden is therefore inclined to consider some of them ‘gelehrte Lehnübersetzungen aus dem kompositareichen Sumerischen.’11 (He notes that some of them were actually elided into a single word, as in nittâmelu  nittû-amelu, a sandhi process evident also in such spellings as s. e-he-ra-bi for s. eher-rabi 12 or a-ba-bi-im for ab-abim)13 ˘ ˘of ad and ba-za may help to point the A more precise delimitation 4 proverb’s ‘moral’. The former sign could be described as a reduplicated GAM-sign, perhaps to be read gúr-gurum,14 and translated by kan¯asˇu, ‘be bowed down’. This would imply the approximate semantic range demanded by the context, but since the two GAM-signs are normally separated in Old Babylonian orthography in this meaning, it is preferable to regard our sign as the ‘slanted-ZA’ sign.15 As such it has the reading ad4 and is equated with Akkadian kubbulu or hummuru, ‘lame, ˘

7

The sign, as far as preserved, is A-tenû; for this variant of ZA-tenû cf. Landsberger: MSL 8/1, p. 9:28 with notes. 8 Cf. Sollberger: Corpus, p. 2 sub Urn. 22: 24, where dub-sar-lú seems a likelier reading than lú-dub-sar since the writing with the determinative occurs, at least outside of the lexical lists, only much later. (Of course a genitive construction, ‘man of the scribe’, is also conceivable.) For dating Ur-Nanˇse to the Fara period, cf. a forthcoming paper. 9 Cf. AHw, s.vv.; CAD Z, pp. 165 f. In astronomical terms, Scorpio and Pisces respectively, according to H. Lewy: Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger (= Assyriological Studies 16), Chicago, 1965, p. 278, n. 41. 10 As noted by Speiser in his translation, ANET, pp. 72 ff., notes 19, 23, 126 (and 170). 11 von Soden: GAG, § 59b. 12 YOS 2:141:15; cf. van Dijk: La Sagesse, Leiden, 1953, p. 14. 13 MSL 2, p. 127: 17; cf. also CAD A/1, p. 70c. 14 Following the suggestion of J. Krecher: Sumerische Kultlyrik, Wiesbaden, 1966, p. 197. 15 Cf. MSL 3, p. 97: 8 and note; above, note 7.

viii.1. the lame and the halt

577

crippled’.16 It occurs in the form ad4 in the Old Babylonian lú = sˇa17 and in the form lú-ad4 in the Old Babylonian lú-series,18 both times in sections devoted to various kinds of misfits. Outside of the lexical lists—and even there it tends to be replaced by other forms19—our sign apparently occurs nowhere except in our proverb. It is therefore legitimate to ask whether it began to be replaced by other signs in literary contexts as early as the Old Babylonian period. One is immediately led to consider the sign KUD, which in Old Babylonian script looks much like A-tenû, and like it is translated hummuru.20 In the form lú-KUD, this term is attested several times in the ˘well-known letter-prayer of a crippled woman to Nintinugga.21 It is, in fact, the crux of this text, as van Dijk has shown in his edition.22 Given the fact that he has established the meaning ‘crippled, paralyzed’ for the term in this context; that it is complemented by -du or -da in most of the exemplars of the text;23 and that ku(d) and kuru(d) as readings of KUD are not associated with the semantic range of ‘lame’ (which Sumerian expresses by verbs meaning ‘to bind’ or ‘to seize’)24 but of ‘cut, separate’,25 it seems permissible to posit the value ad4 for KUD in the meaning hummuru, and to treat it as a replacement for the earlier ZA-tenû sign. ˘

16

Cf. AHw and CAD s.vv. Line 808, quoted from a MS kindly supplied by Landsberger and Civil. 18 SLT 1:10 (repeated in col. 2). Cf. Ch.-F. Jean: RA 28 (1931), p. 148. 19 Note that in MSL 3, p. 97: 8 the form of the ‘archaizing’ sign looks more like a reduplicated LlSˇ = díl-dílim? 20 CAD. H, s.v. It is true that the attested reading for KUD = hummuru is haˇs, but this ˘ ˘ does not exclude a reading ad4 as well. For in the reduplicated˘ form KUD.KUD-du, the reading ad4 or ad4-ad4 seems to be imposed by the complement without, however, excluding the alternate reading haˇs- haˇs which is attested indirectly by Akkadian haˇshaˇsu ˘ ˘ ˘ ˘ (=hummuru); cf. CAD H, s.v. ˘ ˘21 No. 17 in Letter-Collection B. Cf. Fadhil A. Ali: Sumerian Letters: Two Collections from Old Babylonian Schools, Ann Arbor, 1967, pp. 137–143. For the published texts and translations, and a survey of the genre, cf. Hallo: JAOS 88/1 (1968; =AOS 53), pp. 71– 89, here: IV.1. 22 La Sagesse (1953) 15 f. and n. 37, with a full survey of previous literature on hummuru. ˘ once 23 -du: 5 times; -da: 2 times. I cannot explain the complement -bi occurring (UET 6:180:9) or -ba occurring two or three times (PBS 1/2: 134: 9; Ali, op. cit. [above, n. 21], pp. xxvii, li). 24 lá or dab/dib/dub (Akkadian kamû, kasû, ussulu, subbutu etc.) as in ˇsu-lá, dùg-lá, .. . dùg-dab, for which cf. e.g. SLT 1: 6,12,13 (above, n. 18). 25 (lú)-á-ku (=akû), ‘crippled, deformed’, is rightly regarded by CAD A/1, p. 284 as 5 ‘an artificial formation suggested by the Akkadian word’. 17

578

viii.1. the lame and the halt

As for ba-za, the earliest occurrence known to me is as a personal name, beginning already in the Fara period.26 As such it found its way into the primers of the Old Babylonian scribal curriculum, the so-called Silbenalphabet A27 and Silbenalphabet B28 which, as Landsberger has shown, consist entirely of personal names.29 In these primers, it is regularly followed by Ba-za-za, a simple hypo-choristicon of the ‘Banana’ type. In the two and three-column texts which go by the name of ‘Silbenvokabular A’ but which are really ingenious30 or even facetious31 commentaries on these primers, this pair of names receives some rather curious explanations. The most nearly rational one32 explains ba-za by banû, ‘well-formed’, a euphemism whose true meaning is revealed by the following entry, ba-za-za = la banû, ‘not well-formed, malformed’.33 Another Old Babylonian version, newly published by Sollberger,34 also treats the words as antonyms, apparently in the sense of ‘half deposited’ and ‘half withdrawn’ (maˇs gar-ra and maˇs zi-ga). The further ‘explanations’ offered in the third column of this text appear to be a simple ‘Schüttelreim’ of the type common in the (first column of the) Silbenalphabet (ta-ra-aˇs//daˇs-ra-[ta]) without any visible connection to the corresponding main entries. For the Middle Babylonian period, which is represented by school excerpts of the Silbenalphabet A and the Silbenvokabular from Ugarit,35 the distinction between ba-za and ba-za-za (variant: ba-ba-za) is one of gender, for the names are there explained as BA.AN.ZA and SAL.BA.AN.ZA. These last equations are significant, for they allow us to confirm the identity of earlier ba-za with the later ba-an-za whose meaning is clear from the equation, attested in Antagal B36 and other lexical texts 26 Deimel: Fara 3 (= WVDOG 45 [1924]), p. 22* sub Ba-[LAK 798]. For the equation of LAK 798 with za, cf. most recently R. Biggs: RA 60 (1966), pp. 175 f. 27 B. Landsberger apud M. Ci˘ g and H. Kizilyay: Zwei altbabylonische Schulbücher, Ankara, 1959, p. 100, line 23. 28 Ibid., p. 67, line 32. 29 Ibid., pp. 101 ff., The oldest reference which Landsberger offers for Ba-za as personal name is TuM 5:69, a Nippur text of uncertain pre-Sargonic date. 30 Nougayrol: AS 16 (1965), p. 38. 31 Sollberger, ibid., p. 22. 32 SLT 243; for the characterization, cf. Landsberger: AfO Beiheft 1 (1933), p. 175. 33 Cf. CAD B, p. 83d. For the linguistic gymnastics involved in the pair of equations, cf. the English neologism ‘flammable’ created to avoid the ambiguity of the older (nonnegative) ‘inflammable’. 34 A three-column Silbenvokabular A, AS 16 (1965), pp. 21–28. 35 J. Nougayrol: ‘Vocalises’ et ‘syllabes en liberté’ à Ugarit, ibid., 29–39. 36 I.e., AO 4489, published by Thureau-Dangin, RT 32 (1910), p. 43, and Rm. (348+) 604, published in V R 26: 6 and CT 19: 32.

viii.1. the lame and the halt

579

(see presently), of ba-an-za with pissû, the cognate of Hebrew piss¯e–ah. ‘limping, lame (on one foot)’.37 The identification, already implied by Howardy38 and suggested by Jacobsen,39 finds further confirmation in a comparison of the Old Babylonian forerunner to HAR-Ra.= hubullu ˘ III 42, which reads giˇs- haˇshur-ba-za40 where the canonical series˘ reads ˘ ˘ giˇs-haˇshur-ba-an-za= (haˇshuru) pissû.41 The reference here is apparently ˘ ˘ or ˘ perhaps to its malformed fruit.42 to a ‘crooked apple-tree’ Akkadian pissû is not so far attested as a personal name43—there were, perhaps, enough other names of this approximate meaning44— but the Sumerogram BA.AN.ZA recurs in the mantic literature at the head of fairly standardized lists of human deformities.45 Thus the first tablet of the teratoscopic series sˇumma izbu predicts: ‘If a woman gives birth to a limping male, penury: the house of the man will be destroyed; if a woman gives birth to a limping female, corresponding entry (GABA.RI).’46 The commentaries to this passage are at pains to explain ba-an-za =pissû in this passage as meaning kurû, ‘short’, i.e. with one leg shorter than the other.47 The entry for cripples (KUD.KUD.DU) follows six lines later. Similarly, the first tablet of the terrestrial omen series sˇumma ¯alu states: ‘If in a city the limping men ˇ are numerous, [ . . . ]; if in the city the limping women (BA.AN.ZA.MES) ˇ are numerous, the heart of that city will be (SAL.BA.AN.ZA.MES)

37 Note that biblical Hebrew has to express the idea of ‘lame (on both feet)’ by the circumlocution ‘limping on both feet’ (2 Sam. 9:13) or by the more general ‘smitten as to the (two) feet’ (2 Sam. 4:4; 9:3). 38 Clavis Cuneorum, Leipzig, 1933, 272: 666. 39 Above, n. 4. 40 Matouˇs: LTBA 1: 78 (= VAT 6667) i 23. The variant was already noted in the edition of HAR-ra III by Meissner (MAOG 18/2 [1913], p. 16, ad line 48) who, however, ˘ to the neo-Babylonian period (ibid., p. 14). dated the text 41 MSL 5 (1957), p. 97: 42 where the forerunner’s variant is, however, not noted. 42 So R.C. Thompson: Dictionary of Assyrian Botany, London, 1949, pp. 302–305. 43 Cf. H. Holma: Die Assyrisch-babylonischen Personennamen der Form ‘quttulu’, Helsinki, 1914, pp. 80 f. 44 Ibid., s.vv. Ubburu, Ussulu, Bussulu (Pussulu), Hummuru, Kubbulu, Kurû, Subˇ .. .. ˘ buru etc. For the famous scribal name Hunzû and attempts to give it a less pejorative ˘ Lambert: JCS 11 (1957), pp. 2,4, 7,13 (line 45). Sumerian etymology (ibid., p. 53), cf. W.G. 45 Note that the sequence BA.AN.ZA//SAL.BA.AN.ZA mirrors the Middle Babylonian Silbenvokabular from Ugarit (above, n. 34). 46 Dennefeld: AB 22 (1914), p. 27, lines 25 f.; Fossey: Babyloniaca 5 (1912), pp. 6 f., lines 49 f.; cf. also von Soden: ZA 50 (1952), pp. 183 f. 47 Weidner: AJSL 38 (1922), pp. 196 f.; R. Labat: Commentaires assyro-babyloniens sur les présages, Bordeaux, 1933, pp. 80 f., line 18; note there the spelling BA.AN.ZU.

580

viii.1. the lame and the halt

good.’48 Twelve lines later, the same series predicts an unfavorable fate ˇ are numerous.49 for the city in which the cripples (KUD.KUD.MES) d Finally, it may be noted that Ba-za even seems to occur as a theophoric element in a single Ur III personal name, KUR.TI-dBA.ZA.50 Is it possible to delimit the semantic border between ad4 and ba(an)-za more closely still on the basis of etymology? We may safely disregard the equations za-na = passu, ‘doll’51 and (giˇs)-bi-za = *pessu,52 ‘counter, (chess)-figurine’ as a more or less fortuitous homophones of our term, and must equally reject any direct connection of ba-an-za with pissû. But perhaps one may very tentatively see in the ZA of ba-za some ultimate connection with the ZA-tenû of ad4. If bà,53 ba-ma54 and perhaps even bán55 can express ‘one-half ’, we may have in ba-(an)-ZA an attempt to render the idea of ‘half-lame, lame on one foot, limping, halt.’ To return to our proverb, it clearly distinguishes the ‘lame’ from the ‘halt’, a distinction we still find alive in the New Testament.56 The distinction is that of the greater and the lesser evil, and it has inspired similar proverbial expression through the ages. If we substitute eyes for legs, we can point to the medieval parallel luscus praefertur caeco57 and its English equivalent ‘Better one-eyed than stone blind’.58 An even closer parallel to our Sumerian proverb is provided by a proverb (παρoιμíα) quoted in the early Byzantine Scholiast to Iliad XXIV, 192: v τυφλv

CT 38:3:65 f. Cf. Nötscher: Orientalia 31 (1928), pp. 46–49. CT 38:4:78; Nötscher, op. cit., p. 48, but read hummur¯utu with CAD H, p. 235b ˘ ˘ against Nötscher’s qudquddê. 50 TCL 2: 5484. 51 Landsberger: WZKM 56 (1960), p. 118. 52 Ibid., p. 126 and n. 55. 53 I.e. ES ˇ (for 30/60); cf. SL ˇ 2:472 and CAD, s.vv. bamtu, z¯uzu. 54 In distributive usage. Cf. YOS 1:28 iv 16: á-bi ba-ma-ta . . . (ì-ág-e); this reading (with Clay’s copy) was collated by J.J. Finkelstein, and will be defended by him elsewhere against H. Petschow’s interpretation in ZA 58 (1967), pp. 2 f. A similar usage occurs in PBS 8/1:102 (collection of model contracts), rev. ii 5 f.: mu-5-ma-ta ib-ta-an-è. A Sumerian form ba-ma might help to explain the troublesome Akkadian bamâ, ‘in half ’ for which see von Soden: Orientalia 22 (1953), p. 252. 55 I.e. the 1/2 sign serving as a measure of capacity. For the syllabic spellings (of the corresponding vessel), cf. A. Salonen: Die Hausgeräte der alten Mesopotamier . . . II, Helsinki, 1966, pp. 278–303; Hallo: BiOr 20(1963), p. 139. 56 Luke 14:13, 21. In the Hebrew Bible, by contrast, the topos is limited to the lame and the blind; cf. above, n. 37. 57 Archer Taylor: The Proverb, Cambridge (Mass.), 1931, p. 138. 58 Burton E. Stevenson: Home Book of Quotations 9, New York, 1958, pp. 169 f., No. 17. 48 49

viii.1. the lame and the halt

581

πóλεϊ γλμυρος βασιλεει59 which passed into Latin as caecorum in patria

luscus rex imperat omnis60 and into English as ‘In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.’61 W.F. Albright, whose vision has spanned all the intervening centuries, will hopefully find a small measure of gratification in this modest link between the modern and the ancient epigram.

59 K.W. Dindorf: Scholia Graeca in Homeri Iliadem VI (= E. Maass: Scholia . . . Townleyana 2), Oxford, 1888, p. 457. For the date of the text (bT), cf. M. v.d. Valk: Researches on the Text and Scholia of the Iliad I, Leiden, 1963, p. 414, and for our passage in particular, ibid., pp. 501 f. 60 Michael Apostolios (fl.462); Paroemiae, Leiden, 1619, p. 94, Centuria 8: 31; reprinted in W. Duncan (ed.): Clavis Homerica, Edinburgh, 1831, p. 430. 61 Traced back to 1540 by Stevenson, loc. cit.

viii.2 NUNGAL IN THE EGAL: AN INTRODUCTION TO COLLOQUIAL SUMERIAN?

The goddess Nungal (or Manungal) has commanded increased attention since the definitive publication of the 120-line hymn in her honor by Sjöberg under the title “Nungal in the Ekur.”1 Her role as patrondeity of prisons—indeed the very existence of prisons in early Mesopotamia—has been clarified by Sjöberg’s edition and by the subsequent studies of Frymer2 and Komoróczy.3 This role finds further confirmation in a literary allusion to the goddess which, modest as it is, bears adding to the discussion. The allusion has hitherto been overlooked because, apart from problems of reading, it occurs in the context of an extract tablet combining quotations from numerous compositions, apparently in a fixed (“canonical”) order. Such extract tablets were identified in first-millennium examples from Assur by Lambert4 and Borger,5 from Ur by Borger6 and Gurney,7 and from Sippar (?) by Leichty.8 At Ur, this practice goes back to Old Babylonian times, to judge by our tablet (UET 6/2 336; cf. 337 and 339). In our case, the extracts so far identified are from

Åke W, Sjöberg, “Nungal in the Ekur,” AfO 24 (1973) 19–46; “Additional Texts to ‘Nungal in the Ekur’,” JCS 29 (1977) 3–6. Add YBC 4667 (unpubl.) = lines 1–20. 2 Tikva S. Frymer, “The Nungal-hymn and the Ekur-prison,” JESHO20 (1977) 78– 89; and The Judicial Ordeal in the Ancient Near East (unpubl. Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1977) 103–113, 124–126, and 129, which incorporates a number of corrections. 3 G. Komoróczy, “Lobpreis auf das Gefängnis in Sumer,” Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 23 (1975) 153–174. 4 Lambert BWL pp. 356 f.; cf. Hallo, “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature,” IEJ 12 (1962) 221, here: I.1. 5 Borger HKL 1 97 and 2 55 ad KAR 40. 6 Borger, Festschrift von Soden (= AOAT 1) 2 ad UET 6/2 391 f. 7 UET 7 127–139. In addition, M.E. Cohen (orally) points out that UET 6/2 203– 207 excerpts balag-compositions in the same order in which they are entered (by incipit) in the balag-catalogue IV R253, for which see Cohen, Balag-Compositions (= SANE I/2[1974])5 f. 8 Leichty, Essays Finkelstein 144 f. 1

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various proverb collections, specifically 1. 145,9 3.41,10 and one11 or more12 unidentified collections. The passage in question (A)13 comes from Proverb Collection 614 and reads: é-gal giˇsa-tir-ra-àmb lugal / ur-mah-e ˘ sul-uˇs-gal! dNunc-gal! / sá-ˇ d guruˇs-e gúr-gúre//

The emendations and line divisions follow the duplicates from Ur (UET 6/2 209=B) and an unknown site (YBC 9871=C).15 Note the following variants: aC (and B?) omit; bB and C omit; CC (and B!): nin-é; d C omits; eB: dul- [ ]; C: Ù. Ù-e. In line with my earlier translation of the Yale exemplar, I would render A as follows: “The ‘big house’ is (like) a forest the king, a lion, Nungal a great net which subdues a man.”

The metaphor in line 1 is difficult to resolve because of the ambiguity of both terms of the equation (explicit in A thanks to the suffixed -àm). In addition to its basic sense of “palace,” é-gal is applied as an epithet

Obv. 6: 6 f.; cf. Edzard’s review of UET 6/2 in AfO 23. (1970) 95. Rev. 14 f.; cf. Edzard, AfO 23 (1970) 95; Alster, Instructions of Suruppak (= Mesopotamia 2) 99 and 133 n. 105. 11 Obv. 14–17 resembles UET 6/2 299; cf. Sjöberg’s review of UET6/2 in Or. NS 37 (1968) 238. 12 Rev. 1–6 belongs to the lists of actions (usually in groups of three) described as “an abomination (níg-gig) of Utu (or Ninurta or Suen)”; cf. most recently G.D. Young, “Utu and Justice: A New Sumerian Proverb,” JCS 24 (1972) 132; OECT 5 41; Alster, JCS 27 (1975) 205 example 9; note also UET 6/2 259 (and anpubl. dupl. YBC 7351). 13 Rev. 11–13. Note the aberrant line and paragraph division; for the latter see also obv. 6 f. (above, n. 9) and 14–16 (above, n. 11). 14 So according to E.I. Gordon’s handwritten note found with the Yale duplicate, though not listed either in his surveys, Sumerian Proverbs p. 518 and BiOr 17 (1960) 126 n. 44, or in the more recent one by Alster, RA 72 (1978) 100. Indeed, a quick check of the unpublished Philadelphia texts listed in these surveys reveals that CBS 13890 contains a slightly divergent and expanded version of our proverb (6.14 in Alster’s numbering). It seems to add dUtu (?) ˇsu-mu bu-i-ma-ni-ib, “Oh Utu(?), stretch forth a hand to me.” My thanks are due to Robert Falkowitz for help with these texts. 15 This text was communicated in transliteration in my “Antediluvian Cities,” JCS 23 (1970) 58 n. 10, before I was aware of the versions from Ur. It is a lenticular school tablet, inscribed with the identical text on the obverse and reverse. 9

10

viii.2. nungal in the egal

585

to the royal storehouse,16 (royal) bivouac,17 the ark,18 and perhaps even the extended family.19 In addition to its basic sense of “forest,” TIR is translated into Akkadian words meaning dwelling(-place), sanctuary, city, and country.20 Given the explicit semantic indicator for “wood” in A, the basic meaning may be retained for TIR, but é-gal can perhaps be translated literally as “big house,” a colloquial equivalent for prison in contemporary American English. For it seems to have the sense of “prison” in the Nungal hymn (lines 32 f., 40 f., 69)21 where the synonymous é-gu-la (line 10) is specifically identified as the “guardhouse, brig” (en-nu-un).22 Elsewhere, too, this meaning seems to fit better than “palace.” In a fragmentary text again linking Nungal and Nin-egal,23 the é-gal is described as a trap which . . . the evil-doer,24 as a distant sea which knows no horizon25 (a description elsewhere applied to the é-kur),26 and as the pillory of the nation.27 It is compared to a huge river, and its interior to goring oxen28 in the Instructions of Shuruppak,29 where the epigram to this effect is preceded directly by another of the same structure;30 the identical saying recurs as Proverb Collection 6.13, immediately before our own proverb.31 That it is linked also to Durand, RA 71 (1977) 21 n. 2. ˇ JCS 23 (1970) 58 n. 10; cf. also Sulgi A 29, translated by Kramer in ANET3 585: “I made secure travel, built there (i.e., on the highways of the land) ‘big houses’.” Similarly Kramer, Iraq 39 (1977) 65. 18 JCS 23 (1970) 58 n. 10; cf. M.E.L. Mallowan, “Noah’s Flood Reconsidered,” Iraq 26 (1964)65. 19 Cf. Frankena, Symbolae Böhl p. 151 n, 13. 20 sˇubtu, muˇ s¯abu, atm¯anu, ¯alu, m¯atu; cf. Hallo, JCS 23 (1970) 58 n. 10, and “Urban Origins in Cuneiform Sources” (forthcoming), here: VII.5, n. 17. 21 Frymer, JESHO 20 (1977) 81 and n. 4; Komoróczy, Acts Antiqua Hungarica 23 (1975) 160. 22 Sjöberg, AfO 24 (1973) 37 ad loc. Probably to be kept distinct from the toponym égu-laki and its Akkadian equivalent (?) B¯ıtumrabium; cf. Edzard and Farber, Rép. géog. 2 (1974) svv. 23 Sjöberg, “Miscellaneous Sumerian Texts, I,” OrSuec 23–24 (1974–1975) 166 f.; cf. Frymer. JESHO 20 (1977) 85 f. 24 é-gal giˇs-búr-gim lú-hul-gál mu-n[a- . . . ]. ˘ nu-zu. 25 [é]-gal ab(a)-sù-rá an-zà 26 Sjöberg, OrSuec 23–24 (1974–1975) 175 f. 27 giˇs-rab (LUGAL)-kalam-ma. x 28 é-gal i -(da)-mah-àm/a/e ˇsà-bi gu -du -du -àm. 7 4 7 7 ˘ of Suruppak 38:99. 29 Alster, Instructions 30 See on both, Alster, Studies in Sumerian Proverbs (= Mesopotamia 3 [1975]) 42. 31 Alster, Studies in Sumerian Proverbs, p. 18, quoting CBS 13890 for which see above, n. 14. 16 17

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the platitude about royal property which follows it in the Instructions of Shuruppak32 is less likely given the independent status of the latter.33 An Ur III court case34 discussed by Falkenstein35 can perhaps now be translated: “Lugina diverted water from the Sala-canal. The governor sentenced him to go to jail (é-gal-la KAB in-na-an-du11).36 Lugina declared to him: I will not go to jail! I will restore the water to the field of Lukalla the cupbearer who was deprived (?) of the water’,”37 Finally, the late series called “Entering the palace” (é-gal ku4-ra), whose real or imaginary allusions to crimes and punishments make it a veritable cuneiform textbook of schizophrenia,38 may preserve a hint of the “colloquial” meaning of the term. Line 2 is another simile, in spite of the disconcerting grammatical construction, for -e varies with -àm in Proverb Collection 1.128’,39 6.13,40 and other proverbs constructed like ours, and was perhaps particularly liable to occur with animal names because of their frequent occurrence as the “subject” of proverbs.41 In line 3, B and C offer a variant to the divine name. The variant may be interpreted as the name of the goddess Nin-egal, who in the Ningal-hymn shares so many of Nungal’s functions as to appear almost identical with her. Or perhaps it should be regarded as an epithet, “the divine mistress of the prison,” in both contexts. The final line offers variants both grammatical and lexical, but is mainly interesting as the climax of three preceding clauses (here nominal in construction) in synonymous parallelism. Gordon identified 32 So C. Wilcke, “Philologische Bemerkungen zum Rat des Suruppag,” ˇ ZA 68 (1978) 206 and 218. 33 Hallo, review of Alster, JNES 37 (1978) 272 and 273 ad lines 99–101. 34 YOS 4 1. 35 Falkenstein NSG 1 140 n. 3. 36 For KAB . . . du = “apportion, mete out, sentence,” see Hallo, “Urban Origins” 11 (forthcoming) n. 81, here: VII.5, contra M, Civil in Lambert and Millard, Atra- has¯ıs ˘ p. 170. 37 Note that, by contrast, the convicted party prefers imprisonment (or “hanging”) to performance of the contract (in this case marriage) in the much debated case of “the slandered bride” and its analogue CT 45 86; cf. Hallo, Studies Oppenheim 95; Finkelstein, WO 8 (1976) 238 f. and n. 4; Veenhof, RA 70 (1976) 153 f. 38 J.V. Kinnier Wilson, “An Introduction to Babylonian Psychiatry,” Studies Landsberger (= AS 16) 289 f. Cf. Vanstiphout, JCS 29 (1977) 56. 39 Below, n. 43. 40 Above, n. 28. For the variant see Wilcke, ZA 68 (1978) 218. 41 Cf. E. I, Gordon, “Animals As Represented in the Sumerian Proverbs and Fables,” Festschrift Struve pp. 226–249; “Sumerian Animal Proverbs and Fables: ‘Collection Five’,” JCS 12 (1958) 1–21, 43–75.

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numerous examples of proverbs structured with two such “parathetic members.”42 Three members are rarer, but also occur in his material, as can now be seen by a comparison of Proverb Collection 1. 128’ with UET 6/2 210. The composite text reads: “[In the . . . ] there is a raven, [in the . . . ]a mongoose, in the steppe a lion! Oh my husband, where shall I go?”43 If our proverb, in its unpretentious way, confirms Nungal’s role as patron-deity of prisons, there are, however, indications that other prisons had other patrons. An “incantation hymn”44 to Ninurta, dated by its editor to the early Isin period,45 commemorates the dedication46 of the “wide house of the protective deity” (é-dagal-dlamma) which is again described as a forest, to be precise as “a far off forest” (tir sud!-rá 48 ˇ S.A). ˇ The sud!-ra!)47 and in addition as a “house of detention” (é.SE latter translation is based on a presumed equation with b¯ıt nap.tari 49 meaning “house of detention or sanctuary,”50 and the attested albeit late equation with é-ˇse-àm-sa4 = b¯ıt dimm¯ati in the context of (sickness as) metaphoric imprisonment.51 ˇ S.A ˇ Thus Sumerian é-gal, é-gu-la, é-dagal, and é-SE take their place beside Akkadian b¯ıt as¯ıri / k¯ıli / mas. s. arti/ nap.tari / s. ibitti,52 42 Gordon, Sumerian Proverbs 17. Many other examples could be added for other proverb collections; note, for example, UM 29-16-291, quoted by Landsberger, WO 3 (1966) 249. 43 [ . . . ] uga-muˇsen-àm / [ . . . ] dnin-kilim-àm / edin-na ur-mah-e / [mu]-ud-na-mu me-ˇsè ga-gin. Note-e for -àm in line 3, followed (in Gordon’s text) ˘by illegible signs. 44 M. Cohen, “The Incantation-Hymn; Incantion or Hymn?,” JAOS 95 (1975) 592– 611; previously: Hallo, BiOr 23 (1966) 241 and nn. 23 f., here: III.3; JCS 19 (1965) 57 ad CT 44 16. 45 M. Cohen, “ur.sag.me.ˇsár.ur . A ˇsirnamˇsubba of Ninurta,” WO 8 (1975) 22–36, 4 esp. 24 f. Note, however, that the incipit is to be restored as [ur-sag gú-za mùˇs-bi ˇsi-du8] on the basis of the catalogue of ˇsir-nam-ˇsub-ba’s in TuM NF 3 53 and 4 53 i; cf. Wilcke, Kollationen 41. 46 According to Cohen, WO 8 (1975) 23. 47 Cohen, WO 8 (1975) 27 line 96; cf. line 100. 48 Lines 88–93 and Cohen’s comments, WO 8 (1975) 33 f. 49 Cohen, WO 8 (1975) 33 f., citing Finkelstein, Studies Landsberger p. 238. Cf. also S. M. Paul, Studies in the Book of the Covenant (= SVT 18) 63 and n. 2. 50 F.R. Kraus, “Akkadische Wörter und Ausdrücke, X,” RA 70 (1976) 165–172, rejects this meaning in favor of something closer to “hostel, caravanserai,” but note that the latter concept can also be expressed by Sumerian é-gal (JCS 23 [1970] 58 n. 10) as a colloquial (?) substitute For more common é-danna or é-kaskal. 51 W, G. Lambert, JNES 33 (1974) 289: 15, cited by Cohen, WO 8 (1975) 34. Cf. Lambert, JNES 33 (1974) 292: 15, 293: 12 (e-ˇsi-ka), 301. 52 For most of these terms see Renger, JESHO 20 (1977) 77. Cf. perhaps also s/zihu ˘ in AASOR 16 73: 6 f., 31.

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kiˇserˇsu53 kiˇsukku, abullu,54 etc., as potential designations of houses of detention. Perhaps the multitude of designations, and the ambiguity of some of them, provide clues that Sumerian, before its much-heralded demise, had developed the capacity for expressing some ideas in the form of slang.55 Like the “technical jargon” of the priests, craftsmen, and merchants,56 the rougher language of sailors and farmhands may even have found its way into the scribal curriculum.57 It is hoped that this small clarification of a Yale inscription, with its duplicates and parallels, will contribute to the ongoing recovery of Mesopotamian texts and institutions.58

53 Cf. M.T. Larsen, The Old Assyrian City-State and Its Colonies (= Mesopotamia 4) 190 f. n. 90. 54 In the phrase abullam (abull¯atim) sˇ¯udû (kalû), for which see CAD A/1 86cd; I/J 34a; Falkenstein, BaghMitt 2 (1963) 45 and n. 211. 55 An analogy of sorts may lurk in the expressions ˇsab-gal and ˇsab-tur, translated by “merchant” (tamk¯aru) and “(merchant’s) assistant, agent, apprentice” (ˇsamallû), respectively, in the Group Vocabulary, but meaning literally “big pot” and “little pot”; see Hallo, Studies Landsberger 199 n. 5a, For ˇsab-gal = merchant, already in Uruk III and Jemdet Nasr texts, see Falkenstein, ATU 58 and n. 2; A.A. Vaiman, “Preliminary Report on the Decipherment of Proto-Sumerian Writing,” Pêrêdnê aziatskii Sbornik 2 (1966) 164; M.A. Powell, Jr., “Götter, Könige und ‘Kapitalisten’ in Mesopotamien,” Oikumene 2 (1978) 140 and n. 37. 56 On the last, see Gerd Steiner, “Kaufmanns-und Handelssprachen im alten Orient,” Iraq 39 (1977) 11–17. 57 Å.S. Sjöberg, “Der Examenstext A,” ZA 64 (1975) 142–145 lines 21, 25 f.; “The Old Babylonian eduba,” Studies Jacobsen (= AS 20) 166 f. 58 From time to time, “Notes From the Babylonian Collection” are to appear in this Journal at the kind invitation of the editor, Professor Erie Leichty.

viii.3 BIBLICAL ABOMINATIONS AND SUMERIAN TABOOS*

Moshe Held’s scholarship, as expressed both in his teaching and in his writing, has had a significant impact on the interrelated fields of Assyriology, Semitic linguistics, and Biblical exegesis. Particularly prominent among his contributions are his lexicographical insights. One methodological need that he consistently emphasized was the recognition that “comparative Semitic lexicography”1 cannot content itself with what in some circles is known as “comparative Semitic philology,” i.e., the mere identification of cognates, an identification which often is highly speculative at best. Rather, it must also encompass the realms of functional equivalents, of loan translations, of so-called calques. Such equivalences are much harder to identify, requiring as they do a command of the entire semantic field in which a given word is at home, as well as its

* This paper was first presented to the Dropsie College Guest Lecture Series, September 19, 1984, at the invitation of Prof. Stephen A. Geller. It was repeated in essentially similar form at Columbia University, November 1, 1984, as a memorial lecture for Moshe Held. A fuller tribute to his memory, together with a bibliography of his writings, will appear in the Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research. The following common Assyriological abbreviations are used extensively in this paper: ANET = J.B. Pritchard, ed., Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, third ed. (Princeton, 1969). BM = tablets in the British Museum. CAD = I.J. Gelb et al., eds., The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (Chicago, 1956–). CT = Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum (London, 1896–). KAR = E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts, WVDOG, 28, 34 (Leipzig, 1915–1923). MSL = B. Landsberger, Materialien zum Sumerischen Lexikon (Rome, 1937–). OECT = Oxford Editions of Cuneiform Inscriptions/Texts (Oxford, 1923–) SLB = Studia ad tabulas cuneiformes a F.M. Th. de Liagre Böhl pertinentia (Leiden, 1954–). TIM= Texts from the Iraq Museum (Baghdad/Wiesbaden/Leiden, 1964–) TLB = Tabulae cuneiformes a F.M. Th. de Liagre Böhl collectae (Leiden, 1964–). UET = Ur Excavations Texts YBC = tablets in the Yale Babylonian Collection, New Haven. 1 M. Held, “Studies in Comparative Semitic lexicography,” Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger . . . , Assyriological Studies, 16 (Chicago, 1965), pp. 395–406.

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entire range of attestations, especially in poetic contexts. One illustration among many from Held’s own oeuvre is his convincing equation of Hebrew sˇah. at/ˇsuh. ¯a and Akkadian haˇstu/ˇsuttatu, all in the approxi˘ this equation involved, mate sense of pit or netherworld.2 Establishing in Held’s own words, “the study of idiomatic correspondences and the establishment of interdialectal distribution based on actual usage.”3 Availing myself of the same general methodology, I shall here attempt to demonstrate the functional equivalence of certain terms in Sumerian, Akkadian, and Hebrew that share the semantic field of divine abominations or taboos.4 The text which initiated me into this topic stands out from among the nearly forty thousand inscribed objects in the Yale Babylonian Collection by its physical appearance. It has the lenticular form characteristic of school-tablets from the early stages of instruction in the Old Babylonian scribal schools. The largest group of such schooltablets, discovered at Nippur and preserved at the University Museum in Philadelphia, is the subject of a recent systematic study by Robert S. Falkowitz5 (to whom I am indebted for much helpful advice throughout the evolution of this paper).6 But unlike most of the school-tablets from Nippur, those from other Old Babylonian sites tend to feature the practiced hand of the instructor on the obverse, the more awkward handwriting of the pupil on the reverse. The present text7 is an example of this kind. In careful calligraphy it says, once on each face:

2

M. Held, “Pits and Pitfalls in Akkadian and Biblical Hebrew,” The Gaster Festschrift = JANES, 5 (1973), 173–190. 3 Ibid., 181. 4 In passing, note the following interesting lexical entries from the “Vocabulary of ˇ Ebla” (entry 100) níg-gig = qá-dì-ˇsum (GA.TI.SUM), níg-gig (pronounced ne-ki-ki) = ì-ki-íb (NI.KI.TUM), níg-gig = é-mu. See G. Pettinato, Testi lesscali bilingui della biblioteca L. 2769, Materiali Epigrafici di Ebla, 4 (Naples, 1982), pp. 207 (VE 100), 365 (entry 0253). The Eblaite equivalents are compared to Akkadian qaˇssˇu and ikkibu and Hebrew h. erem respectively. Cf. M. Krebernik, “Zu Syllabar und Orthographic der lexikalischen Texte aus Ebla,” ZA, 73 (1983), 4. 5 R.S. Falkowitz, “Round Old Babylonian School Tablets from Nippur,” AfO, 29/30 (1983–1984), 18–45. 6 My thanks also to David Gelbart (Jewish Theological Seminary) who wrote a seminar paper for me on this topic (1982). 7 YBC 7351 (unpublished). For transliterations of this and subsequent examples, see below (Appendix).

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[1] **A judge who perverts justice, a curse which falls on the righteous party, a (first-born) heir who drives the younger (son) out of the patrimony— these are abominations of Ninurta.8

The structure of this epigram—common in Sumerian wisdom literature generally, and in Sumerian proverbs particularly—consists of a group of sayings in syntactic and (more or less) semantic parallelism, followed by a concluding “end-formula,”9 i.e., a climax10 or ‘punchline.’ The sayings are most often arranged in pairs, but groups of three11 or four12 or more also occur. Among the proverbial sayings thus structured, one subgroup ends with the punchline, “it is an abomination of (this or that) deity” (níg-gig dingir-ra-kam)—hence, a taboo.13 This subgroup, to which the Yale text clearly belongs, was first identified by Edmund Gordon,14 who located it in Proverb Collection 14. Our tablet is closely paralleled by a fragmentary one from Ur15 that describes the same three actions as an abomination of (i.e., against) Utu, the sun-god and patron of justice, as does a third version (from ** The author has identified his (or others’) translations of various Sumerian and Akkadian texts by means of bracketed numbers, from [1] through [14], throughout the article. Transliterations of these texts are furnished in the Appendix. 8 For a slightly different translation, see now Å.W. Sjöberg et al., Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary B (Philadelphia, 1984), 55, which emends line 2 to áˇs á-zi-ga bal-e, “who yearns for violence.” 9 B. Alster, Studies in Sumerian Proverbs = Mesopotamia, 3 (1975), 25 f.; see also his “Paradoxical Proverbs and Satire in Sumerian Literature,” JCS 27 (1975), 205. 10 E.I. Gordon, Sumerian Proverbs: Glimpses of Everyday Life in Ancient Mesopotamia, Museum Monographs, 19 (Philadelphia, 1959), p. 17; see also his “A New Look at the Wisdom of Sumer and Akkad,” BO, 17 (1960), 132 f. Cf. W.W. Hallo, “Notes from the Babylonian Collection 1: Nungal in the Egal,” JCS, 31 (1979), 164, n. 42, here: VIII.2. 11 Gordon, “A New Look at the Wisdom of Sumer and Akkad,” 133; Hallo, “Notes from the Babylonian Collection I: Nungal in the Egal,” JCS, 31 (1979), 164, n. 43, here: VIII.2. 12 W.G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Oxford, 1960), p. 272 lines 5–10. 13 Another Sumerian word for which the sense of “taboo, forbidden (thing), inhibition” has been suggested is kéˇs-da; see B. Alster, The Instructions of Suruppak: a Sumerian Proverb Collection, Mesopotamia, 2 (Copenhagen, 1974), 79 f.; see also his Studies in Sumerian Proverbs, p. 140, 18: Akkadian words (other than ikkibu, for which see below) for which it has been suggested include anzillu, asakku (B), kimkimmu (B), gip¯aru (4) (see CAD s. vv.), and maruˇstu (see W.W. Hallo, “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: II. The ˇ Appeal to Utu,” in Zikir Sumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus, ed. G. van Driel et al. (Leiden, 1982), p. 106, here: V.2, ad line 12; see also M. Civil, “Enlil and Ninlil: the Marriage of Sud,” JAOS, 103 (1983), 47). 14 Gordon, “A New Look at the Wisdom of Sumer and Akkad,” 127. 15 UET 6:259.

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the Frederick P. Lewis Collection of the Free Library of Philadelphia)16 which, moreover, varies significantly: [1a] A judge who perverts justice, a judgement which favors the wicked party (Young: “The one who loves an unjust verdict”)— it is an abomination of Utu.

Proverb Collection 14 contains still another version of this saying (courtesy R.S. Falkowitz), which I venture to restore as follows: [1b] To seize someone with unauthorized force,17 to pronounce an unauthorized verdict,18 to have the younger (son) driven out of the patrimony by the (first-born) heir— these are abominations of Ninurta.

As these variants suggest, it is not particularly crucial which deity is invoked in the punchline. Most often it is Ninurta, as in Proverb Collection 14, or Utu, as in the following isolated example from Ur (which so far has not been assigned successfully to any proverb collection): [2] Adding19 property to property (literally, share of an inheritance)20 is an abomination of Utu.

The sentiment expressed here is already found, more or less, in the ‘reform texts’ of the early Lagash ruler Urukagina (Uruinimgina), who complained that the house of the ruler was added to the field of the ruler, the house of his wife to the field of his wife, the house of his crown-prince to the field of his crown-prince.21 It recurs in the G.D. Young, “Utu and Justice: a New Sumerian Proverb,” JCS, 24 (1972), 132. For tukul . . . , dab5 in this sense, cf. TLB 3: 73 iv 1 and my forthcoming edition of the text in SLB 3. 18 For di... dib in this sense see A. Falkenstein, Die neusumerischen Gerichtsurkunden = VKEK A, No. 2 (Munich, 1957), III, p. 97. 19 For gá-gá in the sense of “perform an addition, augment” (opposite zi-(i)-zi) ˇ cf. Sulgi B 17 as translated by Å.W. Sjöberg in his “The Old Babylonian Eduba,” in S.J. Lieberman, ed., Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen, Assyriological Studies, 20 (Chicago, 1976), pp. 172 f. 20 For ha-la ha-la = zittam zâzu, “divide an inheritance, etc.,” see Examenstext A27 (Å.W. Sjöberg, “Der Examenstext A,” ZA, 64 (1975), 144 f. If that is the meaning here, we would have to render it as: “to increase property inheritance for the sake of dividing it” or the like. Cf. also níg-ba-bi-ˇsè gar-ra-ab = ana zitti naˇskin in Lugal-e 429 (J.J.A. van Dijk, Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-˘gál: le récit épique et didactique des Travaux de Ninurta du Déluge et de la Nouvelle Creation, 2 vols. [Leiden, 1983]). 21 Urukagina 4 vii 5–11 = 5 vi 25 31 in E. Sollberger, Corpus des inscriptions “royales” présargoniques de Lagaˇs (Geneva, 1956). See latest transliteration by B. Hruˇska, “Die 16 17

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disputation between Summer and Winter, one of whom is said to have “added field to field, piled up grain-heaps there.”22 We even find it echoed by Isaiah, who cried “woe to those who add house to house and join field to field” (Isaiah 5:8). Other deities that occur in the punchline include the moon-god Suen (several times), Inanna (once), and an unnamed divinity identified only by the generic term for deity. What is more revealing than the identity of the deity involved, however, is the nature of the offenses catalogued. A brief survey will illustrate. Proverb Collection 3 is particularly rich in examples. In the edition by Falkowitz,23 Nos. 9, 21, 119, 161, 168–171, and 175 are all explicit or (in one case) implicit examples of the genre. I understand No. 170 as follows: [3] To examine (?)24 a man taking a boat downstream, to. . . the forehead, to touch25 the vulva— these are abominations of Suen.

The understanding of this somewhat obscure triplet26 on a Nippur tablet is improved (if only slightly) by comparing it with partial

innere Struktur der Reform-texte Urukaginas von Lagaˇs,” ArOr, 41 (1973), 117, and translations by I.M. Diakonoff, in his “Some remarks on the ‘reforms’ of Urukagina,” RA 52 (1958), and S.N. Kramer, in his The Sumerians: Their History, Culture, and Character (Chicago, 1963), p. 318. The verb is zag. . . ús-ús. [But cf. now F. Pomponio, JCS, 36 (1984), 96–100]. 22 Å.W. Sjöberg, “Beiträge zum sumerischen Wörterbuch,” Or. 39 (1970), 90. The verb here is zag . . . tag-tag. Ordinarily, “add” is expressed by Sumerian dah. 23 R.S. Falkowitz, The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections (Ph.D. Thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 1980). 24 For káb (KAxA)—lat¯aku, litiktu cf. CAD L s.v. and now TIM 9:87:13 with van Dijk’s comments ad loc. referring to CT 51: 168) iii 9: kab-du11-ga = la-ta-ku and ibid. 45: kabMIN (= du11-ga) = la-ta-ku. For earlier discussion see M. Civil, “The Sumerian Flood Story,” in Atra-has¯ıs: the Babylonian Story of the Flood, ed. W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard (Oxford, 1969),˘ p. 170, ad line 92; see also his “Les limites de l’information textuelle,” in L’Archeologie de l’Iraq du debut de l’époque neólithique a 333 a.n.è., Colloques Internationaux du CNRS, No. 580 (Paris, 1980), p. 228 (end); W.W. Hallo, “Antediluvian Cities,” JCS, 23 (1970), 61; and Hallo, “Notes from the Babylonian Collection I,” 163 f, here: VIII.2. 25 For ˇsu-du -ga = lap¯atu, see CAD L s.v. 11 26 Falkowitz has more recently compared this proverb with Enlil’s infractions of various taboos in the myth of Enlil and Ninlil, in his “Discrimination and Condensation of Sacred Categories: the Fable in Early Mesopotamian Literature,” in La Fable, Entrétiens sur l’antiquité classique, 30 (Geneva, 1984), p. 19, n. 31.

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duplicates from Oxford27 and the British Museum.28 I understand the Oxford text as follows: [3a] To examine a man taking a boat downstream, a man caulking a boat, or a man drowning (?)— is an abomination of Suen.

The British Museum piece, however, seems to combine elements of both versions. Proverb Collection 3.9 has long since been discussed by Sjöberg, Cooper and Alster.29 Falkowitz, taking all three discussions into account, and in light of the six variant exemplars available for his reconstruction, translated it thus: [4] Pouring beer into an unclean well, not stamping when saying an incantation, not keeping out (?) sand from a cold (?)30 nose, not shading . . . at noon— it is a taboo against Utu.

The first offense is listed in one variant only; the other three, recurring in each of five variant examplars, follow a somewhat more consistent pattern. Putting all four into this pattern, I would suggest this rendering: To banquet without washing the hands,31 to spit without stamping32 (on the spittle), to blow (literally, cool) the nose without returning (the mucus) to dust,33 to use (literally, do) the tongue at noon without providing shade— these are abominations of Utu.

In other words, we have here four examples of ‘bad manners’ associated with ordinary bodily functions. OECT 5: 35 rev. 15 f. BM 57994; 2–6 (unpublished); courtesy R.S. Falkowitz. 29 Sjöberg, “Beiträge zum sumerischen Wörterbuch,” 90; J.S. Cooper, “gìr-KIN ‘to stamp out, trample’,” RA, 66 (1972), 83; Alster, “Paradoxical Proverbs and Satire in Sumerian Literature,” 205. 30 Falkowitz would now translate te-en as “pierced” (dakˇ su?). 31 Reading the first sign as ˇsu!- not pú, according to collation kindly furnished by Falkowitz. 32 For “stamping the feet” and its possible significance in Biblical and Ugaritic contexts, cf. G.E. Bryce, “Omen-wisdom in Ancient Israel,” JBL, 94 (1975), 31 f. 33 For sahar . . . gi in this sense see W.W. Hallo and J.J.A. van Dijk, The Exaltation of 4 Inanna, YNER 3 (New Haven, 1968), p. 88. 27 28

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A similar explanation serves for the solitary offense listed in Proverb Collection 3.161, recently translated by Miguel Civil as follows:34 [5] To have to bring to the mouth unwashed hands is an abomination.

Note that no deity at all is invoked here. (In one instance from the same collection (3.21) even the characterization as an abomination is lacking, so that only the structure suggests that it belongs to our genre. But the sense is too obscure to merit further attention here.) The remaining examples from this Collection are also solitary ones rather than groups of three or more; some of them recur in the context of other Proverb Collections. Thus, 3.175— [6] To reach for alms (var., to examine alms closely) is an abomination of Ninurta.

—finds a possible parallel in Collection 15 (D5, fragmentary). Again, 3.171 seems to be a minor variation of Collection 1.23. In the light of presumed duplicates from Ur,35 I take the latter to mean approximately: [7] Singing of one’s property or one’s needs36 is an abomination of Inanna.

and the former: [7a] Singing of one’s “inventory”37 or. . . one’s needs is an abomination of Inanna.

Only Collection 3.118 is still without parallel in other contexts. Alone among the examples of the genre, it begins with a rhetorical flourish: [8] Let me tell you about his knowledge.

It then says (as I understand it): That he brought a witness to his (own) ignorance is an abomination of Suen.

But the most intriguing parallel to these abominations comes from outside the Proverb Collections, indeed from outside unilingual Sumerian Civil, “Enlil and Ninlil,” 62. UET 6:261 f.; 339ii. 36 For níg-al-di = eriˇ stu this sense, see, e.g., MSL 1:60:15 f. 37 For im-ˇsu-nigin-na in approximately this sense see Falkowitz, The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections, p. 244 (“a tablet of sums”), citing G. Komoróczy, “Zur Ätiologie der Schrifterfindung im Enmerkar-Epos,” AoF, 3 (1975), 18–24. 34 35

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literature altogether. Collection 3.168 and 169 are treated by Falkowitz as separate (albeit parallel) proverbs, and translated (respectively) by him as: [9] Bitter barley is taboo for the necromancer ((lú)gidim).

and Wheat flour is taboo for (his [i.e., the necromancer’s]) god.

The same saying is found in only slightly variant form in the context of incantations.38 But a quick check of the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary’s (CAD) article on ikkibu39 (the Akkadian equivalent of Sumerian níg-gig = taboo) reveals that this particular taboo also passed into the bilingual series called utukk¯u limn¯uti, preserved verbatim (albeit in reverse order) in an unpublished Kuyunjik text (K 166) as follows: [9a] sˇeg¯usˇu-flour is forbidden (as an offering) to ghosts, wheat flour is forbidden (as an offering) to gods.

This suggests that in the millennium which separates the Sumerian proverbs of Old Babylonian date from the canonical collection of incantations against evil spirits, the emphasis of the taboos had shifted from a principal preoccupation with morals and manners to an at least equal concern with cultic matters. This impression is reinforced by the unilingual examples of ikkib ili. Some of these preserve exactly the sense of Sumerian níg-gig dingir-ra, “abominable to the deity, taboo,” in precisely analogous contexts, namely proverbial precepts on good behavior. Thus for example the text today called “Counsels of Wisdom” (in the translation of W.G. Lambert40 as restored in CAD)41 ends as follows: [10] to create trust and then to abandon, to [promise] and not to give is an abomination to Marduk.

Other instances of the expression involve a new sense, that of “sacred to the deity.”42 But even when the older meaning is retained, it is

38 39 40 41 42

CAD I/J 44: 34, OECT 5: 19. CAD I/J 55c. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, p. 106. CAD I/J 57b. CAD I/J 57bc.

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found most often in wholly new contexts. These include in the first place the colophons of tablets belonging to the so-called “secret lore of divination” and related genres, as well as certain other texts like the Agum-kakrime inscription. Such texts are typically subscribed: [11] The initiated shall show (this text only) to (another) initiate; the uninitiated is not to see (it). it is a taboo of (this or that) deity.

Lists of the texts so subscribed have been assembled by Borger43 and Hunger.44 A variant of the formula invokes divine retribution on those who would efface or carry off the tablet so subscribed45 The deities invoked in all these cases are typically the great gods who preside over divination on the one hand46 or the patron deities of the scribal art on the other (Nisaba, Nabu, etc.). In the second place, the Akkadian idiom is found in a number of scattered passages involving the violation of a taboo or prohibition. This is most often expressed as “eating” the taboo,47 but sometimes also in the more familiar manner as in the following examples from an omen (probably belonging or related to the subseries of the physiognomic omina which in effect constitutes a canon of morals or “Sittenkanon”):48 [12] If someone approaches (i.e., has sexual relations with) a woman in a river—it is a sin against Ea; if someone approaches a woman in a boat— it is a sin against [Su"en]; If someone approaches a woman and (then?) steals any of her valuables— it is a sin against “the mistress of the lands.”

The second of these moralizing omens is vaguely reminiscent of example No. 3 in the Sumerian tradition.

43 “Geheimwissen,” RLA, 3 (1964), 188–191; see also previously his, “nisirt¯ı b¯ arûti, . Geheimlehre der Haruspizin,” BiOr, 14 (1957), 190–195. 44 Babylonische und assyrische Kolophone, AOAT 2 (Neukirchen, 1968), p. 163 s.v. ikkibu. 45 CAD I 56. 46 Cf. in the Agum-kakrime inscription (V R 33 viii): Sullat ˇ ˇ s u Adad u Haniˇs u Samaˇ il¯ani s.¯ır¯uti b¯el¯e b¯ıri. 47 CAD A/1: 255; cf. (ikkib iliˇ su/¯aliˇsu ak¯alu). The less common ikkiba ep¯esˇu (CAD E 209) seems to be a loan translation from Sumerian níg-gig . . . ak (Emesal ám-gig . . . ak) for which see Hallo, “The royal correspondence of Larsa: II,” 106 (12), here: V.2. 48 S.M. Moren, “A Lost ‘Omen’ Tablet,” JCS, 28 (1977), 66 f., lines 1 and 3. Reference courtesy R.E. Falkowitz.

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Finally, the most characteristic context for the Akkadian idiom is provided by the menologies and hemerologies, calendars which list the months and days on which all manner of activities should or should not be carried out. A sampling of references from Assur will serve to suggest their range. 7th month (Taˇsritu), 7th day: he must not embark on a boat—it is a sin against (literally, abomination of ) Ninurta, provider of the temple. He must not face a dust storm in an open area, or the evil spirits will take him away—it is a sin against the deity He must not cross a river . . . it is a sin against Ea . . . He must not jump over a ditch . . . it is a sin against the deity . . . He must not plant a date palm or a snake (will bite?) the man—it is a sin against dIGI.SIG.SIG the gardener . . . He shall eat neither pigeon nor rooster, or else pestilence will seize him—it is a sin against Nedu the chief doorkeeper of the netherworld. He must not eat fish (and) leek, or a scorpion will sting him—it is a sin against Shulpa"e the lord of the table. He must not eat the root of the leek or he will acquire the q¯uq¯anu sickness—it is a sin against Bel-la-tari, the great herdsman of Anu. He must not eat an offering—it is a sin against Shamash the judge, the lord of decision/divination (?). He must not lie on his haunches or else (a demon?) will take away his haunches (?)—it is a sin against the “Wagon of the Sky of Anu” (i.e., the constellation Ursa Major). He must not bring a hand to the breast of a woman, or else (a demon?) will push them off the bed—it is a sin against [. . .] (and) Irra.49

The taboos for the seventh of Tashritu are particularly numerous in this text; another hemerology from Assur50 and its parallel from Kalhu51 has only one, plus one for the first day,52 according to the Babylonian tradition. It will suffice to cite here the variant tradition from Assur itself: 7th day (of Tashritu): [13] He must not eat anything— it is a sin against Urash and Ninegal.53

49 KAR 178 rev. iv 32–65; cf. R. Labat, Hémérologies et ménologies d’Assur (Paris, 1939), pp. 114–117. 50 KAR 177 rev. ii 39-KAR 147 rev. 23; cf. Labat, Hémérologies et ménologies, pp. 174 f. 51 P. Hulin, “A Hemerological Text from Nimrud,” Iraq, 21 (1959) 42–53 and pls. XIII–XV. 52 KAR 177 rev. iii 15 = KAR 147 obv. 8; cf. Labat, Hémérologies et ménologies, pp. 168 f. 53 KAR 177 rev. i 32 f.; cf. Labat 1939, Hémérologies et ménologies, pp. 178 f.

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Otherwise only the 18th of Nisannu has a comparable prohibition,54 which is repeated verbatim in Inbu b¯el arhim, the hemerological com˘ pendium.55 Of the many taboos catalogued in the hemerologies, the one against eating fish and leek is particularly worthy of notice because of its persistence in the cuneiform tradition. Thus, e.g., a description of demons in lines 110–118 of Dumuzi’s Dream56 includes the formulaic lines, “(They) taste not the bitter garlic, they eat no fish, they eat no leek,” lines which were, according to Alster, “originally intended to describe cultically clean persons, for whom strong smelling food was forbidden.”57 These early antecedents to the hemerological entry are not yet described as taboos. A parallel58 from the other end of the literary record, however, specifically charges many sacrilegious acts against Nabu-shum-ishkun (an obscure member of the so-called E-dynasty, sometimes referred to as the 8th Dynasty of Babylon), whose chief claim to fame has hitherto rested on his role as the immediate predecessor of Nabonassar and the Nabonassar Era.59 Among other things, this king is alleged to have [14] “brought leek, the abomination of Ezida, the temple (?) of Nabu, and ˇ eat it.”60 made the cultic personnel (KU4.É.MES) Summing up the cuneiform evidence, it may be said in general that the divine distaste expressed in this genre of sayings seems, in Sumerian texts of the second millennium, to be reserved for infractions against ethical or behavioral norms, while in Akkadian texts of the first millennium it is extended as well to normally legitimate activities which happen to be conducted on an unacceptable day. In neither context is there any visible rationale for the invocation of a particular deity; indeed, the substitution of other divine names in variant recensions or of generic terms for deity in other citations implies a certain indifference on this point. In the late examples, moreover, the whole concept Labat, Hémérologies et ménologies, pp. 60 f. Virolleaud, “Quelques textes cunéiformes inedits,” ZA 19 (1905–1906), 378: 4 f.; restored with CAD I 56a. 56 B. Alster, Dumuzi’s Dream: Aspects of Oral Poetry in a Sumerian Myth = Mesopotamia, 1 (Copenhagen, 1972), 16 f. and 64–67. 57 Ibid., 42; cf. 105 f. for a compilation of other compositions with similar descriptions. 58 E. von Weiher, “Marduk-apla-usur und Nab¯ u-ˇsum-iˇskun in einem spätbabylo. nischen Fragment aus Uruk,” BaM, 15 (1984) 197–224 and pls. 22 f. 59 See for now W.W. Hallo, “Dating the Mesopotamian Past: the Concept of Eras from Sargon to Nabonassar,” Bulletin of the Society for Mesopotamian Studies, 6(1983), 43–54. 60 Von Weiher, “Marduk-apla-usur,” 202 and 208, lines 17 f. . 54 55

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of the “abomination of the deity” seems to weaken into a mere idiom to express the idea of a sin against a given deity. Much the same can be said, in passing, of the comparable Egyptian idiom found, e.g., in the Wisdom of Amen-em-opet:61 Do not converse falsely with a man, for it is the abomination of God. Do not lead a man astray (with) reed pen or papyrus document: it is the abomination of God (t A-bwt n-pi A-ntr). ¯

Similarly in the Phoenician sarcophagus inscription of Tabnith of Sidon (ca. 500 bce),62 we read: Do not open me or disquiet me, for that thing is an abomination to #Ashtart.

I pass over the Hittite papratar, “defilement,” and especially hurkel, which refers exclusively to sexual aberrations including incest, sodomy, and bestiality.63 In Leviticus, these are variously described as aberrations (tébel; 18: 23, 20: 12) or abominations (t¯o #¯eb¯a; 18: passim), or folly (neb¯al¯a; ¯ ¯ ¯ Deut. 22: 21 and passim),64 but not specifically as an abomination of the Lord. The latter we will now consider. How, in fact, does the Ancient Near Eastern concept of a specifically divine abomination, a taboo, compare with that of Biblical Israel? Well aware that the comparative method is under attack, I refer the reader to arguments I have presented elsewhere in its defense.65 Let me simply reiterate here that responsible comparison requires that equal attention be paid to differences and to similarities, to contrasts as well as to ANET 423 xiii 10 and xv 21 = ch. 10:6 and 13:2; the former cited by R.B.Y. Scott, Proverbs-Ecclesiastes, Anchor Bible, 18 (New York, 1965), p. 60. For the latest edition see I. Grumach, Untersuchungen zur Lebenslehre des Amenemope, Münchner Ägyptologische Studien, 23 (Munich, 1972). Cf. also ch. 13 (15); 20 f. 62 ANET3 662a. I am indebted to Timothy Lavolle for pointing out this reference. 63 H.A. Hoffner, Jr., “Incest, sodomy and bestiality in the Ancient Near East,” in Orient and Occident: Essays Presented to Cyrus H. Gordon . . . , ed. H.A. Hoffner, Jr., AOAT 22 (Neukirchen, 1973), 81–90. 64 The list of these abominations is expanded further in the Temple Scroll to include, e.g., marriage with a niece; see B.A. Levine, “The Temple Scroll,” BASOR, 232(1978), 12. 65 Note especially W.W. Hallo, “New Moons and Sabbaths: a Case Study in the Contrastive Approach,” HUCA, 48 (1977), 1–18; “Biblical History in its Near Eastern Setting: the Contextual Approach,” in Scripture in Context: Essays on the Comparative Method, Pittsburgh Theological Monograph Series, 34, ed. C.D. Evans, W.W. Hallo, and J.B. White (Pittsburgh, 1980), pp. 1–26; and “Cult Statue and Divine Image: a Preliminary Study,” in Scripture in Context II: More Essays on the Comparative Method, ed. W.W. Hallo, J.C. Moyer, and L.S. Perdue (Winona Lake, Indiana, 1983), pp. 1–17. 61

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comparisons. In what I call the contextual approach, both receive their due. Let it, then, be stated at the outset that biblical Hebrew has no cognate for Akkadian ikkibu. But it does have a word for abomination or abhorrence in the form of t¯o #¯eb¯a (from a presumed root T #B) which ¯ is often coupled, in the construct state, with the divine name.66 It is therefore reasonable to ask whether this concept bears comparison (or contrast) with Sumerian níg-gig dingir-ra and Akkadian ikkib ili. In the Bible, the greatest number of “divine abominations” are catalogued in the Books of Deuteronomy and Proverbs respectively, a point not lost on those who would ascribe both of these books to a common, perhaps northern, origin.67 Actions specifically condemned as abominations to the Lord come, like the sins of the Babylonian penitent,68 in groups of seven. In Deuteronomy69 they are: (1) Melting down foreign idols for their silver or gold (Deut. 7:25; that such ‘recycling’ actually was practiced—e.g., at Alalakh—has been argued by Na"aman);70 (2) Sacrificing a blemished animal (Deut. 17:1); (3) All forms of sorcery and divination, especially necromancy (18:12); (4) Child sacrifice (ibid.) (cf. 12:31); (5) Transvestism (22:5); (6) Cultic prostitution (or using it to pay vows) (23:18 f.); (7) Making a sculptured or molten image (27:15). The Book of Proverbs has a whole catalogue headed “Six things the Lord hates; seven are an abomination to Him”: A haughty bearing, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a mind that hatches evil plots, feet quick to run to evil, a false witness testifying lies, and one who incites brothers to quarrel (6:16–19; cf. 26:25).

Note once the construction with LPNY (Deut. 24:40). So, e.g., H.L. Ginsberg, The Israelian Heritage of Judaism (New York, 1982), pp. 34 f.; previously M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford, 1972), pp. 260– 281, 313–316. See now also M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford, 1985), p. 288, n. 20. 68 Cf. W, W. Hallo, “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition,” JAOS, 88/1 (= AOS 53) (1968), 81, n. 85, here: IV.1; W.G. Lambert, “Dingir.ˇsà.dib.ba Incantations,” JNES, 33 (1974), 282 f., line 155. 69 David Daube, in his “The Culture of Deuteronomy,” Orita 3 (1969), 27–52, has argued for the prominence of shame as a motive for obedience (and form of punishment) in Deuteronomy. Perhaps divine abhorrence is a related concept. 70 N. Na"aman, “The Recycling of a Silver Statue,” JNES, 40 (1981), 47 f. 66 67

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In addition, it singles out as abhorrent to the Lord the following: the devious man (3:32); men of crooked mind (11:20); lying speech (12:22); sacrifice of the wicked (15:8, cf. 21:27, 28:9) and the way of the wicked (15:9); evil thoughts (15:26); every haughty person (16:5); to acquit the guilty and convict the innocent (17:15) (cf. [1a] above).

The most frequent condemnation is levelled at dishonesty in the matter of weights and measures, which is declared abhorrent to the Lord no less than three separate times in Proverbs (11:1, 20:10, 20:23) and again in Deuteronomy (25:12–16). The occurrence of such dishonesty can be assumed, given human nature, and is illustrated by the lengths to which ancient Near Easterners went to prevent tampering with weights—and to circumvent these precautions.71 It is also documented in literary references from all over the Near East.72 In the Late Egyptian Book of the Dead, for example, the deceased protests his guiltlessness by asserting, among other things, “I have neither increased nor diminished the grain measure . . . I have not added to the weight of the balance. I have not weakened the plummet of the scales.”73 In Akkadian literature, the great preceptive hymn to the sun-god, Shamash, patron of justice and righteousness, contrasts “the merchant who practices trickery as he holds the balances, who uses two sets of weights” with “the honest merchant who holds the balances and gives good weight.”74 In the Bible, the Holiness Code of Leviticus commands “You shall not falsify measures of length, weight, or capacity. You shall have an honest balance, honest weights, an honest ephah and an honest hin” (19:36 f.), while Amos condemns “using an ephah that is too small, and a sheqel that is too big” (8:5). But only in Deuteronomy and Proverbs are infractions against this widespread ethical norm condemned as an abomination of the Lord. 71 Cf. W.W. Hallo, “The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: A Typology,” HUCA, 33 (1962), 14; A. Salonen, Die Hausgeräte der alten Mesopotamier . . . 1 (Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae, B 139, 1965), pp. 287 f. 72 Cf. also Proverb Collection 3.64, Falkowitz. The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections, pp. 189 f.; M. Civil, “Enlil, the Merchant: Notes to CT 15:10,” JCS, 28 (1976), 72–81, esp. p. 74. 73 ANET, 34 cd. 74 Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, p. 133; cf. ANET 388d; W.G. Plaut, B.J. Bamberger, and W.W. Hallo, The Torah: A Modern Commentary, (New York, 1981), pp. 745 f.

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And only in Proverbs is it paralleled by similar condemnations of other ethical lapses, in the traditional manner of Near Eastern wisdom literature. In Deuteronomy, by contrast, all other abominations are cultic in character—and chief among these are precisely those cultic practices most sacred to foreign deities.75 Thus, for instance, transvestism was a regular aspect of the cult of the Canaanite goddess Ashtarte and her Mesopotamian counterparts Ishtar and Inanna; its more innocent literary and dramatic reflex is “travesty.”76 Other cultic practices of the surrounding nations that received the Deuteronomist’s attention were the making or recycling of idols, divination (including the use of diseased animals in sacrifice before reading their livers), and cultic prostitution. Deuteronomy itself sums it up approximately as follows: when you have dispossessed the nations of the Promised Land, take care to avoid their cultic practices, for they perform for their gods every abomination of the Lord that He detests and it is on account of these abominations that they were dispossessed. Confine yourself to observing my commandments (12:29–13:1, 18:9, 12). It is time for us, too, to sum up. Besides scattered references to abominations of kings (Proverbs 16:12) and other mortals (Prov. 13:19; 24:9, 29:27), or to abominations in general (especially Ezekiel passim), the Bible also makes passing reference to three abominations of the Egyptians: eating with Israelites (Gen. 43:32), shepherding (Gen. 46:34), and sacrificing to God (Exodus 8:22). Why the occupation of shepherding (or rather, shepherds themselves) should be particularly abominable is not clear, unless we follow Speiser77 in seeing this as a veiled allusion to the Hyksos, who were called “shepherd kings” by Manetho (as recorded in Josephus). R. de Vaux,78 on whom Speiser relied in this instance, subsequently abandoned the notion. Eating with aliens and witnessing their sacrifices, however, could well be considered simple cultic taboos, comparable to the biblical injunction against alien cultic practices in the sight of God.

75 Cf. previously Hallo apud Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary, p. 1303; W.G. Plaut, The Torah: a Modern Commentary V: Deuteronomy (New York, 1983), p. xxxi. 76 W.H. Ph. Römer, “Randbemerkungen zur Travestie von Deut. 22, 5,” in Travels in the World of the Old Testament: Studies Presented to Professor M.A. Beek, ed. by M.S.H.G. Heerma van Voss et al., Studia Semitica Neerlandica, 16 (Assen [Netherlands], 1974), pp. 217–222. 77 E.A. Speiser, Genesis, Anchor Bible, I (New York, 1964), p. 345. 78 R. de Vaux, The Early History of Israel, trans. D. Smith (Philadelphia, 1978), p. 375.

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All this evidence leads me to conclude that the concept of a divine taboo or abomination, so widespread in the ancient Near East, embraces two widely divergent realms. One involves the infraction of ethical norms and standards of good conduct, enshrined primarily in proverbs and other parts of the wisdom literature. In this sense, the concept becomes attenuated into little more than a colorful idiom, a synonym for misconduct, offense, or aberration. But the other realm evoked by the concept is more profound, touching on the sacred and inviolable nature of deity. In this meaning, the expressions are used by the Babylonians with reference to those acts which, while innocent enough in themselves, become taboo on unfavorable days; by Israel, with regard to acts enjoined by alien cults but anathema to God. I close as I began, with an appeal to the lexicographical principles of Moshe Held. We have surveyed the contextual uses of Sumerian níg-gig, Akkadian ikkibu and Hebrew t¯o #¯eb¯a, especially in the narrower ¯ context where these terms are grammatically linked to the deity in a genitive construction. This survey suggests that, for all their chronologically and culturally conditioned differences in connotation, the three terms have a fundamental semantic similarity that allows us to posit them as functional equivalents of each other.

Appendix [1] di-kuru5 níg-gi-na hul-a áˇs a-zi-da bala-e ibila tur-ra/é-ad-da-na-ka/íb-ta-an-sar-re níg-gig dNin-urta-ke4 [1a] di-ku[ru5 ní]g-gi-na hul-a di níg-erim2-e/ki-ág(a) níg-gig dUtu-kam [1b] tukul? nu-gar-ra [díb-bé?] di nu-gar-ra díb-bé [tur-ra?] ibila é-a[d?-da?]-na-ka [sa]?-ra níg-gig dNin-urta-kam [2] ha-la ha-la-ˇsè gá-gá níg-gig dUtu-kam [3] lú giˇs-má diri-ga níg-káb(KAxA)-a di-da ugu? túg?-ga gal4-la ˇsu-du11-ga (var., gal4-la túg-ga x-á ˇsu ba-ni-ti) níg-gig dSuen-na-ka [3a] lú má diri-ga lú má du8 lú ˇsubub nig-káb di-dè? nig-gig dSuen-na-kam

viii.3. biblical abominations and sumerian taboos [4] sˇu ! nu-luh-ha kaˇs ì-dé-a uˇs7 du11-ga gìr nu-sig18 (KIN)-a kiri4 te-(en)-na sahar nu-gi4-a (var., te-gá) eme-ak an-bar7(NE) an-dùl nu-gá-gá níg-gig dUtu-kam [5] ˇsu nu-luh-ha ka-e tumu3-da níg-gig-ga-àm [6] igi-tùm-lá gíd(BU)-i-da (var., igi-du8) níg-gig dNin-urta-kam [7] níg-tuk níg-al-di ˇsìr-re níg-gig dingir-ra-kam (var., níg-gig-ga-àm) [7a] im-ˇsu-nigin2-na ˇsìr-ra níg-al-[di . . .] níg-gig dInanna-ka [8] níg-zu-a-ni ga-ra-an-da-ab-bé (var., -dab5-bé) níg-nu-zu-àm lú-ki-inim-ma ab-ta-è níg-gig dSuen-na-kam ˇ S)-(a) ˇ [9] (zi)-ˇse-muˇs5 (SE (níg-gig) (lú)-gidim-ma-(ka) zì-(ˇse)-gig-(ba) níg-gig dingir-ra-(na-ka) [9a] q¯em kibti ikkib il¯ani q¯em sˇig¯usˇi ikkib e.temme [10] [. . .]tukkulu nadû [. . .]-ni la nad¯anu ikkib dMarduk [11] mudû mudâ likallim la mudû la immar ikkib DN [12] ˇsumma ina n¯ari ana sinniˇsti i.tehh¯ı ikkib aEa sˇumma ina elippi ana sinniˇsti i.tehh¯ı ikkib d[. . .]. . . sˇumma ana sinniˇsti i.tehh¯ıma mimma sˇuk¯aniˇsa itbal ikkib B¯elit-m¯at¯ati [13] kalama la ikkal ikkib dUraˇs u d Ninegal [14] karaˇsu ikkib É.ZI.DA sˇá? kin? dNabû uqarrib u ¯erib b¯ıt¯ati ult¯akil

605

viii.4 PROVERBS QUOTED IN EPIC*

Intertextuality has been defined broadly as “a text’s dependence on and infiltration by prior codes, concepts, conventions, unconscious practices, and texts,” in short, as an alternative to—indeed a weapon against—contextuality.1 As such it replaces or complements synchronic by diachronic considerations.2 More narrowly, it focuses on the use which one author or composition makes of certain themes in their characteristic formulation by another, usually earlier author or composition—most often from the same language or at least the same literary tradition, but sometimes borrowed across linguistic and cultural boundaries. The borrowing may take the form of direct citation, but more often it is allusive, and the relationship must be ferreted out by the critic, who may also raise the question whether it was familiar to the original audience—or indeed to the author. To paraphrase one of the advocates of the concept, intertextuality is the whole universe of allusive textuality which abides in the intermediary shuttle space between the interpreter and the text. “In this spacious scene of writing the interpreter’s associative knowledge is invested with remarkably broad powers, including even the hermeneutical privilege of allowing questions to stand as parts of answers.”3 * Earlier versions of this paper were delivered to the 196th meeting of the American Oriental Society, New Haven, on March 10, 1986, and, at the invitation of D.O. Edzard, to the Institute für Assyriologie und Hethitologie, Universität München, on December 12, 1986. 1 Vincent B. Leitch, Deconstructive Criticism: An Advanced Introduction (London, Hutchinson, 1983), p. 161. Part II of this book (“Versions of textuality and intertextuality: contemporary theories of literature and tradition”) is one of the clearer statements I have been able to find on the subject. 2 See in detail Ulrich Broich and Manfred Pfister, eds., Intertextualität: Formen, Funktionen, anglistische Fallstudien (= Konzepte der Sprach- und Literaturwissenschaft 35, 1985). Note especially Pfister’s formulation (p. 326): “Ein Text, jeder Text, steht immer in zwei Beziehungssystemen: zum einen dem vertikalen oder diachronen des Bezugs auf einen früheren Text, frühere Texte, oder frühere Textsbildungssysteme, zum anderen dem horizontalen oder synchronen des Bezugs auf gleichzeitig entstandene oder zu dieser Zeit operative Textbildungssysteme.” 3 Geoffrey H. Hartman and Sanford Budick, editors, Midrash and Literature (New Haven and London, Yale U.P., 1986), p. xi.

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The question of literary influence has, of course, always occupied a considerable place in the study of Western literature. But it is only recently that it has begun to be considered seriously by students of Ancient Near Eastern literature. As so often seems to be the case, the first intimations of the new approach were sounded in Biblical studies. Besides such older treatments as Robert Gordis’ “Quotations as a literary usage in Biblical, Oriental, and rabbinic literature,”4 we have the identification by A.R. Hulst of the “ka’aˇser-sentences” in Deuteronomy as explicit allusions to earlier legal formulations5—a theme taken up in detail by Jacob Milgrom in a number of studies.6 More recently, Michael Fishbane has devoted much attention to what he describes as inner-Biblical exegesis—whether legal, aggadic or “mantological”—i.e. having reference to dreams, visions, omens, and oracles.7 Inevitably, cuneiform studies have joined the trend, albeit so far on a modest scale. The actual term “intertextuality” I have found employed to date only in a study by Herman Vanstiphout which appeared this year,8 and in a manuscript by Piotr Michalowski which had not yet appeared in print.9 But the concept has figured in many isolated examples of internal borrowing within cuneiform literature to which attention has from time to time been called. Thus, for example, two lines from the Akkadian poem of the righteous sufferer (Ludlul b¯el n¯emeqi I 52, HUCA 22 (1949), pp. 157–219; cf. also idem, “Virtual Quotation in Job, Sumer and Qumran,” VT 31 (1981), pp. 411–427. 5 “Opmerkingen over de Ka"aˇser-Zinnen in Deuteronomium,” Nederlandsch Theologisch Tijdschrift 18 (1963), pp. 337–361. 6 “Profane Slaughter and the Composition of Deuteronomy,” HUCA 47 (1976), pp. 1–17; “A Formulaic Key to the Sources of Deuteronomy,” Eretz-Israel 14 (H.L. Ginsberg Volume, 1978), pp. 42–47 (in Hebrew; English summary, pp. 123*f.). 7 “Revelation and Tradition: Aspects of Inner-Biblical Exegesis,” JBL 99 (1980), pp. 343–361; Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1983); “Inner Biblical Exegesis: Types and Strategies of Interpretation in Ancient Israel,” in Hartman and Budick (above, note 3), pp. 19–37. Previously: N.M. Sarna, “Psalm 89: A Study in Inner Biblical Exegesis” in A. Altman, ed., Biblical and Other Studies (= Studies and Texts 1, 1963), pp. 29–46. 8 H.L.J. Vanstiphout, “Some Remarks on Cuneiform écritures,” in Vanstiphout, ed., Scripta Signa Vocis: Studies . . . presented to J.H. Hospers (Groningen, Forsten, 1986), pp. 217– 234, esp. p. 226. Cf. now idem, ASJ 10 (1988), p. 212. Vanstiphout has also introduced the notion of the literary “calque” to describe imitation that involves transformation, as when a royal hymn for Lipit-Ishtar of Isin “is manifestly used as an example” by a successor king, Enlil-bani; RAI 32 (1986), pp. 3 f. and n. 8. 9 See now “On the Early History of the Ershahunga Prayer,” JCS 39 (1987), pp. 37– 48, esp. p. 39. Cf. E. Reiner, Your Thwarts in Pieces, Your Mooring Rope Cut (Ann Arbor, 1985), p. 119. 4

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54) are quoted verbatim in a royal inscription of Nabonidus10 as seen by W.G. Lambert.11 The Erra Epic (III A 17) is echoed in the Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon (437–439) as shown most elaborately by Kazuko Watanabe,12 and (V 35) in the barrel cylinder of Merodach-Baladan, as seen by K.R. Veenhof.13 The much older laws of Hammurapi, which however continued to be copied and studied in the first millennium14—or at least their prologue and epilogue—inspired other royal inscriptions and treaties of that millennium. Thus Rykle Borger identified a lengthy section of the curse-formula from the treaty between Marduk-zakir-shumi I of Babylon and Shamshi-Adad of Assyria (ca. 822 bc)15 as a verbatim, albeit abbreviated copy of parts of the epilogue of Codex Hammurabi (xlix 45 ff. = Driver-Miles xxvib 45 ff.).16 And the pious sentiment “that the strong not oppress the weak” (dannum enˇsam ana l¯a hab¯alim), familiar from both prologue (col. i 39) and epilogue (xxiv b =˘ Driver-Miles xl 59 f.), is echoed allusively in Sargon’s Cylinder Inscription17 and explicitly throughout the inscriptions of Assurbanipal.18 As late as Darius I, there may be allusions to the sentiment in inscriptions from Susa and Persepolis. The former ordains “that a man of high rank shall not kill or oppress the weak”;19 the latter proclaims “I do not wish that injustice be done to a poor man by a nobleman”—and vice versa.20

10 C.J. Gadd, “The Harran Inscriptions of Nabonidus,” Anatolian Studies 8 (1958), 68 f. col. iii lines 1 f. 11 Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Oxford, Clarendon, 1960), p. 284. Cf. Paul-Alain Beaulieu, The Reign of Nabonidus, King of Babylon (556–539 bc.) (Ph.D. Thesis, Yale University, 1985), p. 238, note 449. For a new interpretation of the passage see T. Abusch, “Alaktu and Halakhah: oracular decision, divine revelation,” Harvard Theological Review 80 (1987), pp. 15–42, esp. pp. 29 f. 12 “Rekonstruktion von VTE 438 auf Grund von Erra III A 17,” Assur 3 (1984), pp. 164–166. 13 Apud J.A. Brinkman, Prelude to Empire (= Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund 7, 1984), p. 49 n. 230. 14 Cf, especially J. Laessøe, “On the Fragments of the Hammurabi code,” JCS 4 (1950), pp. 173–187. 15 Cf. J.A. Brinkman in The Cambridge Ancient History III/l (2nd. ed., 1982), p. 308. 16 R. Borger, “Marduk-zakir-ˇsumi I und der Kodex Hammurapi,” Orientalia 34 (1965), pp. 168 f. 17 IR 36 1. 40: l¯a hab¯al enˇ si. 18 dannu ana enˇ si ˘l¯a hab¯ali. Cf. Maximilian Streck, Assurbanipal (= Vorderasiatische ˘ pp. 226 f. with note 8; vol. III, s.vv. enˇsu, hab¯alu. Bibliotek 7, 1916), vol. II, ˘ 19 sˇa kabtu ana muˇ sk¯ena l¯a idukku u l¯a ihabbilu; cf. CAD H 4. ˘innepuˇs ina libbi m¯a˘r-banî; cf. CAD M/1 257. 20 ul seb¯a(ka) sˇa mamma muˇ s k¯ e na piˇ s ki .

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But Hammurapi himself may not be the first to have formulated the famous phrase. Already Ishme-Dagan of Isin called himself “a judge who did not permit the powerful to oppress the weak”21 and both he and his successor Lipit-Ishtar boasted that in their reign “the strong did not reduce the weak to a hireling.”22 Even earlier, an almost literal equivalent occurs in Sumerian as á-tuku si-ga ˇsà-gá-aˇs-ˇsè laba-an gur4-e, “(so that) the strong does not oppress the weak” in a Shulgi hymn edited by Jacob Klein.23 And even though Klein points out that “the juxtaposition à-tuku/si-ga is unique; elsewhere, si-ga usually contrasts with kala-ga”24 and á-tuku is later equated with b¯el em¯uqi in the sense of “strong person” or b¯el p¯ani in that of “nouveau riche,”25 we already have it in the context of the essentially identical topos in the prologue to the so-called Laws of Ur-Nammu. There we read “The orphan was not delivered up to the rich man (lú-níg-tuku); the widow was not delivered up to the mighty man (lú-á-tuku); the man of one shekel was not delivered up to the man of one mina”.26 The same “mighty man” (lú -á-tuku) already appears in much the same context in the “Reform texts of Uru-KA-gina,” and it may well be asked whether so perennial a theme reflects a reality or an ideal.27 If it is further borne in mind that the “laws of Ur-Nammu” may in fact have to be re-attributed to Shulgi,28 and that the Shulgi-hymns were models for

21

S.N. Kramer, In the World of Sumer: An Autobiography (Detroit, Wayne State U.P., 1986), p. 116. 22 D.O. Edzard, Die ‘zweite Zwischenzeit’ Babyloniens (Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz, 1957), p. 82 and nn. 400 f. 23 Three Sulgi ˇ Hymns (= Bar-IIan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Cultures, 1981), pp. 144 f. (Shulgi X 145). Previously idem, JCS 23 (1970), p. 118. 24 lbid., note 7. 25 Antagal VIII 80 f. = MSL 17 (1985) 172; cf. also ibid., 154:105 and MSL 12 (1969) 107:92 for á-tuku = n¯emelu, “riches, profit.” The older lexical texts equate lú-á-tuku with sˇa idam iˇsu (MSL 12 159:49) and lú-usu(Á.KAL)-tuku with b¯el em¯uqi (ibid, 159:48,178:6). 26 J.J. Finkelstein in ANET 3 (1969), p. 524, lines 162–168; idem, JCS 22 (1969), p. 68. On “A Tablet of Codex Ur-Nammu from Sippar,” the topos is expanded by “The man of 1 sheep was not delivered up to the man of 1 ox” (text has: “To the men of 1 sheep the man of 1 ox was not delivered up”); see F. Yildiz, Or. NS 50 (1981), pp. 87–97 and pls. ii–iv, esp. pp. 89 and 94 f., lines 158 ff. 27 D.O. Edzard, “ ‘Soziale Reformen’ im Zweistromland bis ca. 1600 v. Chr.: Realität oder literarischer topos?” in J. Harmatta and G. Komoróczy, eds., Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft im alten Vorderasien (=Acta Antiqua Academiae . . . Hungaricae 22, 1974 [1976], pp. 145–156, esp. p. 149. 28 S.N. Kramer, “The Ur-Nammu Law Code: Who was its Author?” Or. NS 52 (1983), pp. 453–456. J. van Dijk, “Note on Si 277, a Tablet of the ‘Urnammu Codex’,” ibid. 457. Note already Yildiz, Or. NS 50 (1981), p. 94, n. 22. 

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subsequent emulation, as has been argued persuasively by Klein in his recent study of a royal hymn of Ishme-Dagan of Isin (ca. 1953– 1935 bc),29 then it is not too far-fetched to see in Shulgi’s Sumerian formulation a plausible inspiration for Hammurapi’s Akkadian one. Note also that the epithet sˇarrum sˇa in sˇarri sˇ¯uturu, which follows hard on the phrase in the Epilogue,30 may well be a paraphrase of the incipit of the Old Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, sˇ¯utur eli sˇarri 31 There is then, no shortage of examples to illustrate the phenomenon of intertextuality in cuneiform literature. The ones chosen here (almost at random) belong to a wide variety of canonical and monumental genres, some, like epics and wisdom literature, as sources of the borrowing, some, like royal inscriptions and treaties, as targets, and some, like law codes and royal hymns, in both roles. What we are dealing with throughout is, in any case, something more than a mere topos, or cliché, such as may recur as a stock phrase in different but comparable contexts. (Such topics are for example the formulas for awakening from a dream, for festival rites, for safe arrival, for feasting, etc.). Rather we have here the apparently deliberate harking back from one genre to another or from one context to a thoroughly different one, with at least the implication that the source of the allusion is familiar to the “author,” perhaps even to the audience, as when a clear allusion to the disputation between Pickaxe and Plow is found in a tigi-hymn of king Ishme-Dagan of Isin.32 Phrasing matters thus, we are quite naturally led to a consideration of proverbs as a potential source of literary loans. Proverbial wisdom by its very nature transcends boundaries of time and space.33 Often enough, it is preserved in the “vernacular,” and it is no coincidence that the Akkadian terms t¯eltu and p¯ı niˇs¯ı can mean both “proverb” and “vernacular.”34 Such folk-wisdom is independent of ˇ “Sulgi and Iˇsme-Dagan: Runners in the Service of the Gods (SRT 13),” Beer-Sheva 2 (1985), pp. 7*–38*. Cf. my remarks on this text in “Texts, Statues, and the Cult of the Divine King,” VT Supplement 40 (1988), pp. 54–66, esp. pp. 60 f. 30 Rev. xxivb 79 f.; cf. Herbert Sauren, Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung 100 (1983), pp. 49 f. 31 Cf. A. Shaffer apud D.J. Wiseman, Iraq 37 (1975), p. 158 n. 22; cf. Tigay, op. cit. (below, n. 82), pp. 150 f., with other parallels from the Prologue. 32 M. Civil, “Iˇsme-Dagan and Enlil’s Chariot,” JAOS 88 (= AOS 53, 1968), p. 7, line 84. 33 K.A. Kitchen briefly documents this fact for Egyptian wisdom literature in Tyndale Bulletin 28 (1977), pp. 92 f. (ref. court, W.R. Garr). 34 But the Sumerian equivalents for t¯eltu are different: i-bi-lu-(du -ga) for t¯eltu when 4 it means “proverb,” ka-ka-si-ga for t¯eltu when it means “pronunciation, vernacular, 29

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written records, and transmitted orally over great stretches of time— though of course we depend on the intermittent surfacing of the epigram in written form to establish this fact. Take for example the Egyptian proverb “Don’t give water to a goose at dawn if it’s to be slaughtered in the morning,” which has recently been traced all the way to a modern Russian parallel by Anthony Spalinger.35 Again, a proverb about an Early Dynastic king in Mesopotamia called Mesilim or perhaps Mesa which is known in Sumerian from Proverb Collection 14 recurs in almost word-to-word translation, though with reference to King Mesannepada, on a late Babylonian exercise tablet without any evidence of an intervening, written bilingual tradition.36 Or again, the maxim “in the city of the lame, the halt is courier,” which I identified in a Sumerian proverb tablet37 and which the new Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary regrettably rephrased as “In the city of cripples, the dwarf is the runner,”38 is essentially preserved in the classical (and later) saying “In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king” (caecorum in patria luscus rex imperat omnis)39—with a missing link of sorts furnished by the Rabbinic saying “In the market place of the blind (samayya") they call the one-eyed man (‘awira’) ‘full of light’ (saggi nehôra"),” and its variant “In the market place of the blind they call the one-eyed man (their) leader (berabbî).”40 William L. Moran, to whom these pages are dedicated, traced an almost equally extended itinerary for an Akkadian proverb—from its first appearance in the nineteenth century bc to its Greek equivalent in the fifth; indeed, he dedicated no less than three articles and notes to the subject.41 Bendt Alster, following E.I. Gordon, extended the same substrate language (?).” Cf. B. Landsberger, MSL 9 (1967), pp. 145 f. For pû niˇs¯ı, see AHw, 873 sub 10b. Similarly, pû m¯atim can be rendered by “proverb, proverbial usage,” as in the prologue to the Laws of Hamraurapi, which concludes: “I made righteousness and justice proverbial in the land” (ina pî m¯atim aˇskun). 35 “An Alarming Parallel to the End of the Shipwrecked Sailor,” Göttinger Miszellen 73 (1984), pp. 91–95. 36 Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, p. 280; cf. E.I. Gordon, “Mesilim and Mesannepadda-Are they Identical?” BASOR 132 (1953), pp. 28–30. 37 W.W. Hallo, “The Lame and the Halt,” Eretz-Israel 9 (Albright Volume, 1969), pp. 66–70, here: VIII.1. 38 PSD B (1984), p. 22; cf. Hallo, JCS 37 (1985), pp. 124 f. 39 Hallo, Eretz-Israel 9, p. 70, here: VIII.1. 40 David Marcus, “Some Antiphrastic Euphemisms for a Blind Person . . . ,” JAOS 100 (1980), pp. 307–310, esp. p. 310. The parallel had previously been called to my attention by Judah Goldin and also by Jonas C. Greenfield (letter of 6-8-74). 41 “Puppies in Proverbs—from Samˇ ˇ si-Adad I to Archilochus?,” Eretz-Israel 14 (H.L.

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proverb’s attested range back to Sumerian and forward to Turkish and Italian parallels of the early modern era,42 while Y. Avishur pursued it to the Iraqi vernacular of the present day.43 In its Akkadian guise, it read “The bitch in her haste gave birth to the blind” (kalbatum ina sˇut¯epur¯ısˇa huppud¯utim ¯ulid); in later Greek (scholion to Aristophanes) it said “The˘ hasty bitch bore blind puppies” or, in the 7th century version in Archilochus “I am afraid lest, acting hastily out of eagerness, I beget like the bitch in the proverb children blind and untimely”; in Arabic, “the cat in haste kittens blind kittens,” and in Judeo-Arabic even “The bitch in her hurry whelps blind pups.” (As Moshe Held has seen, this is in the context of a virtual echo of I Samuel 24:14.)44 Interestingly enough, the source of the Akkadian version is a letter of King Shamshi-Adad I, the great northern Mesopotamian rival and predecessor of Hammurapi of Babylon, addressed to his son YashmahAdad, the viceroy at Mari. A considerable number of proverbial expressions have been identified in the Mari correspondence, and they have been made the subject of two studies, an article by André Finet and a whole monograph by Angel Marzal.45 But the practice of enriching cuneiform letters with proverbs was not confined to Mari or to Old Babylonian times. As early as the Sargonic period, the saying “(Not until you have seen me face to face) must you touch either bread or beer ( . . .) (or) even sit down on a chair” was identified in an epistolary context by ThureauDangin46 as proverbial on the basis of a similar expression in much later literary contexts such as the series “Evil spirits”;47 more recently, the expression has turned up in an ardat lilî text.48 Jean Nougayrol has Ginsberg Volume, 1978), pp. 32*–37*; “Notes brèves. 3,” RA 71 (1977), p. 191; “An Assyriological Gloss on the New Archilochus Fragment,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 82 (1978), pp. 17–19. Cf. also CBQ 39 (1977), p. 265. 42 “An Akkadian and a Greek Proverb: a Comparative Study,” WO 10 (1979), pp. 1–5. 43 “Additional Parallels of an Akkadian Proverb Found in the Iraqi Vernacular Arabic,” WO 12 (1981), pp. 37 f. 44 “Marginal Notes to the Biblical Lexicon,” in Ann Kort and Scott Morschauser, eds., Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry (Winona Lake, Ind., Eisenbrauns, 1985), pp. 93–103, esp. pp. 94 f. 45 A. Finet, “Citations littéraires dans la correspondance de Mari,” RA 68 (1974), pp. 35–47; A. Marzal, Gleanings from the Wisdom of Mari (= Studia Pohl 11, 1976). 46 François Thureau-Dangin, “Une lettre de l’époque de la dynastie d’Agadé,” RA 23 (1926), pp. 23–29. 47 utukkû lemnûtu (CT 16 11 v 54 -vi). Cf. Th. Pinches, Journal of the Transactions of the Victoria Institute 26 (1893), pp. 153–161, esp. 158 iv. 48 S. Lackenbacher, “Note sur l’ardat-lilî ”RA 65 (1971), pp. 119–154.

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drawn attention to a letter from Ugarit according to which “a proverb of the men of Hatti says: ‘a certain man was held in prison for five years and when they said: “In the morning they will release you”— then he choked (himself )’.”49 Other proverbs have been identified in the Amarna letters from Byblos and Shechem,50 in a royal letter to Ugarit,51 and in royal letters from the archives of Hattusa.52 As late as the neoAssyrian period, royal letters made telling use of proverbs. Among the letters catalogued by W.G. Lambert,53 note especially the taunt directed by the Assyrian king (probably Esarhaddon) at the ungrateful population of Babylon: “The dog crawled into the potter’s oven (to warm himself ) and then barked at the potter.”54 This popular saying recurs almost verbatim in the Syriac text of Ahiqar.55 Other contexts have also preserved an occasional proverb or riddle (note that Sumerian i-bi-lu means both t¯eltu and hittu),56 Edzard and Wilcke, for example, have identified the proverb ˘UET 6 251=252 in the context of the Hendursaga-hymn,57 which they had edited.58 In its shortest form, the proverb occurs in “Man and his God” as “a man without a god would obtain no food.”59 More elaborately it says, in Klein’s translation:60

49 “Une fable hittite,” Revue Hittite et Asianique 67 (1960), pp. 117–119; idem, Ugaritica 5 (1968), pp. 108–110; cf. M. Astour, “King Ammurapi and the Hittite Princess,” UgaritForschungen 12 (1980), pp. 103–108, esp, p. 104 (top). 50 W.F. Albright, “Some Canaanite-Phoenician Sources of Hebrew Wisdom,” VT, Supplement 3 (1960), pp. 1–15, esp. p. 7; R.H. Pfeiffer in ANET, p. 426 (IV). For the Shechem example, cf. also Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, p. 282; previously Albright, “An Archaic Hebrew Proverb in an Amarna Letter from Central Palestine,” BASOR 89 (1943), pp. 29–32. 51 W.G.E. Watson, “Antecedents of a New Testament Proverb,” VT 20 (1970), pp. 368–370, who also cites the previous two examples. 52 Gary Beckman, “Proverbs and Proverbial Allusions in Hittite,” JNES 45 (1986), pp. 19–30, Nos. 2 and 13. 53 Babylonian Wisdom Literature, pp. 280–282; add ABL 614, cited ibid., pp. 97 and 315. 54 Ibid., p. 281. Cf. also ABL 37 Rev. 3–6 with CAD N/2 138d. 55 Cf. now J.M. Lindenberger, The Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar (= The Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies [14], 1983), where it is not cited. 56 MSL 13 (1971) 161:31 f. Cf. now Held, above, n. 44. 57 D.O. Edzard-C. Wilcke. “Quasi-Duplikate zur ‘Hendursanga-Hymne’,” AfO 25 (1974–1977), p. 36. 58 Eidem, “Die Hendursanga-Hymne,” AOAT 25 (= Kramer Anniversary Volume, 1975), pp. 139–176. 59 Jacob Klein, “ ‘Personal God’ and Individual Prayer in Sumerian Religion,” AfO Beiheft 19 (1982), pp. 295–306, esp. p. 298. 60 Ibid., pp. 304 f., note 34.

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“A man without a (personal) god, Does not procure much food, does not procure a little food,61 Descending to (var. sitting at) the river, he does not catch a fish, Descending to (var. passing in) the field, he does not catch a gazelle, He does not obtain plenty of provisions, He does not obtain little (?) provisions! If (however) his god comes back to him. Anything that he names62—will be provided for him.”

The hymn expands on this text by adding other illustrations on the theme of the godless (or luckless)63 man.64 Jonas Greenfield has argued that the dire physical penalties prescribed for reopening or contesting binding contracts from the Mesopotamian “periphery” inspired related proverbs in Aramaic and Hebrew. In Ahiqar, 1.156 of the Elephantine recension may be translated “God will distort him who continually goes back on his word and will tear out his tongue.” In Proverbs 10:31 f., he translates “The tongue of the ‘perverse’ will be cut off . . . the mouth of the wicked will be distorted.”65 Alternatively, earlier versions of these proverbs may have inspired the treaty formulations. More surprising is the fact that proverbs or other riddles turn up in lexical series.66 One of these begins with the riddle “It enters and does not fill up, it leaves but does not diminish—(what is it?)—royal property!” This is pardonable enough as a kind of playful digression when the series in question begins with the Sumerian and Akkadian equivalents for property (níg-ga = makk¯uru) and royal property (níg-ga lugal = makk¯ur sˇarri).67 It is a bit less logical when it recurs in the middle

61 These two lines recur (without the otiose 1st or 2nd person endings of the Ur exemplars) on YBC 7344 (unpubl.) in the form: lú-ulu3 dingir-da nu-me-a/nu la-ba-gu /nu la-ba-tur-ra (end). 62 Cf. MSL 13 (1971) 116:71: níg-mu-sa = ˇsa sˇumam nabû. 4 63 Cf. CAD I 101: lú-dingir-tuk = ˇsa ilam iˇ sû, “one who has luck,” lú-dingir-nu-tuk = sˇa ilam l¯a iˇsû, “one who has no luck,” from MSL 12 (1969) 159:61 f.; 179:18. 64 Cf. also “Enlil in the Ekur” (Enlil-suraˇse) lines 32–34. As A. Falkenstein noted in his edition (SGL 1, 1959, p. 39), the stanza comprising these lines “steht recht unvermittelt da.” That they represent three related proverbs is rendered probable by their recurrence, in a different order, on the school-tablet UET 6/2 371. Cf. also D. Reisman, Two Neo-Sumerian Royal Hymns (Thesis, Pennsylvania, 1969), p. 75. 65 J.C. Greenfield, “The Background and Parallel to a Proverb of Ahiqar,” Hommages à André Dupont-Sommer (Paris, Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1971), pp. 49–59. 66 Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, p. 275. 67 MSL 13 115:3 f.

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of a lexical series devoted to totally other matters,68 or independently,69 or in other, non-lexical, contexts.70 Again, the lexical text Nabnitu twice records the saying “he turns (the edge of the tablet) upside down,”71 which is proven a proverb by its inclusion in Collection 3 as no. 18172 and Collection 7 as no. 91.73 As the last example suggests, a further subject for fruitful inquiry is the recurrence of identical or similar proverbs in two or more different proverb collections, a phenomenon dealt with in some detail by both Falkowitz74 and Alster.75 Or one could study the proverbial inserts in other wisdom genres such as “Man and his God,” where lines 9 and 101–103 have been so identified by Klein,76 or in disputations such as “Cattle and Grain”77 or possibly in tales like “The Three OxDrivers from Adab.”78 What I wish to pursue here, however, is the occurrence of proverbs in the context of epic, for this seems of all genres at once the least likely and yet the most hospitable genre for proverbial inserts.79 One could pursue the subject by reference to Akkadian epic, whose evolution clearly involves the large-scale adaptation of Sumerian literary elements as has been shown, among others, by Kramer,80 68 Diri V 183–187; cf. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, p. 275, and my remarks in JNES 37 (1978), p. 272. 69 Hallo, ibid. 70 Bendt Alster, The Instructions of Suruppak (= Mesopotamia 2, 1974), pp. 94 f. For a slightly different translation see the review by D.A. Foxvog, Or. NS 45 (1976), p. 372 ad line 100. 71 MSL 16 (1982) 234:73 and 228:174. 72 Robert Falkowitz, The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections (Ph.D. Diss., Pennsylvania, 1980), pp. 248 f. 73 Alster, “Sumerian Proverb Collection Seven,” RA 72 (1978), pp. 97–112, esp. p. 106, line 91; cf. idem JCS 27 (1975), pp. 205, 224. For an-ta and ki-ta as technical terms, see Manfred Schretter, “Zum Examentext A, Zeile 14,” Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Kulturwissenschaft 24 (= Karl Oberhuber volume, 1986), pp. 231–236. 74 Op. cit. (note 72), pp. 43–45. 75 Studies in Sumerian Proverbs (= Mesopotamia 3, 1975), pp. 17 f., 90–99. Cf. also Assyriological Miscellanies (Copenhagen) 1 (1980), pp. 33–50; ASJ 10 (1988), pp. 4–10. 76 Loc. cit. (above, n. 59) and ibid., n. 34 f. 77 Å.W. Sjöberg, Or. NS 37 (1968), p. 237; Vanstiphout, Aula Orientalis 2 (1984), p. 248, note 36; Alster, RA 79 (1985), p. 155; Alster and Vanstiphout, ASJ 9 (1987) pp. 6 and 8. 78 B.R. Foster, JANES 6 (1974), p. 72 and n. 7. Cf. also the “Tale of the Fox,” Vanstiphout, ASJ 10 (1988), p. 201 and nn. 49 f. 79 I am indebted to my former students Samuel A. Overstreet (1977) and W. Randall Garr (1978) for earlier term papers on this topic. 80 Samuel N. Kramer, “The Epic of Gilgameˇs and its Sumerian Sources,” JAOS 64 (1944), pp. 7–23.

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Komoróczy,81 and Tigay.82 The Gilgamesh Epic is a case in point, for which I need cite here only one instance: the use of the motif of Ishtar’s love for Ishullanu the gardener in Tablet VI. The parallel with Sukalletuda the gardener and his seduction of Innana now seems confirmed by their equation in a lexical text,83 but the brief pericope in the epic is also noteworthy for its proverbial inserts. Ishullanu is quoted by Gilgamesh as having said: What dost thou want with me? Has my mother not baked, have I not eaten, That I should taste the food of stench and foulness? Does reed-work afford cover against the cold?

And both of these striking rhetorical questions are regarded as proverbial, the former by Benjamin R. Foster,84 the latter by E.A. Speiser.85 T. Abusch regards both as resuming Gilgamesh’s own encounter with Ishtar earlier in Tablet VI, and as alluding specifically to death and burial.86 Or again, near the end of the Epic of Erra, that deity, finally placated, confesses: “one cannot snatch a dead body from the jaws of a roaring lion/ (and) where one is raging another cannot advise him!”87 Both of these sentiments are reasonably considered proverbial by Cagni, who even compares the former with Amos 3:12.88 It is less likely that Atra-hasis I 93 and 95 have “the ring of a proverbial saying”89 given Borger’s reading of the passages.90 I prefer, in any case, to pursue the topic via Sumerian epic. 81

Géza Komoróczy, “Akkadian Epic Poetry and its Sumerian Sources,” Acta Antiqua 23 (1975), pp. 41–63. 82 Jeffrey H. Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic (Pennsylvania U.P., 1982), esp. ch. 7 and 8. 83 Hallo, “Sullanu” ˇ RA 74 (1980), p. 94. 84 Foster, lecture of 11–17–86 (unpubl.). Cf. now idem, in J.H. Marks and R.M. Good, eds., Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope (Guilford, Four Quarters, 1987), p. 35 ad line 72. 85 Apud Pritchard, ANET 2 (1955), p. 84, n. 106. For other proverbs in the Akkadian Gilgamesh epic see below, n. 122, and J. Renger, AOS 67 (= Erica Reiner AV, 1987), p. 319. 86 Tzvi Abusch, “Ishtar’s Proposal and Gilgamesh’s Refusal: An Interpretation of The Gilgamesh Epic, Tablet 6, lines 1–79,” History of Religions 26 (1986), pp. 143–187, esp. pp. 167–169. 87 Luigi Cagni, “The Poem of Erra,” Sources from the Ancient Near East 1 (1977), p. 116. (Some exemplars omit “and.”) 88 Idem, L’Epopea di Erra (= Studi Semitici 34, 1969), pp. 249 f. 89 W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard, Atra- hasis: the Babylonian Story of the Flood (Oxford, ˘ 1969), pp. 150 f. 90 HKL 2 (1975), p. 158 (top); cf. M.-J. Seux, RA 75 (1981), pp. 190 f.

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So far, ten instances of proverbial insertions in Sumerian epic have been identified by one of the criteria suggested by Alster91 and, following him, by my colleague Gary Beckman who discussed “Proverbs and proverbial allusions in Hittite” in a recent article.92 These criteria may be rephrased as, first and most subjectively, the apparent incongruity of the epigrammatic saying in its narrative context, second and more objectively, as an explicit statement that “people are always saying this” or, thirdly and ideally, as the recurrence of the saying (more or less verbatim) in one of the Sumerian proverb collections. The final ground is the recurrence of the saying outside of Sumerian wisdom literature. Let me begin with a straightforward example. In the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living also known as Gilgamesh and Huwawa or, according to Aaron Shaffer, as “Gilgamesh and the Cedar Forest,”93 lines 117 f. have been retranslated by J. van Dijk from a newly published exemplar as follows: [1]94 “Awe defeats with awe, shrewdness with shrewdness.”95 Although this is a rather free translation from the Sumerian,96 it probably recaptures the essential meaning of the couplet, a couplet which on this interpretation, moreover, is not particularly suited to its setting. So even though we have no comparable entry (thus far) in the proverb collections, van Dijk is almost certainly correct in regarding it as a proverbial insert in the epic context.97 In Lugalbanda and Anzu, line 216 is described by C. Wilcke, the editor, as “a gnome.”98 It is suited to its context if Wilcke is correct in suggesting that the good fate decreed for Lugalbanda by Anzu can turn into its opposite if he talks about it too much. [2] “The good has evil in it” is what the mythical bird says—and then adds “thus it is verily ever”—thereby more or less explicitly identifying it 91 Alster, Studies in Sumerian Proverbs (= Mesopotamia 3, 1975), pp. 37 f.; cf, also ibid, pp. 17 f. Previously Wolfgang Heimpel, Tierbilder in der Sumerischen Literatur (Studia Pohl 2, 1968), pp. 44–49. 92 JNES 45 (1986), pp. 19–30, esp. p. 19. 93 “Gilgamesh, the Cedar Forest and Mesopotamian History,” JAOS 103 (1983 = AOS 65, 1984), pp. 307–313. 94 Numbers in brackets refer to the transliterations in the Appendix (below). 95 TIM 9, p. xi ad No. 47. 96 Kramer, JCS 1 (1947), p. 19 and ANET 2 (1955), p. 49, translated: “(And) there be fear, there be fear, turn it back, /There be terror, there be terror, turn it back.” 97 Kramer, JCS 1 (1947), pp. 44 f. also thinks that lines 157 f. of this composition “probably contain a well-known proverb.” 98 Claus Wilcke, Das Lugalbandaepos (Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz, 1969), p. 22.

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as an eternal verity.99 Earlier in the same epic (ll. 164 f.), Anzu again speaks in epigrammatic fashion when he says: [3] “The stubborn (lit. wicked) ox is made to follow (i.e., the leader), the balky (Wilcke: lame) donkey is forced onto the straight path.”100 In this case the saying is not only unrelated (except in a general way) to the surrounding narrative, but also (again) introduced by the generalizing “like this it is (ever).”101 When we pass to the other Lugalbanda Epic (Lugalbanda I or Lugalbanda and Hurrum-kurra)102 we encounter at least three sayings that actually recur, more or less verbatim, in the Proverb Collections. In line 158 f., we read, [4] “an unknown beast is bad, an unknown man is horrible, on an unknown road at the edge of a foreign country (oh Utu, an unknown man is worse)”103—exactly as in the Instructions of Shuruppak (ll. 269 f.),104 which have been identified by Alster as essentially a collection of proverbial sayings.105 Later in the same prayer to Utu (ll.164 f.), there is a virtual paraphrase of another proverb.106 When Lugalbanda prays to Inanna as the evening star he pleads (ll. 180–182): [5] “would this were my city where my mother bore me, would it were my hole-in-the-ground like a snake’s, would it were my cleft-in-the-rock like a scorpion’s.”107 Surely the poet who worded this passage was not unaware of the proverb “the snake seeks(?) its hole-inthe-ground, the scorpion its cleft-in-the-rock, the tree its egress.”108 In the incubation dream which Lugalbanda experiences, much is unclear, but the line (333) [6] “with the liar it (he) acts the liar, with

99

Thorkild Jacobsen, The Harps That Once . . . (New Haven and London, Yale U.P., 1987), p. 334 renders: “To do a favor, is to call evil into being in hearts. Verily, so it is,” i.e., “A favor done to one person will make others envious.” 100 Wilcke, Lugalbandaepos, pp. 107 f., 178; cf. Heimpel, Tierbilder, pp. 45 f. ad 5.44 and 27.7. The passage is rendered “Being that the yoke-carrying ox must follow the trail, / being that the trotting ass must take the straight road” by Jacobsen, The Harps That Once . . . , p. 331. 101 Ox and ass are supposed to be separated in law, but are frequently juxtaposed in literature; cf. Isaiah 1:3 and Eduard Nielsen, “Ass and Ox in the Old Testament,” Studia Orientalia Joanni Pedersen . . . dicata (1953), pp. 263–274. 102 On this epic, see most recently Hallo, “Lugalbanda Excavated,” JAOS 103 (1983 = AOS 65, 1984), pp. 165–180, here: VII.1; Wilcke, RLA 7 (1987), pp. 121–125. 103 Wilcke, Lugalbandaepos, pp. 79 f. 104 Alster, Studies, pp. 137 f. 105 Ibid, ch. III; cf. my review, JNES 37 (1978), pp. 269–273; esp. p. 271. 106 Wilcke, Lugalbandaepos, pp. 79, 81, and note 338. 107 Ibid, pp. 68 f.; cf. Heimpel, Tierbilder, pp. 465 f. 108 UET 6:237; cf. Wilcke, Lugalbandaepos, p. 22 n. 26.

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the truthful one it/he acts truthfully”109 can hardly be separated from such proverbs as 7.89: “tell a lie, tell the truth,” or 2.71 “tell a lie, tell the truth, it will be counted as a lie.”110 A much clearer case is represented by Gilgamesh and Agga lines 25– 28. In the translation by Thorkild Jacobsen111 it reads: [7] “To continually stand at attention, to continually be assigned to a post, to go on raids (ri) with the king’s son, to continually urge on the donkey, who has wind (enough) for that?” More recent translations by Robert Falkowitz112 and Jerrold Cooper113 do not materially change this understanding, though one could suggest a change in the second clause to “to protect (da-ri = hat¯anu)114 the king’s son.” As Jacobsen noted, the ˘ the enclitic particle of direct discourse (e - ˇs e) passage concludes with here: “as they say” or the like, which led him to conclude that it represented “a common saw.” This insight is now brilliantly confirmed by the discovery that Proverb Collection 3 begins with the identical passage, lacking only the final - e ˇs e.115 (Also, the order of the first three clauses differs from that in the epic and from each other in all three exemplars now known.) We may now turn to those epic inserts whose proverbial character is supported by their recurrence in later, sometimes in much later literary environments. A debatable example is Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta lines 255–258: [8] “he who acknowledges not a contest, licks not clean (lit. eats not) (the grass) all about (is like) the bull which acknowledges not the bull at its side” and vice versa—an image which Sol Cohen, in his edition of the text, compared to Numbers 22:4: “Now this horde will lick clean all that is about us as an ox licks up the grass of the field.”116 Hallo, JAOS 103 (1983 = AOS 65, 1984), pp. 173, 176. Alster, JCS 27 (1975), pp. 207, 224 (Example 16), Studies (1975), p. 119 (6); RA 72 (1978), p. 106. 111 American Journal of Archaeology 53 (1949), p. 17. 112 Robert S. Falkowitz, The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections (Ph.D. Thesis, Pennsylvania, 1980), p. 145. 113 Jerrold S. Cooper, “Gilgamesh and Agga: A Review Article,” JCS 33 (1981), p. 235. Cf. also H. Vanstiphout, “Towards a Reading of ‘Gilgamesh and Agga’,” Aula Orientalis 5 (1987), p. 139. 114 MSL 12 107:100. Cf. also MSL 16 146:144 f.: da-ri = naˇ sû sˇa s. ihri (LÚ.TUR), naˇsû sˇa almatti. See now also Jacobsen’s new translation in The Harps That ˘Once . . . , pp. 348 f. 115 Falkowitz, Rhetoric Collections, p. 145. 116 Sol Cohen, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta (Ph.D. Thesis, Pennsylvania, 1973), p. 234. Previously S.N. Kramer, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta (1952), pp. 22 f. For a different rendering see Jacobsen, The Harps That Once . . . , p. 297. Alster has found 109 110

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Far more convincing are two examples from Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living. In lines 106–108 of the epic we read: [9] “for me another (a second) man will not die, a loaded (or: towed) boat (mà-da-lá)117 will not sink, the three-ply rope will not be cut.”118

Following Kramer,119 Aaron Shaffer in 1967 compared this to Ecclesiastes 4:12b: “A threefold cord is not readily broken,”120 and only two years later he was able to find the “missing link,” as it were, between these two occurrences and to reduce by more than half the huge chronological gap which separated them.121 For a newly recovered fragment of the Akkadian Gilgamesh epic122 clearly renders the Sumerian which is ambiguous (Kramer had read it as túg-eˇs-tab-ba, the three-ply cloth) by three-ply rope (aˇslu sˇuˇsluˇs[u]).123 And there are other contacts between the Akkadian Gilgamesh epic on the one hand and Ecclesiastes in particular on the other.124 My tenth and in some ways favorite example comes from earlier in the same Sumerian epic when Gilgamesh philosophizes (ll. 27–29); [10] “As for me, I too will be served thus, verily ‘tis so / man, the tallest, cannot reach to heaven, / man, the widest cannot cover the earth.”125 As I already noted in 1962,126 this line occurs in more or less identical form first in the Sumerian wisdom literature (specifically in the a clear allusion to Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta lines 503–506 in the Sumerian Sargon Legend (lines 53–56); see ZA 77 (1987), pp. 169–173. According to Cooper and Heimpel, the Legend “parodies” the Epic here; see JAOS 103 (1983 = AOS 65, 1984), p. 82. 117 Or “raft” (má-lá). 118 Cf. Heimpel, Tierbilder, pp. 46–49. 119 JCS 1 (1947), p. 40. 120 “The Mesopotamian background of Lamentations (sic!) 4:9–12,” Eretz-Israel 8 (1967), pp. 246–250 (in Hebrew; English summary p. 75*). 121 Idem, “New Light on the ‘Three-ply Cord’,” Eretz-Israel 9 (1969), pp. 159 f. (in Hebrew; English summary pp. 138 f.). 122 CT 46:21 (Late Babylonian). 123 J.V. Kinnier Wilson, The Legend of Etana: A New Edition (Warminster, Aris and Phillips, 1985), pp. 62 f., restores VAT 10291 rev. 4 thus: e-s. íp-ma A.RÁ III er-su-ú [ . . . ] and translates “If treble-twisted (the thread), the cloth [will not tear].” If he is right, the Etana Epic also preserves an allusion to the same proverb. (Ref. courtesy B.R. Foster.) For the “double thread” in Sumerian (gu-tab; perhaps also gu-keˇsda) see A.L. Oppenheim, AOS 32 (1948), p. 14 and n, 34; H. Waetzoldt, Untersuchungen zur neusumerischen Textilindustrie (Rome, 1972), pp. 122 f., 128. 124 Cf. especially Jean de Savignac, “La sagesse du Qôhéléth et l’épopée de Gilgamesh,” VT 28 (1978), pp. 318–323, esp. pp. 321 f. 125 Kramer, JCS 1 (1947), pp. 10 f.; ANET 2 (1955), p. 48. 126 Hallo, “New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature,” Israel Exploration Journal 12

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composition níg-nam nu-kal),127 then in the Old Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic (III iv 3),128 and finally in the neo-Assyrian poem of the Obliging Servant where it is clearly intended as the very type of a platitude.129 Here (as in OB Gilgamesh) the truism is phrased as a rhetorical question “who is so tall that he can scale heaven, who is so broad as to encompass the earth?” In this form it is suggestive, as J. Nougayrol has noted, of Job 11:8: “Higher than heaven—what can you do? Deeper than Sheol—what can you know?”130 The study of intertextuality in cuneiform literature cannot begin and end with Sumerian proverbs. But since Sumerian literature “leads all the world’s written literature in terms of antiquity, longevity and continuity,”131 and since proverbs, whether written or oral, are inherently durable elements in the stock of any literary tradition, it behooves us to consider Sumerian proverbs in any study of literary transmission and survival. I have chosen to illustrate this here through the citation of various Sumerian proverbs within a specific genre (epic), elsewhere through the citation or adaptation of a specific Sumerian proverb pattern in various later Akkadian genres.132 Both approaches may, I hope, serve to suggest what Sumerian literature can contribute to the study of intertextuality—and how much still remains to be done.

(1962), pp. 13–26, here: I.1, esp. p. 20 note 33; idem, JNES 37 (1978), p. 272 (ad ll. 99–101). Cf. also Heimpel, Tierbilder, pp. 44 f. 127 Alster, Studies, pp. 87 f. 128 ANET 2 (1955), p. 79. 129 Ibid, p. 438 (XII). 130 Ugaritica 5 (1968), p. 295. 131 Hallo, “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” AS 20 (1976), p. 182, here: I.4. 132 Hallo, “Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos,” The Jewish Quarterly Review 76 (1985), pp. 21–40, here: VIII.3.

viii.4. proverbs quoted in epic Appendix [1]

ní ì-gál ní ì-gál gi4-a úmun ì-gál úmun ì-gál gi4-a [2] ˇsa6-ga hul ˇsà-ga gál-la ˘ ur5 hé-na-nam-ma ˘ [3] ur5-gim-ma-àm gu4-érim-du ús-a sè-ke-dam anˇse-du10-guz-za har-ra-an si-sá dab5-bé-dam [4] ur nu-zu hul-a ˘ ˘ s-àm lú nu-zu huˇ ˘ kaskal nu-zu gaba-kur-ra-ka dUtu lú nu-zu lú- hul-rib-ba-àm ˘ hé-me-a [5] muˇs-gim kankal-mu gír-gim ki-in-dar-mu ˘hé-me-a uru ama-mu tu-da-mu˘ hé-me-a ˘ [6] lul-da lul-di-da zi-da zi-di-dam [7] gub-gub-bu-dè tuˇs-tuˇs-ù-dè dumu-lugal-la da-ri-e-dè háˇs-anˇse dab5-dab5-bé-e-dè ˘ a-ba zi-bi mu-un-tuku e-ˇse [8] a-da-mìn nu-um-zu, ur nu-um-kú, gu4-dè gu4 da-gál-bi nu-um-zu a-da-mìn um-zu, ur um-kú, gu4-dè gu4 da-gál-bi um-zu [9] má-a-ra lú-min nu-ug6-e giˇs má-da-lá nu-su-su-dè éˇs-eˇs-tab-ba lú nu-ku5-dè [10] ù gá-e ur5-gim nam-ba-ag-e, ur5-ˇsè hé-me-a lú-sukud-da an-ˇsè nu-mu-un-da-lá ˘ lú-dagal-la kur-ra la-ba-an-ˇsú-ˇsú

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viii.5 PROVERBS: AN ANCIENT TRADITION IN THE MIDDLE EAST

Proverbs are unique in several respects. They represent one of the oldest genres in world literature, if not the oldest. They may be transmitted individually, or gathered into collections, or inserted in other contexts. They are often transmitted orally and thus can have an extraordinarily long shelf life. They may be couched in prose or in poetry. They may serve as part of a school curriculum or as a repository of folk wisdom widely cited at suitable times. They may impart behavior that is ethical, or reverent, or politically correct. Most often they convey practical knowledge for the daily life of common humanity. Yet for all these and other divergent and sometimes mutually contradictory characteristics, proverbs have one thing in common: they are short, pithy statements expressing eternal verities and couched in piquant language suitable for memorizing. Archer Taylor, in a treatment that has become classic, was reluctant to define the proverb at all, calling it simply “a saying current among the folk” (Taylor 1931: 3). He could not have known it but, interestingly enough, the ancient Akkadian terms for “proverb” also have the meaning of “vernacular” (Hallo 1990: 207). Within this distinctive genre, the 1,350 Bedouin proverbs that Clinton Bailey presents in the present volume display some unique features of their own. They are drawn strictly from the daily life of the Bedouin, to the exclusion of any proverbial wisdom shared with Arabic speakers generally (for some of which see Attal 1989). Like Bedouin poetry, which the author has called the “mirror of a culture” (Bailey 1991), they thus reflect the Bedouin lifestyle, the “culture of desert survival” in the Sinai peninsula and the Negev, where the author collected his material over thirty-five years of indefatigable fieldwork. But that lifestyle is disappearing before our very eyes as village settlement is being promoted by Egypt and Israel respectively, as it is in other countries of the entire “Fertile Crescent,” whose edges have always sustained a population of pastoralists living in a more or less uneasy symbiosis with the agriculturalists. Thus even if other researchers were willing to replicate the author’s heroic efforts, they would probably find that they were too Reprinted with permission. C. Bailey, A Culture of Desert Survivial, ©2004 Yale University Press, pages ix–xvi.

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late. Bailey’s collection represents the precious preservation of a vanishing literary legacy. How does it fit into the larger picture of Near Eastern proverbial literature, and of paroemiology generally?

The Antiquity of Proverbs Until the author collected them in this book, Bedouin proverbs were typically transmitted orally, making them difficult to date. As Bailey points out, some of them can be traced back to the sixth or at least the eleventh century ad on internal grounds (see below). But the antiquity of the proverb genre as such is far greater than that, going back to the third millennium bc and the beginnings of written literature altogether. This can be demonstrated at both ends of the Fertile Crescent, in ancient Egypt and Sumer. In Egypt, apart from autobiographies intended to supplement the sculptures and reliefs of prominent tombs, the earliest literary genre consisted of groups of proverbs or maxims strung together to form “instructions.” These are thought to have begun as early as Imhotep, the vizier of Djoser in the Third Dynasty (ca. 2715–2640] and architect of his great pyramid, whose many talents later caused him to be considered divine. The first actually preserved Instructions, however, are attributed to Prince Hardjedef in the Fifth Dynasty (ca. 2510–2360 bc) and to the vizier Ptahhotep in the Sixth (ca. 2360–2205 bc) (Lichtheim 1975: 58–80). In Sumer, where writing in cuneiform preceded even the hieroglyphic script of Egypt, its earliest literary use, apart from some incantations, was again of the “wisdom” variety: individual proverbs and groups of proverbs collected into Instructions. The first of these Instructions was attributed to the hero of the Sumerian version of the tale of the great flood, Shuruppak (Hallo and Younger 1997–2002: 1: 563–570).

Proverbs in Context Written proverbs could be transmitted singly or in collections, the latter usually sharing a particular focus. The ancient Egyptian and Sumerian instructions already mentioned were attributed to specific authors, real or imaginary. The later proverb collections of Sumer, of which more than thirty have been identified so far, and which could include as many as two hundred individual sayings, have no such attribution. In

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the Hebrew bible, on the other hand, Solomon is said to have created or at least recited no fewer than three thousand proverbs (I Kings 5:12) and is also credited with some eighteen out of thirty-one chapters of the Book of Proverbs (10–22:16, 25–29), containing just over five hundred verses (proverbs). The rest of the book is attributed to other authors or remains anonymous. In addition to those preserved individually or in collections, proverbs (and the related genre of riddles) are sometimes found inserted in the context of other genres. In Sumerian and in Akkadian (the other principal language of ancient Mesopotamia), they have been identified in some unlikely contexts, such as the beginning or even the middle of lexical texts, but also in instructions, in letters, and above all in epics. One proverbial saying, found in both Sumerian and Akkadian versions of the Gilgamesh Epic, may serve by way of example. When Gilgamesh needs to encourage his friend Enkidu in their mission to the Cedar Forest to confront its guardian, the monster Huwawa, he quotes the old saw, “(Two men together will not die . . .) No man can cut a threeply rope.” The very same saying surfaces again in the biblical Book of Ecclesiastes (4:12) as, “The threefold cord is not readily broken” (Hallo 1990).

Oral Transmission of Proverbs and Their Longevity As the last example implies, proverbs can move from one language and culture to another and can do so more freely than other literary genres. Neither space nor time offers insuperable barriers to their transmission, which can be at least in part oral, and in the Bedouin case wholly so. The present book has carefully and intentionally eliminated all the proverbs familiar to Arabic speakers generally in order to distill the essence of uniquely Bedouin wisdom; it thus has few if any proverbs recognizably in common with other Near Eastern paroemiology. Even so, the author cites a proverb, “Woe to the wrongdoer and woe to his neighbor!” (469), with verbatim antecedents not only in the Bedouin poetry of the nineteenth century ad, but in Mishnaic Hebrew of the second century. One may also point to No. 162: “Cast your line into the sea, and God will provide,” or No. 513: “Throw a favor even into the sea and you’ll find it”, and compare them with the biblical saying, “Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it [back?] in the fullness of days [or: of seas]” (Ecclesiastes 11:1). This verse, in turn,

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has been compared to similar sentiments in the ancient Near East. An Akkadian testament from Emar (ca. 1200 bc) includes the line “Let her [the testator’s wife] ‘cast it [the house] upon the waters’ ” (Tsukimoto 1994:232); the Egyptian Instructions of Onchsheshongy (Ankhsheshong) (ca. fifth century bc) proclaim, “Do a good deed and throw it into the river. When this dries up, you shall find it” (Scott 1965: xlv, 252). Many other and even more dramatic examples of long-term survival of proverbs can, however, be cited from outside the Bedouin tradition. So, for example, the maxim “Who would give water at dawn to a goose that will be slaughtered in the morning?” which ends the ancient Egyptian tale “The Shipwrecked Sailor,” has been traced all the way to a modern Russian parallel. Sometimes the intervening links of a lengthy chain of transmission can be identified. The saying “The bitch in her haste gave birth to blind puppies,” which first appears in an Akkadian letter from King Shamshi-Adad I to his son (ca. 1800 bc), has been identified in Greek sources beginning as far back as the seventh century bc and continuing into the Middle Ages, after which it turns up everywhere: in Latin, English, German, Italian, Arabic (including the Iraqi vernacular), and Judeo-Arabic; it has also been traced back to a possible Sumerian precedent (Alster 1997:SP 5.118). At other times a proverb may undergo transformation in the course of transmission while recognizably retaining its original message. The Sumerian saying, “In the city of the lame, the halt is courier” refers, respectively, to persons lame on both legs and lame on one leg only. It is recognizable in the Latin saying (and its English and other later renderings), “In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.” A missing link of sorts is furnished by the Rabbinic saying, “In the marketplace of the blind they call the one-eyed man [their] leader” (Hallo 1990:207 f. for all the foregoing).

Proverbs as Curricular Material (School Texts) The traditional lifestyle of the Bedouin is essentially incompatible with formal education (p. 3), so their proverbs, while inculcating time-honored truths and practices, are not part of a fixed curriculum. In the literate cultures of the Near East, however, precisely that situation is attested already for the scribal schools of the time of Hammurapi of Babylon (eighteenth century bc), where the unilingual Sumerian proverb

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collections formed the climax of elementary education, to be followed by instruction in the received canon of fully literary compositions (Veldhuis 1997:61–63). In later Babylonian and Assyrian education, they were replaced by bilingual collections, in which each Sumerian proverb was accompanied by a translation into Akkadian (Lambert 1960:222– 275). But these translations were invariably disposed in parallel columns, not arranged in the interlinear manner which became characteristic of more advanced portions of the curriculum (Hallo 1996:154– 168). There is even a short Akkado-Hittite bilingual collection (Lambert 1960:279), but unilingual Hittite proverbs from the Hittite capital of Hattusha in Anatolia (Turkey) occur only in the context of other genres (Beckman 1986). Unilingual Akkadian proverb collections are equally rare but have recently been augmented by the find of a tablet from the library at Sippar (ca. sixth century bc) (George and al-Rawi 1998:203–206). All this evidence can safely be traced to the institution of the scribal school. An interesting feature of the biblical Book of Proverbs is its incorporation of foreign material, some of it—notably at its end—by its own admission, thus illustrating Israel’s familiarity with “the wisdom of the people of the east” (I Kings 5:10; cf. I Samuel 24:13). In particular, the last two chapters, or at least the first nine verses of each, are attributed, respectively, to Agur and Lemuel, both associated with the nomadic North Arabian tribe of Massa—which is known also from an Assyrian letter to King Assurbanipal in the seventh century bc (Eph"al 1982: 10, 218–220). These attributions deserve some credence, given the known mobility of the nomads and their penchant for conveying traditional culture. We might even go so far as to say that these eighteen verses represent the oldest recorded proverbs of the Bedouin of Sinai and the Negev! At other times the incorporation, while not openly admitted, can be deduced on internal grounds. Most notably the anonymous “words of the wise” (Proverbs 22:17–24:34) have often been compared to the “Instruction of Amenemope (Amenemhet),” divided into a prologue and thirty chapters. Similarly, though the direction of the borrowing is sometimes disputed, one can detect a preamble and thirty precepts (plus appendix) in the biblical segment, and seven or eight of them closely parallel the Egyptian sentiments; with a minimal emendation, one can even find a reference to “thirty precepts” in the biblical preamble (Proverbs 22: 20) (Hallo and Younger 1997: 115–122; Scott 1965: 133– 149).

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These and other ancient Egyptian Instructions were typically addressed by a father, sometimes a royal father, to his son. Although not part of formal education, they thus played a role in the traditional transmission of knowledge—theoretical, practical, or ethical— from parent to son. In this connection it is worth noting that the story of the wise Ahiqar, first known from Egypt in the fifth century bc (albeit in Aramaic), concludes with a long list of proverbs which, at least in some of the many later versions of the work, are likewise phrased as instructions to “my son” (Winton Thomas 1958: 270–275). Much of the biblical Book of Proverbs, too, is addressed to “my son” (1:8, 10, 15, etc.); more formal training may have been provided by wise men (though represented in the guise of “Wisdom,” a woman) (1:20 f., 8:1–3), who addressed their pupils as “sons” (8:32). In light of all this ancient precedent, it is interesting to learn that the deliberate imparting of wisdom to sons (and younger brothers) is still maintained by the Bedouin, as evidenced in their surviving proverbs and poetry (Bailey 1991:141– 153; 326–328).

Proverbs and Law Out of nine chapters, Clinton Bailey devotes no fewer than three to Bedouin justice, whether achieved by force, litigation, or mediation. This emphasis is not surprising in a collection of proverbs for, in the absence of written law, a major role in the redress of injustice is played by norms widely known and easily memorized. Poetry and proverbs both served this purpose, as the author has demonstrated in a previous study (Bailey 1993). There he collected fifty maxims relating to the topic of guaranty (kaf¯ala), some poetic—alliterative, assonontal, or rhyming— some merely pithy, and all distinguished by their wide geographical range, going beyond Sinai and the Negev to embrace, in his words, “Egypt, Mandatory Palestine, Jordan, Syria, and Iraq” (Bailey 1993; see also chapter 7/11 of the present work). What is truly remarkable is that identical proverbs and poems prove to be used in Bedouin trials and other legal contexts over the entire area of the ancient Fertile Crescent. This observation suggests an analogy to and a potential solution for a major crux in ancient Near Eastern law, collected at intervals in the form of wise precedents and judicious decisions, and promulgated under royal authority or, in Israel, under divine dispensation. Typically these laws were phrased in conditional form, or what we choose to

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translate as conditional forms; e.g., “If an ox gores another ox and thus causes its death, the two owners shall divide the value of the living ox and the carcass of the dead ox” (Hallo and Younger 1997–2002:2:335). That happens to be a provision in the laws of the Old Babylonian city-state of Eshnunna in the nineteenth century bc, discovered in the outskirts of Baghdad in ad 1948. It is echoed almost verbatim in the “Covenant Code” of the biblical Book of Exodus where we read: “If the ox of one man gore the ox of another man, so that he dies, then they shall sell the living ox, and divide its price equally, and the dead one too they shall divide equally” (Exodus 21:35). Since this provision occurs in no other ancient law “code,” not even in the section on goring oxen of the famous, lengthy, and long-lived Laws of Hammurapi of Babylon (eighteenth century bc), it raises the interesting question of whether the lawgivers of Eshnunna and Israel arrived independently at the same ingenious solution or, if not, how knowledge of the precedent passed from one to the other, or perhaps from. a source common to both. The last possibility can no longer be excluded, given the finding that oral law is widely shared by the Bedouin over the entire Fertile Crescent, from the Sinai peninsula to the Persian Gulf, the very same area where Amorite tribes wandered and in some cases settled down at the beginning of the second millennium bc. These nomadic or seminomadic tribes were the ancestors of the dynasties of both Eshnunna and Babylon, as well as of the Canaanites to whom Israel may well owe some of its legal heritage (Hallo 1996: 55, 245). The modern Bedouin analogy thus makes it more plausible that the law of the goring oxen was similarly shared by the ancient seminomads from one end of the Fertile Crescent to the other.

Conclusion The Bedouin proverbs collected and preserved in this book are indeed, like Bedouin poetry, a mirror of their culture, reflecting the peculiarities of a style of life wholly dedicated to survival in the desert. But they also share features with earlier Near Eastern proverbs and with some of the proverbial literature of the contemporary world. We can be grateful that they have here been preserved for comparison with these wider horizons in space and time, for the light they throw on the culture that produced them and for the intrinsic pleasure they afford to the modern reader.

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viii.5. proverbs: an ancient tradition in the middle east Bibliography

Alster, Bendt. 1997. Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections, 2 vols. Bethesda, Md.: CDL. Attal, Robert, 1989: “Bibliographie raisonnée des proverbes Arabes et JudeoArabes du Maghreb,” Studies in Bibliography and Booklore, 17: 41–54. Bailey, Clinton. 1991. Bedouin Poetry from Sinai and the Negev: Mirror of a Culture. Oxford: Clarendon. ———. 1993. “The Role of Rhyme and Maxim in Bedouin Law.” New Arabian Studies 1: 21–35. Beckman, Gary. “Proverbs and Proverbial Allusions in Hittite.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 45: 19–30. Eph"al, Israel. 1982. The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent, 9th–5th Centuries bc. Jerusalem: Magnes; Leiden: Brill. George, A.R., and F.N.H. al-Rawi. 1998. “Tablets from the Sippar Library, VII. Three Wisdom Texts.” Iraq 60: 187–206. Hallo, William W. 1990. “Proverbs Quoted in Epic.” In Lingering Over Words: Studies . . . in Honor of William L. Moran, edited by T. Abusch et al. Atlanta: Scholars Press, here: VIII.4. ———. 1996. Origins: The Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions. Leiden: Brill. ———, and K. Lawson Younger, Jr., eds. 1997–2002. The Context of Scripture, 3 vols. Leiden: Brill. Lambert, W.G. 1060. Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Clarendon. Lichtheim, Miriam. 1975. Ancient Egyptian Literature, vol. I. Berkeley: University of California. Scott, R.B.Y. 1965. Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Anchor Bible 18. Garden City: Doubleday. Taylor, Archer. 1931. The Proverb, quoted from the edition of 1962; repr. 1985. Tsukimoto, Akio. 1994. “A Testamentary Document from Emar,” Acta Sumerologica 16: 231–238. Veldhuis, Niek. 1997. “Elementary Education at Nippur.” Ph.D. diss., Groningen, Netherlands. Winton Thomas, D., ed. 1958. Documents from Old Testament Times. London: Thomas Nelson.

ix incantations

ix.1 BACK TO THE BIG HOUSE: COLLOQUIAL SUMERIAN, CONTINUED1

Among many other insights, J.J.A. van Dijk has provided a new and profound appreciation of the genre of “non-canonical incantations”.2 This genre is already attested by the middle of the third millennium in texts from Ebla,3 Fara4 and early Lagash.5 It is generally identified by an initial or concluding rubric, but sometimes the incantation so identified is only part of a longer composition in which it is embedded.6 And sometimes the incantation is not so identified at all.7 That seems to be the case with the text offered herewith, which has some idiomatic points of contact with the genre, but no rubric; in form, it suggests a prayer. The tablet was acquired by the Yale Babylonian Collection through the good offices of Mr. Jonathan Rosen of New York. The text is a lenticular or “lentil-shaped” tablet with ten cases on the obverse and eight on the reverse. Although lenticular tablets of literary content are so far known only from the Old Babylonian schools, they were used for archival purposes as early as Neo-Sumerian times and occasionally in the preceding Old Akkadian period.8 All such third millennium examples come from Lagash; it is not impossible that our

The substance of this paper was presented to the 194th meeting of the American Oriental Society, Seattle, Washington, on March 25, 1984. I am indebted to R.D. Biggs, M. Civil, and P. Michalowski for comments made at that time and gratefully incorporated here. Å. Sjöberg graciously granted access to the files of the Sumerian Dictionary Project of the University of Pennsylvania; references from these files are here identified by the notation PSD. 2 See especially the text volumes VS 17 and YOS 11, as well as numerous articles; cf. e.g. Or 38 (1969) 539–547; 41 (1972) 339–348, 357 f.; 42 (1973) 502–507; 44 (1975) 52– 79 + pls. v–vi; and RAI 25 (1982) 97–110. 3 G. Pettinato, OA 18 (1979) 329–351, and pls. xxvi–xlii; P. Mander, Or 48 (1979) 335–339. 4 E.g. WVDOG 43 (1923) 46, 54 f.; 71; cf. Biggs, JCS 20 (1966) 78 n. 41. 5 Sollberger, CIRPL (1956) sub Urn. 49. 6 E.g. van Dijk, Symbolae . . . Böhl (1973) 109 f. 7 E.g. note 5 above. 8 Pettinato. AnOr 45 (1969), esp. p. 5. 1

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text is from the same site. Its writing is compatible with the Lagash ductus of Early Dynastic III date.9 The text is, in any case, not a school tablet like the round tablets of Old Babylonian date. That is, it does not include the efforts of a scribal student, with or without the better model of the tutor, as in the classification system of E.I. Gordon.10 It is perfectly preserved; its writing is of a high standard of excellence; and obverse and reverse almost certainly represent successive portions of a continuous entity. It gives the impression of constituting the polished work of an experienced scribe, and of presenting a composition in its entirety. This composition is to some extent sui generis. I would regard it as a prayer, more specifically the prayer of a (private) individual. Now individual prayer in Sumerian has a long tradition, as I showed some time ago.11 But nowhere does it stand by itself in a canonical form of its own and apart from some other or larger literary context, be that a letter or lament on the one hand, or an epic, temple hymn, royal hymn, or even monumental text on the other. The new text, whether it proves formally to be an incantation or not, functions as a prayer and, this granted, thus preserves the oldest and most explicit example of its kind yet recovered. Although it still poses many difficulties, a tentative transliteration and translation is hereby ventured.

Transliteration (obv.) 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10)

é-gal tir gú-har-muˇsen-sa7-a a-sig ha-mu-ˇsi-íb-gar ˇsà-bi˘ gir4-mah izi ba-ra-a ˘ ˘ a-sig ha-ma-ab-sù ˘ a ig-bi ra-gaba ha ˘ harranx(KASKAL) si-sá gá ha-gub ˘ ˘ zé- hi-bi lú-kin-gi4-a-kam ˘ ˇsu ha-mu-ˇsi-nigin ˘ giˇs-bala-bi lam á-ˇsa6-ga-mu ha-àm zag-zi-da-mà ha-kár-kárka ˘ giˇs-ká-ba gú-bi˘ ha-mu-da-zi ˘

9 Y. Rosengarten, Répertoire commenté des signes présargoniques sumériens de Lagaˇ s (Paris 1967). 10 Sumerian Proverbs (Museum Monographs, 1959) 7 f. Cf. now also R. Falkowitz, AfO 29/30 (1983–1984) 18–45. 11 W.W. Hallo, JAOS 88 (= AOS 53, 1968) 71–89, here: IV.1.

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(rev.) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16) 17) 18)

d

inanna igiˇstu-mu hé-àm ˘ ha-àm dingir-mu á-dah-mu ˘ ˘ egir-mà ha-gin ˘ lú-kak-du-mà gú-e ki ha-lá gá gú-mu an-ˇsè ha-zi ˘ èˇs den-ki dasar-re˘ abzu-na nam-mu-da-búr-e mu-dnanˇse al-me-a

Translation 1) The “big house” (which is) a forest— 2) The A.SIG has verily placed the string (?) of a green bird-trap into it for me. 3) Its interior is a great oven whose fire is lit. 4) May the A.SIG keep it far from me. 5) Its door is a rider traversing the highway—may it be dislodged for me. 6) Its bolt is that of a messenger. 7) May it turn in it (the door) for me. 8) Its rafters are extensive—may they be my favorable side. 9) On my right hand may it shine brightly. 10) Of its gate may I be able to raise its lock. 11) May Inanna be my vanguard. 12) May my (personal) deity be my helper. 13) May he walk behind me. 14) May she/he make my door (gate?)-keeper bow with his neck to the ground. 15) As for me, may I raise my neck to heaven. 16) The sanctuary of Enki (and) Asare in his Abzu— 17) May no one be able to undo. 18) The spell which Nanshe has cast.

Notes on the Translation 1) Five years ago I edited a brief Sumerian proverb from Collection 6 and proposed the following translation: The ‘big house’ is (like) a forest / the king, a lion, / Ningal, a great net / which subdues12 a 12 gúr-gúr (kunnuˇ su). The Yale exemplar has a variant predicate, ù-ù-e, for which the only analogy known to me is Gudea Cyl. A xxi 28: inim-an-na im-mi-íb-ù-ù-dam (cf W. Heimpel, Studia Pohl 2 [1968] 84: 3). Perhaps one may translate ù as karû, “to be in a depression, stupor” (CAD K s.v.) and regard ù-ù as the factitive derivative, “to put into a stupor, knock out”.

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man.13 I suggested that the big house in this context could hardly be the palace but was more likely the prison as in the colloquial equivalent in English, or a sanctuary as in some of the meanings attested for the Sumerian tir (forest) with which the proverb equated it. The new text already provides a second context for the big house (which is) a forest, and appears to bear out the meaning prison or asylum for the term in question. 2) A.SIG here (and in line 4) may be some kind of functionary, since it appears (with the variant a-sig5) in a neo-Assyrian list of professional names (MSL 12 239 v. 10), between the steward (maˇsennu) and the charioteer (b¯el narkabti or mugirri). In view of the rider in line 5 and the messenger in line 6, the notion that A.SIG stands for m¯ar kallê (“messager rapide,” R. Labat, Manuel 5 s.v.) is attractive but unsupported by hard evidence.13a I follow A. Salonen in taking har-muˇsen(a) as the Sumerian equiva˘ lent of Akkadian muˇsenharu (not huharu), the bird-trap (Vögel und Vogelfang ˘ ˘ ˘ For literary references, see Pickaxe im alten Mesopotamien [1973] 35–41). and Plow 81 (OECT 5 34:81) and 178 (UET 6 42 rev. 10). A reading gúmur-muˇsen, (h)urhud is. s. ¯uri, throat of a bird (cf. AHw s.v. ur"udu; Sjöberg, ZA 64 [1975] ˘166˘f.) seems less likely. 3) The gir4-mah (kirmahhu) is well known (Salonen, BaM 3 [1964] 121). ˘ Note that Nur-Adad 3˘ ˘ (UET 1 112 + 124 + UET 8 67) “records the building and dedication to Nanna of (such) a ‘big oven’ ” (E. Sollberger, UET 8 p. 14 ad line 38). For izi. . . ra (read thus rather than rí?) cf. e.g. Dumuzi’s Dream (B. Alster, Mesopotamia 1 [1972] 82) 251; 253. In Inanna and Ebih ˘ 150 (ISET 2 14 Ni. 4593 rev. 3) it varies with izi. . . ri (TMH nF 3 3:12; PBS 12 47 rev. 11; PRAK I B 272:7), so the reading dè . . . dal suggested for the Exaltation of Inanna 44 (YNER 3 20) may need to be reconsidered (PSD). 13 Hallo, JCS 31 (1979) 161–165, here: VIII.2. The references assembled there should be augmented especially by Iddin-Dagan *6 (W.H. Ph. Römer, SKIZ [1965) 133) 67: égal é-na-ri kalam-ma-ka giˇsrabx-kur-kur-ra-kam, “the big house, the house of instruction (chastisement?) for the nation, the pillory of all the foreign lands.” Cf. already Sjöberg, AfO 24 (1973) 19 f. n. 3, and note that a reference to the ordeal (i7-lú-ru-gú) follows. Cf. also Ishme-Dagan *15 (G.R. Castellino, RSO 32 [1957] 16–18) 28–30. 13a Or is A.SIG a phonetic spelling for á-si-(giˇs)ig = “door hinge”, for which cf. A. Salonen, Die Türen (1961) 60; J. Krecher, Kultlyrik (1966) 177?

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5) The comparison between door and rider may seem far-fetched, but note that the typical Mesopotamian door had a “rider”, i.e. the knob of its pole. This is usually expressed by u5-ig = sˇagammu (Salonen, Die Türen des alten Mesopotamien [1961] 66). But, as E.A. Speiser recognized long ago, u5 in this context “stands also for rak¯abu ‘ride’ and the knob which adorned the upper end of the door-pole could suitably be called its ‘rider’ ” (JCS 2 [1984] 226 f.). According to the lexical texts, the sign KASKAL has the reading kaskal when it means harr¯anu, “road, journey” (CAD H s.v.) but Civil ˘ have the reading harran . On˘this interpretasuggests that it may also x ˘ indicator, as would also tion, the ha of our text would be a phonetic ˘ the “plene spelling” har-ra-an which immediately precedes or follows ˘ KASKAL in numerous contexts.14 The emendation to  si -ˇsá is based on the frequent association of kaskal/ har-ra-an with this verb.15 Alter˘ natively, one could read ha˘ harranx di-a, “having traversed the road” or, ˘ even less likely, ha-bí-di-a-(mà), “in/with (my) hap¯utu-hoe”. ˘ The meaning “remove a door” (dalta nas¯ahu)˘ has been established for the compound verb ig . . . gub by Å. Sjöberg,˘ JCS 24 (1972) 112; cf. more recently J. Cooper, The Curse of Agade (1983) 250 ad line 168. 6) The reading zé-hi-bi was suggested by Civil, as was the equation ˘ with sahab-(bi), sùhub-(bi) = m¯edelu for which see Salonen, Türen 79. ˘ ˘ 7) For ˇsu-nigin = sah¯aru, see MSL 13 114:13. ˘ 8) For giˇs-bala = ruggubum, von Soden suggests the meaning “having a balcony, loft” (Soden; AHw s.v.). Sjöberg prefers “cross beams” (PSD B 48a). “Rafters” combines both senses. For a-ˇsa6-ˇsa6 with the gloss dummuqu see MSL 13 42:43. Or could we be dealing with a phonetic spelling of lamma-ˇsa6-ga, “good protective deity” (A, Sjöberg, orally)?

14

It must be admitted, however, that kaskal and har-ra-an also occur in parallelism. Cf. eg. P. Michalowski, The Royal Correspondence˘ of Ur (Ph.D. Yale 1976) 136 line 3: kur su-birki-ˇse har-ra-an kaskal-(la) si sá-sá e-dè (var.: ra), “to take the road to Subir”. ˘ 15

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9) For kár-kárka, (or = kár-kár-ka)16 = nab¯atu (or nap¯ahu),17 see CAD N s.v. ˘ 10) For giˇsgú = giˇsru, part of a lock, cf. MSL 5 30:292a and Salonen, Türen 76 against CAD G s.v. giˇsru A. 11) For IGI.DU = geˇstu, igiˇstu see CAD s.vv. 14) lú-kak-du is a problem. One may suggest a partially phonetic spelling for kak-ì-du8 = muˇs¯elû (A), pan of the lock of a door or (B) doorkeeper, or for (lú)-kak-du8 with which compare kak-du8 = mupatt¯ıtu, literally “opener” and giˇskak-níg-du8du-uh= nap.tartum, part of a lock (MSL 6 62:131; 63:136). For gú-ki-ˇsè-lá = qad¯adu sˇa am¯eli see MSL 16 194 line 97; previously Falkenstein, ZA 57 (1965) 97 f. 16) The sanctuary of Enki is presumably identical with the sanctuary known as the (é)-abzu (abyss), which in turn may or may not be identical with é-engur (house of the watery deep), the temple of Enki in Eridu; cf. van Dijk, Symbolae . . . Böhl (1973) 111. 17) This predicate is familiar from incantations of all periods, whether Old Babylonian (cf. e.g. VS 17 29:6; 30:9), Middle Babylonian (cf. e.g. J. Cooper, ZA 61 [1971] 16:33) or neo-Assyrian (cf. A. Falkenstein, LSS nF 1 [1931] 98:33), In all such cases the expressed object is the incantation (tu6, tu6-tu6, nam-ˇsub etc.); here it apparently is understood. 18) Uncertain translation. If mu7-mu7 or me-me = ¯asˇipu, “exorcist,” can be analyzed as “incantation reciter,” then mu may be phonetic for mu7, sˇiptu, “incantation”, and me (or ˇsib) may stand for the verb to perform an incantation. Cf. ME with the reading ˇsib = uˇssˇupu sˇa ¯asˇipi, MSL 14 223: 8. But usually the verb used with incantations is sum = nadû or ˇsid = manû.

16 For examples of kár-kár complemented by -ka (or a-ka) see Warad-Sin 19 (Kärki, StOr 49 [1980] 109) v 7; Enki’s Journey to Nippur (ed. A. Al-Fouadi [1969] 69) 1.7, with additional references ib. pp. 11 f. (PSD). 17 Cf. Elevation of Iˇstar (Hruˇska, ArOr 37 [1969] 485) iii 69 f. (PSD); MSL 16 206:3.

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General Conclusions As translated above, our text is an individual’s prayer for release from the big house. It invokes the help of Inanna, the individual’s (personal) deity and, in conclusion, Enki, his son Asare and his daughter Nanshe. What can be said about its possible context, geographical or chronological? While the appeal to Enki and his Abzu might seem to point to Eridu, there are grounds for linking the text to Lagash (see already above). As Sjöberg has pointed out, “in Old Babylonian times, Asar belonged to the local pantheon in Lagaˇs . . . ; also in Neo-Sumerian times he was worshipped in Lagaˇs”.18 Nanshe, too, was at home in Lagash, more specifically in Nina (Sirara). Other evidence points to the “big house” as part of a temple or even, perhaps as pars pro toto, as a description for an entire temple.19 Thus when it is likened to a distant sea which knows no horizon,20 exactly as is the é-kur, or more specifically its interior,21 we may conclude that there was a “big house” within the temple of Enlil at Nippur. Note that the great hymn to this temple22 actually begins, “the great house, it is a mountain great”; Kramer takes this line to refer “to the Ekur complex as a whole, and in a sense . . . to be understood before each of the following 26 lines”.23 Again, the great temple of Nanna at Ur was, or included, a “big house”24 even as it included an Abzu.25 A third possibility is that the term for big house became a toponym in its own right. It then takes the form Bitum-rabium in Akkadian26 (date of Amar-Suen 7, with Iabru and Huhnuri)27 and é-gu-laki in Sumerian,28 ˘ ˘ but since this form varies with é-gal as a temple name or common

TCS 3 (1969) 80. Sjöberg, AfO 24 (1973) 19 f. and n. 3; R. Falkowitz, The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections (Ph.D. thesis, Pennsylvania, 1980) 178 ad S.P. 3.37. 20 Hallo, JCS 31 (1979) 163 and n. 25, here: VIII.2. 21 Ibid, n. 26. For the orthographic implications of this cliché, see Civil, JAOS 92 (1972) 271. 22 S.N. Kramer, RSO 32 (1957) 95–102. 23 Ibid. 100. 24 Ur-Nammu C (Castellino, ZA 53 [1959] 20) 108. 25 UET 6 105:2 f.; cf. van Dijk, Symbolae. . . Böhl 111. 26 D.O. Edzard and G. Farber, RGTC 2 (1974) 27. Cf. Hallo, HUCA 29 (1958) 99. 27 For the location of Huh(u)nuri (southeast of Susa and Lagash) see J.F. Hansman, ˘ Iran 10 (1972) 117–119 and ˘P. Steinkeller, ZA 72 (1982) 243 n. 18 and map p. 265. 28 RGTC 2, 44. 18 19

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noun,29 it is possible that, as toponym, it retains the meaning, “prison, asylum” suggested here for the latter. That toponyms could be derived from the character of their original settlers has always been clear from ¯ sarr¯aki (uru-sag-rig7), the city of the votaries. More the example of Al-ˇ specifically, Jacobsen has argued that “settlements of prisoners were not too unusual in ancient Sumer, even though the one reference we have to them pretends to deal with an unicum,” i.e. Shu-sin’s use of his prisoners of war (sag-nam-ra-aˇs-aka-ni) to found a city in the area of Nippur. And he notes at least two cities named accordingly—one a Girsu on the banks of the Euphrates and the other the famous Girsu in the territory of Lagash, both explained as meaning literally “naked prisoner”.30 A final possibility needs to be considered here, namely that we are dealing neither with a temple nor with a city but with an institution located far from any human habitation. In our text and in the proverb about Ningal, the big house is equated with the forest (see above ad line 1). In the incantation hymn to Ninurta, the more or less synonymous “wide house” (of the protective deity) is associated with the distant forest.31 In the late, bilingual zi-pà incantations, the “big house” is equated with the steppe (edin = s.¯eru)32 In earlier unilingual Sumerian texts, it is frequently linked to royal bivouacs or caravanserais in the open country.33 It is even conceivable that the Sargonic toponym égal-eden-(na)ki, possibly identical with é-eden or pre-Sargonic A.EDEN, identifies such a “big house of the steppe.”34 There are, then, a number of indications for an institution located in forest or steppe which served to detain persons, whether for their own protection (from would-be avengers) or for that of society. It is too early to say that this institution provides a remote precedent for the Biblical “cities of refuge,” hitherto considered a uniquely Israelite innovation.35 But another aspect may deserve reiteration here: the fact that this institution was known as “the big house,” or “the wide house,” in addition Hallo, JCS 31, 163, here: VIII.2. JCS 21 (1967) 100. 31 Hallo, JCS 31, 164 f. with nn. 44–51, here: VIII.2. Note, however, that the incipit of the composition (n. 45) has to be revised again in light of the literary catalogue published by Michalowski, OA 19 (1980) entry 7. 32 R. Borger, AOAT 1 (1969) 85 f. 33 Hallo, JCS 31, 162 and n. 17, here: VIII.2. 34 RGTC 1 (1977) s. vv. 35 But see already Hallo in W.G. Plain, E.J. Bamberger and W.W. Hallo, The Torah: A Modem Commentary (New York 1981) 1302. 29 30

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to numerous other synonyms.36 R. Falkowitz has said of the Sumerian proverb collections that “there are no clues from the grammar, syntax or lexicon of the discourse in the Rhetoric Collections which would allow one to characterize the language as colloquial.”37 But if colloquial speech includes the use of words in other than their standard meanings, then the evidence already collected may provide the kind of lexical clues being asked for. In addition, there are fairly explicit references in Sumerian literature itself to the existence—and recognition—of argots and jargons that can presumably be best described as colloquial. That the terminology of detention would spawn colloquialisms in especially large numbers would not be particularly surprising.

36 37

Hallo, JCS 31, 165 with nn. 52–54, here: VIII.2. The Sumerian Rhetoric Collection 46.

ix.2 MORE INCANTATIONS AND RITUALS FROM THE YALE BABYLONIAN COLLECTION1 In 1985, the Yale Babylonian Collection published Yale Oriental SeriesBabylonian Texts (YOS) 11 under the title Early Mesopotamian Incantations and Rituals. The work represented the collective efforts of four scholars, three of them now deceased. Of the 96 texts on 83 plates included in the volume, 29 texts on 49 plates had been copied during the 1920’s by Mary Inda Hussey (1876–1952),2 while the remaining 67 texts on 34 plates were copied during the 1960’s and 1970’s by Jan van Dijk (1915– 1996). Van Dijk provided extensive notes on most of the texts, in many cases incorporating an earlier set of notes by Albrecht Goetze (1897– 1971).3 In addition, Walter Farber furnished collations of the Hussey copies. The title of the volume reflected the fact that the texts were largely of Old Babylonian date (87 out of 96),4 that they were written in Sumerian (48), Akkadian (31), or both (9), apart from others in Subarian (4), Elamite (1), and an unidentified language (3), and that they included both rituals (19) and incantations (67), or both (6). The balance featured, notably, the three collections of recipes which have since been fully edited by Jean Bottéro.5 Since the publication of YOS 11, the Yale Babylonian Collection has been systematically catalogued under a succession of grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities (1988–1992, 1993–1996). The substance of this paper was presented to the 207th Meeting of the American Oriental Society, Miami, March 25, 1997. It is substituted here for the paper I originally presented to the conference on Mesopotamian Magic held at the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Studies in Wassenaar, June 6–8, 1995, in order to make the new material available, at least in preliminary fashion. 2 R. Borger, RLA 4 (1972–1975), 523, s.v. Hussey. 3 R. Borger, RLA 3 (1957–1971), 500, s.v. Goetze. 4 Four (Nos. 37, 58, 73, 81) are in neo-Sumerian script, one (No. 74) in Middle Assyrian, and four (75, 94, 95, 96) in Neo-Babylonian or Late Babylonian. 5 Textes Culinaires Mésopotamiens: Mesopotamian Culinary Texts (Mesopotamian Civilizations 6; Winona Lake, 1995). For earlier studies see Hallo, Origins (Leiden, 1996), 108 f.; for a more recent summary, id., 98–108. 1

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The cataloguing project is likewise a collaborative project, with Gary Beckman and Ulla Kasten as successive Project Coordinators, and with numerous individual collaborators. It will permit instant world-wide access to a computerized data base describing each of our 40,000 holdings, with descriptions capable of eventual expansion to include complete transliterations and translations of tablets and other inscribed and uninscribed objects. Shorter descriptions are contained in the printed catalogue volumes, of which two have so far appeared, under the series title of Catalogue of the Babylonian Collections at Yale (CBCY), one by PaulAlain Beaulieu6 and one by Beckman.7 Others are in an advanced stage of preparation. Even before its final completion, the cataloguing project has proved its worth, as I will try to illustrate here by the example of rituals and incantations. Although YOS 11 was intended to include all the examples of these genres then remaining unpublished in the Collection, the systematic item-by-item study of all our textual holdings turned up 18 more candidates, at least tentatively. Their identifications were principally the work of Beckman, to whom I am indebted for sharing them with me. One of them is a six-column list of different kinds of stones in nine groups associated with certain deities and at least in part connected with the recitation of spells. I may note especially the conclusion of group 3: ‘These eight stones extracted(?) from an X of lapis lazuli you shall place in its breast(?) and above it (and) below it with the anointing priest the sacrifice/prayer and its incantation you shall recite. The spell ‘My god is favorable’ you shall recite 7 times’.8 This text deserves study in its own right. Another of the texts has recently been published jointly by Beckman and Foster;9 as it is addressed to Enki, it may be part of the library of the Enki-priesthood which Christian Dyckhoff has identified as the source of a number of our Old Babylonian literary tablets.10 Others have been copied by various scholars and remain to be published by

6 P.-A. Beaulieu, Late Babylonian Texts in the Nies Babylonian Collection (CBCY 1; Bethesda, 1994). 7 G. Beckman, Old Babylonian Archival Texts in the Nies Babylonian Collection (CBCY 2; Bethesda, 1995). 8 NBC 7688 ii 8–13: 8 NA .ME an-nu-tu/ina X ZA.GÌN.NA E 3(?) / ina Y-ˇ sú GAR4 ˇ ˇ ma / AN-ˇsú KI-ˇsú ta-man-ni / ÉN DINGIR.MU SE.GA 7 Z-KAM.MA SÍD(?). 9 G. Beckman and B.R. Foster, ‘An Old Babylonian Plaint against Black Magic’, ASJ 18 (1996), 19–21. 10 Christian Dyckhoff, Oral communication at the 43rd RAI (see the forthcoming compte rendu).

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them11 or from their Nachlass.12 Still others are too fragmentary or too brief to permit certainty of identification.13 That leaves three of sufficient interest or intelligibility to present at this time. Two are Old Babylonian in date, the third is Neo-Babylonian. Because of the difficulties posed by all of them, I have sought out the help of those more experienced than I am with these genres, and I am happy to acknowledge them here, as follows: Niek Veldhuis (Groningen) with No. 1, Walter Farber (Chicago) with Nos. 1 and 2, and Izabela Zbikowska (Yale) and Francesca Rochberg (University of California at Riverside) with No. 3. Herewith I offer transliterations of the two OB texts and a transcription of the NB one, and I will attempt to provide translations of two of them, with minimum comment. No translation is attempted for the second which, like the first, includes incantations to Lamashtu (dDÌM.ME). No. 1. YBC 8041 (52 × 38 mm) 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11)

[ ]x [ ]-ma? ki-k[i-.ta-ˇsu ]-x tu- ú - e - ni -in-nu-ri sˇi-pa-at dDÍM.ME ki-ki-.ta-ˇsu ki-ir-ba-an MUN (.t¯abtim) i-na lu-ba-ri-im ta-ra-ak-ka-as! i-na ki-ˇsa-di-ˇsu ta-ra-ak-ka-a[s] ba-li-i.t ri-ú-ta-am-ma hu-bi-e-ta ˘ sˇi-p[a-at . . .] ri-ú-ta-am i-ni-im Rev.

12) 13) 14) 15) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20)

ˇsu-pu dDIM.ME ki-ki-.ta-ˇsa NUMUN UH ˘su] ni-iˇs-ki i-na zu-mu-u[r-ˇsa/ˇ ta-na-ad-du-ma A.BA UR É.ASˇ ta-man-nu te-le-ek-ma Ì.GISˇ mu-uh-hi ni-iˇs-ki-im ˘ ˘ te-te-eh-hi te-sé-e-er ta-ra-ak-ka-as-ˇ˘sa˘

YBC 6706, an incantation against ‘little worms’, was copied by Bendt Alster. YBC 5443, an incantation similar to udug-hul, was copied by the late R. Kutscher; MLC 1963 and YBC 9891, unidentified incantations, were copied by van Dijk but not included in YOS 11. 13 Notably MLC 485, 923; NBC 10217, 10339, 11111 (= 6NT 544), 11118 (= 6NT 997), 10339; NCBT 1049; YBC 9877, 9902. 11 12

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21) ba-li-i.t 22) sˇi-pa-at ur-ˇsi 1–2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16) 17) 18) 19) 20) 21) 22)

(Largely lost) Its procedure: . . .. Conjuration. Incantation against Lamashtu. Its procedure: a lump of salt. in a garment you tie up, on his neck you tie (it) he (will be) well. ???? ???? ??? Lamashtu. Its procedure: the seed and/of the spittle of the bite on his body you apply and (the incantation) ‘Who is the dog of the single house?’ which you recite you lick away and oil over the bite you smear. You approach (and) you bind her. He (will be) well. Incantation of the bedchambers.

Notes 4) This spelling is restored here on the basis of YOS 11:16:11, for which see the remarks by van Dijk, ibid., p. 5. 5) The translation of sˇipat Lamaˇsti follows van Dijk, YOS 11, p. 6. 6) For lumps of salt wrapped in a tuft of wool as a poultice, and others as a suppository, see CAD K, 403:2a, s.v. kirb¯anu. 7) In another Lamashtu incantation, lub¯ar¯u (plural) occurs as the ‘(menstrual) rags of an unclean (i.e., menstruating) woman’; cf. CAD L 230d; Falkenstein, LKU p. 12, line 11. Note also the possible association with the Roman labarum suggested by M.H. Pope, ‘The saltier of Atargatis reconsidered’, Essays . . . Glueck (Garden City, 1970), 178–196, esp. p. 193; the lexical reference there is to the entry published in the meantime as MSL 13, 115:16. 17) The verb appears to be from the relatively rare root lêku, cognate with ˇ Hebrew LHK. The Sumerian equivalent is UR.(BI) . . . KÚ (or TÉS.(BI) . . . .KÚ); though not attested as such in lexical or bilingual texts, it occurs in such unilingual passages as Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, 255 and 257, where it has been compared by Sol Cohen to Numbers 22:4; cf. Hallo, ‘Proverbs quoted in epic’, Studies . . . Moran (Atlanta, 1990), 215 and n. 116, here: VIII.4.

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Commentary This brief text of 22 lines is so far unparalleled among the Lamashtu incantations, whether canonical or non-canonical.14 It seems to consist of three separate incantations. The first (lines 1–5) presumably begins with a 2-line dicenda (ll. 1–2, now lost), a one-line agenda (l. 3) and a 2-line rubric (ll. 4–5). The second (ll. 6–11) begins with a 3-line agenda (ll. 6–8), a one-line prognosis (l. 9), and what appears to be a 2-line rubric (ll. 10–11). The third (ll. 12-end) begins with a one-line heading (l. 12), an 8-line agenda which includes allusion to the recitation of an incantation (l. 16), a one-line prognosis (l. 21) and a one-line rubric (l. 22). No. 2. MLC 1614 (78 × 48 mm) Obv.? 1) [KA.AH].MUD.[DA / KA.K]A.AH.MUD.D[A] ˘ ˘ 2) KA.AH.MUD.DA / KA.KA.AH.MU[D.D]A ˘ H.MUD.DA 3) KA.A[˘H.MUD.DA] / KA.K[A.A] ˘ ˘ ˇ 4) LUGAL.GI[S].GI.UR / [te-e-ni]-in-nu-ri-e! 5) sˇi-pa-at d x DÌM.ME Rev.? 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9)

NIR.GÁL NIR.NIR.GÁL NIR.NIR.GÁL EN.KA NIR.GÁL ABZU N[UN.KI.(GA?)] sˇi-taˇs-ˇsi ki-ma . . . dÉ-a dLÚ.ASAR.HI li-taˇs-ˇsi-ra an-ni ˘ te-e!-en-nu!-ri-e [ˇsi]-pa-at ka-ta-ar-ri

The tablet contains two incantations, one on each side. The one on the obverse(?) is described as an ‘incantation against Lamashtu’, while the one on the reverse(?) is described, if correctly restored, as an ‘incantation against fungus.’ The fear of fungus is widely attested in Mesopota14 Cf. R. Borger, HKL III (1975), 86. s.v. Lamaˇ stu. Add: Meissner, Babylonien und Assyrien II, 222 ff.; Wiggerman apud Stol, Zwangerschap en Geboorte bij Babyloniërs en in de Bijbel (Leiden, 1983). OB forerunners: BIN 2:72; OECT 1:WB 169, etc. For the latest survey see C. Michel, “Une incantation paléoassyrienne contra Lamaˇstum,” Or. 66 (1997), 58–64, with earlier literature.

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mia; it was inspired not by hygienic or medical considerations, but by the ominous significance attributed to the fungus. Thus the indicated therapy was designed to treat, not so much the symptom, but the evil consequence it portended.15 It is attested in numerous rituals, incantations and prayers.16 No. 3 (with Izabela Zbikowska) YBC 9863 (84 × 73 mm) A further text of considerable interest among those identified as incantations and related texts at Yale which remain to be published is YBC 9863, a collection of astronomical omens and associated incantations. As far as preserved, it is divided into eight sections, of which the first, third, and fifth are followed by rubrics, all set off from each other by dividing lines. After preparing a preliminary transliteration of the text, I showed it to Izabela Zbikowska on the occasion of her visit to the Babylonian Collection to work with my colleague Asger Aaboe. Ms. Zbikowska, then a research assistant at the Institute for the History of Sciences of the Polish Academy of Sciences in Warsaw, has a special interest in astronomical texts. She improved greatly on my transliteration, added a transcription, and copied the text. Ms. Zbikowska also identified the text as partially parallelled by STT 73, a composition extensively commented on by Erica Reiner.17 A further parallel had been drawn between STT 73 (line 77) and YBC 9884 (line 2), now published as YOS 11 75,18 but the two Yale texts neither join nor appear to come from a single tablet, or even from parallel tablets. According to Reiner, STT 73 deserves a particular interest, and its importance and informativeness can be evaluated as follows: first, the omens expected are impetrated omens, a rather rare type of Mesopotamian divination; second, we find in it the text of the prayers and the directions for the rituals designed to dispose the deity favorably for giving an answer through a stipulated signal; and third, we obtain evidence of private divination techniques not found in the canonical omen literature.19

15 16 17 18 19

W.W. Hallo, The Book of the People (Brown Judaic Studies 225; Atlanta, 1991), 66 f. Ibid., 145 f., with references; CAD K s.v. katarru. Erica Reiner, ‘Fortune-Telling in Mesopotamia,’ JNES 19 (1960), 23–35. CAD K 518c. JNES 19 (1959), 24.

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More recently, the Sultan-Tepe text has been described as ‘an unusual first millennium text referring to impetrated practices’ by Ann Guinan,20 who argues that As the tradition (of divination) developed, scholars increasingly turned to the investigation of unsolicited omens and, except for extispicy, impetrated omens ceased to be part of the standard repertoire.21

All of the above could likewise be said of YBC 9863 (and LKA 137 f.). Because of its heavy reliance on logographic orthography, it is in addition presented in transcription except for the strictly astronomical passages. Commentary is limited to pointing out parallels to STT 73. YBC 9863 Transliteration Obverse (beginning lost) A 1

[. . .] X [. . .] 2 [. . .S]I-at DI.A.X [. . .] 3 [. . .] X-ú TA 15-MU 4 [. . . TA I]GI.MU ana IGI.MU DIB-iq ˇ 5 [KA.AS.B]AR MUL IGI.DU8 B 6 7 8 9 10 11

ˇ ˇ i-bi-ir [ˇse-am sˇá h]ar-bi TI-qí GURUS.TUR sˇá MUNUS NU ZU-ú SE ˘ [. . .] e-nu-ma ina GI6 UN.MESˇ s. al-lu-ma qul-tum GAR-at GÌR.2 TAR-sat ˇ [. . .] ana IGI MUL.MAR.GÍD.DA GAR-an KAS.SAG BAL-qí e-diˇs-ˇsi-ka ˇ [. . . É]N AN.USˇ ana IGI MUL.MAR.GÍD.DA SID-nu MUL TA 15-ka [ˇsum-ma MU]L TA 150-ka DÍB-iq NU SIG5 [ˇsum-ma an]a IGI-ka DÍB-iq SIG5 sˇum-ma ˇ H MUL.MAR.GÍD.DA DÍB-iq SIG5 MUL.SU ˘ ˇ H ana 12 [ˇsum-ma MU]L.MAR.GÍD.DA NU DÍB-iq NU SIG5 MUL.SU ˘ ˇ SÀ-bi MUL.MAR.GÍD.DA  13 [KU4] BE-ma MUL.MUL ul-te-ez-zib

20 A.K. Guinan, ‘Divination’, in: The Context of Scripture I. Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World (W.W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger, Jr. (eds.); Leiden/New York/ Köln, 1997), 421–426, esp. p. 422, n. 9. 21 Ibid., p. 422. For the distinction between impetration (or induction) and oblation (or intuition) in divination see also Hallo and William K. Simpson, The Ancient Near East: a History (New York, 1971; second edition, Fort Worth, 1998), 160.

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ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ 14 [MUL.SU.PA SE].GA MUL.SU.PA SE.GA MUL.SU.PA ZI.ZI ˇ ˇ ˇ 15 [MUL.SU.PA ZI.Z]I MUL.SU.PA GUB.GUB MUL.SU.PA GUB.GUB ˇ ˇ 16 [MUL.SU.PA GIN].NA MUL.SU.PA.GIN.NA (eras.) ˇ ˇ ˇ 17 [MUL.SU.PA]SÌG.SÌG MUL.SU.PA SÌG.SÌG MUL.SU.PA DU8.DU8 ˇ 18 [MUL.SU].PA DU8.DU8 DINGIR MU.UN.SI.SÁ DINGIR MU.UN.SI.SÁ 19 [DI]NGIR MU.UN.DU11.GA SI.SÁ DINGIR MU.UN.DU11.GA SI.SÁ ˇ DINGIR MU.UN.SI.SÁ GIS.TUG ˇ ˇ 20 DINGIR MU.UN.SI.SÁ GIS.TUG DINGIR.MU A.RA.ZU GIS.TUG ˇ DINGIR.MU A.RA.ZU GIS.TUG TE.ÉN ˇ [I]NIM.INIM.MA KA.AS.BAR BAR.RE Reverse D 1 [. . .] XXX ú-tal-lal ina A.MESˇ NAGA.SI-li u KI.A.dÍD ˇ 2 [. . .] SU.2 sˇú LUH-si ina GI6 ÙR SAR A.MESˇ KÙ.MESˇ SÙ ˇ ˇ ZÍD.MAD.GÁ˘sˇá SE.GAL u SIM.LI 3 [. . .] X NÍG.NA GAR-an A.MESˇ KÙ.MESˇ BAL-qí-ÉN 3-ˇsú ana IGI ˇ ˇ ˇ MUL.SU.PA SID-ma ES.BAR tam-mar E 4 [MU]L.MUL SI.SÁ MUL.MUL SI.SÁ MUL.MUL GIN.NA MUL.MUL GIN.NA 5 [MUL].MUL GUB.GUB MUL.MUL GUB.GUB MUL.MUL TUG.TUG MUL.MUL TUG.TUG 6 [MUL.MU]L DU8.DU8 MUL.MUL. DU8.DU8 MUL.MUL SIG5.GA MUL.MUL SIG5.GA ˇ ˇ 7 [MUL.MU]L GIS.TUG MUL.MUL GIS.TUG TE.ÉN ˇ 8 [INIM.INIM].MA KA.AS.BAR BAR.RE F ˇ 9 [. . .] X SE.GA ina GI6 ÙR SAR A.MESˇ KÙ.MESˇ SU ZÍD.MAD.GÁ ˇ ˇ sˇá SE.GAL u SIM.LI kul-lat i[na. . .] dÍD ˇ ˇ 10 [. . .] ina IZI GIS.Ú.GÍR ina UGU NÍG.NA GAR-an SE.GAL.KI.A. ˇ DIS-nis I tam-mar ÉN ˇ ˇ SINIG ˇ ˇ 11 [. . .]-ˇsú LI.KA.TA.NA SID(?)-ma GIS. ina SU-2 15-ka ÍL-si 12.2 [ina GÌ]R(?)-2 150-ka ta-TUK NA.IK(?).KIR-ma A.MESˇ KÙ.MESˇ BALqí ana IGI MUL.MUL.SI.SÁ ˇ ˇ 13 [. . .]-ˇsú SID-ma sˇu-kin-ma ES.BAR Á.MAH SI-ma ˘

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653

G ˇ 14 [. . . MUL].GIN.GIN.NA KI.MIN MUL.BAN.DU11.GA.SE.GA ˇ KI.MIN LÚ.DU11.GA.SE.GA KI.MIN ˇ ˇ 15 [. . . S]E.GA KI.MIN LÚ.MUL.BAN.DU11.GA.SE.GA KI.MIN LÚ.MUL.BAN.SI.SÁ.TUG.TUG KI.MIN ˇ 16 [. . .] GIS.TUG KI.MIN Ì.ERIN Ì.IR.ERIN dNIN.LÍL ra-mat ˇ ˇ 17 [NIN?] GAL AN-e at-ti-ma dEN.LÍL SUB-di GIS.GU.ZA-ka 18 [. . . at]-ti-ma di-par AN-e na-mir-tu lu-mur TE.ÉN H 19 [. . . ina G]I6 ana ÙR DUL.DU-ma NÍG.NA LI u ZÍD.MAD.GÁ ana IGI MUL.MAR.GÍD.DA 20 [. . .] (traces) MUL.MAR.GÍD.DA (rest lost)

654

ix.2. more incantations and rituals Transcription Obverse (Beginning lost) A

3 [. . .]. . . iˇstu imittiya 4 [. . . iˇstu p]¯aniya ana p¯aniya ¯etiq 5 [. . . pur]ussû kakkabi tammar B 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

[ˇse"am sˇa h]ar-bi teleqqî e.tlu s. ehru sˇa sinniˇsta la idû sˇe"am ibîr ˘ ina m¯usˇi niˇs¯e sall¯˘uma q¯ultu sˇaknat sˇ¯ep¯e parsat [. . .] en¯uma . [. . .] ana p¯ani kakkab eriqqi taˇsakkan sˇikaru r¯esˇtû(?) tanaqqi ediˇssˇika [ˇsipt]u AN.USˇ ana p¯ani kakkab eriqqi tamanni kakkabu iˇstu imittika [. . . ˇsumma kakka]bu iˇstu sˇum¯elika ana imittika ¯etiq la damqu [an]a p¯anika ¯etiq damqu sˇumma kakkab Tiˇspak kakkab eriqqi ¯etiq damqu [ˇsumma kakkab] eriqqi la ¯etiq la damqu kakkab Tiˇspak ana libbi kakkab eriqqi [¯ırub] sˇumma zappu ultezzib C

14 15 16 17 18 19 20

[n¯ıru mu]gur n¯ıru mugur usuh ˘ [n¯ıru usu]h n¯ıru iziz n¯ıru iziz ˘ [n¯ıru al]ka n¯ıru alka (eras.) [n¯ıru]mahas. n¯ıru mahas. n¯ıru pu.tur [n¯ıru] pu˘.tur ilu sˇa uˇs˘t¯esˇiru ilu sˇa uˇst¯esˇiru [i]lu sˇa iqbû sˇut¯esˇir ilu sˇa iqbû sˇut¯esˇir ilu sˇa uˇst¯esˇiru sˇeme ilu sˇa uˇst¯esˇiru sˇeme ili tesl¯ıti sˇeme ili tesl¯ıti sˇeme tê sˇipti

21 [t]uduqqû purussâ par¯asu

ix.2. more incantations and rituals

655

Reverse D 1 [. . .] XXX utallal ina mê uh¯uli qarn¯an(/t)i ell¯uti u kibr¯ıti 2 [. . .] q¯at¯esˇu temessi ina m¯u˘si˘¯ura taˇsabbi.t mê ell¯uti tasallah mashata ta˘sakkan(?) ˘ ˘ ˇ SE.GAL u bur¯asˇi 3 [. . .] XXX niqnakki taˇsakkan mê ell¯uti tanaqqi sˇipta sˇal¯asˇiˇsu ana p¯ani ˇ MUL.dSU.PA tamannima purussâ tammar E 4 5 6 7

zappu sˇut¯esˇir zappu sˇut¯esˇir zappu alka zappu alka [zap]pu iziz zappu iziz zappu riˇsi zappu riˇsi [zapp]u pu.tur zappu pu.tur zappu dummiq zappu dummiq [zapp]u sˇeme zappu sˇeme tê sˇipti

8 [INIM.INIM.]MA KA.ASˇ BAR BAR.RE F ˇ 9 [. . .] XXX SE.GA ina m¯usˇi ¯ura taˇsabbi.t mê ell¯uti tasallah mashati sˇa ˘ sˇipta ˘ ˇ SE.GAL u bur¯asˇu kul-lat X kibr¯ıtu iˇst¯eniˇs sˇamni tammar 11 [. . .]-ˇsu li-ka-ta-na tamannima b¯ınu ina q¯at¯e imittika tanaˇssˇi 12 [. . . sˇ¯e]p¯e(?) sˇum¯elika taraˇssˇi(?) XXX-ma mê ell¯uti tanaqqima ana p¯ani MUL.MUL SI.SÁ 13 [. . .]-ˇsu tamannima sˇuk¯ema purussû Á.MAH damiqma ˘ G ˇ 14 [. . . MUL].GIN.GIN.NA KI.MIN MUL.BAN.DU11.GA.SE.GA ˇ KI.MIN LÚ.DU11.GA.SE.GA KI.MIN ˇ ˇ 15 [. . . S]E.GA KI.MIN LÚ.MUL.BAN.DU11.GA.SE.GA LÚ.MUL.BAN. SI.SÁ TUG.TUG KI.MIN ˇ 16 [. . .] GIS.TUG KI.MIN sˇaman erinni sˇaman ereˇsi erinni dNinlil ramat(?) 17 [. . .]rab¯ıt sˇamê att¯ıma dEnlil addî kussâka 18 [. . . at]t¯ıma dip¯ar sˇamê namirtu l¯umur tê sˇipti. H 19 [. . . ina] m¯usˇi ana ¯uri tel¯ema(?) niqnakku bur¯a˘si u mashati ina p¯ani kakkab eriqqi ˘ 20 [. . .] kakkab eriqqi (rest lost)

656

ix.2. more incantations and rituals Translation (A)

3 [. . .]. . . from my right (side) 4 [. . . from (in) f]ront of me (and) passes to (in) front of me. 5 [. . . a sign (deci]sion) (from) a star you will see. (B) 6 [barley of the early har]vest you take, a young man who has not known a woman selects the barley, 7 [. . .] when at night the people are sleeping and silence has settled in, access is blocked, 8 [. . .] you shall place in front of the wagon-star (i.e. Ursa Maior), firstquality wine (or: new wine) you shall libate by yourself. ˇ in front of the wagon-star you shall recite. 9 [The incantat]ion “AN.US” A star from your right 10 [. . .. If a (shooting) sta]r passes from your left to your right: it is not propitious. 11 [(If it) passes (from behind you) t]o (in) front of you: it is propitious. If the Northern Cross(?)-star passes the wagon-star: it is propitious. 12 [If] it does not pass the wagon-star: it is not propitious. The Northern Cross(?)-star into the wagon-star 13 [enters ?] and verily the Pleiades are left behind. (C) 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Boötes accept (my prayer)! Boötes accept! Boötes drive out (the sorceress)! [Boötes drive ou]t! Boötes be present! Boötes be present! Boötes come! Boötes come! [Boötes] strike (the sorceress)! Boötes strike! Boötes undo (the sorcery)! [Boöt]es undo! The deity who proceeded, the deity who proceeded. The deity who spoke—proceed! the deity who spoke—proceed! the deity who proceeded—hear! The deity who proceeded—hear! My god—hear (my) prayer! My god—hear (my) prayer! Formula of incantation.

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657

(D) 1 [. . .] shall be purified in pure waters of sprouted alkali and sulphur 2 [. . .] you wash his hands, at night you sweep the roof, you sprinkle pure water, scented flour of(?) large barley and juniper sap 3 you place [in] a censer, you libate pure water, you recite an incantation three times in front of Arcturus (Boötes) and you will see a sign (decision). (E) 4 [P]leiades proceed! Pleiades proceed! Pleiades come! Pleiades come! 5 [Plei]ades be present! Pleiades be present! Pleiades take possession! Pleiades take possession! 6 [Pleiad]es undo (the sorcery)! Pleiades undo! Pleiades be gracious! Pleiades be gracious! 7 [Pleiad]es hear! Pleiades hear! Formula of incantation. (F) 9 [. . .] at night you sweep the roof, you sprinkle pure water, scented flour of(?) large barley and juniper sap you gather(?) . . . 10 [. . .] in the fire you place bramble(?) on top of the censer, large barley (and) sulphur you will see together (with) oil(?). An incantation(?) 11 [. . .]. . . and a tamarisk in your right hand you carry. 12 [. . .] in your left hand(?) you . . . and pure water you libate to (in) front of the ‘regular stars.’ 13 [. . .] times you recite and prostate yourself and the decision will indeed be powerfully auspicious(??). (G) 14 The wandering star; ditto; the bow-star (Canis Maior) of the favorable utterance; ditto; the man of favorable utterance; ditto. 15 [The man of the wandering(?) star of favorable utterance; ditto; the man of the bow-star of favorable utterance; ditto; the man who always receives the regular bow-star; ditto. 16 [The man . . .]who listens; ditto. Oil of cedar, oil of incense of cedar. Oh Ninlil, exalted 17 [. . .], great one of heaven you (fem.) verily are. Oh Enlil, I have set up your throne. 18 [. . .] you (fem.) verily are. ‘I will surely see the shining torch of heaven’ (is) the formula of the incantation. (H) 19 At night you go up(?) to the roof and a censer of juniper and scented flour in front of the wagon-star (Rest lost)

658

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What we have in this text, as in STT 73, is a combination of omens and rituals, the omens here taken exclusively from the observation of the stars. Many of the phrases of the ritual prescriptions recur in other contexts, including therapeutic texts.22 The largest number of parallels involve STT 73, as follows: YBC 9863 STT 73 obv. 6 7 10 11 12 rev. 2 f. 3

Subject

65 f., 100 f. (119) taking barley of harbu and a virgin boy ˘ selecting it 82 ‘the dead of night’ 105 shooting star passing from your left to your right (unpropitious) 107 f. ditto from your back to your front (propitious) 109 ditto entering Ursa Maior 67 cleaning roof, sprinkling water, and placing incense in censer 68 repeating incantation three times

I cannot pretend to have solved all the problems inherent in the three texts. But they may serve to illustrate the riches remaining unpublished in the Yale Babylonian Collection, and to invite inquiries even before the catalogue is fully completed and on line.

22 Cf. also Maqlû I 29, where the gods of the night (i.e., the stars and planets) are invoked to strike the sorceress (on the check). (Reference courtesy Francesca Rochberg, who also provided crucial help with sections C and E.) For parallels to the Maqlû. passage, see I. Tzvi Abusch, Babylonian Witchcraft Literature (Atlanta, 1987), 89–94.

x sumerian literature and the bible

x.1 SUMERIAN LITERATURE: BACKGROUND TO THE BIBLE

The world’s oldest literature—poetry as well as prose—belongs to the Sumerians, that fascinating, enigmatic people who settled over 5,000 years ago on the shores of the Persian Gulf 1 and in the lower (southern) part of the valley between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, in presentday Iraq. There the Sumerians founded the world’s oldest civilization. They invented, for the first time, a means of communicating language in a preserved, instead of transitory, form—in writing. The writing system they invented is called cuneiform, a wedge-shaped script formed by pressing a stylus into clay tablets that were then baked in the sun or in a kiln. Later, other peoples adapted cuneiform writing to their own languages. The best known and most widely used of these written languages is Akkadian. The Sumerians are also responsible for such mundane innovations as the system of counting by sixties, still preserved in our own timecounting system in which 60 seconds equal a minute and 60 minutes equal an hour. It was they who formulated the first law-codes. It was also they who created that architectural wonder known as the ziggurat, a stepped tower that gave rise to the biblical tale of the tower of Babel, set in Mesopotamia (Genesis 11:1–9). Mesopotamian building techniques—baked mud bricks with bitumen as mortar—were used, according to the Bible, to build the tower (Genesis 11:3). Indeed, it may be said with some justice that “history begins at Sumer”—and that is precisely the title of a book on the subject by Samuel Noah Kramer, the doyen of Sumerologists, whose 90th birthday was marked by a day-long symposium at the University of Pennsylvania (September 27, 1987).2 One of the best-known and most

1 Or Arabian Gulf, depending on the point of view. A recent New York Times editorial (September 20, 1987) suggested that, to avoid offense to either side in the current hostilities, it should be renamed the Sumerian Gulf. 2 Samuel Noah Kramer, History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-nine Firsts in Man’s Recorded History (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 1981).

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prolific interpreters of the Sumerian achievement, Professor Kramer has excelled particularly in recovering Sumerian literature, and it is this aspect of the Sumerian legacy that will occupy us here.3 The rediscovery of Sumerian literature began in 1873, with the first systematic publication of Sumero-Akkadian bilingual texts by François Lenormant. Two years later, many additional bilingual texts were included by George Smith in the fourth volume of his Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia. These bilingual texts all came from the ancient libraries of Assyria, not Sumer. The original homeland of Sumer (and with it, its libraries) was rediscovered only toward the end of the 19th century. And not until our own century have we been able to make sense of the unilingual literary texts thus brought to light—i.e., texts written only in Sumerian without benefit of an accompanying translation into Akkadian. Excavation, publication and interpretation of the entire range of Sumerian literature has continued unabated to the present. We now have a very respectable corpus of literary masterpieces, completely reconstructed (or very nearly so) from, as often as not, numerous duplicates, and tendered into English or other modern languages in reliable editions that reflect the current state of knowledge. For the first time, it is becoming possible to assess and appreciate Sumerian literature and to integrate it into the history of world literature, where it not only occupies the opening chapter but also represents one of the longestlived bodies of literature in any one language. Sumerian compositions were created from the beginning of the third millennium bc right down to the first century bc. Sumerian died out as a spoken language in about 2000 bc. But, even as a dead language, Sumerian, like medieval Latin, continued as a sacred language in the liturgy of Mesopotamia, and as a subject of instruction in schools throughout the Near East where cuneiform writing was taught. It is thus no accident that Sumerian literature ultimately influenced even biblical literature, even though the Hebrew Bible was composed considerably after the great bulk of Sumerian literature. Before assessing this influence, let us look more closely at the Sumerian literary achievement. Most Sumerian literature was composed in the form of poetry, organized carefully into numbered lines, each of 3 See Kramer, In the World of Sumer: An Autobiography (Detroit: Wayne State Univ. Press, 1986), and my review in Biblical Archaeology Review, January/February 1988.

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663

which runs the width of a clay tablet, or of a column of writing on such a tablet. Compositions now recovered and reconstructed with any degree of completeness total approximately 40,000 lines.4 This includes literary texts of all types and from all periods, but it excludes the equally sizeable body of monumental (or “historical”) inscriptions, and it also excludes the much vaster corpus of archival (or “economic”) texts —those endless accounts, ledgers, letters, court cases, price indices, contracts, sales slips, receipts, birth records, and memoranda that Assyriologists sometimes lump together disparagingly as “laundry lists”— although in the aggregate they provide precious clues for reconstructing the society and economy in the only part of the world where that can be done at so early a period. While a corpus of 40,000 lines does not begin, as yet (who knows what remains to be recovered from the sands of Iraq or from museum drawers!), to rival Greek or Latin literature as a whole, it is surely a respectable achievement. The Iliad and the Odyssey together number only about 28,000 lines; the Aeneid, less than 10,000. The scope of Sumerian literature also compares favorably with the Hebrew Bible, whose traditional Masoretic division into verses (whether poetry or prose) provides a total of exactly 23,097 verses.5 In short, the Hebrew Bible and Sumerian literature both constitute a corpus of approximately commensurate size, given that a biblical verse may be twice as long as a Sumerian line of poetry. The corpus of Sumerian literature can be subdivided in many ways —by date, subject matter, presumed author, or dialect, for example. But since our aim is to explore the relationship between Sumerian literature and biblical literature, the most fruitful division is by genre, that is, by type of literary composition. Indeed, genre is especially significant in understanding and appreciating ancient literature, because ancient literature was composed not at the whim of an author but according to fairly strict traditions and rules that differed for each genre and that were generally adhered to even at the expense of individuality. Thus, the author of most Sumerian compositions was anonymous, and the 4 For a convenient summary, see D.O. Edzard, “Literatur,” in Reallexikon der Assyriologie, vol. 7, ed. Edzard (Berlin: Walter DeGruyter, 1987), pp. 35–48. Edzard’s figures add up to 19,000 lines, but exclude some large categories such as liturgical hymns, royal hymns, litanies, Dumuzi laments, individual prayers, literary letters, proverbs and incantations. 5 So with Menahem Haran, Journal of Semitic Studies 36 (1985), pp. 3 f. My own count is 23,199.

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composition was praised not so much for originality as for adherence to norms of the genre. Only very gradually did these norms change over time, allowing us to reconstruct what may be called genre-histories. The major genres of Sumerian literature, broadly speaking, fall into three categories, according to their subjects: gods, kings and common mortals. Today, we would expect the largest share of our literature to fall into the last category. For the Sumerians, however, it was the other way around. The realm of the divine, including deified royalty, received the largest share of attention, being addressed in such varied genres as hymns and prayers, lamentations and incantations, myth and epic, history and legend. The common man was the central focus of only one kind of literature, so-called wisdom literature, which includes such genres as proverbs, instructions, and essays on morality. Nevertheless, we shall begin by looking at the Sumerian literature of the common man and the genres that fall within that literature. The first genre is a rather tiny literary category—the riddle. It is typically a very short, proverbial saying, usually in the first person, in which the speaker gives clues about the character or thing he represents, and ends with the answer. In Sumerian, a riddle is called ibilu; in Hebrew, a riddle is called a hidah, a cognate of the Akkadian term hittu. Unlike Sumerian riddle collections, Hebrew riddles are not found grouped together—individual examples are scattered in other contexts, In Sumerian we find collections of riddles. Here are a couple of Sumerian riddles: “A house with a foundation like heaven, A house which, like a tablet-box, has been covered with linen, A house which, like a goose, stands on a (firm) base. One with open eyes has come out of it. Its solution: the school.”

Another, slightly more transparent, example: “When I was small, I was the child of a plant. When I grew big, I was the body of a god. When I became old, I was the country’s physician. Its solution: linen.”6

6

See M. Civil, “Sumerian Riddles: A Corpus,” Aula Orientalis 5 (1987), pp. 17–37.

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(Linen grows from a flax plant and clothes the divine statue, and the extract from the plant is used medicinally.) The most famous riddle in the Hebrew Bible is in the Samson story. Near the Philistine town of Timnah, Samson tore a roaring lion apart with his bare hands. The following year, he returned and found a swarm of bees and their honey in the lion’s skeleton. At his wedding feast Samson’s first wife was an unnamed Philistine woman from Timnah*—Samson propounded a riddle: “Out of the eater came something to eat, Out of the strong came something sweet.”

Judges 14:14**

With tears and nagging, Samson’s wife wheedled the answer out of him, and then told the answer to the Philistines, who solved the riddle and claimed the prize: “What is sweeter than honey, And what is stronger than a lion?”

Judges 14:18

Thus bereft, Samson complained in what was almost another riddle: “Had you not plowed with my heifer, you would not have guessed my riddle” (Judges 14:18).7 In Greek literature, perhaps the most famous riddle was that of the Sphinx, solved by Oedipus: “What animal walks on four legs in the morning, on two at midday, and on three in the evening?” (Answer Man, who as a baby crawls on four legs and as an old man walks with a cane.) I am not suggesting that either the Greek or the Hebrew riddle owes anything to the Sumerian precedent, but only that the genre goes back to Mesopotamia, at least in its written form. Riddles were a special sub-class of the broader genre of proverbial wisdom, a genre found in all the world’s literatures and, more often man not, transmitted orally. But Sumerian provides the first examples of written proverbs. They were especially popular in Sumer as the first exercises in writing connected texts by pupils of the scribal schools. So we have many so-called school-texts in which these pupils tried their best to emulate the instructor’s more practiced hand. *

Delilah was his second Philistine wife. He never learned. Bible translations follow the New Jewish Version, except as noted. 7 This saying has been compared to a proverb much cited by a 14th-century ruler of Byblos: “My field is likened to a woman without a husband, because is it not ploughed”; see James B. Pritchard, Ancient Near Eastern Texts (Princeton, NJ; Princeton Univ. Press, 1956), p. 426. **

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Proverbs were composed according to a certain pattern, or rather a number of different patterns, of which one is the pithy saying; for example: “In the city of the lame, the halt is courier” (that is, where everyone is lame on both legs, the one who is lame on only one leg is given distinction). This is quite similar, in spirit if not in precise imagery, to the Talmudic† saying: “In the street of the blind, they call the oneeyed man great of sight,” which in turn has an obvious similarity to the English proverb (with demonstrated classical antecedents): “In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”8 It may be no more than happenstance that this proverb does not turn up in the biblical book of Proverbs, which represents a systematic collection, or rather several such collections, of the wisdom of the east, some of it attributed to Solomon, some to other worthies such as Lemuel, and much of it clearly a reflection of known wisdom collections from Egypt as well as from Mesopotamia. A number of Sumerian proverbs list a series of abominations, usually three, of this or that deity (most often Ninurta). For example: “A judge who perverts justice, A curse which falls on the righteous party, A (first-born) heir who drives the younger (son) out of the patrimony— These are abominations of Ninurta.”

This is reminiscent of the catalogue of biblical divine abominations, for example, in Proverbs 6:16–19: “Six things the Lord hates; seven are an abomination to him: a haughty bearing, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a mind that hatches evil plots, feet quick to run to evil, a false witness testifying lies, and one who incites others to quarrel.”

This catalogue exhibits the typical biblical roster of seven items but, otherwise, it is remarkably similar in form to the Sumerian example. Interestingly, the Sumerian rosters of divine abominations more often are concerned with manners and morals, while the Hebrew rosters are more concerned with cultic errors.9 † The Talmud is a collection of Jewish law and teachings, comprising the Mishnah and the Gemara, a commentary on the Mishnah. It exists in two versions: the Palestinian or Jerusalem Talmud, compiled around 400 ad, and the Babylonian Talmud, compiled around 500 ad. 8 William W. Hallo, “The Lame and the Halt,” Eretz-Israel 9 (1969), pp. 66–70, here: VIII.1. 9 See Hallo, “Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos,” Jewish Quarterly Review 76 (1985): 21–40, here: VIII.3.

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Not all Sumerian wisdom literature is short and epigrammatic. There are also long series of wise savings on a single topic, strung together to form what the Sumerians called nariga, instructions. One such set of instructions, attributed to the same warlike god Ninurta who abhorred so many moral delicts, is a complete set of practical rules for agriculture and has sometimes been compared to the Georgia of Vergil. No wisdom quite so practical is found in the Bible. But another set of Sumerian instructions is attributed to human authority—to one Shuruppak, the hero, in one account, of the Sumerian flood story. We are thus reminded that the biblical Noah, at least in post-biblical texts, became a wisdom figure, associated with the Sibylline oracles and other sagacious pronouncements. Another popular wisdom genre was the disputation, which pitted against each other two contestants representing different professions, or products, or natural essences. In the end, the palm of victory was awarded to the one who had the best of the argument—usually the “underdog.” Thus, copper apparently bested silver, the lowly pickaxe defeated the lordly plow, and the tree, rare in Sumer, outdid the ubiquitous reed.10 Traces of this genre may also be found in the Bible, for example in the fable of the thistle that arrogantly challenged the cedar of Lebanon and was trampled by a wild beast for its pains (2 Kings 14:9; 2 Chronicles 25:18).11 A model of sorts for the story of Cain and Abel may be found in the Sumerian disputation between Enkimdu and Dumuzi. Cain and Abel are the Bible’s antediluvian prototypes of farmer and shepherd respectively—indeed its vehicle for recalling the domestication of plants and animals. Similarly, Enkimdu and Dumuzi are the prototypical and probably likewise antediluvian farmer and shepherd, respectively, of Sumer. In the perennial struggle to please his god and reap the rewards of piety and good behavior, Sumerian man, like his successors including modern man, was often frustrated by the fickleness or capriciousness of fate. His good behavior went unrewarded, while the misdeeds of his neighbor were not visibly punished. In quasi-philosophical treatises, the 10 See, most recently, B. Alster and H. Vanstiphout, “Lahar and Ashnan: Presentation and Analysis of a Sumerian Disputation,” Acta Somerologica 9 (1987), pp. 1–43. 11 Compare this to the fable of the trees that wanted a king to reign over them and had to settle for the thornbush (Judges 9:8–15).

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“just sufferer” vented his frustrations, while at the same time trying to assert his belief in the ultimate justice of fate. One of these Sumerian treatises has survived in nearly complete form; its resemblance to the biblical Book of Job is close enough to suggest an ultimate dependence of Job on the Sumerian version, or at least on later Akkadian variations on this same theme. The structural parallels between the biblical and Mesopotamian accounts are especially close in the poetic portions of Job. And while these portions of the Book of Job are generally regarded as having been composed quite late, they are nevertheless framed by a prose prologue and epilogue that has many archaic features, including vaguely patriarchal and specifically Mesopotamian allusions. For example, when Job was restored to his former state at the end of the prose frame, he was given one qes. itah and one gold ring by each of his siblings and former friends (Job 42:11). This enigmatic detail can now be seen as a reflection of the token prize awarded to the winner at the conclusion of some Sumerian disputations.12 Thus far we have dealt with wisdom literature, and hence with its focus on the common man and his concerns: solving life’s little riddles, observing ethical norms, making a living off the land and, through it all, avoiding—or at least coping with—the wrath of the gods. But the common man was not the common reader, for literacy was not widespread in Sumer. Though the scribal schools enrolled commoners as pupils, the main markets for literary products of the schools were the court and the temple. Then as now, he who pays the piper calls the tune. Royal patrons demanded royal themes, and priestly patrons required religious themes. So let us turn to some of the genres specifically devoted to kings and gods—often commingled, for kings were regarded as gods in their own right during the half millennium between 2300 bc and 1800 bc when Sumerian literary creativity was at its peak—in what I consider the “classical period” of ancient Mesopotamian culture. We may begin again with antediluvian traditions. One of the earliest, and certainly the most important, of these is the so-called Sumerian King List. This could better be called the Sumerian city list, for it is a record of all the cities—five before the Flood and eleven thereafter— that ruled Sumer from the dawn of history to the accession of Hammu12 J.J.A. van Dijk, “La découverte de la culture littéraire sumérienne et sa signification pour l’histoire de l’antiquité orientale,” Orientalia et Biblica Lovaniensia 1 (1957), pp. 5–28, esp. pp. 15–18.

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rapi, in about 1800 bc The five antediluvian cities were ruled by eight kings with incredibly long reigns, of whom the last became the hero of the Sumerian Flood Story. There were also seven fabulous creatures who, according to other Babylonian traditions, brought learning and the arts of civilization to Sumer, and served as counselors to the antediluvian kings. In the biblical version of antediluvian traditions, we hear of no kings, and of only one city, named for the son of its builder Enoch, Irad, reminiscent of the first Sumerian city Eridu.* And the biblical version turns both lists of antediluvians—the “Cainite” line of Genesis 4 as well as the “Sethite” line of Genesis 5—into genealogies. But the similarities in the names of both lines, the presence of culture-heroes in one of them, and of the flood-hero, together with legendary life-spans, in the other, all conspire to show the biblical record here ultimately indebted to the Sumerian. The Bible differs, however, in deriving all mankind from a common ancestor.13 Turning to the Flood itself, we have already met its royal Sumerian protagonist, Shuruppak, in connection with the wisdom literature. But we meet him again, this time as Ziusudra, king of the city Shuruppak, in the context of a story of the Flood known from a single fragmentary text which, in spite of its gaps, suffices to indicate that, via various Akkadian versions, it inspired the biblical tale of Noah. In the Sumerian tradition, kingship came down from heaven a second time after the Flood and was domiciled in successive cities beginning with Kish and Uruk, the latter familiar to us as Erech in Genesis 10. Uruk was governed by a succession of rulers who became the protagonists of Sumerian epic—though we cannot claim “epic” as a separate genre in Sumerian. Instead we have a group of poems that end in a formula of praise (the so-called doxology) in honor of these semi-legendary, semi-divine rulers of Uruk. The tales of their conflicts with Kish and with distant Aratta became the stuff of a heroic age celebrated in the royal courts of later Sumerian dynasties. The most popular of these tales, notably those about Gilgamesh, were translated or adapted into Akkadian and in this form passed from the Mesopotamian scribal schools to those of Anatolia, Syria and Palestine; a fragment of * Reading Genesis 4:17 thus: “and Cain knew his wife and she conceived and gave birth to Enoch, and he became the (first) city-builder, and he—that is, Enoch—called the name of the city after the name of his son,” on the analogy of Genesis 4:1–2. 13 Hallo, “Antediluvian Cities,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 23 (1970), pp. 57–67.

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a cuneiform tablet (dating from about 1400 bc) with an extract from the Akkadian Gilgamesh was excavated at Megiddo, near Haifa in modern Israel. Thus it is not wholly unexpected to find individual lines, usually proverbial sayings, from these epics quoted, in entirely different contexts, in the Bible. For example, Ecclesiastes 4:12 contains the aphorism, “A three-fold cord is not readily broken,” to illustrate the point that two are better than one, and three better than two. This saving has been traced to the Akkadian line in the fifth tablet of the Gilgamesh Epic referring to a three-ply cord;14 its ultimate source is Sumerian, however “The three-ply rope will not (easily) be cut.”15 Beyond these isolated echoes, however, Sumerian epic as a genre found little place in the Bible: unlike the antediluvian Sumerian kings, the later Sumerian hero-kings could not be construed as ancestral to mankind as a whole, let alone to Israel. Nor could the Sumerian hymns in honor of living kings, the so-called royal hymns, provide much that would be useful to the Israelite psalmist The Sumerian royal hymns, a large and characteristic genre or group of genres in Sumerian, were intimately tied to the notion of divine kingship—a concept that, though not at home in Mesopotamia in the sense or to the extent familiar from Egypt, was the prevalent ideology of its “classical” period. In Israel, even the notion of an earthly kingship was considered a late aberration, a denial of the theocratic ideal in imitation of the surrounding world— and a divine kingship was totally unacceptable. On the contrary, it was rather God who was acclaimed and glorified in royal terms. Nevertheless, a parallel of sorts to the royal hymns in honor of the Sumerian kings may be seen in those psalms in the Hebrew Psalter that celebrate God’s accession to kingship (or: his kingship)—most particularly Psalms 93, 97 and 99, which begin, “The Lord has become [NJV: is] king.” Such psalms typically employ the imagery of kingship and its regalia, in lines such as “Your throne stands firm from of old” (Psalm 93:2) or “righteousness and justice are the base of His throne” (Psalm 97:2), we may hear echoes of such standard sentiments as “He [the divine Enlil] has made the foundation of my throne firm for me,” which comes from the coronation-hymn of king Ur-Nammu of Ur.16 14 Aaron Shaffer, “The Mesopotamian Background of Lamentations [sic!] 4:9–12,” Eretz-Israel 8 (1967), pp. 246–250 (in Hebrew, English summary p. 75*). 15 Shaffer, “New Light on the ‘three-ply cord,’ ” Eretz-Israel 9 (1969), pp. 159 f. (in Hebrew, English summary pp. 138 f.). 16 Hallo, “The Coronation of Ur-Nammu,” Journal of Cuneiform Studies 20 (1966), pp. 133–141, here: III.2, esp. p. 141. line 15.

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Having thus arrived at the biblical Book of Psalms, it may be well to recall that, in addition to the psalms or, literally, hymns for which it is named (Hebrew t"hill¯ım), this book consists mostly of prayers (Hebrew t"fill¯ot; cf. especially Psalm 72:19). Some are prayers of the individual and others collective or congregational prayers sometimes referred to as laments. Both genres have their counterparts in Sumerian poetry. In Sumerian the individual prayer can be traced to the form of a letter deposited at the feet of the divine statue and employed as a medium for communication with the deity. This same form of communication with the deity was also resorted to by the king. For example, a king of Larsa in the 19th century bc prayed to the healing goddess for relief from illness; another of his prayers was addressed to the sun-god as patron of justice. The latter prayer survived in bilingual form for more than a millennium. It is therefore not beyond the realm of possibility that an echo of this genre is found in the Bible, in the prayer that Hezekiah, king of Judah, wrote in connection with his recovery from an illness. The Hebrew term used for this prayer is micht¯av (Isaiah 38:9), which in later Hebrew means “letter.” (In English translations, micht¯av is variously translated as “writing” or “poem”; the New Jerusalem Bible translated it “canticle” and by footnote offers the alternative, “letter”). Perhaps Hezekiah was writing a letter to God in the tradition of the old Sumerian letter-prayer. Another possible analogue to such letter-prayers may be the psalms identified in their superscript as a micht¯am (Psalms 16 and 56–60), a term not usually translated because its meaning is so obscure.17 Finally, one may cite as a royal contribution to Sumerian literature the oldest collections of casuistic law, that is, laws formulated in conditional sentences (if X, then Y). These collections are attributed respectively to the kings Ur-Nammu of Ur (or his son Shulgi) and Lipit-Ishtar of Isin. In the Bible, casuistic legislation, most notably the Book of the Covenant in Exodus 21–24, is attributed to God. Nevertheless, the individual clauses in the Bible are thoroughly reminiscent of the Sumerian formulations in a number of cases. For example, in the Sumerian laws, we read: “If a man proceeded by force, and deflowered the virgin slavewoman of another man, that man must pay five shekels of silver.” In the Book of the Covenant (Exodus 22:15–16), where a free woman not

17 Hallo, “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah?” Alter Orient und Altes Testament 25 (1976), pp. 209–224, here: V.1.

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a slave-girl is at issue, the same subject is handled in this way: “If a man seduces a virgin for whom the bride price has not been paid, and lies with her, he must make her his wife by payment of a bride price. If her father refuses to give her to him, he must still weigh out silver in proportion to the bride price for virgins.”18 So much for royal literature. Space does not permit a complete survey of the genres devoted more particularly to the Sumerian gods. Some of them are, in any case, so peculiar to the spirit of Mesopotamian theology that it would be fruitless to look for them in the literature of Israel. Take, for example, one of the oldest of Sumerian genres, that of incantations. Incantations are designed to ward off the evils predicted by divination. Both divination and incantation depend on a prescientific world view according to which the future can be predicted and to some extent controlled by appeal to the gods. The Israelite view was diametrically opposed. As Martin Buber has observed, “the task of the genuine [Hebrew] prophet was not to predict but to confront man with the alternatives of decision.”19 In the words of Balaam, the Mesopotamian seer (Numbers 23:23): “Lo, there is no augury in Jacob, no divining in Israel: Jacob is told at once, yea Israel, what God has wrought [NJV: planned].” So in this respect Sumerian literature and Hebrew literature diverge quite sharply. But in other areas of belief the two cultures more nearly converged. The notion that each people or nation had its own deity, for example, was widely shared, and so was the logical consequence drawn from this premise—namely, that the triumph of a nation reflected glory on its patron-deity. In Israel’s case, the escape from the Egyptians at the Reed Sea,* and the drowning of Pharaoh’s chariotry, was regarded not only as a miraculous deliverance by divine intervention, but as the theological basis for the exaltation of Israel’s God to parity and even to supremacy among all the gods. Israel proclaimed God as its king, a relationship that was sealed by the subsequent covenant at Sinai. As Moses’ sister Miriam sang at the Sea: “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously, horse and rider He has hurled into the sea.”

18 J.J. Finkelstein, “Sex Offenses in Sumerian Laws,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 86 (1966), pp. 355–372. 19 Martin Buber, Pointing the Way (London: Harper & Row, 1957), p. 197; republished in On the Bible (New York: Schocken, 1968), p. 177. * On Reed Sea versus Red Sea, see Bernard F. Batto, “Red Sea or Reed Sea?” Biblical Archaeology Review, July/August 1984.

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Moses expanded on this theme: “Who is like you, O Lord, among the gods [NJV: celestials]? None [NJV: who] is like You, majestic in holiness,” concluding: “the Lord will reign for ever and ever!” (Exodus 15). If its historicity is accepted, this triumph may be dated to the 13th century bc. But a millennium earlier, a similar divine exaltation was already celebrated in song by the very first Sumerian author whom we can identify by name—the princess Enheduanna. It is interesting that this, the earliest author in history of whom we have any direct knowledge, is a woman. The princess Enheduanna wrote to celebrate the military triumphs of her father Sargon, reinterpreting them in cosmic theological terms as the exaltation of the goddess Inanna.20 If national triumphs redounded to the glory of the national deity, national disasters must lead to his abasement This further logical consequence of the original premise was to some extent circumvented in Mesopotamian theology by reinterpreting national disaster as a sign of the prior abandonment of the nation (or the city) by its patron-deity. This point was made more graphic when the cult-statue of the deity was led into captivity. In Israel, where all sculptured representations of the deity were theoretically forbidden, God was reinterpreted as holding universal sway and therefore able to order the destruction even of His own people by foreign nations as a means of chastisement for their collective guilt. But in both cultures the experience of disaster led to somewhat comparable responses in literary terms: the genre of lamentations. Each in its own way, the lamentations over the destruction of Sumerian cities (and particularly their temples) on the one hand, and the biblical book of Lamentations (on the destruction of Jerusalem and the Solomonic temple) on the other, move us to this day by the immediacy of the grief they so tellingly describe.21 The last example we shall look at is erotic poetry. Most Sumerian erotic poetry celebrates the sacred marriage of Inanna and Dumuzi. Dumuzi has survived in the Bible as Tammuz. In Ezekiel 8:14, the prophet speaks of the women “bewailing Tammuz [literally: the Tammuz].”

20 Hallo and J.J.A. van Dijk, The Exaltation of Inanna (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 1968). 21 W.C. Gwaltney, Jr., “The Biblical Book of Lemantations in the Context of Near Eastern Lament Literature,” in Scripture in Context 2, ed. Hallo, J.C. Moyer, and L.G. Perdue (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1983), pp. 191–211.

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But most of the Sumerian erotic poetry is happy and celebratory. Compare these two descriptions of a woman as a garden; the first comes from a Sumerian composition, the other from the Song of Songs. “My mother is rain from heaven, water for the finest seed, A harvest of plenty . . ., A garden of delight, full of joy, A watered pine, adorned with pine cones, A spring flower, a first fruit, An irrigation ditch carrying luxuriant waters to garden plots, A sweet date from Dilmun, a date chosen from the best.”22 “A garden locked is my sister [NJV: my own], my bride, A fountain locked, a sealed-up spring. Your limbs are an orchard of pomegranates and of all luscious fruits, of henna and of nard— Nard and saffron, fragrant reed and cinnamon, With all aromatic woods, myrrh and aloes— All the choice perfumes. The spring in my garden is a well of fresh water, A rill of Lebanon.” Song of Songs 4:12–15

Can we generalize? How did Sumerian literature influence biblical literature? Was it directly, or via Akkadian intermediaries, or are the similarities coincidental? If they are not coincidental, how or when or where did the knowledge of Sumerian literary precedents reach the biblical authors? The parallels I have drawn may in many cases owe more to a common Ancient Near Eastern heritage—shared by Israel—than to any direct dependence of one body of literature on the other. What can be said at this stage of our knowledge is that this common heritage included not only particular turns of speech, themes, and diverse literary devices, but also whole genres. The evolution of these genres can be traced over millennia, and their spread can be followed across the map of the biblical world. Sometimes, as in the case of casuistic law, the biblical authors adopted these genres with little change; at other times, as in the case of individual prayer and congregational laments, they adapted them to Israelite needs; occasionally, as with divination and incantation, they rejected them altogether in favor of new genres of their own devising (in this case, prophecy). But whether by

22 Jerrold Cooper, “New Cuneiform Parallels to the Song of Songs,” Journal of Biblical Literature 90 (1971), pp. 157–162.

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comparison or by contrast, the rediscovery of Sumerian literature permits a profounder appreciation of the common, as well as of the distinctive, achievements of biblical literature.23

23 Hallo, “Compare and Contrast: The Contextual Approach to Biblical Literature,” in Scripture in Context 3 (forthcoming), here: X.2.

x.2 COMPARE AND CONTRAST: THE CONTEXTUAL APPROACH TO BIBLICAL LITERATURE

The literary-critical study of the Hebrew Bible has had a checkered history. The documentary hypothesis with which it began over two centuries ago remains to this day a hypothesis, the documents which it reconstructed beyond recovery; their precise extent, their absolute and relative dates, and their changes over time all matters of dispute; and the applicability of the hypothesis beyond the Pentateuch severely limited. Newer approaches have stressed the growth of individual traditions, the stages of redactional history, or the possibilities of oral antecedents and transmission. A whole new school of canonical criticism has so thoroughly despaired of the possibilities of analyzing the biblical text that it has switched the focus of interpretation to the text as received, normally in its Masoretic shape (Childs 1978a; 1978b). Given such disparate and even desperate reactions to two centuries of modern biblical scholarship, it is perhaps not surprising that much of the most exciting work in the field has been derived from outside its own immediate limits, i.e., from the juxtaposition of the biblical text with other literatures and with the epigraphic discoveries made both on the soil of the Holy Land and throughout the Near East. Perhaps the latest and in some ways most promising development in this regard is Jeffrey Tigay’s attempt to provide “empirical models for Biblical criticism” from a wide spectrum of literary analogues ranging from long before to long after the close of the canon (Tigay 1985; cf. Kaufman 1982). As for the more traditional comparative method made famous in this country by William Foxwell Albright and his disciples, it has never ceased to provide startling parallels which have promised to solve old cruces and to open new vistas of interpretation. But, perhaps because of some excesses of what the late Samuel Sandmel, in a presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature, first called “parallelomania” (Sandmel 1962), this method has come under siege more and more. Now it is not my purpose, nor would it be in my power, to rehabilitate the comparative approach. Indeed, to the extent that comparison

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implies an exclusive attention to parallels, scholars such as Yehezkel Kaufmann1 and Frank Cross2 have always preferred the contrastive method, and I have myself long argued for a “contrastive approach,” that is to say, for the need to modify the strictly comparative approach by paying equal attention to possible contrasts between biblical phenomena and their Near Eastern counterparts, whether in the realm of institutions or literary formulations. My new approach was first applied in a study of “New Moons and Sabbaths” which attempted to show that the Sabbath and the sabbatical idea were inherent in the cultic calendar of Israel to an extent quite unparalleled in the ancient Near Eastern documentation. At best, one could find there occasional sevenday cults or seven-year cycles but, no matter how hard one looked, no precedent or analogy for the uninterrupted sequence of weeks and “weeks of years” which the biblical cult imposed, independent of any natural phenomenon. The cultic patterns of the ancient Near East, on the contrary, relied heavily on natural phenomena, in Egypt on the annual inundation of the land by the Nile, in Mesopotamia on the phases of the moon, whereas lunar festivals played at best a minor role in the biblical cult (Hallo 1977b).3 And even if new evidence has been brought forward for the old equation between hôdeˇs we sˇabb¯at in Hebrew and arhu u sˇapattu in Akkadian, so that the phrase may need to be understood as (originally) meaning “new moon and full moon” (Fishbane 1984: 145–151),4 the essential contrast remains valid. It is, then, the balance between comparison and contrast, or their combination in the appropriate proportions, which first provides the overall context for the biblical text. It justifies the call for a “contextual approach” where the literary context is defined as “including the entire Near Eastern literary milieu, to the extent that it can be argued to have had any conceivable impact on the biblical formulation” (Hallo 1980b: 2) and where the historical context is similarly defined as the historical milieu which impacted on the biblical institution. The goal of the contextual approach is fairly modest. It is not to find the key to every biblical phenomenon in some ancient Near Eastern precedent, but rather to silhouette the biblical text against its wider literary and Hillers 1985: 261: “Kaufmann is much given to a contrastive method.” Hillers 1985: 265: “As noticed in others, Cross’ procedure is contrastive.” 3 For a new look at a familiar contrast, see Hallo 1983b; 1988a. 4 Note, however, that the usual term for full moon is kese; perhaps sˇabb¯at is its preexilic equivalent, with Loretz 1984, chap. 11. 1 2

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cultural environment and thus to arrive at a proper assessment of the extent to which the biblical evidence reflects that environment or, on the contrary, is distinctive and innovative over against it.5 The “contextual approach” has of late found other advocates, using other definitions. Paul Hanson, perhaps the first to employ the term, defined it as the attempt “to interpret (Biblical) compositions within the sociological context of the community struggle visible behind the material” (Hanson 1971: 33; cited by Hallo 1980b: 2). Simon Parker proposed the contextual approach and specifically contextual literary analysis as a counterweight to comparative analysis or “comparative philology.” In his view, the contextual method approaches the philological problem of the text—be that text a word, a verse, or a pericope—in terms of its own setting. By setting he means not only the immediate context of sentence, or paragraph (or stanza in the case of poetry), or composition, but also the larger context of genre and cultic setting or Sitz im Leben, and even the whole culture and society that produced the text. Comparison involves the same mix from other cultures—related ones first and comparable but conceivably unrelated ones as necessary. The two approaches are opposite but complimentary: neither has all the answers and both are interdependent (Parker 1980). My own definition of the contextual approach is broader than Parker’s. Like him, I admit the dangers of excessive or uncritical comparison, by which I mean positive comparison, and insist on the importance of negative comparison, or contrast. But to me, the comparative evidence (positive or negative) is part of the context. The broader ancient Near Eastern matrix is simply a logical extension of the cultural and societal environment that Parker defines as the ultimate limit of the native context. In this sense, a truly contextual approach does not oppose the comparative approach but rather embraces it. The contextual approach may seem, on the other hand, to be opposed to the “intertextual” approach. Where the former is synchronic, understanding a piece of literature in terms of what it owes to or reflects of all of its contemporaneous context, the latter is diachronic, seeing it as a reassembling of prior elements. Where the former is cross-cultural in its scope, the latter focuses by preference on a single cultural or linguistic tradition. Where the former can be described as horizontal, the latter can be labelled vertical (Broich and Pfister 1985:

5

See in general SIC I and SIC II.

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326–332). In practice, however, the two approaches complement each other. For example, proverbs, to take only the most enduring and peripatetic genre, can be traced across linguistic, generic, and chronological boundaries with equal effectiveness, as I have tried to do in the first conscious attempt to apply intertextuality to cuneiform literature.6 My approach has not gone entirely unnoticed—or uncriticized. In reviewing the first volume of Scripture in Context, Dennis Pardee summarized it as (a) stressing the total context, not just individual comparisons and, more especially, (b) comparing like categories with like, in casu the biblical canon, most often, with canonical (i.e., literary) texts from the ancient Near East. He objects that propinquity is not sufficiently considered, i.e., that the closer in space (and time?) the presumed parallel or contrast, the more useful it becomes to the discussion (Pardee 1985). In response to these characterizations and reservations, it may be noted that I have always raised the question of the place and time of alleged literary or institutional influence—and indeed the further and often neglected question of its direction (Hallo 1973: 3–4; 1980a: 308). I have, moreover, recognized the flexibility of literary genres over time. Not only have I practiced genre-history in pursuit of the successive forms assumed by cuneiform expressions of a given function such as individual prayer (Hallo 1968) and advocated it for other genres (Hallo 1976b: 182–183; cf. below, n. 19), but I have argued that the practice of one era might become the prescription of another, thus readily leading, notably in the realm of law, from archival to canonical documentation and legitimating the comparison of both (Hallo 1964). It is only when such generic distinctions are overlooked that comparison courts disaster, as when the wholly archival evidence of legal practice at Nuzi was initially juxtaposed with the wholly literary formulation of alleged parallels in the patriarchal narratives.7 To justify the contextual approach, appeal may be made to the Rabbinic dictum that Scripture speaks in (or according to) the language of mankind, bilˇsôn (or kilˇsôn) benê ¯ad¯am (Weingreen 1982). This dictum was presumably intended to distinguish between biblical usage (l esˇôn tôrâ or l¯asˇôn qôdeˇs) and common parlance, between classical Hebrew and later Hebrew, or even, perhaps, between divine inspiration and human utterance. But it can also be taken, quite literally, to mean that 6

rian. 7

See Hallo 1990, here: VIII.4, for a study of proverbs and intertextuality in SumeFor recent critiques of Nuzi parallels, see de Vaux 1978: 241–256.

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the Hebrew Bible availed itself of the idiom and the literary legacy of all the descendants of Adam, and not just those of Shem, or Eber, or Abraham, or Israel. If so, then we are entitled to look to all the people of the Table of Nations (Genesis 10) for elements of that legacy, at least in theory. In practice, any alleged interchange of ideas or expressions between biblical and other Near Eastern authors needs to face the questions as to where, when and even in what direction it might have occurred. The last question, in particular, has too rarely been raised. Yet we should not rule out from the beginning the possibility that here and there the biblical formulation, theme or institution may have conceivably influenced its Near Eastern counterpart. The tradition of seven lean years in Egypt, for example, appears in an Egyptian tale set a millennium before Joseph but was composed no earlier than the Greek period (ANET : 31–32);8 it may well owe something to biblical precedent. The birth legend of Sargon of Akkad has many striking similarities to that of Moses, again a thousand years later; but it is probably a product of the court scribes of Sargon II of Assyria in the eighth century, and conceivably indebted to the story of Moses’ birth. Alternatively, both treatments may go back to a common folkloristic theme (ANET : 119; cf. Lewis 1980). The provincial administration devised by King Solomon preserved in structural outline—while it transformed in essential spirit—the earlier tribal system of pre-monarchic Israel; it thus may have been an adaptation to contemporary Egyptian taxation systems or, on the contrary, their source of inspiration (Redford 1972; Green 1979; Chambers 1983). The fact that we cannot always be sure of the place, the date, or the direction of the borrowing does not invalidate either the comparative or the contextual approach: modern literary criticism properly investigates literary parallels without necessarily or invariably finding the exact route by which a given idea passed from one author to another. And given the fragmentary nature of the ancient record, the answers cannot always be forthcoming. What can and must be answered is: what are to be the terms of the comparison and the contrast? The answer depends on the level at which the evidence is studied. One could do so on the purely linguistic level, and many lexicographic, grammatical, and stylistic insights have 8 Cf. Redford 1970: 206–207; Lichtheim 1980, vol. 3: 94–103, and note the connection to Elephantine. Cf. below, n. 25.

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been furnished by the identification of cognates, of calques or of word pairs in the biblical environment.9 One could do so on the graphic level, noting that all or most of the Near East shared common writing systems at certain periods of its history: Sumerian cuneiform in the early third millennium, Akkadian cuneiform in the middle of the second, Aramaic in the Achaemenid period, and Greek in the Hellenistic era. One could study the diffusion of technical literary devices, such as acrostics (as does Brug in this volume (i.e. SIC 3, 1990)), or of stylistic conventions, such as metaphor. Biblical literature is rich in metaphor. But the precise import of its graphic allusions can sometimes be recovered only in the light of the comparative data, both textual and artifactual. When the beloved asks her lover to “place me as the seal upon your heart, as the seal upon your arm” (Cant 8:6), she is using imagery based on contemporary usage in the actual wearing of seals (Hallo 1983d; 1985c). When lots were cast by Haman to seal the fate of Persian Jewry (Esth 3:7; 9:24), they were quite possibly thought of in the concrete terms of surviving dice which have turned up in modern excavations; one of these dice is even inscribed with the Akkadian word for lot, p¯uru, the very word which gave rise to the name of the festival of Purim (Hallo 1983c). When the Preacher wishes to illustrate the importance of friendship, he avails himself of the metaphor of the “three-ply cord (which) is not easily broken” (Qoh 4:12) just as did the authors of the Gilgamesh tales in Sumerian (Shaffer 1967) and Akkadian (Shaffer 1969) during the second millennium bce. On the purely literary level, the terms of comparison can span a wide spectrum, from the single verse, or topos, or pericope at one end, to the whole canon at the other, along with the presumed or attested historical evolution of each unit in comparison. To cite only one example, the peroration of Moses’ homily which at one time may have concluded the original book of Deuteronomy (now Deuteronomy 27–31) begins with an injunction to set up large stones, coat them with plaster, and inscribe them with the “repetition of the law” (NJV : “a copy of this Teaching”; 17:18) which gave the book as a whole its name (27:2). Such epigraphic conventions are now attested by archaeological finds from the eighth century bce in the northern Sinai (Meshel 1976; 1978;

9 Cf. the work of Moshe Held in this regard, which is catalogued in Hallo 1985a and assessed in Hallo 1985b, here: VIII.3. Cf. Fisher 1972–1981.

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1979) and in Transjordan (Hoftijzer 1976).10 The latter find also features a long list of curses, like the catalogue of blessings and curses in Deuteronomy 28. But the closest connections of this catalogue are with the loyalty oaths imposed on his vassals by the seventh century Assyrian king Esarhaddon (680–669 bce). In numerous exemplars dated three years before his death, he adjured each of his eastern vassals to fealty to himself and, after his demise, to his designated successors, on pain of suffering a lengthy succession of fearsome curses (ANET : 538–539; cf. Wiseman 1958; Frankena 1965; Weinfeld 1965; 1976). Some of these curses occur in virtually identical form and even in the same order in Deuteronomy.11 And the efficacy of such curses was described (in Deut 29:23–24) in what William L. Moran has aptly termed “one of the most striking parallels . . .between cuneiform and biblical literature in any period” (Moran 1963: 83; cf. Bickerman 1979: 75; 1986: 288). So much for topoi. But perhaps the most fruitful literary comparisons and contrasts can be drawn on the level of genre, that is, of a compositional type conforming to a given pattern and serving a specific function. This is not to throw in my lot with form-criticism (Tucker 1971),12 but rather to adhere to that other stricture of the proposed approach, namely to juxtapose like with like, category by category and genre by genre (Hallo 1968: 73; 1980b: 3–5, 11–12; cf. Pardee 1985).13 In this concern for genre-analysis, I find myself in agreement with Parker (1980).14 I also share his preference for a functional and contextual definition of genre (Parker 1980: 39–40).15 My first illustration comes from the work of B.A. Levine, who began his scholarly career in Ugaritic, a corpus which is predominantly literary or, as I would call it, canonical in character. But it includes a small

For the latest discussion, see Hackett 1987. Tadmor (1982: 148–152) thinks this treaty pattern was borrowed by the Assyrians from the West, rather than vice versa. 12 The distinction between form criticism as “diachronic analysis” and genre analysis as “synchronic, concerned to identify the type of literature, not its prehistory” (Longman 1987: 76; cf. Longman 1985) breaks down again in genre-history (see below, nn. 18–19). Note also that “form criticism” is sometimes used loosely to translate German Formgeschichte. 13 For a defense of genre-analysis in Mesopotamian literature, see Vanstiphout 1986. For a critique of the current “obsession with genre, both ancient and modern,” see Michalowski 1984. 14 Cf. my review of Seux (Hallo 1977a) with his remarks (p. 38) on Caquot, Sznycer, and Herdner in the same series as Seux, Littératures Anciennes du Proche Orient. 15 Cf. my definition of myth in 1970: 117, n. 1, here: I.2; 1984: 170, here: VII.1. 10 11

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number of economic or, in my terminology, archival texts, and among these texts he identified a genre to which he gave the name of “descriptive rituals” (Levine 1963; cf. Levine 1983). The genre is far more common in Mesopotamia, where the bulk of the massive cuneiform documentation is archival in character. In a joint article, we analyzed two particularly elaborate examples of the genre from Old Babylonian Ur and signalled the potential importance of such texts for the reconstruction of the Mesopotamian cult (Levine and Hallo 1967). At first blush, such material would seem to have no parallels in the Bible, which is presumably wholly literary or canonical in character. But to Levine’s credit, he identified a number of descriptive ritual texts in the Pentateuch with clearly archival antecedents (Levine 1965). My favorite example is his analysis of Num 7:12–88. This pericope catalogues the princely offerings at the dedication of the wilderness tabernacle and its altar. Since each tribe contributed identical amounts of eleven different offerings, the resulting tabulation is dry and repetitive in sharp contrast to the Bible’s wonted economy of diction. It has thus tended to be treated as a late and artificial insertion (e.g., Noth 1966: 63). But when charted in two-dimensional format,16 it emerges as a rather precise counterpart to the Old Babylonian descriptive rituals as these are either analyzed in modern transcriptions or, often enough, actually disposed on the ancient clay tablets. Even with the mild caveats injected, into the discussion by Anson Rainey (1970; cf. Fishbane 1974: 31–35), Levine’s analysis of the pericope retains its essential validity: the character of the passage is illuminated, and its basic integrity with its context vindicated by the comparable text-type from Mesopotamia. It is likely that other passages will in due time be identified as having archival prototypes behind the canonical shape in which they are preserved,17 as is increasingly true in the study of cuneiform literature, where, for example, the “literary collection of legal decisions” (Hallo 1964: 105), also referred to as the “genre of model court records” (Roth 1983: 279), probably goes back to or at least imitates real archival prototypes. If archival texts can occasionally provide the prototypes for canonical genres, the same is true in much larger measure of monumental texts, that is, historical, dedicatory, and other inscriptions that originally 16 On this concept, see Levine and Hallo 1967: 20, n. 16, which cites previous literature; Jacobsen 1974: 44, 61, n. 2. 17 See, for example, Hurowitz 1986 on 2 Kgs 12:5–17; Evans 1983, n. 90 on 1 Kgs 12:26–33.

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decorated or themselves constituted a monument of some kind. Divine hymns, royal hymns, royal inscriptions, collections of laws, and cadastres are among the genres that can be traced from monument to canon in the cuneiform tradition (Hallo 1970: 120–122), and even the “Synchronistic History,” the so-called “Chronicle 21” in A. Kirk Grayson’s edition of Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles, was originally engraved on a stone stele according to its own concluding paragraph (Grayson 1975: 53–54, 169–170). Is there comparable evidence in the Bible? I do not mean to allude here to the possible precedent that this Chronicle, and the Synchronistic King Lists (Grayson 1969), provide for the Deuteronomistic history of the Divided Monarchy. Rather, the appeal here is to the somewhat debatable case of the Psalm genre called mikt¯am in the Hebrew Bible and consistently translated in the Greek ¯ Bible as st¯elographía, inscription on a stele. The Psalms so labelled (16, 56–60) are all among the “historical” or “biographical” descriptions of the life of David, according to their superscripts; whether they ever graced a stele or other monument must be left open. But the affinities between these and other individual prayers in the Psalter, on the one hand, and monumental inscriptions like the Zakir Stele (ANET : 655– 656), on the other, have been noted by a number of scholars such as H.L. Ginsberg, J.C. Greenfield and H.J. Zobel (Hallo 1976a: 209– 210). The mikt¯am in turn is probably related to the mikt¯ab, and particularly ¯ ¯ that attributed to King Hezekiah (715–687 bce.) in Isaiah 38 (Ackroyd 1982). Whether or not it is intended to represent a letter in the later sense of the Hebrew term, it certainly served as a prayerful form of royal communication with the divine, and as such stands in the long tradition of royal letter-prayers which I have identified in Sumerian and Sumero-Akkadian bilingual examples stretching from the nineteenth to the seventh centuries bce (Hallo 1976a; 1980a; 1981; 1982). One can go even further and suggest for the whole genre of individual prayer (both thanksgiving and lament) in the biblical Psalter the same ultimately epistolary origin and surviving structure as for the comparable genres in Sumerian. In the case of the cuneiform evidence, the transition from letter to letter-prayer and thence to prayer proper was traced by applying the rules of genre-history to the successive stages of a corpus spanning more than a millennium (Hallo 1968).18 In the

18

For a partially dissenting view, see Klein 1982.

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biblical case, we do not dispose of such stages; confined as we are to the end-product, we should welcome the analogy provided by the comparative data. A similar case could be made for the genre of the congregational lament. Here the recent researches of Kutscher, Krecher, Cohen, Green and others have provided ample evidence for the evolution of the Sumerian prototype. It began as a ritual apologia required for the rebuilding of ruined temples in a specific historical situation, but eventually evolved into a stereotyped litany recited on fixed dates in the liturgical calendar and without reference to specific times or places. The possible point at which the biblical Book of Lamentations, though not the congregational laments of the Psalter, fit into this evolution has most recently been investigated by W.C. Gwaltney.19 But genre-analysis and genre-history can serve the contrastive approach as well as the comparative one. In the Akkadian canon of Mesopotamia, the most abundant single genre is surely the great and diverse corpus of omen texts. It is also the most highly organized portion of that canon, and in many ways most characteristic of the Mesopotamian mind-set or Weltanschauung. That it is not more familiar to biblical scholars and scholarship is in part due to its very distinctiveness. Not a single omen is incorporated, e.g., in Pritchard’s ANET, and few indeed are the comparative studies that appeal to it. And yet the mantic texts of Mesopotamia are related to the Old Testament— not positively it is true, but negatively. For the largest single genre in the biblical corpus is literary prophecy (in BH, 368 pages out of 1434, compared to 348 for the Deuteronomistic history, 151 for the Chronicler’s history, 182 for the triteuch-laws, 128 for Psalms, etc.), and it is in some ways its most characteristic and distinctive genre. And despite occasional comparisons with Mari prophecy and other predictive texts from Mesopotamia,20 biblical prophecy is utterly different from any cuneiform genre by virtue of authorship, structure, and content. Yet the very fact of its distinctiveness suggests a contrastive relationship with Babylonian omen literature. Both fulfill comparable functions in the larger context of their respective literary settings. Even though, in Buber’s phrase, the function of biblical prophecy is not to predict,

19 See Gwaltney 1983, which includes a survey of the relevant literature. For a short genre-history of Sumerian congregational laments, see Vanstiphout 1986: 7–9. 20 Cf. most recently Malamat 1987.

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but to confront man with the alternatives of decision,21 its practical effect was comparable to that of the mantic Weltanschauung, however different its premises: both served as guides to behavior. On the cuneiform side this is most obvious in the case of certain so-called “physiognomic” omina which, following B. Landsberger, F.R. Kraus, their editor, entitled “a canon of morals in omen form” (ein Sittenkanon in Omenform) (Kraus 1936). G.E. Bryce, in one of the very few biblical studies invoking the evidence of Babylonian omina, cited examples such as “If he is obliging, they will oblige him” (Bryce 1975: 32) and “If he points his finger at his father and his mother . . . the curse of (his) father and (his) mother will seize him” (Bryce 1975: 32; cf. Gevirtz 1969) as parallels to what he called “omen-wisdom in ancient Israel.” Similarly, the terrestrial omen series, one of the most extensive in the cuneiform canon, included thinly disguised prescriptions for practical behavior if not for ethical norms. The very first couplet of the series, sˇumma ¯alu ina m¯el¯e sˇakin, (u)aˇs¯ab libbi ¯ali sˇu¯ati la .t¯ab, sˇumma ¯alu ina muˇspali sˇakin, lib ¯ali sˇu¯ati .t¯ab: “if a city is situated on a height, dwelling in the center of that city is not good; if it is situated in a low-lying place, the center of that city is good” (CT 38.1.1–2; cf. Guinan 1988) reads like a prescription for urban planning. Most omens, of course, were purely descriptive, recording what happened, e.g., to King Sin-iddinam of Larsa when he sacrificed in the temple of the Sun-god of Larsa at the Elulum-festival. But they presume that, given a wholly identical omen in the future, the same fate will recur or, in the words of the omen, “the owner of the (sacrificial) lamb will throw back the enemy and stand (in triumph) over what does not belong to him” (Hallo 1967: 96–97). It is true that most of these descriptive omens portend a rather less desirable outcome for the client, but such outcomes could be averted by priestly intercession with the deity, whose intent the omen had divined. The contrast with biblical prophecy could not be greater; there an immutable divine dispensation, but free will on humanity’s part to avoid divine displeasure, here a wholly capricious pantheon, largely indifferent to human behavior, and to be appeased rather by elaborate and costly cultic performances. But the contrast is first silhouetted by the juxtaposition of functionally equivalent genres.

21

n. 17.

Buber 1957: 197 = 1968: 177, cited by Hallo 1966: 234, n. 26; McFadden 1983: 131,

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And the contrast is resolved again in the successor-genres. Biblical prophecy ceased, traditionally at some time during the Restoration, i.e., under Achaemenid rule, to be replaced by apocalypse. Akkadian mantic ceased too, as far as can be judged, sometime in the Neo-Babylonian period, for as early as the accession of Nabonassar (747 bce), the royal scribes were busy compiling a database for a new omen-corpus in the form of the astronomical diary-texts (Sachs and Hunger 1988; Hallo, 1983a: 16; 1988b: 188). But they were still compiling this database 800 years later when the last cuneiform text was being written in 75 C.E. and they never did get around to replacing the omen canon. Instead, they too began to rely more and more on a related genre sometimes referred to as “Akkadian prophecies” (Grayson and Lambert 1964)22 but which I insist can better be described as “Akkadian apocalypses” (Hallo 1966). That suggestion was first made on the basis of one of the leading characteristics of the genre, namely its use of vaticinium ex eventu, a seeming prediction, that is, of a future event which has, in reality, already taken place. That, of course, is not by any means the only criterion of apocalyptic in either Hebrew or Akkadian, but it is one of the distinctive characteristics common to both. Still, my comparison seemed vulnerable to the enormous time gap that yawned between the earliest biblical example, even if that is Isaiah 24–27, and the latest Akkadian example which, even if it came from the libraries of the Neo-Assyrian kings in the seventh century bce, dealt with matters at the end of the second millennium. But that time gap has been dramatically reduced or, indeed, eliminated by subsequent discoveries which have brought the genre on the Mesopotamian side right down into Seleucid times, when the apocalyptic portions of Daniel too were presumably created (Hallo 1980a). Thus the genre flourished in Mesopotamia and Israel— and, we may add, in Egypt—during Hellenistic times, providing a likely period for the literary contact. The fact that the genre is so much older in Mesopotamia gives us, for once, a likely answer to the perennial question of the direction as well as the date of the borrowing—though we must stay alert to the native components which clearly distinguished the genre in each of its separate environments. Another genre where comparison may yet prove fruitful is that of the novella. The concept of a self-contained, fictionalized tale woven about a single character or group of characters, however much it is

22

For a more recent study, see Biggs 1985; 1987.

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still debated, deserves consideration as a possible category in which to accommodate the “romance” of Joseph (Hallo 1980b: 17, nn. 79–87) as well as such diverse texts as Jonah, Esther and the narrative portions of Daniel—three of the four “strange books” of the Bible as Elias Bickerman has called them (Bickerman 1967).23 The “success stories” of Mordecai and Daniel have been compared to that of Joseph by many recent commentators, as well as to that of Ahiqar in the AramaicAssyrian tradition.24 The story of Esther has a female protagonist and is in a sense written from a feminist point of view, if not actually by a woman author (Hallo 1983c)—for which there are increasing parallels in cuneiform (Hallo and van Dijk 1968: 1–11; Hallo 1976c; 1983e). And even though Sumerian and Akkadian literature does not yet provide a formal parallel to a connected narrative about a single private person or family, there are short episodic pericopes about such protagonists as Lisina (Civil 1977: 67), Namzitarra (Civil 1977; Vanstiphout 1980), and Ludingirra (Kramer 1960; Civil 1964; Cooper 1971) in Sumerian texts of Old Babylonian date which have all the earmarks of building blocks for novellae in the making (Hallo 1980a: 312, n. 20). Here, too, further discoveries and continuing study are needed before the evidence can be fully weighed. I do not mean to belabor the point. There are many other genres that could be thrown into the hopper for comparison. There is, for example, the question of epic. Is there epic on the biblical side? Talmon (1981) and Cross (1983; cf. Conroy 1980), among others, have debated this issue at length. There is no clear genre label of such a type on the Mesopotamian side, though certainly many candidates for a putative assignment to it. Myth is in the same state of limbo on both sides. Proverbs, of course, have frequently borne comparison on both sides, and we know of the outstanding example of the thirty Egyptian proverbs of Amenemopet, which have been compared to a portion of the biblical book of Proverbs (22:17–24:34).25 Even subcategories of the proverb literature, such as riddles, have been compared with Sumerian models. Indeed, in Sumerian there is a genre term for riddle, i.bi.lu.dug4.ga (Civil 1985), which is translated into Akkadian by hittu,

23

The fourth “strange book” is Ecclesiastes. See Hallo 1980b: n. 84 for the literature. For the latest edition of Ahiqar, see J.M. Lindenberger, The Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar (Baltimore, 1983). 25 For the notion that the thirty “Precepts of the Sages” (Prov 22:17–24:22) inspired the Instructions of Amenemopet (ANET : 421–425), and not vice versa, see Kevin 1931. 24

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a term which, despite the CAD’s reluctance on this point, I have no problem in relating to Hebrew hîd¯ah. Obviously, casuistic legislation, ¯ to mention only that and not the other kinds of biblical legislation, finds many comparisons in the cuneiform corpus, even though here we face the issue of when and where that particular relationship might have been brought to bear, and the answer to that is a very difficult one. It is time to sum up. Biblical literature confronts us with a closed corpus, the end product of a long redactional history. The comparative data in Mesopotamian cuneiform provides us with the documents that went into the making of the successive Sumerian and Akkadian canons (Hallo 1976b). Properly used, these documents can replace the hypothetical documents that presumably went into the making of the biblical canon, and this allows us a glimpse into the literary and cultural context on which the biblical authors drew to speak with the language of all mankind. I have chosen to illustrate the inherent possibilities of this approach in terms of literary genres. It could, with equal profit, be attempted in terms of individual verses and pericopes or of specific literary devices, such as acrostics, or of motifs and topoi. What counts is that, in the understandable revulsion against parallelomania, we not subject the biblical data to an equally unbridled parallelophobia.26 Bibliography Ackroyd, P.R. 1982 Isaiah 36–39. AOAT 211: 3–21. Bickerman, E. 1967 Four Strange Books of the Bible: Jonah, Daniel, Koheleth, Esther. New York: Schocken. 1979 Nebuchadnezzar and Jerusalem. Pp. 46–47, 69–85 in PAAJR. 1986 Studies in Jewish and Christian History, Vol. 3 in Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und Urchristentums 9. Biggs, R.D. 1985 The Babylonian Prophecies and the Astrological Tradition of Mesopotamia. JCS 37: 86–90.

26 This term has been introduced into the discussion by Ratner and Zuckerman 1986: 52.

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Babylonian prophecies, astrology, and a new source for “Prophecy Text B,” Pp. 1–14 in Language, Literature, and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner, ed. Francesca Rochberg-Halton. AOS 67. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society.

Broich, U., and Pfister, M., eds. 1985 Intertextualität: Formen, Funktionen, anglistische Fallstudien, Konzepte der Sprach- und Literaturwissenschaft 35. Bryce, G.E. 1975 Omen-Wisdom in Ancient Israel. JBL 94: 19–37. Buber, M. 1957 Pointing the Way. New York: Harper & Row. 1968 On the Bible: Eighteen Studies, ed. N.N. Glatzer. New York: Schocken. Chambers, H. 1983 Ancient amphictyonies, sic et non. Pp. 39–59 in SIC II. Childs, B.S. 1978a The Exegetical Significance of Canon for the Study of the Old Testament. VTS 29: 66–80. 1978b The Canonical Shape of the Book of Jonah. Pp. 122–128 in Biblical and Near Eastern Studies: Essays in Honor of William Sanford LaSor, ed. Gary A. Tuttle. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Civil, M. 1964 The “Message of Lu-dingir-ra to His Mother.” JNES: 23: 1–11. 1977 Enlil and Namzitarra. AfO 25: 65–71. 1985 Sumerian Riddles. Aula Orientalis 5:17–37. Conroy, C. 1980 Hebrew Epic: Historical Notes and Critical Reflections. Biblica 61: 1– 30. Cooper, J.S. 1971 New Cuneiform Parallels to the Song of Songs. JBL 90: 157–162. Cross, F.M. 1983 The Epic Traditions of Early Israel: Epic Narrative and the Reconstruction of Early Israelite Institutions. Pp. 13–39 in The Poet and the Historian: Essays in Literary and Historical Biblical Criticism, ed. Richard Elliot Friedman. HSS 26. Evans, C.D. 1983 Naram-Sin and Jeroboam: The Archetypal Unheils-herrscher in Mesopotamian and Biblical Historiography. Pp. 97–125 in SIC II. Fishbane, M. 1974 Accusations of Adultery: A Study of Law and Scribal Practice in Numbers 5: 11–31. HUCA 45: 25–45. 1984 Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon.

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Fisher, L. 1972–1981 Ras Shamra Parallels. 3 vols. AnOr 49–51. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Frankena, R. 1965 The Vassal-Treaties of Esarhaddon and the Dating of Deuteronomy. OTS 14: 122–154. Gevirtz, S. 1969 A Father’s Curse. Mosaic 2/3: 56–61. Grayson, A.K. 1969 Assyrian and Babylonian King Lists: Collations and Comments. AOAT 1: 105–118. 1975 Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. Texts from Cuneiform Sources 5. Locust Valley, NY: Augustin. Grayson, A.K., and Lambert, W.G. 1964 Akkadian Prophecies. JCS 18: 7–30. Green, A.R. 1979 Israelite Influence at Shishak’s Court? BASOR 233: 59–62. Guinan, A. 1988 The Perils of High Living in sˇumma ¯alu. Abstracts RAI 35. Philadelphia. Gwaltney, Jr., W.C. 1983 The Biblical Book of Lamentations in the Context of Near Eastern Lament Literature. Pp. 191–211 in SIC II. Hackett, J.A. 1987 Religious Traditions in Israelite Transjordan, Pp. 125–136 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, eds. Patrick D. Miller, Jr., Paul D. Hanson, S. Dean McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress. Hallo, W.W. 1964 The Slandered Bride. Pp. 95–105 in Studies Presented to A. Leo Oppenheim June 7, 1964. Chicago. 1966 Akkadian Apocalypses. IEJ 16:231–241. 1967 New Texts from the Reign of Sin-iddinam. JCS 21: 95–99. 1968 Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition. Pp. 71– 89 in Essays in Memory of E. A. Speiser, ed. William W. Hallo. AOS 53. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, here: VI.1. 1970 The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry. RAI 17: 116–134, here: I.2. 1973 Problems in Sumerian Hermeneutics. Perspectives in Jewish Learning 5: 1–12, here: I.3. 1976a The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: I. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah? AOAT 25: 209–224, here: V.1. 1976b Toward a History of Sumerian Literature. Sumerological Studies in Honor of T. Jacobsen, AS 20: 181–203, here: I.4. 1976c Women of Sumer. Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 4: 23–30, 129–138.

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1977a Review of Marie-Joseph Seux, Hymnes et Prières aux Dieux de Babylonie et d’Assyrie (1976). JAOS 77: 582–585. 1977b New Moons and Sabbaths: A Case Study in the Contrastive Approach. HUCA 48:1–18. 1980a The Expansion of Cuneiform Literature. Pp. 307–322 in PAAJR, Vols. 46–47. Jerusalem. 1980b Biblical History in its Near Eastern Setting: The Contextual Approach. Pp. 1–26 in SIC I. 1981 Letters, Prayers and Letter-prayers. Pp. 17–27 in Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies. Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, here: IV.2. 1982. The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: II. The Appeal to Utu. Pp. 95– ˇ 109 in Zikir Sumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F.R. Kraus, ed. G. van Driel et al. Leiden: Brill, here: V.2. 1983a Dating the Mesopotamian Past: The Concept of Eras from Sargon to Nabonassar. Bulletin of the Society for Mesopotamian Studies 6: 43–54. 1983b Cult Statue and Divine Image: A Preliminary Study. Pp. 1–17 in SIC II. 1983c The First Purim. BA 46: 19–29. 1983d “As the Seal Upon Thine Arm”: Glyptic Metaphors in the Biblical World. Pp. 7–17 in Ancient Seals and the Bible, eds. L. Gorelick and E. Williams-Forte. Occasional Papers on the Near East 2/1. Malibu, CA: Undena. 1983e Sumerian Historiography. Pp. 9–20 in History, Historiography and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures, eds. H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld. Jerusalem: Magnes, here: VI.2. 1984 Lugalbanda Excavated. Pp. 165–180 in Studies in Literature from the Ancient Near East Dedicated to Samuel Noah Kramer, ed. Jack M. Sasson. AOS 65. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, here: VII.1. 1985a Moshe Held (1924–1984). Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research 52: 5–8. 1985b Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos. JQR 76: 21–40, here: VIII.3. 1985c “As the Seal Upon Thy Heart”: Glyptic Roles in the Biblical World. Bible Review 1: 20–27. 1988a Texts, Statues and the Cult of the Divine King. VTS 40: 54–66. 1988b The Nabonassar Era and Other Epochs in Mesopotamian Chronology and Chronography. Pp. 175–190 in A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs, ed. Erle Leichty et al. Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 9. Philadelphia: University Museum. 1990 Proverbs Quoted in Epic, in W.L. Moran Volume, 203–217, here: VIII.4. Hallo, W.W., and van Dijk, J.J.A. 1968 The Exaltation of Inanna. New Haven, CT: Yale University. Hanson, P.D. 1971 Jewish Apocalyptic Against Its Near Eastern Environment. RB 78: 31– 58.

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Hillers, D.R. 1985 Analyzing the Abominable: Our Understanding of Canaanite Religion. JQR 75: 256–269. Hoftijzer, J. 1976 The Prophet Balaam in a 6th Century Aramaic Inscription. BA 39: 11–17. Hurowitz, V. 1986 Another Fiscal Practice of the Ancient Near East—II Kings 12:5–17 and a Letter to Esarhaddon (LAS 277). JNES 45: 289–294. Jacobsen, T. 1974 Very Ancient Linguistics in Studies in the History of Linguistics, ed. Dell Hymes. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University. Kaufman, S.A. 1982 The Temple Scroll and Higher Criticism. HUCA 53: 29–43. Kevin, R.O. 1931 The Wisdom of Amen-em-apt and Its Possible Dependence Upon the Hebrew Book of Proverbs. JSOR 14:115–157. Klein, J. 1982 “Personal God” and Individual Prayer in Sumerian Religion. RAI 28=AfO Beiheft 19: 295–306. Kramer, S.N. 1960 Two Elegies on a Pushkin Museum Tablet. Moscow: Oriental Literature. Kraus, F.R. 1936 Ein Sittenkanon in Omenform. ZA 43: 77–113. Levine, B.A. 1963 Ugaritic Descriptive Rituals. JCS 17: 105–111. 1965 The Descriptive Ritual Texts of the Pentateuch. JAOS 85: 307–318. 1983 The Descriptive Ritual Texts from Ugarit: Some Formal and Functional Features of the Genre. Pp. 467–475 in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman, eds. Carol L. Meyers and Michael O’Connor. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Levine, B.A., and Hallo, W.W. 1967 Offerings to the Temple Gates at Ur. HUCA 38: 17–58. Lewis, B. 1980 The Sargon Legend: A Study of the Akkadian Text and the Tale of the Hero Who Was Exposed at Birth. ASORDS4. Cambridge, MA: ASOR. Lichtheim, M. 1975–1980 Ancient Egyptian Literature. 3 vols. Berkeley: University of California.

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Longman III, T. 1985 Form Criticism, Recent Developments in Genre Theory and the Evangelical. Westminster Theological Journal 47: 46–67. 1987 Literary Approaches to Biblical Interpretation. Foundations of Contemporary Interpretation 3. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Loretz, O. 1984 Habiru-Hebräer, eine sozio-linguistische Studie. ZAW Beiheft 160. McFadden, W.R. 1983 Micah and the Problem of Continuities and Discontinuities in Prophecy. Pp. 127–146 in SIC II. Malamat, A. 1987 A Forerunner of Biblical Prophecy: the Mari Documents, Pp. 33–52 in Ancient Israelite Religion, eds. Patrick D. Miller, Jr., Paul D. Hanson, S. Dean McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress. Meshel, Z. 1978. Kuntillet ‘Ajrud: A Religious Centre from the Time of the Judaean Monarchy on the Border of Sinai. Israel Museum Cat. No. 175. Jerusalem: Israel Museum. 1979 Did Yahweh Have A Consort? The New Religious Inscriptions from the Sinai. BAR 5: 24–35. Meshel, Z., and Meyers, C. 1976 The Name of God in the Wilderness of Zin. BA 39: 6–10. Michalowski, P. 1984 Review of Jerrold S. Cooper, The Return of Ninurta to Nippur (1978). BASOR 253: 75–76. Moran, W.L. 1963 The Ancient Near Eastern Background of the Love of God in Deuteronomy. CBQ 25: 77–87. Noth, M. 1966 Numbers. OTL Philadelphia: Westminster. Pardee, D. 1985 Review of SIC II. JNES 44: 221–222. Parker, S.B. 1980 Some Methodological Principles in Ugaritic Philology. Maarav: 7–41. Rainey, A.F. 1970 The Order of Sacrifices in Old Testament Ritual Texts. Biblica 51: 485– 498. Ratner, R., and Zuckerman, B. 1986 “A Kid in Milk”? New Photographs of KTU 1.23, line 14. HUCA 57:15– 60.

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Redford, D.B. 1970 A Study of the Biblical Story of Joseph (Genesis 37–50). VTS 20. 1972 Studies in Relations Between Palestine and Egypt During the First Millennium bc Pp. 141–156 in Studies on the Ancient Palestinian World, eds. J.W. Wevers and D.B. Redford. Toronto Semitic Texts and Studies 2. Toronto: University of Toronto. Roth, M. 1983 The Slave and the Scoundrel: CBS 10467, a Sumerian Morality Tale? JAOS 103: 274–282. Sachs, A.J., and Hunger, H. 1988 Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia, Vol. 1: Diaries from 652 bc to 262 bc. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Sandmel, S. 1962 Parallelomania. JBL 81: 1–13. Shaffer, A. 1967 The Mesopotamian Background of Lamentations 4:9–12. EI 8: 246– 250. Hebrew English abstract, p. 75*. 1969 New Light on the “Three-ply cord.” EI 9: 159–160. Hebrew English abstract, pp. 138*–139*. Tadmor, H. 1982 Treaty and Oath in the Ancient Near East: A Historian’s Approach. Pp. 127–152 in Humanizing America’s Iconic Book: Society of Biblical Literature Centennial Addresses, eds. Gene M. Tucker and Douglas A. Knight. Chico, CA: Scholars. Talmon, S. 1981 Did There Exist a Biblical National Epic? Pp. 11–61 in Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies. Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies. Tigay, J.H., ed. 1985 Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. Tucker, G.M. 1971 Form Criticism of the Old Testament. Philadelphia: Fortress. Vanstiphout, H.L.J. 1980 Some Notes on “Enlil and Namzitarra.” RA 74: 67–71. 1986 Some Thoughts on Genre in Mesopotamian Literature. RAI 32: 1–11. de Vaux, R. 1978 The Early History of Israel. Trans. David Smith. Philadelphia: Westminster.

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Weinfeld. M. 1965 Traces of Assyrian Treaty Formulae in Deuteronomy. Biblica 46: 417– 427. 1976 The Loyalty Oath in the Ancient Near East. UF 8: 379–414. Weingreen, J. 1982 dibbarah tôrah kilˇsôn banê-’¯ad¯am. Pp. 267–275 in Interpreting the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honour of E.I.J. Rosenthal, eds. John A. Emerton and Stefan C. Reif. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Wiseman, D.J. 1958 The Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon. Iraq 20/1.

x.3 THE CONCEPT OF CANONICITY IN CUNEIFORM AND BIBLICAL LITERATURE: A COMPARATIVE APPRAISAL1

Before we can speak of canonicity, we need a working definition of the concept of canon. There are probably as many definitions as there are authorities on the subject. Perhaps the most restrictive one is that of the Oxford English Dictionary, which confines the term to “the collection or list of books of the Bible accepted by the Christian church as genuine and inspired” or, in transferred meaning, “any set of sacred books.” A broader definition is offered by Webster’s, where canon describes not only “a collection or authoritative list of books accepted as holy scripture” but also “an accepted or sanctioned list of books (established in the canon of literature)” or, finally, “the authentic works of a writer ([e.g.] the Chaucer canon).” Both kinds of definition, the narrowly ecclesiastic and the broadly literary one, agree in opposing “canonical” to “apocryphal.”2 The religious connotation of the term probably goes back no further than about the fourth century ce, when it was first applied to the New Testament.3 It has long been fashionable to apply it similarly to the Hebrew Bible, but a new study of the evidence by Daniel J. Silver reminds us that religious reverence for the biblical text was a postbiblical phenomenon and slow to emerge even in the rabbinic period. Silver largely avoids the term canon altogether, preferring to speak instead of scripture (not Scripture), which he defines as “a volume 1 The substance of this paper was first presented to the symposium on “The Hebrew Bible in the Making: From Literature to Canon,” National Humanities Center, Research Triangle Park, North Carolina, on April 27, 1988. The paper by S.J. Lieberman, “Canonical and Official Cuneiform Texts: Towards an Understanding of Assurbanipal’s Personal Tablet Collection,” appeared too late to be taken account of here; see Lingering over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran (ed. T. Abusch, et al.; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990) 305–336. 2 Cf. e.g. Harry Shaw, Dictionary of Literary Terms (New York: McGraw Hill, 1972), s.v. canon. 3 Cf. B.S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979) 50.

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or collection of writings held by a particular community to be divinely inspired and, therefore, authoritative.”4 The earlier study of the rabbinic evidence by Sid. Z. Leiman5 showed that the concept of canonicity, if not the term itself, has enjoyed a much wider application within Judaism. Not only the Hebrew Bible, but also such postbiblical classics as the Scroll of Fasts (Megillat Ta #anit), the Mishnah, and eventually the entire Talmud were accepted as authoritative and binding, to be observed, believed, studied, and expounded.6 In the rabbinic view, all divinely inspired literature is canonical, but not all canonical literature is inspired. What Leiman calls inspired canonical literature is what rabbinic terminology called the Written Law, or Written Torah, while his “uninspired canonical literature” is, in effect the Oral Law, or Oral Torah. The functional equivalence of Torah and Canon was recognized most explicitly by J.A. Sanders.7 As Leiman shows, the disputes over Esther, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs were more theoretical or academic than real, and in any case were all settled in favor of their inclusion.8 Thus the Written Torah ended up with twenty-four canonical books.9 As if to correspond to these, Leiman identifies up to twenty-four non-canonical books mentioned in the Bible.10 These non-canonical books are not preserved, but others, including the Aramaic Targumim, the Gospels, and Ben Sira survive. Even within the canon of inspired texts, the Rabbis distinguished degrees of canonicity, with the Pentateuch having more authority than the Prophets or Writings.11 In post-talmudic (medieval) times, the Prophets were in turn assigned a higher degree of authority than the Writings.12 These observations by Leiman regarding the Written Law can also usefully be applied to the Oral Law. Traditions which, while not 4 D.J. Silver, The Story of Scripture: From Oral Tradition to the Written Word (New York: Basic Books, 1990), esp. p. 22. 5 The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture: The Talmudic and Midrashic Evidence (= Transactions [of] the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 47/1 [Hamden, CT: Archon], 1976). Cf. idem, “Inspiration and Canonicity: Reflections on the Formation of the Biblical Canon,” Jewish and Christian Self-Definition II (ed. E.P. Sanders; 1981) 56–63, 315–318. 6 Canonization, 14. 7 Torah and Canon (2nd ed.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974). 8 Canonization, 102–124. 9 Ibid., 53–56. 10 Ibid., 17 f. 11 Ibid., 15. 12 Ibid., 66 and 169 f., n. 294.

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included in the Mishnah, were nevertheless deemed worthy of preserving, were called beraitôt in Aramaic (equivalent to h. is. ônôt in Hebrew) and quoted widely in both Talmudim, though usually enjoying less authority than the comparable Mishnah, if it existed. Collections of such beraitôt were added to the canon. One of them, the Tosefta, paralleled the Mishnah in structure and content, but went far beyond it in its explicitness and in its citation of biblical proof texts. In the words of Jacob Neusner, the translator of the Tosefta, “Mishnah is the trellis, Tosefta the vine.”13 Thus Leiman’s definition of canonicity is broad enough to encompass various degrees of authority, with the Pentateuch enjoying a higher status than the rest of the Bible, and the Mishnah generally prevailing over the Tosefta and other beraitôt. But even this broader definition of canon is still more specifically religious in its connotation than the original sense of the term. For the Greek word κανν was first applied to literature by the scholars of the famous library and museum of Alexandria in the third century bce. The great librarians such as Zenodotus, Callimachus and Apollonius Rhodus14 not only used the plural καννες “for collections of the old Greek authors . . . as being models of excellence, classics,”15 but also established an entire “Alexandrian Canon”16 as “the authoritative, standardized corpus of the great writers of the past, arranged according to certain principles of order.”17 According to Nahum Sarna, it was this model, rather than the later Christian one, which inspired the rabbinic efforts at canonization.18 (Similarly, we might add, it was the still later Moslem model which inspired the related activity of the Tiberian Masoretes). And both the Alexandrian and the rabbinic impulse to the ordering of the canon, according to Sarna, owed much to the needs of storage and retrieval in a library setting. Leiman disputes this notion, arguing that the rabbinic Neziqin (New York: Ktav, 1981), p. xiii. Neusner has also illustrated the relationships of Mishnah, Tosefta and Talmud by means of a single instance involving the Sabbath liturgy; cf. Formative Judaism 3 (= Brown University Studies 46; Chico: Scholars, 1983), 156–168. 14 F.E. Peters, The Harvest of Hellenism (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1970), esp, pp. 194–196. 15 Liddell-Scott s.v. 16 Edward A. Parsons, The Alexandrian Library (Amsterdam: Elseviers, 1952) 223–228. For the Latin equivalent, cf. Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria I-IV-3, cited ibid. 225, n. 2. 17 Nahum M. Sarna, “The Order of the Books,” Studies in Jewish Bibliography, History and Literature in Honor of I. Edward Kiev (ed. Charles Berlin; New York: Ktav, 1971) 411. 18 Ibid. 13

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impulse came rather from the equally practical question of the order in which to inscribe two or more biblical books on a single scroll.19 And the whole subject of book-scrolls, Bible-scrolls and the related question of book size has been a continuing pre-occupation of Menahem Haran in recent studies.20 But we may follow Sarna in another regard, namely that both traditions ultimately derive from Mesopotamian precedent. And since he bases himself on my own earlier findings, I will follow him in turn in his definition of canonization, which he describes in terms of four discrete manifestations, as follows: (1) “the emergence of a recognized corpus of classical literature” (2) “the tendency to produce a standardized text” (3) “a fixed arrangement of content” and (4) “an established sequence in which the works were to be read or studied.”21 This is canonization “in the secular sense of the word”—precisely the way it has most often been used in discussing the Mesopotamian evidence, to which I may now at last turn. In a recent thumbnail sketch of the history of the question by Miguel Civil,22 the first systematic application of the concept of canonization to cuneiform lexical and literary texts is attributed to Benno Landsberger (1933)23 and his pupils. Among the latter Civil lists L. Matouˇs (1933), W. von Soden (1936) and H.S. Schuster (1938), although the last uses the concept only casually.24 He might have begun the list with A. Falkenstein, who in his 1931 dissertation already defined canonization as “a normatively valid sequence both of the individual incantations with respect to each other, and of the series [we could say books] composed of successive tablets [we could say chapters].”25

Canonization, 162, n. 258. “Book-Scrolls in Israel in Pre-exilic Times,” JSS 33 (1982) 161–173; “Bible-Scrolls at the Beginning of the Second Temple Period: the Transition from Papyrus to Skins,” HUCA 44 (1983) 111–122; “Bible-Scrolls in Eastern and Western Jewish Communities from Qumran to the High Middle Ages,” HUCA 56 (1985) 21–62; “Book-Size and the Device of Catch-Lines in the Biblical Canon,” JSS 36 (1985) 1–11; “Book-Size and the Thematic Cycles in the Pentateuch,” Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff (ed. E. Blum, et al.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1990) 165–176. 21 “Order,” 413 nn. 15 f. 22 MSL 14 (1979) 168 f. 23 “Die Liste der Menschenklassen im babylonischen Kanon,” ZA 41 (1933) 184–192. (Note that Civil erroneously dates this article to 1923). 24 E.g., ZA 44 (1938) 238 f. 25 Die Haupttypen der sumerischen Beschwörung literarisch untersucht (= LSS n. F. 1; Leipzig: 19 20

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But it was W.G. Lambert who first gave the concept wider currency within Assyriology. In a 1957 article entitled “Ancestors, authors and canonicity”26 he discussed, i.a., the colophon of a medical text which claimed to be composed in the second year of Enlil-bani of Isin (ca. 1859 bce) “according to the old sages from before the flood” (ˇsa p¯ı apkall¯e labir¯uti sˇa l¯am ab¯ubi), and that of a hemerology prepared in the time of Nazimaruttaˇs of the Kassite dynasty (ca. 1307–1282 bce) “according to the seven s[ages],” and concluded: “There is a Babylonian conception which is implicit in the colophons just cited and which is stated plainly by Berossus: that the sum of the revealed knowledge was given once and for all by the antediluvian sages.27 This is a remarkable parallel to the rabbinic view that God’s revelation in its entirety is contained in the Torah.”28

Lambert’s concept of canonicity is still a severely restricted one. It involves “systematic selection of literary works” and “a conscious attempt to produce authoritative editions of works which were passed on.”29 He sees no suggestion of either activity in the explicit native statements on the subject, and as far as the implicit evidence of the end result is concerned, while “much Akkadian literature did assume a fixed form, did become a textus receptus,” other compositions did not. The exceptions cited are interesting. “The Gilgamesh Epic never reached a canonical form, and Enuma Anu Enlil circulated in several variant official editions.”30 As far as the Gilgamesh Epic is concerned, this most famous of cuneiform compositions provides us with an unrivalled illustration not only of the final fixation of a traditional text, but also of the evolution

Hinrichs, 1931; reprint 1968) 10 f. (my translation). In notes 1 f (to p. 11), Falkenstein allows for divergences in the sequence due to local or chronological differences. 26 JCS 11 (1957) 1–14, 112. 27 For the passage cited here by Lambert, see now Stanley M. Burstein, “The Babyloniaca of Berossus,” SANE 1 (1978) 13 f. S.J. Lieberman informs me that, according to collation, the colophon of the hemerology can be restored as 7 um-[ma-ni] (“7 ˇ (“7 tablets”) but not as 7 ap-[kal-le]. Cf. Hallo, “Nippur scholars”) or 7 DUB.[MES] Originals,” DUMU.E2.DUB.BA.A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (ed. H. Behrens, et al.; Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 11; Philadelphia, 1989) 239, n. 30, here: III.5. 28 “Ancestors,” 9. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid. For a different assessment of the Nazi-maruttaˇs colophon see H. Hunger, Babylonische und Assyrische Kolophone (= AOAT 2; Neukirchen-Vluyn; Neukirchener, 1968) 6 n. 1.

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of such a text from its Sumerian beginnings. The evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic has been traced in all possible detail by Jeffrey H. Tigay in what was originally his Yale dissertation,31 and the implications of this and other ancient Near Eastern examples have been considered by Tigay and others in his new volume on Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism.32 Suffice it to say that, leaving aside such peripheral developments as translations or reflexes of Gilgamesh in Hurrian and Hittite,33 we can identify no less than four discrete stages in the evolution of the Epic,34 beginning with the separate Sumerian episodic compositions (some of them—like “Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living”—themselves tradited in two distinct recensions, one longer and the other shorter),35 that probably originated in neo-Sumerian times (ca. twenty-first century bce), continuing with an Akkadian adaptation of Old Babylonian date (ca. eighteenth century bce) which was not a mere translation from the Sumerian, and which may or may not have retained the episodic character of the Sumerian,36 and expanding in a third stage37 to what by now was indubitably a continuous, unitary epic, with a unifying thread or theme, complete in eleven tablets or chapters, augmented over the Old Babylonian recension by a prologue of twenty-six lines,38 including five that recurred verbatim at the end of the eleventh tablet and thus provided a frame of sorts for the whole composition, and no doubt by other, less obvious and, some might say, less felicitous The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1982). (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1985). 33 Cf. Tigay, Evolution, 111–119; H. Otten, RLA 3 (1968) 372. 34 See the convenient summary by Tigay in his Empirical Models, 35–46, from which mine diverges in details only. 35 “As to the appropriateness of these terms” see M. de J. Ellis, AfO 28 (1981–1982) 129–131. 36 On this point see also Hope Nash Wolff, “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the heroic life,” JAOS 89 (1969) 393 n. 2; J.H. Tigay, “Was There an Integrated Gilgamesh Epic in the Old Babylonian Period?” Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of J.J. Finkelstein (ed. M. de J. Ellis; Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, Transactions 1977) 215–218. See n. 83 below. 37 Middle Babylonian according to Tigay, late Old Babylonian according to Lambert, JCS 16 (1962) 77. For the 14th century (?) Akkadian Gilgamesh fragments from Hattusha, of which Tigay had only one (Evolution, 121–123), the 1983 excavations turned up six more, including one with “weitgehend wörtliche Übereinstimmungen zur altbabylonischen Fassung der Pennsylvania-Tafel, womit für die Überlieferungsgeschichte dieser bedeutsamen epischen Dichtung ein neuer, wichtiger Hinweis gewonnen ist,” according to H. Otten, Archäologischer Anzeiger (1984/3) 375. 38 A. Shaffer apud D.J. Wiseman, “A Gilgamesh Epic Fragment from Nimrud,” Iraq 37 (1975) 158 n. 22. 31 32

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expansions,39 traditionally assigned to Sin-liqi-unninni, an exorcist (maˇsmaˇssˇu) of the Kassite period.40 The final stage, sometimes loosely alluded to as the canonical version, is the twelve-tablet recension best known from copies in the royal Assyrian libraries of the seventh century but conceivably of older date, and expanded beyond the “Kassite” recension by the addition41 i.a. of a twelfth tablet made up entirely of a literal translation of the second half of one of the Gilgamesh episodes of the original Sumerian stage. This final “canonical” version is essentially identical in all exemplars now known, whether from Nineveh, Assur or provincial libraries such as Sultan Tepe in neo-Assyrian times, or from the diverse Babylonian libraries that continued into Hellenistic or even Parthian times.42 The very fact of the survival of these exemplars and their uniformity argues persuasively if circumstantially for just such a process of a selection and authoritative edition as Lambert requires of a true canon.43 The case of Enuma Anu Enlil is also instructive, if complex. Like most of the mantic texts, the astrological omens stand out in the cuneiform corpus by the thoroughness of their systematization. They are the end-product of a long and deliberate critical effort which produced the ancient equivalent of tables of contents, critical apparatus, commentaries and other elements of a scholarly and bibliographic apparatus. The mere survival of “several variant official editions” is thus not necessarily an argument against their “canonical” status, as Lambert held. But he has been followed closely in this regard by the specialists in cuneiform astronomy themselves, most notably and most recently, 39 Cf. e.g. Jerrold S. Cooper, “Gilgamesh Dreams of Enkidu: the Evolution and Dilution of Narrative,” Finkelstein AV (1977) 39–44. 40 Lambert, JCS 16 (1962) 66 f. vi 10. 41 A trivial illustration of such expansion may be seen in the winds (of Shamash) with whose help Gilgamesh and Enkidu overpower Huwawa. In the Sumerian version (“Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living”) there are seven, in the Hittite version (based on the Middle Babylonian one?) eight, in the neo-Babylonian version thirteen. See J. Renger, “Zur Fünften Tafel des Gilgameschepos,” Language, Literature, and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner (ed. Francesa Rochberg-Halton; AOS 67; New Haven, 1987) 320. 42 Tigay, Empirical Models, 39; Evolution, 251 and n. 2; CT 46:30; Hunger, Kolophone, No. 148. 43 Tigay, Empirical Models, 43 and n. 91, where the late version is described as “nearly a textus receptus.” For the contrary view see Lambert, “Ancestors,” 9 and n. 34. J. Renger, “Zur fünften Tafel des Gilgameschepos,” Reiner AV, 317, also considers the possibility that a newly excavated Uruk fragment, and other exemplars in neo-Babylonian script, represent a recension diverging from the “canonical” version.

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Francesca Rochberg-Halton. In two major studies, she considered, first “Canonicity in cuneiform texts”44 in general and then the more specific application of the concept to “the assumed 29th ahû [i.e., extraneous, ˘ the non-canonical] tablet of En¯uma Anu Enlil.”45 For Rochberg-Halton, Jewish (and Christian) concept of canonicity implied “divine authority, the morally binding character of the texts, and its fixed. . . nature”46— hardly the hallmarks of the Akkadian canon. The only shared features between the latter and the biblical canons are “text stability and fixed sequence of tablets within a series.”47 On this narrow basis, only the series themselves (Akk. iˇskaru) are “our presumed ‘canonical texts’, or official editions.” The “non-canonical” literary texts include those described as “extraneous” (ahû), orally transmitted (ˇsa p¯ı umm¯an¯ı), com˘ mentaries (mukallimtu), explanatory word lists (s. âtu), excerpts (liqtu), “and 48 other forms of scholia” —presumably including catalogues of literary texts (which, themselves, acquired a certain fixity).49 Concentrating on the “extraneous” texts, Rochberg-Halton noted that these are attested for the following classes of literature:50 divination (celestial, terrestrial, physiognomic, teratological); menologies (iqqur ipuˇs ); medical prescriptions (Hunger, Kolophone 329); lexicography (MSL 14:168) and lamentations (4R53:34 f. = catalogue of balag’s);51 they are contrasted not only with the (official) series (iˇskaru) but with texts described as “good” (damqu) (ABL 453 rev. 14 and 13:25). Then she examined one of the few available pairs of “good” and “extraneous” recensions, namely the 15th–22nd chapter of the astronomical omen series and the “assumed 29th” chapter of its “extraneous” counterpart. She found very little overlap between the two, so that the extraneous “ahû material constitutes a genuinely separate tradition from that of ˘ JCS 36 (1984) 127–144. Reiner AV (1987) 327–350. 46 “Canonicity,” 128 n. 3. 47 Civil, MSL 14 (1979) 168, cited ibid., 129 n. 8. 48 lbid., 130; cf. CAD s.v. liqtu (2), and below, note 85. 49 Cf. Hallo, JAOS 83 (1963) 168, here: II.1, for “a canonical version of the catalogues themselves” and Civil, AS 20 (1976) 145 n. 36, for the significance of “duplicates of a catalogue.” Cf. below, note 101. 50 “Canonicity,” 137 f. 51 Last edited by M.E. Cohen, Sumerian Hymnology: the Erˇ semma (HUCAS 2; Cincinnati, 1981) 42 f. For the “non-standard” lamentations, see now idem, The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia (Potomac, MD: Capital Decisions, 1988) vol. 1, 17–19; vol. 2, 519–532. The ahû versions have little in common with the “standard” versions ˘ beyond their incipits; according to Cohen, they may have served, in certain circles, to replace them. 44 45

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the neo-Assyrian standard series (iˇskaru).”52 What can be said is that the “extraneous” material is just as well organized and standardized as the “good” recension. Sometimes entries from the “extraneous” series could even be inserted into the “good” series.53 In short, she rejects the traditional Assyriological model of canon which equates “good” with “canonical” and “extraneous” with “not officially recognized.”54 Is this the end of the matter? Hardly! If the Jewish (or Christian) canon is narrowly defined as divinely inspired literature and if the cuneiform canon is narrowly defined as the “good” recensions of traditional series, then indeed there is little in common between the two concepts. But as we have seen, the rabbinic definition of the Jewish canon is much broader, and I have long proposed a correspondingly broader definition of the cuneiform canon, based on the literary sense of the term rather than its theological one. This is not to admit, however, that I have been using the term “in a rather loose sense” as meaning nothing more than “purely literary”—to quote Civil’s sketch once more.55 Allow me to set the record straight. As early as 1958, I announced, somewhat brashly: “I use the terms archival, monumental, and canonical to distinguish the three major categories of the cuneiform literature [I would now say: documentation] of Mesopotamia and regard the reconstruction of the cuneiform archives, monuments, and canons as three of the main tasks of humanistic research.”56 In 1961, I enlarged on this view in an encyclopedia article that could hardly have caught the eye of colleagues.57 But my programmatic article on “New viewpoints on cuneiform literature” the following year58 had considerably more impact.59 Here I stressed the fact “that many Akkadian works had assumed a fixed form by neo-Assyrian times, and that their division into tablets, and in the case of longer series into groups of tablets (pirsu) was fully standardized.”60 And in 1968 I expanded on this to define the criteria of canonicity as “an authoritative text, a reasonably fixed number and sequence of individual compositions, and the grouping of these Ibid., 140; cf. in detail Rochberg-Halton in Reiner AV. “Canonicity,” 142 f. 54 Ibid., 144. 55 MSL 14 (1979) 168. 56 JNES 17 (1958) 210 n. 6; cited in part by E. Kingsbury, HUCA 34 (1963) 1 n. 1. 57 “Sumerian Language and Literature,” American Peoples Encyclopedia vol. 18 cols. 3–7. 58 IEJ 12 (1962) 13–26, here: I.1, esp. 21–26. 59 Among others, see e.g. the favorable citation by I.J. Gelb in Current Trends in Linguistics 11 (1973) 254, and below, note 69. 60 “New Viewpoints,” 23, here: I.1. But see below, at note 110, on pirsu. 52 53

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compositions into recognizable books or subdivisions,” and suggested that at least some of these criteria were already met by the Sumerian literary texts.61 I was hardly very far from Civil himself who, eleven years later, wrote “the criteria by which to define a [cuneiform] text as standard or canonical are text stability and fixed sequence of tablets within a series”62 although he wishes “to restrict the label of ‘canonical’ to those texts, transmitted exclusively in writing, that were stabilized some time [but not much!] before the XIth century in a form that lasted for over a millennium in Mesopotamia.”63 My concept of canonicity was thus in line with views developed by the students of lexicographical texts, clearly some of the ones which illustrate the processes of gradual fixation of the texts and their sequence most dramatically. It has the further merit of being grounded in the material itself. By contrast, a recent survey by D.O. Edzard and W. Röllig in the authoritative Reallexikon der Assyriologie erects a category of Sumerian and Akkadian “literature” which excludes such major genres as lexical and other lists, medical, astronomical and all (other) omen texts, ritual prescriptions and recipes.64 The exclusion is presumably based on a subjective judgement of the aesthetic merit of the genres in question, but ignores the audience for which it was intended and its tastes. The excluded genres are in fact the largest, and to that extent apparently the most important portions of what the late A.L. Oppenheim called “the stream of tradition,” meaning by that “what can loosely be termed the corpus of literary texts maintained, controlled, and carefully kept alive by a tradition served by successive generations of learned and well-trained scribes.”65 Oppenheim’s “stream of tradition” is in fact the functional equivalent of my category of “canonical texts” though by and large he avoided that term, using “canonization” as equivalent to the “standardization of the written tradition.”66 My category has the further merit of being clearly delimited from the other categories of cuneiform documentation, the monumental and the archival. I described and analyzed the monumental category in 1962 61 JAOS 88 (1968) 74, here: IV.1. “Compositions” was here used of individual, and in part short, poems in an effort to test for the possible existence of a “Sumerian psalter.” 62 MSL 14 (1979) 168. 63 Ibid., 169. 64 “Literatur,” RLA 7 (1987) 35–66, esp. 35 f. and 48. Cf. my review of RLA 7/1–2 in BiOr 46 (1989) 346–349. 65 Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1964; 2nd ed. 1977) 13. 66 Ibid., 22.

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in an article67 which, with some modifications,68 has won wide acceptance.69 I have dealt with the archival category in other articles and books70 and helped to establish a whole school of “archival research” at Yale.71 In my Ancient Near East: a History (1971), I provided a broader forum for my views72 (esp. pp. 154–156), and I have refined and reapplied them periodically since then, most notably in “The House of Ur-meme,”73 in “Sumerian historiography,”74 and in “Notes from the Babylonian Collection.”75 While thus defining and analyzing the concept of canonicity in cuneiform literature, I was also developing the concept of a succession of discrete canons. I distinguished four of these in 1968,76 and defended this chronology more explicitly in 1976, tying each canon to a major phase in the cultural and linguistic history of Mesopotamia.77 Specifically, I argued for the successive appearance of an Old Sumerian, neo-Sumerian, Akkadian, and bilingual (Sumero-Akkadian) canon. I followed each through its progression from the creation of its individual components, though their adaptation, to their final “canonization,” and set each of these stages in its presumed context in the cultural and political history of Mesopotamia. Much the same could be done, no doubt, with the briefer histories of other corpora of cuneiform literature, notably those in Hittite and Ugaritic. “The Royal Inscriptions of Ur: A Typology,” HUCA 33 (1962) 1–43. G. van Driel, “On ‘Standard’ and ‘Triumphal’ Inscriptions,” Symbolae biblicae mesopotamicae Francisco Mario Theodora de Liagre Böhl dedicatae (ed. M.A. Beek, et al.; Leiden: Brill, 1972) 99–106; idem, JAOS 93 (1973) 67–74; A.K. Grayson, JAOS 90 (1970) 529 and Or 49 (1980) 156 f. 69 E. Sollberger and J.-R. Kupper, Inscriptions royales sumériennes et akkadiennes (= Litteratures anciennes du Proche-Orient 3; Paris: Cerf, 1971) 24–36. 70 E.g. Sumerian Archival Texts (= TLB 3; Leiden: Netherlands Institute for the Near East, 1973). 71 Hallo, “God, King and Man at Yale,” Slate and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East 1 (ed. E. Lipinski; ´ OLA 5; Leuven, 1979) 91–111. On archives cf. also RAI 30 and M. de J. Ellis, AJA 87 (1983) 497–507. 72 See esp. pp. 154–156: “Archives, Monuments and the Schools.” 73 JNES 31 (1972) 87–95. 74 History, Historiography, and Interpretation (ed. H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1983) 9–20, esp. pp. 10–12, here: IV.2. 75 JCS 31 (1979) 161–165, here: VIII.2, esp. 161; 34 (1982) 81–93, esp. pp. 84 f. 76 “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition,” JAOS 88 (1968), 72 f, here: IV.1. 77 “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature,” Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen (AS 20; Chicago, 1976) 181–203, here: I.4, esp. 197–201 with fig. 1; cf. also SIC 1 (1980) 13. My scheme has been adopted in its essentials by W.H.Ph. Römer, Einführung in die Sumerologie (4th ed.; Nijmegen, Netherlands: Katholieke Universiteit, 1983) 32 f. 67 68

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Having thus defined and reviewed the concept of canonicity as this has developed in the field of Assyriology, and more particularly my own notions about it, I owe you a characterization, however brief, of the phenomenon. Allowing for such changes as are inevitable in the course of the one and half millennia or more that separate the first canonization (ca. 1750 bce) from the last (ca. 250 bce), we can nevertheless detect some common distinctive features. I will summarize these in the order of the criteria of canonization already identified above.78 A. What Lambert called the “systematic selection of literary works,” I prefer to regard (with Sarna), as the “emergence of a recognized corpus of classical literature” because what was involved was not, or not only, a winnowing out from a pre-existing larger corpus of literary works those intended for preservation but rather, as often as not, the “elevation” of non-literary works to literary status. Thus, in addition to the simple selection of certain literary texts for the curriculum, we can trace the emergence of the canon to at least three other sources, as follows: (1) The copying or imitation of existing archival79 or monumental texts.80 (2) The creation of lexical lists (and other “scholarly” texts such as model contracts, model letters, and mathematical problems) by (a) systematic retrieval and abstraction from existing literary and archival texts, (b) their logical rearrangement according to certain principles of taxonomy, and (c) their suppletion by additional entries generated by analogy and other principles.81 See above, at n. 21 (Sarna); at n. 29 (Lambert); and at nn. 61 f. (Civil and Hallo). E.g., “the literary collection of legal decisions,” for which see Hallo, Studies . . . Oppenheim (1964) 105; M.T. Roth, Studies . . . Kramer (= AOS 65, 1984 = JAOS 103 [1983]) 279–282. For a comparable phenomenon in biblical literature, see already J.A. Montgomery, “Archival Data in the Book of Kings,” JBL 53 (1934) 46–52; cf. Hallo, “Compare and Contrast: the Contextual Approach to Biblical Literature,” SIC3, (1990) 9–16, here: X.2. 80 See Hallo, RAI 17 (1970) 120–122; more recently Jacob Klein, Beer-Sheva 2 (1985) 8* (with note 8), 9* (with note 15); idem, “On Writing Monumental Inscriptions in Ur III Scribal Curriculum,” RA 80 (1986) 1–7. For a comparable phenomenon in biblical literature, see Hallo, “The Royal Correspondence of Larsa: 1. A Sumerian Prototype for the Prayer of Hezekiah?,” Kramer Anniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer (AOAT 25; ed. Barry L. Eichler, et al.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1976) 209–224, here: V.1; PAAJR 46–47 (1979–1980) 318–321; “Compare and Contrast,” here: X.2, 10 f. 81 See most recently Hallo, JAOS 103 (1983) 177 f.; BiOr 42 (1985) 636 f. 78 79

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(3) Conversely, the occasional creation of literary texts reflecting the lexical lists or grammatical paradigms, or designed to teach lexicon and grammar.82 B. The “tendency to produce a standardized text” or what Lambert describes as “a conscious attempt to produce authoritative editions of works which were passed” and Civil as “text stability” was accomplished by the following five means, among others: (1) Arrangement of poetry and of scholarly texts in verses or lines marked by dividing lines, item signs, or other rubrics. (2) Counting of the resulting lines, or entries, with every tenth line marked in the margin or in the caesura of poetic lines, and the total given in the colophon. Lines inadvertently omitted were often added in the margin or other blank spaces of the writing surface.83 (3) Glosses in the body of the text which identify variant readings, pronunciations, meanings of difficult words, etc.84 (4) “Scholia” such as lists of extraneous readings, orally transmitted traditions, commentaries, and explanatory glossaries.85 (5) Copies from originals of different (usually Babylonian) sites, and collations of the copy against the original, combined with some tolerance for divergences between copies of different (usually Assyrian) sites.86 A startling new discovery has now given us the native terminology for this procedure. According to I.L. Finkel, “sur.gibil (= za-ra-a) s. ab¯atu effectively represents the process of ‘canonisation’ so often discussed by Assyriologists; a text is established from disparate sources to represent the standard version of the composition.”87 In the text in question, Finkel translated the native term as “authorized edition.”88 It recurs H. Sauren, “E2-dub-ba-Literatur: Lehrbücher des Sumerischen,” OLP 10 (1979) 97–107; H.L.J. Vanstiphout, “Lipit-Eshtar’s Praise in the Edubba,” JCS 30 (1978) 33–61; idem, “How Did They Learn Sumerian?” JCS 31 (1979) 118–126; Hallo, JCS 34 (1982) 91. 83 Cf. Hallo “Haplographie Marginalia,” Finkelstein AV (1977) 101–103, here: II.4. 84 J. Krecher, “Glossen,” RLA 3 (1969) 431–440 (with VI. Soucek). 85 Above, note 48. 86 Cf. Hallo, “Nippur Originals,” 239 f, here: III.5. 87 “Adad-apla-iddina, Esagil-kin-apli, and the Series SA.GIG,” A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (ed. E. Leichty, et al.; Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 9; Philadelphia, 1988) 143–159, esp. p. 150. 88 Ibid., 148, n. 38 and 149, lines 18’ and 25’. 82

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in a medical catalogue published, as chance would have it, in the same volume.89 C. What has been variously described as “a fixed arrangement of content” (Sarna) or a “fixed sequence of tablets within a series” (Civil) or “a reasonably fixed number and sequence of individual compositions” (Hallo) can best be studied together with the fourth criterion of canonization, namely “the grouping of these compositions into recognizable books or subdivisions” (Hallo) or “an established sequence in which the works were to be read or studied” (Sarna), since both purposes were served by the same means, including the following four: (1) Exercise texts which excerpt canonical texts in a fixed order, possibly reflecting the procedures of the (advanced) scribal curriculum. Such exercise texts, previously noted for Assur, Sippar(?), and Ur,90 can also be attested at Nippur91 and Babylon.92 Such texts were known as im.gíd.da or im.li.gi4.in in Sumerian and imgiddû, liginnu or later gi.t.tu in Akkadian.93 (2) Miniature master copies of whole collections of Sumerian literary texts, or what Wilcke has described as “Sammeltafel(n) im Postkartenformat.” On the basis of the latest finds from Old Babylonian Isin, one such tablet contained some 770 lines (many of the lines abbreviated!) constituting five entire compositions arranged in the exact same sequence as they are entered, by title (i.e., incipit), in two Old Babylonian literary catalogues, namely Nos. 6–10. In all probability, a similar “postcard” existed for Nos. 1–5 with a total of some 640 lines.94 (3) Colophons with such data as number of lines (above), date of the exemplar, its scribe, and its owner.95 In addition, the later 89 G. Beckman and B.R. Foster, “Assyrian Scholarly Texts in the Yale Babylonian Collection,” ibid., 1–26, esp. pp. 3 f. and 11 rev. 1.5’. 90 JCS 31 (1979) 161, here: VIII.2, notes 4–8. For the examples cited from balag (lamentation) literature, see now M.E. Cohen, Sumerian Hymnology: the Erˇsemma, 43, n. 180; idem, The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia, 17 and n. 28. 91 PBS 1/2:116; cf. R. Borger, HKL I–II ad loc. 92 M. Civil, MSL 14 (1979) 156 f. 93 CAD s.vv.; cf. J.J. Finkelstein, RA 63 (1969) 24 and nn. 1–5. 94 Claus Wilcke, Isin-Iˇ s¯an Bah. ri¯ıy¯at 3 (B. Hrouda, ed.; = Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Klasse, Abhandlungen n.F. 94, 1987) 85–89. For other examples of “abbreviated lines,” cf. J. van Dijk, HSAO (1967) 267 f. and VS 10:94 (Krecher, ZA 58 [1967] 30–65), both cited by Krecher, RLA 5 (1980) 478; M. Civil, Or 54 (1985) 37–45. 95 Hermann Hunger, Babylonische und Assyrische Kolophone (= AOAT 2, 1968).

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colophons often include catchlines (“explicits”), i.e., the incipit of the next tablet in the series or the next series in the canon. The latter fact, which is particularly instructive for our inquiry, was first pointed out by Landsberger,96 then noted by myself,97 and more recently by Civil, who also observed the convergence of this evidence with that of some of the catalogues, and took the practice back to Old Babylonian times.98 Many new instances can be added to illustrate the point by now.99 (4) Catalogues with incipits of successive tablets (= chapters) in series (= books), or of successive series in the canon. Some catalogues additionally identify authors, an item of information notably lacking from colophons.100 The catalogues themselves begin to assume a fixed or “canonical” form, that is, they list compositions in a fixed order.101 Similarly, the newly recovered “accession lists” of the library of Assurbanipal tend to list canonical series in the same order.102 In all, twelve technical features have thus been identified as contributing to the creation, textual fixation, and sequential ordering of cuneiform literary texts, and as justifying their description as a cuneiform canon, or as a succession of cuneiform canons. Many of these features could also, mutatis mutandis, be said to characterize the Jewish canon in its masoretic shape, as well. What distinguishes the two is not the particular techniques of standardization employed, nor is it the degree of antiquity and hence authority, nor yet of divine inspiration and hence sanctity attached to each but rather the endpoint of the evolutionary process at which each arrived. MSL 1 (1937) vii. IEJ 12 (1962) 24, here: I.1. 98 AS 20 (1976) 145 n. 36 (3); cf. idem, Aula Orientalis 7 (1989) 20 for the sequence LÚ - IZI (both lexical texts) at Emar. 99 For the latest illustration of this point, see the newly discovered exemplar of the vocabulary proto-Kagal from Isin, which has the catchline of the vocabulary NÍG.GA according to Claus Wilcke, Isin 3 (1987) 93. Cf. Also Å. Sjöberg, ZA 63 (1963) 2 and 43; M.E. Cohen, The Canonical Lamentations, 16 f. and n. 27. 100 Krecher, “Kataloge, literarische,” RLA 5 (1980) 478–485. Add Wilcke, Isin 3 (1987) 85 n. 1. 101 First noted by Hallo, IEJ 12 (1962) 24, here: I.1, and JAOS 83 (1963) 168 f., here: II.1; then by Civil, AS 20 (1976) 145 n. 36; most recently by Wilcke, Isin 3 (1987) 89. Cf. above, note 49. For the special significance of the catalogue of the craft of the lamentation-priest (kal¯utu), see J.A. Black, BiOr 44 (1987) 31–35. 102 Simo Parpola. “Assyrian Library Records,” JNES 42 (1983) 1–29, esp. p. 6 and n. 15. 96 97

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In the Jewish, as in the Christian experience, the process went all the way. The biblical canon was closed and eventually this was true as well of Mishnah and Talmud—both Talmudim. The Akkadian canon kept growing, as is illustrated by the astronomical omina, which were in part recorded from new observation on wax tablets allowing for alteration, or from the astronomical diary texts which, beginning probably in 747 bce, were (as I think) intended to provide a new database to replace the older astrology altogether.103 But such diaries were still being created eight centuries later, when cuneiform writing ceased altogether and the arts of the “Chaldeans” or diviners fell into disuse.104 And similarly, all earlier canons fell victim to the destruction of the Mesopotamian cultures that produced them before they had achieved fully canonical shape—i.e., the form of a single compendium that included all “canonical” texts and excluded all others. Parenthetically, it is an irony of modern scholarship that Assyriologists have been striving for a century to finish this unfinished task, to produce such a final cuneiform canon while, paradoxically, biblicists have been striving for over two centuries (ever since Jean Astruc in 1753)105 to break down the biblical canon into its hypothetical documents. But that is an aside. What counts is that by the broad definition, both cuneiform and biblical literature arose out of a wider context which also produced (and bequeathed to modern rediscovery) other kinds of written evidence best described, in the cuneiform case (where it is vastly more extensive) as archival and monumental, in the biblical case (where it is extremely limited) as occasional and monumental.106

103

See now Abraham J. Sachs and Hermann Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia, vol. 1: Diaries from 652 bc to 262 bc (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Klasse, Denkschriften 195, 1988). 104 Hallo, “The Nabonassar Era and Other Epochs in Mesopotamian Chronology and Chronography,” Sachs AV (1988) 175–190, esp. p. 188. 105 Conjectures on the Reminiscences which Moses Appears to Have Used in Composing the Book of Genesis; cited by Edgar Krentz, The Historical-Critical Method (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975) 19. Original title: Conjectures sur les mémoires originaux, dont il parait que Moise s’est servi pour composer le livre de la Genèse. 106 Alan R. Millard, “The Question of Israelite Literacy,” Bible Review 3/3 (Fall 1987) 22–31. esp. p. 22: “Ancient Hebrew inscriptions can be divided into three classes— monumental, formal and occasional.” His “occasional” category is reserved for graffiti, which have no obvious analogue in cuneiform, while his “formal” category combines texts that I would regard as monumental (e.g. seals and seal impressions, inscriptions on objects) with those best seen as archival (e.g. accounts on ostraca). Cf. also idem, “The Practice of Writing in Ancient Israel,” BA 35 (1972) 98–111; BA Reader 4 (1983) 181–195;

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As against these categories, both cuneiform and biblical literature can be described as canonical—the former authoritative by virtue of its relative fixation and its inclusion, in a fixed sequence, in the curriculum of the scribal schools attached to temple or palace, the latter authoritative by virtue of its being studied in the schools, expounded in public, and made the basis for legislation and historiography. Both enjoyed a lengthy history of transmission, but with significant differences. The Mesopotamian environment probably provided a greater level of literacy, a more durable writing medium, and a lesser reliance on oral transmission (probably, indeed, a lower level of ability to memorize) than the Israelite environment. Hence the processes of canonization may have been slower and less effective in Mesopotamia in the sense that older or divergent textual traditions were less readily eliminated.107 But both traditions ultimately evolved mechanisms for dealing with such divergent traditions as were found worthy of retention. In the Jewish tradition, the concept of Torah grew to embrace all of the canon, but the Written Torah was considered more inspired than the Oral Torah, and within the Written Torah, the Torah proper, or the Pentateuch, took precedence over the prophets and these, ultimately, over the Hagiographa; within the oral law, the Mishnah enjoyed a comparable precedence over the Tosefta, and both over the Gemarah; even within the Gemarah, the Babylonian Talmud enjoyed priority over the Palestinian Talmud in most communities. Even non-canonical writings such as Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha and some of the sectarian texts known from Qumran and elsewhere were not necessarily banned from normative circles as seems clear from their appearance in the Cairo Genizah. Similarly the Akkadian texts known as “extraneous” were carefully collected, organized and tradited. Their status may have been less authoritative than those described as “good” but they were deemed worthy of preservation in and incorporation into the cuneiform canon. Their very name suggests a link with the Jewish tradition, for Akkadian “An Assessment of the Evidence for Writing in Ancient Israel,” Biblical Archaeology Today (ed. A. Biram; Jerusalem, Israel Exploration Society, 1985) 301–312. 107 Here I part company with S. Talmon’s otherwise excellent exposition of the contrast between the evolution of biblical and Mesopotamian literature in “Heiliges Schrifttum und kanonische Bücher aus jüdischer Sicht—Überlegungen zur Ausbildung der Grösse ‘Die Schrift’ im Judentum,” Die Mitte der Schrift (Judaica et Christiana II; ed. M. Klopfenstein, U. Luz, S. Talmon, E. Tov; Bern–Frankfurt/M–New York–Paris: Lang, 1987) 45–79, esp. p. 64.

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ahû (ahi"u) is a calque for Middle Hebrew h. is. ônî and Aramaic b¯ar¯ayâ, ˘ b¯ ˘araytâ. In passing it may be noted that the antonyms of ahi"u are fem. on the one hand damqu, literally “good,” and on the other sˇa ˘iˇskarim, literally “of the (official) series”—the latter cognate with Hebrew #eˇsk¯ar (Ps. 72:10; Ezek 27:15) though used in a different sense. In turn, ˇsa iˇskarim is used as an antonym to the oral tradition, as when a report to the Assyrian king at Nineveh (probably Esarhaddon) states: “this omen is not from the series but from the oral tradition of the masters” (ˇsa p¯ı umm¯an¯ı sˇu).108 The report in question is from Ishtar-shuma-eresh, himself a master and grandson of the renowned master Nabu-zerzuqip, whose library he had possibly inherited.109 Finally, one may note that Middle Hebrew p¯ar¯asˇâ in the sense of a section of the Pentateuch is probably cognate with Akkadian pirsu, subsection of a series, or a subseries.110 We return then to the term canon itself. It occurs already in the Iliad, in the plural, to identify the “staves which preserved the shape of the shield” and elsewhere in the sense of straight rod or bar; metaphorically it is used for “rule, standard,” and the like (Liddell-Scott s.v.). But the Greek κανν is generally related to Greek κννα or κννη, “pole/reed,” and this in return to Hebrew q¯an¯eh, Akkadian qan¯u and thence perhaps ultimately to Sumerian g1 (gin?) = reed. While I am obviously not suggesting that qan¯u or gi(n) was the Akkadian or Sumerian word for canon, or that the language of Mesopotamia had a word for the corresponding concept, it is worth recalling that at least one biblical scholar has traced the Tannaitic concern for the fixation of the order of the biblical books, along with other elements of canonization, via the Alexandrian model to the cuneiform precedents. Nahum Sarna may then be my warrant for here introducing the Mesopotamian concept of canonicity into the discussion of the biblical one. I leave it to others, largely if not wholly,111 to inject it into the growing debate on the modern canon.112 ABL 519 = LAS 13. S.J. Lieberman, “Why Did Assurbanipal Collect Cuneiform Tablets?” American Oriental Society Meeting, Chicago, March 20, 1988. 110 Cf. also CAD s.v. nishu (3). 111 Hallo, “Assyriology ˘and the Canon,” The American Scholar 59/1 (Winter 1990) 105– 108, here: I.5. 112 See most recently Jan Gorak, The Making of the Modern Canon: Genesis and Crisis of a Literary Idea (London: Athlone, 1991). This is the first volume in a new project entitled Vision, Division and Revision: The Athlone Series on Canons. 108 109

x.4 SUMERIAN LITERATURE

Cuneiform texts in the Sumerian language which were edited in the scribal schools of ancient Mesopotamia and the surrounding Near East, with the exception of lexical lists, mathematical exercises, and other purely scholastic genres. Together, the literary and scholastic genres constitute the “canonical” category of Sumerian texts, and are distinguished from the sometimes equally eloquent monumental category (including law “codes”) on the one hand and from the far more abundant archival category on the other.

A. Scope and Language Sumerian literature is comparable in sheer size to biblical literature. A recent survey estimates the number of lines so far recovered at approximately 40,000; bearing in mind that most Sumerian literature is poetic in form and that the typical Sumerian verse may be somewhat shorter than the typical biblical verse, this already compares favorably with the total of biblical verses in the Masoretic count, recently calculated at 23,097 (Hallo 1988). Much of Sumerian literature still remains to be recovered. Most of Sumerian literature is composed in the main dialect (Sum eme-gir 15) but lamentations recited by certain types of singers and the speeches of women or goddesses in myths and erotic poetry are in a different dialect (Sum eme-sal). This dialect becomes more and more prevalent in the liturgical compositions of the post-Sumerian periods. The modern rediscovery of Sumerian literature has passed through several stages, each reflected in contemporary biblical scholarship. The first stage began in 1873, with the first full editions of substantial numbers of bilingual Sumero-Akkadian texts by François Lenormant (1873– 1879). Such texts, mostly of late (i.e., 1st millennium bc) date, translated each Sumerian line literally into Akkadian. Consisting largely of religious poetry, they had particular influence on Psalms research. The second stage dates from about 65 years later, when S.N. Kramer (1937), Reprinted with permission. D.N. Freedman, The Anchor Bible Dictionary Volume 6, ©1992 Yale University Press, pages 234–235.

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A. Falkenstein (1938), and T. Jacobsen (1939) began to edit unilingual Sumerian literary compositions dating from the early 2nd millennium bc. These included many different genres and influenced the study of corresponding biblical genres, including historiography, narrative, love poetry, and proverbs. A third stage may be said to have begun a century after Lenormant with the publication by R.D. Biggs (1974) of the texts from Tell Abu Salabikh. Together with texts previously known from ˇ Suruppak and other southern sites, and texts subsequently discovered at Ebla in Syria, the Abu Salabikh texts expanded the chronological horizon of Sumerian literature back almost to the beginnings of writing. The significance of these early Sumerian texts for biblical scholarship remains to be seen. Given the chronological extent and generic diversity of the corpus, each genre will here be considered in the approximate order in which it first appeared in the corpus. Within each phase, the genres will be treated by focus, which is typically god, king, or (common) man, though some few genres focus on two or all three. (For a general attempt at the history of the corpus, see Hallo 1976; for a detailed typology and bibliography, see Edzard RLA 7: 35–48; for biblical analogies, see Hallo 1988.) B. Genres First Attested in the Old Sumerian Phase (ca. 2500–2200 bc) ˇ Incantations are already attested at Suruppak (modern Fara) and Ebla (Krebernik 1984) and continue to occur on individual tablets throughout the Old and Neo-Sumerian phases (e.g., Hallo 1985; Jacobsen 1985; Michalowski 1985). By Old Babylonian times, some were being collected and grouped by subject, e.g., those against “evil spirits” (Geller 1985). In post-Sumerian times, they were often provided with interlinear translations into Akkadian and generally served to ward off the evils feared from hostile magic or from unfavorable omens. Biblical literature has no comparable genres, preferring to deal with such ominous symptoms by the Levitical laws of purification. But the incantation bowls of the 6th century ad show that post-biblical Judaism was not immune to the approach in a Mesopotamian environment. Hymns to deities and their temples are also attested from a very early date. Some of the finest are attributed to Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon of Akkad and the first non-anonymous author in history (Hallo and van Dijk 1968; Kramer ANET, 573–583). Another high point is

x.4. sumerian literature

719

represented by the temple hymns of Gudea of Lagaˇs (Jacobsen 1987, part 7). Like other religious poetry, these genres are reflected in the biblical psalter. Sumerian myths and epics are generically also hymns, but confine praise of their divine or royal protagonist to their concluding doxology, while the body of the poem is narrative in character. The great gods (Enlil, Enki) and goddesses (Ninhursag, Inanna) figure prominently in these myths (cf. Kramer 1937; ANET, 37–57), but so do lesser deities, especially those worshipped at the religious capital of Nippur, such as Ninurta (cf. Cooper 1978; van Dijk 1983; Jacobsen 1987, part 4). The epics concentrate on the legendary rulers of Uruk (biblical Erech): Enmerkar, Lugalbanda, and especially Gilgamesh (cf. Kramer ANET, 44–52; Jacobsen 1987, part 5). In bilingual form, or in Akkadian adaptations, some of these epics survived into the late periods; an Akkadian fragment of Gilgamesh was found at 14th c. (?) Megiddo, and virtual quotations from the epic have been identified in Ecclesiastes (Tigay 1982: 165–167). The common man is notably the focus of wisdom literature, so called in imitation of the biblical category though wisdom itself is not prominently mentioned, as it often is in Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes. The earliest attested wisdom genres are instructions and proverbs. The former are attributed respectively to the divine Ninurta (Aro 1968) and ˇ to the king of the last antediluvian city, Suruppak, the Sumerian Noah; both collections include much practical advice, especially about agriculture (Alster 1974; 1975). Proverbs are attested far more abundantly; by the early 2nd millennium, 24 discrete collections can be identified and they survive, sometimes in bilingual form, into the late 1st millennium (Gordon 1959; Alster 1978). Though biblical proverbs are not directly related to the Sumerian collections as they are, demonstrably, to Egyptian ones, they often display a remarkable similarity of both form and substance, as for instance in the catalogue of divine abominations in Prov 6: 16–19. Almost equally old is the minor wisdom genre of the riddle (Biggs 1973), called ibilu in Sumerian and hittu in Akkadian; the ˘ latter term is cognate with Hebrew h. îd¯a.

720

x.4. sumerian literature C. Genres Presumably Originating in the Neo-Sumerian Phase (ca. 2200–1900 bc)

The deification of the Sumerian king during this phase led to a certain commingling of sacred and royal literature and to the emergence of several new genres responding to the new ideology. (Though known from later copies, their composition can be dated here on internal grounds.) The king was regarded at once as of divine and human parentage, the product of a physical union in which the royal partners “represented” deities, most often Dumuzi and Inanna or their Akkadian equivalents Tammuz (cf. Ezek 8:14) and Ishtar. An extensive body of poetry celebrated these “sacred marriage” rites and, together with more strictly secular love poetry addressed to the king or recited antiphonally by him and his bride, anticipated the Song of Songs in its explicit eroticism (Kramer ANET, 496, 637–645; 1969; Jacobsen 1987). Divine hymns now often concluded with a prayer for the reigning king, presumably for recitation in the temple. But the courtly ceremonial engendered a new genre of its own, the royal hymn, in which the chief events and achievements of the royal lifetime were celebrated in nonliturgical form (Kramer ANET, 583–586; Klein 1981). True to their ambiguous status during this period, kings were both authors and recipients of petitionary prayers which took the form of letters. Such letter-prayers were addressed to them, or to “real” deities, by princesses, officials, and ordinary mortals, and thus provide a precedent of sorts for the “individual laments” of the Psalter (Falkenstein 1938; Kramer ANET, 382; Hallo 1968; 1981). New “wisdom” genres also provided vehicles for describing individual concerns, albeit most often of aristocratic circles in Nippur. The setting is authentic for this period, though the details may be fictitious. Thus we have literary records of trials (e.g., Jacobsen 1959), a letter of Ludingira, “the man of God,” to his mother at Nippur (Civil 1964; Cooper 1971), and two elegies by the same (?) Ludingira for his father and wife respectively, one described as an incantation (tu6), the other as a “wailing” (i-lu) (Kramer 1960). But perhaps most startling is the “petition (ír-ˇsa-ne-ˇsa4) to a man’s personal god” in which an unnamed individual laments his fate until finally restored to health and fortune by his personal deity (Kramer 1955; ANET, 589–591). The parallels between this text and the archaic prose frame of Job are striking, and the gap between the two compositions is in some part bridged by Akkadian treatments of the same “righteous

x.4. sumerian literature

721

sufferer” theme, some of which have turned up in the scribal schools of 14th century bc Ugarit (Nougayrol 1968 no. 162). D. Genres First Attested in the Old Babylonian Phase (ca. 1900–1600 bc) The collapse of the Neo-Sumerian empire of Ur (ca. 2000 bc) and the decline of the dynasty of Isin which succeeded it (ca. 1900 bc) inspired new genres to address new problems. In sacred literature, the “congregational lament” mourned the destruction of cities and especially of temples at the hands of hostile forces, often conceived as aided or abetted by a disaffected patron deity. Such laments may have served a ritual purpose: when rebuilding the ruined temple, the necessary demolition of the remaining ruins could have been punished as sacrilege had not the blame been laid squarely on enemy shoulders. The laments over the temples of Ur, Eridu, Nippur, Uruk, and over Sumer as a whole were all quite specific in recalling the historical circumstances of the disasters (ANET, 455–463, 611–619; Jacobsen 1987, part 8). Later laments turned into ritualized litanies which, at ever greater length, appealed to the deity to desist from visiting further calamities on his or her worshippers (Cohen 1974; 1981); they form a bridge of sorts to the comparable genre in the Psalter and to Lamentations, though far inferior to both the biblical and the Old Babylonian compositions (Gwaltney 1983). The latter themselves may have evolved from earlier compositions commemorating the fall of Lagaˇs (Hirsch 1967) and Akkad (cf. Gen 10:10) (ANET, 646–651; Cooper 1983; Jacobsen 1987). While priestly poets coped with the destruction of temples, royal historiographers wrestled with the ceaseless change of dynasties. The entire history of Sumer (and Akkad) was outlined in the Sumerian King List, a document which traced the succession of dynasties (or rather of cities) which had ruled the country from the end of the Flood to the accession of Hammurapi of Babylon (ca. 1792 bc) (Jacobsen 1939). Later recensions prefaced this outline with a version of antediluvian “history” probably borrowed from the Sumerian Flood Story (ANET, 42–44; Civil 1969; Jacobsen 1987: 145–150). The outline history of the Hammurapi dynasty and all later Babylonian dynasties was similarly enshrined in corresponding Akkadian king lists. The Dynastic Chronicle combined both Sumerian and Babylonian traditions in bilingual format (Finkel 1980). A comparable history of Lagaˇs was

722

x.4. sumerian literature

composed, probably at the court of Old Babylonian Larsa, for both these cities were omitted from the “official” king lists emanating, most likely, from Nippur (Sollberger 1967). Sumerian historiography thus has little in common with the Deuteronomic history or the Chronicler’s history of Israel, though it can be said to include other products of the royal chanceries such as royal correspondence, royal hymns, and royal inscriptions (Hallo 1983). The Old Babylonian period witnessed the heyday of the scribal school (Sum é-dub-ba-a), in which Sumerian was taught to Akkadianspeaking pupils. The daily life of the school is vividly portrayed in essays about the school and in diatribes between teachers and students and among the students (Sjöberg 1976; Gadd 1956). Well trained in debate, the scribes devised a genre of literary disputations for royal entertainment or religious festivals. These pitted imaginary antagonists against each other—shepherd and farmer, summer and winter, cattle and grain, pickaxe and plow, silver and copper—with the winner proclaimed at the end by king or deity. A distant parallel may be seen in the biblical fables such as 2 Kgs 14:9 and Judg 9:8–15 or in the story of Cain and Abel (ANET, 41–42; Alster and Vanstiphout 1987). E. The Post-Sumerian Phase (ca. 1600–100 bc) The fall of Babylon (ca. 1600 bc) led to the closing of the scribal schools of Babylonia and relegated Sumerian firmly and finally to the status of a learned and liturgical language. Scribal guilds replaced the schools in Babylonia, and royal libraries like those of Assur and Nineveh took their place in Assyria. Here and in the temples, Sumerian texts continued to be catalogued, copied, recited, translated into Akkadian, and even newly composed. And with the growing prestige of Babylonian learning, they were carried beyond the borders of Mesopotamia to the capital cities surrounding it in a great arc—from Susa in the southeast to Hattuˇsa in the north and Ugarit in the west. But the scope of the Sumerian literary heritage thus passed on gradually contracted. Of the genres devoted to the common man, only proverbs and school essays survived in bilingual editions; the rest largely disappeared while a rich Akkadian wisdom literature came into its own (Lambert 1960, esp. chap. 9). The genres devoted to the king were fundamentally altered by the new ideology, which rejected his deification; few of the epics and fewer still of the royal hymns and love songs escaped displace-

x.4. sumerian literature

723

ment or recasting in Akkadian guise. Only in the religious sphere did Sumerian continue to figure prominently. Here, a rich bilingual (and, on the periphery, even occasionally trilingual) literature continued to sing the praises of the gods or appeal for their mercy (e.g., Cooper 1971, 1972). More and more, this sacred literature employed the emesal dialect (Krecher 1967; Kutscher 1975). In bilingual and dialectal form, Sumerian literature survived and even revived as late as the Seleucid and Parthian periods in Babylonia (Black 1987; Cohen 1988). With a history of two-and-a- half millennia, with a geographic spread embracing most of the Asiatic Near East, and with a direct impact on Akkadian, Hurrian, and Hittite literature, Sumerian literature may well have exercised indirect influence on biblical literature. But where and when that influence made itself felt must be investigated separately for each genre. Bibliography ˇ Alsler, B. 1974. The Instructions of Suruppak. Mesopotamica 2. Copenhagen. ———. 1975. Studies in Sumerian Proverbs. Mesopotamica 3. Copenhagen. ———. 1978. Sumerian Proverb Collection Seven. RA 72: 97–112. Alster, B., and Vanstiphout, H. 1987. “Lahar and Ashnan: Presentation and Analysis of a Sumerian Disputation.” AcSum 9: 1–43. Aro, J. 1968. “Georgica Sumerica.” Pp. 202–212 in Agricultura Mesopotamia, ed. A. Salonen. AASE Helsinki. Biggs, R.D. 1973. “Pre-Sargonic Riddles from Lagash.” JNES 32: 26–33. ———. 1974. Inscriptions from Tell Abu Salabikh. OIP 99. Chicago. Black, J.A. 1987. “Sumerian balag Compositions.” BiOr 44; 32–79. Civil, M. 1964. The “Message of Lú-dingir-ra to His Mother.” JNES 23: 1–11. ———. 1969. “The Sumerian Flood Story.” Pp. 138–145, 167–172 in Atrahas¯ıs: ˘ The Babylonian Story of the Flood, by W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard. Oxford. Cohen, M.E. 1974. balag-Compositions: Sumerian Lamentation Liturgies of the Second and First Millennium bc. SANE 1: 25–57. ———. 1981. Sumerian Hymnology: The Erˇsemma. HUCASup 2. Cincinnati. ———. 1988. The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia. 2 vols. Potomac, MD. Cooper, J.S. 1971. “New Cuneiform Parallels to the Song of Songs.” JBL 90: 157–162. ———. 1972. “Bilinguals From Boghazk¯oi.” ZA 61: 1–22; 62: 62–81. ———. 1978. The Return of Ninurta to Nippur. AnOr 52. Rome. ———. 1983. The Curse of Agade. JHNES 13. Baltimore. Dijk, J.J.A. van. 1983. Lugal ud me-lám-bi nir-gál: Le récit épique et didactique des travaux de Ninurta, du déluge, et de la nouvelle création. 2 vols. Leiden. Falkenstein, A. von. 1938. “Ein sumerischer “Gottesbrief.” ” ZA 44:1–25. Finkel, I. 1980. “Bilingual Chronicle Fragments.” JCS 32: 65–80.

724

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Gadd, C.J. 1956. Teachers and Students in the Oldest Schools. London. Geller, M.J. 1985. Forerunners to udug-hul: Sumerian Exorcistic Incantations. FAS 12. ˘ Freiburg. Gordon, E.I. 1959. Sumerian Proverbs. Museum Monographs 19. Philadelphia. Gwaltney, W.C., Jr. 1983. “The Biblical Book of Lamentations in the Context of Near Eastern Lament Literature.” Pp. 191–211 in Hallo, Moyer, and Perdue 1983. Hallo, W.W. 1968. “Individual Prayer in Sumerian: The Continuity of a Tradition.” JAOS 88: 71–89. [= AOS 53], here: IV.1. ———. 1976. “Toward a History of Sumerian Literature.” Pp. 181–203 in Lieberman 1976, here: I.4. ———. 1981. “Letters, Prayers, and Letter-Prayers.” PWCJS 7/1:101–111, here: IV.2. ———. 1983. “Sumerian Historiography.” Pp. 9–20 in History. Historiography, and Interpretation, ed. H. Tadmor and M. Weinfeld. Jerusalem, here: VI.2. ———. 1985. “Back to the Big House: Colloquial Sumerian, Continued.” Orientalia 54: 56–64, here: IX.1. ———. 1988. “Sumerian Literature: Background to the Bible.” BRev 4/3: 28– 38, here: X.1. Hallo, W.W., and Dijk, J.J.A. van. 1968. The Exaltation of Inanna. YNER 3. New Haven. Hallo, W.W.; Moyer, J. C; and Perdue, L.G., eds. 1983. Scripture in Context II: More Essays on the Comparative Method. Winona Lake, IN. Hirsch, H. 1967. “Die “Sünde” Lugalzagesis.” Pp. 99–106 in Festschrift für Wilhelm Eilers. Wiesbaden. Jacobsen, T. 1939. The Sumerian King List. AS 11. Chicago. ———. 1959. “An Ancient Mesopotamian Trial for Homicide.” AnBib 12: 130– 150. ———. 1985. “Ur-Nanshe’s Diorite Plaque.” Or 54: 56–64. ———. 1987. The Harps that Once. . . Sumerian Poetry in Translation. New Haven. ˇ Klein, J. 1981. Three Sulgi Hymns. Bar-llan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture 5. Ramat-Gan. Kramer, S.N. 1937. “Inanna’s Descent to the Nether World: The Sumerian Version of ‘Iˇstar’s Descent.’ ” RA 34: 93–134. ———. 1955. “ ‘Man and His God’: A Sumerian Variation on the ‘Job’ Motif.” VTSup 3: 171–182. ———. 1960. Two Elegies on a Pushkin Museum Tablet. Moscow. ———. 1969. The Sacred Marriage Rite. Bloomington, IN. Krebernik, M. 1984. Die Beschwörung aus Fara und Ebla. Texte und Studien zur Orientalistik 2. Hildesheim. Krecher, J. 1967. “Zum Emesal-Dialekt des Sumerischen.” HSAO 87–110. Kutscher, R. 1975. Oh Angry Sea (a-ab-ba hu-lu h-ha): The History of a Sumerian ˘ ˘˘ Congregational Lament. YNER 6. New Haven. Lenormant, F. 1873–1879. Etudes accadiennes. Lettres assyriologiques, 2d ser. Paris. Lieberman, S.J., ed. 1976. Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen. AS 20. Chicago.

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Michalowski, P. 1985. “On Some Early Sumerian Magical Texts.” Orientalia 54: 216–225. Nougayrol, J. 1968. “Textes suméro-accadiens des archives privées d’Ugarit.” Ugaritica 5: 1–446. Sjöberg, Å.W. 1976. “The Old Babylonian Eduba.” Pp. 159–179 in Lieberman 1976. Sollberger, E. 1967. “The Rulers of Lagaˇs.” JCS 21: 279–291. Tigay, J.H. 1982. The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic. Philadelphia.

indexes (compiled by R. Middeke-Conlin)

NB: Spellings, transliterations, and references to ancient work are not always fully consistent in this volume, and the index, while occasionally providing cross-references, does not try to systematically alleviate this situation.

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN, EGYPTIAN, AND CLASSICAL TEXTS

a-ab-ba hu-luh-ha: 35, 82, 156 a-dA-rux-rux, (EBUR) e-dA-rux-rux: 250 Abi-eshuh Hymn(s): 179 Adab of An: 206, 211 Adab of An for Ur-Ninurta: 71, 211 Adab of Ba"u: 209 Adab of Enlil: 206 Adab of Inanna: 206 Adab(s) of Nanna: 70 Adab(s) of Nergal: 70, 206 Adab(s) of Ninurta: 70, 206 Adab-Hymns: 146 Adapa: 11, 149 adapu-songs: 143 See also adab hymns adapu-hymn to Ba"u: 145 Admonitions of Ipuwer: 419–420 Aeneid: 122, 663 Archilochus: 613 ardat lilî: 613 Autobiography of Adda-guppi: 532 Aeneid: 122, 663 Agum-kakrime Inscription: 246, 597 Ahiqar: 614, 615, 630, 689 Alexandrian canon: 88, 701 ama-hé-gál-la-dù-a: 145 Amar-Sin 3: 179, 247, 320, 323 7: 390, 641 (Amar-Suen 7) AN=Anum: 164, 233, 364 ana ittiˇsu: 8, 26, 74, 82, 165, 253 Andrews University catalogue: 163, 172 Angim: 60, 61, 63, 99 Antiphonal song for Inanna: 71; see also Balbale of Inanna Anubanini rock relief: 480

Anzu Epic: 123, 233 Apkallu texts: 67, 409 Appeal to Utu: 308; see also Letter from Sin-iddinam to Utu Appeal of Kussulu to the moon-god: 324–325 asakki mars. ¯uti: 365 Assyrian Elegy: 306 Assyrian King list: 48, 365, 432, 440 Atrahasis: 15, 25, 68, 82, 123, 147, 527, 617 (var. Flood Narrative) Babylonian Chronicle: 440 Babylonian Epic of Creation: see En¯uma Eliˇs Babylonian Theodicy: 4, 311, 314 Balag of Inanna: 152 Balag of dMah: 251 Balag of Ninurta: see Ninurta Balag Balbale of Ba"u: 208 Balbale of Enki: 206, 208 Balbale of Inanna: 206, 208 Balbale of Suen: 153 Barrel cylinder of Merodach-Baladan: 609 BE 31 9: 169, 170 Berossos: 149, 150, 409, 544, 554, 703 Birth legend of Sargon: 681 Blessing of Nisaba by Enki: 19, 25, 26, 28–38, 99, 394–396, 513, 542 (see also Hymn to the goddess Nisaba, nin-mul-an-gim, Nisaba A) Bride of Simanum: 389, 459 Bur-Sin * 31c: 206 * 31d: 206, 221–222 burˇsuma-gal: see Great alderwoman

730

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts

Catalogues (of Sumerian religious and literary texts): 137–153 Child of Heaven: see dumu-an-na Chronicle 18: 550 Chronicle of Early Kings: 555 Code of Hammurapi: see Laws of Hammurapi Code of Lipit-Ishtar: See Laws of Lipit-Ishtar Codex Hammurabi: see Laws of Hammurapi Coronation of Ur-Nammu: 152, 187–202, 209, 458, 481, 484, 485, 670 Counsels of Wisdom: 10, 596, 605 Cruciform monument of Maniˇstuˇsu: 398, 399 Cuneiform Catalogues of Sumerian Literary Texts: 140 Curse of Agade: 65, 66, 77, 78, 95, 138, 300, 455 (var. Curse of Akkad) Curse of Akkad: see Curse of Agade Damiq-iliˇsu 2: 194 * 34: 204, 207 Death of Dumuzi: 304 Death of Gilgamesh: 127, 304 Death of Ur-Nammu: see UrNammu’s death and burial Descent of Inanna: 68, 82, 233, 304, 351, 366 Descent of Iˇstar: 68, 82 Disc-inscription of Enheduanna: 393 Disputation between Cattle and Grain: 171, 523, 616, 722 (var. Lahar and Ashnan) Disputation between Dumuzi and Enkimdu: 219, 667 Disputation between Pickaxe and Plow: 485, 527, 611, 638, 722 Disputation between Summer and Winter: 120, 152, 219, 365, 593, 722 (var. Emeˇs and Enten) Double steles of Amar-Suen: 476 Donation of Constantine: 399

dumu-an-na: 145 (var. Child of Heaven) Dumuzi and the GALLA-demons: 304 Dumuzi laments: 303, 304, 313, 663 (var. Lament(s) for Dumuzi) Dumuzi liturgies: 180 Dumuzi texts: 68, 82 Dumuzi’s Dream: 304, 513, 599, 638 Dynastic Chronicle: 550, 554, 721 Ea=A=nâqu: 164 EAH 197: 164–165 EAH 198 + 200: 164–165 Ebla stele: 472 egi2-mah-dA-ru-ru: 250 Elevation of Iˇstar: 640 Emeˇs and Enten: see Disputation between Summer and Winter Empire of Sargon of Akkad: 441 en-an-ki-a: 144 (var. Lord in heaven and earth) den-líl-sù-du-ˇ sè: see den-líl-sù-rá-ˇsè den-líl-sù-rá-ˇ sè: 163, 172, 192, 394, 615 (var. den-líl-sù-du-ˇsè, Enlil in the Ekur, Great Enlil hymn), see also Hymn to Enlil en-me-du10-ga: 150 en-me-lám-sù-sù: 145 (var. Oh lord, adorned with radiance) Enheduanna A: 219 Enki and Inanna: 68, 82, 485, 491 (var. Inanna and Enki) Enki and Ninhursag: 34, 68, 82, 552 Enki and Ninmah: 69, 82 Enki and the World Order: 27 Enki’s Journey to Nippur: 394, 640 Enlil-bani hymn: 27, 33–34, 185 (var. Hymn(s) to Enlil-bani) * 32: 207 * 33: 207 A: 394, 396 Enlil and Ishkur: 68, 82 Enlil and Ninhursag: 68, 82 Enlil and Ninlil: 68, 82, 552, 593 Enlil and Sud: 69, 82

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts Enlil in the Ekur: 615, see also denlíl-sù-rá-ˇsè Enmerkar and Ensuhkeˇsdanna: 510 Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta: 526, 620, 621, 648 Enmerkar cycle: 36, 67, 82 (var. Enmerkar epic) Enmerkar epic: see Enmerkar cycle En¯uma Anu Enlil: 8, 14, 703, 705, 706 En¯uma Eliˇs: 11, 25, 123, 544, 556, 559 (var. Epic of Creation, Exaltation of Marduk) Erˇsemma for Inanna and Dumuzi: 532 Erˇsemma for Utu: 152 Epic cycle of Uruk: 526 Epic of Creation: see Enuma eliˇs Epic of Erra and Ishum: see Erra Epic Epic of Gilgameˇs: see Gilgameˇs epic Epic of Keret: 226 Epics of Lugalbanda: 78 Eridu Genesis: see Sumerian Flood Story Eridu Story of Creation: see Founding of Eridu Erra Epic: 5, 25, 64, 123, 147, 148, 184, 248, 303, 417, 609, 617 (var. Irra Epic, Myth of Erra) Esarhaddon, Sinjirli stela: 480 Etana: 6, 123, 147, 225, 621 Evil Spirits: 530, 596, 613, 718 (var. udug-hul), see also utukk¯u lemn¯uti Exploits of Ninurta: see Lugal-e Exaltation of Inanna: 63, 64, 82, 114, 115, 127, 169, 497, 638 Exaltation of Iˇstar: 82, 219, see also nin-mah uˇsu-ni gìr-ra Exaltation of Kingu: 544 Exaltation of Marduk: see Enuma eliˇs Execration texts: 564 Fall of Lagash: 40, 299, 330, 456 Flood Narrative: see Atrahasis Founding of Eridu: 549, 554, 556 Frontier of Shara 26

731

Genealogy of the Hammurapi Dynasty: 48, 320 General Insurrection: 441 Georgia: 667 Gilgamesh: see Gilgamesh Epic Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld: 124, 529 Gilgamesh and Agga (var. Akka): 127, 395, 439, 620 Gilgamesh and Huwawa: see Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living Gilgamesh and the Cedar Forest: see Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living Gilgamesh and the Huluppu-Tree: 529 Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living: 10, 67, 124, 169, 227, 513, 618, 621, 704, 705 (var. Gilgamesh and Huwawa, Gilgamesh and the Cedar Forest) Gilgamesh Cycle: see Gilgamesh Epic Gilgamesh Epic: 5, 7, 10, 21, 52, 67, 78, 121, 122, 124–126, 148, 227, 246, 306, 513, 527, 529, 531, 533, 541, 545, 611, 617, 621, 622, 627, 669, 670, 682, 703, 704, 705, 719 (var. Epic of Gilgameˇs. Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh Cycle, Gilgamesh Epic, Gilgamesh episodes) Gilgamesh episodes: see Gilgamesh Epic giˇs-mar=narkabtum: 167 Great alderwoman: 25, 27, 38, 169 (var. burˇsuma-gal) Great Enlil hymn: see dEn-líl-sù-ráˇsè Gudea Cylinder A: 36–40, 101, 138, 230, 257, 267, 365, 513, 637 Gudea Cylinders: 62, 138, 181, 350, 424, 481 (var. Cylinder Inscriptions of Gudea, Cylinders of Gudea)

732

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts

Gudea Statue B: 329 T: 40 Gudea stele: 482, 484 (var. Stele of Gudea) Gungunum 2: 194 Gutian Letter: 290, 437 Hammurapi hymn: 26 Harab Myth: see Theogony of Dunnum HAR-ra: see HAR-ra=hubullu HAR-ra=hubullu: 8, 26, 146, 148, 164–169, 579 (var. HAR-ra, ur5ra=hubullu) Hendursa(n)ga hymn: 366, 614 Herbert Clark Cylinder: 141 History of the Tummal: 66 Hymn for An in honor of UrNinurta: 71 ˇ ˇ Hymn for Sulgi: See Sulgi hymn(s) Hymn in honor of the é-hur-sag: 386 Hymn(s) of praise to Inanna: 63, 65 ˇ Hymn of Su-Sin to Ninurta: 144 Hymn to Amar-Sin: 179 Hymn to Anam: 182 Hymn to Ba"u: 181, 182 Hymn to Enki and Ur-Ninurta: 149 Hymn to Enlil: 142, 163, 172, 192, 221–222 see also dEn-líl-sù-rá-ˇsè Hymn to Enlil-amah: 184 Hymn(s) to Enlil-bani: see Enlil-bani hymn Hymn(s) to Inanna: 64, 115, 127, 138, 176, 215–218 (var. Hymns to Innin) Hymn to Ishtar as Agushaya: 123 Hymn to Meslamtaea and Lugalgirra: 424 Hymn to Nin-imma: 157 Hymn to Nanna: 145 Hymn to Nanshe: 62 Hymn to Nergal: 70, 153, 296 Hymn to Nintu: 25 Hymn(s) to Ninurta: 61, 63 Hymn to Nur-Adad: 176, 180, 374

Hymn to Rim-Sin: 376 Hymn to the goddess Nisaba: 19, 26, see also Blessing of Nisaba by Enki Hymn to the e2-keˇs3 of Aruru: 251 Hymn to the temple of Enlil in Nippur: 539 Hymn to the temple of Nisaba in Ereˇs: 27, 33, 34, 36 Hymn to Warad-Sin: 180 Hymns to Innin: see Hymn(s) to Inanna Hymns to Ningirsu: 540 Hymns to Nintu as Aruru: 250–251 Hymn to Nippur: 483 Hymn to Numuˇsda: 362 Ibbi-Sin 4: 194 9: 179, 247, 363 10: 179, 247 C: 248 Ibbi-Sin correspondence: 270 Ibbi-Sin hymn: 372 Iddin-Dagan 2: 247, 363, 487 * 6: 206, 511, 513, 638 * 7: 206, 510 * 8: 206 B: 394, 396 Iliad: 580, 663, 716 Inbu b¯el arhim: 599 In-nin ˇsà-gurx-ra: 63, 64, 127, 161, 395, 511, 513 (var. Stout-hearted lady) Inanna and Bilulu: 304, 532 Inanna and Ebih: 63, 82, 127, 161, 395, 511, 513, 638 Inanna and Enki: see Enki and Inanna Incantation hymn to Ninurta: 587, 642 Instructions: 77, 120, 302, 328, 420, 626–628, 630, 664, 667, 719 Instruction of Amenemope (Amenemhet): 629 Instructions of Merikare: 419 Instructions of Onchsheshongy (Ankhsheshong): 628

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts Instructions of Shube-awilim: 110 Instructions of Shuruppak: 51, 385, 393, 585, 586, 619, 626, 667 Irra Epic: see Erra epic Isin hymns: 185, 210 Iˇsbi-Erra 2: 247 * 1: 206 * 2: 206 * 3: 206 * 3a: 206, 212–215, see also Tigi of Nanâ Iˇskun-Dagan letters: 290, 437 Iˇsme-Dagan 6: 424 9: 190 10: 247 12: 247 * 9: 206 * 10: 206 * 11: 26, 206 * 12: 206 * 13: 206 * 14: 206 * 15: 206, 638 * 16: 206 * 17: 2089 * 18: 37, 206, 208, 209, 215–218 * 19: 206 * 20: 206 * 21: 206, 208, 209 * 22: 206 * 22a: 206 A: 491 Iˇsme-Dagan hymn: 185, 471, 489, 611 Izi: 713 ka-ba-a: 25 ka-du8-ha: 25 ka gál(a)-tag4: 25 Kesh hymn: see Kesh Temple Hymn Kesh Temple Hymn: 63, 77, 82, 172, 251, 385, 393, 394 (var. Kesh hymn) ˇ tamh¯ari King of Battle: see Sar King List: see Sumerian King List

733

Lady of Wide Understanding: 27, 33, 34, 38 (var. Nin-geˇstù-sù, Nisaba Hymn C) Lahar and Ashnan: see Disputation between Cattle and Grain Lament(s) for Dumuzi: see Dumuzi Laments Lament for Eridu: 301, 460 Lament for Uruk: 301 Lament of Gilgamesh for Enkidu: 306 Lament over the Destruction of Babylon: 303 Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur: 23, 24, 138, 301, 305, 365, 395, 460, 461 Larsa King List: 462 Laws of Eshnunna: 313 Laws of Ur-Nammu: 179, 194, 393, 472, 481, 610 Laws of Hammurapi: 4, 13, 26, 49, 65, 609, 480, 609, 631 (var. Code of Hammurapi, Codex Hammurapi) Laws of Lipit-Ishtar: 26, 38, 71, 82, 393 (var. Code of Lipit-Istar) Letter Collection A: 284, see also royal correspondence of Ur B: 284, see also royal correspondence of Isin Letters and Letter-Prayers: of a crippled woman to Nintinugga: 577 ˇ from Aba-indasa to Sulgi: 284, 292 from Etel-pi-Damu to Martu: 285 from Gudea to “my god”: 285 from Gudea-Enlila to An-mansi: 285, 366, 367 of Gudea-Enlila to Dingir-mansum: 366, 367 from Inannakam to Nintinugga: 284, 292, 422 from Inim-Enlila to (his) king: 285 from Inim-Inanna to Enlil-massu: 284 from Iˇsbi-Erra to Ibbi-Sin: 397

734

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts

from Etel-pi-Damu to Martu: 285 from Etel-pi(?)-Enlila to Nudimmud-siga: 285 from Ludingira to his mother: 75, 82, 306, 720 (var. Message of Lu-dingira to His Mother) from Lugal-murub to Enlilmassu: 284, 292, 422 from Lugal-murub to his king: 284 from Nanna-mansi to Nin-isina: 285, 362, 367 from Nanna-mansi: 285 from Nin-ˇsatapada to Rim-Sin: 363, 367, 376–383, 424–427, 428, 432 from Nur-Adad: 425 ˇ from Puzur-Marduk to Sulgi: see ˇ ˇ letter of Puzur-Sulgi to Sulgi from Puzur-Numuˇsda to Ibbiˇ Sin: see letter of Puzur-Sulgi to Ibbi-Sin ˇ ˇ from Puzur-Sulgi to Sulgi: 170, 397 ˇ from Puzur-Sulgi to Ibbi-Sin: 398 from Sag-lugal-bi-zu to NurKabta: 285 from Sin-iddinam: 287, 336–339 from Sin-iddinam to Nin-isina: 285, 325–326, 341–351, 363, 366 from Sin-iddinam to Nur-Adad: 23 from Sin-iddinam to Utu: 287, 326, 336, 338, 349, 353–367, 423, see also Appeal to Utu from Sin-ˇsamuh to Enki: 285, 311–313, 328, 330, 350, 351, 364–366 ˇ from Sulgi to Irmu: 269 from the daughter (?) of Sinkaˇsid, king of Uruk, to Meslamtaea-Nergal: 285 from Ugudulbi (“the monkey”) to Ludiludi: 284, see also monkey letter

from Ur-Enlila to the ensi and sanga: 284 from Ur-ˇsagga to “my. . . king” ˇ (Sulgi): 284, 292, 422 from Utudug to Ilakn"id: 284 from Nanna: 285 to Utu: 206, 307, 336, 363, see also Appeal to Utu to Amurru: 323–324, 329, 330 to Enki: 311–313 to Rim-Sin: 62–63, 265, 307, 326, 337 to Zimri-Lim: 325 to and from Iddin-Dagan and Lipit-Ishtar: 292, 422 to Lugal-Murub: 308 Letter-orders of Isin: 270 Letter-orders of Ur: 270 Lexical text(s): 7, 13, 58, 77, 82, 159, 162, 168, 169, 290, 392, 394, 396, 511, 558, 578, 610, 616, 617, 627, 639, 713 Lipit-Ishtar Hymn: 13, 608 * 23: 169, 171, 206, 512, 513, see also Lipit-Ishtar A, SelfPredication of Lipit-Iˇstar * 24: 35, 169, 171, 206, 210, 349, see also Lipit-Ishtar B * 25: 206 * 26: 206 * 26a: 206 * 26b: 206 * 26c: 206 A: 169, 171, 394, see also LipitIshtar * 23 B: 169, 171, 394–396, see also Lipit-Ishtar * 24 Litany for Enki: 542 Lord in heaven and earth: see enan-ki-a Louvre catalogue: 26, 144, 145, 163, 172 Lú = sˇa: 15, 713 Ludlul b¯el n¯emeqi: 311, 608 (var. Poem of the Righteous Sufferer, Righteous sufferer) Lugal-e: 50, 59, 60, 63, 82, 169, 170,

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts 244, 411, 483, 592 (var. Exploits of Ninurta, Lugal-(e) u4 me-lám-bi nir-gál) Lugal-(e) u4 me-lám-bi nir-gál: see Lugal-e Lugal me-lám-huˇs: 144 (var. Oh king, fiery radiance) Lugalbanda and Enmerkar: 364 Lugalbanda and Anzu: 618 Lugalbanda I: 115, 333, 393, 424, 495–516, 527, 537, 619 (var. Lugalbanda in the cave of the mountain, Lugalbanda in Hurrumkurra) Lugalbanda II: see Lugalbanda Epic Lugalbanda Epic: 50, 66, 67, 78, 82, 115, 458, 496, 498, 619 (var. Lugalbanda II) Lugalbanda in the cave of the mountain: see Lugalbanda I Lugalbanda in Hurrumkurra: see Lugalbanda I Man and His God: 310, 364, 614, 616 Manetho: 603 Maqlû: 658 Marduk Prophecy: 557, 560 Mari prophecies: 686 Marriage of Martu: 22, 68, 82, 322, 365 Message of Lu-dingira to His Mother: see letter of Ludingira to his mother Middle Assyrian catalogue: 140, 144 MLC 1614: 649 Monkey Letter: 151, 263; see also letter from Ugudulbi (“the monkey”) to Ludiludi My lady, who in your bright visage ever endures: see nin-mu múˇs-zagìn-za na-dar-a Myth of Erra: see Erra epic Myth of the Pickaxe: 101, 553 Myths of Enki: 543 Myths of Ninurta: 77, 78, 540

735

Nabnitu: 616 Nabonidus inscriptions: 609 Nag Hammadi papyri: 399 Nanna-Suen 1: 145, 146, 153, 209 7: 208 Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur: 486 Nanˇse-Hymn: 101 Naram-Sin Legend: 441 Naram-Sin inscriptions: 441 Nergal and Ereshkigal: 9, 68, 82, 123 Nigga: 162 níg-nam nu-kal: 622 nin-geˇstù-sù: see Lady of Wide Understanding nin-mah uˇsu-ni gìr-ra: 64, 82 nin-me-ˇsár-ra: 219, 324, 497 nin-mul-an-gim: see Blessing of Nisaba by Enki nin-mu múˇs-za-gìn-za na-dar-a: 144 (var. My lady, who in your bright visage ever endures) Ningal-hymn: 586 Nungal hymn: 362, 363, 385, 395, 583, 585 Nungal in the Ekur: 583, see also Nungal hymn. Ninurta and the Turtle: 82 Ninurta Balag: 61 Ninurta Hymns: 63, 64, 144 Ninurta’s Journey to Eridu: 61 Nippur King List: 416, 417 Nisaba A: see Blessing of Nisaba by Enki Nisaba and the Wheat: 27 Nisaba Hymn C: see Lady of Wide Understanding Nur-Adad 3: 638 Odyssey: 663 Oh hero, laden with awe: see ur-sag ní-gal-gùru Oh king, fiery radiance: see Lugal me-lám-huˇs Oh lord, adorned with radiance: see en-me-lám-sù-sù

736

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts

Oh mother, created for beauty: see ama-hé-gál-la-dù-a Philadelphia catalogue: 163, 172 Poem of the Righteous Sufferer: see Ludlul b¯el n¯emeqi Poor Man of Nippur: 11, 51 Prayer to Rim-Sin: 23 Proto-Diri: 168 Proto-Ea=nâqu: 164, 168, 169, 239 Proto-Izi: 162, 165, 168 Proto-Kagal: 713 Proto-Lú: 168, 322 Proverbs: 551–605 K166: 596, 605 KAR 177 rev. I 32 f.: 598, 605 KAR 178 rev. iv 32–65: 598 OECT 5:35 rev. 15 f.: 594, 604 Proverb collection 1:23: 595, 605 3:9: 594, 605 3:118: 595, 605 3:161: 595, 695 3:168–169: 596, 605 3:170: 593, 604 3:171: 595, 605 3:175: 595, 605 Proverb about Ningal: 642 YBC 7351: 590–591, 604 Pushkin Elegies: 75, 82 Return of the Heraclidae: 47 Righteous sufferer: see ludlul b¯el n¯emeqi Rim-Sin inscriptions: 348, 424 Rim-Sin 6: 146 7: 146, 375, 426 10: 425, 426 12: 194, 425 15: 426 Royal correspondence of Isin: 284, 292, 337, 389, 422, 428, 459 Royal correspondence of Larsa: 285, 288, 307, 328, 337, 370, 376, 423, 427, 428 Royal correspondence of Ur: 75, 179, 284, 289, 291, 337, 385, 387–

392, 397, 398, 422, 428, 458, 459, 484 Royal hymns of Isin: 207, 208, 210 Royal letters of Isin: 270 Royal letters of Ur: 270 Rulers of Lagash: 230 Sacred Marriage text: 179 Sarcophagus inscription of Tabnith of Sidon: 600 Sargon Epic: see Sargon Legend Sargon Legend: 87, 229, 621 Sargon’s cylinder inscription: 609 Sargon’s eighth campaign: 273 Sargonic hymn to the temple of Enlil: 539 Sargonic inscriptions: 398, 441, 443 Scholion to Aristophanes: 613 Second plague prayer of Murˇsili: 274 Self-Predication of Lipit-Iˇstar: 218– 220 Series of Enlil-ibni: 148–149 Shipwrecked Sailor: 628 Silbenalphabet: 15 A: 239, 578 B: 164, 239, 578 Silbenvokabular A: 58 Sin-iddinam 2: 337 5: 362 Sin-iddinam hymn: 23 Sin-kaˇsid inscriptions: 373 Sin-kaˇsid 5:375 6: 424 8: 194, 247 Sister’s Message: 156–157 Slave and the Scoundrel: 399 ˇ Song of a priestess to Su-Sin: 208 Song of the Hoe: 483 Statue inscriptions of Gudea: 41, 62 (var. Statues of Gudea) Statue of Nur-Adad: 336, 349, 473 Stout-hearted lady: see In-nin ˇsàgurx-ra Stela of the Flying Angels: 472

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts Stela of Mesha: 446 Stele of Eannatum: 228 Stele of Gudea: see Gudea stele Stele of Ur-Nammu: see Ur-Nammu stele Stele of Vultures: 228, 231, 472, 476, 489 Sumerian Flood Story: 156, 417, 527, 541, 550, 554, 556, 558, 667, 669, 721, 723 Sumerian King List: 62, 68, 103, 104, 147, 175, 195, 226, 227, 386, 409–417, 438–440, 442, 461, 540, 541, 549, 552, 554, 568, 721 (var. King List) Sumuqan Hymn: 38 Sun tablet: 399 Syllabary A: 15, 164 Syllabary B: 164 Synchronistic History: 685 ˇ Samaˇ s-ibni mortuary inscription: 531–532 ˇ tamh¯ari: 440 (var. King of Battle) Sar ˇsìr-gíd-da of Martu: 144 ˇsìr-nam-gala of Ninisina: 206, 208, 243 ˇsir-nam-su-ub dNisaba: 27 ˇsìr-nam-ur-sag-gá of Ninsiana: 206, 208 ˇ Su-iliˇ su * 4: 206, 212 * 5: 206 ˇ Su-Sin 1: 190 4: 190 5: 190 9: 233 20: 179, 247 ˇ Su-Sin correspondence: 291 ˇ Su-Sin inscriptions: 75, 390, 459 ˇ Sulgi 3: 489 4: 179, 247 8: 193, 488 37: 194 41: 330 48: 139 54: 179, 247, 487 66: 330 71: 488

737

A: 27, 144, 178, 187, 194, 203, 394, 471, 485, 585 B: 138, 240, 372, 593 C: 145 D: 178 F: 153 G: 101, 234 I: 178 R: 98 S: 18 X: 610 ˇ Sulgi Hymn(s): 178, 204, 235, 481, ˇ 610 (var. Hymn for Sulgi) ˇSulgi letter A: 36 ˇ Sulgi prophecy: 365 ˇ Sulgi the Runner: 471, 473, see also ˇ Sulgi A ˇ Summa ¯alu: 14, 687 ˇ Surpu: 544 TCL 15 10: 164 Tell Dan stela: 446 Temple hymn(s): 24, 40, 63, 64, 74, 77, 103, 111, 127, 138, 145, 241, 386, 553, 636 Temple Hymn No. 9: 64 No. 13: 363 No. 15: 348 No. 20: 62 No. 22: 540 Temple Hymns of Gudea: 719 Theogony of Dunnum: 556–558 (var. Harab Myth) Three Ox-Drivers from Adab: 616 Tigi for Iˇsme-Dagan: 249, 611 Tigi of Enki: 206 Tigi-hymn to Ba"u: 62 Tigi of Nanâ: 206, 212–215 see also Iˇsbi-Erra * 3a Tigi-song for Nintu: 72, 249 Tigi-song(s) for Ninurta: 55, 72, 209, 249 Treaty between Marduk-zakir-ˇsumi ˇ si-Adad of I of Babylon and Samˇ Assyria: 609 Tukulti-Ninurta epic: 238, 294

738

ancient near eastern, egyptian, and classical texts

u4-an-den-líl: 149 u4-SAR-an-den-líl-lá: 6, 149 udug-hul: see Evil Spirits ul4-ul4-la mu-un-gin: 250 Ur catalogue(s): 27, 144, 150, 204, 284 Ur-Dakuga 1: 194 Ur-Namma D: 481 Ur-Namma the Canal-Digger: 481 Ur-Nammu 3: 191 6: 191 7: 179, 247 9: 193 15: 194 19: 487 22: 193, 487 23: 193, 487 24: 193, 487 26: 487 27: 179, 193, 247, 487 28: 191, 193, 196, 487, 488 35: 489 37: 179 39: 487 40: 487, 488 C: 641 Ur-Nammu’s death and burial: 84, 184, 211, 304, 485 (var. Death of Ur-Nammu) Ur-Nammu hymn(s): 185, 187, 189– 192, 481, 484 Ur-Nammu law code: see laws of Ur-Nammu Ur-Nammu royal inscriptions: 193 Ur-Nammu stele: 96, 471–491 (var. Stele of Ur-Nammu) Ur Ninurta 2: 247 * 27: 206 * 28: 206, 212 * 29: 206 * 30: 206 * 31: 206 * 31a: 206 * 31b: 204, 206 Ur-Ninurta hymn: 185 ur5-ra=hubullu: see HAR-ra=hubullu

ur-sag ní-gal-gùru: 144 (var. Oh hero, laden with awe) Uruk Lament: 527 Urukagina 4: 592 15: 68 Uru-KA-gina reform texts: 610 Utu-hegal inscription: 82, 195 utukk¯u lemn¯uti: 531, 596, 613, see also Evil Spirits Uzumua myth: 553 (var. Myth of the Pickaxe) Vassal Treaties of Esarhaddon: 609 Verse account of Nabonidus: 6, 149, 544 Vocabulary of Ebla: 590 Votive inscription of Sin-iddinam: 270 Warad-Sin 6: 144 9:240 19: 640 Warad-Sin inscriptions: 144, 425, 534 Weidner Chronicle: 65, 66, 82, 555, 560 Weidner God List: 164 Wisdom of Amen-em-opet: 600 YBC 3654: 140, 142 ff. 4605: 341–347 4609: 215–218 4617: 198–202 4620: 274–281 4623: 499–509 4705: 341–347 5641: 326–327 7205: 274–281 8041: 647–648 8630: 274–237 9863: 651–658 10885: 500 13523: 28 ff. 16317: 161–165, 168–172 Zakir stele: 334, 685 Zi-pà incantations

BIBLICAL AND RABBINICAL TEXTS Books of the Hebrew Bible

Genesis 1:1 1:29 2:16 2:4b–5 2:15 4 4:1–2 4:17 5 9:3 9:4 9:5 9:13, 14, 16 9:5 10 10:10 11:1–9 11:3 11:9b 14 18–20 19:1–9 22 33:19 43:32 46:34

557 519 520 523 523 225, 669 550–551, 669 551, 669 225, 669 520 520 520 411 520 562, 669, 681 523, 721 562, 661 661 563 565 565 10 565 562 603 603

Exodus 8:22 15 21–24 21: 28–36 21:35 22:15–16 23:15 34:20

559, 631 603 673 671 313 631 671 295 295

Leviticus 17–26 17:11 18 18:23 19:36 20:12

521, 600, 673 520 520 600 600 602 600

Numbers 7:12–88 21:27–30 22:4 22:23

684 561 620 672

Deuteronomy

126, 520, 521, 602, 61 601 603 601 295 601 682 603 601 601 600 601 601 602 682 682 601 683 562 683 527

7:25 12:29–13:1 12:31 16:16 17:1 17:18 18:9, 12 18:12 22:5 22:21 23:18 f. 24:40 25:12–16 27–31 27:2 27:15 28 29:22 29:23–24 32:38

740

biblical and rabbinical texts

Joshua 6:26 10:1, 3 14:15 15:13 21:11

566 562 566 561 561 561

Judges 1 1:3–7 5:2 9:8–15 9:28 9:45 14:14 14:18 15:17

566 566 37 667, 722 562 562 665 665 564

Samuel

443

1 Samuel 24:13 24:14 28:15 28:19

629 613 535 535

2 Samuel 1:17–27 313 1:18 314 3:33–34 314 Kings

433

1 Kings 5:10 5:12 6:1, 37 f. 7:1 12:26–33 16:24 16:34

629 627 566 566 684 561 562

2 Kings 4:31 14:9 14:25 20

535 667, 722 148 333

Isaiah 1:3 5:8 11:7 14:9

619 593 520 535

24–27 24:2 26:19 37:14 38 38:9 38:9–20

688 10 535 333 333, 685 296, 333 314

Jeremiah 48:45 f. 561 51:39 535 Ezekiel 1:28 8:14 27:15

44 410 313, 673, 720 716

Hosea 4:9

10

Amos 3:12 8:5

617 602

Jonah

689

Psalms

671, 685, 686

Psalm 16 22:23 26:12 27:10 31:12 35:18 38:12 41:10 44 45 55:13–15 56

314, 333, 671, 685 269 269 267 267 269 267 267 313 260 267 296, 314, 333, 671, 685 296, 314, 333, 671, 685 296, 314, 333, 671, 685 296, 314, 333, 671, 685 296, 314, 333, 671, 685 14, 258

57 58 59 60 68

biblical and rabbinical texts 72:10 72:19 74 76:3 79 80 83 84:10 84:11 93 93:2 97 97:2 99 104 110:4 Proverbs 1:8, 10, 15 1:20 f. 3:32 6:16–19 8:1–3 8:32 10–22:16 10:31 f. 11:1 11:20 12:22 13:19 15:8 15:9 15:26 16:5 16:12 17:15 20:10 20:23 21:27 22:17–24:34 22:20 24:9 25–29 26:25 28:9 29:27

716 671 313 564 313 313 313 269 269 670 670 670 670 670 545 565 601, 602, 629, 630, 719 630 630 602 601, 666, 719 630 630 627 615 602 602 602 603 602 602 602 602 603 602 602 602 602 629, 689 629 603 627 601 602 603

Job 3:12 11:18 14:12 19:23–27 42:11 Song of Songs 4:12–15

741 114, 125, 310, 311, 314, 668, 719, 720 478 622 535 536 121, 668 223, 240, 674, 700, 720 674

Lamentations

261, 686

Ecclesiastes 4:12

700, 719 627 670

Qoh 4:12 4:12b 11:1 12:5 12:11 12:12–14

682 621 627 533 482 482

Esther 3:7 9:24

399, 689, 700 682 682

Daniel 1:4 12:2

11, 399, 688, 689 86 535

Daniel, Bel and the Dragon 522 Ezra: 4:17, 18 5:6

333 333

1 Chronicles 8:12

564

2 Chronicles 3:1 21:12 25:18 30:1 35:25

565 333 667 333 314

742

biblical and rabbinical texts

Other Works

Al-Asatir: 551 Aramaic Targumim: 700 Ben Sira: 700 Book of Jashar: 314 Book of the Upright: see Book of Jashar Dead Sea Scrolls: 399 Genesis Apocryphon: 399

Hodayoth of Qumram: 259 Megillat Ta#anit: 700 Mishnah: 666, 700, 701, 714, 715 Scroll of Fasts: 700 Talmud: 129, 666, 700, 701, 714, 715 Tobit: 399

SUBJECTS Abbreviation: 71, 149, 163, 219, 229 Abstract conceptualization: 543 Akkadian apocalypses: 688 Akkadian prophecies: 688 Alexandrian canon: 701 Anonymity: 59, 147 Anthropomorphic representation: 97, 306, 528 Archival: 12, 23, 26, 74, 98, 120, 155, 161, 192, 241, 248, 258, 262–264, 294, 305, 336, 353, 385, 387, 389– 392, 398, 421, 427, 428, 432, 437, 438, 455, 456, 459, 499, 511, 522, 556, 635, 680, 684, 707, 708–710, 714, 717 Assurbanipal’s Library: 7, 11–13, 16, 53, 55, 71, 244, 713 Babylonian Dark Ages: 137, 237 Basilomorphism: 97 Binding of Isaac: 565 Biographical collage: 224 Blessing of Moses: 527 Book of the Covenant: 313, 671 Cain and Abel: 667, 722 Canon: 8, 14–17, 20, 50, 54, 64, 65, 73, 74, 76, 77–81, 87–89, 91, 114, 117–119, 138, 168, 182, 208, 244, 257, 258, 288, 299, 301, 393, 399, 436, 454, 539, 564, 597, 629, 677, 680, 682, 685–688, 690, 699–701, 705–707, 709, 710, 712– 716 Canonical compositions: 5, 6, 15, 20, 21, 25, 26, 28, 52, 58, 62, 67, 73, 74, 87, 119, 123, 125, 140, 161, 164–168, 186, 241, 244, 259, 261, 262, 293, 296, 321, 336, 387, 391– 393, 399, 400, 421, 422, 428, 432,

455, 459, 522, 544, 549, 556, 579, 583, 596, 611, 636, 649, 650, 677, 680, 683, 684, 699–703, 705–708, 712–715, 717 Canonization: 4, 14, 16, 17, 46, 73, 77, 78, 182, 242, 259, 287, 701, 702, 708–710, 712, 715, 716 Chancelleries: 263, 290 Chancery: 388, 429, 430, 436, 437 Chronicler’s history: 686, 722 Chronography: 438 Chronographers: 447, 464 Classical period: 230–232, 234, 236, 237, 304, 424, 480, 668, 670 Commentaries: 8, 578, 579, 705, 706, 711 Common rhythm: 44 Comparative approach: 17, 45, 56, 287, 288, 677–679 Congregational thanksgivings: 260 Covenant Code: 631 Cult-statue: 24, 44, 96, 99, 295, 673 Curriculum: 13, 15, 49, 61, 64, 65, 69, 71, 73, 74, 77, 78, 85, 87–89, 91, 102, 103, 116, 118, 119, 121, 129, 164, 169, 171, 172, 185, 204, 211, 218, 240, 258, 263, 290, 292, 295, 338, 389, 395, 397, 427, 443, 540, 578, 588, 625, 628, 629, 710, 712, 715 Deification: 35, 95–98, 102, 210, 455, 543, 720, 722 Deification of Kings: 210 Deuteronomistic history: 685, 686, 722 Divine parentage: 229–231, 238 Doxology: 38, 39, 60, 66, 69, 74, 100, 166, 189, 205, 207, 209, 260, 275, 486, 669, 719

744

subjects

Evil spirits: 530 Extra-canonical compositions: 185

Novelistic treatment: 306 Novella: 75, 391, 688, 689

Fidelity: 48, 58, 59, 65, 87, 247

Observation: 8, 9, 20, 99, 168, 205, 414, 429, 435, 462, 630, 658, 700, 714 Oral Torah: 169, 700, 715 Oral transmission: 4, 5, 11, 48, 51, 67, 73, 76, 77, 625, 665, 677, 706, 711, 715, 716

Gemarah: 715 Genealogical record: 48 Generalization: 543 Genre-history: 59, 288, 314,421, 664, 680, 683, 685, 686 Gospels: 700 Great rebellion against Naram-Sin: 443 High Sargonic period: 77, 96–97, 435 Historical kernel: 191, 434, 441, 442, 460 Holiness Code: 520, 602 Individual laments of the Biblical Psalter: 53, 256, 267, 274, 287, 314, 333, 720 Legend psalms: 260 Letter-reports: 336 Lexicography: 45, 205, 392, 589, 604, 708 Library of Alexandria: 701 Literature as politics: 437 Long peace: 103, 186, 190 Model contracts: 74, 82, 165, 283, 389, 580, 710 Monumental: 12, 25, 26, 28, 74, 76, 77, 115, 119, 190, 191, 205, 223, 247, 258, 266, 294, 296, 335, 336, 340, 386, 389, 391, 393, 394, 397, 398, 421, 424, 427, 428, 432, 442, 459, 472, 477, 483, 611, 636, 663, 684, 685, 707, 708, 710, 714, 717 Moses tale: 229 Moses’ birth: 681 Myths of origin: 68 Narrative of the Aqeda: 565 New Year: 22, 23, 25, 232, 429, 559

ˇ Palace of Sulgi: 64, 386 Parody: 47, 61, 104, 300, 325, 424, 540 Pattern of usurpation: 193, 197, 291, 398 Pentateuch: 88, 499, 677, 684, 700, 701, 715, 716 Period of warring kingdoms: 186 Personal deity: 194, 237, 261, 293, 308, 324, 329, 641, 720 Pilgrim songs: 260 Poetic biography: 191 Prayer of Hezekiah: 296, 339, 340 Priestly Code: 521 Primeval history: 523, 550, 562 Promulgation (of date formulas): 23, 49, 520 Prophets: 700, 715 Psalm of Hezekiah: 314, 333–335 Psalms of Sirah: 259 Psalms of Solomon: 259 Psalter: 20, 53, 255–261, 267, 274, 287, 296, 313, 314, 333, 400, 670, 685, 686, 708, 719–321 Pseudepigraphical attribution: 62, 148 Recension(s): 62, 67, 103, 115, 121, 123, 125, 126, 163–170, 175, 302, 386, 416, 439, 491, 501, 529, 540, 549, 599, 615, 704–707, 721 Renaissance: 99 (Neo-Sumerian), 230 (Lagash) Rhetorical strategy: 328 “Romance” of Joseph: 689 Royal Cemetery of Ur: 63, 128

subjects Sacraments: 21, 100, 233 Sacred marriage: 22, 71, 90, 101, 102, 179, 210, 229, 231–236, 238, 304, 477–479, 514, 673, 720 Scribal schools: 13, 15, 16, 49, 60, 69, 73, 77–19, 86, 101, 102, 116, 118–120, 165, 169, 171, 239, 240, 242, 266, 290, 296, 301, 310, 353, 385, 387, 389, 391, 392, 393, 397, 422, 458, 539, 590, 628, 629, 665, 668, 669, 715, 717, 721, 722 Song of Deborah: 37 Table of Nations: 523, 562, 563, 567, 681 Telescoping: 444 Temple of Amurru in Nippur: 162 Temple of Enki at Eridu: 197, 640 Temple of Enlil at Nippur: 191, 197, 235, 240, 539, 641 Temple of Enmeˇsarra: 534 Temple of Inanna: 391 Temple of Nabu: 61

745

Temple of Nanna at Ur: 641 Temple of Nergal at Gudua: 372 Temple of Ningal: 479 Temple of Ninlil at Nippur: 348 Temple of Ninsun: 197 Temple of Solomon: 521, 565, 673 Throne name: 228 Topos: 10, 37, 38, 46, 188, 189, 267, 363, 484, 485, 513, 580, 610, 611, 682, 683, 690 Torah: 88, 700, 703, 715 Tosefta: 701, 715 Tower of Babel: 563, 661 Triteuch-laws: 686 Virtual ablative: 349 Wisdom psalms: 260 Witch of En-Dor: 535 Writings: 700 Written Torah: 700, 715 Zion Songs: 260

PERSONAL NAMES Aba-indasa: 294 Abel: 526, 527, 567, 722 Abi-eˇsuh: 65, 137, 180, 184, 241 Abimelech: 562 Abisare: 189 Abner: 314 Abraham: 47, 565, 681 Adda-guppi: 176 Adam: 87, 225, 289, 551, 681 Adapa: 6, 87, 149, 150, 289, 544 Agum II: 184 Agum-kakrime: 246, 597 Agur: 629 Ahab: 562 Akka: 560 Ahiqar: 51, 689 Alumb(i)umu: 320 Alulim: 289 Amar-Sin: 235, 291, 386, 390, 291, 391, 422, 484, 489, 560 (var. Amar-Suen(a)) Amen-em-Ope(t): 90 Ammi-ditana: 183, 184, 190 Ammi-s.aduqa: 137, 320 Amos: 127, 662 Anam: 182, 184, 185, 231, 374, 375, 425 Aplaia: 244 Apollonius Rhodus: 701 Arib-atal: 390 Arrabu: 244 Assurbanipal: 53, 54, 243, 244, 246, 247, 441, 531, 609, 629 Ashur-etel-ilani: 532 Aviram: 562 Balaam: 672 Balih: 226 Baruch: 114 Bel-gaˇsir: 196

Berossos: 150, 409, 552 “Bingani-ˇsar-ali”: 439 Bur-Sin: 180, 206, 221, 363, 386, 462 Bus.s.ulu: 579 Cain: 551, 562, 667, 669 Callimachus: 701 Chanoch: 551 Chaucer: 88 Chi"el: 562 Cicero: 128, 129 Damiq-iliˇsu: see Damqi-iliˇsu Damqi-iliˇsu: 171, 183–184, 194, 204, 320, 414, 439 Daniel: 86, 129, 689 Darius I: 609 David: 445, 565, 566, 685 Djoser: 626 Eannatum: 138, 145, 181, 201, 231, 235, see also Lumma, Humma Eber: 681 En-entar-zi: 290 En-me-du10-ga: 150 En-me-galam-ma: 149 Enoch: 551, 562, 669 En-Shakushanna: 94 Enannatum(ma): 177 Enheduanna: 24, 62–64, 77, 90, 95, 115, 127, 138, 145, 163, 176, 229, 386, 393, 423, 455, 673, 718 Enkidu: 52, 219, 530, 627, 705 Enlil-alˇsa: 294 Enlil-amah: 184 Enlil-bani: 71, 176, 180, 182, 184, 185, 207, 240, 292, 373, 374, 422, 544, 608, 703 Enlil-ibni: 147, 149 Enlil-massu: 292, 294

748

personal names

Enlila-iˇsag: 195 (En)mebaragesi: 66 Enmerkar: 227, 289, 409, 410, 510, 514, 560, 719 En-nirgalanna: 489 Enosh: 225 Epimenides: 464 Erra-imitti: 71, 185, 373 (E)saggil-k¯ınam-ubbib: 4 Esther: 689 Etana: 225–227 Eu¯echoios: 409, 410 Eu¯echoros: 409 Ezekiel: 313 Gideon: 562 Gilgamesh: 66, 67, 87, 90, 122, 124, 125, 147, 304, 514, 530, 617, 627, 705, 719 Gudea: 24, 25, 27, 36, 39–41, 61, 62, 95, 99, 101, 138, 145, 177, 181, 184, 194, 230, 235, 266, 267, 285, 329, 424, 483, 486, 719 Gulkishar: 184 Gungunum: 189, 190, 194, 373, 558 Hammurabi: see Hammurapi Hammurapi: 6, 49, 54, 122, 129, 137, 175, 180, 183, 184, 186, 194, 237, 248, 301, 307, 321, 334, 335, 375, 385, 440, 441, 458, 472, 480, 481, 565, 610, 611, 613, 628, 721 (var. Hammurabi) Hamor: 562 Hardjedef: 626 Hazael: 446 Heidegger: 89 Hezekiah: 288, 340, 671, 685 Hummuru: 579 Hunzû: 579 Iarlagan: 196 Ibbi-Sin: 147, 179, 192, 194, 236, 371, 372, 397, 422, 424, 456–458, 461, 463 Iddin-Dagan: 179, 206, 292, 372, 422, 424, 462

Ilan-ˇsemea: 373 Imhotep: 626 Inannaka: 294 Inim-Inanna: 391 Iphuha: 390 Irad: 551, 669 Irdanene: 183, 374, 375, 426 Irmu: 291, 484 Isaac: 565 Israel: 681 Iˇsbe-Irra: 70, 147, 148, 179, 206, 212, 291, 398, 424, 459, 462 Iˇskun-Dagan: 290, 437 Iˇsme-Dagan: 71, 179, 190, 206, 215, 300, 372, 424, 441, 460, 462, 553, 610 Iˇstar-ˇsuma-ereˇs: 716 Iˇsullanu: 617 Haman: 682 Humma: 181, see also Eannatum, Lumma Jacob: 672 Jeremiah: 3, 114, 314 Jerome: 399 Job: 121, 668 Jonah: 148 Joseph: 689 Joshua: 562, 566 Josiah: 53, 314, 520 Judah: 566 Kabti-il¯ani-Marduk: 5, 147 Kadashman-Enlil: 184 Kaku: 196 Kalibum: 410 Keret: 226 Kh¯omasb¯elos: 410 Kirta: 226 Ku-Bau: 560 Kubbulu Kunˇsi-matum: 389, 390, 459 Kurû: 579 Lamassi(-Assur): 324 Lemuel: 629, 666 Lipit-Enlil: 185, 241, 373

personal names Lipit-Iˇstar: 70, 71, 179, 189, 206, 218, 292, 374, 387, 422, 462, 610, 671 Lisina: 689 Livy: 453 Lu-dingir(r)a: 240, 305, 689 Lukalla: 586 Lugina: 586 Lu-Nanna: 147 Lugalbanda: 194, 228, 374, 375, 498, 513–515, 523–527, 618, 619, 719 Lugal-melam: 391 Lugal-murub: 294, 308 Lugalzagesi: 26, 94, 228, 300 Lumma: 145, 181, see also Eannatum, Humma Manana: 387 Manasseh: 53 Maniˇstuˇsu: 99, 138, 229, 439 Marduk-zakir-ˇsumi I: 609 Melchi-zedek: 565, 566 Meli-ˇsipak: 248 Mesa: 612 Mesannepada: 612 Mesilim: 228, 612 Meskiaggaˇsir: 227 Miriam: 672 Mordechai: 689 Moses: 229, 672, 673, 681, 682 Mu-dam: 225 Muraˇsû: 249 Murˇsili I: 560 Naama: 225 Nabi-Enlil: 294, 391 Nabonassar: 599, 688 Nabonidus: 99, 305, 532 Nabu-ˇsum-iˇskun: 599 Nabu-zer-zuqip: 716 Nammahni: 196 Namzitarra: 689 Naplanum: 462 Nazimaruttaˇs: 15, 242, 703 Naram-Sin: 62, 65, 95–97, 99, 100, 138, 177, 195, 228, 229, 236, 300, 370, 435, 439–441, 443, 444, 455, 472, 482, 560, 563

749

Neriya: 114 Nietzsche: 89 Nin-Hedu: 196 Nin-kagina: 196 Nin-ˇsatapada: 307, 326, 370, 375, 388, 389, 423, 424, 427, 429 Niˇs-iniˇsu: 375, 424 Ni"urum: 139 Noah: 51, 225, 520, 527, 545, 562, 667, 669 Nur-Adad: 22, 23, 176, 180, 182, 184, 185, 319, 336, 340, 374, 425 Oannes: 149, 150, 544 Odysseus: 122 Oedipus: 665 Omri: 561, 562 Plato: 86, 89, 91 Ptahhotep: 626 Pussulu: 579 Puˇsam: 390 Puzur-Assur: 390 Puzur-Marduk: 170, 291, 398, see ˇ also Puzur-Sulgi Puzur-Nirah: 560 Puzur-Numuˇsda: 193, 291, 398, see ˇ also Puzur-Sulgi ˇ Puzur-Sulgi: 170, 193, 291, 292, 398, see also Puzur-Marduk, PuzurNumuˇsda Qayin: 551 Qiˇsti-Ea: 170 Rim-Sin (I): 75, 176, 180, 182, 185, 194, 241, 265, 307, 321, 326, 330, 336, 370, 375, 388, 423–427, 556, 558 Rim-Sin II: 138, 385 Rimut-Gula: 242 Saggil-kinam-ubbib: 311 Samium: 373 Samson: 665 Samsu-ditana: 441 Samsu-iluna: 31, 71, 137, 165, 166,

750

personal names

171, 175, 180, 183, 184, 241, 242, 248, 385, 458 Sappho: 90 Sargon (of Akkad): 24, 62, 87, 90, 95, 99, 127, 138, 176, 177, 228, 229, 236, 290, 300, 428, 435, 439– 441, 443, 444, 455, 478, 480, 555, 560, 565, 673, 718 Sargon I (of Assyria): 441 Sargon II: 9, 535, 681 Saul: 313, 535 Seguv: 562 Sennacherib: 9, 560 Sharruken: see Sargon Shechem: 562 Shem: 563, 681 Shemer: 561 Siaum: 558 Si-dù: 147, 148 Simon: 566 Sin-iddinam: 23, 75, 180, 267, 296, 307, 308, 314, 329, 335–338, 340, 374, 423, 473, 687 Sin-iqiˇsam: 180, 362, 374, 425 Sin-kaˇsid: 62, 182–184, 194, 267, 285, 326, 337, 370, 373, 375, 388, 423, 425 Sin-liqi-unninni: 5, 147, 705 Sin-muballit.: 374 Solomon: 90, 259, 445, 627, 666, 681 Sukalletuda: 617 Sumu-Abum: 319 Sumu-la"el: 320, 350, 441 ˇ Samaˇ s-ˇsum-ukin: 244 ˇ si-Adad (I): 440–442, 455, 533, Samˇ 609, 613, 628 ˇ “Sargani-ˇ sar-ali”: 439 ˇ Sar-kali-ˇ sarri: 96, 97, 100, 230, 435 ˇ Sarrum-bani: 291 ˇ Subburu: 579 ˇ Su-iliˇ su: 70, 71, 179, 189 ˇ Su-Marduk: 398 ˇ Su-Numuˇ sda: 398 ˇ Su-Sin: 63, 75, 102, 144, 178, 179, 190, 208, 231, 284, 386, 390, 428, 459, 462, 560, 642

ˇ Sulgi(r): 22, 34, 50, 77, 100, 101, 139, 147, 176, 178, 179, 186, 193, 194, 232, 234, 235, 237, 240, 265, 374, 390, 393, 425, 460, 472, 481, 483, 484, 488, 560, 610, 611, 671 ˇ Suruppak: 626, 667, 669 Tabnit: 536 Taq¯ıˇs(a)-Gula: 64, 242 Thucydides: 453 Tiglath-Pileser I: 54, 60, 243, 560 Titus: 464 Tukulti-Ninurta I: 243, 244, 249, 309, 560, 563 Túl-ta-pà-da: 149 Tuta-napshum: 370 U4-an-du10-ga: 150 Ur-Abba: 196 Ur-Ba"u: 32, 230 Ubburu: 579 Ur-Dakuga: 194 Ur-dun: 291, 391 Ur-gar: 196 Urgigir: 370, 371 Ur-Meme: 391, 421, 428, 459 Ur-Nammu(k): 22, 62, 94, 96, 100, 101, 176, 178–180, 184, 187–198, 231, 234, 235, 304, 371, 374, 386, 428, 472, 480, 481, 483, 485, 487– 489, 491, 671 Ur-Nanˇse: 576 Urnigin: 370 Ur-Ninurta: 71, 149, 179, 206, 373, 387 Ur-ˇsagga: 266, 292, 294 Ur-Utu: 195, 325 Ur-Zababa: 560 Uruinimgina: see Urukagina Urukagina: 138, 228, 299, 456, 592 Us.s.ulu: 579 Utnapiˇstim: 533 Ù-tu-abzu: 150 Utu-hegal: 66, 94, 191, 192, 195–197, 371, 386, 442, 560 Utukam: 196

personal names Warad-Sin: 180 Yasmah-Adad: 308, 613 Zabaia: 373 Zenodotus: 701

Zimri-Lim: 116, 308 Zinu: 117, 398 Ziusudra: 156, 527, 669 Zuqaq¯ıp Zuzu: 294, 422

751

DIVINE NAMES Aguˇsaya: 123 Aliyin: 565 Amurru: 320, 321, 326, 329 An(u): 25, 64, 71, 95, 145, 156, 164, 211, 348, 371, 375, 425, 426, 525, 566 Anunna: 483 Anzu: 618, 619 Aruru: 244, 245, 249 Asalluhe: 350, 541 Asare: 641 Assur: 246 Astarte: 159, 603 Aˇsimbabbar: 188, 193, 485, 486 Aˇsnan: 35 Aya: 104 Ba"al: 565 Ba"u: 104, 182, 195, 228, 478, 540 Bel: 555 Clio: 453 Damu: 268, 273, 303, 339 Dingirmah: 348 Dumuzi: 22, 67, 68, 71, 87, 90, 101, 215, 231–233, 303, 304, 310, 313, 370, 532, 673, 720 Duttur: 303 Ea: 150, 540–542 El: 565 Elkunirˇsa: 565 Enki: 39, 40, 104, 188, 193, 211, 228, 265, 266, 306, 350, 375, 426, 476, 525, 539–544, 548–550, 640, 641, 646, 719 Enkimdu: 667 Enlil: 35, 39, 40, 56, 65, 66, 72, 87, 95, 103, 104, 141–143, 156, 164,

187, 188–194, 211, 218, 228, 235, 265, 270, 302, 348, 370, 375, 391, 425, 426, 461, 483, 485, 486, 488, 489, 525, 533, 539–541, 548, 593, 670, 719 Enmeˇsarra: 534, 535 Ereˇskigal: 68 Erra: 148 (var. Irra) Gatumdu(g): 38, 230, 267 Geˇstinanna: 303 Gula: 348, 349 Haia: 38, 40, 74, 104 Haharnum: 557 Hayyashum: 557 Hermes: 530 Huwawa: 627, 705 Inanna: 34, 64, 68, 87, 90, 95, 101, 115, 127, 152, 220, 228, 231, 233, 235, 302–304, 477, 489, 510, 513, 514, 516, 532, 558, 593, 603, 619, 641, 673, 719, 720 Iˇstar: 95, 123, 480, 558, 607, 617, 720 Iˇsum: 123 Kusu: 35 Latarak: 34 Lugalgirra: 371–373, 426–427 Lugal-uru(b): 228 Lulal: 34, 233 Manungal: 583 Marduk: 25, 65, 66, 104, 293, 303, 308, 311, 417, 541, 559–561, 596 Mardu: see Martu Martu: 194, 265, 306, 321, 322, 326

754

divine names

Meslamtae"a: 182, 194, 371–373, 375, 425, 426 Mnemosyne: 453 Nabû: 597 Nanibgal: 36, 396 Nanna(-Suen): 95, 115, 176, 193, 195, 234, 265, 362, 477, 479, 480, 488, 489, 638 Nergal: 194, 211, 265, 296, 372, 425 Ninazu: 38 Nindinugga: see Nintinug(g)a Nindub: 36 Nin-egal: 585 Ningal: 24, 38, 233, 338, 479, 480 Ningirsu: 34, 61, 62, 66, 104, 228, 244, 329, 488, 540 Ningizzida: 194, 357, 374 Ninhursag: 68, 228, 248, 348, 525, 719 Ninkarrak: 348, 349 Ninkasi: 510 Ninlil: 39, 68, 87, 246, 348, 488, 516, 540, 548, 593 Ninsun: 193, 194, 232, 233, 303, 374 Ninˇsubur: 294, 306, 325 Nintinug(g)a: 265, 306, 328, 432, 544 Nintu(r): 34, 56, 72, 244, 248, 249, 348, 550 Ninurta: 34, 50, 55, 56, 60, 61, 66, 70–72, 77, 144, 170, 211, 244, 249,

363, 584, 591, 592, 595, 666, 667, 719 Nisaba: 27, 28, 33, 34, 36–40, 74, 104, 166, 228, 396, 597 Nudimmud: 193, 550 Numuˇsda: 34, 321, 322, 398 Nunamnir: 193 Nungal: 38, 583–588 Pabilsag: 348 Polymnia: 453 Reph¯a"îm: 535 Reˇseph: 159 Sin: 188, 193 Sphinx: 262, 665 Suen: 34, 143, 486, 584, 593–595 Sutitu: 233 ˇ Samaˇ s: 602, 705 ˇ Sara: 233 ˇ Serda: 104 Ti"amat: 559 Uraˇs: 39, 348 Utu: 104, 193, 265, 270, 307, 329, 338, 423, 584, 591, 592, 594, 619 Za(n)qara: 515, 525 Zeus: 453

GEOGRAPHIC NAMES, ETHNICA, AND NAMES OF SANCTUARIES

Abu Salabikh: 51, 58, 63, 77, 111, 320, 484, 718 (é-)Abzu: 640, 641 Ad-Dair: 319 (var. Ed-Der) Adab: 102 Agade: 95, 96, 103, 194, 257, 300, 442, 455, 555 (var. Akkad) Akkad: see Agade Akˇsak: 415, 560 ¯ sarr¯aki: 642 Al-ˇ Alalakh: 78, 601 Alexandria: 88 Amarna: 9, 78, 87, 115, 117, 564 Amorite(s): 6, 48, 225, 231, 319–322, 365, 389, 422, 444, 457, 459, 536, 565, 631 Amurru: 319 Anakites: 561 Anˇsan: 61 Apsû: 417, 497, 549 Arahtum: 322 Aratta: 36, 50, 66, 90, 227, 496, 523, 543, 669 Assur: 9, 11, 13, 16, 60, 79, 141, 186, 211, 242, 243, 294, 476, 531, 533, 564, 583, 598, 705, 712, 722 Babylon: 11, 65, 78–80, 104, 137, 178, 180,194, 204, 237, 242, 294, 301, 308, 319, 339, 340, 350, 374, 458, 462, 532, 541, 548, 552, 554–556, 558–561, 563–565, 599, 614, 631, 712, 722 bad-igi-hursanga: 291, 398 Bad-tibira: 304, 554 Bahrein: 552 Bassetki: 95

Bit-Dakkuri: 532 Byblos: 536, 614, 665 Canaan: 521, 561 Carchemish: 564 Chaldeans: 714 Cedar Forest: 627 Der: 9, 371, 373 Devir: 561 Dilmun: 348 Diyala: 270, 295 Drehem: 161, 372 Dunnum: 427, 556 Dur-Anim: 371 Dur-ilim: 371 Durum: 369–376, 423, 424, 426, 427 Ebih: 127 Ebla: 87, 319, 320, 564, 635, 718 Ed-Der: See Ad-Dair É-engur: 640 Egalmah: 348 É-geˇstú: 36 Ekimar: 301, 460 É-kiˇs-nu-gál: 197 Ekur (in Nippur): 95, 191 Elam: 61, 338, 461 El-Amarna: See Amarna Elamite(s): 290, 457, 459, 531 Emar: 232, 564, 628, 713 É-mes-lam: 272 Eniggar: 348 Eninnu: 24, 41 Eridu: 40, 100, 104, 111, 149, 189, 192, 193, 197, 242, 426, 511, 539– 541, 548–554, 641, 669, 721 Ereˇs: 36, 558

756

geographic names, ethnica, and names of sanctuaries

Erech: 90, 301, 523, 563, 669, 719 Esabad: 349 Esagila: 559 Eˇsnunna: 97, 102, 186, 204, 398, 440, 631 Etemenanki: 559 É-temen-ní-gùru: 197 Eunamtila: 534 Euphrates: 188, 229, 303, 322, 441, 459, 642, 661 Ezagin: 36 Ezida: 599 Failaka: 552 Fara: 51, 58, 77, 138, 289, 319, 320, 635, 718 Girlumturra: 398 Girsu: 478, 540, 642 Greece: 47, 113, 128, 521, 547 Gutian(s): 65, 66, 94, 191, 195, 197, 290, 300, 303, 432, 437, 558 Haifa: 670 Halab: 564 Hattusa: see Hattusha Hattusha: 14, 16, 75, 78, 87, 90, 167, 294, 308, 396, 614, 629, 704, 722 (var. Hattusa, Khattusha) Hebron: 561 Heshbon: 561 House of the Inun-canal: 484 Huhnuri: 641 Hyksos: 603 Iabru: 641 Inun(na): 488 ‘Ir-Sihon: 561 Isin: 71, 74, 75, 77, 87, 101–104, 176, 178–180, 182–186, 189, 190, 194, 204, 207, 212, 231, 235, 258, 263, 285, 291, 292, 301, 302, 305, 320, 335, 339, 348, 349, 370, 372– 375, 387, 394, 411, 414, 416, 423, 424, 427, 428, 439, 459, 460, 462, 487, 534, 539, 555–558, 712, 713, 721

Jebel Hamrin: 124, 127 Jebusites: 566 Jericho: 562, 567, 681 Jerusalem: 9, 117, 521, 548, 559, 560, 564–567, 673, see also Rushalimum Jordan (river): 446, 566 Kalah: 8, 14, 125 Kallassu: 479 Kalhu: 598 Kar-Kemosh: 564 Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta: 560 Karzida: 477 Kassites: 79 Kazallu: 193, 291, 292, 322, 398 Keˇsi: 149 Khattusha: see Hattusha Kiriath-arba: 561 Kiriath-sannah: 561 Kiriath-sefer: 561 Kiriath-Sihon: 561 Kirga: 300 Kisiga: 372, 558 Kiˇs: 66, 90, 103, 157, 175, 218, 225, 227,409, 410, 412, 413, 416, 439, 549, 552, 560, 669 Kiur: 348 Ku"ara: 552, 554 Kullab: 149, 194, 558 Kurruhanni: 556 Kuyunjik: 121 Lagaˇs: 24–28, 38, 40, 61, 62, 66, 77, 78, 97, 100, 102–104, 138, 145, 146, 149, 161, 176, 177, 180, 181, 184, 196, 228, 230, 290, 299, 300, 321–323, 336, 424, 456, 539, 540, 556, 592, 635, 636, 641, 642 Laragchos: 554 Larsa: 26, 62, 74, 75, 78, 87, 103, 104, 176, 178, 180, 182–186, 189, 190, 204, 242, 285, 301, 307, 308, 321, 329, 335, 336–338, 350, 363, 370, 371, 373–375, 394, 395, 423– 425, 429, 459, 462, 487, 534, 540, 554–557, 671, 687, 722

geographic names, ethnica, and names of sanctuaries Lod: 564 Marad: 320 Mari: 99, 116, 159, 186, 267, 308, 324, 415, 428, 444, 482, 537, 613 Marsh Arabs: 49, 527 Maˇskan-ˇsabra: 340 Megiddo: 78, 87, 90, 670, 719 Moab: 446 Moriah: 565 Nanna-gugal: 488 Negev: 625, 629, 630 Neirab: 564 Nile: 678 Nimrud: 532 Nimrud-Kalah: 14 Nina: 540, 553, 641 Nineveh: 11, 12, 13, 16, 53, 71, 79, 121, 141, 192, 243, 244, 249, 296, 308, 558, 563, 705, 716, 722 Nippur: 6, 15, 16, 21, 26, 55, 56, 60– 62, 64–66, 69, 72, 75, 77, 79, 95, 100–104, 138–141, 143, 149, 156, 157, 162–164, 166, 168, 175, 177, 182, 183, 185, 186, 187–192, 197, 198, 204, 209–211, 218, 234, 235, 239–250, 270, 283, 294, 301, 306, 308, 322, 325, 337, 338, 348, 370, 372, 373, 389, 391–393, 395, 397, 398, 411, 413, 414, 416, 417, 421, 428, 432, 439, 443, 460, 488, 539, 540, 549, 550, 552, 553, 558, 564, 578, 590, 593, 641, 642, 712, 719– 722 Nuffar: 301 Nuzi: 556, 680 Ono: 564 Pa-tibira: 304 Pautibiblon: 554 Persepolis: 609 Philistine(s): 665 Puzriˇs-Dagan: 161 Qumran: 259, 715

757

Ramat-Lehi: 564 Ras Ibn Hani: 166 Red Sea: 672 Reed Sea: 559, 672 Rome: 547 Rushalimum: 564, see also Jerusalem Salem: 564, 565 Samaria: 561, 567 Sealand: 15, 49, 53, 79, 183, 184, 241, 242 Shalim: 564 Shechem: 117, 562, 614 Shin"ar: 563 Shomron: 561 Sidon: 536, 600 Sinai: 625, 629–631, 672, 682 Sippar: 99, 167, 242, 244, 308, 323, 399, 427, 554, 558, 587, 610, 629, 712 Sippar-Yahrarum: see SipparYahrurum Sippar-Yahrurum: 319, 325 (var. Sippar-Yahrarum) Sirara: 540, 641 Solomon’s palace: 566 Subarian(s): 338, 365, 645 Sultan Tepe: 11, 651, 705 Susa: 138, 203, 480, 488, 531, 609, 641, 722 ˇ Saduppûm: 196, 204 ˇ Simanum: 390, 459 ˇ Simaˇ ski: 459 ˇ Suruppak: 138, 149, 554, 566, 669, 718, 719 Tello(h): 167, 478 Thessaly: 47 Tigris: 188, 303, 371, 459, 510, 661 Timnah: 665 Ugarit: 75, 78, 158, 167, 294, 306, 308, 321, 578, 579, 614, 721, 722 Umma: 104, 161, 196, 556 UNKIN.(KI): 556

758

geographic names, ethnica, and names of sanctuaries

Ur: 6, 21, 23, 26–28, 60, 62, 66, 70, 74, 75, 77, 87, 94, 95, 98, 100– 103, 138–140, 149, 151, 156, 157, 162, 167, 176, 178, 185, 187– 198, 204, 211, 218, 231, 236, 242, 263, 264, 269, 279, 283, 289, 301, 308, 335, 337, 370– 372, 374, 385, 390, 392, 393, 395, 397, 398, 422, 426, 439, 443, 456, 457, 461, 462, 471, 476, 477, 489, 558, 575, 583, 584, 592, 595, 615, 641, 670, 671, 684, 712, 721

Uruk (Warka): 21, 50, 66, 68, 69, 80, 87, 90, 94, 95, 100, 102, 103, 125, 138, 147, 175, 182, 185, 191, 192– 196, 204, 227, 242, 250, 267, 285, 301, 304, 307, 326, 370, 371–376, 388, 410, 416, 423, 425–427, 439, 460, 477, 489, 523, 524, 527, 554, 558, 560, 563, 669, 705, 719, 721 Warium: 204 Zagros: 524 Zion: 564

AKKADIAN AND SUMERIAN WORDS a-gim: 281 a-rá: 282 a-rá-a-(bi): 188, 189 a-ˇsa6-ˇsa6: 639 á-si-(giˇs)ig a-sig(5): 638 á-tuku: 610 aban iˇsati: 514 abullu: 588 ad4: 576, 577, 580 ad-gi4-gi4: 281 ad-hal: 281 ad-ˇsa4: 146 adab: 22, 146, 207 adaman(-duga): 20, 120 (var. a-daman) addax-kú: 366 adapu: 149, 544 ahû: 706, 716 ahurrû: 364 akû: 577 alaktu: 188, 189 ¯alu: 585 ám-gig-(ga): 363 am-si(4)-si(4): 515 amaˇs: 37 amel¯utu: 129 an-bar-sù: 512 an-da nam-tar: 281 anzillu: 363, 591 apkallu: 6, 148–150,240 apsûm: 37 ar¯aru: 364 arhuˇs-ˇsu-te/ti: 366 arhuˇs-tuk(u): 282, 366 arina: 511 arhu u sˇapattu: 678 arki ab¯ubi: 455 asakku: 591 asu: 527

aˇsar tapˇsuhti: 534 ¯asˇipu: 640 aˇsib¯ut kult¯ari: 365 aˇslu sˇuˇsluˇsu: 621 atm¯anu: 585 bà: 580 ba-an-za: 578, 579 ba-ma: 580 ba-za: 578, 580 ba-za-za: 578 balag: 302 balag ír-ra: 300 balag a-nir-ra: 300 balaggu: 302 balbal-e: 20, 71 bán: 580 bamâ: 580 banû: 364, 578 bar-tam: 362 bara2-bara2-ki-en-gi: 94 be4: 365 b¯el em¯uqi: 610 b¯el narkabti: 638 b¯el p¯ani: 610 bik¯ıtu: 301 birku: 478 b¯ıt as¯ıri: 587 b¯ıt dimm¯ati: 587 b¯ıt k¯ıli: 587 b¯ıt mas. s. arti: 587 b¯ıt nap.tari: 587 b¯ıt s. ibitti: 587 b¯ıt tapˇsuhti: 533 da-ri: 620 dab: 577 dakˇsu: 594 dam¯amum: 146 damqam-¯ınim: 118

760

akkadian and sumerian words

damqu: 706, 716 damtu: 515 d¯as. ¯atu: 120 dè: 35 d¯ekû: 532 di. . .dib: 592 DI.DU: 34 DI.IR.GA: 300 dib: 577 dingir-ra-ni: 194 DU: 458 du10: 478 dù-a: 145 dub: 577 DUB.SAG: 14 dub-sar eme-girx: 94 dullulu: 512 dumu-gi(rx): 94 dumu-ki-en-gi-ra: 94 dummuqu: 639 dunnum: 556 duppuru: 510 dusu: 483 elpetu: 511 elpet mê purki: 511 é-dub-ba-a: 722 é-gal: 584, 587 é-gu-la: 585, 587 é-mu: 590 e-ne-èˇs: 282 é-ní-dúb-bu(-da): 533 é-ˇse-àm-sa4: 587 ˇ S.A: ˇ é.SE 587 edin: 642 eme-girx(15): 94, 717 eme-sal: 53, 271, 301, 717 em¯uqu: 515 en: 128, 141 èn-DU: 146 èn-du-lugal: 21 en-ki-en-gi en-nu-un: 585 èn-ˇsa4: 146 èn-tar: 362 èn-tukun: 350 en¯uma: 149, 150

ÉR: 301, 308 ÉR.GU.LA: 305 ér-ˇsà-hun-gá: 73, 270, 308 ér-ˇsem-ma: 73, 301, 321, 532 (var. ér-sém-ma, ér-sèm-ma) ˇ ˇ ere-a: 458 erˇsahungû: 270 erûnu: 527 erina: 511 eriˇstu: 595 e"ru: 530 ˇ 490 ÉS: eˇs-kirix(KA): 480 e.temmu: 530 ga-an-ˇsa-ˇsa: 364 gá-gá: 592 gaba-ri: 282, 555 gal-zu: 282 GALA: 301, 532 GAN-ma: 491 gar-ensi2: 94 gattu: 515 geˇstu: 640 GI(N): 490, 716 GI ÍR.RA: 300 GI.RA.NÚM: 300 gidim: 530 GIDIM4: 530 gil-gil: 282 GÍN: 458 gip¯aru: 479, 591 gir4-mah: 638 GÌR.NITA: 195 gìr-sil: 282 gír-tab-lú-ux-lu: 576 gír-ùr-ra: 512 (var. gìr-ùr-ra) girr¯anu: 300 girru: 512 girtablilu: 576 giˇs-bala: 639 (giˇs)-bi-za: 580 giˇs-dim-ma-na: 511 giˇs-gigir: 167 giˇs-kéˇs-du: 193, 488 (var. giˇs-kéˇsd-rá) giˇs-ma-nu: 530 giˇs-suhuˇs: 282

akkadian and sumerian words giˇs-taˇskarin: 166, 167 giˇs-ù: 282 giˇs-umbin: 498, 510 giˇsru: 640 gi.t.tu: 712 gizbun: 485, 513, 525 giˇsgú: 640 gu2-en-na: 242 gú-gar-gar: 364 gu-gim ha-ba-si-il-e: 364 gú-gur: 364 gú-ki-ˇsè-lá: 282 gú-me-zé: 513 gú-mur-muˇsen: 638 gù-si-il: 364 gú-si-si: 282 gùd-ús: 282 gu"ennakku: 242 ha-(al)-la-an-ku 37 ha-la ha-la: 592 hab¯alu: 512 h¯abilu-am¯elu: 576 hal-la-kù: 37 (var. hal-an-kù) halhallatu: 301 har-ra-an: 282 harr¯anu: 639 haˇstu: 512, 590 hat¯anu: 620 hir¯ıtum: 488 hittu: 614, 690, 719 hu-ru-(um): 364 huballu: 512 huharu: 638 hummuru: 576, 577 hur: 364 hur-rum: 364 hurb¯u: 510 hurhud is. s. ¯uri: 638 hurru: 364 i-bi-lu-(du4-ga): 611, 614, 664, 689, 719 (var. ibilu, i.bi.lu.dug4.ga) ì-ki-íb: 590 i-lu: 305, 720 i-ˇsub: 514 ibhu: 511

761

idû: 13 ig¯aru: 515 IGI.DU: 640 IGI.DU8.A: 13 igi-gál: 282 igi-gál-sì: 282 igi-hur-re: 364 igi-ˇsè: 146 igiˇstu: 640 ikkibu: 363, 590, 591, 596, 601, 604 illil¯utu: 177, 193 ím: 364 im-gíd-da: 170, 712 IM.LI.GI4.IN: 712 im-ri-a: 282 IM-ˇsub-ak: 282 im-ˇsu-nigin-na: 595 im-ˇsu-rin-na: 510 imgiddû: 712 im.tû: 515 inim-sì-sì-ga: 366 inim-ˇsa6-(ˇsa6): 366 iqqur ¯ıpuˇs: 706 ír-ˇsà-hun-gá: 151 ír-ˇsa-ne-ˇsa4: 720 ír-ˇsè-ma: 151 irina: 511 irrû: 351 iˇs-ka-ra-a-tu: 70 iˇskaru: 706, 707 itê: 555 izi-sìg: 513 ka-duh-a: 486 KA. . .-dun-ud: 34 ka-garáˇs: 282 KA.KA. . .KÚ: 34 ka-ka-si-ga: 611 ka-kèˇs-da: 64 ka-luh-a: 486 ka-sì(g): 23 ka-(ˇsa)-an-ˇsa-ˇsa: 364 KA-ˇsa6-(ˇsa6): 366 ka-ˇsag5-ˇsag5: 366 KA-tar-si-il: 282 káb: 593 kab-du. . .-ga: 550

762

akkadian and sumerian words

KAB. . .du11: 586 kadra: 282 kak-du8: 640 kak-ì-du8: 640 giˇskak-níg-du : 640 8 kala-ga: 610 kalû: 300 kal¯utu: 713 kamû: 513, 577 kan¯asˇu: 364, 576 kár-kár-ka: 640 kartapu: 491 KAS4: 364 k¯as. iru: 64 kasû: 577 kaskal: 282, 639 KI.DU.DU: 302 ki-en-gi(r): 94 ˇ KI.KAS.GAR: 485, 525, 537 ki-kukkú-ga: 282 ki-lul-la: 282 ki-ní-dúb-bu-da: 534 ki-píl-lá: 282 KI.RU.GÚ: 300 ki-sì-ga: 536 ki-túm/tùm/tum: 282 kidudû: 302 kim¯ahu: 557 kimkimmu: 591 kippatu: 491 kir4-dab: 491 kirmahhu: 638 kiruda: 282 kisal-mah: 38 kispu(m): 485, 536 kiˇserˇsu: 588 kiˇsib: 510 kiˇsib-dáb: 282 kiˇsib-gál: 38 kiˇsukku: 588 ku4-(ku4): 282 ku6-lú-ux-lu: 576 kù-sù: 35 kubbulu: 576 KUD: 577 kukkú-zalag: 363 kul¯ılu: 576

kulullu: 576 kunnû: 37 KUR: 303 kurû: 579 lá: 282, 577 la-la: 282 la-la-gi4: 282 lagab×izi: 514 lagabbu: 514 l¯am ab¯ubi: 455 lammass¯atu: 99 l¯anu: 515 lap¯atu: 593 lat¯aku: 593 lêku: 648 liginnu: 712 liqtu: 706 litiktu: 593 lú: 128 (lú)-á-ku5: 577 lú-á-tuku: 610 lú-èn-tar: 362 lú-géˇspu: 512 (lú)gidim: 596 lú-in-na: 282 (lú)-kak-du8: 640 lú-lirum: 512 lú-níg-tuku: 610 lú-ná-a zi-zi: 532 lú-usu(Á.KAL)-tuku: 610 lú-zu-a: 282 lub¯ar¯u: 648 lugal: 128 lugal-ki-en-gi ki-uri: 94 LUL-aˇs: 282 lullu-am¯ılu: 576 lum-a-lam-a: 68 lum-ma: 181 makk¯uru: 615 makk¯ur sˇarri: 615 maltaktu: 148 manû: 640 dmanzât: 410 m¯ar kallê: 638 marratu: 410

akkadian and sumerian words maruˇstu: 363, 591 maˇs gar-ra: 578 máˇs-gú-è-gú-è: 511 máˇssa-sar-kés-da: 511 máˇs-za-lá: 511 maˇs zi-ga: 578 maˇsennu: 638 maˇsmaˇssˇu: 705 m¯atu: 585 me: 640 me-a-im-ri-a-mu: 282 me-lám: 24 me-me: 640 me-zi-hal-ha: 282 m¯edelu: 639 m¯elû: 515 m¯erênu: 510 m¯esˇ¯arum: 481 mí-du11: 37 mihir: 555 miqq¯anu: 511 m¯ısˇ pî: 486 mu7: 640 mu-du10: 191 mu7-mu7: 640 mud: 279 mugirri: 638 mukallimtu: 706 munarri.t¯u: 531 mupatt¯ıtu: 640 muˇs¯abu: 585 muˇs¯elû: 640 muˇsenharu: 638 m¯ut¯an¯u: 365 na4-izi: 514 NA4.KA: 510 na-ri-ga: 77 na4.su-ú: 510 ˇ na4.dSE.TIR: 514 nadû: 640 nab¯atu: 640 nap¯ahu: 640 nagbu: 544 nam-a-a: 511 nam-en-na: 35, 191 nam-gú-(aka-a): 512

nam-lú-ulu6: 128 nam-lugal-ki-en-gi-ra: 94 nam-mah-du11: 282 nam-mah. . . du11: 350 nam-mu: 282 nam-tar-ra: 363, 365 nam-úˇs-(a): 363, 365 namtaru: 363, 365 nap.tartum: 640 naˇs¯aru: 365 únattila: 351 ne-sag: see nisag n¯emelu: 610 ní: 24 nì-u4-rum: 139 níg-al-di: 595 níg-ga: 615 níg-ga lugal: 615 níg-gig-(ga): 363, 590, 596 níg-gig-ga . . . ak: 363 níg-si-sá: 481 níg-ˇsu: 282 NÍG.ZU: 13 nin-mè: 95 n¯ıqu: 527 nir-gál: 282 nisag: 35, 513 (var. ne-sag) nisannu: 513 nissatum: 146 nittâmelu: 576 nittû-amelu: 576 nubû: 305 únumun: 511 únumun-búr-(ra): 511 nuˇssˇuru: 565 nutturu: 510 pa-sìg-sìg pà(d): 139, 149 (pa)dattu: 515 pahalliya: 479 p¯aqidu: 362 parzillu: 512 passu: 580 patar sˇibbi: 512 p¯emtu: 514 p¯entu: 514

763

764

akkadian and sumerian words

pentû: 514 pertu: 37 pessu: 580 pî niˇs¯ı: 611 pî ummâni: 87 pindû: 514 pirigx: 148 pirig ka-ˇsá-an-ˇsa-ˇsa: 364 pirsu: 14, 707 pissû: 579 p¯ıt p¯ı: 486 pû: 516 pû m¯atim: 612 pû niˇs¯ı: 612 puhhuru: 364 p¯uru: 682 r¯em¯enu: 367 rimmum: 146 ruggubum: 639 qá-dì-ˇsum: 590 qanû: 527, 716 (var. qan¯u) q¯an bik¯ıti: 300 qaˇssˇu: 590 qaˇstu: 410 qinnazu u paruˇssˇu: 482 qîˇstu: 410 qubbû: 305 qub¯uru: 537 rak¯abu: 639 r¯e"ûm k¯ınum: 481 ri: 620 rig7: 510 rittu: 510 sà-sù-ga: 510 ság-di: 282 sag-du: 282 ság-du11: 282 SAG.DUB: 14 sag-èn-tar: 362 sag-sìg: 282 sag-túm-túm: 282 sahab-(bi): 639 sahar. . .gi4: 594 sahar-ra-bala: 283

sah¯aru: 639 salam il¯ani: 44 sammû: 74 sap¯ahu: 365 si-du11-ga: 498, 512 si-ga: 610 si-il-si-il: 510 si-im-si-im: 512 si-sá: 481 sidug (LAGAB×DAR): 512 sihu: 587 sila-dagal: 363 sila si-ga: 363 sipa-zi: 481 sù: 512 su-lim-ma: 143 su-lum-mar: 283 su-ub: 35 su-zi: 24, 188 sùhub-(bi): 639 sum: 640 sûnu: 478 suppû: 366 SUR.GIBIL: 711 s. ab¯atu: 711 s. al¯alum: 532 s. ar¯apu: 513 s. âtu: 706 s.¯eru: 642 s. erru: 512 s. ubbutu: 577 s. urru: 510 ˇ 308 SÀ: sˇa ab¯ari: 512 sˇa pî ummân¯ı: 706 sˇa um¯asˇi: 512 ˇ SÀ.ABZU: 372 ˇsax-(GÁ)-dub-ba: 139 ˇsu-du11-ga: 593 ˇsa-DU-lugal: 145, 146 ˇsa-du-igi-ˇsè-àm: 145 sˇà-ki-bi-gi4-gi4: 283 ˇsa-sìg-ga: 510, 511 sˇa"¯alu: 362 ˇsab-gal: 588 ˇsab-tur: 588 sˇagammu: 639

akkadian and sumerian words sˇakkanakku: 195, 370 sˇalamta ak¯alu: 366 sˇal¯a.tu: 510 sˇalummatum: 144 sˇamallû: 588 sˇamme bal¯a.ti: 351 sˇamû: 513 sˇandabakku: 139, 242 sˇanû: 364 sˇar¯a.tu: 510 sˇatû: 510 ˇse-ˇsa4: 146 SÉM: 301 ˇseˇs-tab-ba: 367 ˇseˇs-tam-ma: 367 ˇsib: 640 ˇsíbir: 480 sˇibirru: 480 ˇsid: 640 sˇigû: 270 sˇiptu: 640 ˇsìr-gíd-da: 322 sˇ¯ıru: 555 ˇsu-bar-zi: 283 ˇsu-du11: 283 ˇsu-íl-la: 73, 302 ˇsu-nigin: 639 ˇsu-te-gá: 283 sˇubtu(m): 511, 585 ˇsubun: 485 ˇsudug(-UD): 514 ˇsul-a-lum: 283 ˇsul-zi: 188 sˇulum Agade: 442, 455 sˇurˇsu: 511 sˇut¯emuqu: 366 sˇuttatu: 512, 590 sˇutukku: 514 tadmiqtu: 366 tahlapp¯anu: 511 takkabu: 545 takkakbu: 545 t¯akultu: 513, 525, 537 tal¯ımu: 367 t¯amartu: 13 tamk¯aru: 588

tanittu: 74 tazzimtu: 301 te-en: 594 t¯eltu: 611, 613 t¯em¯ıqu: 366 tes. îtu: 120 ˇ TÉS.(BI) . . .KÚ: 648 tigi: 22, 207, 249 tin¯uru: 511 TIR: 585, 638 tu6: 720 tu-da: 145 túg-eˇs-tab-ba: 621 túg-níg-lá: 350 TÚL.KA: 512 tumru: 512 tupˇsikku: 483 túr: 37 turru: 512 u4: 149, 150 (var. UD) u5: 639 ù-dúb: 514 u4-gim. . . è: 510 u4-HI-da: 283 u5-ig: 639 ù-kul: 536 ù-lul-la: 533 ù-na-a-du: 283 ù-nu-ku: 283 u4-SAR: 150 ú-ˇsim: 350 ù-tu-a-ab-ba: 149 ú-u8-a-a-e: 283 udu-girx: 94 udu-kur-ra: 94 udug: 530 UG: 148 uktin: 283 uligi: 94 ¯umu: 148, 149 um¯asˇu 511 ¯umu muktaˇssˇaˇssˇu: 364 unnînu: 270 unu6: 516 ùr: 478 ur4: 364

765

766

akkadian and sumerian words

UR.(BI) . . . KÚ: 648 ur-dib: 512 ur-ˇsa4: 146 urq¯ıtu: 350 uru: 22 urux: 141 usan3-bar-uˇs: 482 us. s. ulu: 577 utlu: 478 utukku: 530 uturtu: 510 uzu: 555 zà-dib: 283 za-la: 512 zà-mí: 20, 60, 68, 74, 205

za-ma-rumeˇs te-ge-e: 70 za-na: 580 zà-pà: 283 za-ra-a: 711 zà-tag: 283 zam¯aru: 146 ze"pum: 323 zihu: 587 ˘ . .tag-tag: 593 zag. zag . . . ús-ús: 593 zaqqara: 515 ziqqurratu: 559 zirru: 479 zittam zâzu: 592 na4zú-sal-la: 510