Michael Hundley - Yahweh Among The Gods - The Divine in Genesis, Exodus, and The Ancient Near East-Cambridge University Press (2022)

Yahweh among the Gods
In this study Michael Hundley explores the diverse deities of Ancient

Near Eastern and biblical literature, from deified doors and diseases to
the masters of the universe. Using data from Mesopotamia, Hittite
Anatolia, Egypt, the Levant, and non-Priestly Genesis and Exodus,
Hundley explains their context-specific approach to deity, which
produces complex and seemingly contradictory portraits. He suggests
that ancient deities gained prominence primarily by co-opting the
attributes of other deities, rather than by denying their existence or
inventing new powers. He demonstrates that the primary difference
between biblical and Ancient Near Eastern presentations lies in their
rhetorical goals, not their conceptions of gods. While others promote
divine supremacy, Genesis and Exodus promote exclusive worship.
Hundley argues that this monolatry redefined the biblical divine
sphere and paved the way for the later development of monotheism
and monotheistic explanations of evil.
Michael B. Hundley received his PhD from Cambridge in 2010 and was
an Alexander von Humboldt Postdoctoral Research Fellow at Ludwig
Maximilian University in Munich. The author of Keeping Heaven on
Earth and Gods in Dwellings as well as multiple articles, he currently
teaches at Central Washington University.
The Divine in Genesis, Exodus, and the Ancient
Near East
MICHAEL B. HUNDLEY
Central Washington University
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
names: Hundley, Michael B., 1978– author.
title: Yahweh among the gods : the divine in Genesis, Exodus, and the ancient Near
East / Michael Hundley.
description: Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY, USA : Cambridge
University Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
identifiers: lccn 2021031010 (print) | lccn 2021031011 (ebook) | isbn
9781108482868 (hardback) | isbn 9781108609692 (ebook)
subjects: lcsh: God. | Gods. | Middle East – Religion. | God – Biblical teaching. |
Bible. Genesis – Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Bible. Exodus – Criticism,
interpretation, etc.
classification: lcc bl473 .h86 2022 (print) | lcc bl473 (ebook) | ddc 202/
.109394–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021031010
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021031011
isbn 978-1-108-48286-8 Hardback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of
URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
Contents
Preface page vii

List of Abbreviations x
Introduction 1
part i the ancient near east

1 Mesopotamian Gods 11
2 Hittite Gods 62
3 Egyptian Gods 99
4 Levantine Gods 143
5 Synthesizing the Ancient Near Eastern Divine Sphere 191
part ii non-priestly genesis and exodus

6 Yahweh 203
7 The Divine Cast of Characters 254
8 Yahweh among the Gods 305
9 Divine Access and Objects 329
10 Synthesis of Perspectives 345
Bibliography 355
Index 395
v
Preface
The present project has been long in gestation. Begun as an Alexander von
Humboldt Postdoctoral research project in 2011, it has been delayed for
various reasons. While a postdoctoral researcher, I completed my second
book, leaving this volume only half complete. The nomadic lifestyle of
a peripheral academic (and some ill-conceived tactical decisions) pre-
vented me from finishing it soon thereafter. Finally, settling as a lecturer
at Central Washington University in 2016 gave me the much-needed
stability to reengage. Nonetheless, teaching five days a week, three to
four times a day sapped me of the mental stamina to make quick progress.
At last, and fittingly, I have been able to complete the manuscript during
the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic.
It continues my earlier research trajectory, focusing on the intersection
of human and divine in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East
(ANE). I published a study on conceptions of the divine in Deuteronomy
and the Deuteronomistic History in 2009, and my first book, Keeping
Heaven on Earth, considered divine presence in the Priestly Pentateuch in
its ANE context. The second, Gods in Dwellings, addressed temples,
divine presence, and regular service in Egypt, Mesopotamia, Hittite
Anatolia, and Syria-Palestine.1 The present book considers the gods
more broadly both within and beyond the temples, examining the gods,
their essential and characteristic qualities, the relationship between them
as well as the various aspects of a single god, and contact between humans
and the divine. Having already assessed Deuteronomy (D) and the Priestly
1
Hundley 2009; 2011; 2013a. See Hundley 2015a for a summary of Hundley 2013a.
vii
viii Preface
(P) texts, this monograph examines the other major pentateuchal strand,
the non-P texts in Genesis and Exodus, again alongside Mesopotamia,
Hittite Anatolia, Egypt, and the Levant. I have long been fascinated with
the wild and variable presentations of divine figures in these texts and how
little they align with modern (scholarly) expectations. This book is my
attempt to make sense of the data.
With any book project, authors owe much to those around them.
I would like to thank the Humboldt Foundation for giving me the time
and resources to conduct much of the research and Professor
Dr. Christoph Levin for being such a knowledgeable and amicable host.
Thanks are due to Altorientalische Forschungen, the Journal of
Theological Studies, and the Catholic Biblical Quarterly both for publish-
ing some of the book’s components and for allowing me to use them in the
composite work. I would like to thank Spencer Allen for his support, his
helpful comments on the Mesopotamia chapter even before it became an
article, his invaluable monograph, and most of all his friendship.2 Walther
Sallaberger, Jared Miller, and Friedhelm Hoffmann of LMU-Munich each
deserve credit for their assistance with the Mesopotamian, Hittite, and
Egyptian material.
Special thanks go to Central Washington University for allowing me to
stay in the game while being gainfully employed even during the pandemic
and giving me the time to finally finish the project. I would like to thank
my colleagues and my students for supporting me, especially Professor
Lily Vuong for hiring me and being a valuable friend and colleague.
Another thank you goes to Beatrice Rehl and Cambridge University
Press for agreeing to publish this study. I hope it is worth the wait.
Most of all I would like to thank my family. I am indebted to my
parents, Timothy and Virginia Hundley, for their unwavering support
and belief in me and to my wife’s parents, Charles David and Virginia
Susann Jones, for their support of an underemployed son-in-law both
emotionally and financially. My wife, Susan Shafer Hundley, in particu-
lar, is my guardian angel and the most remarkable person I have ever
known. She has followed me all over the world. She knew, loved, and
believed in me unlike anyone else, even when life did not go according to
plan. In addition to carrying the world on her shoulders, she has also
found time to read and edit this work. She has been my strength, my muse,
and my soul mate. I owe her more than I can ever repay. Finally, I would
like to thank my children, Kaya Elana (twelve, though as she continually
2
Allen 2015.
Preface ix
reminded me as I wrote this, thirteen in eight days), Evangeline Grace

(ten), and Matthew Johannes (eight). They are each wonderful in their
own way and, at the time of writing, still live under the fantasy that their
father is a hero. Until their minds change and even after, I aim to do all
I can to make their belief a reality. In short, my immediate family is more
valuable than anything else in the world. It is with them that I want to
share life and to them that I dedicate this book.
Abbreviations
A. tablets in the collections of the Oriental Institute, University

of Chicago
ABD D. N. Freedman, ed. Anchor Bible Dictionary. 6 vols.
New York, 1992
AEL Miriam Lichtheim. Ancient Egyptian Literature. 3 vols.
Berkeley, 1973–80
AfO Archiv für Orientforschung
ÄHG J. Assmann. Ägyptische Hymnen und Gebete. Zurich, 1975
ÄHG2 J. Assmann. Ägyptische Hymnen und Gebete. 2nd ed.
Fribourg, 1999
ANE Ancient Near East(ern)
ANET J. Pritchard, ed. ANE Texts Relating to the Old Testament.
3rd ed. Princeton, 1969
AO museum siglum for the Louvre
AoF Altorientalische Forschungen
ArAn Archivum Anatolicum
ARM Archives royales de Mari
ArOr Archiv Orientalni
Ash. R. Borger. Die Inschriften Asarhaddons, Konigs von
Assyrien. Graz, 1956
ASJ Acta Sumerologica
AuOr Aula Orientalis
BA Biblical Archaeologist
BaM Baghdader Mitteilungen
BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
x
List of Abbreviations xi
BD Book of the Dead

BDB F. Brown, S. Driver, and C. Briggs. A Hebrew and English
Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford, 1962
BetM Bet Miqra
Bib Biblica
BiOr Bibliotheca Orientalis
BM tablets in the collections of the British Museum
BMECCJ Bulletin of the Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan
BN Biblische Notizen
Bo Inventory numbers of Boğ azköy tablets excavated 1906–12
BThZ Berliner theologische Zeitschrift
BWL W. Lambert. Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford, 1960
BZ Biblische Zeitschrift
CAD Ignace Gelb et al., eds. The Assyrian Dictionary of the
Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. 21 vols.
Chicago, 1956–2010
CANE J. Sasson, ed. Civilizations of the ANE. 2 vols. Peabody, 2000
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CD Cairo Genizah copy of the Damascus Document
CDD The Chicago Demotic Dictionary. https://oi.uchicago.edu/
research/projects/chicago-demotic-dictionary-cdd-0
CHD H. Güterbock and H. Hoffner Jr., eds. The Hittite
Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of
Chicago. Chicago, 1991–
COS W. Hallo and K. L. Younger, eds. The Context of Scripture.
3 vols. Leiden, 1997–2002
CT Coffin Texts, esp. A. de Buck, ed. The Egyptian Coffin
Texts. 7 vols. Chicago, 1935–61
CT Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British
Museum (London 1896ff.)
CTH E. Laroche. Catalogue des textes hittites. Paris, 1971
CUW J.-L. Cunchillos. A Concordance of Ugaritic Words.
Piscataway, 2003
D The Deuteronomist, Deuteronomy
DDD K. van der Toorn et al., eds. Dictionary of Deities and
Demons in the Bible. 2nd ed. Leiden, 1999
DN divine name
DSS Dead Sea Scrolls
Dtr The Deuteronomistic History
EA The El-Amarna tablets
xii List of Abbreviations
Ee Enuˉ ma eliš
Emar Emar texts in D. Arnaud. Recherches au pays d’Aštata:
Emar VI/1–4. Paris, 1985–7
ENiM Égypte nilotique et méditerranéenne
fr. fragment
GAB Götteradreßbuch von Assur
GGIG O. Keel and C. Uehlinger. Gods, Goddesses, and Images of
God in Ancient Israel. Minneapolis, 1998
GN geographic name
HADD Hypersensitive Agency Detection Device
HeBAI Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel
HED J. Puhvel. Hittite Etymological Dictionary. Berlin, 1984–
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
IFAO Institut français d’archéologie orientale
JAEI Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections
JANER Journal of ANE Religions
JANES Journal of the ANE Society of Columbia University
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies
JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology
JEOL Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap
(Gezelschap) “Ex Oriente Lux”
JJS Journal of Jewish Studies
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages
JQR Jewish Quarterly Review
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
K. tablets in the Kouyunjik collection of the British Museum
KAI H. Donner and W. Röllig. Kanaanäische und Aramäische
Inschriften. 3 vols. Wiesbaden, 1962– (5th ed. 2002)
KBo Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköi. Leipzig, 1916–80
KRI K. Kitchen. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and
Biographical: I–VII. Oxford, 1969–90
KTU M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartin. The Cuneiform
Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other
Places. 3rd ed. Munster, 2013
KUB Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi. Berlin, 1921–
List of Abbreviations xiii
LÄ W. Helck et al., eds. Lexikon der Ägyptologie. 7 vols.

Wiesbaden, 1975–92
LAE W. Simpson, ed. The Literature of Ancient Egypt. 3rd ed.
New Haven, 2003
LXX Septuagint (the Greek Old Testament)
M. Mari excavation numbers
MARI Mari, Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires
MT Masoretic Text
NEA Near Eastern Archaeology
NedTT Nederlands theologisch tijdschrift
non-P non-Priestly
OA Oriens Antiquus
OEAE D. Redford, ed. The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient
Egypt. 3 vols. Oxford, 2001
OrNS Orientalia (Nova Series)
P Priestly
Pap. or p papyrus
PE Praeparatio evangelica = Philo of Byblos: The Phoenician
History. Introduction, Critical Texts, Translation, and
Notes, ed. H. Attridge and R. Oden. Washington, DC, 1981
PKG Propyläen Kunstgeschichte (Berlin 1923–6; 1967–82)
RA Revue d’assyriologie et d’archélogie orientale
RB Revue Biblique
rev. reverse
RHA Revue hittite et asianique
RHR Revue de l’histoire de religions
RIMA Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods
RINAP Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period
RlA M. Streck et al., eds. Reallexikon der Assyriologie und
vorderasiatischen Archäologie. 15 vols. Berlin, 1928–2018
RO Rocznik Orientalistyczny
RS museum siglum of the Louvre and Damascus (Ras Shamra)
Rs reverse side
SAA State Archives of Assyria
SAAB State Archives of Assyria Bulletin
SAK Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur
Samr Samaria inscriptions from F. Dobbs-Allsop et al., eds.
Hebrew Inscriptions. New Haven, 2005
Sanh. Talmud tractate Sanhedrin
xiv List of Abbreviations
SCCNH Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the

Hurrians
SJOT Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament
SMEA Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici
Sota. Talmud tractate Sot ̣ah
STT O. Gurney and J. Finkelstein, eds. The Sultantepe Tablets. 2
vols. London, 1957–64
T. Tello
TAD B. Porten and A. Yardeni, eds. Textbook of Aramaic
Documents from Ancient Egypt. 4 vols. Jerusalem, 1986–99
TDNT G. Kittel and G. Friedrich, eds. Theological Dictionary of
the New Testament. 10 vols. Grand Rapids, 1964–76
TDOT G. Botterweck et al., eds. Theological Dictionary of the Old
Testament. 15 vols. Grand Rapids, 1974–2006
ToM Theory of Mind
TT Theban tombs
TUAT O. Kaiser et al., eds. Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten
Testaments. Gutersloh, 1982–
TuL E. Ebeling. Tod und Leben nach den Vorstellungen der
Babylonier. Berlin, 1931
TynBul Tyndale Bulletin
UC siglum from UCL’s Petrie Museum
UCLAEE UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology
UF Ugarit Forschungen
Urk. K. Sethe et al., eds. Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums. 8
vols. Leipzig/Berlin, 1903–57
VAT museum siglum of the Vorderasiatisches Museum, Berlin
VBoT A. Götze. Verstreute Boghazköi-Texte. Marburg, 1930
VT Vetus Testamentum
Wb A. Erman and W. Grapow, eds. Wörterbuch der ägyptische
Sprache. 7 vols. Berlin, 1926–31
WdO Welt des Orients
ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische
Archäologie
ZÄS Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Alterntumskunde
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epographik
ZTK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche
Introduction
In the context of the Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) world where anything
from diseases to doorposts could be considered divine, understanding
conceptions of the gods is a difficult enterprise. Scholars tend to expect
perceptions of ancient gods to conform to modern, especially Western,
divine stereotypes. However, ancient and modern ideas of gods do not so
easily align. For example, in accord with Christian and Jewish theology,
many scholars have assumed that the god of the Bible is invisible and
immaterial, despite significant biblical evidence to the contrary.1
Similarly, many contend that the Hebrew Bible is monotheistic, again in
the face of substantial counterevidence.2 Even when texts from the ANE
explicitly refer to certain illnesses like epilepsy as divine, some
Assyriologists argue instead that they cannot be “real” gods because
they lack personality.3 All of this calls into question what we mean
when we use the term “god.”
The following study aims to reframe biblical and other ANE concep-
tions of god by addressing three guiding questions: What is a god? What is
the relationship between gods? How do gods interact with humans? It
1
My goal in providing examples is not to denigrate scholars or their scholarship. Standing
on the higher ground paved by them and others affords me a view they did not have. All
scholars have blind spots, and I imagine some of my own will emerge as scholars engage
with this work. On the scholarly focus on an invisible, disembodied biblical god, see the
references in the introduction to Sommer 2009.
2
Recently, scholars have redefined monotheism so that their use of the term is more in
keeping with the biblical evidence. See the Disclaimers and Clarifications section of this
introduction for further comment.
3
For example, Stol 1993:6.
1
2 Introduction
attempts to answer these questions in Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia,

Egypt, the Levant, and the non-Priestly (non-P) texts in Genesis and
Exodus.4
With talking snakes, human-divine mating, and the mysterious overlap
of the biblical god Yahweh with his angels, the biblical texts under
investigation have been labeled primitive. So too have the ANE texts.5
However, these texts exhibit logic and sophistication that can only be
unlocked by situating them alongside each other. While foreign, the
various ANE regions and cultures have sophisticated and logical views
of the divine, which have yet to be fully mined.6
This project attempts to alter scholarly and popular conceptions of
ancient gods while problematizing (or at least contextualizing) modern
conceptions. Informed by aspective theory, communal views of person-
hood, and the Cognitive Science of Religion (about which see Chapters 1
and 3), it seeks to add precision and texture to our understanding of ANE
and biblical gods. Considering the data according to ancient criteria and
comparing ancient perspectives provides a more robust picture of each
perspective and a richer portrait of the variegated ancient conceptions of
the divine. By comparing the biblical data to the wider ANE data, the
biblical presentation gains dimensionality. It allows the reader to explore
the context from which the Hebrew Bible emerged and to see how it
adopts and adapts elements from that context to suit its particular ideo-
logical, cultural, and theological agendas.
In order to make the foreign conceptions of deity more understandable,
the study applies assorted analogies, many drawn from the business
world. It compares the various high gods to one-stop shops like
Amazon.com, who compete not by creating new powers or by denying
the existence of other gods, but primarily by claiming for themselves other
deities’ previously exclusive attributes. A good public relations team thus
may draw freely from the full repertoire of divine conceptualizations to
create new combinations, such that a deity’s powers could theoretically
expand as far as the human imagination allows. The book also links the
relationship between aspects of a single deity to franchises like
McDonald’s, the relationship between deities with a shared forename or
4
On the non-P texts and the synthetic nature of ANE summaries, see the Disclaimers and
Clarifications section of this introduction.
5
For example, Milgrom 1991 used ANE analogs as a way of highlighting the biblical
sophistication by contrast.
6
Such a claim does not imply that I have fully mined them, only that I have tried to further
probe their depths and that much work remains.
Outline 3
title to associated stores like high-end fashion, and divine overlap to

mergers, corporate takeovers, and start-ups. The study considers religious
rhetoric in terms of competition, marketing, and public relations. It also
compares the diverse aspects of a deity to constellations and their variable
presentation to LEGO.
Regarding the Hebrew Bible, while it focuses on a particular corpus,
the study aims to contribute to the wider discussion of biblical divine
rhetoric, consistent on a macro level across the Pentateuch (see
Chapter 10) and much of the Hebrew Bible. In particular, it considers
the biblical rhetoric of monolatry, the exclusive worship of a single god
without denying the existence of other gods. While the non-P texts are
decidedly not monotheistic, the monograph also considers how their
monolatry lay the groundwork for later monotheism, emerging in the
New Testament yet not fully formed until afterward. In addition, gather-
ing the ANE data in one place and providing them with an interpretative
framework allows the reader to apply them to various biblical and other
ANE texts and corpora. The ANE sections also consider how the divine
presentation varies by genre and context, an analysis that could be fruitful
for biblical studies.7 For example, narratives and prayers tend to treat
deities as singular entities, while deities in cultic texts and hymns tend to
be presented as a constellation of detachable aspects.
outline
This book consists of two parts – the first considers the wider ANE
conceptions of deity, while the second zooms in on the non-P texts in
Genesis and Exodus. Each chapter is largely self-contained, such that it
could be read profitably on its own. Nonetheless, the chapters all gain
greater meaning when read together. Part I addresses conceptions of and
contact with the divine in the ANE, with chapters devoted to
Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia, Egypt, and the Levant focusing on the
period from 1500–500 BCE (Chapters 1–4). A synthesis of the findings
follows (Chapter 5). Each identifies the gods and assesses the essential and
characteristic qualities of deity. It then considers the relationship between
7
Multiple factors including genre and rhetorical purpose influence the presentation of deity.
Instead of drawing from multiple genres, scholars have traditionally focused on the
narratives at the expense of other genres. More recently, scholars have paid greater
attention to treaties and cultic texts yet have paid insufficient attention to the way genre
affects divine presentation (for examples from Mesopotamia, in particular, see Chapter 1).
4 Introduction
deities as well as the fluid relationship between a deity and its various
aspects, before concluding with human-divine and divine-human commu-
nication. In the process, it addresses the aspective or context-specific
approach to deity influenced by genre as well as the rhetoric of divine
competition and elevation.
Part II begins with a character profile of the main biblical deity Yahweh
in non-P Genesis and Exodus, divided according to names, attributes, and
manifestations (Chapter 6). Chapter 7 examines the various potentially
divine characters in the pericope, concluding with an assessment of the
identity and common characteristics of the gods. Chapter 8 sorts the
divine sphere, situating Yahweh among the gods, biblical and ANE.
Chapter 9 considers divine-human and human-divine communication
alongside the ambivalent role of objects in mediating presence.
Chapter 10 concludes the volume with comparisons between the biblical
portrait in Part II with the wider ANE portrait in Part I, the various
components of the non-P perspective (Primeval, Patriarchal, and Exodus
narratives), and the non-P perspective with the Priestly (P) and
Deuteronomic (D)conceptions.
disclaimers and clarifications

While unavoidably convenient, labels carry rhetorical freight. The English
word “god” is a prime example. As a word, it is notoriously difficult to
define and its use varies based on context. At its core, it labels a genus of
beings. However, the criteria for inclusion or exclusion are far from
settled. Virtually every world religion past and present including
Judaism, Christianity, and Islam believes in multiple supernatural beings.
How then does one adjudicate between them? Are they all gods or is there
only one? The difference between multiple gods with one at the top and
only one god with other supernatural subordinates may appear slight yet
comes with major implications. In a sense, then, monotheism is a language
game.8
Rather than impose a definition onto the texts, we let the texts as much
as is possible tell us what they believe constitutes a god and who qualifies.9
The texts before us are resolutely polytheistic – that is, they posit a world
with multiple gods. Recognizing the presence of other gods in the Hebrew
8
Regarding language games, see classically Wittgenstein 1953.
9
This study uses the terms “god” and “deity” interchangeably and “divine” as a descriptor
of gods or deities.
Disclaimers and Clarifications 5
Bible scholars have attempted to redefine monotheism, originally under-

stood narrowly to indicate the existence of a single god. They consider the
biblical texts monotheistic since one being, Yahweh, is on an entirely
different plane than others, is supreme while others are subservient, and
inspire singular worship.10
While not unreasonable, such a definition goes against popular usage
and draws too sharp a distinction between monotheism and polytheism,
between the religion of Israel and its neighbors. Monolatry (or henothe-
ism), the worship of one god while acknowledging multiple gods, seems
more appropriate for the Hebrew Bible and is the term used here.
Nonetheless, this study also argues that monotheism becomes appropriate
when, drawing on biblical monolatry, later traditions redefine the god
category, reassigning all divine beings other than Yahweh to the angel or
demon categories.
ANE to is a convenient, though not problem-free label, encompassing the
region from modern-day Iraq in the east to Egypt in the south and west,
including Mesopotamia, the Levant, Hittite Anatolia, and Egypt. It also
carries contextual freight as “east” implies a center.11 Other geographical
orientations and labels are possible, such as “West Asian” or “Eastern
Mediterranean.” This study opts for the more traditional ANE. It also
considers the Hebrew Bible an ANE text, though in places uses ANE as
a shorthand to describe those ANE texts that are not biblical.
The labels “Mesopotamia,” “Hittite Anatolia,” “Egypt,” and the
“Levant” also are imperfect as they are etic terms applied to regions
whose views, cultures, and alliances vary across place and time.
Synthetic surveys of each tend to stress homogeneity at the expense of
diversity. They are also selective in what they cover, choosing some
materials and drawing certain connections at the expense of other mater-
ials and connections. Nonetheless, I try to account for some of the diver-
sity and limit the focus to 1500–500 BCE. I believe such a bird’s-eye view
is helpful to trace the rough contours, especially for comparative purposes
(about which see later in this introduction).12
Regarding the Hebrew Bible, a label that itself is not without interpret-
ive freight, the study addresses the non-P texts in the Pentateuch.13
10
See, for example, MacDonald 2012:21–71; Sommer 2009:145–74.
11
“Middle East” replaced “Near East” in popular but not scholarly parlance as well.
12
I invite critique from specialists on both the macro and micro levels.
13
“Hebrew Bible” is not an entirely accurate descriptor as some of it is written in Aramaic.
The traditional Christian “Old Testament” implies the superiority of the New Testament
6 Introduction
Pentateuchal scholarship enjoys a relative consensus on the identity and

extent of the P texts, at least in Genesis and Exodus.14 In contrast, scholars
have intractably different perspectives on the remaining non-P texts, the
two most prominent of which are the source-critical and redactional
models.15 While the texts are no doubt composite and their compositional
history is complex, the present study considers the non-P texts as
a composite block. It analyzes the varied expressions of deity and leaves
the text’s prehistory for another day.16 It is predominantly phenomeno-
logical in the sense that it considers the texts’ perspectives on religious
phenomena, also examining the rhetorical effect the composite text has on
the reader, whether intended or not.17 As such, this study makes no
attempt to trace the history of Israelite religion, but rather its rhetoric,
which effectively becomes Israelite religion as remembered by posterity.
Nonetheless, the results should be of value to those interested in how and
when Genesis and Exodus were combined.18
In places, I use the label “non-Priestly Pentateuch” to refer to the non-P
texts in Genesis and Exodus. This too is not strictly accurate since D also is
part of the non-P Pentateuch and the composition of much of the book of
Numbers remains open to debate. I use it as a convenient way of distin-
guishing non-P from P and D within the Pentateuch. The book also
demonstrates a preference for Hebrew versification with the English in
parentheses when it differs. In addition, I opt to transliterate the Hebrew
to make it more accessible to nonspecialists.
This study is comparative in nature. While it attempts to analyze
individual texts and traditions on their own terms, it does so with a view
toward other analogous ANE texts. Comparing overarching traditions
with individual texts (e.g., Mesopotamia with non-P Genesis and Exodus)
would produce different results than comparing overarching traditions,
individual texts, or individual ANE texts to the biblical tradition. I have
chosen to organize it this way since my primary audience is biblical
(“First Testament” is not much better). “Tanakh” (an acronym for its constituent
sections according to Jewish interpretation) is another option.
14
See conveniently, Campbell and O’Brien 1993, based on the classic study of Martin Noth
1972, though cf. Hartenstein and Schmid 2013.
15
See, for example, Gertz et al., 2016.
16
That said, it does mention some of the source-critical and redactional divisions as a way of
orienting the reader to the wider discussion.
17
Rather than being mere compilers, I believe that the editors were also authors who
considered the import of composite editions (see regarding my stance on compositional
issues Hundley 2018).
18
See, for example, Dozeman and Schmid 2006.
Disclaimers and Clarifications 7
scholars, many of whom do not have sufficient access to the ANE material
or to the systems of thought that inform it.19 As noted, such a synthesis
also facilitates comparison with various biblical and other texts and
traditions.
In addition, this book aims to make comparisons without value judg-
ments. While similar in multiple and meaningful ways, the non-P
Pentateuch is different in others. While this study considers what is
exceptional about the biblical portrait, it does not consider the Bible
exceptional in the sense of being vastly superior.
Regarding the issue of influence, this study avoids claims of direct
dependence. As a teacher of world religions where striking parallels
emerge across the globe with no apparent genetic connection, I am leery
of dogmatic claims of one text relying on another. In some cases connec-
tions between cultures are likely quite close, while in others they are more
diffuse (in places these connections are more specifically addressed).
Nonetheless, rather than positing a direct connection between texts,
ideas from adjacent cultures likely transferred more diffusely (though we
as scholars generally only have access to the texts that preserve them).
Thus, individual texts inform us of the ideas circulating seemingly in the
air.20
I also do not want to imply that the biblical (or other ANE) authors
merely copy and paste texts from adjacent cultures. While the surrounding
cultures undoubtedly influenced each culture’s portrait, no culture is
a blank slate. Each adapts and combines foreign influences to suit its
particular context and agenda. Finally, finishing a monograph in the
time of COVID-19 means that in places there is not as much reference
to secondary literature as is warranted. As such, I apologize to any authors
whose significant works may have been excluded.
19
I do hope that it will benefit specialists as well as provide a helpful synthesis and even
a helpful analysis of some individual texts and genres. I also have tried to make it
accessible for nonspecialists and nonacademics. Its results and implications are clear
and broad-ranging enough to be of interest to a wider audience.
20
The theory of cultural translation clarifies how culture is translated between contexts
(Asad 1986; Ghosh 1992). Flynn applied the theory to the Bible generally (2013:73–90)
and more particularly to its religious history (2020).
part i
THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST

1
Mesopotamian Gods
The divine is seemingly ubiquitous in Mesopotamian society, yet despite its

all-pervasiveness, it remains conceptually elusive.1 The divine sphere is vast
and complex, such that it is hard to delimit and distinguish between its
various parts. In fact, there is no simple answer to even the most basic
question: what is a god?2 The divine world is also characterized by
a fluidity not found in modern Western religions. For example, Ištar-of-
Arbela, Ištar-of-Nineveh, and Ištar, the Planet Venus are all Ištar, yet in
different contexts are treated as different Ištars.3 In addition, although the
divine is present seemingly everywhere, Mesopotamians themselves make
little attempt to systematically unravel its complexities. As such, modern
scholarly endeavors to do so in some ways go against the grain of ANE
thinking and, thus are somewhat artificial. Even the term “Mesopotamia”
itself is somewhat artificial, as diverse cultures populated what we classify as
ancient Mesopotamia and perspectives varied within and across cultures,
synchronically and diachronically. Therefore, we cannot expect a synthesis of
“Mesopotamian” perspectives to accurately reflect the perspective(s) of every
place at every time.4 Nevertheless, despite all of these deficiencies, fruitful
1
This chapter is a revised and expanded version of Hundley 2013b.
2
In Porter 2009a multiple scholars attempt to answer this question without coming to any
consensus.
3
Allen 2015 addresses the relationship between the attestations of Ištar.
4
Despite the diversity, a remarkable conservatism of religious expression and practice
emerges, such that overviews allow for exceptions and alternative perspectives. Lambert
(1990:123), for example, contends that “no major changes took place over history except
in the organization of the gods into a pantheon, and except where cities completely died
out and ceased to be inhabited.” Although somewhat optimistic, Lambert’s claim none-
theless has a substantial grain of truth to it.
11
12 Mesopotamian Gods
generalizations may be made that allow the modern mind (limited) access
into the complex and contoured ancient Mesopotamian conceptions of the
divine sphere, which have exerted a significant influence on the Bible, the rest
of the ANE, and the modern West.5
To this end, the following chapter offers a synthetic study of the divine
sphere in Mesopotamia, bringing together in one place a vast array of data
and research on this important topic.6 Rather than claiming to be the last
word on the matter, it attempts to arrange the pieces into a more or less
coherent and understandable system, providing orientation and interpret-
ive framework to facilitate further discussion.7 Since the section on
Mesopotamia leads our analysis of ANE deities, it includes a discussion
of the conceptual background that will inform the other chapters.
conceptual background
Mesopotamian conceptions of divinity may be informed by aspective
theory, the idea of personhood in more communal societies, and the
Cognitive Science of Religion. Aspective theory contends that ANE
people tend to focus on individual aspects and on representing those
aspects in their fullness, often at the expense of overall consistency.8 In
order to present the whole, especially when it is complex, they fre-
quently amass and juxtapose individual elements, most often without
systematically attempting to fit those elements into a consistently
articulated, all-encompassing organic unity.9 In fact, they focus on
5
Note especially Oppenheim’s famous “Why a ‘Mesopotamian Religion’ Should Not Be
Written” (1977:171–83).
6
Synthetic in the sense that it attempts to synthesize a vast array of deities and in that it is
a somewhat artificial undertaking.
7
Although generally applicable to all of Mesopotamia, the following study is especially
suited to the first millennium, with slightly more attention to Assyrian evidence than to
Babylonian.
8
See Brunner-Traut 1990, who builds on the work of her mentor, H. Schäfer (1963;
ET 1974). Our analysis promotes only an aspect of her aspective theory – namely,
her assertion that the Egyptians and ANE people focused especially on individual
aspects. Other elements of her presentation are more questionable. For example,
her evolutionary model of development and her association of ANE people with
children, the mentally ill, and the untrained are problematic, as is her general
exclusion of the Egyptian understanding of the parts as part of the whole and her
selective use of the texts (regarding the latter two, see Assmann’s critique;
2001b:34–6; ET 2005:26–8).
9
As we will see, although in many contexts they focus on the individual aspects, in other
contexts there is a tendency to view the deity as an organic unity (e.g., in the context of
mythology).
Conceptual Background 13
the individual aspects to such an extent that they may be conceived of

as (semi-)independent.10
In contrast, a perspectival approach, more characteristic of the modern
West, focuses on the larger organic whole, such that the individual elem-
ents are subordinated, perhaps even distorted, to present the whole as
a unit. In art, the perspectival approach attempts to portray the world as it
appears visually – that is, like a photograph, which gives the illusion of
three dimensions on a two-dimensional canvas.11 The picture prompts its
viewer to view it as a whole. When individual parts are examined, it
becomes apparent that certain elements are shortened in pursuit of this
end. For example, when drawing a cube, accuracy demands that all sides
are equal and all angles are ninety degrees. Yet, in order to depict the
dimensionality of a cube on paper, one must compromise these rules, even
though they are essential to the definition of a cube.
These contrasting perspectives likewise apply to the divine realm and may
be helpful in comparing a typical ANE approach to the divine with its modern
Western counterpart. Influenced by the aspective approach, Mesopotamian
deities are characterized by a fluidity that, to the modern mind, is madden-
ingly inconsistent or embarrassingly primitive.12 Conversely, the modern
holistic approach often concerns itself with presenting the whole according
to the dictates of Western logic, and with logically fitting every aspect into
that whole no matter how unnatural the fit. In order to present a consistent
whole, the whole and the place of the individual aspects must be understood
and logically articulated. However, rather than embracing this approach,
the ANE thinker would likely find such categorizations maddeningly
restrictive or, worse, the height of hubris.13 In fact, the ancient perspective
finds some backing in the nature of religious language – namely, in the
classical problem of trying to define and describe the supernatural divine in
natural, human terms that the divine, by definition, transcends.14
10
This is not to deny systematic thinking in ancient Mesopotamia (see, e.g., the god list An =
Anum). Rather, aspective theory explains a prominent aspect of their approach to divinity.
11
Brunner-Traut 1990:8.
12
See the Sorting the Divine Sphere section of this chapter for an explanation of this fluidity.
As we will see, this fluidity is more characteristic of nonnarrative texts.
13
In ancient Egypt unity is an undesirable quality that refers to the undifferentiated mass
(the “nonexistent”) from which creation emerged and that continues to threaten the
ordered world. In contrast, all that is created is diverse, multiple. Indeed, the more diverse
a being, the more potent and important that being becomes. For example, creator gods
divided or multiplied themselves into millions, while other important gods are commonly
referred to as “rich in manifestations” (Hornung 1982:125–6, 170–85).
14
On the nature and complexity of religions language, see Soskice 1985.
Viewed through this lens, the modern, Western effort to define the
divine, to logically understand the whole and its parts, is problematic
from the start. Although many modern scholars are careful in their classi-
fications, they often end up categorizing the divine in binary terms with
consistent abstract principles. Such clear and consistent categories con-
sistently limit the deity so carefully described and are consistently distant
from the complex textual portraits.
In contrast, ANE texts make little attempt to systematically define or
categorize the divine. Rather than searching for a single, all-encompassing
presentation of deities and applying it to all contexts, the Mesopotamian
approach is context-specific. In presenting deities, as we will see, they
stress the most effective strategy for each context, without undue concern
whether their presentation in one context fully aligns with their presenta-
tion in other contexts.15 Their presentations then are especially diverse
when we take into account different genres like narrative, ritual texts,
hymns, treaties, and law collections.
When attempting to present the whole, ANE people recognize that any
representation is merely an approximation and thus pile on approximates
in the hopes of approaching plenitude.16 Rather than to attempt and fail
to sufficiently describe the whole, they accumulate various aspects. They
adopt a “multiplicity of approaches” in order to better encapsulate the
complex divine and the complexity of perceived human encounters with it
in its various aspects in various locales.17 Their concern lies not in strictly
defining a deity or in logically unifying all of its perceived aspects, since for
them no description or portrait of a deity in its fullness exists or can
exist.18 Rather they are often concerned with not neglecting individual
aspects, and by extension understanding each element as part of the larger,
more complex whole. Likewise, amassing all aspects would not encapsulate
15
That is, their context-specific approach is pragmatically driven. Since they are not bound
to any one presentation of deity, they apply the one that fits best in context.
16
This reconstruction is hypothetical and fairly idealistic, especially since they probably
never encountered a modern, Western way of thinking. I idealize the aspective approach
to some degree to draw attention to the contrast with classical Western methodologies.
Parallel perspectives that engage the Western world also appear in postcolonial scholar-
ship. (Ancient) Hinduism likewise recognizes a multiplicity of approaches and eschews
certainty (see regarding creation Rg Veda 10.129); cf. the commonly told South Asian
story of the blind men and the elephant.
17
Frankfort 1948:4.
18
Indeed, “nowhere do we find the theological profile of a deity really systematized and
assembled. The pressure to form a compendium is a modern phenomenon,” a pure
construct that nowhere lands in the reality of the ANE world (Berlejung 2007:10, 32;
translated from German).
Conceptual Background 15
a deity, since they believe a deity may be expressed in different ways and
pick up new aspects.19 For them, inconsistencies, which may simply result
from the limits of human cognition, are far preferable to consistent yet
consistently restrictive categories. In other words, for them, it is better to
allow the deity to be practically limitless even if that limitlessness baffles the
mind than to confine the deity to the limited boundaries that are a necessary
product of the human mind.20 Thus, rather than being cast as more primi-
tive and inferior, the aspective model should simply be understood as
different, with its own set of rules and advantages.21
In addition to aspective theory, one may appeal to the differing ideas of
personhood and the Cognitive Science of Religion. In the modern West,
a person is often understood independently, discrete from all other individ-
uals and defined based on their characteristics and personality. In more
communal cultures, both ancient and modern, a person is often defined not
as a discrete individual, but as part of a larger social organism. Their worth
then derives from their social roles and functions instead of their
personalities.22 As we will see, this extends to the gods. Within the
cosmic hierarchy, their primary value was not in their personality or affec-
tion for an individual or group, but rather in what they contributed to the
cosmos.
According to the Cognitive Science of Religion, humans tend to ascribe
humanlike agency to elements in our environments that we consider import-
ant. Such an ascription is explained as a combination of the Hypersensitive
Agency Detection Device (HADD) and Theory of Mind (ToM). Proponents
19
For example, in amassing fifty names for Marduk in the Enuˉ ma eliš, the writers were not
concerned with describing Marduk in his fullness, with presenting everything that he is.
Rather, they used the number 50 to give a sampling of Marduk’s aspects, brought
together to indicate his power and importance. On its connection to An = Anum and
the usurpation of older divine qualities, see Dalley 1997:167.
20
In making this claim, I am not arguing that ancient Mesopotamians were aware of the
implications of their conceptions. Rather, I am putting what I understand their rationale
and its implications to be in modern terms and a modern context.
21
Despite its association with the ancient past, the aspective model has its modern propon-
ents. For example, certain modern artists, including such painters as Picasso, have opted
for a more aspective model, contending that the individual parts should not be subsumed
under the greater whole. For them offering an illusion of reality that subsumes all the
parts into the larger whole is not more “real” than examining the individual elements in
their fullness and expressing inner truths that may not be outwardly visible (Brunner-
Traut 1990:66). One also may examine critiques of Western scholarship in the postcolo-
nial world and even in ancient India (Rg Veda 10.129).
22
Cf. regarding ancient Mesopotamia Pongratz-Leisten 2011a:138–40; see more broadly
the contributions in Kippenberg et al. 1990.
of HADD contend that in the face of ambiguous environmental stimuli

humans tend to believe in unseen agents.23 According to ToM, humans
project humanlike minds onto elements in our environment, whether more
(i.e., gods) or less sophisticated than us (e.g., animals and objects).24
A superior being like a deity believed to be encountered primarily indirectly,
could then distribute its agency to various proxies to which humans had
access, most notably cult objects and celestial phenomena.
Rather than approach each element as the divine person, one often
approached them according to the specific role they played. This distribu-
tion of agency is especially pronounced in a temple with multiple cult
images of the same deity and with the gods of the empire, Marduk and
Aššur, who like a one-stop-shop essentially amassed all divine abilities in
a single place to justify their supremacy. One distinguishes between
images in the same temple by assigning each a specific role or attribute
of the deity. Instead of appealing to the divine as an individual, people
could go to the appropriate aspect, frequently embodied in a cult image.
Even without a cult image incantation literature often appeals to Marduk
in his aspect as Asalluhi, the healing god.25 Bearing these theories in mind,
˘
we proceed to survey the different types of Mesopotamian deities before
trying to explain their complex relationship in the divine sphere.
what is a god?
Scholars have traditionally understood Mesopotamian gods,26 based
largely on myths, hymns, and prayers, to be “anthropomorphic, both
externally and internally”27 yet with “gigantic size and . . . superhuman
powers,”28 who populated a “divine society [that] was as a replica of
human society,”29 albeit on a grander scale.30 However, while
23
Barrett 2000.
24
See Barrett and Keil 1996; Apperly 2012; Gervais 2013. See more broadly Barrett 2007.
25
Pongratz-Leisten 2011a:148.
26
The following survey in no way attempts to be exhaustive. Most notably, the occasional
deification of humans has been omitted, who at times have been raised above other
humans and thus are ambivalently located in the divine sphere (on the deification of
kings, see, for example, Machinist 2006). In addition, the data have been culled from
different regions and different times and thus present a composite picture rather than
representing any one Mesopotamian culture at any time.
27 28 29
van der Toorn 2003:77. Black and Green 1992:93. Roux 1964:88.
30
Roux 1964:88, 190; Jacobsen 1976:9; Black and Green 1992:93; Von Soden 1994:175;
Bottéro 2001:44; and, to a lesser extent Lambert 1957:544; 1990:125–7, exemplify this
position (see further Porter 2009b:1–13). While “anthropomorphism” refers specifically to
What Is a God? 17
anthropomorphism is indeed the most prominent mode of perceiving the

divine, it does not begin to exhaust the possibilities.
Rather than relying on modern sensibilities to determine what is and what
is not a god, we turn to the classifications made in the Akkadian texts
themselves. Deities can be identified in texts in at least four distinct ways:31
(1) they may be marked with the Sumerian divine determinative dingir (ilu
in Akkadian);32 (2) in addition to being labeled a god, they may be called
a god explicitly;33 (3) they may behave in ways characteristic of the gods,
such as conferring blessings or receiving prayers; and (4) they may receive
food offerings in the temples, offerings presented exclusively to deities.34
Iconographic signs also point to the divinity of visually depicted beings, the
most prominent of which is the horned crown.35
Anthropomorphic deities, presented in iconography and narrative and
hymnic literature, meet all of these criteria. In addition to the well-known
anthropomorphically envisioned deities, there is significant evidence of non
anthropomorphic deities.36 A common type of representation combines the
human form with natural elements blended into the divine body.37 For
example, the male and female deities on the outer wall of the Eanna temple
of Uruk have a human upper body melded with lower bodies that resemble
mountainous and watery skirts respectively.38 Another possible example is
the humanlike form of the deities and “anthropopathism” to the humanlike divine emotions,
“anthropomorphism” is employed for both categories for the sake of simplicity.
31
Cf. Porter 2009c:161.
32
For example, the text describing the Assyrian tā kultu ritual labels with the divine
determinative particular elements in the temple, like pipes (ratā ti) running between the
vat for preparing drinks to the platform upon which the anthropomorphic divine statue
stood (III:15) (Menzel 1981:61 [VAT 10126], T 138–44; Porter 2009c:165). On the
function of determinatives, see Huehnergard 1997:111–12.
33
For example, an Assyrian text mentions the ziggurat of the city of Aššur alongside various
anthropomorphic deities as being the “gods of the temple of Anu” (II:23–4) (Menzel
1981:54 [K. 252], T 113–25; Porter 2009c:163).
34
For example, Anu’s chariot received daily offerings in Neo-Babylonian Uruk equal in
quantity and quality to those presented to the city’s most important anthropomorphic
deities (Beaulieu 2003:295; Porter 2009c:168).
35
See, for example, Boehmer 1975:431–4; Wiggermann 1994:233; Asher-Greve 1995–
6:181–9; Cornelius 1997:31; Ornan 2005a:168.
36
See especially the contributions in Porter 2009a.
37
Ornan 2009:127. Note that these depictions may have been stylized attempts to demon-
strate who a deity was rather than what they looked like.
38
PKG, pl. 169; Ornan 2009:127 and fig. 26. Such a seamless transition resembles Egyptian
portrayals, where often human and animal attributes are so well melded that the com-
posite form appears entirely natural. The beings may be identified as deities because of
their horned crowns.
the depiction of a deity in the Northwest Palace at Nimrud as a fusion of the

winged sun disc, an anthropomorphic figure, and a tail-like lower body.39
Other deities are depicted as human-animal or animal-animal hybrids.40
For example, a text from the Neo-Babylonian archive of the Eanna temple
at Uruk marks the urdimmu (lion-man) and urmahlûhu (lion-centaur) with
˘ ˘
the divine determinative and indicates that they are the recipients of
41
offerings. The aladlammû, the often winged, human-headed bulls or
lions that famously guard the entrances to Assyrian palaces and temples,
are also listed with the divine determinative.42 Lamaštu, described as having
the head of a lion, the teeth of a donkey, naked breasts, a hairy body, stained
hands, long fingers and nails, and bird talons, is marked with the divine
determinative and is the daughter of the sky god Anu.43 Pazuzu, represented
with a canine-like face with bulging eyes, a scaly body, a snake-headed
penis, bird talons, and wings, is likewise considered an ilu.44
There is also evidence of a deity portrayed in purely animal form. For
example, an Assyrian wall relief from the Central Palace at Nimrud
depicts what seems to be a primary cult statue in the form of a large bird
of prey.45 Another text refers to the taking of an oath before Ninmar’s
bird, which is marked with the divine determinative.46
In addition, we find evidence for the divinity of elements that in
a modern context are thought to be inanimate. Various stars, planets,
39
Layard 1849: pl. 13, 21, 25. For the likely identification of the figure as Aššur, see Ornan
2005b. See also the image of a deity within a winged disc on a glazed tile of Tukultıˉ-
Ninurta II (Andrae 1925:27, pl. 8). See further Mayer-Opificus 1984. For its potential
association with melammu, see Chapter 6.
40
Regarding hybrid creatures, see Wiggermann 1992:143–87; 1994:222–46; Green
1994:246–64.
41
Beaulieu 2003:355–68. See Green 1994:230–1, 256, for the lion-man and lion-centaur,
respectively; Braun-Holzinger 1987.
42
So is the female form, the apsasû. See further Foxvog, Heimpel, and Kilmer 1980–3;
Spycket 1980–3.
43 44
See Farber 1980–3. See Heeßel 2002; Wiggermann 2004.
45
Layard 1849: pl. 67A. The relief pictures the removal of two large captured statues from
Babylon (identified because of the fallen date palm and in accordance with Tukultıˉ-apil-
Ešarra (Tiglath-Pileser) III’s campaign to Babylon in 731) by Assyrian soldiers. The first
seemingly life-sized statue depicts an anthropomorphic figure, identified with Marduk
because he holds a spade (marru), Marduk’s primary divine attribute. The second por-
trays a large bird of prey, which may be identified as Ninurta. The prominence of the
portrait and the size of the statues suggest that both were primary cult statues (Barnett
and Falkner 1962:xvi, 17, pl. VII; Tadmor 1994:239–40, 272; Ornan 2009:122 and fig.
21).
46
Jean 1977:58:21; Charpin 1980:243; CAD Š/3: šurinnu 1.a:345. A lion deity is also
marked with the divine determinative and presented with offerings (Menzel 1981:54,
K. 252).
What Is a God? 19
and other celestial bodies are marked with the divine determinative, called
gods, presented with offerings, and addressed with prayers.47 Natural
phenomena like mountains and rivers may be marked with the divine
determinative, presented with offerings, and ascribed god-like activity.48
Other natural elements, like metals, semiprecious stones, woods, and
plants, are at times equated with the gods.49 In addition to the famous
cult statues,50 other human-made objects, such as city gates, ziggurats,
temple doors and door locks, platforms for cult statues, temple pipes, and
divine crowns, beds, chariots, weapons, musical instruments, symbols,
and standards, are likewise identified as deities in various contexts and
various ways.51 Finally, more abstract elements like illnesses, numbers,
and qualities also may be deified.52
47
See especially Rochberg 2009. See also Rochberg 1996; Brown 2000.
48
For example, the Tigris is labeled with the divine determinative and used in personal
names (e.g., didigna-reˉminni, “Tigris have mercy on me”) (Porter 2009c:161), while the
Balıˉh receives offerings alongside other gods in Old Babylonian Mari (Nakata 1991:256–
˘ Early Dynastic Ebla (Pettinato 1979:150.v:45; Lambert 1983:84). Rivers as
7) and
a collective entity are also marked with the divine determinative, are included in a list
of gods, and are identified in river ordeals as the (personified) judge and marked with the
divine determinative (Menzel 1981:54 [K. 252] VI:19; CAD N/1: nā ru A 11 2’, 374–5;
Porter 2009c, 162). Regarding mountains, an image of Mt. Ebih is presented with
offerings and marked with the divine determinative (Menzel 1981:54 ˘ [K. 252] II:15,
28; Porter 2009c:169), and is listed as a god and ascribed godly activity in theophoric
names (Porter 2009c:169). It is even possible that the primary Assyrian god Aššur is in
fact the deified city, or more particularly its most prominent hill (Lambert 1983). It
remains an open question in what way the pictorially depicted mixed-form deities with
mountainous or watery lower bodies are related to the textual attestations of deified
mountains and rivers.
49
See, for example, Livingstone 1986:92–112, 171–204. In 1999 Stefan Maul gave a lecture
at Harvard University entitled “Constructions of Divinity: Thoughts on the Notions of
God in the Ancient Near East” in which he presented evidence that Mesopotamian gods
were represented by or in some sense equated with various metals.
50
Divine statues are often simply referred to as gods (CAD I–J:102–3; Renger 1980–3:307).
See further Berlejung 1998; Walker and Dick 2001; Hundley 2013a.
51
See, for example, the Fara God Lists (Selz 1997:171–2) and the Assyrian tā kultu ritual
(Menzel 1981:54 [K. 252], T 113–25 and 61 [VAT 10126], T 138–44; see earlier
Frankena 1954). See further šurinnu, CAD Š/3:345–6; Pongratz-Leisten, Deller, and
Bleibtreu 1992; Selz 1997; George 2000; Porter 2000 and 2006; Beaulieu 2003; see
especially Porter 2009c.
52
For example, epilepsy (bennu) is frequently marked with the divine determinative (Porter
2009c:158). Stol (1993:6 and passim) argues that it is not a real god, largely because it
does not have personality. However, in making such a statement, he seems to be applying
a modern model of deity that differs from the one presented in the Akkadian texts (Porter
2009c:158–9). This is not to say that Mesopotamians did not distinguish between deities;
it suggests rather that they had a broader definition of deity than many modern perspec-
tives. Regarding numbers, many major deities seemed to have a number with which they
Occasional Deification
To further muddy the interpretive waters, although many different beings
and objects are labeled divine, they are not all labeled divine consistently.
The major anthropomorphic deities are consistently referred to as divine,
and indeed seem to be the quintessence of divinity. The other, non-
anthropomorphic elements; however, are not always so consistently pre-
sented. For example, celestial bodies are at times presented as deities,
addressed in prayers, and listed with the divine determinative. At other
times they are simply referred to as stars (mul) with no reference to their
divinity.53 Likewise, while at times deified, rivers and other natural fea-
tures are most commonly referred to simply as rivers (marked with the
determinative for river [ı́d]) and the like.54 While sometimes associated or
equated with deities, metals, semiprecious stones, woods, and plants are
most often simply natural objects with their genus and genus-marking
determinatives.55 Hybrid creatures – often referred to as demons or mon-
sters by modern scholars – are likewise only occasionally marked with the
divine determinative. Illnesses too form an interesting and complicated
case. Epilepsy (bennu) is referred to often as a “demon” (which itself is
only occasionally deified), sometimes as a deity in its own right, and
sometimes only as a natural phenomenon. Its label and interpretation
depend on place and time.56 In addition, abstract qualities like truth and
justice are only occasionally marked with the divine determinative, while
numbers are more often than not simply numbers.57 Associated elements
like crowns, musical instruments, weapons, and parts of the temple are
only deified during certain periods and in certain places.58 For example,
weapons stop being deified in southern Mesopotamia after the Ur III
period, yet are deified from Middle Assyrian to Neo-Assyrian times in
northern Mesopotamia.59 Crowns are not treated as gods in Babylonia
were closely associated (e.g., Ištar with 15, or Sîn with 30), such that they are often
identified by their number (e.g., d15 for Ištar) (Röllig 1971; Porter 2000:244). Regarding
abstract qualities, see, for example, “Justice” (dmišarum) and “Truth” (dkittum), both
marked with the divine determinative (Ringgren 1947:52–9; Porter 2009c:186). See also
“the determined order, fate” (dšimtu) (Lawson 2004).
53
See Rochberg 2009. 54
CAD N/1 nā ru A:364–7; Reiner 1956.
55 56
See regarding Mt. Ebih Perdibon 2020. Porter 2009c:159.
57
Truth and Justice are˘ especially associated with Šamaš. More often than not simply
understood as attributes or aspects of Šamaš, they are also at times presented as (semi-)
independent divine beings in Šamaš’ divine entourage (cf. Ringgren 1947:57–8).
58 59
Regarding the third millennium, see Selz 1997. Porter 2009c:181.
What Is a God? 21
after the Fara God Lists, yet in Assyria continue to be treated as deities of
some significance.60
Likewise, it is not always clear why some associated elements are
deified and others are not, why some are believed to partake of the divine
essence and others are simply mundane. For example, it remains unclear
why elements like the paššuˉ ru tables upon which offerings were presented
to the gods were not deified, when temple pipes were occasionally deified,
and the dais (parakku) upon which the statue stood was often deified.61
How Can the Phenomenon of Occasional Deification Be Explained?

The Mesopotamian vocabulary generally lacks graded terminology when
referring to the gods, such that an entity or object is either an ilu or not.
While the anthropomorphically conceived deities are the quintessence of
divinity, other (occasional) deities comprise a borderline category. This
need not mean that they are somehow lesser beings, only that they are
different from the quintessential deities and thus may be described using
different terms. While they are no doubt important and often especially
potent, interpreters must decide on a case-by-case basis whether they
belong in the ilu category and, if not, how to stress their potency and
danger. When these (occasional) deities are labeled divine, the text must
find different ways of hierarchically dividing the divine sphere.
Sometimes texts use non-divine designators as alternative means of
conceptualizing the same element or conceptualizing it in complementary
ways. For example, the Tigris river is labeled with the determinatives both
for river (ı́d) and for deities (dingir), which suggests that while it is
a deity, it remains in river form rather than anthropomorphic form.62 In
the majority of cases; however, there seems to be some disagreement about
whether these elements should be deified at all. All Mesopotamians likely
would believe that these sometimes-deified elements were important and
potent in their own right and/or by association. Nonetheless, opinions
differed over whether their otherness and specialness qualified them as
deities (iluˉ ), or if a different label would be more appropriate. Hybrid
creatures, for example, are powerful and superhuman, yet they are differ-
ent from other iluˉ in nature and function, such that it is difficult to classify
their relationship with either the other gods or humanity. Temple elements
60
Ibid. 185–6. See Frankena 1954: K. 252.
61
For example, tā kultu i:39; iii:15; Menzel 1981:II no. 61 (VAT 10126), T 138–44; Porter
2009c:165, 171.
62
Freydank and Saporetti 1979:71; Porter 2009c:161.
and divine possessions are also clearly special, worthy of reverence, and
often understood to be charged with divine energy owing to their close
connection to the deity. Nonetheless, it remains an open question how far
to take this connection, whether they are simply to be treated with care
because of their specialness and dangerous potency or whether they are in
fact to be understood as deities in their own right.
general characteristics of divinity: what makes a god

a god?
Given the vastness (and oddity) of the divine sphere, what intrinsic char-
acteristics make a god a god? What are the general and/or minimal
qualities necessary to warrant divine status? The concept of divinity in
any lived system is too complex to be reduced to a set of rules. When we
posit fixed criteria for determining divinity, we inevitably misrepresent the
system and undermine its complexity. Thus, instead of positing (a) fixed
qualification(s) for divinity, we will present a minimal quality that seems
to apply consistently to Mesopotamian deities, followed by some of the
most prevalent characteristics of divinities. Many deities appear in mul-
tiple categories and many appear in each category. Thus, rather than
offering a definitive taxonomy, the following serves more as an orienta-
tion for the following discussion.
Potency and Perceived Power

Deities may be minimally classified as anything perceived to possess
power,63 especially power capable of positively or negatively affecting
humanity.64 In other words, the necessary characteristic of divinity seems
to be potency, such that all deities must be approached with care. Rather
than being a mere abstraction, the Mesopotamian conception of the divine
was primarily practical. The Mesopotamians were not primarily
63
On the potential yet problematic association of ilu with power, see with references Smith
2001:8.
64
Even this minimal classification invites exceptions. In the case of a divinized musical
instrument, for example, it may not have power. Even if it does, the power more directly
affects the gods, enabling divine communication and eliciting a positive divine response in
either lamentation or praise. Nonetheless, one could argue that the power indirectly
affects humans, functioning in a way as an intermediary that benefits us by benefiting
the gods. Regardless, definitions should not be used too dogmatically. In addition, not
everything that meets the definition is deified (i.e., a lion).
General Characteristics of Divinity 23
interested in developing a systematic or exhaustive system of deities;65

instead, they addressed as divine the forces they believed had a meaningful
impact on their daily lives.66 This of course applies to the major anthropo-
morphic deities, who control the elements associated with them (i.e.,
Šamaš), and to awesome natural phenomena like a storm or a mighty
river that can save or destroy crops or even cause human death.
Nonetheless, it is also true of more peripheral deities like a divine bed.67
In one Neo-Assyrian letter sheep offerings are presented to the bed as long
as it remains aboard the ship (SAA 1.55: 13′–rev. 1), offerings that are
otherwise presented to the great gods Aššur, Nabû, and Marduk.68 The
letter speaks of “the profound uneasiness with which the state treasurer
and his king appear to have approached” it, with no hint that “it was the
divine owner of the bed whose wrath the king and his official actually
feared; it is the bed itself that is solicitously escorted and placated with its
own offerings.”69 Thus, like the major deities, even silent and seemingly
inert non anthropomorphic deities are “somehow charged with an omin-
ous aura of living divinity that appears to have been basic to the nature of
all of Mesopotamia’s gods.”70
Other Characteristic Qualities of Divinity

In addition to potency, other qualities are especially associated with deities,
although not every being or force that possesses them is deified. Gods tend
to have humanlike agency.71 The major anthropomorphic deities are agents
65
To say that most are pragmatically oriented of course does not mean that all address only
pragmatic concerns. As we will see, the gods were examined in various contexts, some of
which are closer to systematic studies (i.e., the various god lists); in other contexts, like
Enuˉ ma eliš, texts serve the rhetorical purpose of exalting a particular deity.
66
This does not argue for an animistic understanding of deity, where deities are simply the
elements they are associated with (i.e., Šamaš is simply the sun) (see, e.g., Mark Smith’s
warning against such a “reductionist and potentially misleading” exercise [2004:103]).
Nor does it posit any form of an evolutionary perspective, tracing the development of
deities from their primitive origins to their more complex progeny. Rather, it serves only
as a general categorization that helps orient the modern reader.
67
For the texts, see SAA 1.54–5; Parpola 1987:50–2. For a discussion, see Porter 2006:307–
31; 2009c:192–4.
68 69 70
Porter 2006: n. 12; 2009c:193. Ibid. Ibid.
71
Immortality has also been suggested as a category of deity. However, it is hard to say if
some deities are alive at all (i.e., divinized furniture). Likewise, certain gods – for example,
Qingu in the Enuˉ ma eliš – do in fact cease to exist. In addition, one could even argue that
humans, or at least some humans, are immortal – that is, they continue to exist in some
form after death. See also Cassin 1987:222–35.
who act through other agents, while even the divine bed seems to have some
measure of humanlike agency, since those who transport it believe it can be
placated with offerings and seemingly choose whether to act.72
Awesomeness – that is, the ability to elicit fear, fascination, and humility –
applies to such natural elements as the sun, storms, mountains, and power-
ful rivers.73 Uncontrollable forces, especially those forces that humanity
must reckon with, are also deified. Such forces often are also assigned
a divine personality. For example, Anu is related to the sky, Šamaš to the
sun, Sîn to the moon, Ištar to the planet Venus, and Adad to the weather. In
addition, elements that are uncontrollable yet necessary for survival also
tend to receive a divine designation. While by no means terrifying or deified
in themselves, food and vegetation were absolutely necessary for survival
and their production depended on uncontrollable factors like appropriate
weather and thus warranted their own god(s), for example, Tammuz.74
Illnesses too fall into the often terrifying, uncontrollable, and necessary to
avert the category. As an intangible force with frightening effects, epilepsy,
for example, is dangerous, uncontrollable, and a prevalent affliction that
must be addressed.
In addition to simply appealing to nature and natural forces,
Mesopotamians used their imaginations to envision other potent crea-
tures, which were appropriately classified as deities. Hybrid creatures in
particular fall into this category. As a fusion of powerful beings, hybrid
creatures are dangerous and volatile and have ambivalent relationships
with major gods and people.75 Although not necessarily terrifying, what
today are perceived as abstract qualities, like truth and justice, were also
regarded as tangible, potent powers at work in the world.76 Like Egyptian
Maat, understood to be deified truth and justice, Mesopotamian truth and
justice were at work in the world and against their opposite, the chaotic
forces.77 In addition to the deified powerful forces and powerful hybrid
72
Agency is less clear, although not necessarily absent, in cases like a temple pipe.
73
Cf. R. Otto’s mysterium tremendum (1923). Mountains and rivers, for example, can
dangerous and imposing – uncontrollable – so much so that they have been understood as
the traditional (source of) enemies of the gods (Wiggermann 1994:227, 232). Of course,
while many awe-inspiring forces and beings are deified, not all are so designated. For
example, animals like lions elicit fear, fascination, and humility yet are not deified.
74
See Jacobsen 1970.
75
For example, terrifying and powerful hybrid creatures are often credited with inflicting
illnesses, while people appeal to more terrifying and powerful hybrids to ward them off.
76
Cf. Koch 1991:56.
77
Regarding Maat, see Fox 1995. As with Maat in Egypt, people could work with and
support these forces to help bring them to fruition, or appeal to them when in need.
General Characteristics of Divinity 25
creations, other anthropomorphically conceived deities are connected

with important elements in human society, for example, with places
(e.g., Aššur and Marduk) and activities (e.g., Nabû and scribes).
Rather than examining each deity as an individual and trying to under-
stand how and in what contexts it qualifies as a deity, it is perhaps better to
examine the function of the pantheon as a whole for ancient
Mesopotamians, an endeavor consonant with the communal mindset of
the ANE world. Indeed, rather than envisioning the development of the
pantheon as a series of individual encounters with the numinous, the
Mesopotamian divine system seems to have been predicated on the ANE
understanding of the cosmos itself.78 Instead of simply deifying elements
in their environment they deemed potent, the Mesopotamians seemed to
view their pantheon as a holistic ordering of the world, with a specific
deity assigned to the areas of the cosmos they deemed important, from
nature to culture or government.79 Rather than being primarily identified
as individuals with personalities, they were mainly associated with the
roles they played. Whether in nature or society, the placement of divine
beings in charge of specific areas of the cosmos reveal the ancient
Mesopotamians’ attempt to understand and in some sense control the
world around them.80 This overarching framework encompassed the
positive, neutral, and negative elements of their environment precisely
because it was understood to explain, and, more practically, to influence
their environment, especially those elements that were dangerous, neces-
sary, and beyond their control.
Divinity by Association
With the general anthropomorphization of the divine sphere, elements
associated with the deity, and more particularly with its cult, like crowns,
Although by no means deified, Lady Liberty – that is, the Statue of Liberty – is somewhat
similar. She personifies liberty, which is very much at the heart of the American ethos and
is fought for and appealed to by those in need.
78
However, such a holistic organization of the divine sphere is more appropriate to urban
and monarchic culture than it is to family religion (see, e.g., the contributions in Bodel and
Olyan 2008).
79
Sallaberger, personal communication; cf. Sallaberger 2004:297. For example, brewing
and woodworking were considered important enough to have their patron deities
Ninkasi and Siraš, and Ninduluma respectively (ibid. 297, 306).
80
As will become clear, this world also contained evil influences that possessed their own
areas of expertise, understood and managed largely by associating them with and subor-
dinating them to the primary anthropomorphic gods.
weapons, chariots, beds, musical instruments, and temple elements,

became deified, perhaps by association.81 Divinity may be contagious
and may be acquired by certain elements especially closely associated
with and owned by the deity.82 For example, elements of a deity’s home,
like the doors that separated its home from the outside world, and elem-
ents in its possession and used for its service, like the dais upon which the
cult statue stood and musical instruments, are in some contexts divinized.
Other elements like metals, stones, wood, plants, and numbers likewise
seem to gain their significance from their association to particular
deities.83
Perhaps more likely, some cultic elements may be deified for more
pragmatic reasons. For example, during the balaĝ prayers of the daily
cult, intended to pacify the potentially angry deity and ensure continued
presence and prosperity, interpreters identify the balaĝ instrument, the
lilissu drum, as a manifestation of the divine counselor (gu 4.balag).
Deifying the instrument adds to the efficacy of the ritual, such that when
the music plays, the counselor intercedes on behalf of humanity.84 In
several other cases it is unclear if divinized objects possess agency.
Nonetheless, as anyone who has ever yelled at their phone knows, humans
often and easily ascribe humanlike agency to objects they rely on.
Luminosity
Whether or not their divinity is inherent or inherited, deities often are
perceived to be surrounded by a divine radiance, especially in the first
millennium.85 This brilliance is most commonly associated with the term
melammu and most often applied to the anthropomorphic deities.
Nonetheless, the same language is also applied to the astral bodies,
81
See The Anthropomorphic Core of the Constellations section later in this chapter.
82
Porter 2009c:191.
83
Again, each of these elements could also be deified or controlled by divinity because they
are considered important elements in society. They then may have become prominent or
divine by their association to a major anthropomorphic deity, who is both powerful and
approachable. Indeed, as will become clear, a deity’s prominence is often directly related
to the areas of the world over which it exercises mastery.
84
Gabbay 2014b; see further 2014a. See also the ritual installation of the lilissu drum and
the cultic commentary on its function (Gabbay 2018).
85
For example, in Enuˉ ma eliš, Tiamat “endowed (certain beings) with radiance [mel-
ammuˉ ], (and thus) turned (them) into gods” (I:138, II:24). For a discussion of the matrix
of the terms – for example, melammu, pulhu, puluhtu, and namrirru – see Cassin
1968:17–51; Aster 2012. See also Chapter 6˘ under Deities˘ of Fire and Storm in the
Ancient Near East.
Sorting the Divine Sphere 27
which shine with a divine radiance,86 and even to the divine cult images,
which conceptually and literally partake of the divine radiance since they
are made of the most precious elements in the natural world.87 By exten-
sion, since the most precious elements make up the divine image and are
often most precious because of their luminosity, they too partake of the
divine radiance – especially when they are closely linked to a deity (e.g.,
lapis lazuli and Ištar) – as do their accoutrements (i.e., the crown of Aššur,
also known as the deified Lord Crown).
sorting the divine sphere

How does one navigate this complex system of deities? How are these
deities connected and distinguished? Whereas Mesopotamian narratives
often portray each individual deity as a single, fully integrated whole,
other texts like rituals, god lists, and hymns are far more fluid in their
presentation.88 In many cases there is often more than one manifestation
or aspect of a single deity, each of which appears simultaneously con-
nected and distinct, and many of which are connected with “inanimate”
objects. It would thus seem that each deity may simultaneously adopt
many forms and be in many places at once.89 For example, most major
gods are identified with an anthropomorphically conceived divine person,
a statue, a number, a semiprecious stone, a mineral, an animal, an
86
See Rochberg 2009. Šamaš is the most obvious example. “You, Šamaš, have covered the
heavens and all the countries with your radiance (melammu)” (Langdon 1927:51:9–10,
cited in Rochberg 2009:49).
87
For example, an incantation describes a newly inaugurated statue as “clothed in
splendor, . . . he is surrounded with radiance, he is endowed with an awesome radiance,
he shines out splendidly, the statue appears brilliantly” (STT 200:1–10; translation after
Walker and Dick 1999:98).
88
Nonetheless, even within narrative there is some fluidity of presentation. Deities may
adopt elements they did not previously possess (most notably Marduk and storm power
in Enuˉ ma eliš), appear in different guises, and be described in different ways all within the
same narrative. For example, Enuˉ ma eliš describes Tiamat alternatively as water,
a woman (I:29–34, II:92, 144), a dragon-like creature (IV:97–104), and a monstrous
lump (IV:136); cf. Feldt 2011 regarding Ninurta and Asag in Lugale. Indeed, transgress-
ing otherwise discrete empirical categories is a hallmark of the divine even in the narra-
tive. The more a deity transgresses categories, the more powerful they often are.
89
However, unlike in the rest of the ANE, there is little evidence of the Mesopotamian
deities of the first millennium changing between their forms (i.e., changing from
anthropomorphic to animal form). Instead, while they simultaneously occupy forms at
once, each form seems to remain unchanging. Nonetheless, each deity also may come to
occupy new forms (i.e., a new cult image). Again, narrative conventions typically present
a deity as only occupying one body at a time.
emblem, a star, a constellation or other celestial entity, and various

characteristic qualities.90 Ištar, in particular, is simultaneously identified
as a divine person who dwells in heaven, yet is localized in terrestrial
temples (most prominently Arbela and Nineveh), the planet Venus, the
number 15, the semiprecious stone lapis lazuli, and the mineral lead, and
understood as the embodiment of such qualities as love and war.91
Each of these interconnected divine networks composed of many dis-
tinct elements may be viewed as a divine constellation in which the various
elements are connected to a more or less unified entity and share in its
identity.92 In other words, each major god consists of a constellation of
aspects, which may act and be treated (semi-)independently. Most divine
constellations consist of several connected deified aspects, with an anthropo-
morphic core that is always deified and other occasionally deified elements
like heavenly bodies, abstract qualities, and metals. Each aspect represents
a competency, whether it means control over a specific natural element or
force (e.g., a star or a metal), function (i.e., writing), quality (i.e., truth), or
geographical area (i.e., local temples). Like a star cluster, the elements in the
network closest to the anthropomorphic core are more firmly connected to
that core and, as one moves further out from the center, the core exerts an
increasingly smaller gravitational pull, giving these elements greater inde-
pendence. Most major deities are thus made up of several detachable parts
that may be treated independently or as a unit depending on the context and
the interpreter’s perspective and rhetorical purposes. Like LEGO, each
major deity can be taken apart and put back together again.93
In Mesopotamia, the whole deity is considered the sum of its parts, and
with each newly added part the whole deity becomes greater.94
Mesopotamians adopt an additive approach: often the more aspects
added, the more potent the deity.95 As in a communal human society,
90
Porter 2000:243. For a fuller list of potentialities, see Berlejung 2007:10.
91
Porter 2000:243–4. Ištar may also be alternatively presented as male and female
(Groneberg 1986a; however, cf. Bahrani 2001:141–60).
92
This use of the term is to be differentiated from Assmann’s use of “constellation”
(1984:117–35), which refers primarily to iconic representations of myths.
93
Again, gods in narratives typically do not exhibit such fluidity, likely because too much of
it would make the deities appear nonsensical. Nonetheless, even in the context of narra-
tives, while one does not modify deities at will, deities’ attributes, names, epithets, and
appearances may be modified according to the dictates of the context. In fact, the primary
aim of Enuˉ ma eliš is to creatively modify or rebrand Marduk in such a way that he
warrants being king of the gods.
94
Cf. regarding humans as an assemblage of parts, Selz 2003:238–40.
95
The addition of (new) aspects was often accomplished through the accumulation of
names or epithets by which the aspects were verbally ascribed to a particular deity (e.g.,
the more and more important functions an individual performs, the more
value they have. Nonetheless, they nowhere synthesize all the parts into
one cohesive whole; rather they amass and juxtapose a representative
sample, which always may be increased or expressed differently.96
Although a deity’s range may expand or in some cases contract, it is not
unlimited.97 A deity generally operates within a more or less loosely
defined range, determined by its primary attributes.98 Even with divine
fluidity, certain boundaries are not crossed. For example, Sîn is not
associated with the sun, Šamaš is not associated with the moon, Aššur
and Marduk are not the gods of Nippur, Marduk is not the god of Assyria,
and Aššur is not the god of Babylonia.
In addition, several other classes of deities rest outside of these divine
constellations, outside of the divine collective. Although they are related in
some way to the anthropomorphic deity, they are not part of the divine
person. Aššur’s crown is a god, but it is not Aššur.99 This slightly more
peripheral category includes divine accoutrements that belong to the
deity, divine servants who serve the major anthropomorphic deities,
protective deities, hybrid creatures – including so-called demons and
monsters – rivers, mountains, and illnesses.100 These deities may be sub-
divided into two broad categories: interior and domesticated versus exter-
ior and wild. Family, friends, the divine entourage (i.e., servants), and the
deified objects associated with the anthropomorphized deity belong to the
domesticated interior. They are closely affiliated with and often docilely
serve the major anthropomorphized deity, while rivers and mountains
exist on the periphery and remain wild and untamed. Generally, undomes-
ticated destructive forces on the outside, like demons, monsters, and
illnesses, may infiltrate the interior or alternately may be assimilated
into the interior as divine servants.
Marduk’s accumulation of fifty names served as the accumulation of aspects; see Bottéro
(1977) or the accumulation of fifteen names by Ninurta in the Anzu myth) (cf. Heimpel
1997:550).
96
To do so, they would have to subtract “conflicting” elements to make the whole cohesive,
at least according to modern Western standards, thus making the deity less rather than
more.
97
See Divine Overlap and Competition and Character Poaching sections later in this
chapter.
98
On the various aspects that make up the theological profile of a deity, see Berlejung
2007:10.
99
Regarding divinized crowns, see with references Porter 2009c:184–6.
100
Regarding demons and monsters, see further under the Hybrid Creatures section of this
chapter.
The analysis will proceed to explore the divine constellations, begin-

ning with the anthropomorphic core and working outward, addressing
some of the individual elements and the conceptions of the fluid relation-
ships between their parts. We will then examine deities outside the con-
stellations, addressing the divine entourage and accoutrements, protective
deities, and hybrid creatures, with a view toward illuminating their rela-
tionships to the anthropomorphic deity at the heart of the constellations.
Divine Constellations
The Anthropomorphic Core of the Constellations
For the most part, divine constellations have an anthropomorphic core,
and most major anthropomorphic gods are part of the divine
constellations.101 In addition to their other powers and attributes,
Marduk, Ištar, and Šamaš have a primary anthropomorphic form and
primarily humanlike minds and emotions.
Such anthropomorphization of the major deities serves a practical
purpose. Ancient Mesopotamians naturally speculated about the nature
of the world and their place in it. However, their musings were not merely
philosophical abstractions; through them, they sought to find meaning in
their lives and the world, to use all the powers available to succeed in
a dangerous and volatile world. To do this, they strove to understand and
approach the gods, perceived as the ultimate sources of power and
purpose.
Awesome, uncontrollable forces and those necessary to sustain life are
largely incomprehensible unless predicated on the human model.102 In
101
Following Alfred Gell (1998:17), Pongratz-Leisten refers to primary and secondary
divine agents, whereby the (distant) deity is the primary agent who acts through various
secondary agents like cult objects and celestial phenomena (2011a). Benjamin Sommer
posits full-scale and small-scale manifestations (2009). While informative, both
approaches are limited as binary categories are unnecessarily restrictive. Regarding
Pongratz-Leisten’s theory, one may be better served placing the divine agents along
a continuum since the designators “primary” and “secondary” at times mandate an
excessive divide between the categories (i.e., between the god and statue) while conflat-
ing the wide range of agents in the second category (e.g., although both are “secondary”
agents, the enlivened statue is the god in the human sphere, while a divine weapon serves
as a more distant way to present the deity). In addition, only some of the agents are
deified. Sommer’s proposal does not allow for any gradients among small-scale mani-
festations. It also begs the question of how one knows what constitutes a full-scale
manifestation.
102
Ornan 2005a and 2009; Hamori 2008:26–64. Indeed, as the superior terrestrial species
and the only one we fully understand, it would be difficult to find another (more suitable)
order to make these deified forces more understandable, approachable,

and manageable, they are often thought to be, or be controlled by,
personified deities. Since many gods are understood to be primarily
humanlike beings, humans may meaningfully communicate with
them.103 Since many gods are both comprehensible and approachable,
their favor can be secured and their powers brought to bear on peoples’
behalf.104 Likewise, when humans are created in the image of the gods at
least to some extent, they have greater dignity and a greater affinity to the
gods.105 Thus, humanizing the divine is both unavoidable and
profitable.106 Although not all Mesopotamian deities are humanized,
Mesopotamians often appeal to the more humanized deities to deal with
those that are less understandable and approachable, more primal and
thus more dangerous.107
Consequences of Divine Anthropomorphization and Strategies

for Divine Elevation
A potential problem arises when the sentient core of the divine constella-
tions is depicted and understood like humans internally and externally:
how does one differentiate gods from humans? This is especially pro-
nounced with the anthropomorphization of the cult, wherein the deities
in the form of their cult statues require “nourishment, drink, clothing,
jewelry, cleansing, travel, music, perfume and sex.”108 Like humans, the
gods are often organized in family units and the greater gods are
model. Such speculations may be informed by HADD, which tends to posit unseen
agents, and ToM, which ascribes these agents humanlike agency. Cf. Guthrie 1995.
103
Mountains and rivers with no clear anthropomorphic form may still be anthropomorph-
ized, which as loosely understood refers to far more than physical form (i.e., anthro-
pomorphization may include human[like] emotions or actions). Namely, they may be
presented with offerings, suggesting they can eat or at least in some way enjoy them.
104
The gods are by no means simply equated with humans externally or internally. Their
superiority renders them somewhat ineffable, while their similarities to humanity render
them somewhat understandable, far more so than, for example, an abstract storm.
105
See Enuˉ ma eliš and Atrahasis in which humanity is created from the slain body of a god.
106 ˘ saying nothing of the evolution of deities, whether they were
In making this claim, I am
originally conceived of as potent forces or abstract qualities that later were humanized
and/or as humanized deities who absorbed several potent forces and abstract qualities
into their divinity.
107
Regarding Pazuzu, see the Hybrid Creatures section of this chapter.
108
Dick 2005:47; cf. Bottéro 2001:66, 136. See more specifically Bottéro’s treatment of the
sacred marriage (2001:154–8).
understood as divine kings ruling over their courts, with viziers, messen-
gers, and servants.109
In general, the major Mesopotamian gods are distinguished from the
Mesopotamian people in that they are superior to them in every conceiv-
able way.110 As we have seen, they rule vast cosmic domains and possess
superhuman powers. Likewise, although they may behave in a less than
salutary manner (i.e., Enlil attempts to destroy humans for disturbing his
sleep), the “mind of the god(s) is [nevertheless] as remote as the inner part
of the heavens.”111
To distinguish them from humanity visually, deities are depicted as
superhuman in size and wearing horned crowns.112 To further distinguish
them from humanity and each other, they often carry their distinct attri-
butes in their hands, frequently attributes that no humans could bear.
Adad, for example, holds the thunderbolt in his hand along with his
characteristic animals (bull-calf and lion-dragon) on a leash.113 Perhaps
more striking, while they share an anthropomorphic form with humans,
they are not limited to this form and may be present, at least to some
degree, in other forms in other places simultaneously.114 In other words,
they transcend humanity by transcending its limits, whether it be in form,
function, range, or power.115
The relationship of the gods to the hybrids is another important differ-
ence. Humans both modern and ancient seemingly cannot escape perceiv-
ing the gods as humanlike and likely would be uncomfortable depicting
their gods in forms too deviant from themselves.116 Thus, instead of
depicting the major gods as freakish beings, composed of an odd
109
See Renger 1974:435–46; Garelli 1974:446–52.
110
See Bottéro 2001:58–61; he identifies power, sublimity, and omnipotence as the primary
characteristics of deity (59–61).
111
BWL 86:256.
112
Regarding their size, see Black and Green 1992:93; for a representative survey, see
Hartenstein 2008:41–7. Regarding the horned crowns, see n. 35 of this chapter. The
other primary marker distinguishing deity from human was the flounced skirt or gar-
ment (Curtis 1990:40).
113
Cornelius 1997:31–2; 1994: fig. 30; cf. fig. 5.
114
However, although they seem to be present to some extent simultaneously and may pick
up new forms – for example, new cult statues – there is little evidence of them changing
forms (cf. Wiggermann 1994:237).
115
Hendel (1997) speaks of a “transcendent anthropomorphism” whereby, although gen-
erally predicated on a human model, the gods transcend that model in every conceivable
way.
116
Ornan 2005a:168.
assortment of other powerful beings and forces, they depict them as

superior to these freakish beings, and thus far superior to humans.117
Other Elements in the Divine Constellation

Although understood anthropomorphically and conceptually approach-
able, the core of the constellations often remains practically inaccessible. It
remains an open question whether anthropomorphic Mesopotamian
deities are invisible to humans, invisible or visible according to their
preference, or simply so far away that they are practically invisible. All
options are practically the same since Mesopotamian deities rarely visit
the human sphere and in the first millennium rarely visit earth at all.118
How, then, did Mesopotamians access their gods? The other elements in
the constellation – stars, statues, powers, numbers, semiprecious stones,
and emblems – serve to make the anthropomorphic deity more visible,
accessible, and potent.119
Within the larger divine constellation, people had two primary access
points that made the invisible deity visible and the distant deity present. In
the luminous celestial bodies and cult statues, the invisible and inap-
proachable deities become visible and approachable.120 Mesopotamians
could interact with the gods by discerning their will through observation
of the activity of the celestial bodies and respond appropriately to ensure
a good omen or avert a bad omen.121 Statues too through ritual activation
may serve as fully functioning loci of divine presence, which may be
served, addressed, and appealed to as the otherwise distant deity
itself.122 Although in many cases equated with the deity, stars and statues
are also in some ways distinct. Stars are alternatively described as the
gods, simply as stars, or as personified stars.123 Deities in turn are equated
with the stars, understood as the powers that control the stars, or stars are
conceived as a single manifestation or aspect of the larger divine nexus.
Likewise, while a statue is the image of a deity (ṣalmu), its receptacle, and
symbiotically the deity itself, a statue is not coterminous with the deity.
117
Wiggermann refers to these so-called monsters as “supernatural freaks” (1992:151–2).
See the Hybrid Creatures section of this chapter.
118
See the survey in Hamori 2008:129–49.
119
Rather than being direct, most divine communication came (indirectly) through omens
and oracles.
120
In Enuˉ ma eliš V:1–2, the stars are referred to as the likenesses of the great gods, which
seems to indicate that the “images of the gods are made visible in the stars” (Rochberg
2009:65); cf. regarding stars, Sallaberger 2004:297.
121
See Rochberg 2004.
122 123
See Berlejung 1998; Hurowitz 2003; Hundley 2013a:239–70. Rochberg 2009.
A deity can dissolve its otherwise strong connection with the statue (cf.
Marduk in the Erra Epic),124 the destruction of a statue does not mean the
destruction of the deity,125 and the deity is perceived as simultaneously
present in other forms in other locales, often including celestial bodies,
their heavenly homes, and other statues.126 By making the deity more
accessible, stars and statues, in essence, extend the divine rule, and thus
divine power, into new arenas: into the realm of the heavenly bodies and
the realms of the temple and the city.127
While present in the heavens as celestial bodies and the temples as cult
images, deities were made manifest outside of the temple in the human
sphere as divine emblems (e.g., standards, weapons, and symbols).128
Although the extent of the connection between the emblem and the
deity is debatable, the emblems nonetheless served as different kinds of
divine access points.129 Battle standards were treated in much the same
way as primary cult images (e.g., they were presented with offerings and
incense was burned before them).130 Listed with the divine determinative,
for example, durigallu, the divine standard, is both associated with and
distinct from the deity it represented. A common trope in royal inscrip-
tions, “the gods who go before me (in battle),” is functionally equivalent
to the phrase, the divine “standard that goes before me (in battle),” which
seems to intimate that the presence of the standard is functionally equiva-
lent to the presence of the deity.131 However, another inscription states
that the king fought “with the support of Aššur my great lord, and the
divine standard (durigallu) that goes before me . . . with the supreme might
124
However, a damaged statue in need of repair is still referred to as the god, even though it
must undergo a mouth-washing ritual to raise its status to that of a fully functioning
(locus of the) deity (TuL 27:1–18; see texts and translation in Walker and Dick
2001:230–3). It seems the differentiation between statue and deity was made only
when necessary (e.g., when the statue was destroyed by an enemy or in the Erra Epic
when the plot required it).
125
It only signals the physical absence of the deity and disruption of the cult until a suitable
substitute is found.
126
Hundley 2013a:287–91.
127
Although humans could communicate with and care for deities through their cult images
so that deities would care for them, deities rarely communicated with humans through
their cult image (for the anomalous cases of processions, see Pongratz-Leisten 1994:258
and, more fully, Sallaberger 2000). Instead, the gods spoke (indirectly) through omens
and oracles (see the comprehensive survey of Maul 2005).
128
Groneberg 2006:141; Ornan 2009:142–3; see also processions (i.e., Pongratz-Leisten
1994:193–5).
129 130
Cf. Groneberg 2006:141; Berlejung 2007:37. Deller 1992.
131
Holloway 2001:260–1; regarding the latter statement, see also Grayson 1991: 134:48.
of the divine standard that goes before me,” suggesting that Aššur is to be
differentiated from the divine standard, which also bears a significant
divine power.132 Whether the standard is a deity in its own right or simply
an extension of Aššur, Aššur’s power is brought to bear by means of his
standard. Namely, the standard is a means of “presencing” Aššur, more
particularly, his power and authority, outside of the temple sphere.133 In
addition to being an extension of the divine power and potentially the
presence in the context of battle, when the presence of the divine cult
image is impractical, standards (šurinnu) and weapons (kakku) also serve
as suitable surrogates for the deity in witnessing oaths, effectively binding
the god depicted to punish the oath-taker if he breaks his oath.134 Thus,
such emblems simultaneously make the deity more accessible and extend
its power in the terrestrial sphere, since it and its terrestrial power are not
limited to its home city.
The symbols inscribed on an entitlement narû, seal, or victory monu-
ment also serve as access points to the deity, although there is little
indication they are animated with the divine presence or receive
offerings.135 The presence of the divine symbol invokes the protection of
the deity depicted, in an apotropaic capacity and/or to enforce one’s claim
to territory or some other entitlement and the benefits derived therefrom
(serving as, e.g., the pictorial equivalent of listing the names of multiple
divine witnesses in treaties).136 Instead of being the deity, divine symbols
132
RIMA 2.A.0.101.1.ii:25–8; translation after Holloway 2001:260.
133
Like the divine bed, the divine standard seems to be deified by association. It seems to
possess its own (semi-)independent numinous power that must be placated with offer-
ings to ensure its favor, or, the deity itself must be placated from afar to ensure that the
standard remains charged with divine power. Either way, the effect is the same; the
standard must be presented with offerings to ensure that it brings its power to bear on the
people’s behalf.
134
With the general absence of Aššur shrines outside of Aššur, the weapon of Aššur seems to
serve this function (Holloway 2001:265) and, given its power, serves as an effective
enforcer. Indeed, rather than take oaths before an anthropomorphic cult image, there is
evidence that standards and weapons were kept in temples and used for oath-taking
purposes in court contexts on the premise that no one would swear a false oath and risk
divine censure (Slanski 2003a). On the long history of the use of weapons in promissory
oaths, see briefly Slanski 2003:253; regarding the use of symbols in court contexts, see
further Dombradi 1996:84, 333–4. See also the extensive references to the use of
standards (dšurinnu) in oath-taking and as a means of enforcing oaths (CAD Š/3:345).
135
Slanski 2003a:321; on the term narû, see Slanski 2003b.
136
Slanski suggests that rather than representing the deity, the symbols on these monuments
represent the symbols in the temple that played a decisive role in the determination and
enforcement of justice (Slanski 2003a:310, 321). Whether or not this is the case makes
little practical difference. In each instance, the divine symbols suggest divine sanction
in such contexts serve as an appeal to or mark of divine support, and thus

an effective means of accessing the deity.137 Like the weapons and battle
standards, such symbols extend the divine influence beyond the city and
temple.
Like stars and statues, associating a deity with abstract qualities (or to
the Mesopotamian mind active forces, whether deified or not) enhances
the deity’s sphere by associating it with potent forces. More practically, it
makes those forces more comprehensible, approachable, and available.
Incorporating more peripheral natural elements like metals, minerals,
wood, and plants serve to expand the divine sphere, thereby making the
deity greater, more expansive, and more immanent in the human sphere,
more approachable and thus more apt to be revered.138
The Multidimensionality of Divine Constellations

The complexity of the presentation of deities in images and texts may
increase or decrease based upon the context.139 Since there is no fixed
articulation of deities defining their identities and the relationship between
aspects, Mesopotamians conceptualized deities and the relationship of
their parts in different ways in different contexts. In many contexts, rather
than appealing to the fullness of the deity, one appeals to the individual
aspect that is most relevant to the current situation.140 For example, when
in need of justice, one appeals to the judging aspect of a deity like Aššur.141
In other contexts, such as in Enuˉ ma eliš and Aššur-bā ni-apli’s
(Aššurbanipal) hymn to Aššur (SAA 3.1), the authors amass a wide assort-
ment of attributes and ascribe them to a single god, here Marduk and
Aššur respectively. The amalgamation of attributes serves to highlight the
multidimensionality and thus the greatness of the deities described,
and enforcement, such that the entitlement or other benefit and the monument or seal
themselves are protected.
137
Although not (always) equated with the deity, symbols of the deity are nonetheless part
of the divine constellation because they are extensions of the deity that extend its power
(and presence). In the case of the victory monument the divine symbol buttresses the
statement of royal power with divine power and the threat of divine reprisal for
rebellion.
138
That is, worshippers reverence the deity because they can approach it and benefit from
such an approach.
139
Berlejung 2007:34.
140
Again, the focus on function over personality may be a product of communal concepts of
personhood.
141
Cf. ibid. For example, there is evidence of a cult image of Aššur called Aššur-Dayyā ni
(Aššur-the-Divine-Judges). The second name in the title seems to qualify the first, here
associating the statue of Aššur with his quality as divine judge (Porter 2009c:237).
differentiating them from and elevating them over other deities. Even here,
however, such an amalgamation was not an attempt at plenitude, but
rather a representative sample often chosen for rhetorical purposes.142
As a genre, lexical god lists amass aspects of deities, yet do so for
different purposes.143 Rather than exalting any particular god, they
often represent a scholarly exercise, serving as a more synthetic attempt
to make sense of the “large more or less disordered and confused group”
of deities.144 Nonetheless, rather than always assimilating all deities with
a shared forename145 into a single divine form (semi-)independent aspects
are occasionally grouped together, demonstrating their identity and their
difference. For example, the Old Babylonian Nippur List groups several
deities with the first name Inanna/Ištar.146
Although perhaps not as exhaustive as the lexical god lists, embedded
god lists, such as the witness lists of treaty texts, also invoke a substantial
number of deities with the same forename – for example, Ištar – which
seem to be connected yet for practical purposes are treated
independently.147 Invoking multiple deities furnishes a more potent
curse.148 For example, rather than appealing to the single Ištar presented
142
Hymns display monolatrous tendencies, naturally addressing the deity in the most
glowing of terms, often by accumulating epithets, attributes, and divine powers to
make the deity more favorably disposed to the petitioners’ pleas.
143
Regarding the lexical god list and its content, see S. Allen 2015:95–100.
144
Bottéro 2001:48; cf. Litke 1998:2. They also serve to preserve the names and records of
more ancient deities, and in some cases, divine names may have been created to enhance
the list (Lambert 1969:474; S. Allen 2011:143).
145
The forename inexactly refers to the common divine name (i.e., Ištar), while the surname
refers to appended epithets, whether referring to a place or a quality (i.e., of Arbela, in
Ištar-of-Arbela) (S. Allen 2015:vii and passim).
146
Entries 54–62 in Peterson 2009:14. It is interesting and perhaps telling that Inanna
without an epithet appears first in the list, either as a heading of sorts or to indicate
the supremacy of this unaffiliated Inanna. As a general rule, unspecified deities rank
higher than deities with geographic names (i.e., Ištar is listed before Ištar-of-Arbela) (S.
Allen 2015:95).
147
For example, RINAP 4, Esar. 1.ii:45–6. S. Allen (2015:111, see further 95–140) refers to
embedded god lists – that is, god lists embedded in another context such as a treaty – and
he ascribes more value to them than the lexical god lists in that they better reflect actual
belief. In the Neo-Assyrian treaty tradition, treaty tablets include far more deities in their
witness lists than the tablets concerning grants, decrees, and gifts (S. Allen 2015:118).
The increased numbers of witnesses testify to the importance of the treaty (ibid.) and its
more troublesome and precarious nature. More divine witnesses are necessary to ensure
cooperation.
148
Such evocations include ensuring that the deities are present in their various cult images
at the oath ceremony (Koch-Westenholz 1995:118; Lewis 1996:404). Invoking multiple
deities also may honor the one pronouncing the curse, whose status is indicated by the
large number of deities to whom he can appeal.
in mythological texts, multiple Ištars and divinized aspects of Ištar are

invoked. Such a multiplication holds each party more firmly to their end
of the deal by bringing the fullness of Ištar to bear on transgressors since
a deity’s plenitude is found in an accumulation of its aspects.149 In a similar
vein, the blessing section of personal letters or in witness lists may invoke
multiple divine manifestations in order to bestow a greater blessing.150
In a ritual context, rather than appealing to a single pertinent aspect or
ascribing several aspects to a single divine entity, ritual tradents isolate and
appeal to various aspects to cover their bases. In the context of offerings,
they make sure to present offerings to each cultic manifestation – that is,
image – many of which are of the “same” deity, so as not to neglect any and
thereby invite ritual failure.151 For example, the Assyrian tā kultu ritual
texts contain substantial god lists, which invoke “the various representa-
tions and forms of gods that were worshipped in one or another
temple.”152 They thus seem to be intentionally repetitive, or perhaps
more thorough, to ensure the inclusion of every deity or divinized object
in the temple.153 In fact, assuming that each image is enlivened with the
mouth-washing and mouth-opening rituals, through which the image and
deity symbiotically join, each is perceived as a distinct deity in a real way
and thus cannot be ignored.154
Practical and Theoretical Approaches to Divine Constellations

How then did worshippers understand the unified deity and the connec-
tion of its parts? From a practical point of view, worshippers focused on
a single aspect. When the people accessed their deity, through whatever
media they were able, their focus was often single; they focused all their
attention on the manifestation before them as if it was the only manifest-
ation, or, more precisely, as if it was not a manifestation at all, but rather
the deity in its fullness.155 Their focus meant that there was little room for
concern about its place in the larger divine constellation, and little concern
for the exact nature of the relationship between the deity and their access
149
Cf. S. Allen 2015:118.
150
As with the curse, this amassing of deities may demonstrate the importance of the one
pronouncing the blessing by demonstrating the number of deities to whom he may
appeal (S. Allen 2011:176).
151
Regarding ritual failure, see the contributions in Hüsken 2007.
152 153
Porter 2000:231–2. Van Driel 1969:51; Porter 2000:231–2; S. Allen 2011:195.
154
Mouth-washing and mouth-opening do not automatically deify an object. To become
divine, the deity must join with the image through the ritual process.
155
Likely, only when given access to alternative manifestations would one differentiate
between forms.
point to it. Worshippers’ concern was purely practical; their effective

access to the deity was all that mattered. For example, in theophanic
texts, although one may surmise that the deity is still in heaven and in
other locales, the theophanic appearance is treated as the fullness of the
deity, such that at that moment there is no other aspect or manifestation.
In fact, the deity in its fullness – that is, the deity with all its various
aspects – is encountered in one place at one time.
In the case of Ištar, the common people would have viewed their local Ištar
as “the” Ištar, distinct from other alternatively localized Ištars,156 and per-
haps even equated their Ištar with the statue in their sanctuary.157 Each local
Ištar was Ištar for the local populace, such that, while Ištar-of-Arbela and
Ištar-of-Nineveh were related, they were locally perceived as different Ištars
(e.g., SAA 2.2.vi:15–16; 2.6: 16–20; 2.10: 9‘–10‘ 3.3; 3.39; 10.286; RINAP 4,
Esar. 1.ii:45–6).158 As the cities Nineveh and Arbela grew in importance so
too did their respective cults, such that they were treated as distinct deities.
More than listing them separately, a hymn of Aššur-bā ni-apli addresses Ištar-
of-Nineveh and Ištar-of-Arbela as distinct, ascribing each different roles and
using plural forms when describing them together (SAA 3.3).159
In this way, each Ištar functions somewhat like a clone or identical
twin. Each has the same (divine) DNA and is thus essentially the same.
However, on a practical level, each occupies a different body and has
different experiences in different locales that make them different people.
Although each copy is born essentially the same as the original – that is,
with the same DNA – it will develop its distinct personality and
experiences.160 Regarding cult statues, many are connected to different
cities and take up the identity and experiences of those cities. Likewise, in
the case of Ištar, if in certain locales Ištar assimilated a local goddess, the
local Ištar would likely take up the characteristics of the assimilated deity
in a way other local Ištars would not. Thus, while the same from one
156
See S. Allen (2015:141–99) who argues that Ištars with different surnames are, in fact,
different gods. See also his comparison with the modern understanding of the Madonna
(59–70).
157
Since they benefit from a connection (e.g., it allows for intimate interaction with the
deity, bringing its power to bear, and grants prestige to the city), people only differentiate
between the statue and deity when necessary (e.g., when a connection would impugn the
deity, like when the destruction of the statue may be associated with the destruction of
the deity). See Hundley 2013a:277–81.
158
In fact, Ištar-of-Nineveh and Ištar-of-Arbela appear together in hundreds of texts (S.
Allen 2015:95). Regarding the development of both Ištars, see ibid. 159–77.
159
Livingstone 1987:10–13; Porter 2004; Sommer 2009:14; S. Allen 2015:1–3, 95, 155–6.
160
See A. Levine 2007; Wilmut and Highfield 2007.
perspective, Ištar-of-Arbela and Ištar-of-Nineveh are also substantially

different from one another.
Although they differentiated local Ištars, worshippers would likely
have connected their Ištar with the one presented in mythology, with the
planet Venus, the number 15, and various qualities like love and war, thus
in some ways connecting her to the larger Ištar constellation. The wor-
shippers’ singular focus and peripheral awareness of the larger divine
constellation would also bring an additional benefit; for when they
addressed their Ištar, they believed that they were addressing the larger
Ištar constellation, such that all of her multifold powers and attributes
could be brought to bear on their behalf. Although the fullness of deity
could not be described or depicted in any one place, it could be experi-
enced, albeit often in mediated form, in every encounter with the deity.
Although worshippers often had a single focus, from a broader per-
spective and according to the additive approach, various aspects in vari-
ous locales meant various simultaneous divine manifestations. Thus, from
a theoretical standpoint, the deity is present in multiple forms in multiple
locales all at the same time.161 For example, Šamaš is present in the sun, in
his heavenly abode, and his various cult manifestations.162 The most
prominent of the divine forms – the cult images – are fully Šamaš yet not
the fullness of Šamaš, since the fullness lies in the accumulation of the
various parts, of which the statue is but one prominent example.163 In
other words, the statues are but one locally realized aspect of a larger
(loosely) connected divine entity. On the theoretical level, it thus seems the
deity in some way consists of multiple detachable aspects, which are
related and in some way independent. The exact relationship between
the parts and of the parts to the whole is expressed differently in different
contexts by different writers. In other words, one attaches or detaches
aspects as the context dictates, for example, detaching them when
161
Cf. Sommer 2009. This seemingly bizarre phenomenon finds a parallel in quantum
mechanics: physicists have demonstrated that (sub)atomic particles may manifest them-
selves in more than one place at the same time and that the various manifestations may
act synchronously while far apart although they have no apparent way to communicate
(for an introduction to quantum mechanics, see Omnès 1999; Liboff 2002; Bernstein
2009; cf. Folger’s provocatively titled article, “If an Electron Can Be in Two Places at
Once, Why Can’t You?” (2005).
162
Again, for the sake of coherence, narratives generally portray a deity in one place at one
time.
163
They become fully Šamaš through the accumulation of various aspects of Šamaš, such as
the image and the name, as well as Šamaš’ willingness to symbiotically join with the
statue, all through the medium of ritual.
approaching a single manifestation of the deity and differentiating it from

others and attaching them when focusing on writing a hymn to exalt the
deity’s greatness.
Although in some cases individual manifestations in different locales were
treated as different deities, multiple statues in the same locale seem to repre-
sent different aspects of the same deity – that is, they may have been used for
different functions. For example, when Sennacherib captured the statue of
Marduk used in the akıˉ tu festival from Babylon, the festival could not be
performed even though there were multiple other statues of Marduk in the
Esagil temple of Babylon.164 In addition to serving a different function, the
various statues in the same location bore different names.165 Since a name
represents but one aspect of a deity and a deity may accumulate aspects by
accumulating names (e.g., Marduk in Enuˉ ma eliš), by giving the various
statues in the sanctuary different names and functions, the Mesopotamians
increased the range and prominence of their deities.166 Nonetheless, different
aspects of the same Marduk may practically be treated as different Marduks,
one for each function. By dividing the divine skill set between statues, one
effectively divided Marduk into different partial manifestations.
The association of each statue with a different name and thus a different
function likewise accords with the Mesopotamian comprehensive mentality
and the desires of the rulers. Since more statues meant more prestige for the
deities, rulers could furnish the gods with additional statues to enhance
their prestige and elicit divine protection and prosperity. Since each statue
was in some way symbiotically joined with a deity, new ones could not
simply replace the old ones. Thus, in effect, having multiple simultaneous
manifestations focusing on a single aspect meant greater power and prom-
inence for the deities and for the rulers who served them.
Access Points As Divine “Franchises”

To make the concept of divine fluidity more accessible to our modern
minds, we may consider the similar dynamics at work in modern
164
Berlejung (2002:196–230, esp. 216–8; 2007:36). Regarding the multiple statues of
Marduk and their different names, see BM 119282; George 1997:65–70.
165
See the tā kultu ritual texts, which (exhaustively) list temple cult images, often referring
to what appear to be the same deities under many different names, many of which seem
to focus on an aspect or function of the deity (Porter 2000:230–9).
166
One finds evidence for the multiple divine names also in lexical lists, royal inscriptions,
hymns, and epic poetry. Through a name, a deity differentiates itself from all others.
Through multiple names with multiple functions, it reserves for itself the benefits
attached to the multiple functions, which through the multiple names are ascribed to it.
franchises or chain stores.167 While a single store or restaurant provides

access to people in its immediate environs, people from further afield live
too far away to frequent it regularly. In order to offer them more access
and to multiply its sphere of influence and market share, the original store
establishes a chain or franchise in a new, more accessible location.
As a by-product of such reduplication, multiple access points result in
a complicated relationship between the individual stores. Each McDonald’s
franchise, for example, is clearly associated with the original. It bears the
same name and for the most part, offers the same products. However, each
is also in some way distinct. Each is constructed in a different location in
different buildings with different architectural plans and in some cases
offers slightly different menu items. Depending on the context,
“McDonald’s” may be viewed as: (1) a specific restaurant, (2) a single
corporate entity that includes the totality of the individual franchises; or
(3) a collection of distinct restaurants that share the same name.
Like each McDonald’s restaurant, each access point strengthened and
expanded the divine profile while providing more people with access to
a deity and the goods and services it offered, or, it afforded a deity access
to more people and the service and reverence they offered.168 Since
a deity’s realm may be geographically limited, constructing more access
points (e.g., statues and temples) multiplied that deity’s sphere of influ-
ence, worship, and service. The divine constellation thus expanded, mak-
ing the deity greater, more prominent, and present in more locales. Like
a human monarch (or modern corporation), the deity was in a sense an
empire builder, whose prominence often relied on gaining territory by
reduplication and the establishment of outposts.
Similarly, each access point was clearly associated with the original
deity. Like a clone or a franchise, it bore the same divine DNA, yet each
developed independently. Although each had significant overlap, individ-
ual divine manifestations also developed their own unique context-
specific characteristics, a product of their distinct worship base and its
needs and beliefs. Thus, the context determines whether Ištar refers to: (1)
167
By appealing to modern capitalism, this analogy in no way captures the issue in all its
complexity, ignoring, for example, the ancient political dimension, and implies
a systematic intent and oversight rarely found in the ANE. See Pongratz-Leisten 2011b
for the complexity of translating deities across places and cultures.
168
Just as McDonald’s does not expand out of the goodness of its heart, but rather to
increase its market share, so too does a deity. Nonetheless, while undertaken on behalf of
the corporation or corporate deity, the people benefit because of the access it affords
them, at least theoretically.
a specific manifestation; (2) a single, larger divine entity that includes the
totality of the individual aspects and manifestations; or (3) a collection of
distinct deities that share the same forename.
Deities outside of the Divine Constellations

Most major anthropomorphic deities interacted with other major
anthropomorphic deities with constellations of their own. Since relation-
ships were often hierarchical, one of the major gods commonly served
another, and all served the heads of the pantheons in some capacity.
Within a single deity’s sphere of influence, one finds several affiliated
and commonly subordinate deities.
The Divine Court

In addition to often extended family relations, the major anthropomorph-
ically understood gods were perceived as divine rulers with a court,169
a court that reflects the terrestrial court of a king.170 Although not part of
the constellation that makes up the divine person and shares in its identity,
the divine court consists of deities who serve the divine person and thus are
within its sphere of influence. In general, there are three kinds of divine
servants. First, certain deities serve the head of the pantheon in matters of
state, advising and acting as its representative and messenger. Second,
some deities ensure the satisfaction and personal needs of the gods. Third,
other deities oversee the upkeep of the household (e.g., cooks, guards, and
gatekeepers).171
As roughly equivalent to a human vizier, the divine sukkallu deserves
special mention.172 The sukkallu is a deity in its own right, responsible for
thinking, planning, and representing its divine master, often serving as
169
The divine court is part of the larger divine entourage, which refers loosely to servants
and subordinates closely associated with the major anthropomorphic deity. When
understood as divine servants, monsters and even demons may form part of this
entourage.
170
Jacobsen 1954:149, 206ff.; Falkenstein 1966:90; Renger 1974:436; Wiggermann 1985–
6:16.
171
Renger 1974:437.
172
For a list of sukkallu-gods and their divine masters, see CAD S sukkallu 1c:358–9.
Although often presented in anthropomorphic form, the sukkallu-gods were also por-
trayed with nonhuman or superhuman body parts (e.g., more heads or a snake’s tail;
Groneberg 2006:144). In addition, although the sukkallu is naturally subordinate to the
god whose vizier he functions as, he is not necessarily a minor god. For example, in
various incantations of the Marduk-Ea type (TUAT 2/2:189–91; M. Dietrich 1997:64–
6), Marduk acts as vizier of Ea and in many contexts Nabû is the vizier of Marduk.
a bridge between its master and the other gods and between its master and
the terrestrial sphere.173 In fact, without the sukkallu the high god could
not give instructions to its divine and human subjects or communicate
with his divine brethren.174 Nuska, as the sukkallu of Enlil in the
Atrahasis Epic, protects and advises his lord, summons the divine assem-
˘
bly, conveys their decision to the lower gods, and also represents his lord
as his deputy in the divine court.175 In the divine sphere as well, the
sukkallu is associated with doors and is responsible for allowing and
mediating access to the high god.176 In the human sphere, Ilabrat, as
sukkallu of Anu in the Adapa Epic serves as an expert in terrestrial matters
for the distant sky god.177 In accord with the human model, petitioners
also often approach the vizier to bring their message before the inaccess-
ible king/high god.178 To this end, the sukkallu, like the lamassu, is
depicted as leading worshippers into the divine presence.179
173
M. Dietrich 1997:50–1, 58. The divine sukkallu is modeled after his human counterpart,
who performs multifaceted functions as deputy of the king before his subjects or in the
provinces (Wiggermann 1985–6:23; M. Dietrich 1997:57–8); cf. Parpola 1995:389–92,
the role of the vizier-sukkallu in the Neo-Assyrian cabinet).
174 175
Wiggermann 1985–6:21. M. Dietrich 1997:58–60.
176 177
Wiggermann 1985–6:17. M. Dietrich 1997:60–1.
178
A symbol socle from Aššur bears an inscription to “Nuska, the grand vizier
(sukkalmahhu) of Ekur . . ., attendant of Aššur and Enlil, who daily repeats the prayer
˘˘
(teslıˉ t) of Tukulti-Ninurta, the king whom he loves, before Aššur and Enlil and who
[obtains (?)] for him in the Ekur the fixation of his might” (Wiggermann 1985–6:10).
Likewise, in numerous incantations, the supplicant calls on the high god through the
mediation of its sukkallu (M. Dietrich 1997:62).
179
Ninšubura, the most prevalent sukkallu, is often depicted leading a worshipper by the
hand to the high god (M. Dietrich 1997:67). However, the sukkallu is generally replaced
in art by the lamassu in leading visitors into the divine presence (Wiggermann 1985–
6:18), perhaps since lamassu-goddesses have a closer relationship to their human senders
and thus would plead their case more vigorously and effectively. Even though the
sukkallu is supplanted by the lamassu in art, the sukkallu, alongside the lamassu and
the wife of the implored deity, remains the most common interceding deity in the divine
court (ibid. 20). Although they overlap to some degree, the primary difference between
the lamassu and the sukkallu seems to be a matter of position and perspective (pace
Groneberg 1986b). The lamassu is most closely associated with the worshipper in the
terrestrial sphere and with the deity in its temple. She serves to protect both her human
and divine charges and to liaise between them. Her intercessory role largely derives from
her intimate, protective function. The sukkallu, on the other hand, is most closely
associated with the high god, especially in inaccessible regions like heaven and the
underworld. As a vizier, it protects, advises, and represents its masters in all matters of
state. Its intermediary role derives largely from its role as divine representative, express-
ing its master’s will with his servants and peers. As such, since it represents the face of its
god (M. Dietrich 1997:70), it may be approached with petitions to deliver to the
otherwise inaccessible high god.
Divine Accoutrements
Though not part of the larger divine entity, other deified elements are
associated with anthropomorphic deities. As with the divine entourage,
the deification of divine accoutrements, such as crowns, furniture, and
weapons, serves to enhance rather than detract from the prestige and
power of the anthropomorphic deity. The deification of divine accoutre-
ments renders the deity greater since even the objects associated with it
and over which it exercises control are divine. In other words, not only is
the deity divine, but so is its immediate environment.
Protective Deities
The female lamassu180 and its male counterpart, the šeˉ du, are the quintes-
sential protective deities.181 Both figures are often presented in anthropo-
morphic guise, and the lamassu in particular is depicted as leading
worshippers into the presence of the deity and more generally serves to
protect individuals from all sorts of ills, including demonic influence.182 In
addition to protecting individuals and mediating between those individ-
uals and the major deities, they also protect places; they are especially
connected with temple doorways and come to be associated with the
entrances of palaces. While their anthropomorphic appearance is no
doubt comforting to the individual, at doorways they are represented as
hybrid creatures in first millennium Assyria, stressing their ability to ward
off all unwanted company. Aladlammû,183 the well-known lamassu and
šeˉdu figures that stand on either side of entryways to palaces and presum-
ably also temples are depicted as often winged, colossal human-headed
bulls or lions. As such, like powerful hybrid demons like Pazuzu, they are
the ideal supernatural bouncers, potent enough to protect against any
manner of intruder.184 However, although mixed, unlike Pazuzu, they
180
While lamassu-deities are sometimes part of the divine entourage, protecting the deity in
the temple, at other times they protect humans. While they are sometimes hybrid, they
are often presented anthropomorphically. In turn, they do not fit comfortably into either
category and thus may form their own.
181
When written with the logogram lamma, the lamassu is always listed with the divine
determinative (Foxvog, Heimpel, and Kilmer 1980–3:447).
182
Foxvog, Heimpel, and Kilmer 1980–3; Herles 2006:231–2; Ornan 2009:130–1.
183
Although not attested in syllabic writing, for the sake of convenience I follow
Landsberger in rendering dALAD. dlamma.meš as aladlamû or the Sumerian logo-
graphic equivalent of dšeˉ du and dlamassu.
184
Esarhaddon describes their function in the palace context as those who “because of their
appearance, turn back an evil person, guard the steps and secure the path of the king who
fashioned them” (Ash. 62–3:41ff.).
appear majestic, befitting the sphere they protect. Given their imposing
presence and prime position, aladlammû also serve two related functions.
First, in the context of the temple, they are appropriate boundary markers,
indicating the importance of the space they protect and indicating that,
although they may appear in or as an anthropomorphic statue, the deities
within are potent enough and different enough from humanity to control
such majestic beasts. In the palace context, Neo-Assyrian kings borrow
from the prestige of the divine sphere, using such gatekeepers to indicate
their importance and power and to strike appropriate fear in all who visit
the royal precincts. Second, in the temple context, they introduce guests to
the deity.185 In their function as gatekeepers, they both protect the divine
sphere from unwanted attention and introduce appropriate guests to the
deity. Thus, the lamassu-deities of the major gods, which are the same as
the lamassu-deities of their temples, are important divine servants.186
Hybrid Creatures: “Monsters” and “Demons”

Hybrids form an especially broad and illustrative category of
“unattached” deities.187 Within this category, one finds so-called mon-
sters, demons, and protective beings (some of which have been treated
earlier in this chapter).188 While the major anthropomorphic gods are at
the heart of and responsible for the ordered cosmos, so-called monsters
dwell outside of and threaten that order.189 While major
185
This introductory function likely derives from their presence at doorways, and in some
ways allow them to usurp the divine vizier’s (sukkallu) role in this respect (Wiggermann
1985–6:18, 26).
186
Foxvog, Heimpel, and Kilmer 1980–3:450–1.
187
While they form the most common genus of hybrid beings, monsters and demons are not
the only hybrids (e.g., protective deities and even some sukkallu-gods may have a mixed
form). Here, they feature as the major representatives of the category.
188
Although not absolute, monsters and demons may be generally differentiated by their
functions and areas of activity. Monsters serve as cosmic agents who interact primarily
with the gods in the divine world, while demons are especially active within the human
or natural world, afflicting or protecting human beings (see further Sonik 2010). Neither
need be evil.
189
Wiggermann 1994:207–30. Wiggermann (1996) distinguishes monsters from both gods
and demons since they do not appear in the god lists, are only sporadically listed with the
dingir determinative, and generally do not wear the horned crown of divinity. At the
same time, they are not listed among the utukku lemnu (roughly translated as “evil
demons”; CAD U-W:339–42), nor are they demons of disease listed in the medical texts
(Wiggermann 1994:231). Although they may be generally distinguished from gods and
demons, there is no generic term to describe “monsters” as a category. Monsters in
general are presented as hybrid beings who combine potent natural elements into one
form. For example, Anzu, associated with the clouds, was presented as a bird-lion
anthropomorphic gods are more or less clearly differentiated and have

their own spheres of activity in the ordered cosmos, monsters are largely
undifferentiated in terms of identity and function.190 As a general rule,
these hybrid creatures are considered the anthropomorphic gods’ closest
rivals, who were defeated in the ancient past and now serve as divine
servants, pets, mounts, and emblems.191 Thus, portraying these beings as
defeated foes and servants at once demonstrates their lesser status and
exalts the anthropomorphically conceived deities.
Mesopotamians thus walked a fine theological line in describing their
anthropomorphic gods. On one hand, in order to make them understand-
able and approachable, the gods were perceived as humanlike. On the
other hand, in order to demonstrate their ultimate power, they defeated
these “supernatural freaks,” who in their form embodied all that was
powerful and terrifying in the world.192 Such potent supernatural beings
are in all contexts superior to humans and different from the anthropo-
morphic deities, in most contexts subordinate to the anthropomorphic
deities, and in some contexts considered deities themselves.
Demons, for lack of a better term, are another important and complex
category of divine being.193 Whereas monsters commonly threaten the
gods or the cosmos at large, demons typically threaten individual persons.
Like the major gods, demons are in many ways anthropomorphized in
order to make them more comprehensible and their effects easier to avert,
hybrid, representing prominent aspects of the storm, air, and roaring respectively (ibid.
225).
190
Monsters are only individuated under specific conditions and not for their own intrinsic
value but rather as a vehicle for exalting a particular god. In the combat myth of Ninurta
and the Enuˉ ma eliš, Ninurta and Marduk defeat monsters with clear identities, Anzu and
Tiamat respectively. In both cases, Anzu and Tiamat are used to explain the power and
cult of the emergent gods (in fact, Enuˉ ma eliš is dependent on and adopts the same
strategy as the Anzu myth; Wiggermann 1992:163). In other words, Ninurta and
Marduk are powerful and important because they have defeated powerful monstrous
foes, in Ninurta’s case indicating how he rather than Enlil is the master of Anzu (ibid.
151–64). More expansively, both myths are concerned with the setting up of the cosmos
in its present ordered form (Livingstone 1986:170). Anzu and Tiamat are a means to this
end.
191 192
Wiggermann 1992:225–9. Ibid. 151–2.
193
Various Akkadian terms are used to denote “demons,” though none that may be equated
with the modern English term. Instead, demons should be understood more simply as
a kind of supernatural being that has an ambivalent relationship with both the anthropo-
morphic gods and humanity (cf. Hutter 2007:21). The most general Akkadian term is
utukku (see the now dated but still useful survey in Ebeling 1938; CAD U-W:339–42).
To specify that the demons in question are in fact evil, the text often adds the modifier
lemnu (“evil”) (CAD U-W:339–42; utukku lemnu series).
especially through the incantation literature.194 However, although some-

what anthropomorphized and although they partake of the divine nature
(iluˉ tu), demons often lack gender, individual identity, and families, as well
as the desire and ability to respond to prayer and supplication, and they
are thoroughly predictable in their actions.195
As supernatural beings, demons are presented in an ambivalent
manner. On one hand, they are the source of all sorts of human
afflictions, most prominently diseases.196 On the other hand, they
also, may be beneficent creatures used to counteract the effects of evil
demons, whether through incantations or as apotropaic boundary
markers, particularly of houses.197 The very hybridity of these crea-
tures makes them suited to their dual role, as they either may personify
the powers of evil or create a being scary and powerful enough to
counteract it.198 Lamaštu and Pazuzu form prime examples of both
categories of “demons.”199 Lamaštu, marked with the divine deter-
minative and listed as the daughter of Anu, is especially responsible
for disrupting pregnancy and harming young children.200 In order to
protect the home and to counteract and banish Lamaštu, parents
appeal to Pazuzu, king of the evil winds (lilû), in essence using
a being even scarier than Lamaštu to scare her away.201
The relationship of evil demons with the major gods is expressed in two
primary ways. Demons are either a divine nuisance independent from yet
subordinate to the major gods, or the loyal agents of certain deities
194 195
van der Toorn 2003:67, 72. Ibid. 77–8.
196
Indeed, instead of simply being responsible for diseases, demons are often equated with
them. However, at other times, as we have seen, diseases are deified in their own right or
merely treated as conditions affecting the body.
197
See Green 1994:246. Although some demons may be alternatively presented as “evil” or
“good,” the majority are presented as one or the other. Demons also appear in palaces
and temples. For example, Huwawa heads are fastened at the front of temples and are
˘
attested at Tell Rimaḥ (Wiggermann 1985–6:26).
198
Gadd 1934:14; Kendall 1977:49; Green 1994:246. It must be noted that in the third
and second millennia animals like dogs, snakes, and scorpions were most prominently
presented as the agents of evil. Only in the first millennium did the personified evils gain
prominence while the animals became subordinate to them (van der Toorn 2003:65–7;
cf. Wiggermann 1994:232–3. For example, according to the first millennium Lamaštu
series, a black dog is Lamaštu’s regular companion (I:114).
199
As especially powerful and important demons, these beings are personified in a way that
generic demons are not.
200
Farber 1980–3; Wiggermann 2000.
201
Wiggermann 2000. Pazuzu seems to have largely replaced Huwawa as an apotropaic
boundary marker in the first millennium, both of which scared ˘ off intruders with their
frighteningly potent faces.
Divine Hierarchy 49
commissioned to carry out evil intentions.202 “Good” demons likewise

partake of the divine nature, counteract evil and are either independent or
agents of the anthropomorphic deities.
divine hierarchy
In Mesopotamia the pantheon is large, and its hierarchy is time-, place-, and
context specific.203 The following representation follows the embedded god
lists of the first millennium. Allen posits multiple tiers, including chief gods
(Marduk and Aššur), their consorts, triad 1 (Anu, Enlil, and Ea) and their
consorts, triad 2 (Sîn, Šamaš, and Adad) and their consorts, warrior gods and
goddesses, deified and celestial objects, and finally other minor deities.204 We
simplify the schema into three tiers: high god(s), major gods, and minor gods.
Marduk in Babylonia (accompanied by Sarpā nıˉtu) and Aššur in Assyria
(accompanied by Mullissu) are the heads of the pantheons. Although high
gods do not necessarily inspire the worship of the masses, they are the
national gods. Since both nations aspire to world domination, they are also
international gods, more specifically the cosmic monarchs.
As we will see, texts justify their supremacy by making them one-stop-
shop gods.205 They accumulate in one person all the useful attributes the
other gods possess corporately, without ever denying their existence or
demanding their worshippers change allegiance. In some ways, their power
lies in their ability to adopt and adapt new attributes, powers, names, and
manifestations to meet the ever-changing needs of the world.206
Nonetheless, Marduk and Aššur limit their terrestrial manifestations to
a primary temple (even though there were multiple manifestations in that
temple), thereby ensuring a single voice in political and religious matters.207
202
van der Toorn 2003:76. For example, in the Atrahasis Epic, child-snatching demons act
under Enki’s command to keep the population at˘ bay (ibid. 75). In general, however,
demons are associated with Erra or Nergal and his spouse Ereškigal, which by extension
demonize their masters (ibid. 74).
203
Regarding the pantheon, see Lambert 1975; Sallaberger 2004. For different time and
place specific configuration, see Beaulieu 2003; Rubio 2011. Regarding the hierarchy,
see esp. S. Allen 2015:95–140.
204
S. Allen 2015:95–140, 369–91.
205
See the Competition and Character Poaching section of this chapter.
206
Again, it must be stressed that the common people did not necessarily go to them to meet
these needs. Rather, it is important theoretically and rhetorically that they remain one-
stop-shop gods.
207
The idea that gods founded their own temples in Babylonia, the central temple of Marduk
and Aššur as axis mundi, the populace’s relative indifference to them, and other religious
and political factors likely contributed to them having a single terrestrial home.
As such, they are cohesive deities with multiple aspects who are ever accu-
mulating new names and attributes. Nonetheless, unity may unravel at the
edge of the constellation as at the edge of their empires.
Most major gods (triads 1 and 2, warrior gods, and major goddesses)
are specialists, like the moon god Sîn, the sun god Šamaš, the weather god
Adad, the warrior gods, the sky god Anu, and Ea the lord of the under-
ground waters and the god of wisdom and incantations.208 The minor
gods include the entourage of the major gods, messengers, servants, and
more peripheral deities.209 In turn, what separates high gods from major
gods and major gods from minor gods are primarily the quantity and
quality of their attributes and associations.
other effects of divine multiplicity

Next, we examine some of the potential pitfalls of divine multiplicity,
which have been much discussed in biblical circles, in order to see
them more clearly through a Mesopotamian lens. Analysis of two
important phenomena – divine overlap and character poaching –
that enhance the complexity and flexibility of the divine realm will
follow, which has implications for other ANE religions and religious
expressions.
Potential Pitfalls of Divine Multiplicity

Divine Fragmentation
The fluid Mesopotamian divine world allows for multiple complex ways
of conceiving and depicting deities, and divine multiplicity brings with it
potential pitfalls.210 For example, as is already apparent, the relationship
between aspects may become tenuous, as can the relationship of each
aspect to the whole. In some cases – Ištar in particular – different local
manifestations are treated as different deities altogether.211 For example,
208
Dethroned by Marduk and Aššur in the first millennium, Enlil, when mentioned, falls
into the major god category. Alternatively, texts like Enuˉ ma eliš omit him. As
a character, Marduk replaces Enlil; as an abstract concept, Marduk bears the
“Enlilship” of the gods. In older models Anu, Enlil, and Ea represented the supreme
triad, with Enlil as lord of the earth often serving as king.
209
Nonetheless, as vizier of Enlil, gods like Nusku remain powerful and influential.
210
“Fragmentation” is the word employed by Sommer, referring to several deities with
a single name who “somehow are and are not the same deity” (Sommer 2009:13). The
possibility and implications of the term are addressed in what follows.
211
See especially the extensive evidence presented by S. Allen 2015:141–99.
Other Effects of Divine Multiplicity 51
as noted, a hymn of Aššur-bā ni-apli addresses the distinct Ištars of

Nineveh and Arbela (SAA 3.3).212
For the most part various manifestations did not diminish the whole, but
rather by the additive principle they enhanced it.213 Since each aspect repre-
sents a competency, such as control over a natural element or force, function,
quality, or geographical area, the more aspects added, the more potent the
deity becomes. Even if the relationship of the manifestations to the whole is
somewhat murky, the fact that there is a relationship adds another aspect to
the deity and co-opts whatever characteristics the particular aspect carries.
Likewise, such potential fragmentation on the local scale often did not
detract from the larger constellation; it simply meant that there were differ-
ent local Ištars, all connected to the other common traits of Ištar. In fact,
local Ištars extended the sphere of influence of the larger Ištar constellation
and established more places where she was present and active. In addition,
some brought their own unique traits into the collective, which they
inherited from other associations. Ištar of Nineveh brought an association
with Mullissu, who was Aššur’s wife, granting her greater prestige and
extending the range of the larger Ištar, making her greater, not smaller.214
Nonetheless, with diverse independent local manifestations, there is
some danger that the various Ištars could act in contradictory, perhaps
even combative ways. For example, Nineveh could go to war against
Babylon, theoretically bringing Ištar-of-Nineveh to war against Ištar-of-
Babylon. In a less extreme case, local shrines could compete over theology
and practice. There even could be a debate in the same temple over which
cult image was the primary manifestation of a deity, whereby a king could
signify that the image he supplied should replace the previous image as the
primary cult statue.215 Even with such competition, the fact that compet-
ing claims exist in different areas suggests that Ištar is perceived as espe-
cially present and active in various locales.216 Thus, although worshippers
212
Livingstone 1987:10–13; Porter 2004; Sommer 2009:14; S. Allen 2015:1–3, 95.
213
Nor did multiple manifestations mean that each manifestation possessed less power, as if
the larger divine entity had a limited amount of power to be divided among its manifest-
ations but not reduplicated in each. Rather, each manifestation could theoretically
represent the fullness of the deity without diminishment, a fullness enhanced by the
addition of more elements.
214
Meinhold 2009:200ff.; S. Allen 2011:311ff. This connection was conceivably cemented
when the capital moved to Nineveh and Aššur became associated with the city.
215
See the now famous Sippar tablet of Nabû-apla-iddina.
216
In a modern context competition over which Mary is most significant makes Mary more
and not less important, giving her more places in which she is venerated and in which she
can be especially accessed.
could fight over which surname and form was more important (whether
that surname signaled a place or a characteristic, whether the form was
symbolic or anthropomorphic), if anything, the forename and the divine
constellation that bore it ultimately benefited from such infighting.
Likewise, regarding the individual manifestations, since each manifest-
ation adds to the range of the larger divine constellation, each divine locus
in effect contributes to a larger pot.
In addition, the strong differentiation between the local manifestations
of Ištar seems to be the exception rather than the rule. For most other
deities there was no such fragmentation. Although they may be wor-
shipped in different locales simultaneously in multiple forms, other deities
were presented far more coherently. Thus, the size of the fissure between
forms seem to vary according to time, place, and person.
Various factors may contribute to Ištar’s complexity. Most prominently,
Ištar’s popularity, as evidenced by her presence in more than one hundred
local cults, and her relatively minor status among the major gods may have
made her more prone to develop various (conflicting) selves.217 In contrast,
although they were presented in various guises, especially within the same
temple, the national gods Aššur and Marduk seemed to be presented more
holistically, perhaps because of their prominence and the undisputed prom-
inence of their central cultic locations, Aššur and Babylon respectively.
Divine fragmentation was more limited than one might expect for other
practical reasons. In the more religiously conservative Babylonia, temples,
like cult statues, were built by the gods themselves.218 Thus, temples could
not be moved or constructed anew. As a result, while minor and secondary
shrines were acceptable, a Babylonian deity theoretically only had one
temple.219 In reality of course, temples were newly built. However, no king
217
In addition, each deity could multiply itself – that is, establish a new local cult – and be
present in local cult images. Each new manifestation often seems to be an expansion
outward from an original divine prototype. However, in Hittite Anatolia and the Levant
some of the most prominent weather gods existed side by side from the beginning,
making their full equation less palatable (see Chapters 2 and 4). As the quintessential
goddess, Ištar too could have had multiple (simultaneous) origins. These deities could
have been associated with Ištar over time without being fully assimilated (so too Adad in
the north and west, where, unlike in the south, rain was more necessary for survival).
Regarding her local cults, see Groneberg 2006:139–40; regarding her status, see S. Allen
2015:100–10.
218
Schaudig 2010:147–8.
219
Minor and secondary shrines, as well as moveable cult objects and symbols, allowed
concrete access to the deity from afar. Regarding the role of objects and symbols as
representations of the Assyrian state (cult), see Holloway 2002:67–71, 183–93, 198–
200.
could legitimately introduce such a novelty. Instead, rather than being innov-
ations, newly constructed temples were presented as the restoration of tem-
ples “forgotten” (mašû N) or “fallen out of use” (naparkû).220 Less beholden
to tradition, Assyrian kings were emboldened to declare that they founded
temples “which had previously not existed” (ša ina pā n lā bašû).221
Even in Assyria, the king of the gods had one primary temple.222
Enlil’s temple at Nippur was presented as the original axis mundi, the
center of the world both vertically and horizontally. With the rise to
prominence of Marduk and Aššur, Babylon and Aššur respectively laid
claim to the title of world center.223 Since there was only one axis
mundi, Enlil, Marduk, and Aššur only had one primary temple, which
could not be moved.224 The imperial divine seat, like that of the king,
was singular for more practical reasons as well. A single temple
ensured a single voice in political and religious matters.225 Indeed, if
(semi-)independent local manifestations within the nation were espe-
cially stressed, they may have detracted from the larger whole. Since
Aššur and Marduk were already national gods, local manifestations
within the nation did not extend the divine range. Rather, more
manifestations could be a liability, detracting from the rhetorical
unity of the gods and the central importance of Aššur and Babylon
as terrestrial divine abodes and axes mundi.226
220
Schaudig 2010:150. 221 Ibid. 151.
222
For exceptions that prove the rule, see ibid. 153–4 for Enlil and 156, 158 for Aššur.
223
Over time as well, “Enlil,” the king of the gods, became more of a supreme title than
a person: “Enlilship” (elliluˉ tu). With their imperial aspirations, both Marduk and Aššur
claimed the Enlilship of the gods for themselves. In keeping with that claim, they too only
had one primary temple.
224
Hundley 2013a:80–3. In fact, once a deity solidified his position atop the pantheon,
temples could be reassigned to ensure that his cult center was singular. For example,
Borsippa, earlier associated with Marduk, was allotted to his son Nabû (Schaudig
2010:155; cf. George 1993:159–60, no. 1236: Ezida dedicated to Nabû in the first
millennium).
225
“For reasons of state, the priesthood of Enlil [Marduk or Aššur] and the human king
must have shared an interest in ensuring that the choice of the king was legitimate, clear,
and undisputed. For Enlil, this meant there could be only one ‘Enlil,’ and one priesthood,
centered on one temple. It would have been highly disadvantageous to have dozens of
Enlils scattered all over the land, with individual priesthoods pursuing their own politics,
and with ecstatics rising and delivering prophecies beyond any control” (Schaudig
2010:152).
226
In fact, in Neo-Assyrian times, there is little evidence for shrines of Aššur outside of the
city of Aššur (Holloway 2002:65–8, 160ff.; Cancik-Kirschbaum 2003:53), perhaps to
avert this threat. In addition, the goal of both divine monarchs was not to inspire
universal worship, making multiple temples more of a potential bane than a boon.
Divine Displacement
When an associated element is entirely dissociated from a deity, there is
some threat that the dissociated element could usurp some of the deity’s
worship. One finds potential examples of an image replacing the deity as the
object of adoration. Ṣalmu (“image”) was written with a divine determina-
tive and became a deity in its own right.227 However, ṣalmu may have
simply been the name of a cult symbol for Šamaš of Larsa, and thus
represented but one aspect of Šamaš that was comfortably integrated into
the larger whole.228 There is also evidence for the deity Sikkanu (“stela”) in
Old Babylonian Larsa in the name of a judge, Warad-Sikkani (“slave of
Sikkanu”) and for the god Abnu (“stone”) appearing with a divine deter-
minative in the Old Babylonian period.229 Although there is little support-
ing evidence, it is possible that these deified objects replaced the deities they
represented as the objects of worship. Since the deified object bore
a different forename than its (originally) associated deity, it could be more
easily distanced from the deity, and thus worship directed toward the object
may have been directed away from the god. In other words, people could
start worshipping the immediate aspect and lose sight of the affiliated deity.
Interaction between Deities

While the previous section on potential pitfalls addressed the complexity
and competition within a constellation, we now turn to the complexity
and competition between constellations – namely, the opportunity for
divine overlap and the roles of competition and character poaching.
Divine Overlap
Although not as prominent as in Egypt, there is some evidence in
Mesopotamia, particularly in the tā kultu ritual texts, that Mesopotamian
deities overlapped to some degree.230 The texts combine the names of two
gods into a single name on at least eleven occasions, such as Ninurta-Aššur
and Aššur-Adad, each of which is treated as a single deity.231 By analogy
with the other instances of a divine name modified by a descriptive word or
phrase, “the second god’s name in the paired names is probably also
227
Dalley 1986; Curtis 1990:37.
228
Regarding ṣalmu as a cult symbol, see van der Toorn 1997:11. 229 Ibid. 9–10.
230
Tā kultu means “the meal” but in practice was “a symbolically charged and elaborate
royal presentation of food offerings” (Porter 2000:230; for the ritual texts, see Menzel
1981:54 [K. 252], T. 113–25 and 61 [VAT 10126], T. 138–44).
231
Porter 2000:235.
descriptive, identifying a particular form in which the first god was wor-
shipped in the temple in question, probably a form of that god characterized
by the main quality, power, or role associated with the second god.”232 It is
probable that in combination the first deity is “described as like, or equiva-
lent to, or incorporating the qualities of, the second god; Aššur-Adad, in
other words, should probably be understood to mean, Aššur in the form in
which he resembles Adad (probably as a storm god) and not vice versa.”233
As he appears first in the majority of combinations, the text presents Aššur
as “unusually powerful, a singularly potent locus of divine power who
embodied qualities and powers usually attributed to several other
gods.”234 However, “the context also makes it clear that the juxtaposed
names imply no absorption of the second god by the first; in almost every
case, both gods named in juxtaposition appear elsewhere in the text as
independent deities, each invoked and presented with offerings as two gods
with independent existences and separate powers.”235
Likewise, in a hymn to Ninurta, the Assyrian poet refers to other gods
as parts of Ninurta’s body (STT 118 rev.).236 In doing so, he exploits “this
fluid Mesopotamian concept of ilu to praise Ninurta in different ways in
each of the three sections of the poem – playing first on the concept of
ilus as divine persons, second on their aspect as celestial entities, and third
on their role as powers and activities.”237 In the first section Ninurta
receives the praises of other deities recognized as independent divine
persons who share their powers with Ninurta. The second section refers
to iluˉ as celestial bodies co-opted into the vast cosmic body of Ninurta,
“whose head is the sky itself, with all its planets and stars.”238 The third
section refers to iluˉ as “powers, qualities and natural phenomena acting
on earth, ranging from storm to contentment and from judgment to
creation and the provision of abundance.”239 In other words, the poem
seems to play on and claim for Ninurta the aspects that are and that make
up other deities.240 Nonetheless, the hymn must be read in context. It is
not a monotheistic or pantheistic statement, nor does it assert that
232
Ibid. 236–7; see similarly regarding Egypt Chapter 3 under Divine Overlap.
233 234 235
Ibid. 237. Ibid. 237–8. Ibid.
236 237
For a translation, see B. Foster 2005:613–14. Porter 2000:248.
238 239
Ibid. 250. Ibid. 250.
240
“The poet has used the poem to play on the spectrum of potential meanings inherent in
the multivalent conception of ilu, using its rich variety to paint a vivid image of Ninurta’s
impressiveness and power as a god who is by turns a divine person, an astral phenom-
enon, and an embodiment of all important earthly activities and powers – in short, a god,
rather ilu, par excellence” (ibid. 251).
Ninurta is the source of all deities or the deity who assimilates them into
his person. Rather, it exalts a major god (but not the high god) with
hyperbolic language by asserting that he is the sum total of the other
gods, the quintessence of divinity.241 Although the other deities remain
distinct and their powers and aspects remain their own, the poem con-
tends that Ninurta also possesses or shares in these powers and aspects.
Thus, from the aforementioned examples it seems that aspects of different
deities may overlap and, since a deity consists of various aspects, deities
also, may overlap to some extent.
Competition and Character Poaching

The idea of competition between deities follows closely from their over-
lapping function. In a polytheistic context a text does not often deny the
existence of other gods or eliminate them. Combat is another primary
means of competition, though major gods often fight monsters rather than
each other.242 When a deity defeats a monster, it raises its status in the
pantheon (e.g., Marduk in Enuˉ ma eliš and Ninurta in the Anzu Epic and
Lugale). This god-monster conflict thus serves as a way of reshuffling the
cosmic deck, allowing the hero god to ascend the divine ranks, often
without directly confronting the high god(s).
In other cases, texts employ a similar business model to modern mega-
stores like Amazon.com. They depict the rising deity as co-opting the
aspects of other deities.243 Co-opting (some of) a deity’s aspects in no
way denies the existence of that god or its potency; instead that deity is no
longer the exclusive bearer of the attribute, such that one need not access it
to access the attribute.244
In the aforementioned tā kultu texts and Ninurta hymn, a single god
seems to be exalted by sharing the aspects of other deities. Poaching divine
241
Similar hymns feature in Egypt and help explain the purpose of such hyperbolic hymns.
242
Nonetheless, in many cases – for example, Tiamat – the monsters are also gods. In fact, in
the story, Tiamat is a major god. Monsters exist as a means of exalting the conquering
deity. Although they may present a real challenge in mythology, they are not the deity’s
primary rivals for supremacy (i.e., Marduk and Aššur fight Tiamat, not each other, in
mythology). Nonetheless, there are instances where a younger god becomes supreme by
defeating and essentially retiring an older god (e.g., Enlil and Enmešara; Lambert
2013:282–98).
243
Regarding the megastore analogy and its application to various deities, see further
Chapter 8 under Non-Priestly Rhetoric.
244
When more than one god shares a function, the less prominent deity theoretically may be
forgotten because it is no longer necessary, and thus, effectively relegated to nonexistent
status. See the god lists that attempt to preserve the (soon-to-be) forgotten deities.
aspects are especially characteristic of the national gods, Aššur and

Marduk, who overcame relatively humble and obscure beginnings to
become the most prominent gods in Assyria and Babylonia
respectively.245 For example, Enuˉ ma eliš is primarily designed to legitim-
ate Marduk’s position as king of the gods. In addition to innovatively
combining divine combat and creation motifs, the poem climaxes with
Marduk’s fifty names, which co-opt aspects of other deities, thus render-
ing himself supreme.246 Aššur likewise promotes himself by taking over
the aspects of Enlil, Marduk, Ea, Šamaš, Ninurta, and/or Adad.247 In the
process, although not originally a storm god, Marduk (and Aššur) may
use the weapons of the storm, since they are some of the most potent,
when confronting enemies (see especially Marduk’s battle with Tiamat in
Enuˉ ma eliš). In fact, the amalgamation is so thorough that it is difficult to
reconstruct the original profile of both deities.248 In effect, as one-stop-
shop gods, they may draw from the full complement of divine powers and
be whomever the situation needs them to be.
In an attempt to present the exalted god as the possessor of all import-
ant aspects, the texts effectively present the other gods as inferior but by
no means impotent.249 In fact, the text’s desire to poach their qualities is
an indication of their potency. Thus, Mesopotamian gods are often
245
In both cases political expansion worked in tandem with the expansion of the deities’
aspects and areas of competence (Sallaberger 2004:299).
246
The myth so convincingly connects creation and combat that modern scholars expect to
find creation motifs in other combat myths (e.g., the Baal and Kumarbi cycles).
Marduk’s names are especially reliant on An = Anum (Dalley 1997:167). In another
example, Babylon lays a claim to replacing Nippur as the axis mundi, and thus Marduk
seeks to supplant Enlil as king of the gods (Maul 1997).
247
Berlejung 2007; cf. regarding Aššur’s assumption of Šamaš’ role as judge (Ringgren
1947:55–6). In a more extensive way than Babylon and Marduk, Aššur the city and
Aššur the god assume the “character, personality, family, epithets, attributes and equip-
ment of Enlil” (Berlejung 2007:12, translated from German). As with Babylon, Aššur is
cast as the new Nippur (ibid.; Maul 1997). For an especially intense concentration of
accumulating aspects, see Assurbanipal’s hymn to Aššur (SAA 3.1; Berlejung 2007:25–
9).
248
Appealing to his symbol, the spade, some scholars posit that Marduk was originally
a tutelary deity associated with canal digging and irrigation, both of which are necessary
in the southern Mesopotamian landscape (Oshima 2006). Aššur originally may have
been a mountain god associated with cliffs overlooking the city of Aššur; Schaudig
2010:155; cf. Lambert 1983:82–6.
249
In the case of Marduk, Aššur, and especially Ninurta, the goal of divine exaltation is not
an attempt to eliminate or replace the other gods. Rather, the divine cooption is
a rhetorical flourish designed to establish supremacy.
exalted over the other gods not by replacing them, but by partaking of
their previously exclusive aspects and adding them to their own.
That said, the goal of amalgamating aspects is rhetorical, not evangel-
istic. It serves to elevate a deity in the imperial pantheon, in the case of
Marduk and Aššur from obscurity to the top of the pantheon. Indeed,
approachability is conspicuously absent from their one-stop shops.250
Such imperial machinations often have little effect on whom the common
people worship. For example,
Assyrian onomastics provide a sharp contrast between association with the
national deity, which was the privilege of the king and a relatively small group
of people named after Assur, and naming and blessing practices. From the begin-
ning of the 9th century to the end of the Assyrian empire some 6 of 18 kings have
Assur-names, but the divine name is extremely rare in blessings and nonroyal
names found in the royal correspondence: as Pongratz-Leisten points out: “Aside
from his appearance in state rituals, there is no ritual in which Assur intervenes on
behalf of the individual. And with the exception of the royal hymns addressed
directly to Assur, there is no prayer literature to the Assyrian chief god
(2011:182).251
divine–human communication
People communicated directly with their gods via prayer, service, and
gifts, while divine–human communication was primarily indirect.252
Scattered examples of direct communication appear in mythological nar-
ratives yet remain more the exception than the rule.253
The gods communicated with humanity in rich, varied, and comple-
mentary ways.254 In fact, Mesopotamians believed that their gods
inscribed their wills into the very fabric of creation in both celestial and
terrestrial phenomena. In his survey, Maul mentions communication
through astrological signs, signs related to time, the unusual behavior of
animals, plants, or people, birth omens, medical omens, and dreams. In
addition to such unsolicited divine communication (omens), humans could
250
While not entirely absent, accessibility is minimized and directed more toward the elite.
251
Sanders 2014:223. The perdurance of the Marduk cult over that of Aššur after the fall of
their respective empires may in part be due to Marduk’s popularity.
252
Regarding prayer, see Lenzi 2011, especially 1–58. Regarding regular cult service, see
with references Hundley 2013a:270–6.
253
See the examples mentioned in Hamori 2008:129–44.
254
For an extensive summary, see Maul 2005:45–88. For a much-abbreviated version in
English, see Maul 2009:365–71. Regarding divination in general (with a special focus on
Mesopotamia), see Annus 2010.
Divine–Human Communication 59
initiate communication via oracles. Ritual experts could read the signs in
such media as animal entrails (extispicy) and livers (hepatoscopy), offering
birds, oil (lecanomancy), incense (libanomancy), and flour
(aleuromancy).255 Given the diversity and complexity of divine revelation,
specialists often were required to read and interpret the divine language.256
Omens portended future events by expressing the divine will, which could
always be altered by the appropriate human actions.257 Rather than being
exercises in fatalism, omens gave people agency. The gods shared their plans
with humans and invited us to shape the future with them.258 Oracles
allowed humans to take the initiative, putting specific questions to the
gods about past, present, or future circumstances. Instead of being compet-
ing systems, the various forms of omens and oracles were complementary.
For example, celestial omens gave permanent access to the divine inten-
tions writ large, while oracles gave more specific information. An oracle
could be used to verify or clarify another oracle or an omen. They also
could provide hidden information, like the cause of affliction, or inform
or legitimize royal decisions. Extispicy was especially popular and profit-
able as it allowed two-way communication between human and divine.
The human suppliant posed a question, and the gods wrote their answers
in the bodies of the sacrificial animals presented to them.259
While it may seem primitive and bizarre, from an ancient
Mesopotamian perspective such divinatory techniques were considered
especially trustworthy.260 The interpreters approached divination like
scientists, gathering substantial information, making predictions, and
testing those predictions. As a result, their conclusions seem objective.
More than that, they had divine approval since they believed their inter-
pretive texts revealed the god-given rules of divination.261 By comparison,
prophecy is attested, yet it was considered of secondary value.262 For
255
While simpler forms of divination were available to the average person, they do not
feature in the written record and were considered less trustworthy by the elite.
256
Experts also kept their knowledge from the public (Maul 2009:363), likely to enhance
and maintain their privileged position.
257
One also could gather omens from the past to explain past or present events. See the
Babylonian Book of Prodigies, which gathers signs that led to the “downfall of the land
of Akkad” (Kessler-Guinan 2002).
258
Omens take HADD and ToM one step further. Not only do the gods act with a purpose
in seemingly mundane events, but they also choose to communicate that reason to us.
259
See regarding the relationship between theory and practice Heeßel 2012.
260
Even cases of divinatory failure could be used to reinforce the system (Lenzi 2012).
261
Fincke 2006–7.
262
For texts, see Nissinen 2019. See more generally Nissinen 2018. One reason that
prophecies may not appear so often in the written record is that they are context-
example, at Old Babylonian Mari the prophet had to submit a lock of hair
and the hem of his garment so the prophecy could be tested by more
empirical means.263 By its very nature, prophecy is difficult to verify,
especially when there are competing prophecies.264 Instead, extispicy
provides a definitive answer that may be tested and refined through
complementary rituals.
conclusion
Mesopotamian gods are multiple and diverse, ranging from a disease to
the divine kings of the universe, and often united by their perceived power.
The major gods like Ištar and Marduk generally consist of a constellation
of aspects that may be treated as (semi-)independent or as part of a larger
organic unity, as the context dictates. Each element in the constellation
adds to the range of the deity, whose core is anthropomorphically pre-
sented, enabling it to have a far greater reach and to be active in far more
arenas. A deity may always expand its range by taking on new attributes,
including new cult images, sometimes through divine overlap or by co-
opting another deity’s attributes. Likewise, a deity’s range may contract,
for example, when another deity adopts its power(s). In short, a deity’s
range depends on the quantity, quality, and exclusivity of its associated
aspects. Generally, the larger the constellation, the more potent the deity.
Minor deities like those in the divine court do not have constellations.
Many possess a single prominent aspect and have a more limited range both
spatially and in terms of areas of competence. Their powers are further
curtailed in that most are situated under and in relation to the major gods.
Thus, they are generally lesser gods, in-between beings of one sort or
another. The divine court and the deified divine accoutrements surround
and are subservient to their divine master. The sukkallu in particular
represents its divine master, serving as a go-between between its master
and all those with whom the master interacts.265 As the quintessential
specific, delivered to a specific audience at a specific time about a specific situation. As

such, if written down, a prophecy need not be preserved after the event it predicts comes
to pass.
263
ARM 26:229; Nissinen 2019:text 36.
264
The fact that a prophecy is empirically unverifiable in the moment may be one of the
contributing factors to written prophecy in Israel. In fact, certain texts testify that they
wrote down predictive prophecies so that they could be verified later (e.g., Isa. 8:16–8;
30:8; Hab. 2:1–3).
265
The sukkallu’s association with the door is also indicative of its role in leading people
into the divine presence or denying them access.
Conclusion 61
protective deity, the lamassu stands between a deity or person and danger
and, in its role as gatekeeper, allows or prohibits access to the divine master.
Monsters serve as defeated and sometimes domesticated foes, who as
guardians stand between their masters and the outside world. In some
contexts, demons are servants of the major gods, who carry out their divine
wills. Thus, at the heart of the ubiquitous and complex divine world rests
the anthropomorphically conceived great gods, who incorporate various
aspects into their persons and surround themselves with other independent
deities who serve them in diverse capacities.
2
Hittite Gods
The divine world of the Hittites has generally been viewed as an offshoot
of the Mesopotamian religion with little to distinguish itself.1 However,
upon closer inspection Hittite religion is unique and remarkably rich.
Since its contribution to ANE conceptions of the divine comes into
sharper focus by situating it alongside Mesopotamian perspectives, we
will examine the Hittite data with a view toward the Mesopotamian.
An analysis of Hittite conceptions of the divine is an especially convo-
luted endeavor. Hittite religion is an admixture of the beliefs of many
different cultures. In fact, the Hittites themselves – that is, “the Indo-
Europeans who began to settle in central Anatolia in the second half of
the 3rd millennium – added little from their inherited Indo-European
religion” to the indigenous Hattic religion, which they co-opted and
incorporated into their own.2 Luwian religious tradition also played
a formative role.3 In addition, from the fifteenth century the influence of
Hurrian and Syrian (and Mesopotamian mediated through Hurrian)4
religious beliefs became especially influential.5 As Hittite “religion” is an
ever-shifting amalgam, no survey presents an accurate picture of it at all
1
The following chapter is a revised and expanded version of Hundley 2014b.
2
Hutter 1997:77; see also Beckman 2004:309–11. Regarding ancestral Indo-European
religious tradition, see Watkins 1995:247–51. Regarding the adopted Hattic tradition,
see Klinger 1996:129–97.
3
Hutter 2003; Beckman 2004:311.
4
See regarding the mediated Mesopotamian religion – for example, the prominence of
Ištar – in Beckman 1998; see further Güterbock 1958 and 1978.
5
Hutter 1997:77–8; Beckman 2004:309–11. Hurrian language and culture were prominent
in the second millennium in Syria and Anatolia and especially exerted influence on the
Hittites with the decline of the kingdom of Mitanni in the fourteenth century (possibly
62
What Is a God? 63
times and in all places, nor can it confidently claim to capture all the
complexity at any one time or in any one place.6 Rather than attempting to
be exhaustive, the following survey traces the complex contours of Hittite
religion.7
what is a god?
The Hittite divine world is characterized by a remarkable diversity,
including seemingly inanimate objects like the hearth with no apparent
individuation as well as the humanlike rulers of the universe.8 Western
commentators typically are not accustomed to or comfortable with this
diversity; at times we cannot escape our presuppositions and tend to argue
that some “gods” like the hearth are not really gods even though the Hittite
texts seem to classify them as such.9 Another common misconception,
derived largely from modern monotheistic conceptions, is that all beings
in the divine category should be roughly equivalent. According to this logic,
the hearth and the Weather-God cannot both be divine since they are vastly
different.10 Rather than decide what the Hittites believed based on our
presuppositions, we should allow the Hittite data to speak for themselves.
Once we have established what fits into the broad divine category, we will
proceed to address what separates a god from everything else and begin to
differentiate between the various entities in the divine category.
As in Mesopotamia,11 the anthropomorphic model is primary, yet does
not begin to exhaust the possibilities.12 In fact, there is such an abundant
ruled by an Indo-Aryan elite). Regarding Hurrian beliefs, see, for example, Trémouille
1999; see also Haas 1978; Wilhelm 1982:69–81; and Archi 1998 and 2002.
6
Cf. Beckman 2004:334.
7
The focus of this chapter is primarily phenomenological and religious. As such, it does not
devote significant attention to the equally illustrative political and diachronic dimensions
that influenced the development of the Hittite religious beliefs and practice (for which see
especially Taracha 2009; cf. Popko 1995).
8
Haas 1994:294–314.
9
Cf. regarding Mesopotamia, Chapter 1, note 52. Similarly, commentators of modern
monotheistic faiths like Christianity tend to assume that other celestial beings like angels
are not gods because of the presumption that there is only one god.
10
Again, instead of positing multiple kinds of deities, Christian commentators assume that
angels are not gods because they are subordinate to the supreme deity, Yahweh, and as
such must be classified as something else.
11
Here, where significant overlap exists between Hittite and Mesopotamian evidence, the
Hittite will be presented in brief and the reader may refer to a fuller treatment in the
previous chapter.
12
As in Mesopotamia, most major Hittite deities seem to have an anthropomorphic core.
Namely, they are understood to be humanlike in form, especially in their thoughts,
64 Hittite Gods
diversity of divine expressions that Volkert Haas may claim, “All of

nature is animate, i.e., it is imbued with numinous powers,” to which
we might also add various elements of human society.13 For example, in
one text, Waters, Gardens, and Meadows ask for a soft breeze from their
brother, Wind (VBoT 58 Vs. i.7: 9–11), while other gods exist to oversee
diverse areas of the human realm like the home, family, and the palace.
Hittite gods may be identified according to at least four criteria: (1) they
may be marked with the Sumerian divine determinative dingir;14 (2) in
addition to being labeled a god, they may be called a god explicitly; (3)
they behave in ways characteristic of the gods, such as conferring blessings
or receiving prayers; and (4) they also may be treated like gods (e.g., by
receiving food offerings).
According to these criteria, in addition to the anthropomorphic deities
especially prominent in myths and the cult, deities appear in mixed form,
either as human-animal (e.g., bull-men or winged demons),15 animal-
animal hybrids (i.e., winged lions), or a blending of human and natural
elements (i.e., mountain-men).16 They also may take purely animal form
(e.g., bulls, lions, eagles, and horses) and indeed do more so than in
Mesopotamia.17 Nonetheless, animal forms of Hittite deities often should
be viewed as one of many modes of divine manifestation akin to deities in
Egypt rather than being deities confined to animal form.18 In addition to
being manifestations or extensions of the gods themselves, divine animals
appear as part of the divine entourage.19
Elements in nature likewise may be deified, from the luminous celestial
bodies to the more mundane metals, stones, and plants.20 For example,
emotions, needs, and desires. However, the monsters featured in the Kumarbi Cycle as the
Weather-God’s rivals are only distantly anthropomorphic. They do not take human form,
nor do they exhibit much humanlike thought or emotions. They serve as a threat to order
and to the anthropomorphically envisioned deities who rule it.
13
Haas 1994:294, translated from German.
14
Haas 1994:298. The texts also use the Hittite šiu(n)-/šiwa(nna/i)- for “deity” or šiuniyatar
for the abstract “divinity” (Güterbock 1983:204) and the Luwian maššan(i), Hattic
ašhap, and Hurrian eni for “deity” (see resp. Laroche 1954; 1947a:77–8; 1947b:195–6
˘ Otten 1964:100); see also Collins 2005:20–2; Goedegebuure 2012:416–21.
and
15
Regarding deified demons, see dWišuriyant (Carruba 1966:48–9).
16
Steiner 1957:572; Haas 1994:461. Regarding mountain-men, which are more prominent
in Hittite Anatolia than in Mesopotamia, see also Haas 1982; Bonatz 2009.
17 18
Steiner 1957:552; Haas 1994:302–4; Wilhelm 2002:57–8. Haas 1994:304.
19
For example, the divine bulls Šeri and Hurri often appear as part of Teššub’s entourage
(see, i.e., Schwemer 2001:477–87). ˘
20
See generally Haas 1994:294, 297; Steiner 1957:548–9, 552. Regarding plants, for
example, Telipinu is worshiped as oak and Kumarbi as grain (Haas 1994:304–7).
What Is a God? 65
rather than being a minor god or object associated with the divine, in the
Hurrian Song of Silver (CTH 364). Silver possesses divine personality,
temporarily serves as king of the gods, and threatens even the sun and the
moon.21 In fact, unlike in Mesopotamia, stones when mixed with
anthropomorphic deities also may produce a being great enough to rival
the great gods. For example, in order to create a being strong enough to
defeat the king of the gods, Teššub, Kumarbi mates with a great rock to
produce the monstrous Ullikummi in the Song of Ullikummi (CTH
345).22 In addition, Heaven, Earth, the Mountains, the Rivers, the
Springs, the Great Sea, the Winds, and the Clouds frequently feature at
the end of divine witnesses in vassal treaties.23 Elements of nature, like
wind, clouds, storms, thunder, lightning, and rain, and natural disasters
like earthquakes,24 as well as blood and fire, are also occasionally
deified.25 Nonetheless, the Hittites seem to distinguish between the
“inanimate” objects themselves and the numinous qualities that imbue
or control them. Hittites often add the suffix -ant- to animate an otherwise
inanimate object. For example, nepiš/nepiša- “sky” becomes nepišant-
“sky god,” silver becomes ku 3 .babbar-ant- or “living silver,” and
pahhur “fire” becomes pahhuenant “living fire.”26 The suffix -šepa/-šipa
˘ ˘ adds the meaning “spirit,
also ˘˘ numen, demon,” such that aška- “door”
becomes aškašepa “spirit of the door,” hila(n)- “court” becomes hilanzipa
˘ ˘
“spirit of the court,” and mai-/miya- “growth” becomes miyatanzipa
“spirit of vegetation.”27
Various nonbiological elements are deified. As in Mesopotamia,
abstract qualities are in some cases deified, like Respect and Reverence,
which are associated with the weather and sun deities, and Reason and
21
Hoffner 1998:48–50. Here, it is important to differentiate between tangible objects like
silver or stones and divinely animated objects in mythology. A rock in and of itself is
simply a rock. However, it may serve as a receptacle for deity or be deified by association
(see further later in this chapter on huwaši-stones).
22
Hoffner 1998:55–65. On the deification ˘ of stones, see Haas 1982.
23
See, for example, treaties 12, 13, and 18B in Beckman 1999a:85–6, 91–2, 111–12. For
mountains, see dHulla; Van Gessel 1998:155–7; Lombardi 2000; see also Haas 1982.
24
Regarding dNinga, ˘ see Otten 1991:304n9; cf. the omen tablet KUB 8.28 Vs. 4'-17'.
25
In addition to being attributes of the Weather-God, thunder, lightning, and rain are
occasionally deified in their own right.
26
Neu 1989; Haas 1994:298–9.
27
Laroche 1947c:67–8; Steiner 1957:548; Kronasser 1966:184–5; Archi 1975:92; Gurney
1977:16; Haas 1994:299. While not identical, the Hittite usage may also inform the
Mesopotamian. Rather than understanding a divinized bed as simply an object, we may
see it as animated or imbued with a spirit. Such thinking again may be influenced by
HADD and ToM (see Chapter 1 under Conceptual Background).
66 Hittite Gods
Wisdom, which are associated with Ea.28 In addition, human-made elem-

ents, like the temple itself and many of its elements, are deified.29 Unlike in
Mesopotamia, even elements in the individual’s home like the door, door-
bolt, hearth, window, and central pillar are divinized.30 In comparison,
human-made elements seem to be more consistently and expansively
identified as deities in Hatti than in Mesopotamia.31
˘
what makes a god a god?

As elsewhere in the ANE, Hittite perceptions of the divine are too complex
to be reduced to a single rule governing what is and is not a deity.
Nonetheless, the same general principle may be consistently if not
exhaustively applied to Hittite deities as to Mesopotamian deities.
Namely, deities tend to be understood generally as anything perceived to
possess a power capable of positively or negatively affecting humanity.32
Thus, like the Mesopotamians, the Hittites adopt a pragmatic approach in
addressing as divine the elements that impact their lives.
In order to have a meaningful effect on the human realm, deities must
be potent. This is of course true of the major natural elements, like the sun
and storm, and the major deities associated with them. It is also true for
the other deities, even those that to the modern mind seem inanimate and
impotent. For example, the divine spirits of the hearth, doors, door-bolts,
windows, and central pillars of private houses were addressed as animate,
presented with offerings, and entreated with prayers because they were
believed to have the power to protect the home from unwanted
influences.33 In addition, seemingly innocuous substances like stone and
silver may become potent enough to threaten the great gods in the
Kumarbi Cycle.34 Although its precise meaning is difficult to pinpoint,
28
Steiner 1957:552; Haas 1994:297.
29
For example, dHašša, “hearth” (Popko 1978:51–2). Götze 1957:163ff.; Archi 1966:83ff.;
˘ Haas 1994:262–93, 297–8; Taracha 2009:62, 128.
Popko 1978:14ff.;
30
Haas 1994:249–93; Hutter 1997:83–4.
31
Again, a divine identification does not necessitate animation or individuation.
32
Cf. Beckman, who contends “that this diacritic [the Sumerian divine determinative
dingir] could be employed to mark any parahuman and immortal force with the
power to intervene in the affairs of humankind” (Beckman 2007:334).
33
Hutter 1997:83–4; see more fully Haas 1994:249–93.
34
Again, these are special cases of divine empowerment of objects in mythology. Not all
stones and metals have such power, yet stones and silver can be understood as potent and
potential receptacles of divine power.
What Makes a God a God? 67
Hittite parā handandatar approximates this concept of potency and the

˘
corresponding benefit of having it working on one’s behalf.35
In addition to potency, various other qualities are characteristic of
deities, although not every deity possesses each quality and not everything
that possesses a “divine” quality is deified. Once again, gods are often
humanlike agents who act with a purpose and can be negotiated with.
This applies to the heads of the pantheon as well as the more peripheral
deities like the hearth. As in Mesopotamia, awesomeness – that is, the
ability to elicit fear, fascination, and humility – applies to several deities
like the weather gods and sun god(dess).36 Uncontrollable forces, espe-
cially those forces that have a direct effect on humanity and are necessary
for human survival, also are deified and often assigned a divine personal-
ity. For example, the Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna is associated with the sun
and the Weather-God-of-Hatti is associated with the storm. We also may
˘
include the grain gods, the Hittite Halki and the Hattian Kait, who are
˘
responsible for something necessary for survival that cannot ultimately be
37
controlled. In addition, Abundance, Reason, Wisdom, Respect, and
Reverence, which today are perceived as abstract qualities, were con-
ceived of as potent, active, and uncontrollable forces at work in the
world.38
We also may speak of the deification of certain elements by association
with the deity. In fact, divinity seems to inhere in these elements, since in
the home many of the same elements, like the door, door-bolt, and hearth,
are deified without any association with a major deity. Instead, elements
seem to be deified out of a perceived necessity. The Hittites thought it
35
Literally, it seems to mean “prior arrangement” (HED 8 [2011]:105–6) or “arranging,
ordering forth/out” (Jared Miller, personal communication). Steiner (1957:565) refers to
it as “divine might,” Beckman suggests that it is often best rendered “providence”
(2007:334), and CHD translates it as both “divine guidance” and “divine power”
(CHD P:130). CHD elaborates, referring to it in all contexts as an “outworking of divine
power, almost always to bring help or deliverance” (CHD P:131). For examples of its
uses, see CHD P:130–3. Although it was an inherent quality of deities, parā handandatar
could also be divinely gifted to humans (Steiner 1957:565). ˘
36
In the following, the word “god” and its descriptor will be capitalized when used as
a proper name or title referring to a single deity (e.g., the Weather-God-of-Aleppo) and
appear in lower case when functioning generically, such as for a category of gods (e.g., the
weather gods).
37
Regarding the grain gods, see Kammenhuber 1991; Taracha 2009:54–5.
38
As an abstract quality, or potent force, at work in the cosmos, parā handandatar is also
deified in its own right (Steiner 1957:565). Again, abstract qualities ˘ lack discernible
individuation and cultic care in contrast to fully anthropomorphized beings like the Sun-
Goddess-of-Arinna.
68 Hittite Gods
necessary to protect the home from various evils. To do so, they had to
appeal to powers stronger than themselves and the unwanted influences.
They thus pragmatically envisioned that the very elements that protected
the primary entrance points into the house were themselves divine or were
controlled by benevolent divine spirits potent enough to repel evil and
protect the home.39
Indeed, it seems that new gods could be “invented” when deemed
necessary yet, because they are deemed necessary, were presumed to
have already existed even if previous generations did not venerate
them.40 For example, in the texts about the Festival for All the Tutelary
Deities (KUB 2.1), several tutelary deities (lammas) are attested that are
otherwise unknown in the extant literature. According to McMahon,
these “new” lammas are the product of the scribes responsible for the
texts, since the festival “apparently creates new tutelary deities to protect
everything the writer can think of.”41 In short, that which is perceived as
potent, relevant to the human world, and largely outside of human control
is deified. Since what is perceived as potent and relevant may change, new
deities may be discovered and other deities forgotten. However, the neg-
lect of any deity, as we will see, may have cosmic repercussions.
As in Mesopotamia, the divine sphere also may be examined from
a more holistic perspective. Rather than examining each deity individu-
ally, it is perhaps better to examine the function of the entire pantheon.
Once again, deities find identity and value in what they contribute to the
group, not their individuality. Indeed, rather than envisioning the devel-
opment of the pantheon as a series of individual encounters with the
numinous, the Hittite divine system seems to be predicated on the ANE
understanding of the cosmos itself. The Hittites, like the Mesopotamians,
seem to view their pantheons as an ordering of the world, with specific
deities assigned to the areas of the cosmos they deem important, from
nature to culture or government. Whether in nature or society, the place-
ment of divine beings in charge of specific areas of the cosmos reveals the
ancient Hittites’ attempt to understand and in some sense control the
meaningful world around them. As in Mesopotamia, this overarching
framework would help people understand and influence their
environments.
39
Again, assigning agency to these elements may be a product of HADD. Humanizing them
as deities who are benevolent and may be appealed to may be a product of ToM.
40 41
McMahon 1991:84; S. Allen 2015:83. McMahon 1991:83.
Comprehensive Mentality 69
comprehensive mentality
The particularities and peculiarities of the Hittite divine sphere may be
brought into clearer focus through an analysis of their general approach to
the divine world, which differs from the common Mesopotamian
approach. In one sentence, the Hittites are collectors of gods, while the
Mesopotamian gods are collectors of aspects. Rather than assimilating or
largely ignoring the deities of conquered peoples and the different ethnic
groups that made up the core of their empire, the Hittites agglutinated these
deities into their pantheon, especially in the Empire period.42 As a result,
originally foreign deities often retained their local identities, even when they
overlapped significantly with others in the Hittite pantheon (e.g., the
Weather-God-of-Aleppo remained differentiated from other weather gods
in the Hittite pantheon).43 In addition, the major Hittite gods, especially the
Weather-God, split into different (semi-)independent aspects.44
This Hittite approach to multiplying deities is a rather extreme expres-
sion of the general ANE comprehensive mentality,45 in which one covers
all the bases so as not to neglect any single element and thereby face the
effects of its displeasure.46 For example, in order to effectively conquer an
enemy city, the Hittites seemed to believe they had to secure the permis-
sion of the local deity by supplication rather than by force. In the case of
Aleppo, the Hittite takeover was not fully accomplished until the resident
weather god acknowledged his “satisfaction with the respect bestowed on
him by the conquerors.”47 In order to ensure this acknowledgment, the
Weather-God-of-Aleppo, his wife Hebat, and their son Šarruma were
˘
given a distinct place in Hatti, without being (fully) assimilated by the
48 ˘
Hittite weather god(s). Thus, instead of becoming a trophy in the
42
In the Old Kingdom period, deportation or godnapping was especially prominent, while
in the Empire period, in contrast, there is very little evidence of divine deportation
(Schwemer 2008b; Goedegebuure 2012:412). In the Empire period, it seems that this
godnapping gave way to divine adlocation or reduplication (Gilan 2012; cf. Singer
1994:85; Beckman 2004:308; pace Schwemer 2008b; Goedegebuure 2012).
43
Bryce 2002:135. On the difficulty and complexity of incorporating foreign cults into
Hatti, see Ünal 2005.
44 ˘ later in this chapter under Divine Constellations.
See
45
Regarding ritual, see Hundley 2011:65–70 and 2013a:175–6, 252, 290–1, 309–10, 321,
365.
46
Cf. Taracha 2009:80.
47
Singer 1994:87. However, one should not make too much of this isolated incident in
which the conquest of a major city was involved. Hittite kings likely did not take such care
always, at all times, and in all places.
48
Ibid. 87.
70 Hittite Gods
conquering god’s temple, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo was incorporated

into the Hittite pantheon and achieved a prominent status in it as the
Weather-God-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša (KUB 6.45.i:43).49 In essence, the
˘
Hittites convinced him that he was better off under their care than under
that of his previous caregivers.50
Further examples of Hittite comprehensiveness may be adduced
from treaties, the cult, and prayers. In Hittite treaties, especially
with foreign vassals, the Hittites often include as many (manifest-
ations of) deities as possible in the divine witness lists, so as to
make the stipulations of the treaty more binding.51 Indeed, the divine
witnesses and guarantors of the oaths are so important that it is
a special duty of the Hittite gods to gather in assembly for the
purpose of witnessing a treaty.52 For example, rather than appealing
to a single weather god, or even the most prominent weather gods,
the divine witness list in the treaty between Šuppiluliuma I and
Huqqana of Hayasa lists twenty-one different weather gods as well
˘ ˘
as general categories of deities like all the deities of Hatti, all the
˘
deities of the land, and all the deities of heaven and earth, including
the deified elements on earth like mountains and the sea (CTH 42).53
Šuppiluliuma thereby holds Huqqana more firmly to his end of the
˘
deal by bringing as many aspects and, thus, the fullness of the
Weather-God to bear on transgressors, since a deity’s plenitude lies
in the accumulation of its aspects.54 By adding more divine witnesses,
Hittite monarchs multiplied the number of deities who could hold the
vassal accountable and punish him for a breach of contract.
In the cult, it is possible that each cult image, and even each cult image
within the same temple, was treated as a distinct entity capable of inde-
pendent action.55 In KBo 2.2, an oracle text designed to determine the
49 50
Ibid. 86. Cf. CTH 375, Arnuwanda and Asmunikkal’s prayer.
51
Political considerations were undoubtedly a factor as well As noted in what follows,
suzerains modified the pantheon in treaties with vassals according to local sensibilities in
order to render the pantheon more recognizable and compelling (Schwemer 2006:247).
Regarding the oath gods, see especially Yoshida 1996:7–53.
52 53
Beckman 2004:313. Treaty no. 3 in Beckman 1999a:28–9.
54
The deposition of the treaty as a metal tablet in the temple of the vassal, which is under the
oversight of their gods (Beckman 1999a: treaties 6a, 13), and the self-curses of the vassal
kings provide further incentive to be obedient (for the typical structure of the Hittite
vassal treaty, see Beckman 1999a:2–3). The metal tablet in the temple of the vassal’s god
would serve as ever-present incriminating evidence against him should he waver from his
commitment.
55
Popko 2006.
Comprehensive Mentality 71
cause of and remedy for the king’s fever, a divine image is the responsible
party (ll. 21–2). However, a further oracle is required to determine
which statue is responsible. In lines fifty and following, the ritualists
narrow down the search to three possible manifestations of the Sun-
Goddess-of-Arinna. Although these images do not bear different names,
they are treated as distinct and capable of individual action.56 Thus, as
Popko contends, in oracle practice each cult image is understood to be
a separate, independent deity.57 Images of the “same” deity in different
temples too may be treated as different deities. For example, the
Goddess-of-the-Night maintains her presence in the statue in the old
temple and shares her divinity with a new statue, which is treated as
a separate deity and thus in need of its own cult.58
Like the divine witness lists to Hittite treaties, Muwatalli’s prayer to the
divine assembly addresses no fewer than 140 deities in an attempt to exhaust
all possible deities who might intervene for or against the king (CTH 381).59
He also makes a more general appeal to categories of deities in case he has
somehow failed to mention anyone.60 Such an approach is also evident in the
plague prayers of Muršili II (CTH 376–9),61 which seek to discover the
source of the epidemic or “plague” – that is, the angry god(s) responsible and
the offense that angered him or her. Since any offense and any deity conceiv-
ably may have been responsible, the king must search exhaustively to redress
any wrongs and appease any potentially angry deity. For example, in
response to the discovery on an old tablet of a ritual for presenting regular
offerings to the river Mala (presumably the Euphrates), which had been
neglected, the king reinstituted the ritual to avert divine wrath.
From the evidence, it appears that every deity (and seemingly every
aspect of every deity) was in some cases given individual attention so as
not to displease any deity or divine aspect and, in the case of the treaties, to
bring the full power of the divine world to bear.
56
KBo 16.97 Rs. 12ff. is another oracle text that seeks to discover which Šauška/Ištar is
angry, which Popko suggests refers to one of her cult images (Popko 2006:81).
57
Popko 2006:82. This comprehensiveness is akin to the Assyrian tā kultu ritual texts. In
both contexts it remains unclear if each image is to be understood as a separate deity or if
each simply must be treated like a separate deity to avoid offending the deity to whom
they were dedicated or for whom they were animated.
58
Beal 2002a; Wilhelm 2002; J. Miller 2004:260; Popko 2006; Taracha 2009:62; Hundley
2013a:324–6.
59 60
Singer 2002: no. 20; see more fully Singer 1996. Singer 1994:92.
61
For the basic edition, see Götze 1929; for an English translation, see Singer 2002:47–69.
72 Hittite Gods
divine overlap
With such an expansive divine sphere, it is inevitable that some of the
gods’ character profiles and roles would overlap to some degree.62 This is
especially true of the multiple weather gods. “From Upper Mesopotamia
and Northern Syria to southeast and central Anatolia agriculture and
economic life depend on rain which makes cultivation possible.”63
Given the need for rain and the fact that “storm and tempest were felt to
be a numinous power in all ancient Near Eastern societies,” weather gods
were especially important throughout the Hittite empire and were vener-
ated in numerous local cults.64 The Hittite bent to treat these deities for
the most part as independent rather than to assimilate them into one
mighty form, compounded by their tendency to deify the various aspects
of the Weather-God, produced an enormous number of weather gods.
According to the Hittite texts, weather gods were venerated in 150 local
cults.65
Given the plethora of weather gods, one would assume that some
would be redundant – that is, if one was forgotten or ceased to fulfill its
role, it would not be missed. However, although the Hittites nowhere
exhaustively delimit each deity’s role, they nonetheless seemed to hold
that each deity had a specific domain and a role to play in the universe. As
such, the effects of the disappearance of any god could be catastrophic and
the source of some theological inquiry. In the multiple myths of the
disappearing gods (CTH 323–7, 334–6, 671), the world of humans and
the gods were thrown into turmoil when any one deity vacated her or his
post.66 For example, the absence of Telipinu inflicted the divine, human,
62
Here, we speak of overlap in the sense of two or more distinct deities bearing the same
name or function. Overlap in the sense of a text combining the names of two distinct
deities into a single name also appears in the textual record, as in Mesopotamia. For
example, Hittite texts mention Adamma-Kubaba, Hebat-Muš(u)n(n)i, and Hebat-
˘
Šarruma (Haas 1994:312). On analogy with the Mesopotamian ˘
and Egyptian evidence,
it is perhaps best to understand the second deity to function as an epithet of the first-
named deity.
63 64
Hutter 1997:75; cf. Schwemer 2007:129–30. Schwemer 2007:129.
65
Schwemer 2008a:21; cf. Houwink ten Cate who refers to about 140 towns with their own
storm-god cult (1992:84).
66
Beckman 1993–7:566–7. For English translations, see Hoffner 1998:14–39. This myth-
ology applies to various gods, including various weather gods – a generic Weather-God,
Weather-God-of-Nerik, Weather-God-of-Queen-Ašmunikkal, Weather-God-of-Queen
-Harapshili, Weather-God-of-the-Scribe-Pirwa, Weather-God-of-the-City-Kuliwišna,
˘ Weather-God in Lihzina – none of whom seem redundant. Even in the disappearance
and
˘
of the generic Weather-God, there is more than one weather god, since his father the
Divine Overlap 73
and animal worlds with hunger, thirst, and sterility (CTH 324).67 In other
words, many deities could overlap without any redundancy, such that the
dissatisfaction of any one deity could throw both the divine and human
worlds into chaos.68
The expansion of the Hittite empire, thus in some way may be correlated
to the inclusion of increasingly more gods in its pantheon. However, rather
than adopting the principle “the more the merrier,” the Hittite approach
seems pragmatically driven. It was viewed as a crucial preventative meas-
ure. In accord with the disappearing god myths and as evidenced in the
plague prayers of Muršili II, it seems that, in order to avert disaster,69 the
king was responsible for keeping every god within his realm happy,70 and
the only way to keep every god within his empire happy was to appropri-
ately honor each with its own distinct cult. If he were to merge or equate
them, he could displease one and risk the dissolution of the known world.
Indeed, one of the king’s primary responsibilities was to persuade the gods
that it was in their best interest to stay in Hatti because nowhere else would
˘
they receive such great care.71 If, for some reason a deity was thought to
have abandoned his post, the Hittites sought to appease him and attract him
back to his abode through various invocation rituals.72 This practice also
had political ramifications. The king did not want to anger any of his
disparate subjects by neglecting their gods.
Weather-God laments his absence. In CTH 671 Weather-God-of-Heaven appears along-

side and seems to be superior to Weather-God-of-Arinna.
67
Regarding Telipinu, see Haas 1994:442–5; Mazoyer 2003 and 2011.
68
This is true especially for major deities, yet may also apply to lesser deities, at least in
a reduced capacity. The disappearing god myths seem to express the Hittite anxiety over
an absent god; their connection to invocation rituals appears to suggest that any deity
could be plugged into the myth and its corresponding ritual to ensure they (re)took their
proper place. Such an approach is consonant with the communal mentality in which every
being has a role to play in the larger social or world organism. Any dereliction of duty
could derail the entire cosmos. For example, in the Japanese Kojiki, when the sun goddess
Amaterasu hides in a cave, she brings the sun with her, plunging the world into darkness
and chaos.
69
See, for example, Gonnet 1988.
70
In fact, the king officially served as high priest of every deity in his realm. It is also
important to note that Hittites primarily incorporated into their pantheon the gods of the
peoples they conquered. Although they made a treaty with Egypt, there is no indication
that Egyptian gods were venerated in Hatti. Anomalously, the gods of western Anatolia
˘ treaties (Schwemer 2006:249; 2008b; Taracha
and northern Syria rarely feature in Hittite
2009:87).
71
Singer 1994:89.
72
For example, as a ritual counterpart to the mythology, the king sought to appease the
missing deity in order to avert disaster. For a selection of invocation rituals, see Haas and
Wilhelm 1974:143–246.
74 Hittite Gods
local variety
As we have seen, gods are treated differently in different contexts, largely
dependent on genre and the purposes of the author. In some hymns,
prayers, and mythology, gods of the same type, whether part of an
individual or group constellation,73 tend to be treated as a single, organic
individual.74 In multiple other contexts, like treaties, the cult, prayers, and
omen texts, individual aspects of a deity (or individual deities in a god
group) are treated as distinct.
In addition, the presentation of the gods and their relationship to each
other seem to vary based on place and context, so that no single hierarchy
prevails in all circumstances.75 Rather, the Hittite pantheon seems to have
been somewhat flexible, since the Hittite presentation of deity was locally
dependent and situation specific. There is a great deal of variance on the
local level, understandable given the diversity of cultures that made up
Hatti.76 For example, in the Old Hittite period, while the Weather-God
˘
was especially prominent as head of the pantheon, he was not always the
chief god of or even present in the local Hattian pantheons. In some cases,
gods of vegetation and crops, in particular Telipinu, took his place (e.g., in
Hanhana, Tawiniya, and Durmitta).77 In Arinna the-Sun-Goddess stood
˘ ˘
at the pinnacle of the pantheon and neither the Weather-God nor Telipinu
played a major role.78 In treaties with vassals the pantheon even could be
modified according to local sensibilities in order to render the pantheon
more recognizable and compelling for treaty partners.79 In addition, likely
because of his association with justice, the Sun-God-of-Heaven was given
prime position in a list of oath gods, even though the Weather-God and
Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna as rulers of the divine world commonly were
listed first (e.g., CTH 42, 68–9, 76, 106).80 Furthermore, Taracha refers
to the different state, dynastic, and local pantheons.81
73
See later in this chapter under Sorting the Divine Sphere.
74
In fact, compared with Mesopotamia, gods in Hittite narratives are treated more cohe-
sively. This stands in contrast to their treatment of gods in other literature, which tends to
individualize aspects to a far greater extent than in Mesopotamia.
75
Gurney 1977:6.
76
Taracha 2009:50–9, 95–127; see further Hazenbos 2003; Cammarosano 2018.
77 78
Taracha 2009:52–3. Taracha 2009:54. On Arinna, see Popko 2009.
79
Schwemer 2006:247. For the texts, see especially Beckman 1999a.
80
Beckman 2004:313. He is associated with justice since as he is (in control of) the sun in
heaven, nothing escapes his gaze.
81
Regarding the Empire period, see Taracha 2009:84–127.
Geography and Origin 75
geography and origin

We now turn to geography and the potential origin of the pantheons to
help explain the contrasting tendencies in Mesopotamia and Hittite
Anatolia for Mesopotamian gods to collect aspects and for the
Hittites to collect gods. Geographically, Hittite Anatolian agriculture
and economic life depended on rainfall. In turn, the Hittite people
depended on weather gods for their lives and livelihoods. Thus, it is
little wonder that weather gods were venerated in approximately 150
local cults.82 In contrast, in Mesopotamia, especially in the south,
which served as the cradle of this great civilization, agriculture and
economic life depended on a number of factors, of which local rainfall
was not especially prominent.83 Thus, Adad, the weather god, was not
an especially important deity. Instead, Mesopotamian lives and liveli-
hoods depended on a cooperative effort in which irrigation and good
drainage were especially necessary. In such an environment, rather than
depending on a single weather god, many gods played a role in sustain-
ing human life.
Regarding the origin of the pantheon, among the Mesopotamians,
there seems to have been an early division of divine labor in which each
city worshipped a different god with different competencies.84 As
such, there was little overlap, a development which (partially) may
have been due to the cooperative effort needed to sustain life, in the
human and divine spheres, and the lack of a dominant deity primarily
responsible for sustaining life. Furthermore, although cults of various
deities spread throughout the empire, they seem to have generally had
a fixed point of origin,85 so that the diverse manifestations of a single
deity belonged to the constellation of that single deity.86
82
Schwemer 2008a:21.
83
In Egypt as well local rainfall was not of central concern and, as such, weather gods
were less prominent and had more destructive roles. In contrast, in the Levant, where
rainfall was necessary for survival, weather gods were especially plentiful (Hundley
2013a:337–40).
84
See, for example, Lambert 1975.
85
See; however, the cults of the sun god, Šamaš, in Sippar and Larsa, both present from an
early time.
86
The various Ištars and the weather gods of Upper Mesopotamia, which depended on
rainfall for sustenance, may also be categorized as god groups.
76 Hittite Gods
Among the Hittites, most major and many minor towns seem to
have had their own weather god upon whom they relied for rain and
protection. In such an environment, it seems more difficult to appor-
tion the gods between cities when every city felt that they needed and
already had a weather god. Indeed, rather than having an original
weather god, who later expanded to other cities (as in the case of
iškur-of-Aleppo), it seems that the Hittite realm had multiple weather
gods from the beginning, making it less likely and less palatable for
them to be equated.
The acknowledgment – and even the promotion – of multiple weather
gods also seems to have been politically motivated. As the ruler of a vast
empire, it was the king’s responsibility to keep all his cities content so they
would not rebel. Allowing each of them to keep their local weather god
and even incorporating them into the national pantheon would be far
more preferable than changing, eliminating, or assimilating them. Even
more threatening than the rebellion of any one city was the rebellion of
that city’s god, whose rebellion theoretically could signal the dissolution
of the world order for the gods and the people. Thus, as the high priest of
all Hittite gods it was the king’s responsibility to keep the various deities
happy and to keep the divine world that oversaw his realm from splinter-
ing by giving individual deities their due rather than ignoring, relocating,
or assimilating them.

Given the Hittite tendency to accumulate rather than assimilate deities
and to split the major deities into (semi-)independent aspects, one won-
ders how Hittite kings managed the 1,000 gods, a number that refers to
a “hardly manageable multitude.”87 How did they understand and prac-
tically oversee the care of such a multitude?88
87
Wilhelm 2002:53; translated from German.
88
While organizing the divine sphere is necessary to come to grips with so many gods, it was
likely more of a regional issue than a local one. In a single location, an individual would
simply worship the local manifestation of a particular deity, not all that deity’s multiple
manifestations. However, with exposure to other locales, individuals would encounter
gods who significantly overlaped with their own (perhaps even sharing a forename like
Weather-God), rendering the previously singular god potentially multiple. Thus, while
worship may remain unaltered on the local level, on a broader scale the people must
somehow navigate this multiplicity.
As in Mesopotamia, constellations may provide us with an interpretive
framework, by which I mean each major god consists of a constellation of
aspects, which may act and be treated (semi-)independently or as a unity
depending on the context. The profile of Hittite gods is for the most part
difficult to discern because of the size of the pantheon, often referred to as the
thousand gods of Hatti, and because of the tendency to have god groups or
˘
group constellations.89 Nonetheless, some of the great gods, particularly the
Weather-God, have profiles expansive and fluid enough to be character-
90
ized as constellations of aspects, which like their Mesopotamian counter-

parts, may be taken apart and put back together again.
There are various examples of divine reduplication, for expanding the
cult of a single deity from a single temple and single locale into a new temple
and new location, thereby expanding its profile. Early evidence for this
reduplication appears with the establishment of the Weather-God-of-
Aleppo in Hattuša.91 There are also different references to the expansion
˘
of a deity’s cult in the Empire period, most prominently the Goddess-of-the-
92
Night. While sharing the same origin and in this sense serving as part of
the deity’s constellation, the new manifestation may be treated as distinct.
For example, in the text describing the expansion ritual for the Goddess-of-
the-Night (CTH 481), the statue in the original temple is referred to as the
“old deity,” while the statue in the new temple is called the “new deity.”93
In accord with the aspective approach, many of the attributes and
aspects of the weather are also in some cases treated as distinct deities
and in other cases as part of a single weather deity, depending on the
89
Steiner 1957:556–7.
90
See also Išhara (Prechel 1996). For the Weather-God, see the profile presented in Haas
1994:322–39; ˘ for the weather gods of the ANE, see more expansively Schwemer 2001.
91
See the reference to diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša and diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha
(KUB 6.45.i:43, 51). ˘ ˘
92
The Expansion of the Cult of the Goddess-of-the-Night is the most prominent example
(KUB 29.4+ [CTH 481]). See esp. J. Miller 2004. See also KUB 32.133 obv. i 2–3: “When
my forefather, Tudhaliya, Great King, split the Deity-of-the-Night from the temple of the
Deity-of-the-Night ˘in Kizzuwatna and worshipped her separately in a temple in Šamuha”
(translation after J. Miller 2004:312). On the identification of the king as Tudhaliya I˘ (I/
˘
II), see ibid. 350–6. Although similar, this text is to be distinguished from the ritual text
(CTH 481; ibid. 357–62). Regarding the Goddess-of-the-Night, see also KUB 8.71:16'–
rev. 1 and KUB 30.64 obv. 1'–4' (ibid. 83); cf. KBo 24.45+ (ibid. 430–2). See also
Hattušili III’s statement that he divided Ištar-of-Šamuha and made her a new temple in
˘
Urikina (KUB 21.17.ii:5–8; CHD P:279–80) and the oracle ˘ text KUB 5.6+; KUB 35.54.
ii:70–2, iii:27 (Beal 2002a:198–9nn11–12).
93
See especially the analysis in Beal 2002a; J. Miller 2004; Hundley 2013a:301–21, 324–6.
78 Hittite Gods
context and the purposes of the author. For example, the various local
iškurs frequently are identified and treated as distinct entities, yet in
other cases, most prominently mythological texts, a single entity is
addressed. For instance, the divine witness list of the treaty between
Hattušili III of Hatti and Ulmi-Teššup of Tarhuntassa (CTH 106) lists
˘ ˘ ˘
separately fifteen different iškurs, including iškur-of-Lightning, iškur-
of-Hatti, iškur-of-Nerik, and iškur-of-Heaven, while the Hurrian
˘
Kumarbi Cycle refers to a single weather god, Teššub, whose line struggles
with that of Kumarbi for supremacy among the gods.94 Indeed, separating
a deity would not serve the purposes of a mythological narrative, as it
makes for a bizarre story and a seemingly schizophrenic deity.
In addition, iškur’s characteristic qualities and attributes were treated
alternatively as distinct entities or as part of his person. For example,
while in some contexts they are treated as descriptors of the Weather-God,
Respect and Reverence are also addressed as independent deities who
accompany him, in effect as part of his entourage (KUB 35.145; KUB
31.127).95 Likewise, in the Song of Ullikumi (CTH 345), the Weather-
God arms himself for battle with downpours and storms, which seem to
be treated as independent, animate extensions of himself.96 In some
contexts various divine aspects are also listed as independent deities,
such as the deity’s many attributes, characteristics, and roles. For example,
as a function of the Weather God’s control over aspects of weather, we find
the Weather-God-of-Heaven, Weather-God-of-Rain, Weather-God-of-
Storm, Weather-God-of-Clouds, Weather-God-of-Thunder, and Weather-
God-of-Lightning. In accord with his responsibility for vegetation, we
find the Weather-God-of-Growth, Weather-God-of-the-Vineyard,
Weather-God-of-Farmland, and Weather-God-of-the-Meadow. In his
function as protector of the king and the state, we find the Weather-
God-of-the-Palace, Weather-God-of-the-House, Weather-God-of-the-
Head (of the king), Weather-God-of-the-Scepter, and Weather-God-of-
the-Camp. In his role as personal protector of the king, we find the
94
There is some debate as to how these Hurrian texts were received in the Hittite heartland.
Beckman, for example, contends that they were merely belletristic (Beckman 1993–
7:565); cf.; however, Corti 2007; Gilan 2010:60. For the treaty text, see Beckman
1999a:111–12.
95
Haas 1994:313. As Wilhelm notes, these characteristic qualities of deities were thought of
as alive and served as divine companions (2002:59–60).
96
Haas 1994:296. In addition, the male warrior form of Šauška was venerated with various
kinds of weapons perceived as independent divine beings (Wegner 1981:95–9; Taracha
2009:122).
Weather-God-of-the-(Auspicious)-Day and Weather-God-of-Well-Being,

and in his role as helper, the Weather-God-of-the-Appeal. As the head
of the pantheon, the Weather-God is also responsible for upholding
justice and is, thus referred to as the Weather-God-of-Justice, Weather-
God-of-Peace, and Weather-God-of-the-Oath.97 Various divine epithets
were also deified in their own right (like Pihaimmi and Pihammi).98
˘ ˘
Furthermore, rather than simply being a defining characteristic of deities,
parā handandatar is itself occasionally deified. 99
˘
As noted, an individual’s identity is primarily found in their roles rather
than their personality.100 As the head of the pantheon, the Weather-God
saw his roles expand beyond the weather to other necessary governing
functions. As an amalgamation of roles, the Weather-God then may
practically be broken down too and approached in those roles rather
than as a holistic individual.
The number of aspects ascribed to the Weather-God indicates his
potency. In other words, the larger and more diversified a deity’s area of
activity, the more potent the deity.101 In contrast, the lack of distinction
between many other deities, and, when distinct, their limited area of
activity, indicates their relative unimportance.102
In most cases an anthropomorphized being exists at the heart of and
exercises control over these detachable aspects, rendering, for example,
the storm, and more generally weather, more understandable, approach-
able, and controllable.103 Likewise, because this anthropomorphic core of
the deity is rather inaccessible, it manifests itself in various ways in the
human world, most prominently in the cult, in dreams, and in nature (i.e.,
the Weather-God uses the elements of the storm over which he exercises
control to communicate with humanity).104 In short, like the
Mesopotamian gods, the Hittite Weather-God consists of multiple aspects
97
Haas 1994:313, 325, 327, 337–8 with references; Karasu 2003:225; Beckman
2004:313; Schwemer 2008a:21.
98 99
CHD P:253; Schwemer 2008a:22. Steiner 1957:565.
100
For example, in the ideal (auto)biography genre especially prevalent in the
Mesopotamian (influenced) world, a person demonstrates their worth by fulfilling
their respective roles (Pongratz-Leisten 2011a:138–9).
101
Cf. Haas 1994:296–7.
102
For example, mountains, springs, and rivers. Nonetheless, they are personified, moun-
tains frequently as males and rivers and springs commonly as females (Haas 1994:297).
103
Regarding their anthropomorphization, see Hutter 1997:78, Beckman 2004:312.
Regarding anthropomorphization as a means of making deities more understandable,
see Wilhelm 2002:59. This approach may be informed by ToM, as it ascribes humanlike
purpose to nonhuman entities.
104
Wilhelm 2002:66.
80 Hittite Gods
that, like LEGO, may be taken apart and put back together again. As
a result, the gods may be taken apart in some contexts in order to
demonstrate their potency, to bring their potency to bear, to make them
more approachable, or to cover all the bases so as not to offend any one,
thereby multiplying the gods and the difficulty of managing them.105 In
other contexts, the gods are treated as a unity in order to make the gods
more understandable and thus more manageable.
Manifestations as Access Points

In order to better understand this flexibility, it is helpful to think of divine
manifestations as access points.106 Since the deity present in the cosmos
and articulated in mythology is generally inaccessible, local manifest-
ations serve as access points. Nonetheless, within a single sanctuary
a deity is only accessible to some.107 Thus, new cult statues and temples
were constructed in different locales, effectively serving as access points
providing more people with access to the “same” god and the same god
with more access to different environs.108 As noted, we find early evidence
105
Rather than offering a theoretical treatise on the relation of the various aspects, many
texts practically juxtapose the deities that share a forename and have a distinct local or
functional epithet. Since, in such contexts, no single manifestation can be ignored so as
not to anger the particular manifestation of deity or the populace who treasures that
manifestation, manifestations in a treaty or ritual context, for example, are simply listed
separately without offering any comment on their precise relationship. Since each was
capable of (independent) action, they pragmatically addressed each as distinct, even if
each was perceived to be effectively the same deity.
106
Although it approximates the Hittite usage, Goedegebuure’s identification of a cult
image as “an indexical nexus, medium, or portal” (Goedegebuure 2012:443) seems
alien to the Hittite way of thinking and suggests too strong a divide between deity and
image. Rather, it seems better to understand a statue generically as an access point, or
more precisely as one of a deity’s many forms or bodies that served as a potential locus
for the divine presence without exhausting its plenitude (Hundley 2013a:326–31). See
Chapter 1 note 101 regarding Pongratz-Leisten’s primary and secondary agents and
Sommer’s large-scale and small-scale manifestations.
107
Calling a cult image an access point is an oversimplification of a complex issue.
Expansion likely was not primarily a pastoral or diocesan decision to ensure easy access
and worship or to facilitate proselytization. In fact, most people had limited physical
access to the temple. Instead, having the deity resident in their community gave people
access to the divine provision and the protection its presence provided. Nonetheless, in
many cases, the common people would not have been aware of or cared about the
machinations of dynastic or state deities. As such, divine expansion often served the
personal and political agendas of the leaders. See regarding the local cults Hazenbos
2003; Cammarosano 2018.
108
While true on a general and phenomenological level, many such expansions likely also
had economic, political, and other pragmatic motivations driving them. In other words,
expansions often had more to do with politics and less to do with access to divine
for this reduplication in the establishment of the Weather-God-of-Aleppo

in Hattuša as well as various examples in the Empire period. Instead of
˘
taking the divine image from the original temple and depositing it in a new
temple, the Hittites seem to have reduplicated it, thereby creating a new
access point. As a result, the deity (or statue as divine locus) could remain
in its original cultic environs and be transferred into a new location where
it could exert influence and accrue worship.109
As in Mesopotamia, these reduplicated deities and their temples func-
tioned much like modern franchises or chain stores.110 As with a name like
McDonald’s, the context determines whether “weather god” refers to: (1)
a specific manifestation; (2) a single, larger divine entity that includes the
totality of the individual aspects and manifestations; or (3) a collection of
distinct deities that share the same name.111
Collective Constellations
While helpful, constellations have more limited explanatory power in
Hatti than in Mesopotamia. First, constellations are generally more
˘
limited in scope among the Hittites than among the Mesopotamians.
For example, although stones, plants, and stars are occasionally deified,
most major Hittite deities – for example, the great Weather-God – do not
incorporate these elements into their persons, while the use of numbers –
for example, 10 for the Weather-God – likely was borrowed from
Mesopotamia through the Hurrians.112 More telling, although there are
clear instances of expansive profiles of a single deity with different cultic
manifestations, attributes, characteristics, and functions, the hoarding
Hittites in many cases opted to treat each as distinct rather than unified,
especially compared with the Mesopotamians.113 Thus, some of the
provision (for an overview of the complexity of translating deities across places and
cultures, see Pongratz-Leisten 2011b).
109
Likewise, destruction of a temple and especially its cult image primarily served to sever
the people’s access to the deity (Hundley 2013a:329–31). Thus, rather than adding an
access point, it subtracted one and, thereby contracted the divine constellation.
110
By appealing to modern capitalism, this analogy in no way captures the issue in all its
complexity, ignoring, for example, the ancient political dimension, implying
a systematic intent and oversight rarely found in the ANE. Nonetheless, it helps the
modern mind conceptualize ancient conceptions of deity.
111
See further Chapter 1 under Access Points As Divine “Franchises.”
112
See regarding the number 10 Steiner 1957:551.
113
There are, of course, several examples adduced earlier, especially those found in myth-
ology, where constellations are treated as unified. Nonetheless, in comparison with
Mesopotamia, there are far more examples of Hittites treating the elements of
82 Hittite Gods
thousand gods of Hatti may be understood as individualized aspects of the

˘
great gods, or more simply, the great gods taken apart into many smaller
114
gods. While this idea helps explain the relationship between smaller
gods, it does less to make these thousand gods more manageable.
Perhaps a more prevalent and productive way of making the Hittite
gods manageable is to organize similar gods into groups.115 In other
words, in addition to gods with detachable aspects, the Hittite divine
sphere includes god groups with detachable gods. For example, rather
than viewing all the multiple localized weather gods as aspects or mani-
festations of a single, original weather god, in many instances the various
weather gods may be seen as distinct divine entities that instead could be
grouped into a single category of similar, yet independent beings.116
The Hittite texts tend to use Sumerograms to refer to deities of a similar
type, thereby obscuring their individual names and identities. For example,
weather gods are identified as diškur or d10,117 sun gods and goddesses as
d
utu, the moon gods as d30, tutelary deities as dlamma, and those of the
Ištar type seem to use the Akkadian Ištar to refer to a category of
goddess.118 In addition to sharing a Sumerogram as a forename in texts,
the various individual deities in a category are often listed in the plural, for
example, all the weather gods, all the Hebats of the king, all the Ištars, all
˘
the Telipinus, and all the winds, clouds, mountains, springs, and rivers.119
Since they are grouped together with a Sumerogram as a category marker
a constellation as distinct. Some of this difference may be attributed to the nature of texts
available (i.e., the relative lack of mythological texts in Hatti).
114
Cf. Haas 1994:300. This of course does not account for ˘the many unrelated lesser gods
whose independence the state preserved.
115
This is not to say that individual constellations offer no explanatory power. Rather, they
explain only part of the picture and are best placed alongside collective constellations. Even
within the god groups some of the individual gods maintain their own constellations of
aspects.
116
The difference between individual and group constellations is admittedly not always
apparent, as in many cases it is hard to tell if the texts speak of a single deity who splits in
multiple (semi-)independent aspects or various independent deities who are united in
a god group. The distinction may occasionally lie in their genesis, whether they were
originally distinct or expansions of a single individual deity, and the context and prefer-
ence of the authors. For example, in some contexts all weather gods could be treated as
part of the single national Weather-God, while in others the different weather gods
compose a single weather god group.
117
In the Empire period the Hurrian Teššub, who had risen to the head of the pantheon, was
referred to as du or d10 (Schwemer 2001:75–8; Popko 2005:10, 13; Taracha 2009:82).
118
Steiner 1957:551; Haas 1994:311; for Anatolian Ištars, see Beckman 1998; J. Miller
2004:374–5; Wilhelm 2010.
119
See KUB 31.121 + 48.111 (CTH 379); Steiner 1957:553; Singer 1994:90.
and often listed in the plural, their individual identities and names merge,
such that the various culturally differentiated weather gods – Hattian Taru,
Hittite Tarhuna, Luwian Tarhunt(a), Hurrian Teššub, and Semitic Adad,
˘ ˘
Hadad, and Addu – are associated. In turn, each begins to adopt the
individual characteristics of the others, such that the weather gods may be
referred to as a collective or constellation of deities with shared traits who
nonetheless often maintain their individual identities.120
There is even some evidence of taking the grouping tendency to an extreme
by fully equating two otherwise distinct deities. The most famous example is
Queen Puduhepa’s equation of the Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna with the Hurrian
Hebat, whom˘ she equated likely for political purposes and because they were
˘
married to weather gods.121 However, this equation was limited since separ-
ate cults were maintained for both deities, even in the same place.122
The tendency toward grouping the various weather gods into the more
functional weather god category often did not eliminate the individual
identity of the weather gods or their individual constellations. For example,
although there was already a well-established cult of the Hittite weather
god in Hattuša, the cults of the Weather-God-of-Aleppo and his family
˘
were brought to Hattuša and to several provincial towns and accorded
a distinguished and ˘ distinct status, with their own festivals.123 That the
Weather-God-of-Aleppo did not merge with the other weather gods, even
though he overlapped with and was worshiped in the same locale as some
of them, is apparent in that he maintained affiliation with his native town of
Aleppo centuries after he was incorporated into the Hittite kingdom.124 By
being incorporated into the Hittite pantheon, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo
became part of the collective weather god category, yet maintained his own
identity. In fact, as an individual, he maintained his own constellation with
diverse local manifestations throughout the Hittite empire as well as his
detachable attributes (see earlier in this chapter).125
Although in some cases individual deities took on the attributes of
other deities of the same type, in other cases local deities maintained
their own distinct geographically and culturally determined curriculum
vitae. For example, although many assert that Ištar-of-Šamuha is merely
˘
a hypostasis or manifestation of the divine archetype Ištar-of-Nineveh,126
120
Cf. Wilhelm 2002:57.
121
Taracha suggests that their equation marked an attempt to unite the dynastic and state
pantheons (Taracha 2009:91).
122 123 124
Singer 1994:90; Schwemer 2008a:22. Singer 1994:86–8. Ibid.
125 126
Cf. ibid. For example, Wilcke 1976:79–80; Beckman 1998:4, 7 and 2004:308.
84 Hittite Gods
Ištar-of-Šamuha has different attributes than Ištar-of-Nineveh. The

˘
Anatolian Ištar-of-Nineveh does not display either the pronounced astral
or martial aspects characteristic of Ištar-of-Šamuha. Nor does she seem to
˘
share the latter’s close relationship to the Hittite royal house.127 The
Anatolian Ištar-of-Nineveh even seems to differ from her Assyrian arche-
type in that she has a chthonic aspect and may be summoned from the
netherworld through a pit.128 This demonstrates that, although different
localized deities may have a single point of origin, much like clones, they
may develop their own personalities, characteristics, and relationships
based on the context in which they are situated.
Deities also maintained their own identities when being included in
a larger group in writings like oath lists, prayers, and ritual texts. For
example, a replacement king ritual includes a list of some of the most
prominent weather gods, followed by the generic category “all the weather
gods” (KUB 17.14:8'-9').129 Another way of conceptualizing deities both
as individuals and as part of a functional category was to group them into
families. For example, many local iškurs were labeled sons of the great
iškur-of-Heaven, including iškur-of-Nerik and iškur-of-Ziplanda,
rather than considered manifestations of the main weather god himself
(although in some instances these two sons were equated in the Empire
period).130 Sometimes the family groupings were quite extensive. For
example, KUB 17.14 lists, among others, the Weather-God-of-Heaven,
Weather-God-of-Lightning, Weather-God-of-the-Head, Weather-God-of-
the-Storm, Son-of-the-Weather-God, Grandson-of-the-Weather-God,
Descendants-of-the-Weather-God, and all the weather gods.131
Thus, in Hittite Anatolia we may speak of a kind of constellation in
which individual deities are grouped into a collective and may be treated as
part of the collective or as individuals depending on the context. As indi-
cated by the Weather-God-of-Aleppo, individual deities in this collective
may even have their own constellations, providing even more opportunity
for them to be taken apart and put back together again. In Hittite thought,
then, in addition to a deity having a constellation of aspects, we may speak
of divine collectives of deities that can be separated into independent
127 128
Beckman 1998:7; Lebrun 1976:17, 20–4. J. Miller 2004:374–5.
129
Wilhelm 2002:70. For the text, see Kümmel 1967:60–1.
130
Schwemer 2008a:21. Often the father weather god, the patriarch, was presented as more
passive, while active roles were taken up by his sons, most prominently the weather gods
of Nerik and Ziplanda, who were responsible for thunder and rain (Taracha 2009:54);
cf. at Ugarit, the role of El and Baal, Yamm, and Mot.
131
Kümmel 1967:50–110; Haas 1994:337.
individual deities. However, distinct origins and the tendency of the empire
to preserve distinctions did not mean that originally distinct deities always
remained distinct. A single powerful deity could theoretically assimilate
other deities with similar skill sets, just as a store could buy out and
assimilate its competition (cf. Puduhepa’s equation of the Sun-Goddess-
˘
of-Arinna with the Hurrian Hebat).
˘
Whereas a single divine constellation may be compared to franchises
or chain stores, a collective constellation may be compared to a group of
related stores, for example, fast food or high-end fashion. Each store
offers roughly the same product, yet rather than being part of a single
empire, they are distinct. Likewise, each deity in a god group caters to
more or less the same consumer with the same felt needs. For example,
the weather gods offer control over the weather, which was deemed
essential throughout Hittite Anatolia. Rather than expanding from an
original weather god, diverse weather gods likely arose independently
and in different locales yet in response to a shared agricultural and
psychological need. While they may have distinct origins and identities,
each weather god is linked by the shared goods and services he offers.
Since the market is already saturated with independent weather gods
and the overlapping goods and services they offer, there is less impetus
to expand the cult of a single weather god to a new locale populated by
another weather god, since it would not be offering anything substan-
tially new. Instead, to make the already existent weather gods more
manageable and understandable, Hittites tended to group the weather
gods into a single category. However, the Hittite worldview and
approach left some room for the expansion of a single deity’s cult,
effectively the establishment of a chain temple. Returning to our ana-
logy, although fast food stores offer essentially the same products, they
litter the (sub)urban landscape. Although related, each chain is distinct
and may be said to offer something the others do not, especially in the
minds of the consumers who choose to frequent it. These weather gods,
like fast food chains, may then be distinguished by their quality and the
other goods and services they offer. Similarly, the Hittites’ comprehen-
sive approach and their tendency to treat gods as overlapping without
redundancy meant that each deity was necessary and could be profitably
introduced in to a market that already had a deity of the same category
(especially a cosmopolitan one like Hattuša).132
˘
132
More than simple supply and demand, political factors also heavily influenced the
decision to create a “chain” deity.
86 Hittite Gods
Divine Potency
Dividing a single deity or grouping multiple deities into a single functional
category may imply that the powers of a single god would be diluted if split
or attached to a collective. According to this logic, an individual deity’s
potency would be divided among its aspects; like a pizza, the more it is split
up, the less of the whole each slice contains. However, such logic does not
apply to the Hittite divine world. There is no indication that a deity was
thought to have a fixed amount of being or power. Instead, it seems that
each prominent aspect, for example, animated cult image could possess all
the deity’s powers in equal measure. For instance, when the Goddess-of-
the-Night is asked to divide her divinity or divine manifestation, there is no
hint that she is, thereby halving her presence and potency in each cult
image.133 Thus, rather than cutting herself into smaller portions by collect-
ing (semi-)independent aspects, a deity creates multiple selves, akin to
clones, some of which possess the full complement of the individual deity’s
potencies.134 The Hittite deity appears to have possessed material and
immaterial aspects, tuekka and ištanza, roughly and somewhat anachron-
istically translated as “body” and “soul.”135 The cult image as a tuekka (or
ešri or šiuniyatar) then served as a form in which the immaterial aspect of
the deity (its ištanza) could manifest. As such, it theoretically could be
divided or multiplied infinitely without losing potency.
Indeed, as in the case of the Goddess-of-the-Night, the addition of new
cult locales makes the deity and each of her manifestations more potent. It
extends her sphere of influence and her worship base to new areas and the
individual manifestations may develop characteristics of their own that
they bring to the larger collective. Furthermore, the ability to split into
multiple selves demonstrates a deity’s potency since only a deity with
considerable power, diverse attributes, and a great sphere of influence is
worth splitting or expanding.136
133
Hundley 2013a:325–6.
134
However, this need not mean that every aspect represented the deity in its fullness. In
fact, the more aspects present, the more likely each was to specialize. Some detached
aspects, for example, abstract qualities like truth – personify and, thus possess only
a single divine attribute, functioning as part of the divine entourage rather than the deity
in its fullness. Or, in the case of the various functionally determined weather gods, like
the Weather-God-of-Clouds, Weather-God-of-Growth, and Weather-God-of-the-
Palace, each highlights a specific aspect of the deity, rather than all the deity’s many
aspects.
135
Steiner 1957:565; Kammenhuber 1964; Haas 1994:301; Van den Hout 1994:44;
J. Miller 2004:299; Taracha 2009:158; Hundley 2013a:325.
136
Cf. Haas 1994:300, 312.
Similarly, association with a god group does not seem to render a deity
redundant or diminish its power in any way. Although there are multiple
weather gods and in some cases the individual weather gods may be
understood to play different roles, each individual weather god does not
have to share the powers of the storm.137 Each may indeed possess them
all in full measure simultaneously. Instead, when placed in a group of
distinct deities, each individual deity tends to become more, not less,
powerful. Since each individual deity brings its own characteristics to
the collective and each deity shares in those characteristics to some extent,
each deity then has more aspects. Likewise, each local deity becomes part
of an empire-wide constellation of similar deities and, thus becomes
greater by association.138 At the same time, various local deities may
extend the sphere of influence of the larger corporate constellation and
establish more places where the deity is present and active.139
Divine Elements outside of the Constellations

As in Mesopotamia, many of the deities outside of the divine constella-
tions are often organized under or in relation to the major gods of the
constellations, much like a king, his family, and his subordinates.140
Whereas in Mesopotamia mountains are (the home of) the traditional
enemies of the gods and treated as foreign and hostile,141 in Hittite
137
For example, the aforementioned more active weather gods of Nerik and Ziplanda and
their association with thunder and rain and their more passive father, the Weather-God-
of-Heaven; cf. the Sun-God-of-the-Sky, associated with day and the sky, and the Sun-
God-of-the-Earth, associated with night and the netherworld.
138
So too may a locale franchise become greater by association with the larger McDonald’s
brand. By adding franchises in new locations with local distinctions, the McDonald’s
empire also grows.
139
The addition of cult places for weather gods may not necessarily extend their sphere of
influence since weather gods are already perceived to be active throughout the land (a
Hittite prayer even claims that the Weather God is the entire land of Hatti [Haas
1994:149, 296]). However, it does make him more locally accessible and, thus ˘ more apt
to be actively venerated even if he must be venerated next to another weather god,
somewhat like the establishment of a McDonald’s next to a Burger King. Even if not
venerated, the establishment of a satellite temple adds to the divine (and royal) prestige. In
the case of other gods whose sphere of influence is smaller, for example, the Deity of the
Night, their expansion to a new cult place extends their sphere of influence and prestige.
140
This applies to the individual constellations and to the collective constellations in which
the divine elements are either related to the entire group or to a prominent deity within
the group and sometimes, by extension, all of the deities in the group.
141
Regarding Mesopotamia, see Wiggermann 1994:227. After defeating Anzu in the Anzu
myth, for example, “Ninurta killed the mountains” (III:18a; Saggs 1986:22).
88 Hittite Gods
Anatolia they are closely associated with and under divine control.142 In
fact, in some contexts, the divine mountains Hazzi and Nanni are part of
˘
the entourage of Teššub, the Weather-God, and in others a preferred
143
dwelling place of the weather gods. In the Kumarbi Cycle, monstrous
divine beings also challenge and are subdued by Teššub.144 As in
Mesopotamia, such monstrous beings are necessary to find a suitable
match for the king of the gods and to demonstrate his prowess and right
to rule. The deified elements in the temple are the possession of the deity
and, like the monsters, demonstrate its greatness since the environment in
which it lives and over which it exercises dominion is also divine. Like
their human and Mesopotamian divine counterparts, the Hittite gods live
as kings with a court of servants who oversee the gods’ needs from the
greatest to the smallest.145 As in Mesopotamia, many deities also have
viziers who serve primarily as messengers and councilors in the Hittite
literature, yet never seem to carry messages from the gods to humanity.146
Major deities also have peers or, in the case of the head of the pantheon,
subordinates with their own spheres and subordinates.
divine hierarchy
As noted, the Hittite pantheon and divine hierarchy are especially
variable.147 According to our simplified three-tiered system, the
Weather-God most often occupies the prime position,148 commonly
142
Regarding the connection between weather gods, in particular, and mountains, see
Gonnet 1968:116ff.; Lombardi 1996; Schwemer 2007:130; Taracha 2009:55.
143
Hazzi and Nanni in particular are closely allied with Teššub (Schwemer 2001:228–9,
˘
233, 480, 514–15; Gilan 2010:58). At Yazilikaya, Teššub stands upon two mountains,
perhaps Hazzi and Nanni. Regarding mountains as the seat of the gods, see Steiner
1957:571.˘
144
In the cycle, Kumarbi seeks to reclaim the kingship of the gods from the line of Teššub
and in order to create suitable challengers begets silver, a sea serpent, and a stone
monster, all of which seem to be ultimately subdued by Teššub (Hoffner 1998:40–65).
145
The Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna even has a divine beautician (Beckman 2004:312).
Beckman aptly refers to “the pampered life of the gods” (2005a:346).
146
For a list of examples, see Steiner 1957:556; Wilhelm 2002:59.
147
Interestingly, unlike in Mesopotamia, hyphenated deities – that is, deities with epithets –
tend to occupy prime position in the hierarchy (see, i.e., S. Allen 2015:355–68, tables
2.1–10). Regarding the Hittite hierarchies, see conveniently Barré 1983:30–7; Beckman
2004:313–15; S. Allen 2015:71–93, 355–68.
148
Nonetheless, depending on time, place, and people group, the supreme Weather-God
bears different names and associations. Using iškur as a title for all of them associates
them when minimizing the difference. iškur-of-Heaven appears most frequently as the
primary deity (i.e., CTH 42; 671).
Divine Accessibility 89
accompanied by the Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna or Hurrian Hebat.149 In

˘
mythology, iškur cements his supreme status via conquest, employing
150
fairly typical weather god powers. However, while his profile is not
as expansive as those of Marduk and Aššur, various nonnarrative texts
expand it so that he may play multiple roles in keeping with the
demands of the head of state. In addition to possessing seemingly
every conceivable power related to weather, he is the god of the
king, state, warfare, prosperity, justice, peace, and administration of
oaths. The Weather-God also has a more fluid self than either Marduk
or Aššur. Given the tendency to compartmentalize and the general
Hittite malleability, iškur as a deity in the nonnarrative texts consists
of multiple separable parts. As noted, he also overlaps to some degree
with multiple other weather gods, some of whom have been cast as his
children.151
The major god category again consists of the specialist deities, many of
whom are the multiple other Hittite weather gods, the sun god, warrior
gods, major goddesses like Ištar, as well as the various lamma-gods. The
minor god category includes the support staff of the major gods and other
more peripheral deities like Mountains and Rivers. In Hittite Anatolia,
combat and the quality of a deity’s attributes separate deities. The Hittite
texts do not feature the same competitive rebranding as Mesopotamian
ones featuring Marduk and Aššur. Nonetheless, since a person is defined
by their roles, as king of the gods, iškur’s attributes must expand so that
he may perform the roles necessary for his station.
divine accessibility
Given the gods’ control over the necessary and otherwise uncontrollable
aspects of the cosmos, it behooved humanity to secure divine favor to
safeguard their future. They, thus devoted considerable energy to bridging
the gap between human and divine. This of course entailed accessing and
serving the deities, especially in the locus of the temple.152 As in any
relationship, communication was also paramount, from human to divine
and from divine to humanity. Humans, especially the king as mediator
149
As noted, Puduhepa even tried to equate them.
150 ˘ Kumarbi Cycle. Again, it remains unclear how deeply this mythology
See especially the
penetrated the Hittite empire and whether the Weather-God had other, more central
mythology.
151 152
Schwemer 2008a:21; S. Allen 2015:76. Hundley 2013a:85–103, 285–331.
90 Hittite Gods
between the human and divine spheres, communicated directly with the
gods through prayers. Consonant with usual human experience, commu-
nication from the divine was often indirect and required special techniques
to interpret (see later in this chapter). After exploring the scant evidence
for direct encounters with deity, we will turn to divine manifestation in the
cult, more particularly objects associated with it like the cult statue,
huwaši-stones, and the ulihi, before addressing the diverse modes of divine
˘ ˘
communication with humanity.
In Hittite Anatolia the direct appearance of deities to humans
outside of the temple is rather rare and limited primarily to myth-
ology and epic literature. Although prevalent elsewhere in the ANE,
epic literature concerning local heroes and kings is practically
nonexistent.153 Instead, legends of the great Sargonic kings of
Mesopotamia have been preserved in Hatti, some of which involve
˘
direct contact with deities on earth.154 Mythological texts,155 which
are more prevalent in Hatti, provide a few examples of terrestrial
˘
divine-human contact. Both versions of the old Anatolian Illuyanka
myth (CTH 321), concerned with the conflict between the Weather-
God and a reptile, involve direct divine-human contact. In the first,
the daughter of the Weather-God, Inara, by sleeping with him, enlists
the help of a human, Hupasiya, to defeat the serpent. In the second,
˘
the Weather-God marries the daughter of a poor man and has a son
who marries the daughter of the serpent in return for the captured
heart and eyes of the Weather-God. In the tale of Appu and his two
sons (CTH 360), the Sun-God comes down to earth and transforms
himself into a man in order to question Appu. In The Sun-God, The
Cow, and The Fisherman (CTH 363), the Sun-God comes down to
earth in the form of a man and impregnates the cow, who bears an
anthropomorphic child, who is subsequently given to the fisherman
and his wife to rear. In another text, the thirty sons of the Queen of
Kanish were reared by the gods (CTH 3.1).156
153
Gilan 2010:60.
154
See the survey in Beckman 2005b:257–8; see also Beckman 2001; Gilan 2010:51–65.
The tale of Guparazah, set in Akkad, involves direct contact between Guparazah and his
patron the Tigris river˘ and refers to the river flying like an eagle to seek aid on his
˘ behalf
(Pecchioli Daddi 2003).
155
Here the label “mythological” is used loosely to incorporate what Hoffner calls “tales
involving deities and mortals” (Hoffner 1998:62).
156
Hoffner 1998: nos. 19, 81–2. What this rearing entails is left unstated.
Gods traditionally dwelt in the heavens or the underworld and had

their cultic seats in their terrestrial temples.157 Although most did not
make their homes on earth outside of the temples, the gods nonetheless did
appear there, though generally on the periphery in areas inaccessible to
humanity.158 Because the deity was rather inaccessible, the deity was
made manifest in various ways in the human world, most prominently
in the cult and through omens and oracles.159 King Muršili II demon-
strated the main channels of communication in one of his plague prayers
in which he implores the deities to reveal the cause of the plague:
[Or] if people have been dying because of some other matter, let me either see it in
a dream, or [let] it [be discovered] by means of an oracle, or let a prophet speak of
it. Or the priests will sleep long and purely (in an incubation rite) in regard to that
which I convey to all of them. (KUB 14.8 rev. 41'–44' and duplicates)
As in Mesopotamia, a deity’s cult image(s) in the temple served as a locus

of divine presence that could be served, addressed, and appealed to as the
otherwise distant deity itself.160 Deities were made manifest outside as
well as inside of the temple through ulihi (presumably some kind of fabric)
˘
and huwaši-stones.161 The ulihi, like the cult image, seems to serve as
˘ ˘
a potential receptacle for the divine presence, as a šiuniyatar, “divine
manifestation,” “divine image,” or “spirit holder.”162 As the expansion
ritual indicates, it too could be treated and addressed as the deity and
receive offerings including a ritual meal. However, unlike the cult image,
rather than serving as a permanent locus of divine presence, the ulihi
˘
seems to have served a more immediate and transitory function, either
in enabling the installation of the deity in a statue or its transportation. In
157
Steiner 1957:571.
158
As we have seen, the weather gods were especially associated with mountains, and much
of Hittite mythology had a terrestrial setting. In addition, certain gods of nature, like
mountains, rivers, and springs, had limited, exclusively terrestrial settings.
159
Cf. the aforementioned reference to access points. Omens refer to forms of contact
initiated by the deity, while oracles were initiated by humans (Beckman 2007:336).
160
“The application of the word šiuniyatar to a representation implies that, anthropo-
morphic or otherwise, the representation was imbued with the divine essence, i.e., that
the deity was present. Šiuniyatar, then, is not simply ‘the divine image,’ but applies to the
fully fused statue plus godhead” (Collins 2005:21). Regarding cult images in Hittite
Anatolia, see Collins 2005; Popko 2006; Goedegebuure 2012; Hundley 2013a:324–9.
161
Regarding the ulihi, see J. Miller 2004:401, 409–10; Hundley 2013a:306, 308, 314,
˘
318–19, 328. Regarding huwaši-stones, see Güterbock 1946 and 1983; Jakob-Rust
1963a and 1963b; Darga ˘1969; Popko 1978 and 1993; Van Loon 1985; Singer 1986;
Hutter 1993:91–5; Haas 1994:507–9; Collins 2005:26–9; Taracha 2009:61–3.
162
Regarding šiuniyatar, see Haas 1994:298; Collins 2005:21; Goedegebuure 2012:419–
21.
92 Hittite Gods
the expansion ritual for the Goddess of the Night the ulihi-s serve as a way
˘
of connecting deities and their statues without ever moving the statues.
Huwaši-stones are stele mostly made of stone and occasionally
˘
engraved that were primarily located outside of town, often in a grove,
near a spring, or on a mountain – that is, “any location imbued with
a sense of the sacred.”163 In some instances they were found within the
temples themselves, either in addition to or in place of a cult statue.164
While small towns could have a huwaši in place of a temple, cities had
˘
a mixture of huwašis and temples.165
˘
Much like a cult image, each stele belonged to a specific deity and
functioned as a (potential) receptacle for divine presence or perhaps
more distantly an access point.166 Since the deity could theoretically
take any form, the huwaši and cult statue seem particularly suited to
˘
their different contexts. The cult image suited the intimate, restricted
anthropomorphic cult, wherein the statue was dressed, fed, and enter-
tained, and its size allowed for portability, elements for which the
huwašis were ill suited.167 As immovable objects located primarily
˘
outside of the city, huwašis extended the sphere of the deity and
˘
provided another access point to it outside of normal temple channels.
Likewise, a stone monument, even one imbued with divinity, was more
suitable for open spaces and less restricted access, as it suggests some
distance between object and referent. A statue was more suited to the
guarded, enclosed, restricted, and regulated space of the temple, especially
since, like the king, the anthropomorphic divine form required a home,
servants, service, and protection from the mundane world. A huwaši was
˘
also more suited to occasional rituals, requiring no full-time personnel or
163
Collins 2005:26.
164
Ibid. In such cases, it is possible that the temples were built secondarily to enshrine the
huwaši-stones previously exposed to the elements (personal communication Jared
˘Miller); cf., however, Haas 1994:508, followed by Fleming 2000:85, who contend that
huwaši-stones in temples were smaller models of the larger original, made of precious
˘materials, and designed to bring rural worship (in the form of huwaši-stones) into the
newer urban sanctuaries. ˘
165
Collins 2005:26–7. For example, Karahna had twenty-six deities, nine of which had
temples and seventeen of which had ˘ huwašis (KUB 38.12.iii:22'–23'; Güterbock
1975:127). However, the juxtaposition ˘of huwaši and temple did not imply that the
huwaši required architectural features around ˘ it to render the parallel with a statue more
˘complete (Collins 2005:27; pace Hazenbos 2003:175).
166
On the similarity between stela and statue, see Hutter 1993:91–5, 103; Collins 2005:27.
The huwaši-stone is an example of a stone that served as a receptacle for divine presence
˘
mentioned under What Is a God?
167
Cf. Collins 2005:28–9.
cultic care.168 In effect, the huwaši functioned like a poor man’s sanctuary,
˘
a more accessible access point with less overhead.
As with all elements in a divine constellation, the huwaši and the statue
˘
represented two occasionally independent aspects of a deity, both of
which effectively served as the deity, yet neither was the deity in all its
fullness.169 Given its open location and non anthropomorphic and often
nondescript form, the connection between deity and huwaši could have
˘
been perceived as more distant. The huwaši could have been understood
˘
as a place to which the deity could be summoned, such that it could either
be a temporary locus or more distantly a portal.170 Although distinct to
the modern mind, the effect is practically the same – the deity could be
approached, communicated with, and presented with offerings.171 Thus,
it is unlikely that the Hittites made any distinction.172 In addition to a cult
image and a huwaši, other physical forms could serve as temporary vessels
˘
for divine presence. For example, a plant too could be a receptacle for
a divine “soul” (ištanza).173 With multiple options available, the deity
could theoretically choose which form she or he wished to take in any
given context. One ritual refers to the alternate forms a deity may prefer:
“if she prefers a pithos, he will make her stand as a pithos. But if not, then
he will make her stand as a huwaši-stone or he will make her (as) a statue”
˘
(KUB 7.5.iv:11–16).174 In fact, gender may be determined by personal
preference in some instances: “If you, O god, are refusing the statue of
a woman; if you, O god, are seeking the statue of a man, but you do not
seek the statue of a woman, let the flesh oracle be favorable” (KUB 50.89.
iii:5'–7').175
168
However, huwaši-stones in temples, like their anthropomorphic counterparts, probably
˘
enjoyed regular cultic care.
169
The same holds for the multiple representations of a “single” deity in the same temple,
each of which was treated as an independent deity (cf. Collins 2005:28).
170
A portal is more distant since unlike a locus, it does not necessitate presence.
171
The conception of the huwaši as a potential receptacle for divine presence (as a potential
“spirit holder”) seems˘to accord more with the general ANE mindset than the huwaši as
portal and finds distant support in the Aramaic stele found in what was formerly ˘ Hittite
territory, which referred to a mortuary stele as containing the soul (nbš) of the deceased
(Pardee 2009).
172
Cf. Güterbock 1983:215; Collins 2005:26–7. Other elements also served as access
points, yet the connection was considered somehow more diffuse – that is, there was
greater distance between the deity and these elements. For example, divine weapons
served as extensions of divine potency, while other elements like the temple hearth
functioned as self-propelled subordinate agents with access to the deity.
173 174
Haas 1994:304–7. Edited by Hoffner 1987; Collins 2005:24n41.
175
Edited in CHD L–N: s.v. markiya-; Collins 2005:24n41.
94 Hittite Gods
Divine–Human Communication
Although humans could directly communicate with and care for deities
through cult images and huwaši-stones so that deities would care for
˘
them, actual divine communication came through other channels – that
is, cult images did not speak. Instead, the gods communicated primarily
through omens and oracles.176 In Hatti the need for clear communication
˘
was paramount given the inordinate number of Hittite deities. For
example, when any deity or self-propelled divine manifestation could
theoretically be responsible for hardship (see especially Muršili II’s plague
prayers), the source of a problem could be difficult to identify, requiring
clear divine communication. Without it, petitioners would be hard-
pressed to ameliorate their situation.
As in Mesopotamia, the gods used the elements they controlled in
nature to communicate unsolicited messages (omens). Given the predom-
inance of weather gods, elements of the storm were a means of communi-
cation. For example, the Weather-God showed his support for the Hittites
by hurling a thunderbolt at Arzawa, the Hittite enemies (KBo 3.4.ii:15–
22).177 Muršili’s speech impediment was also attributed to a theophany of
the Weather-God in the storm (CTH 486), and an old Hittite ritual
counteracted the displeasure of the Weather-God as manifested in the
storm (CTH 631.1).178 In addition, terrestrial phenomena like earth-
quakes (CTH 541), monstrous births (CTH 538–40),179 and celestial
phenomena were interpreted as divine omens.180 Although the meaning
of some was obvious enough (i.e., the Weather-God’s assault on Arzawa),
most omens required scholarly interpretation.181
176
See, for example, Kammenhuber 1976; Beckman 1999b; Beal 2002b; Riemschneider
2004; Haas 2008. See later in this chapter for more specific references.
177
Edited by Goetze 1933:23–5; ET Mineck 2006:255.
178
Regarding CTH 486, see Laroche 1985:103; Van den Hout 2004. Regarding 631.1, see
Neu 1970; Wilhelm 1995.
179
Regarding CTH 541, see Ünal 1977:469–70. The Hittite language portion of CTH 538–
40 was edited by Riemschneider 1970. However, since monstrous births only appear in
manuals of Mesopotamian origin, it is not clear if the Hittite gods made use of them
(Beckman 1999b:531).
180
Celestial omens were borrowed from and much more limited than in Mesopotamia
(CTH 531–5; Koch-Westenholz 1993:231–46). However, unlike birth omens, there is
some evidence for their use in Hatti. See KUB 24.5 obv. 8'–9' (CTH 419; edited by
Kümmel 1967:8–10), where the˘ king refers to a sign given by the Moon-God, which
likely refers to a lunar eclipse (Beckman 199b:531). The sun also gives a sign in KUB
14.4.iv:24–6 (CTH 70; Kümmel 1967:18).
181
Taracha 2009:145.
Dreams served as the other primary means of unsolicited divine

communication.182 Rather than a product of the mind of the dreamer,
a dream was understood as a “vision received by a sleeping individual
from an external source” and “a mode of contact with realms of existence
beyond the ordinary human sphere,” like the divine and the dead.183 In
some cases dreams were clear enough to the dreamer that they did not
require interpretation, yet in most cases they required decoding by
specialists.184 The best-known straightforward nocturnal visions were
related by Hattušili III in his so-called Apology (KUB 1.1+ [CTH 81]
˘
i:12ff., 36ff., iii:4ff., iv:8ff., 19ff.), in which his patron deity, Šauška,
“appears” to several people, indicating her support for him and that his
ascension corresponded to the divine will.185 The text gives little sign what
it means that the deity “appeared” to several people or whether they heard
her words directly in the dream.186 In other cases the manner of appear-
ance and means of communicating the message were clearer, such as when
a goddess came to sleep with a dreamer to cure him of impotency and/or
homosexuality (KUB 7.5.iv:1–10 [CTH 406]).187 Prophecy is also
attested, though little is known of the prophets themselves and the nature
of their messages.188 Likewise, it is unclear if the prophets were a conduit
for omens or oracles.189
182
Dreams also could be solicited (i.e., CTH 406). Regarding dreams, see Beckman 2010;
see further Mouton 2007.
183
Beckman 2010:26. In some cases the dreamer asked through oracles whether the
unsolicited ordeals or omens were from the gods (Ünal 1978:14ff.; Taracha 2009:147).
184
Beckman 2010:27. Although there is evidence of recorded “symbolic” dreams, no
“symbolic” dream is interpreted in extant Hittite sources (ibid. 30). Although unlikely,
it is even possible that the dreams presented in a straightforward manner were originally
received in encrypted form (ibid. 30).
185
See regarding CTH 81 Otten 1981:4–5, 6–7, 16–17, 24–5; Mouton 2007:88ff.; regard-
ing the dream as expression of the divine will, see Beckman 2010:28–9.
186
For example, did they see the goddess in anthropomorphic form? If so (and if not), how
did they recognize her? Did she (have to) identify herself? How was the message received
or perceived: as an audible voice or a mere impression? According to Steiner (1957:572),
gods in dreams occasionally took the form of an image, but more often appeared as
animate. Again, in the Hittite Gilgamesh Epic, Enkidu has a dream vision of the divine
council in which they decide to kill him (Stefanini 1969). However, it is unclear if he sees
divine forms, merely hears identifiable voices, or something else.
187
Edited by Hoffner 1987; see more recently J. Miller 2010. “Thus if the patient has an
erotic dream, he has been cured” (Beckman 2010:28).
188
Hoffner 1992:103; Beckman 1999b:533. Aside from their mention in the plague prayers,
the prophet is only attested in two parallel passages (Pecchioli Daddi 1982:300).
189
Beckman 1999b:533.
96 Hittite Gods
When the gods did not send messages of their own accord, humans
made inquiries through oracular means to discern the divine will. For the
most part, “oracular communication was conducted in a binary fashion,”
and results were obtained “through a process of elimination.”190 For
example, when seeking the source of divine anger, potential causes
would be put forward as possibilities one at a time in a yes-or-no, favor-
able-or-unfavorable format. Only when causes received a negative oracu-
lar response could they be discarded. Since there might be more than one
cause, each time the deity gave an affirmative answer, the deity would be
asked if this was all that was wrong. When all causes had been identified,
the diviner sought the appropriate manner of restitution(s) by suggesting
possibilities and submitting those possibilities to oracular inquiry.
In accord with the Hittite comprehensive approach, different oracular
methods were used simultaneously to ensure certainty.191 Extispicy, the
examination of the entrails of a slaughtered sheep or lamb for signs
inscribed by the gods, was inherited by the Hittites from the
Mesopotamians through the Hurrians (Handbooks in CTH 547–60).192
“A related divinatory technique of Mesopotamian origin was the obser-
vation of the behavior of a sacrificial ram as he awaited his fate – how he
moved his tail and his tongue, where he lay down in his pen, and so
forth.”193 The seer combined this method with extispicy in such a way
that “the animal’s deportment constituted a sort of preview of what
awaited the diviner when he opened his victim.”194 Augury appears
to have been a native system of divination in which the augurs inter-
preted the behavior of birds within a demarcated region.195 Divination
by means of the hurri-bird, perhaps a duck, is also well attested.196
In addition, Hittites took “lots” performed by the “Old Woman” and
performed incubation rituals, which were essentially solicited omens
190
Ibid. 527.
191
Ibid. There are also a surprising number of beliefs and practices shared only with the
Aegean world. For example, incubation rituals designed to discover an individual’s
purity or identify or affect a cure for an ailing patient appear only in the Hittite and
Aegean worlds. For instance, the only known parallel to KUB 9.2 (Mouton 2007:129–
41), describing erotic dreams as the cure for sexual impotence or homosexuality, is
found in a votive text from Temple of Asclepius at Epidauros (ibid. 76).
192
Beckman 1999b:527–8; Schuol 1994.
193
Beckman 1999b:528; see CTH 576, edited by Hoffner 1993.
194
Beckman 1999b:528.
195
Regarding the augur, see Ünal 1973. Regarding augury itself, see Archi 1975.
196
Beckman 1999b:529.
Conclusion 97
from the deity and occurred far less frequently in the record than
unsolicited dreams.197
Thus, while humans could speak to the gods directly through prayer
and the care of the cult images, divine communication to humanity came
almost exclusively through indirect channels and outside of the bounds of
normal cultic service. Such indirect communication was fitting for divine-
human relations, much like that of a king and his vassals and, more
practically, accorded with their experience of the world. Because the
gods were perceived to be everywhere and behind everything, it was
imperative to determine the divine will to understand and gain some
measure of control over the world and their place in it.
conclusion
While many commonalities emerge between the Hittite and
Mesopotamian perceptions, several important distinctives also appear,
such that Hittite religion stands apart from and contributes to other
ANE religions. While Mesopotamian gods collected attributes, the
Hittites seem to have collected gods. In addition, while their expansive
divine world was populated by various distinct deities, for example,
weather gods with significant overlap, in most cases each overlapped
without redundancy. As a result, each deity was an important actor
whose absence could threaten the dissolution of order. In order to better
understand and manage this complexity, Hittites pragmatically organized
similar gods into god groups, whose individual members nonetheless
could possess expansive profiles. While the parallel is inexact, potent
individual deities and god groups may be compared respectively with
franchises or chain stores, like McDonald’s, and a group of related stores,
like high-end fashion boutiques or fast food restaurants.
Hittite rituals also make explicit what seems implicit elsewhere: each
image has (independent) agency. In addition, they articulate the process of
reduplication in unique and illuminating ways. The divine presence mani-
fest on earth is a combination of material and immaterial aspects, such
that by entering a new body the deity essentially creates a new version of
itself. When establishing a satellite temple, the god effectively clones itself
and the “new deity” alternatively may be understood as an extension of
the “old deity” or a (semi-)independent, self-propelled agent. The Hittite
197
Ibid. 527–8. See, for example, the aforementioned dream cure for sexual impotency or
homosexuality. See further Mouton 2004. See regarding lots Orlamünde 2001.
98 Hittite Gods
texts also may shed light on the animation of seemingly inanimate objects,
adding a suffix to distinguish between animate and inanimate forms. As
a result, otherwise inanimate objects seem to be imbued or controlled by
animate forces and, thus capable of receiving humanlike entreaties.
While indirect, receiving and understanding the communication from
these deities who controlled every meaningful aspect of the world was
considered essential. With proper service and communication, Hittites
believed they could positively influence the gods and gain some measure
of control over the otherwise uncontrollable.
3
Egyptian Gods
The Egyptian divine world is exceedingly diverse, complex, and fluid. It

simultaneously occupies our imagination and defies our attempts at sys-
tematization. Often considered in isolation, Egypt exhibits illustrative
points of comparison and contrast with Mesopotamia and Hittite
Anatolia. Before looking at the data, we return to the conceptual back-
ground outlined in Chapter 1, especially aspective theory, which was
proposed with ancient Egypt in mind.
conceptual background
Egyptian art is famous, beautiful, and evocative, yet upon closer inspec-
tion it violates many of the artistic principles of Western perspectival
representation. Rather than depicting a two-dimensional image as it
appears to the eye, Egyptians include aspects from more than one vantage
point simultaneously.1 For example, a human image frequently “oscillates
between frontal and profile views.”2 To integrate the human image into
a single, unified frame, the artist depicts individual parts or aspects
separately.3
To explain this phenomena, Brunner-Traut posits an evolutionary
model stressing that ancient Egyptians focused on the parts at the expense
of the whole, hence aspective theory.4 In contrast, Davis argues that the
Egyptian style is a product of a purely mechanical and conventional
1
For a convenient survey of the distinct principles of Egyptian art, see Nyord 2013:136–9.
2 3
Ibid. 137. For a more detailed description, see Robins 1997:21. Nyord 2013:138.
4
Brunner-Traut 1990. For a critique of her position, see Chapter 1, note 8.
99
100 Egyptian Gods
approach and has no bearing on Egyptian thought.5 As a moderating

position, Nyord contends that the Egyptians presented “a view from
everywhere” in order to show the “completed object.”6 Rather than
actually reproduce an image from all angles, they include the most import-
ant elements from a limited number of angles in order to produce
a recognizable image while conforming to their aesthetic sensibilities.7
Such a depiction seems motivated by the desire to show what an object
is rather than what it looks like at any given time.8 Understood in this
light, while she overstates her case, Brunner-Traut seems right to stress
focusing on the individual at the expense of a consistent whole. Focusing
on the parts; however, does not mean that all parts are equally valuable.
Certain parts or aspects are more valuable than others, yet these parts vary
based on context (i.e., see the selective preservation of body parts in
mummification, preserved in order to ensure a reintegrated whole).
For the gods as well, different parts (whether names, manifestations, or
attributes) constitute or represent the whole, and the identification of
these parts varies based on context. For the Egyptians even more than
Mesopotamians and Hittites, every divine representation is merely an
approximation. Thus, Egyptians freely add, omit, and combine aspects
to show the whole or the representative part the context demands. In fact,
one could argue that many of the Egyptian images, whether verbal or
visual, do not try to represent how a god looks, but rather who they are in
a specific context.9 Given the generally communal nature of Egyptian
society, the gods are what they can do. In turn, texts and images either
present them as a multiplicity of functions or highlight a specific function
relevant to the context. If a deity does not possess a necessary attribute,
they may even borrow it to meet a particular need. As a result, Egyptian
deities are functionally a combination of interlocking parts that can be
taken apart, put back together again, and shared with or borrowed from
other deities. As we will see, even deities themselves can be combined and
taken apart again.10
5
Davis 1989.
6
Nyord 2013:144, building on the work of philosopher Merleau-Ponty 1968.
7 8
Cf. Nyord 2013:144. H. Schäfer 1974:108; Nyord 2013:150.
9
Cf. Hornung 1982:109–25, who argues “the mixed form of their gods is nothing other
than a hieroglyph, a way of ‘writing’ not the name but the nature and function of the deity
in question” (124). See also Laboury 1998:147–8.
10
Such fluidity is especially characteristic of nonnarrative texts. The general absence of
mythological narratives thus may skew our representation of Egyptian religion.
Nonetheless, fluidity does appear in the few narratives preserved to a greater degree
than the multiple narratives of Mesopotamia. For example, in the Myth of the
What Is a God? 101
what is a god?
As in Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia, we turn to the Egyptian sources
themselves, rather than our modern presuppositions, to decide what is and
is not a god. Our criteria in descending order of importance for identifying
a deity are: (1) the presence of the divine determinative ntr/ntrt with its
name;11 (2) the being is explicitly called a god (ntr/ntrt) or̄ texts
̄ use the
̄ ̄
adjective “divine” (ntrj) to describe it; (3) it behaves in godlike ways,
12
̄
such as conferring blessing or punishment; and (4) it is treated like a god,
such as receiving prayers and offerings.
Before enumerating divine types, we pause to consider the multivalent
determinatives, especially those for “god” (ntr/ntrt). Most Egyptian words
are followed by one or more mute hieroglyphs ̄ ̄ that provide additional
information about them. The ntr determinative for “god” may appear
13
as a flagpole and more commonlȳ as a seated bearded figure or falcon on

a standard, while the ntrt determinative for “goddess” may appear as
a divine cobra or a seated̄ woman, sometimes with a cobra on her head.14
Thus, it follows that those deities who take the god(dess) determinative
are divine and those that do not are not. However, the use of determinatives
is context specific; they may be omitted for stylistic or other reasons. For
example, of the hundreds of references to Horus in the papyrus of Nu,
which preserved the Eighteenth Dynasty Book of the Dead, only about
a dozen use the divine determinative.15 Instead, even though Horus is
clearly a major god, his name mostly appears with the falcon hieroglyph,
likely for stylistic reasons. The papyrus does not use the falcon on
a standard divine determinative and generally eschews the anthropo-
morphic determinative for Horus, perhaps because it would be inappropri-
ate to put it after a deity pictured as a falcon.16 Although a powerful deity
Heavenly Cow, Hathor serves as the eye of Re and becomes Sekhmet as an expression of
wrath. See conveniently Guilhou 2010. For a translation, see LAE 289–98. See further
Hornung 1991.
11
Egyptological interest in determinatives is relatively recent and more work on divine
determinatives remains a desideratum. See the groundbreaking work of Goldwasser
1995. Regarding the utility of determinatives, see especially Goldwasser and Grinevald
2014. Regarding the early development of the divine determinatives, see Shalomi-Hen
2000, 2006, 2008; cf. Nyord 2007. Regarding later developments, see Goldwasser
2002:111–31; Aronin 2008 and 2010.
12 13
Wb 2:358–66; cf. CDD N:144–56. Goldwasser and Grinevald 2014.
14
Goldwasser 2006:270–4.
15
Aronin 2010:52. This remains true in the Nineteenth Dynasty papyrus of Ani; see Aronin
2008:4, 7–8, 12–13.
16
Aronin 2010:52.
102 Egyptian Gods
with some positive connotations, Seth in the Book of the Dead is often
written without the divine determinative, instead followed by the Seth-
animal determinative.17 The text, thus effectively excludes him from the
company of the gods. Such marginalization likely results from his antagon-
ism toward Osiris, who features heroically in the literature as the ruler of
the dead.18 The cat-goddess Bastet is written with a lion-headed figure after
her name instead of the cobra or generic anthropomorphic image, probably
since only a feline determinative was deemed fitting.19 Ptah, a major deity
from Memphis, does not appear with the divine determinative until the
New Kingdom for some as yet undetermined reason.20 Even Aten, the
supreme deity of the Amarna period, rarely features the divine determina-
tive after his name.21 Thus, if a being features a divine determinative, it is
considered a god, yet it may be considered a god even if it does not. In
contrast, the adjective “divine” (ntrj) may offer false positives since it may
also signify belonging to the divine.̄ 22
Compared with Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia, seemingly less of the
world is divine, yet the divine world itself is likely the most fluid. The major
gods like Amun, Re, Ptah, Hathor, and Isis represent the quintessence of
divinity.23 Re and Khonsu or Thoth respectively are sun and moon gods, yet
they remain distinct from the celestial bodies they control.24 For example,
texts refer to “Re who is in his sun disk.”25 Instead, the sun disc is called Aten
(made famous by Akhenaten at Amarna), while the moon is Iah. In most cases
they feature the sun and moon hieroglyphs, yet they also may be listed with
the divine determinative.26 Other celestial bodies like the planets and Sirius
feature the star determinative, yet also may be listed with the seated male
divine determinative.27
17
Instead of changing the determinative, the papyrus of Nu opts to misspell his name (ibid.).
18 19 20
Ibid. Ibid. 53. Hart 2005:128.
21
Goldwasser 2002:111–31; for the rationale, see Divine Elevation and Innovation later in
this chapter.
22
Hornung 1982:64.
23
While some argue that ntr ˁꜢ signifies the “greatest god” (i.e., Hornung 1982:186–9),
̄
Baines 2000:37–8; see further Baines 1983 contends that it means “major god,” thereby
distinguishing some gods from others. The application of the label “major god” to most
of the most significant Egyptian gods (Hornung 1982:187) supports this assertion,
though other local gods likewise receive the epithet, probably as an expression of flattery
or to indicate that the local gods are great to those who worship them.
24
Unlike in the Semitic world, names of cosmic deities often differ from the names of the
elements in the cosmos they embody (ibid. 68).
25 26
Wb 1:145, no. 3; Baines 2011:56. Aronin 2010:54.
27
Ibid. Regarding celestial deities, see briefly Wilkinson 2003:80–1; see further Kozloff
1994.
What Is a God? 103
In contrast, natural terrestrial elements are more rarely divinized.

While they may be associated with deities, waterways, stones, metals,
wood, and plants do not receive the divine determinative or cultic
attention.28 Nonetheless, related phenomena may be deified. For
example, Hapy is associated with the annual inundation of the Nile and
was widely venerated throughout Egypt. Often depicted as corpulent with
plants on his head, Hapy represents the necessary bounty the flood
brings.29
Egyptians likewise personified abstract concepts, many of whom were
considered divine. For example, Maat personifies truth, justice, and cos-
mic order, Hu authority, Heh infinity, Shay destiny, Sia the mind, and
Heka magic.30 There are also protective deities of time, the geographic
nomes, caverns, the underworld gates, and divine judgment.31 However,
rather than being personified deities, emotions like love and fear proceed
from the deities themselves.32
The blessed dead receive the divine determinative, are labeled “divine,”
and receive offerings. The living king too bears the divine ka-spirit and is
called the “perfect god” (ntr nfr) in his titulary, a term not used for the
major gods.33 However, hē is rarely labeled “divine” (ntrj).34
In exceptional cases, animals also may be deified. In ̄ particular, the
Apis, Mnevis, and Bucchis bulls are labeled with the divine determinative,
presented with offerings, and serve as oracles.35 Starting in the Late
period, classes of animals associated with deities like baboons and ibises
may be labeled ntr upon death.36 Nonetheless, such divine status did not
̄
extend to most animals of the species. In fact, regular bulls and cows
(especially associated with Hathor) had no special status.
Fantastic animals – that is, animals that do not appear in nature and are
often hybrids of existing animal species – also may take the divine
28
The earth, wind, and sky, Geb, Shu, and Nut, however, are considered divine (Hornung
1982:77–9).
29
See briefly Wilkinson 2003:106–8. Regarding other related fecundity figures, see Baines
1985.
30
Hornung 1982:76–7. Death is uniquely called a “major (or great) god” (ntr ˁꜢ) in
a funerary papyrus from the Third Intermediate period (ibid. 81; Baines 2000:38–9; ̄
regarding the translation “major,” see ibid. 37–8). Death could be a metaphor, an epithet
for another deity (Baines proposes Atum), or a deity in its own right. Mestasutmis (“The
Hearing Ear”), associated as we will see with divine attentiveness and chapels that
facilitate it, also became a deity in its own right (Baines 2000:36). See more fully
Wagner and Quaegebeur 1973.
31 32
Wilkinson 2003:80–5. Hornung 1982:81.
33
Regarding the title, see briefly Baines 2000:38; regarding the ka-spirit, see Bell 1985.
34 35 36
Hornung 1982:64. Ray 2001:345–6. Ibid.
104 Egyptian Gods
determinative. For example, the griffin appears alternatively with the hide
and tail or the divine hieroglyph in the Coffin Texts.37 So-called demons
too may feature a divine determinative.38 Only when they are malevolent
do they also or alternatively include the slain enemy or knife
determinative.39 Seen as the cause of misfortune, they receive placating
offerings starting in the Late period.40
Some sacred objects are also labeled “divine,” to which one may
protest that they merely belong to deities. However, the Opening of the
Mouth ritual, which effectively brings inanimate objects to life and allows
them to receive cultic service, was performed on divine cult statues,
mortuary statues, barks, coffins, mummies, and in the Late period entire
temple as well as other prominent ritual objects.41
With a plethora of determinatives, the Egyptian scribes had multiple ways
of classifying their world.42 They often chose the descriptor that best
suited the context and the particular characteristic they wished to stress.
From the Late period onward, there was a general relaxing of the divine
category, such that more beings and objects may be deified.
Although not always listed with the divine determinative for various
(often stylistic) reasons, the major gods likely are always considered
divine. The blessed dead too are commonly associated with the divine
realm in contrast to living humans, whom the texts clearly and consist-
ently distinguish from the gods. With few exceptions, living humans are
never divine.43 Even the primary exception, the king, is only marginally
divine. Only in rare circumstances are kings called divine (ntrj), and the
expression “perfect god” may indicate that “the king is ̄ a ‘perfect,’
37
CT V:91b, e; Selz, Grinevald, and Goldwasser 2017:332n164. The hide-and-tail hiero-
glyph began as a way of classifying products of animals with a hide and tail – that is,
leather – and came to include all animals, even fantastical creatures like the griffin and the
Devourer-of-the-Dead (ibid. 319, 332).
38
Lucarelli 2013:12; cf. Shalomi-Hen 2000:39, 43–6.
39 40
Kousoulis 2011b:XIIn12; Lucarelli 2013:12. Lucarelli 2010.
41
Quack 2005:166. Regarding the Opening of the Mouth, see with references Hundley
2013a:168–86.
42
Goldwasser 2006:270; see further 2002:29–33 asserts that “constantly altering classifiers
or unstable classification may point to fringe membership in a category.”
43
Rituals and incantations identify individuals and their body parts as gods. However, this
does not suggest that humans are divine. Rather, they appeal to divine precedent to bring
divine power to bear on their circumstances. See, for example, the “divinization of the
limbs” (German Gliedervergottung); See CT 761; Nyord 2009:510–18.
What Is a God? 105
effectively minor, god who has been ‘perfected’ by assuming his role as
king.”44 In other words, the king is perfect because he perfectly fulfills his
role, not because he is a major god.45
Celestial bodies often are marked simply as celestial bodies, yet texts
mark them as divine when they want to express their numinous potency or
humanlike personality and agency (in keeping with HADD and ToM).
Certain abstract qualities are considered important potencies or principles
in the cosmos. For example, heka is a morally neutral power in the universe
that gods and humans use to transform their realities, while maat represents
cosmic order (in some ways reminiscent of Hindu dharma).46 To indicate
their numinous power and personify these potencies and principles, texts
may choose to divinize them. In other cases abstract qualities may be seen as
detachable divine attributes. For example, in the Book of the Dead, when
Re “cuts” his phallus (perhaps circumcising himself), the blood forms the
personified Hu (“authority”) and Sia (“mind”).47
As a general rule, animals are not divine. However, they may become
(potential) manifestations of or access points to deity.48 Texts likely use the
divine determinative to make this point. Texts more commonly identify
fantastic animals with the superordinate animal category, yet they may
choose to mark their otherness and potency with a divine determinative.
Texts likely label demons “divine” when they want to stress their member-
ship in the divine realm as lesser deities, and they may opt for a different
label when they want to stress their general antagonism toward humanity
or aggressive nature. Objects, like animals, may become access points to the
divine, whether the major gods or the blessed dead. In other cases, they may
be deified by contagion, owing to their close association with the major
gods and their cults. Texts especially personify objects that serve as access
points, likely giving them agency so that they may function as intended.
44
Baines 2000:38; see also Berlev 1981:362. Baines even suggests that “perfect god” may be
label for minor gods in contradistinction to major gods (2000:38).
45
The king in some ways resembles the Catholic pope, who is human yet carries the divine in
his papal office; so too “it can be shown that an astonishingly consistent distinction was
drawn between the divine character of the royal office and the human nature of the person
holding it” (Morenz 1971:37).
46
See conveniently the relevant entries in OEAE. Regarding heka, see Ritner 1993; Étienne
2000; Testa 2017; regarding Maat, see Assmann 1990; Teeter 1997.
47
Hart 2005:134. The episode resembles the severing of Ouranos’s testicles in Hesiod’s
Theogony that produces various divine beings including Aphrodite and the blood of the
fire kami creating other deities in the Japanese Kojiki; cf. also Anu’s severed testicles
impregnating the Hittite male Kumarbi.
48
Cf. Ray 2001.
106 Egyptian Gods

The Egyptian divine world is too complex and variable to be reduced to
a set of principles. Nonetheless, like their Mesopotamian and Hittite
counterparts, Egyptian deities broadly may be understood as anything
perceived to possess a power capable of positively or negatively affecting
humanity. Thus, as elsewhere, they are often understood in relation to us
and our world.
The major gods exercise power and control over the most import-
ant elements in our cosmos, and their prosperity determines the fate
of our world. For example, Re must daily defeat Apep for the sun to
rise.49 Divinized objects and animals are also important as access
points and as bearers of their own numinous power. For example,
neglecting the temples and the gods present in them could have dire
consequences for the world as well.50 Once enlivened through the
Opening of the Mouth ritual, the cult statue becomes a place of
power (sekhem [shm]).51 In the Greco-Roman period, the Insinger
˘
papyrus warns against neglecting small gods since they too have
52
power.
Various other qualities are characteristic of deities, although not
every deity need possess them. Humanlike agency is a common fea-
ture. In order to make the supernatural potencies understandable and
to give humans some agency over them, many of these beings are to
some degree predicated on the human model. Even malevolent
demons may be placated with offerings.53 Deities likewise tend to be
associated with elements in society that are considered impressive and
important, especially those that are largely beyond human control
(e.g., the Nile inundation and fertility). While seemingly innocuous,
time is largely beyond human control and important for Re’s solar
49
In the Eighteenth Dynasty; however, the importance of the battle with Apep (Apophis)
faded (Assmann 1989:68), perhaps as an expression of optimism (so Assmann) or the
emergence of Amun as primary deity in place of Re. Humans too participated in the fight
by spitting on and burning an effigy of Apep (the Greco-Roman Books of Overthrowing
Apep; Faulkner 1937).
50
Regarding the potential effects of divine neglect, see especially the Restoration Stele of
Tutankhamun (Baines 2011:46–55); for the text, see Bennett 1939; Urk. IV 2025–32;
translations in ANET 251–2; Murnane 1995:212–14.
51
Traunecker 2001:34–5; Hundley 2013a:195, 200.
52
Papyrus Insinger 24, 6; AEL 3:204; Hornung 1982:230–1. Černý (1952:71) contends
that the deities are “small” because they have only shrines, not temples.
53
Lucarelli 2010.
Divine (Re)Presentation 107
journey. Since Re’s journey is essential to cosmic order, each hour

requires a different deity to accompany and/or protect him.
Interestingly, in contrast to Hittite Anatolia and the Levant, rainfall
is of relatively minor importance. Because life revolves around the
Nile and rainfall is minimal, its presence is seen as unnecessary and
even menacing.54
The divine sphere also may be examined from a more holistic
perspective. Once again, identity and value are found in what deities
contribute to the group, not their individuality. Each deity then has
a role to play in the larger cosmos, and their importance is often
proportionate to the number and quality of their attributes. Together,
the divine world represents the Egyptian attempt to understand and to
some degree control the human world. Nonetheless, the divine world
and its pantheon is never systematized to the degree we find in
Mesopotamia.
Compared with Mesopotamia, Egyptian deities are not as bound to
place or to a specific function. While certain deities like the nome gods are
locally circumscribed and lesser deities commonly possess a fixed attribute
(e.g., the Devourer-of-the-Dead and consumption of the unworthy
dead),55 in the New Kingdom dozens of gods had hundreds of
temples.56 Even chief gods like Amun were worshipped in shrines across
Egypt.57 Likewise, while deities tend to have essential names and features,
many of their attributes and epithets “seem to be variable almost at will,
and are largely interchangeable with those of other deities.”58 As we will
see, even their essential features and names may be (temporarily) co-
opted.
divine (re)presentation
Given the complexity and fluidity of Egyptian deities, we consider how
Egyptians conceptualized and depicted their gods before turning to the
task of sorting the divine sphere. Major Egyptian gods are primarily
predicated on the human model, which forms the core of the divine
constellations. For example, Amun and Osiris, the supreme gods of the
54
Seth, often depicted as the god of chaos (isfet), is the primary storm god.
55 56
Regarding the Devourer, see Seeber 1976:163–84. Baines 2011:42.
57
Regarding the proliferation of Amun shrines beyond Thebes, see especially Guermeur
2005.
58
Hornung 1982:98.
108 Egyptian Gods
living and dead from the New Kingdom onward, are often depicted
anthropomorphically. In addition, most major gods speak, hear, think,
act, and relate in humanlike ways.59 This anthropomorphization of the
divine is both expected and profitable. HADD and ToM inform us that
humans tend to project humanlike minds and agency onto important
elements in our environment. Practically, as the dominant species and
only species we understand, humans are the most fitting model. In add-
ition, assuming that the powers in control of our world are humanlike
helps us understand, approach, and influence those powers. Thus, we give
ourselves some agency in a generally turbulent and uncontrollable world.
For example, understanding Osiris as a mummified humanoid god pro-
vides humans a successful prototype and hope that they too will live and
prosper beyond death if they take the proper precautions.
Nonetheless, while humanlike, the gods are far more, a difference that
texts and images highlight in various ways. The Egyptian gods primarily
distinguish themselves from humans and other deities in their accumula-
tion of names, attributes, and manifestations, which approximate but do
not capture the ineffable divine self.60 In fact, such multiplicity is also the
hallmark of order (maat). In ancient Egypt, unity is in some ways an
undesirable quality. It represents the infinite, inert, dark, and watery
chaos (isfet) from which creation emerged and that continues to threaten
the ordered world.61 In contrast, the created world emerges from watery
Nun, “the father of the gods,”62 as a singularity, which becomes order as
it divides and diversifies, becomes light and active.63 Indeed, the more
diverse a being, the more potent and important that being becomes.64
Major Egyptian gods are far more diverse and fluid in form than in
Mesopotamia. Most major gods are labeled “rich in manifestations”
(hprw) or “lord of manifestations,” “many face” (hrw) or “lord of
˘ ˘
faces.”65 These labels are borne out by the iconography, such that “a
deity shows many faces to an Egyptian and presents himself in many
59
See conveniently Wilkinson 2008.
60
For an exhaustive list of divine iconography, names, epithets, attributes, and manifest-
ations, see Leitz 2002–3.
61
Cf. the contrast between the stillness of Tiamat and activity of Marduk in Enuˉ ma eliš.
62
CT IV:189c; J. Allen 1988:21, 57.
63
Cf. the similar Hindu cosmology where Brahman, the supreme being, begins as a solitary
entity that divides itself to form the living cosmos (see, e.g., the Chandogya Upanishad
6.2:3, 6.3:2, 6.8:7).
64
Hornung 1982:170–85; J. Allen 1988:57.
65
Hornung 1982:126; Hundley 2013a:153–5.
forms.”66 These include physical phenomena, various cult statues of

different forms, and animals.67
Compared with elsewhere in the ANE, there is an overabundance of
visual renderings of the gods (e.g., statuary, stelae, wall reliefs, and draw-
ings, and textual descriptions). Egyptian deities were primarily displayed
in one of three forms: (1) human; (2) animal; or (3) hybrid, often either
a mixture of human and animal forms or a mixture of animal forms.68 The
mixed form with a human body and an animal head figured prominently
yet by no means fully usurped the other forms. Symbols and so-called
aniconic representation are also attested.69
In most instances, there were multiple ways of depicting the same god,
sometimes in the same place and even the same image.70 For example,
Thoth appeared variously in human form, as the moon, an ibis, a baboon,
or as a mixture of these elements, while a single statue at the Louvre
depicts together the diverse forms of Hathor: a cow, a lion-headed god-
dess, uraeus serpent, and a goddess with a sistrum on her head.71
Nonetheless, throughout much of Egyptian history, there were limits to
divine representation, limits that did not apply to written descriptions.72
While hymnic, ritual, and incantational language often added as many
appropriate epithets as possible, images were usually more moderate and
66
Hornung 1982:126; see also Baines 2000:27.
67
See with illustrations Lanzone 1885. For the textual evidence, see especially Leitz 2002–3.
68
Cornelius 1997:24; Hornung 2000:1713–16; Robins 2005:2.
69
For examples of each form, see Hundley 2013a: figs. 8.1–6. Symbols often appeared on
standards and staves (Cornelius 1997:26; see further Barta 1977; Seidel 1977; Wildung
1977), likely as a divine shorthand. On the aniconic in general, see Mettinger 1995: 49–56
regarding Egypt centered on the figures of the Aten and Amun.
70
Nonetheless, while variable, the divine form was not presented in infinite ways. For
example, Amun was never presented as the moon, a tree, or water (Hornung
1982:127–8).
71
Hornung 1982:126; see also Brunner-Traut 1990:117. For the multiple ways of express-
ing Hathor and Amun, see Cornelius 1997:23–6. On Hathor, see more fully Hornung
1982:110–14. See also Brunner-Traut 1990:117–18, regarding Thoth, Horus, Isis, Osiris,
and Hathor. Most deities also could in some sense combine with other deities, further
multiplying the range of possible manifestations (Hornung 1982:91–9). Regarding the
Hathor statue, see Vandier 1969; Hornung 1982:113. In some contexts, Hathor was even
depicted with multiple faces simultaneously (Derchain 1972: pls. 1–2).
72
If artists attempted to visually depict the rich and varied divine descriptors, they would
produce something that looked monstrous, since written and visual art play by different
rules. In addition, multiple, divine images were not inexhaustible. They had to correspond
to the deity’s “exact” form (BM 9999; Robins 2005:2; for a translation, see Murnane
1995:233). Rather than representing the “true” form, the exact form refers to the statue’s
exact correspondence to the model employed, such that it met the divine specifications,
whether anthropomorphic, zoomorphic, or mixed.
110 Egyptian Gods
combined images tended to remain aesthetically pleasing. In fact, artists

carefully crafted their images in such a way that hybridity appeared
natural.73 The long tripartite wig worn by most gods facilitated the
often seamless transition between human body and animal head by dis-
guising it.74 Flattening images into two dimensions also hid oddities that
would be apparent in three dimensions. For example, it is much simpler to
depict Khepry in two dimensions as a human with a scarab head.75
More monstrous forms were reserved for more intimidating deities,
whose forms, like their functions, were aggressive and intimidating. For
example, the Devourer-of-the-Dead was depicted as a combination of the
lion, hippopotamus, and crocodile.76 Nonetheless, from the late period
onward, artists transgressed earlier aesthetic sensibilities (and in many
cases our own) in visually combining “as many attributes as possible, not
even stopping short at the monstrous.”77
However, it is hard to know to what degree these representations
resemble divine reality. While the Egyptian deity showed many faces,
none was its true form (hprw), which remained inaccessible for living
˘
humans.78 Thus, visual depictions do not necessarily correspond to actual
divine forms (outside of the statue). Instead, each face visually
expresses one or more of the deity’s attributes.79 For example, rather
than expressing that the anthropomorphic deity has a rope head, the
Amduat presents it that way to express its function – that is, to bind
the damned in the underworld.80 Regarding the common mixed form,
deities most often featured an animal head and human body. Since
artists depicted anthropomorphic forms in standardized or idealized
rather than individual ways, other elements appeared to distinguish
73 74 75
Morenz 1971:21. Hornung 1982:115. Cf. Nyord 2013:151.
76
Hundley 2013a: fig. 8.7. See further Seeber 1976. 77
Hornung 2000:1716.
78
CT 491; de Buck 1956: 69c, 72d; translations in Faulkner 1973–8; Hornung 1982:124;
Tobin 1989:36. Texts also continually stressed that the divine form was “hidden” and
“mysterious” (Hornung 1982:117).
79
In some cases (i.e., in the Litany of Re), the images were not manifestations at all, but
rather aspects and functions of deity expressed pictorially (Hornung 2014:45). See
generally Tobin 1989:35–6; Silverman 1991:16–17; Hornung 2014:109–35; cf. Macy
Roth (1998 and 2006), who posits that mixed forms represent a nesting of forms in which
older forms were preserved alongside newer ones even in the same image. On Hathor in
particular, see Hornung 1982:113. According to Hornung, the mixed form is
a hieroglyph of sorts, a way of writing “the nature and function of the deity in question”
(ibid. 124). Or it is an “ideogram,” a pictorial sign that conveys but does not exhaust
meaning (Frankfort 1948:12). Although the attributes presented in the various forms
could allude to the deity in question, they did not encapsulate it (cf. Hornung 1982:117).
80
Hornung 1982:118–21; see fig. 8.6.
between deities.81 The nonhuman head was a divine marker of sorts,

distinguishing one deity from the next and highlighting the aspects of
the deity’s nature embodied in the animal. However, artists used the
same animal to represent multiple deities. For example, multiple
goddesses appear with a cat or lioness head as an approximation of
their power and danger.82 In such cases, additional elements on the
deities’ heads and in their hands simultaneously distinguish between
them and revealed more of their character.83 For example, Sekhmet
often appears as a lioness-headed woman with a solar disc atop her
head to indicate her status as the daughter of the sun god Re. Isis
often appears in fully anthropomorphic form and could only be
distinguished by the throne symbol atop her head.
Secondary (and often less anthropomorphically conceived) deities com-
monly bore more hybrid forms or had human heads and animal bodies. As
an amalgamation of the most dangerous animals in the Egyptian environ-
ment, the Devourer-of-the-Dead embodied the power and menace appro-
priate to the protector of the underworld. The sphinx’s often human head
and mixed animal body distinguished it from both the more anthropo-
morphic major gods and the more monstrous and menacing figures like
the Devourer. Its aesthetically pleasing, powerful, and hybrid form made
it an appropriate protector of sacred space. Bes is another interesting
example of a popular, abnormal, dwarf-like figure. Nonetheless, while
hybrid, his appearance was not particularly menacing, especially in later
periods. Together, his seemingly benign abnormality made Bes a popular
apotropaic figure who by his ugliness deterred evil spirits and protected
pregnant women and children.84
In addition to multiple manifestations, deities had multiple names and
epithets.85 Names expressed the complexity and potency of the name
bearer, such that complex and important beings required multiple
names since their potency and potentiality could not be expressed in
81
Regarding the standardized human form, see Weeks 1979:60–1; Bolshakov 1997:214–
60; Nyord 2013:138–9.
82
Wilkinson 2003:176–83.
83
Generally, though, universal attributes of deity appear in the hands (especially life and
power), while specific attributes appear on the head.
84
Wilkinson 2003:102–4; Hart 2005:49–50.
85
See Brunner 1975; Hornung 1982:86–91; Assmann 2001a:83–7. Osiris and Isis, in
particular, were referred to as “multi-named” (Brunner-Traut 1990:189n24), while Re
was addressed with seventy-five appellations (Hornung 1975–6; Brunner-Traut
1990:189n24). The longest name lists may be found in the Book of Hours (Faulkner
1958; Brunner-Traut 1990:189n24).
112 Egyptian Gods
a single word.86 For example, kings bore at least two names and at least
five throne names, while deities, reflective of their greater status, had many
more names.87 Like each manifestation, each name and epithet high-
lighted a particular form, function, attribute, or potency. Together, multi-
plying names and manifestations expressed the divine potency,
competencies, and spheres of influence.
Like manifestations, a deity’s names and epithets were mere approxi-
mations, descriptors that illuminated divine characteristics and ascribed
them to a name associated with the divine person. However, the deity’s
true name remained hidden, even from the other gods.88 Thus, by present-
ing themselves in multiple ways yet withholding their true selves from
public consumption, deities simultaneously made themselves accessible
yet distant, seen yet hidden, known yet mysterious. While every visual and
verbal representation truly reflects the deity it depicts, it remains partial.
The accumulation of names and manifestations may approach divine
plenitude, yet the deity remains ineffably beyond classification, free to
withhold parts of itself and to express itself in new ways.
Concealing the true divine nature while presenting variable facades
serves multiple purposes in Egyptian texts and images, each appropriate
to the context in which it appears. Withholding the true divine nature
while reserving the right to ever expand on its revealed attributes effect-
ively makes the deity limitless. As we will see, the deity can become
whatever the situation needs it to be.
Divine Overlap
Divine characters in Egypt overlap more than in Mesopotamia, yet do not
overlap without redundancy as among the Hittites.89 Divine epithets,
manifestations, and attributes seem especially fluid in Egypt. While ascribed
to a single deity, they may also be applied to virtually any other deity.90 For
86
Koch 1993a:37.
87
Regarding pharaonic names, see von Beckerath 1999:1–9 and passim.
88
See especially the episode involving Isis and Re, where Re must reveal his name to be freed
from the poison threatening his life. After sharing a litany of epithets, Re finally whispers
his true name to escape death (Piankoff 1964:56–9; Hornung 1975–7; see conveniently
ANET 12–14; COS 1.22).
89
While the disappearance of a god may have significant local consequences, in most cases
there are too many local and universal deities who could fill their role to cause significant
alarm. Only major, universal gods like Re and the sun are indispensable. Even they may
be known by different names or subsumed into other characters.
90
Hornung 1982:90, 98.
example, the titles “king of the gods,” “lord of the gods,” and “chief of the
gods” apply to major and relatively minor gods alike, including Amun,
Amon-Re, Re, Ptah, Horus, Osiris, Hersaphes, Onuris, and Pakhet.91
Regarding manifestations, in the New Kingdom Hathor and Isis often
appear largely identical such that one only may distinguish between them
by the captions giving their names.92 Regarding attributes, “several female
deities (e.g., Nut, Isis, Hathor, Sakhmet, Tefnut, Bastet, Pakhet) could be
considered goddesses of the sky, sunshine, East, motherhood, etc.”93
Indeed, while major gods may be specialists, local believers often
preferred their local gods to be generalists. Since most believers had
limited access to deities, they wished for their local one to be able to
meet whatever need they had.94 Thus, the believer could ascribe to any
single god all the attributes of the other gods or at least whatever attribute
they needed.95 As we will see, even in other contexts, one ascribed to the
deity before them all the requisite skills whether or not they need to be
borrowed from another source.96
In other cases, Egyptian gods may share their names as well as the
associated epithets, attributes, and manifestations. To some degree,
Egyptian gods even may share their very persons.97 Virtually every
Egyptian deity mixes names with another.98 Egyptian texts feature such
combinations as Re-Atum, Re-Horakhty, Amon-Re, Ptah-Sokar(-Osiris),
Sokar-Re, Khons-Re, and Hathor-Isis.99 More complex combinations
also feature like Amon-Re-Horakhty-Atum and Harmachis-Khepry-Re-
Atum.100 Combinations may even occur across gender: Neith-Osiris,
Mut-Min, Horus-Sothis, and Sothis-Horus.101
Nonetheless, each divine merger is only temporary, ranging from mil-
lennia to mere moments. While merged, each deity also retains its distinct
identity, which could simultaneously form multiple new combinations.102
Combined names even feature alongside the individual deities in the same
91
See with references Hornung 1982:231–4.
92 93
Ibid. 126; see also Münster 1968:119–20. Janák 2011:124.
94 95
See with references Morenz 1971:28. Hornung 1982:236; cf. Morenz 1971:140.
96
Cf. the contrast between the perspective of the worshipper and the priest or scribe
(Hornung 1982:235–7 and 2014:59–60).
97 98
See the classic study of Bonnet and Baines 1999. Koch 1993a:40.
99
Hornung 1982:91–9; Koch 1993a:39–42; Baines 2000:31–5.
100
Hornung 1982:97. For the former combination, see Barguet 1962:256; Medinet Habu
1962: pl. 430B col. 1; with the last two elements reversed, Plantikow-Münster 1969:120;
Koch 1993a:40; for the latter, see Urk. IV 1542, 17.
101
See with references Hornung 1982:97n118.
102
Hornung (1982:97) compares them to chemical compounds.
114 Egyptian Gods
text and/or scene. For example, at Abydos Ptah-Sokar, Ptah, and Sokar all
feature on the same wall, while a hymn praises Amon-Re-Atum-Horakhty
only to feature each deity separately later in the same composition.103
How then should we explain this fluidity? Rather than positing a divine
symbiosis, “the deity worshiped under the combined name is single and
has the ‘identity’ of the first name.”104 The second name often functions as
an epithet of the first deity.105 “It is as if the process of personification
occurs in reverse: instead of a powerful concept becoming a deity, a deity
is reduced from being a full ‘person’ to being a concept or designator of
a quality.”106 In effect, the second deity represents a role, association, or
attribute that is particularly relevant to the first deity in a certain situation,
whether rhetorical or ritual. The borrowed attribute often specifies the
role or identity of the first deity in the text or scene.107 For example, Amun
borrows the ancient authority as well as creative and solar aspects of Re as
Amon-Re, which also allows the hidden god to be visibly manifest.108 In
the longer expression, Amon-Re-Horakhty-Atum, Amun co-opts all the
solar attributes. Ptah as Ptah-Sokar borrows the mortuary aspect from
Sokar. In various combinations with Re as the first name, Re absorbs the
other elements of the solar cycle into his person (e.g., the morning sun of
Khepry and the evening sun of Atum). Harmachis (the Great Sphinx)
represents the sun god in his various forms in Harmachis-Khepry-Re-
Atum.109
However, in at least one instance, deities seem to merge their very
beings. In the evening, Re merges with Osiris in the underworld, such
that the corpse of the sun god is simultaneously the corpse of Osiris in the
Amduat.110 Osiris as king of the dead becomes the night sun that awakens
the dead from their slumber, while Re as the sun dies nightly, sharing
a corpse with the king of the dead. Nonetheless, the merger is only
temporary as Re reappears as the morning sun in the horizon, leaving
behind both Osiris and death.111
103 104
Koch 1993a:40. See further ÄHG 195. Baines 2000:32.
105 106
Cf. regarding the Greco-Roman period, Kurth 1977. Baines 2000:35.
107
In contrast to Mesopotamia, the second deity often outranks the first (Baines 2000:34).
Nonetheless, rather than being a rule (with some exceptions), it is more likely a matter of
practicality. When given the option, one often borrows from a superior deity, especially
when that deity has more powers and prestige than a lesser god.
108
Amon-Re “made his first manifestation (hprw) as Re” (ÄHG 88; Hornung 1982:93).
109
Hornung 1982:97–8. ˘
110
Hornung 1963:124 and 1982:95. Their names also seem to be interchangeable.
111
Hornung 1982:95–6; Baines 2000:33–4.
The Problem of Myth

In Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia nonnarrative texts tend to present
a more fluid portrait of deity than narrative texts, which typically presents
a deity as a single, fully integrated whole. In Egypt the situation is more
complex.112 There is a general lack of mythological narrative texts in
ancient Egypt.113 Significant myths seem to have been prevalent orally
judging from various allusions to them. However, rather than having
a fixed structure, they were flexible, variable, and seemingly inconsistent.
The extensive Egyptian narrative myths popular today were recorded
later, most often by outsiders. For example, the Greek Plutarch wrote the
first extensive narrative of the Osiris myth in the first century CE. Instead,
native Egyptian mythology primarily appears embedded in funerary,
ritual, and hymnic contexts. The most likely exception, the late New
Kingdom Contendings of Horus and Seth, may have primarily been told
for entertainment value.114
The reason for a dearth of narrative myth remains a mystery. For our
purposes, we should be careful not to assume that the more prevalent
funerary, ritual, and hymnic texts (as well as the myths embedded in those
texts) speak for all of Egypt. In many cases these texts include mytho-
logical elements to co-opt the power of myth as precedent for ritual
purposes.115 These texts need to be read in the context in which they
appear and alongside other voices. With this disclaimer in mind, the
mythological narratives preserved demonstrate a greater fluidity than
112
See conveniently Tobin 2001b:459; J. Foster 2001. For a survey of the preserved myths
broken down into creation myths, the Osiris cycle, the solar cycle, and the lunar cycle,
see OEAE “Myth,” 464–82. For a survey of scholarly approaches, see Baines 1991;
Goebs 2002.
113
Cf. the similar situation in ancient China over against the national mythology of Japan
found in the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki; regarding Chinese mythology, see Birrell 1999.
114
For a translation, see AEL 2:214–23; LAE 91–103; Goebs argues that the purpose of
myth lay in its flexibility, its ability to adapt to the context in which it is employed. She
further suggests that they were not recorded until relatively late to preserve this flexibility
(2002:58–9). While possible, this solution may confuse correlation for causation. The
lack of a fixed form allowed them to be creatively adapted for various ritual purposes, yet
there is no indication that flexibility caused the lack of a fixed form. In fact, more fixed
mythical forms did not prevent adjacent cultures from creatively adapting them for ritual
purposes.
115
See Bjerke 1965:205. The preservation of myth for ritual purposes need not suggest that
myths only existed for ritual purposes. Rather, ritual associations merely seem to be
a motivation for writing myths down.
116 Egyptian Gods
those in Mesopotamia in the details and especially in the fluid presenta-

tions of the characters themselves. For example, in the Myth of the
Heavenly Cow (itself from the New Kingdom royal tombs), Hathor serves
as the eye of Re before becoming the wrathful Sekhmet.116
As in Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia, major Egyptian deities consist of
a constellation of aspects, which may act and be treated (semi-)independ-
ently. Major gods have an anthropomorphic core that renders them under-
standable and approachable. While the core, like the true name and form,
remains hidden, the deity reveals itself to humanity through various names,
epithets, attributes, and manifestations, which together approximate the
divine character. While theoretically an expression of a single deity, epi-
thets, attributes, and manifestations may be treated (semi-)independently.
As a deity, like a person, finds value and identity in the accumulation of
their various roles, each aspect in the constellation adds to the divine
profile. As a result, while each aspect may be fully divine, each is not the
fullness of the deity since the fullness lies in the accumulation of its
multiple names, epithets, attributes, and manifestations. Even then, the
collected profile of a deity is merely an approximation; the divine essence
remains hidden and can always express itself in new ways.
While some degree of independence is acceptable and even profitable,
there remains some danger of divine fragmentation; the semi-independent
aspects may become fully independent and split from the constellation
entirely. Like a star cluster, the aspects closest to the anthropomorphic
core are more firmly connected to that core and, as one moves further out
from the center, the core exerts an increasingly smaller gravitational pull,
giving these elements greater independence. Otherwise discrete deities
also may combine their aspects and even their very selves without losing
their individuality. Once again, Egyptian deities are like LEGO, who may
be taken apart, put back together again, and combined with other deities
to form new, distinct, and nearly limitless combinations.
Attested from 1500–380 BCE, the Litany of Re evokes the sun god in
seventy-five different forms, especially related to his underworld
journey.117 The forms are not manifestations, but rather aspects or epithets
116
See note 10 for details; cf. the Hindu Devi Mahatmya, where Durga becomes the
bloodthirsty Kali to defeat the demon hoard.
117
Piankoff 1964; Hornung 1975–6.
of the deity expressed verbally and visually.118 In the process, Re incorpor-

ates some of the pantheon into his person including feminine goddesses and
their qualities, though each retains its individual identity. Many of the other
forms are imaginative reconstructions of different aspects of the divine
character necessary to traverse the underworld. While originally attributes
of Re, these figurative expressions of deity become deities in their own right
by the late New Kingdom.119 These new deities serve as divine protectors of
the newly deceased, and in the Late period get divine determinatives of their
own.120 Rather than being an expression of solar pantheism or solely an
intellectual exercise, the litany’s location in primarily royal tombs indicates
that it likely served a practical function. The sun god is a fitting addressee
for the deceased as he daily demonstrates the resurrection they hope to
achieve. He journeys through the underworld when the sun sets bringing
his light to rejuvenate the world of the dead, only to be daily reborn. Instead
of appealing to multiple other deities, the litany pragmatically assigns all
the other potencies he might need on his journey (and they might need on
theirs) to him. Temporary divine mergers too create new gods or at least
(semi-)independent manifestations, while simultaneously adding to the
profile of the primary deity. For example, Amon-Re is treated as distinct
from Amun and Re, yet he is also a significant addition to Amun’s
constellation.121
The priests of Amun take the language of the solar hymns one step
further, likely at least in part as a means of justifying his primacy among
the gods. However, instead of leading to the production of new gods, their
rhetoric led to the incorporation of the gods into Amun’s person. By the
reign of Rameses II, texts present all the gods as expressions of the singular
Amun.122 Texts call Amon-Re the “hidden ba,” the invisible power that
animates or manifests as the gods or the cosmos itself.123 A Ramesside
hymn describes him as the “one who makes himself into millions” (jrj
sw).124 In another common refrain, he is “the one alone who created what
is, the illustrious ba of gods and humans.”125 Thus, while the gods
118 119 120

Hornung 2014:45. Ibid. 46, 55. Ibid. 47, 55; cf. 59–60.
121
“Amon-Re is not the synthesis of Amun and Re but a new form that exists along with the
two older gods” (Hornung 1982:97). The merger pragmatically acknowledges Re while
rhetorically assimilating him.
122
J. Allen 2006:84–5. 123 Assmann 2004:186–9.
124
Papyrus Mag. Harris IV:1–2; Davies 1953: pl. 32, 1; ÄHG 129:1–6; Assmann 2004:188.
125
Hymn to the primeval god in the “Livre que mon fleurisse,” pBerlin 3030.VIII–IX;
pLouvre 33361.1–16; pBrussels published by Speleers 1921; Assmann 2004:189.
118 Egyptian Gods
maintain their individuality, they are simultaneously absorbed into

Amun’s constellation.126
Divine attributes also may be added or detached as the context dictates.
When in the Book of the Dead Re “cuts” his phallus to form the personi-
fied Hu (“authority”) and Sia (“mind”), the text graphically expresses the
idea that qualities that were originally ascribed to Re now have some
measure of independence (cf. the Litany of Re).127 In the other direction,
Ptah partially assimilates Tatenen, the previously distinct Memphite pri-
meval mound in such forms as Ptah-Tatenen, while Ben, the originally
distinct avian deity associated with the primeval mound at Heliopolis
becomes a representative of Atum, Re, and Osiris.128
Major deities have multiple local cultic manifestations that alterna-
tively may be treated as part of the single deity or as (semi-)independent.
Amun’s cultic expansion differs from those of the high gods in
Mesopotamia, Marduk and Aššur, who primarily limit their statued
presence to a single temple at least in part to limit divine fragmentation.
While Amun was attached to a single city, Thebes, his cult spread through-
out Egypt and beyond. Some of the expansion was state-sponsored, yet
unlike Aššur, Amun garnered significant public support, rendering his
expansion seemingly inevitable. While not explicit, it seems that expan-
sion in temples as in epithets and attributes increased the profile of a single
deity, even though each statue was treated as semi-independent. As we
will see, each manifestation extended his tangible presence and added new
associations and competencies to the Amun constellation.
Amun had a significant presence in at least three temples in his Theban
home at Karnak, Luxor, and Medinet Habu, housing respectively Amun-
of-Karnak, Amun-of-Luxor, and Amun-of-Medinet-Habu. In Memphis,
Amun appears as Amun-of-Khentynefer, Amun-of-Perunefer, Amun-of-
Khasut, Amun-Who-Presides-over-Temples, and Amun, Lord-of-True-
Lapis-Lazuli.129 In fact, the Theban pantheon spread throughout Egypt
and beyond to the oases and Nubia.130 The primary Hibis temple in the
Kharga Oasis in the western desert is dedicated to Amun – that is, the
anthropomorphic Amun-of-Karnak and the ram-headed Amun-of-Hibis
126
As we will see under Innovation and Competition, such rhetoric does not attempt to
establish monotheism, monolatry, or even pantheism.
127
Hart 2005:134.
128
Ibid. 130, 212. Tatenen originally was the god of the primeval earth and only secondarily
of the primeval mound that emerged from the waters (Schlögel 1980).
129
Guermeur 2005:9–71; cf. Pasquali 2009, who adds more Memphite names and epithets.
130
Amun’s presence is even felt in the Levant; Schipper 2003:256 and 2005:180–1.
share the sanctuary.131 In New Kingdom Nubia, Tutankhamun dedicates

Temple A at Kawa to Amun-of-Thebes and Amun-on-Kawa, the latter of
whom grants Tutankhamun rule over “all countries and every foreign
land.”132 The sanctuary of Mut Temple B 300 at Napata, the capital of
Kush, features a double scene of the Kushite pharaoh Taharqa of the
Twenty-fifth Dynasty’s legitimation by Amun-of-Thebes and Amun-of-
Napata. Taharqa’s temple at Kawa is likewise a dual temple dedicated to
Amun-of-Kawa and Amun-of-Karnak. In addition, whereas Amun-of-
Karnak is manifest as an anthropomorphic cult statue, the Nubian Amuns
are localized in ram-headed statues.133 Even the consorts of the Amuns are
differentiated: Amun-of-Karnak is partnered with Mut-of-Karnak, Amun-of
-Napata is with Mut-of-Napata, and Amun-of-Kawa is with Anukis.134
The relation between the celestial Amun and the various localized
Amuns is not explicit, yet it seems variable based on context, especially
genre. Hymnic literature and prayers tend to focus on a singular universal
Amun with any reference to local manifestations as extensions of that
singular person. They aim to promote the best and most comprehensive
deity. To do so, they envisage the deity as singular, not multiple.135 The
cult; however, treats each local manifestation as distinct.136 This discon-
nect between temple and hymnody finds expression in the general mis-
match between temple iconography and solar hymns.137
As we will discuss more fully in what follows, each cult statue functions
like an animated body that makes the otherwise distant deity
accessible.138 The local Amuns then seem to refer specifically to their
131
Darnell, Klotz, and Manassa 2013:3–4; cf. ibid. 1–31 regarding the Gueita temple and
Laziridis 2015 regarding the Amon-Re, Lord-of-the-Sky inscriptions on the rocks on the
road between the Kharga and Dakhla oases. Amun-of-Hibis is also attested in the Nile
valley; Klotz 2006:9.
132
See with references Török 1997:307.
133
It is possible that the anthropomorphic form of Amun-of-Karnak marks it as the primary
cult statue of Amun or an anthropomorphic form may be most appropriate to the regal
aspect it represents (about which see later in this chapter).
134
Ibid. 307–8.
135
Cf. the Osiris hymn (Louvre C.286; AEL 2:81–6; ÄHG2 213; COS 1.26), which praises
the singular Osiris for his multiple manifestations throughout Egypt.
136
Cf. Gulyás 2007:32.
137
Cf. ibid. 32–4, who attributes the discrepancy to the poor state of preservation in the
sanctuaries. In contrast, he argues that the better-preserved southernmost halls of the
Luxor temple preserve an image of a solitary Amun in keeping with the hymnody. While
possible, what is left of other New Kingdom temples seem to reflect a different mindset,
thus making the presentation of Amun at Karnak an anomaly.
138
Regarding Egyptian cult statues, see more fully Hundley 2013a:153–206.
120 Egyptian Gods
manifestations in cult images. While they are related, each statue seems to
be treated as an independent, self-propelled agent in the cult. Such indi-
vidualized treatment practically ensures that the priests do not neglect any
living manifestation. In the daily cult, the priest declares, “I have not
equated your nature with that of another god.”139 One may assume the
text refers to cosmic or mythic deities, yet directing the statement at the
cult statue in the context of the daily cult implies the priest addresses each
statue as distinct in nature. This differentiation even may be extended to
the point that localized Amuns are understood as different deities
altogether.
In most cases, the cult image serves as an extension of the god that
concretizes his presence. For example, Amun-of-the-Road is a cult image
that serves as a messenger (wpwtyw) of Amun in the Tale of Wenamun.
The statue is not the same as Amun, yet it extends his presence “on the
road” – that is, in foreign lands.140 Since a deity is loosely understood as
the sum of its roles and responsibilities, when two or more cult images are
in close proximity, each often becomes a specialist to share the divine load.
For example, the Theban Amuns, Amun-of-Karnak and Amun-of-
Medinet-Habu, respectively represent Amun as king of the gods and
Amun as creator.141 Even two statues of the “same” deity within the
same temple may perform different roles, each embodying an aspect of
deity. For example, the bark statue goes out on procession while the
primary cult image remains in its shrine to receive daily care and
feeding.142 Rather than being interchangeable, each seems uniquely
equipped to fulfill the task for which it was created.
In Egypt the ba and ka are integral aspects of each divine constellation,
which, like the gods, are divisible without diminishment. Since a deity is
divisible without diminishment, it also could have multiple bas and
kas just as it could have multiple manifestations in multiple cult
images.143 The ka, loosely understood, is the vital force that animates
a physical form, whether a person or statue. It is depicted as two upraised
139
Moret 1902:59; Hornung 1982:185. Texts also assert that every Egyptian god is
“unique in his fashion (w ḥr hw.f)” (ibid.).
140
Cf. Schipper 2007:11–12. ˘
141
Klotz 2006:9. The same division of labor seems to apply to Amun-of-Karnak and Amun-
of-Hibis who share the same Hibis temple (ibid.). See similarly the multiple Marduk
statues in Chapter 1 and the multiple Dagan statues in Chapter 4.
142
Robins 2005:10, after Kruchten 2001:609; Hundley 2013a:159, 203. For a similar
distinction regarding Hindu temples, see Fuller 1992:58.
143
arms, likely symbolizing the ka embracing the person or body. Once

established, it is largely stationary. In contrast, the ba is the mobile soul
or immaterial essence, depicted as a bird with a human head in the New
Kingdom.144 The divine ba manifests itself in the physical phenomena the
deity controlled. For example, “The wind, it is the ba of Shu; the rain, it is
the ba of Heh (liquid space); the night, it is the ba of Kek (darkness); water,
it is the ba of Nun (the primordial ocean); the ram of Mendes, it is the ba of
Osiris; the crocodiles, they are the ba of Sobek.”145
During the Nineteenth Dynasty, Re possessed fourteen kas, which
later, especially Greco-Roman, times receive names.146 These names are
associated with divine attributes, especially those that benefit
humanity.147 They also may be concretized in cult statues, such that the
fourteen kas serve as a representative sample of all the cult images of Re
throughout the land.148 While each ka is fully Re, each is not the fullness
of Re since the fullness lies in the accumulation of his multiple names,
epithets, attributes, and manifestations. The idea of each manifestation
being part of a larger whole and that each acts (semi-)independently finds
pictorial representation in the fourteen kas of Re appearing in
a procession bringing their wealth to Re himself.149
Re also possesses seven bas, each given a name associated with a divine
attribute, which alternatively may be understood as expressions of
a singular divine being or semi-independent, self-propelled agents.150
Not to be outdone, Amun accumulates ten bas, each of which animates
a sector of the universe.151 Since each is associated with a competency,
multiple bas, like multiple kas, expand the divine constellation, indicating
its diversity and range.
While a degree of independence is profitable, a threat remains that
divine aspects become fully independent and, thus break off from the
divine constellation. For example, in the Litany of Re, the many attributes
ascribed to Re become independent protective deities.152 Late texts also
144
See conveniently J. Allen 2001:161–2; Bolshakov 2001:215–17.
145
From the Book of the Heavenly Cow, quoting Traunecker 2001:33. For a translation,
see AEL 2:197–9; LAE 289–98.
146
The Coffin Texts assign to Re a “million kas,” likely as an expression of his embodiment
of all the natural elements that sustain life (Traunecker 2001:33).
147 148
Ibid. 33–4. Rothöhler 2008, especially 201; Hundley 2013a:200–1.
149
For example, in Greco-Roman Dendara; Rothöhler 2008:202.
150
CT 261; Traunecker 2001:33. For a translation, see Faulkner 1973–8:199–201.
151
Traunecker 2001:88. As noted, Amun is also the “hidden ba” who animates the cosmos.
152
Perhaps, in part, popular worship takes the description of Re to be excessive, going
beyond acceptable bounds, and thus, assigns the surplus to other deities.
122 Egyptian Gods
use epithets as autonomous names (divine displacement or

antonomasia).153 In particular in the temples of El-Qala and Shenhur in
the Theban region, “The Great-Goddess” (tꜢ ntrt ˁꜢt) and “The Lady-of-
Joy” (nbt jhj) were worshipped as manifestations ̄ of Isis and Nephtys in
the Roman period. Thus, the goddesses were effectively replaced by an
epithet, such that all that remains of them is their gender. Nonetheless,
especially in the case of Isis, the Great-Goddess is clearly Isis herself, since
she reigns in the Isis temple.154 In addition, calling her the Great-Goddess
elevates her above other goddesses. As the quintessential goddess, she
comes to embody the traits of all the other goddesses, in some way
absorbing them into her constellation.155
Combined Constellations
The relationship between a deity and its multiple parts as well as the
relationship between multiple deities may best be understood via
a combination of astronomical and business analogies. As in Hittite
Anatolia and Mesopotamia, a singular deity may be understood as
a constellation of detachable aspects. Like a business franchise, each deity
may be understood differently in different contexts. The name “Amun”
may refer to: (1) a specific manifestation; (2) a single, larger divine entity
that includes the totality of the individual aspects and manifestations; or (3)
a collection of distinct deities that share the same forename.
In Hittite Anatolia, we discussed the relationship between distinct
deities who bear the same forename as god groups, collective constella-
tions, or groups of related stores. While each deity may have its own
“chain stores,” many weather gods are not part of the same individual
constellation. Instead, they are part of a larger god group, collective
constellation, or group of related stores like fast food labeled “all the
weather gods.” While each weather god, like each fast food chain, offers
roughly the same products, each remains distinct.
Collective constellations do not feature in ancient Egypt. Egyptians do
not seem to have explicit god groups, like all the sun, mortuary, serpent,
feline, or fertility gods.156 Instead, the relationship between different but
related gods can be better described as combined constellations. Rather
than being entirely discrete or a member of a group, gods overlap in whole
or in part with each other to form more expansive combined
153
Traunecker 1997:171–3; Willems, Coppens, and De Meyer 2003:14–18.
154 155 156
Baines 2000:35. Cf. ibid. Janák 2011:121.
constellations. These combined constellations may function like mergers,

start-ups connected to the parent company(ies), or corporate takeovers.
By analogy, distinct companies may merge into a single company with
a shared name or may (temporarily) overlap on a shared initiative or to
launch a product that bears both their names. In the former case, the
companies lose their individuality, while in the latter they retain it. The
new venture alternatively may be understood as an extension of both
companies or a third semi-independent entity, connected to yet distinct
from the source companies. In the latter case, it resembles a start-up that is
independent from yet affiliated with the parent companies. This situation
may be best illustrated with the modern phenomenon of two distinct
universities jointly launching a third university. For example, the
National University of Singapore (NUS) and Yale University cofounded
Yale-NUS. Yale and NUS maintain their full autonomy, while Yale-NUS
is a third entity, related to but distinct from the parent companies.
Whether the new university is fully independent or part of the Yale and
NUS constellations remains a matter of debate and perspective. In either
case, the parent universities share in its successes and failures. Finally, in
a corporate takeover originally independent companies are bought by and
become part of a larger corporation, even though they often keep their
own names, identities, and independent operations.
Among the Egyptian gods Osiris and Re fully merge, such that the two
gods become one. However, while their merger recurs each day, it is only
temporary. In the case of the hyphenated divine names, the divine merger
is partial and temporary. While their shared venture produces a third
semi-independent entity, both deities continue to exist independently.
The third semi-independent entity is not a full merger of deities either. It
primarily bears the identity of the first divine name and adds to it
a particular quality of the second named deity. For example, Amon-Re
creates a new entity, Amun acting as Re in his capacity as manifest solar
and creator god. Whether Amon-Re is simply Amun in a different form or
a semi-independent entity in its own right remains a matter of debate.
Hymns especially tend to understand Amon-Re as a manifestation of
Amun, while ritual texts treat them as distinct entities worthy of individ-
ual attention and offerings. Whether detachable from it or not, Amon-Re
adds to the larger constellation of Amun and to some degree that of Re as
well. Nonetheless, while it lasts for millennia, the Amon-Re merger is not
permanent; it remains intact as long as it is profitable and can be dissolved
at any time. As such, Amon-Re can be considered a start-up under the
control of the parent company (or companies). While it bears some
124 Egyptian Gods
independence, it remains connected to the parent companies that share in

its success and failure. While semi-independent, Amon-Re owes its con-
tinued existence to the pleasure of Amun (and Re).
Similarly, with Re, divine attributes may act as start-ups that partially
break off from the parent deity yet remain affiliated. For example, while
originally characteristics of Re, the Book of the Dead personifies Hu and
Sia as semi-independent beings. In the Litany of Re as well, the figurative
descriptions of deity later become independent, affiliated beings.
Ptah’s partial assimilation of Tatenen and the partial assimilation of Be
by Atum, Re, and Osiris resemble a corporate takeover. Tatenen and Ben
retain their names, identities, and functions, yet lose some measure of
independence when they become part of the larger divine corporation.
One could also assert that Re assimilates the other aspects of the solar
cycle – Khepry, Harakhty, and Atum – such that they become part of the
Re corporation even though they retain some independence. In the case of
Amun, the claim that he is the source of all the other deities is akin to
a corporate takeover. Rather than merely co-opting all the sun gods,
Amun co-opts all the gods. While the other gods continue to be self-
propelled agents, they owe their existence to Amun as source and sus-
tainer. Nonetheless, while acceptable to Re and Amun supporters, the
rhetoric of divine takeover may not convince others, notably the deities
they co-opt and their followers.
Access Points
While humans and the gods originally dwelt together, the Myth of the
Heavenly Cow portrays the gods retreating to the sky in the face of human
rebellion.157 Following the divine-human fissure, the gods “dwelt outside
of the human world and the realm of human experience.”158 The gods and
the blessed dead inhabited the celestial realm (pt) and the underworld
(dwꜢt), while living humans were limited to earth (tꜢ).159 In order to bridge
the gap, the gods provided various access points: the king, divine statues,
images, animals, and celestial phenomena.
Divine withdrawal led to the founding of the state. According to the
Heliopolitan cosmogony, after several divine rulers (Re, Shu, Geb, Osiris,
157 158
Assmann 2001a:113–16. Robins 2005:12.
159
Ibid. 2. The world seems to have been originally bipartite, earth and heaven, which was
the setting for the gods and the dead. The Middle Kingdom added the netherworld,
giving us a tripartite world (Hornung 1982:227–8).
and Horus), kingship passed to the human pharaoh. As the possessor of

the divine ka-spirit, the king represented the gods on earth. Like the two
bodies of the medieval European monarch, the Egyptian pharaoh is
a combination of human and divine.160 His divinity lay in the mantle of
divine kingship, which passed from the gods to humanity.161 When the
king died, he became associated with Re and Osiris.162 The mantle of
kingship, often associated with Horus as the last divine king, passed to the
next to be coronated. When alive the bearer of the royal ka ruled as and on
behalf of the gods.
While endowed with a divine office and imbued with the divine spirit,
the king himself remained a mortal man. Egyptians, thus sought other and
more direct connections to the gods.163 Temples represented divine homes
and cult statues divine bodies.164 Filled with the divine ba and enlivened
by the Opening of the Mouth ritual, which likewise brought life to
mummified bodies, the cult statue became the living god.165 As I said
elsewhere, “the deity’s ba, its mobile power, joins with and indwells its
cultically enlivened body (statue), endowing it with the divine ka (vital
force) and making it a place of power (sekhem). The divine servants direct
subsequent cultic attention, especially worship and food offerings (kau),
to the divine ka, which must be sustained and daily renewed.”166 Each
statue, thus allowed humans to directly interact with the deity, especially
through cultic care and feeding, and each also allowed some measure of
divine-human communication through oracles.
Since the Egyptian deity is divisible without diminishment, it simultan-
eously may be present in each statue and each statue may hold the full
complement of divine powers. Theoretically, the king as divine represen-
tative on earth serves as the sole intermediary between heaven and earth.
160
For comparison with the European monarch, see Bell 1985:293–4. Regarding the
European conception, see further Kantorowicz 1957.
161
Bell 1985 and 1997:137–44. Regarding the origin of earthly kingship with the gods, see
Hornung 1982:232; Assmann 2001a:17 and 2004:182.
162
Wilkinson 2003:60–3. Osiris, the anthropomorphic, mummified king of the under-
world, provided hope for those who died. By identifying himself with Osiris, the king
continued to rule and thrive in the next life. As Re, he too bore the undying light that
ensured a successful rebirth.
163
As one man, the pharaoh also was largely inaccessible to most Egyptians.
164
Regarding temples and cult statues, see Hundley 2013a:17–48, 153–206.
165
The Memphite theology claims that the gods “become” (hpr) their bodies. See with
references ibid. 200. ˘
166
Ibid.
126 Egyptian Gods
Practically, he could not be everywhere at once, such that priests often

served as his proxies.
Since each individual statue could be treated as a manifestation of
a single deity or as a semi-independent, self-propelled agent, each resem-
bles a clone. While each shares the same divine DNA, each lives a separate
life in a different location, with different experiences, relationships, and in
some cases different powers. Thus, each could be treated as part of the
same being or as distinct. Rather than articulate absolutely the relation-
ship between deity and statues, texts opt for the association that best suits
their purposes.
Since most Egyptians had limited access to the cult statues, they turned
to statues and reliefs of deities visible from the gate or on the exterior walls
of the temples.167 While likely not divine bodies or recipients of the
Opening of the Mouth rites, these images, nonetheless, served as access
points to the hidden deities or accessible manifestations of the deities
themselves, because the common people could get no closer to them.168
For example, Hathor-of-Dendara is described as “she (who) alights on her
forms that are carved on the wall.”169 These forms, like the cult statues,
became the objects of cultic attention, though likely more occasionally, as
needed, rather than the objects of regular care and feeding. Nonetheless,
not all divine images on wall reliefs received special cultic attention.170
Only some seem to have been embellished, enshrined, or veiled to mark
their special veneration (evidenced by drill holes used to support veils).171
Small temples or chapels (called contra-temples) were often con-
structed against the outer walls of the major temples, offering access to
a mediating presence.172 Indeed, while the temple interior represented the
divine abode, these exterior temples were more like modern churches as
supplicants came with personal concerns and made petitions, as reflected
in their titles (i.e., Chapel of the Hearing Ear) and the names of the deities
167
Common people’s primary access came through processions and oracles. They also
could pay to install statues of themselves inside the temple, giving them surrogate and
continual access to the temple interior (Teeter 2011:92–6). Other statues served as
intermediaries, claiming they could pass on messages to the deities for some small service
(ibid. 96–101). In addition, one could present votive offerings as thanks for or in the
hopes of divine assistance (ibid. 87–92).
168
Helck 1986:637; Brand 2007:60; see also Guglielmi 1994.
169 170
Morenz 1971:318nn60–1; Assmann 2001a:42. Brand 2007:59.
171
Ibid. 59, 61–4; see also Teeter 2011:78–9. Beyond this distinction, it is unclear what sort
of ritual enlivening they underwent, if any; an (abbreviated) Opening of the Mouth(-like)
ceremony is certainly possible.
172
Teeter 2011:79–84.
to whom they facilitated access (i.e., Amun-Who-Hears-Prayers).173 Since

there was no guarantee that gods listened to an individual’s prayers,
especially outside of designated meeting points, one also could construct
stelae, many the size of a cell phone, with images of ears presumably to
receive and transmit messages to the deity.174
Rather than being pets or subdued monsters that demonstrated the
divine prowess, certain animals served as potential manifestations or
access points.175 Identified by their markings, the Apis, Mnevis, and
Bucchis bulls served as living manifestations of the gods, akin to a cult
statue. The Apis bull in particular was identified as “the king of every
divine animal,” “the wḥm (repetition?) of Ptah.”176 The bull received
cultic attention in life and was mummified in death. It also served as the
living oracle that communicated the divine will to humanity. Starting in
the Late period, groups of animals became potential access points, though
likely in a more distant manner. Whereas the bulls resembled a cult statue,
the associated animals like baboons and ibises were more like the vener-
ated images on the temple exterior. These animals were not accorded
individual attention, except for the one that served as a living oracle.
People sought them out when they needed to hear from the god. While
expensive to run, such animal cults were profitable since they were popu-
lar with worshippers and pilgrims, especially in their oracular function.177
Egyptian deities also made themselves visible in the celestial bodies,
although not as connected with astrology and divination as
Mesopotamian deities.178 Stars served as the visible bas of the deities
who controlled them.179 For example, Nut as the sky goddess was “she
of the thousand bas,” associated with the celestial vault or Milky Way,
Orion was the ba of Osiris, Sothis the ba of Sirius, and the planets sailed
across the heavens in their own barks.180 The sun and moon revealed the
presence and activity of various deities. When observing the sun traversing
173
Ibid. 79–80; Nims 1971.
174
Regarding the stelae, see Sadek 1987:248–9; Teeter 2011:84–6.
175
See conveniently Ray 2001:345–8.
176
Ibid.: “The word wḥm refers to the particular incarnation of the god that was thought to
be present in his animal, and in some respects it is close to the Hindu concept of the
avatar” – that is, both are embodiments of the distant divine.
177
In addition to being a potential conduit to deity, associated animals were often presented
as votive offerings to the deity in the Late period.
178
See conveniently Wells 2001a and 2001b. Observation of the celestial bodies also led to
the development of a 365-day solar calendar.
179
Traunecker 2001:33.
180
Ibid.; Hornung 1982:80; Wilkinson 2003:80–1; cf. Kozloff 1994.
128 Egyptian Gods
the sky, Egyptians were able to experience the cosmic drama of the solar
cycle. The bau of the gods, which came to be associated with divine
displeasure or rage, also could manifest as natural disasters.181 For
example, during the reign of Ahmose severe flooding caused by a storm
was identified as a “manifestation of the bau of the god.”182
Relationship of a Deity to Those outside Its Constellation

While a multitude of Egyptian gods existed and many of them had
expansive constellations, the relationship between them was relatively ill
defined. The Egyptian divine world did not have as elaborate bureaucra-
cies or systematized pantheons as Mesopotamia. Numerical groupings
served as a primary way of organizing deities, yet most groupings func-
tioned on local, not national levels.183 Gods of opposite genders are paired
up and often organized into triads with a child deity (e.g., Osiris, Isis, and
Horus). There are also various Enneads, many of which are local.
Divine kings like Re, Amun, and Osiris theoretically rule the gods, yet
many deities lie outside of their spheres of influence. Gods also played
different roles on the local, national, and cosmic stages.184 For example,
Thoth was the head of the Hermopolitan Ogdoad, yet on the cosmic scene
served as scribe, vizier, and representative (stj) of Re.185 Having a major
god as a servant highlighted Re’s potency and prestige. His profile was
further enhanced by his coterie of assistant deities who helped him on his
solar journey e.g., outlined in the Amduat).186 In the Myth of the
Heavenly Cow, Hathor and Sekhmet, themselves major goddesses, serve
as the eye of Re, his wrathful ambassadors. In contrast, as the hidden one,
Amun tended to establish his primacy by operating alone or in hyphenated
combinations with other gods.
The animation of temples and important ritual objects through the
Opening of the Mouth ritual also served to enhance the divine
profile.187 While not the deities themselves, deifying divine accouterments
made the deity greater since the objects associated with it and over which
it exercises control are divine.
181 182
Hornung 1982:61; Traunecker 2001:33. Ibid. 18, 33.
183 184
See Hornung 1982:217–23; Janák 2011:122–3. Janák 2011:122–6.
185
Hornung 1982:232.
186
Personified objects, often depicted with human heads, like the executioner’s tools (šms)
lead Re through his underworld journey (ibid. 123).
187
Regarding the animation of architecture and movable objects, see Quack 2005:166.
Divine Hierarchy 129
Various hostile powers also populated the divine world, many of whom
adopted hybrid or hostile forms yet served major gods or protective roles.
One may distinguish between monsters who threaten the gods and
demons who threaten humans, though the demon category is particularly
problematic.188 Apep as Re’s perpetual adversary is perhaps the only true
monster. In contrast, multiple minor deities – given their limited power
and spheres of influence – are hostile to humans.189 Rather than being evil,
many serve protective functions in the underworld.190 They simply com-
plete the tasks assigned to them. In fact, major gods often are considered
far more dangerous.191 Lucarelli differentiates between stationary and
wandering demons: the former guard doorways and sacred places on
earth and in the netherworld and the latter move between worlds mostly
afflicting humans with punishment and illness.192 Stationary guardians
tend to be individual figures, especially in the realm of the dead, while
wandering spirits tend to travel in groups, often under the aegis of such
destructive deities as Sekhmet and Bastet.193 In the Late and Greco-
Roman periods, Egyptians began to appease these dangerous beings
with cultic service.194
divine hierarchy
It is problematic to speak of a single Egyptian divine hierarchy since
multiple local hierarchies exist and nationwide pantheons remain under-
developed and variably articulated. Local texts especially organize gods
into triads and enneads.195 Rather than speculate on a particular national
hierarchy, we content ourselves with the rough contours: high god, major
188
There has been a recent explosion of interest in Egyptian demonology. Various confer-
ences have been dedicated to the topic, the proceeds of which appear in Kousoulis 2011a,
Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 14.1 (2013), and JAEI 25 (2020). See also Graves-Brown
2018; Lucarelli (forthcoming). Given its Christian heritage, the label “demon” has
pejorative connotations. Those labeled “demons” in Egyptology are often morally
ambiguous or amoral. They serve protective functions and often serve the major gods.
189
For Dimitri Meeks, demons’ hostile-protective roles distinguish them from the more
benevolent genies; 2001: 375; see more fully Meeks 1971. Szpakowska (2020:4n2)
recently defines demons even more broadly as “a blanket term for those beings between
human, animal, and major god, who were not worshipped in temples.”
190 191
Lucarelli 2006:203–4. Quack 2015:110.
192
Lucarelli 2013:17; cf. Lucarelli 2010. Originally associated with the underworld, sta-
tionary guardians come to protect sacred places, especially those associated with Osiris,
in the Late and Greco-Roman periods (Lucarelli 2011:124).
193 194
Lucarelli 2006:203–4. Lucarelli 2011:124.
195
See Hornung 1982:217–23; cf. Janák 2011:122–3.
130 Egyptian Gods
gods, minor gods. In general, gods are higher ranking and more respon-
sible for creation and maintenance of the world, while goddesses primarily
care for people, including women, and could be more unpredictable in
their behavior.196
As in Mesopotamia, Amun as high god is a one-stop-shop god who may
do everything the worshipper requires.197 The Egyptian language extends
Amun’s range by making him the accessible first principle of creation.
Amun too has a female consort, Amaunet and later Mut. The expression
ntr ˁꜢ may mean major god in contradistinction to the unstated minor
̄ 198 Rameses IV likewise distinguishes between “great” (wrw) and
god.
“small” (ndsw) gods.199 Gods and goddesses with temples and significant
̄
cults of their own seem to be major gods (e.g., Osiris, Re, Thoth, Ptah,
Horus, Anubis, Sekhmet, Hathor, Isis, and Nephtys) while minor gods are
more circumscribed in terms of power, spheres of influence, and cultic
attention. Minor gods likely include so-called demons (aggressive/protect-
ive deities), genii (beneficent deities), animate objects, some personified
powers, and minor deities in the divine entourage (i.e., in Re’s solar
journey). Inserting humans into the hierarchy, the blessed dead are
lower than the major gods, while the king is lower still, presumably part
of the minor god category (see earlier in this chapter). Living humans, with
few exceptions, are not divine.200
divine elevation and innovation

Egyptian texts and images elevate deities in a variety of ways and for
a variety of reasons. At the outset, it must be stated that monotheistic,
monolatrous, pantheistic, and proselytizing concerns are rarely the driv-
ing forces behind Egyptian divine elevation. Instead, rhetoric, political
and practical concerns, competition, and the human imagination are
among the factors motivating exalting a deity over others and/or over
their previous positions.
As with Marduk and Aššur, divine origins have limited effect on the
development of the divine profile. Deities often develop independently of
their place of origin and original characteristics. In the Old Kingdom, cult
topography had little connection to a deity’s place in the pantheon. Instead,
196
Baines 2011:52. Regarding Hathor, see Pinch 1993:349–55.
197
While Amun is the quintessential high god, he is not always and everywhere the only
high god; see the following section.
198 199 200
Baines 1983 and 2000:37–88. Hornung 1982:231. Janák 2011:119–20.
Divine Elevation and Innovation 131
many deities seem to have been conceived universally from the beginning,
while the original cultic home of others like Horus and Seth remains
obscure. The association of deities like Re, Osiris, Ptah, and Amun with
a particular cult place is also secondary.201 Likewise, Amun’s original
profile is unclear, yet it is clear that he was not conceived in the same way
as in late New Kingdom times. In turn, where gods start is far less signifi-
cant than what they become. Their characters are fluid, ever changing to
adapt to new situations. Egyptians, thus adopt the additive approach,
exalting deities by accumulating attributes through the addition of names,
epithets, manifestations, and hyphenated divine combinations.202
In some cases texts heighten the divine profile in specific areas: (1) city
god; (2) ruler god; (3) primeval god; (4) creator god; (5) sun god; and (6)
ethical authority.203 As always, the presentation depends on the context.
In other cases, while these six roles remain primary, Egyptian gods func-
tion more expansively like one-stop-shop deities. For example, mortuary
and magical texts may present the deity as possessing all known qualities
to help the supplicant with whatever they may face.204
Interestingly, unlike in Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia, and the Levant,
conflict does not play a particularly prominent role. Re must daily defeat
Apep with the help of multiple gods, and Horus and Seth fight to assume
kingship with inconclusive results. Nonetheless, combat does not seem to
be an essential element of divine supremacy, and, in the case of Aten and
Amun, conflict is largely absent.205
In the following, we consider the exaltation of the supreme deities
Atum, Ptah, Re, Amun, and the Aten in roughly chronological order,
whose presentation grows in complexity over time. As early as the
Coffin Texts, Heliopolis and Memphis pit their high gods against each
other for primacy as first beings and creators.206 Atum of Heliopolis
claims to be the self-created first being (CT 335, 714).207 As both male
201 202
Hornung 1982:224–6. Cf. Assmann 2001a:191.
203
Ibid. 190, though as we will see his emphasis on divine unity requires qualification.
204
See, for example, the Litany of Re, which primarily addresses the concerns relevant to the
underworld, and a Twenty-second-Dynasty oracular mortuary decree (Golenischev
1927:196–209, pls. 30–4; Assmann 2003:302–6). See also Baines 2011:79–82.
205
Assmann 1989:66–8. The conflict with Apep fades in significance in the Eighteenth
Dynasty (ibid. 68), although the conflict never totally disappears and continues to
feature in certain texts; cf. the Cairo Hymn to Amun (pCairo 58038; ÄHG2 87; COS
1.25).
206
J. Allen 1988:58–60.
207
Ibid. 58 (see further ibid. texts 2:9–11 and 10:5–6); cf. the more elaborate formulations
on the fourth-century Bremner-Rhind Papyrus; Faulkner 1937.
132 Egyptian Gods
and female (CT II.161a), he is the creator and source of all creation.208
Ptah of Memphis disputes Atum’s claim. Whereas Atum claims to have
created the world biologically, Ptah merely thought it into existence. From
the Memphite perspective, Ptah precedes Atum, who is a product of his
mind, and is thus superior.209
Re consolidates the considerable powers and forms associated with the
sun, superseding Ptah and partially assimilating Atum.210 In the title Re-
Harakhty-Atum-Horus-Khepry, Re effectively absorbs Khepry as morn-
ing sun, Atum as creator and evening sun, and Horus as ruler in his solar
aspect Harakhty (“Horus of the Horizon”).211 Re, thereby harnesses the
supreme force in the universe.212 As a result, Re is creator, orderer of the
world, prime actor in the solar cycle, bringer of life-giving light and heat,
father of the king, conqueror of death and chaos, and light- and life-giving
force of the underworld. While Re emerges alone and before the other
gods, maintaining world order is generally a cooperative effort.213
However, in some contexts, Re essentially does everything himself. As
noted, in the Litany of Re, he performs every necessary function in the
underworld, even uniting with Osiris, to ensure a successful journey for
the deceased.214
In the Middle Kingdom, Amun emerged to challenge and eventually
supplant Re as king of the gods. While he grew to be king, Amun, like
Marduk and Aššur, did not have the most auspicious beginning.215 Even
in his hometown of Thebes, Amun was originally less important than
Montu.216 With the expulsion of the Hyksos (itself orchestrated from
208
He is “the total of the gods’ forms” (CT 75; J. Allen 1988:5, 33). Regarding Atum as
male and female, see Servajean 2008.
209
See especially the Memphite Theology (AEL 1:51–7; J. Allen 1988: text 15, 42–7). The
text may be dated anywhere between the reign of Rameses II and that of Shabaka of the
Twenty-fifth Dynasty (ibid. 43). “Not only is [Ptah’s] non material power antecedent to
all things (lines 2–4), but his material power [as Tatenen] precedes them as well (line 38)”
(ibid. 46).
210
Re, like Atum, has no female counterpart yet may self-generate children.
211
Again, his assimilation is only partial, as the assimilated gods continue to exist inde-
pendently until the end of Egyptian history.
212 213
J. Allen 2006:83. Regarding the solar cycle, see Assmann 2009:38–66.
214
While not primarily understand as a one-stop-shop deity, like other deities he may act as
one when needed.
215
The original profile of Amun remains a matter of debate; see, for example, Wainwright
1963.
216
Tobin 2001a:83. He seems to have supplanted Montu in the Eleventh Dynasty
(Warburton 2012:211). In the (early) Middle Kingdom his temple appears to have
been a relatively unimportant provincial temple (Haring 2013:617).
Thebes) and the founding of the New Kingdom, Thebes became the
original capital of the New Kingdom and its spiritual center.217 As with
Marduk and Aššur, Amun’s rise to prominence was correlated with the
ascension of his patron city and its ruler from vassal to international
power, whose empire stretched from Syria to Nubia at its height.218 As
in Mesopotamia, the ruler needed a supreme deity to be patron of his
world empire.219
In order to legitimize Amun’s supreme status, his supporters adopted
and adapted existing forms of divine exaltation. Popular etymologies
derive Amun (jmnw) from jmn which means “conceal” and “be hidden,”
leading to his identification as the one who conceals himself.220 His
hiddenness especially facilitates his absorption of new attributes and
partial absorption of new deities.221 As the hidden god whose origins
and attributes remain undefined, he is essentially pure potential. He can
be whatever the situation needs him to be.
Beginning in earnest during the reign of Hatshepsut, texts associate
Amun with Re as Amon-Re, king of the gods.222 As Amon-Re, he adopts
all the sun qualities Re had accumulated and becomes the subject of ever
more elaborate sun hymns. Thus, Amun absorbs rather than replaces Re
in a move akin to a corporate takeover. While he continues to exist
separately in other contexts, Re becomes subordinate in the hyphenated
Amon-Re conglomerate. In effect, Re keeps his name on the masthead but
becomes secondary. Some texts even fully assimilate the sun god, using Re
as a mere appellative for Amun.223
Texts utilize Amun’s hidden nature to expand his profile beyond that of
Re. Drawing from earlier sun hymns, Amun largely depopulates the solar
cycle of attendant deities, leaving himself as the primary actor.224 He
becomes the first principle, antecedent to Atum and Ptah, the creator,
who as the distant first being remains hidden from humanity and from the
gods themselves.225 More than simply being first, Amun continues to be
the animating power, the ba of the gods, who serve as his
217 218
Regarding its economic rise, see Haring 2013:617. Cf. Assmann 2001a:191.
219
The pharaoh’s role as ruler of the world dominates New Kingdom royal inscriptions
(ibid.).
220 221 222
J. Allen 1988:48. Tobin 2001a:83. J. Allen 2006:84.
223
See, for example, the Eighteenth Dynasty stela of Suty and Hor (AEL 2:86–9; ÄHG2 89;
COS 1.27).
224
Cf. Baines 1998:281.
225
See J. Allen 1988:48–55, which translates and comments on the Ramesside Leiden
Hymn to Amun (pLeiden I 350); see also ÄHG2 132–42.
134 Egyptian Gods
manifestations.226 Thus, he is both ineffably distant and tangibly present,

hidden from all and visible to all in his multiple manifestations. Amun is
also present in his multiple cult images. Rather than remain sequestered in
the dark recesses of the temple, Amun ventures forth in procession and
communicates directly with his people through oracles.227 He is
a personal ethical god, the judge and savior, who cares for the just and
needy.228 Amun is “the father and mother of the one who places him in his
heart, but turns away from the one who passes heedlessly by his city.”229
Thus, the profile of Amun is even more expansive than those of Marduk
and Aššur, as he is simultaneously the one-stop-shop god, the first prin-
ciple, animating source of everything, and the accessible god who cares
about the individual.230
The Amarna Age dawned following a time of particularly fertile Amun
theology in the reign of Amenhotep III.231 Akhenaten (Amenhotep IV)
relocated the capital to a new settlement and redirected cultic attention
from Amun to the sun disc, the Aten, which he depicted as a solar disc with
rays ending in beneficent hands emanating from it. In so doing, Akhenaten
seems to have taken literally the exalted solar hymns while excising Amun
from them.232
Akhenaten simplified and naturalized the solar cycle, removing the
element of danger and the presence of supernatural helpers.233
Akhenaten minimized creation, focusing instead on the maintenance of
the world. The Aten became the solitary animating force; the Aten hym-
nody depersonalizes other deities, who become extensions or products of
226 227
Assmann 2004:186–9; see further Assmann 2009:133–89. Assmann 2001a:219.
228 229 2
Ibid. 220–1; Assmann 2004:189–91. TT 164; ÄHG 75; Assmann 2001a:220.
230
While Marduk and Aššur are one-stop-shop gods, they are not the first beings. Their
focus on power and prestige also renders accessibility secondary. Nonetheless, there are
possible disadvantages of divine accessibility. For example, divine accessibility may
threaten the king’s position as sole intermediary between human and divine (Assmann
2004:190) or lead to divine fragmentation with the proliferation of temples and cult
statues.
231
Baines 1998.
232
Cf. Baines 2011:59. The stela of Suty and Hor has been posited as a link between periods,
as it exalts the solar deity and includes a section addressed to the Aten. It must be stressed
that any reconstruction of Akhenaten’s purposes is speculative as no explicit statement
of his views on the other gods remains (ibid. 64; cf. Assmann 2004:180), and no one
mentions Akhenaten or his reforms in the post-Amarna period (ibid. 179–80).
233
For antecedents, see Baines 1998:278–82. While he carefully excises Amun, Akhenaten
continues to use the other solar names for his supreme being (e.g., Re, Atum, and
Harakhty); see, for example, the Great Hymn to the Aten; AEL 2:96–100; ÄHG2 92;
COS 1.28; Murnane 1995:110–12. On the naturalization of the solar process, see
J. Allen 1989:89–101; Sternberg-el Hotabi 2006.
the Aten’s life-giving rays. While the Aten can be seen and felt, it may not
be approached, nor does it speak.234 Instead, only Akhenaten truly knew
and understood the Aten.235
While promoting a singular Aten, Akhenaten is particularly strident in
his persecution of Amun, perhaps as a perversion of solar theology, his
primary competition, or the source of the revenue necessary to initiate
a new cult.236 He also erased the plural for gods (ntrw) from numerous
monuments, especially but not exclusively in connection ̄ with Amun as
237
king of the gods. Given the brevity of the Amarna experiment, it is
difficult to assess its contribution and even its intent.238 Was Akhenaten’s
program monotheistic, monolatrous, or something else? Was it “a denial
of the existence of traditional major deities or only neglect together with
persecution of some of them”?239
It seems that Akhenaten’s innovations had relatively little effect on
individual religious practice.240 There also seems to have been a general
tolerance of gods other than Amun. For example, during the middle years
of Akhenaten’s reign, Akhenaten replaced references to Amun with refer-
ences to Ptah and Ptah-Sokar in his father’s mortuary temple.241 He also
left images of the sun god intact, even alongside destroyed images of
Amun (i.e., at Deir el-Bahri).242 Regarding the plural gods, while the
word ntrw is absent from Amarna tombs, it appears on border stelae,
̄
clearly acknowledging the existence of other gods.243 The singular god
(ntr) makes several appearances in Amarna texts, most notably as
̄
a determinative for Re.244 Surprisingly, texts rarely apply the term and
234
While it has pre-Amarna antecedents, the divine intimacy of post-Amarna Amun might
be a reaction to the distant Aten (see Assmann 2004:189–91).
235
The Great Hymn to the Aten. Less a prophet, Akhenaten is more coregent with the Aten.
Having a more distant deity with Akhenaten as sole intermediary may reassert pharaonic
authority theoretically eroded with the divine intimacy of Amun.
236
Regarding the latter point, see Assmann 2001a:218.
237
Munro 1987; Hornung 1995:95–7; Baines 1998:272; Manuelian 1999.
238 239 240
Cf. Baines 2011:64. Ibid. 62. Ibid.; see also Stevens 2006:321.
241
Bickel 1997:83–6; Baines 2011:63. Based on this evidence, Kraus 2000 argues that
Akhenaten was a polytheist. However, there seems to be a gradual radicalization of
his views such that he may have been more intolerant by the end of his reign. We also do
not know how directly Akhenaten was involved (Baines 2011:63–4).
242
See with references Baines 2011:64.
243
Murnane and van Siclen 1993:21, 32; Goldwasser 2006:269. Technically, the stelae
employ the singular, not plural, form yet do so generically (e.g., “any god” and “every
god”), thereby attesting to a plurality of gods.
244
Goldwasser 2006:276n47, 277–9; Regarding Re with a determinative, see Sandman
1938:17, 3–4; 48, 13; 61, 8; 101, 17.
136 Egyptian Gods
determinative ntr to the Aten.245 From this evidence, Goldwasser

concludes: ̄
The thinkers of Amarna religion deliberately do not add a [GOD] classifier after
the word Aten, because their revolutionary doctrine has actually cancelled the
option for a “category of gods.” Putting any [GOD] classifier after the combin-
ation would mean that the Aten is the chosen one, but still one among the many. It
would still be an “example of,” one example, or one option of the superordinate
[GOD] – just like the good old gods of the earlier times. (Italics original)246
While possible, the Amarna program does not seem to eliminate the god
category. Instead, rather than reducing the god category to one member as
in later monotheisms, Akhenaten establishes the Aten’s supremacy by
taking it out of the god category entirely. The major exception to the
trend is also illustrative. The Great Hymn to the Aten refers to the Aten as
“the single god (ntr), there is no other beside him.”247 This statement
resembles the biblical̄ Shema of Deuteronomy 6:4 – “Yahweh is our god,
Yahweh alone” – and Exodus 20:2 (3) – ”You shall have no other gods
248
before me.” However, while the biblical verses stress exclusive commit-
ment, the Amarna text is more ontological, stressing that the Aten is the
single, incomparable god. This exalted praise seems to indicate that the
Aten is so far above other gods that he alone should be called a god.249
Read alone, it appears to be a statement of monotheism. However, read in
its wider context, it may simply be hyperbolic praise.250
The Restoration Stela of Tutankhamun, though clearly polemical,
testifies to Akhenaten’s neglect of the cults of other gods throughout
Egypt. However, neglect is not the same as believing the neglected gods
do not exist.251 Although it is impossible to be certain, Akhenaten’s
reform seems to be a limited form of monolatry, likely extending no
further than his inner circle, that involved the neglect of some gods, and
the persecution of Amun, yet not a rejection of the gods’ existence.252
245 246
Goldwasser 2002:123–8 and 2006:275–7. Goldwasser 2006:275–7.
247
For Goldwasser’s explanation, see 2002:127–8.
248
Alternatively, it could read “Yahweh our god is one Yahweh.” For the translation issues,
see McBride 1973:292.
249
For a similar argument for biblical monotheism, see Sommer 2009:145–74.
250
It also demonstrates the multiplicity of approaches, even at Amarna. The Aten is both
above the god category and its sole occupant.
251
Urk. IV 2025–32; Murnane 1995:212–14; see with references Baines 2011:46–55. The
text also nowhere states that he denied the existence of the gods, only neglected their
cults.
252
Cf. Baines 2011:64–5.
Flexible Polytheism 137
While we may only speculate on the extent and direction of the move-
ment had it endured, the people’s response was clearly and resoundingly
negative after Akhenaten’s death.253 While they did not mention
Akhenaten’s name or repudiate his position in writing, they abandoned
his city, erased his name, and dismantled his cult. They restored the cult of
Amun. Amun subsequently rose to even higher heights, and the Aten was
again reduced to peripheral status.254
flexible polytheism
Egypt was resolutely polytheistic throughout its history.255 At face value,
solar hymns seem to promote something like monotheism, monolatry, or
pantheism. However, rather than isolate the solar hymns and take them
literally, it is important to situate them against the wider Egyptian
landscape.256 In some cases a single monument preserves an exalted
solar hymn alongside depictions of multiple other deities whom the
owners viewed as vital for prosperity in the afterlife.257 For example,
while often seen as a forerunner to Amarna monotheism, the stela upon
which the Suty and Hor solar hymn appears features a relief of the two
owners and their wives adoring Anubis and Osiris, while bearing offering
formulas to at least half a dozen other deities.258 Thus, for them, state-
ments exalting a single deity fit comfortably next to worship of other
deities.
While hymnic language often exalts Amun(-Re), it could be extended to
other deities as well, some of whom were not considered major.259 Rather
than focus on a singular god at the expense of the plural gods, such
language represented a heightened form of address employed for various
reasons, which consistently appeared alongside polytheistic elements. In
253
The Amarna program resembles biblical monolatry in promoting a single deity and
persecuting alternatives. A – perhaps the – primary difference is popular support.
254
There may have been a brief period when Amun shared authority with Re and Ptah
(Hornung 1982:220), perhaps to avoid an Aten-like power play. Scholars often speak of
the disappearance of the Aten following the Amarna period. However, Goldwasser
(2002:128–9) notes that the Aten continues to be written with and without the classifier
in the later New Kingdom.
255
For a thorough defense of this position, see Baines 2011.
256
“Anyone who did not have access to a small number of exceptional texts, together with
their surrounding oral discourse, would surely have seen Egyptian culture and society as
intensely polytheistic” (ibid. 42).
257 258
Ibid. 43. Ibid. 59.
259
For examples, see ÄHG2 143–6; Assmann 2001a:192, with reference to Onuris and
Nekhbet (Urk. IV 518, 111).
138 Egyptian Gods
a comparable Mesopotamian hymn to Ninurta, the Assyrian poet refers to

other gods as parts of Ninurta’s body (STT 118 rev.).260 The hymn is not
pantheistic or monotheistic; it does not imply that Ninurta assimilates the
other gods. Rather, it exalts a major god (but not the high god) with
hyperbolic language by implying that he is the sum total of the other gods.
Late polymorphic forms also appear, combining the attributes of mul-
tiple deities into a single image.261 Rather than being depictions of pan-
theism, the images give visual expression to the exalted literary language
we have encountered. Instead of exalting a single deity, the polymorphic
forms appear in pluralistic contexts that invoke or appeal to all the forces
that could possibly help the suppliant.262
In addition, hymns circulated among restricted, elite circles and were
less influential than the cult, which remained resolutely polytheistic.263 If
such statements imply pantheism, it would have only applied to a small
circle and likely not to the exclusion of other possibilities (about which see
later in this chapter). There was no concomitant attempt to practically
reduce the pantheon, as temples to diverse deities continue to flourish and
multiply.264
The potential exception of Amarna only proves the rule. Akhenaten’s
intolerant monolatry was deeply unpopular, leading to a reinstitution and
expansion of the other divine cults. This vigorous state and popular
rejection indicates that the people did not understand the exalted solar
hymns as statements of monotheism, monolatry, or pantheism.265 For
them, exalted language was acceptable as long as it did not lead to
persecution of other deities.
Instead of promoting an exclusive agenda, divine exaltation served
other purposes. In some contexts it is rhetorical, elevating one deity over
others (i.e., with Amun). In other contexts it is practical (i.e., the Litany of
Re). It addresses the god from whom the supplicant seeks aid as practically
limitless, without excluding others, both as a means of flattery and
reassurance that (s)he can provide sufficient support.266 In still others
260
For a translation, see B. Foster 2005:613–14; for analysis with references, see Chapter 1.
261
Regarding the term “polymorphic” instead of “pantheistic,” see Quack 2006b:175–90.
262
Baines 2011:82–4.
263
Ibid. 69, 73. Regarding hymns as part of an elite discourse, see Sternberg-el Hotabi
2006:60.
264
Baines 2011:71, 86.
265
Alternatively, one could argue that they supported non-Aten monotheism or monolatry.
However, the data undermines such an assertion.
266
Cf. Assmann 1979:7–42.
Divine–Human Communication 139
contexts it seems to be an exercise in finding ever expanding ways of

praising deities.267
In turn, it seems that ancient Egyptians situated multiple perspectives
alongside each other without adjudicating between them. The pantheistic
tendencies of hymns are just one possible means of expression, which may
be applied situationally to virtually any deity. The introduction of such
language does not exclude other possibilities. It merely adds another
acceptable means of expression to the Egyptian repertoire. The Egyptian
freely may choose the expression that best suits his context.268 Rather
than reject any one option, Egyptians rejected attempts to limit their
options.269
This way of thinking finds an analog in Hinduism that may prove
illustrative.270 Seeing the multiple gods as a projection of the singular
Amun finds a parallel in the Hindu Brahman.271 When discussing the
number of deities with his pupil, Yajnavalkya proceeds to reduce the
number of gods from 330 million to one.272 However, rather than ending
with a satisfactory systematization of the gods, he concludes by saying
there are thirty-three gods. The text seems to assert that the number of the
gods depends on context and perspective. Rather than be too dogmatic, it
is better to be pragmatic, choosing the number that best suits the context
without excluding other possibilities.273
People communicated rather directly with the gods through petitions,
gifts, and service. Nonetheless, people seem to have preferred using medi-
ating objects like reliefs, statues, and stelae to ensure the gods received
267
Cf. Baines 2011:43, 68; Assmann 2001a:191. The Leiden Hymn to Amun in particular is
a literary text, not meant for liturgical purposes. As such, “esthetics and delight in
language are intrinsic to its function and meaning” (Baines 2011:69).
268
Nonetheless, it must be stated that some means of expression are only appropriate to
certain contexts and genres.
269
For example, pantheism is an acceptable perspective as long as it is not too dogmatic.
270
It is unlikely that one text influenced the other. Nonetheless, comparing similar solutions
may shed light on both, although one must be careful to avoid eisegesis.
271
See famously the Chandogya Upanishad, 6.2:3; 6.3:2; 6.8:7.
272
Brihadaranyaka Upanishad 3.9:1–2; cf. also regarding creation, Rg Veda 10.129.
273
The idea that the true divine nature is hidden also provides a conceptual basis for such
flexibility of expression. Since each notion is merely an approximation, more expres-
sions better approach plenitude and none should be taken too literally, especially when
done at the expense of others.
140 Egyptian Gods
their messages.274 Unfortunately, human–divine communication was

often unidirectional. Once a petition was made, a gift offered, or service
rendered, one had no way of directly receiving the divine response.
There are limited instances where gods appear directly to humans, and
even then in veiled form (the gods and the dead were shape-shifters).275
Hatshepsut claimed that Amun took the form of the king Thutmose I to
impregnate her mother.276 In the Three Tales of Wonder, Isis, Nephtys,
Meskhenet, Heket, and Khnum change their appearance in to dancing girls
to deliver a baby, while Isis changes herself into an old women in order to
trick a ferryman.277 Nonetheless, despite rare exceptions relegated to myth-
ology, divine-human communication in the realm of the living was primarily
indirect.278
Compared with Mesopotamia, the means of divining the divine will
were rather limited and the sources for such divination are both limited
and understudied.279 The most prominent form of divine communication
was through oracles, primarily relating to the movement of the cult statue
and secondarily of animal surrogates. Especially common in the first
millennium,280 oracles often addressed such issues as personal concerns,
economic matters, minor crimes, and property claims.281 A cult statue
would be placed in a sacred boat (bark) carried on the shoulders of the
priests to deliver public oracles.282 Petitioners would put before it questions
prompting binary (yes-or-no) answers, and the movement of the statue
would determine the divine response.283 Since animals, like cult statues,
could be manifestations of or portals to the divine, their movements too
could serve oracular functions.284
274
One could also send a letter (cf. Teeter 2011:107–8).
275
See with references Hamori 2008:147.
276
Brunner 1986:35–58. See also Re putting an end to the Fourth Dynasty by coupling with
a wife of one of his priests (Meeks and Favard-Meeks 1996:121). For further examples,
see Hamori 2008:146–8.
277 278
AEL 1:220; 2:216. Cf. Assmann 1980:57; Hornung 1982:128.
279
See especially the survey in von Lieven 1999. Cf. Teeter 2011:104–18. The evidence for
divination increases significantly in the Greco-Roman periods, though it appears as early
as the New Kingdom (Frankfurter 2005).
280 281
Baines 2011:77. Teeter 2011:105–12; Gutiérrez Jaskiewicz 2018.
282
Alternatively, the statue could be carried on a chair or on a wagon in the late period (von
Lieven 2016:18).
283
Teeter 2011:105–9. There are also examples beginning in the Late period where the
statue answered audibly, presumably through a speaking tube in the statue (Teeter
2011:109–11).
284
Fitzenreiter 2003.
Conclusion 141
Dreams are another means of hearing from the gods.285 “In Ancient
Egypt, a dream, good or bad, could be thought of as an external
phenomenon – a liminal zone between the world of the living and of
the divine.”286 However, dreams were viewed with some trepidation since
the dreamer had little control over who initiated contact and whether
their intentions were helpful or hostile. The preserved dreams in the New
Kingdom are straightforward(ly positive), with no need for an interpret-
ation. For example, the sphinx spoke to Thutmose IV of the Eighteenth
Dynasty in a dream, offering him the throne in exchange for clearing
away sand from the monument.287 Nonetheless, the presence of
a substantial New Kingdom dream book indicates that the message was
often coded and in need of interpretation.288
As noted, each god had a divine bau, an emanation that expressed the
divine displeasure, which could manifest as physical misfortune or guilty
feelings and render a person impure.289 Humans wore oracular amuletic
decrees to ward off these and all manner of other unwanted divine
aggressions, including nightmares.290 Hemerology, seeking (in)auspicious
days, and lecanomancy, interpreting patterns of oil in water, are also
attested.291 In addition, evidence for such terrestrial omens as animal
omens, casting lots, and throwing dice have recently been published.292
conclusion
Egyptian conceptions of the divine resemble and diverge from those in
Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia. Like both, their presentation of the
285
See regarding the New Kingdom in particular Szpakowska 2003; 2010; 2011. See
regarding the Late period, Quack 2010. See regarding later, especially Demotic,
examples Prada 2012.
286
Szpakowska 2010:38.
287
Sphinx Stela (8–13); Urk. IV 1539–44. As elsewhere in ANE, the relationship was
reciprocal – the human king had to give something to the god to get something in return.
See also the dreams of Amenhotep II (Memphis Stela 20–2; Urk. IV 1306.11–1307.2)
and Merneptah (KRI IV:5, 10–15) during military campaigns.
288
pChester Beatty III, rt. 1–11; Gardiner 1935.
289
Hornung 1982:61; Traunecker 2001:33; Teeter 2011:112–13.
290
Teeter 2011:114–15. For examples, see Edwards 1960.
291
Regarding New Kingdom hemerology, see Leitz 1994. It is also attested from the Middle
Kingdom in the form of an unfinished papyrus from Kahun (UC 32192) in Collier and
Quirke 2004:26–7. In the Greco-Roman period, other forms of Hellenistic and
Babylonian astrology took root in Egypt (Wells 2001a:143). Regarding lecanomancy,
see Demichelis 2003.
292
Quack 2006a.
142 Egyptian Gods
divine is fluid and variable. Major gods consist of a constellation of

aspects that could be articulated and understood differently depending
on the context.
In fact, Egyptians deities exhibit the greatest fluidity and flexibility of
expression. In addition to individual constellations, deities form com-
bined constellations, freely combining with other deities without losing
their individuality. Even more than elsewhere, Egyptians amassed and
juxtaposed multiple possibilities, in some ways limited only by their
imaginations. These ranged from extreme monotheistic-sounding state-
ments to standard polytheistic expressions. While major deities mani-
fested themselves in multiple ways, they also remained hidden,
withholding their true forms and names from living humans. Such an
approach allowed deities to be especially malleable, depicting themselves
in ever new ways to meet the demands of the ever-changing world and its
multiple contexts. It also relativized Egyptian conceptions of the divine.
Since the deity’s true nature remained a mystery, each conceptualization
was only an approximation. As the failed Amarna experiment demon-
strates, Egyptians were content collecting possibilities yet grew agitated
when one was promoted too forcefully at the expense of others.
4
Levantine Gods
An examination of the gods in the Levant is also complex, but for different
reasons than in previous sections. First, there is no clear name for the
region.1 It effectively constitutes the leftovers, the area between the major
Hittite, Egyptian, and Mesopotamian empires, excluding the Arabian
peninsula. As such, multiple potential labels present themselves. Syria-
Palestine is the name of a later Roman province that carries modern
political freight. While less politically laden, the names West Asia and
Eastern Mediterranean are too general. This chapter opts for the relatively
modern “Levant,” which has been variously defined. For our purposes it
includes the area encompassed by modern Syria, Lebanon, Israel,
Palestine, Jordan, and northern Sinai.2 In our discussion we exclude the
biblical data, which are the topic of Part II.
Second, the data are sparse. The majority of the written sources stem
from two locations in northern Syria from the late second millennium,
Ugarit and Emar.3 Written sources from elsewhere are minimal, while
data from the southern Levant, the region of biblical Israel, is especially
1
Granted, “Mesopotamia” is an etic term the Greeks applied to the region between and
around the two great rivers – the Tigris and the Euphrates – and Greek names are also
employed for ancient Egyptian cities. Nonetheless, scholars tend to agree on the use and
meaning of these terms.
2
This excludes, for example, the textual record from Sabaˀ in Yemen and Zinçirli in Turkey.
3
We largely exclude the data from Ebla and Mari since they appear before the primary time
under investigation (1500–500 BCE). Regarding Ugarit, see M. Dietrich, Loretz, and
Sanmartín 2013. Regarding Emar, see Arnaud 1985–7. The Egyptian Amarna archives
(ca. 1360–1330 BCE) are likely the next largest source of information, about which see
Rainey 2014.
143
144 Levantine Gods
minimal.4 As a result, it is tempting and somewhat inevitable to let the

texts from Ugarit in particular speak for the entire region at all times.
Third, the region is decentralized. For much of their history, the Hittites
and Egyptians had a single empire, while in Mesopotamia the Assyrian
and Babylonians often vied for control of the region. In contrast, in the
Levant there was no dominant empire. Yamhad (ca. 1800–1500 BCE) and
˘
Mitanni (ca. 1600–1275 BCE) occupied the northern edge of the region.
Nonetheless, we know little about both kingdoms, the former ruled before
the period of investigation, and the leadership of the latter was Hurrian
(distinct in language and ethnicity from the West Semites who populated
much of the rest of the Levant). Instead of an indigenous empire, external
empires influenced the Levant throughout their history, especially Egypt
and the Hittites in the second millennium and Mesopotamia in the first
millennium. These external empires did not proselytize or impose foreign
religious policy. In turn, there was no one to synthesize or systematize
local religious traditions.
Although there was some measure of internal and external syncretism,
the numerous Levantine deities were not agglutinated or absorbed into an
imperial pantheon or by imperial deities. Instead, each was relatively
autonomous. Given the importance of rainfall, weather gods were espe-
cially prevalent throughout the region. As a result of these factors,
Levantine gods intersect in interesting and distinct ways.
what is a god?
Once again, we turn to the Levantine texts themselves to determine what
is and is not a god (ı̉ lu). Criteria in descending order of importance are: (1)
the use of the Sumerian divine determinative dingir in Akkadian texts
from Emar and some Akkadian texts from Ugarit; (2) in addition to being
labeled a god, they may be called a god explicitly; (3) they behave in ways
characteristic of the gods, such as conferring blessings or receiving
prayers; and (4) they also may be treated like gods (e.g., by receiving
food offerings or appearing in a god list).
Major gods like El (ˀIlu), Dagan, Baal (Baˁlu), Athirat/Asherah
(ˀAtiratu), Anat (ˀAnatu), and Shapsh (Šapšu) represent the core
̄
4
See conveniently Donner and Röllig 1960–. Regarding the southern Levant, with a dearth
of texts, much of the written information about the gods comes from onomastica. For the
data, see Albertz and Schmitt 2012:245–368, 505–14, 534–609; for an earlier study that
considers time, place, and provenance, see Pardee 1988a; see also Tigay 1986.
What Is a God? 145
Levantine deities. Each also seems predicated on the human model, taking
humanlike shape and characteristics (e.g., speech, thought, emotions,
actions, and relationships).5 Once again, they transcend the human
model in important ways.6 They live apart from humans, have signifi-
cantly more power, can change form, and in the cult can be in multiple
places simultaneously.7 Major gods control the major elements of the
cosmos (e.g., Shapsh and the sun, Yarikh [Yarihu] and the moon, Baal
˘
and the storm, Yamm [Yammu] and the sea, and Mot [Môtu] and death).
While primarily anthropomorphic, there is some indication that gods can
take animal form as well.8 For example, Baal mates with a heifer, presum-
ably as a bull (KTU 1.5.v:18–22),9 while Anat takes winged form and flies
(KTU 1.10.ii:10–12; 1.18.iv; 1.108:8–9).10 The gods are also made visible
in the phenomena they control. For example, Baal may manifest in mist
(ı̉ ph) and clouds (ˁnn) (KTU 1.10.ii:32–3). As sun goddess, Shapsh daily
travels through the sky before passing into the underworld at night (KTU
1.6.vi:45–53).11
Natural elements like Earth and Heavens, Mountains and Waters-of-
the-Abyss appear in god lists, receive offerings, and take the divine deter-
minative in the parallel Akkadian texts.12 Stars (kkbm) receive incense
5
van der Toorn refers to the gods as “by and large . . . anthropomorphic, both internally
and externally” (2000:2044). At times, the anthropomorphism could be carried to an
extreme. Like the statue of Nabû in Mesopotamia, the statue of Aštart is said to have gone
on a hunt at Emar (Emar 446:90; Fleming 2000:274–5; COS 1.125).
6 7
Hundley 2013a:335–40. Regarding the latter point, see ibid. 354–6.
8
Cf. Korpel 1990:524–34, 544–9, who notes many potential, though often debatable,
instances of theriomorphic divine forms.
9
El is called a bull (tr) (e.g., KTU 1.3.iv:54; 1.4.ii:10; 1.16.iv:2; 1.92:15), while Baal is a bull-
̄
calf (ˁgl) (e.g., 1.5.v:17–21; 1.10.iii:33–7) who has horns on his head (1.101:6; 1.12.ii:39). As
a bull, El may impregnate goddesses who bear bull-calf children (KTU 1.12; cf. 1.23). In
a broken and disputed text (KTU 1.10 and its potential continuation in 1.11; cf. 1.13), Baal
seems to father a bull as a bull with a cow, who may or may not be Anat; cf. with references
P. Day 1991; 1992; Walls 1992:131–9; Wyatt 2002:155–61. Bulls are especially common in
iconography, though it remains unclear if they represent the deity itself, a symbol of the
deity, a divine accessory, or a votive gift (Hundley 2013a:345).
10
Baal too may be able to fly as he is called “Winged Baal” (bˁl knp; KTU 1.46:6) and will
descend upon the sacrifices of Kirta (1.14.ii:24–5). For iconography of Anat as a bird, see
Pope 1971.
11
She even seems to have to fight off a dragon (tnn) with the help of Kothar on her journey
comparable to the nightly conflict between Re and Apep (KTU 1.6.iv:51–3; Wyatt
2002:145n126); cf. the title Shapsh-of-the-Corpse (špš pgr) (KTU 1.102:12).
12
Earth and Heaven and Mountains and Abyss represent the vertical extremities of the
world and seem to express respectively the entire cosmos and the entire earth. It is unclear
whether these offerings were presented to an image. See Pardee 2002:11–12, texts 1–3
(RS 1.017 = KTU 1.47; RS 24.264+ = KTU 1.118; RS 20.024; RS 24.643 = KTU 1.148;
146 Levantine Gods
offerings (KTU 1.19.iv:22–5) and seem to be called gods (ı̉ lm kkbm;

1.43:3).13 Mount Ṣapun, the mythological home of the Ugaritic Baal, is
divine in the Baal Cycle as well as in multiple god and offering lists.14 At
Emar, Mount Šinapši (Emar 452:6, 8) and Mount Ṣuparatu (452:29)
receive offerings as well. The Balih river is deified and receives offerings
˘
in the zukru festival at Emar (Emar 373:141, 146, 151). In the Baal Cycle
(KTU 1.5.v:6–9), Mot taunts Baal, urging him to bring what seems like his
entire entourage with him: “Take your clouds, your winds, your light-
nings, your rains, (take) with you your seven divine assistants, your eight
boars.” While not explicitly deified, in this instance the text appears to
treat the natural elements associated with the storm as personified agents.
Several divine qualities or characteristics also seem to be divinized. For
example, KTU 1.65 (= RS 4.474) includes ḥnn ı̉ l, nṣbt ı̉ l, šlm ı̉ l, ı̉ l hs, and ı̉ l
˘
˹n˺dd after a list of El’s family. They could be translated as “the grace of
El, the solidity of El, the well-being of El, solicitous El, and active El”; “El
is gracious, etc.”; or like imperatives “Be gracious, El, etc.”15
Alternatively, ı̉ l could be used generically as “god” or “divine,” thus
“the grace of God,” “divine grace,” “be gracious, God.” If understood
as a prayer or psalm, the statements could be a plea for assistance or
a statement of the divine character. Perhaps more likely, the text is a god
list of some sort, making the expressions divinized qualities, presumably
of El.16
In a prayer for prosperity (KTU 1.123:12–16) the supplicant
appeals to a list of deities that seems to include the deified qualities
Light and Firmness, Eternity and Rule, Right and Justice, Compassion
of the Sons of El, and Glory and Light.17 The god list KTU 1.102
RS 6.138 = KTU 1.74; RS 92.2004; RS 26.142; RS 24.249 = KTU 1.105); cf. KAI 202.
B:25–26 (ANET 501–2; COS 2.35), from early eighth-century Hamath, which refers to
the gods of heaven and the gods of earth. Here, instead of representing the cosmos, the
expression includes all the gods in the two cosmic realms.
13
The expression “heavens” (šmym) appears in parallel with stars (KTU 1.10:4–5; 1.19.
iv:22–5//29–31; Cho 2007:16–17; in the latter passage, both are also parallel gods),
perhaps indicating heavenly beings, serving as a synonym for stars, or representing the
totality of heaven including the stars.
14
For example, KTU 1.3.iii:29, iv:19; 1.41:34, 41; 1.46:4, 7; 1.47:32; 1.105:24'; 1.109:10,
34; 1.118:14; 1.130:10; 1.148:6, 29; RS 20.024:14; 92.2004:10. The same mountain is
also deified at Emar as Mount Hazzi (Emar 472:58; 473:9; 476:21); see Koch 1993b.
15
Cf. regarding the first option, ˘ Smith 2001:43, 76; Pardee 2002:22–3. Regarding
the second option, see Avishur 1994:310–13. Regarding the third option, see Wyatt
2002:363–4.
16
See Smith 2001:43, 218; Pardee 2002:21–3.
17
Smith 2001:76–7, although again the reading is uncertain.
What Is a God? 147
ends with Hadad-Is-Generous, Baal-Is-Awesome, El-Is-Magnanimous,

El-Is-Concerned, El-Is-Compassionate, Amm-Has-Returned, El-Is-
Magnanimous, Lim-Is-Awesome, Amm-Has-Returned, El-Is-Concerned,
Baal-Is-Magnanimous, Baal-Is-Compassionate, Baal-Is-Powerful, and
Hadad-Is-Magnanimous.18 Some of the named beings receive offerings
(KTU 1.106), leading to the conclusion that they are deities.19
Various objects also seem to be deified. At Emar the standing stone
of Hebat is listed with the divine determinative and receives offerings
˘
(Emar 373:159).20 Lyre (knr) appears alongside Censer (ủ tht) in god
and offering lists (KTU 1.47:31–2; 1.148:9, 43; RS 20.024:30–1; ̄˘
92.2004:36–7, the latter two in Akkadian with a determinative).21
Door-Bolt also appears in an offering list (RS 26.142:15').22 The
tower (mdgl) of Baal receives a bull in an offering list (KTU
1.119:12).23 Although the reading is broken, other texts may refer to
an offering to the temple steps and staircase (KTU 1.41:23–4; 1:43:21;
1.87:25–6).24
In addition to deifying divine qualities, KTU 1.65 divinizes tools and
weapons: Blade-of-El, Axe-of-El, Yoke-of-El, Crusher-of-El, Fire-of-El,
Foundation-of-El, Care-of-El, and Sons-of-El.25 At Emar as well, the
divine weapon (gištukul dingir.meš) and divine axe (haṣsị nu din-
˘
gir.meš) feature in a divine procession.26 In the Baal Cycle Baal’s
18
Pardee 2002:19–21, contends that they are hypostases referring only to El and Baal.
19
See ibid. 53–6. Pardee and del Olmo Lete debate whether the divine names refer to
Ugaritic kings; cf. Pardee 1998 and 2000:522–31; del Olmo Lete 1996.
20
However, it is not deified in Emar 369:34–5, nor are the more general standing stones of
the zukru festival (373:172, 174, 181, 183, 188, 192, 200, 203).
21
In third millennium Mesopotamia, instruments also were divinized, including the related
harp or lyre (See with references Porter 2009c:178–80). Regarding the deification of
objects in third millennium Mesopotamia, see further Selz 1997. The censer is absent
from the offering list. See regarding the censer Nougayrol 1968:58–9; regarding the lyre,
see Wyatt 1999b:488.
22
Pardee 2002:44–9.
23
Korpel 1990:376. While likely, the reading remains uncertain (see the caution of Pardee,
COS 1:284n11; 2002:52, 104n51). Scholars typically amend the text to mgdl (so Korpel)
or list mdgl as an alternative form of mgdl (“tower”); del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín
2003:527, 530.
24
Cf. Korpel 1990:376; Pardee 2002:56–65, 69–72. The reading for staircase appears more
likely.
25
Some of the tools are difficult to identify; cf. Smith 2001:43; Pardee 2002:22–3; Wyatt
2002:364–5. Again, the implements may be tools of El (see Pardee and Smith) or simply
divine (see Wyatt). If the deified weapons belong to El, this text represents one of the few
instances of El’s martial side (Smith 2001:44).
26
For example, Emar 369:7, 29, 45, 65–6; del Olmo Lete 1992:254.
148 Levantine Gods
weapons in his fight against Yamm are not labeled divine, yet they seem to
be animate (KTU 1.2.iv:11–27).27 Kothar-wa-Hasis (Kôtaru-wa-Ḥ asıˉ su)
fashions a pair of weapons and names them with incantational ̄ language,
expressing their purpose: Yagarrish to “drive (garriš) Yamm from his
throne” and Ayyamarr to “expel (marrıˉ ) Yamm.” In each case Kothar
commands the weapon to “leap from Baal’s hand, like a raptor from his
finger” and strike Yamm, which the weapons proceed to do.28 The text
spends so much time discussing the weapons – their purpose and their
fulfillment of it – that Baal himself seems to be an afterthought in his great
victory over Yamm.29
The nature of Baal’s weapons come into clearer focus in comparison.
As noted, Mesopotamia has various divine and animate weapons.30 In
particular, Ninurta’s deified weapon Šarur is an active character in the
Old Babylonian Lugale.31 At eighteenth-century Mari in the Levant,
a letter indicates that Addu-of-Aleppo gave the weapon with which he
battled the sea to the king of Mari (A. 1968), while another letter affirms
its arrival and placement in the temple of Dagan in Terqa (A. 1858).32
Given these deified weapons and the presence of weapons in temple
contexts, one may assume that Baal’s weapons were considered divine
and/or may have had a real cultic presence (though not attested at
Ugarit).33
In a feast celebrating his palace Baal seems to entertain ram-gods, ewe-
goddesses, ox-gods, cow-goddesses, siege-gods, throne-goddesses,
amphora-gods, and jar-goddesses (KTU 1.4.vi:47–54).34 Thus, it seems
that in addition to objects, animals may be divinized. Alternatively and
perhaps more likely, deities may be in charge of the animals and objects
27
For a detailed commentary on the encounter, see Smith 1994:337–62. Regarding the
weapons in particular, see also Bordreuil and Pardee 1993.
28
For the translation, see Smith 1994:322–3; on the possible nature of these weapons, see
ibid. 338–41; regarding incantational language, see ibid. 341–2.
29 30 31
Ibid. 338. Porter 2009c:181–5. Ibid. 182.
32
Nonetheless, the weapons are not listed with the divine determinative in either case. For
A. 1968, see Durand 1993 and 2002:134–5. For A. 1858, see ibid. 15. The weapons in the
two texts seem to be identical (Schwemer 2001:215–16). See also ibid. 215–16, 226–37.
33
Though weapons (presumably of El) do receive offerings (KTU 1.65).
34
de Moor 1987:60–1; Wyatt 2002:107–8. However, it is possible to translate the text
differently, for example, “he provides the gods with rams (and) wine, he provides the
goddesses with cows (and) [wine]” (COS 1.86:262n178; see similarly Smith and Pitard
2008:83). While possible, reading the text as divinized animals and objects or deities in
charge of animals and objects is grammatically more straightforward (Wyatt 2002:107–
8n148).
What Is a God? 149
that are part of the upkeep of the divine home, mirroring the human
palace.
Hybrid creatures appear in iconography, large (the temples of ˁAin
Dara and Aleppo) and small (GGIG 248–53, 278–9, 290, 376), such as
sphinx, fish-men, scorpion-men, bull-men, and lion-men.35 Although
there is no indication of their identity or function in native texts, compari-
son with Hittites and Mesopotamians (and Egyptians) and their location
in the temples suggest that they represent guardian deities, who by their
appearance and presence simultaneously protect and signify the import-
ance of the deity being protected.36 Ugaritic texts describe Baal’s enemies
as a dragon (tnn) and Lıˉtan (ltn) with seven heads (KTU 1.3.iii:40–2; 1.5.
i:1–3, 27–30), though it is not entirely clear if they are divine.37
In addition, there is evidence for the deification of deceased kings as in
Egypt.38 For example, the king is called bn ı̉ l (“son of god”) in narrative
poetry and kings are invoked at funerals (1.161).39 In KTU 1.113 ı̉ l
appears before the names of historical kings, functioning like a divine
determinative.40 Mlkm (presumably deceased kings) also appears at the
end of god lists (KTU 1.47:33; RS 92.2004:42).41 Deified kings seem to
form part of the rpủ m (“the heroic dead”).42 While not explicitly divine,
rpủ m appears in parallel with several expressions of divinity (i.e., KTU
1.6.vi:45–6).43 Thus, the deceased may be divine as well.44
While the lack of an Ugaritic determinative makes an assessment more
speculative, some trends emerge regarding the frequency of divinization.
35
Regarding ˁAin Dara, see Abu Assaf 1990; Zimansky 2002; Monson 2006. Regarding
Aleppo, see Kohlmeyer 2000; Gonnella, Khayyata, and Kohlmeyer 2005, especially 88
for a provisional ground plan; Kohlmeyer 2013. For a convenient summary of the results
in English, see Kohlmeyer 2009.
36
The images at Aleppo, in particular, betray Syro-Mesopotamian and Hittite influences
(Kohlmeyer 2013). It is also possible, though less likely, that the twin lions framing
several Levantine temples may be divine (see with references Hundley 2013a:115).
37
On the whole, it is more likely that they are gods. The dragon appears alongside Yamm
and other figures who are identified with El and probably deities (1.3.iii:38–46). The
seven-headed dragon also may be identified with Yamm (Smith and Pitard 2008:245–58).
38
del Olmo Lete 2004:166–212.
39
Wyatt 1999a:560–2. For the texts, see Pardee 2002:85–8.
40
del Olmo Lete 2004:169.
41
del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín 2003:556. For the texts, see Pardee 2002:12–19.
42
Rouillard 1999. 43 del Olmo Lete 1987, especially 64–6.
44
The dead (mtm) also are listed among Shapsh’s underlings in KTU 1.6.vi:48–9.
150 Levantine Gods
As in Egypt, the major (and certain minor) gods are consistently divine in
contradistinction to living humans who are not divine, with the possible
exception of the king.45 Non anthropomorphic deities (that is, deities who
take primarily nonhuman shape yet may have human attributes) seem to
be divine only occasionally. For example, although occasionally divine, in
̣
most cases the earth (ả rṣ), a mountain (gr), and the heavens (šmm) are
simply geographical features.46 Instruments, weapons, and objects are
most commonly simply objects. For example, a lyre is most often
a stringed instrument (KTU 1.19.i:8; 1.108:4).47 In most cases, animals
are simply animals.48 As we will see in the following section, their divini-
zation seems to occur under special circumstances.

As elsewhere in the ANE, it is difficult to reduce a god to a strict set of
principles. This is especially the case in the Levant as we have little data on
many of the named deities. Power seems to be a common feature of the
deities in mythology, whether major or minor, yet it is less clearly associ-
ated with some of the divinized elements like the lyre, censer, and door-
bolt. Perhaps these elements do have numinous power, though they seem
to affect the deities more directly than humans. As in Mesopotamia, music
likely has the power to elicit a positive response from the deity. As
elsewhere, the censer makes divine air, removing olfactory impurity and
creating an aroma suitable for the divine presence; it also may ward off
unwanted forces.49 As among the Hittites, the door-bolt protects the
entryway to a structure, in this case the divine abode. Together these
deified elements have the power to influence the gods and by extension
human worshippers. Thus, a Levantine god minimally has power, a power
to positively or negatively impact humanity either directly or indirectly.
Most gods also seem to have some measure of humanlike agency,
ranging from the great gods to divinized elements anthropomorphic
45
For an overview of Ugaritic minor gods, see Cho 2007.
46
See respectively Olmo Lete and Sanmartín 2003:106–8, 324–5, 826–7. Nonetheless,
mountains and especially Ṣapun are more consistently divine.
47
Wyatt 1999b; Olmo Lete and Sanmartín 2003:450–1; see also mrḥ (“lance/spear”) 573–
4; rḥbt (“jar”) 737.
48
Hprt (“ewe”) and kr (“ram”); see respectively Olmo Lete and Sanmartín 2003:401, 454.
49 ˘ Egypt a divine aroma betrays the divine presence even when the deity appears in human
In
form, and it allows humans access to the divine (Hornung 1982:133; Hundley
2013a:178–9). “Burning ‘incense’ (sntr) for the god could ‘deify’ (sntri) the king” (Bell
1997:174). ̄ ̄
What Makes a God a God? 151
enough to receive cultic attention. Even deities who do not receive cultic
attention like Mot talk, think, and act in humanlike ways.
Other Characteristic Qualities of Divinity

Viewed from another perspective, some but not all elements of the divine
household are divinized. One could argue that they are deified by contagion
or perhaps more likely that they are deemed important enough to have a deity
in charge of them. The lyre allows for divine communication, the incense
purifies the air, and the door-bolt protects the space. The tower, the stairs, and
the steps represent part of the divine environment, specifically elevated struc-
tures and the access points to them. As in Mesopotamia, tools and weapons
may receive cultic care and serve as practical extensions of presence. Animals
and household items are associated with nourishment and service. These
elements seem important enough to have a divine overseer, just as they
would a human overseer in the royal realm, for example, music, aroma,
security, infrastructure, food production, and the presentation of drinks.
In addition to elements of the divine household, other elements in
nature and society that are deemed important – and often necessary and
uncontrollable – have a god who controls them (e.g., rainfall, fertility,
disease, and warfare). The divine control extends to elements considered
chaotic, destructive, and largely uncontrollable, especially the waters
(Yamm/Nahar), death (Mot), and pestilence (Rašap [Resheph]).50 Awe-
inspiring elements, often expressed as a totality, like the earth and the
heavens, the mountains and the abyss, may be deified. In addition, what
we would identify today as abstract qualities were conceived of as potent,
active, and uncontrollable forces at work in the world, which could be
divine attributes or (semi-)independent divine actors. Positing deities in
charge of the meaningful aspects of the universe helped people understand
and exercise some measure of control over their worlds.
Levantine Distinctives
The Levantine gods do not have the divine bureaucracy prevalent in
Mesopotamia and to a lesser extent among the Hittites. As we will discuss,
the pantheons, especially in the southern Levant of the first millennium,
50
Baal’s victory over the waters partially tames them, at least giving him some measure of
control over them. While he does not defeat death, he does manage to keep it at bay,
revivifying himself and preventing death from being king of the mortal realm.
152 Levantine Gods
have fewer specialists. Smaller communities often do not have the popu-
lation to support multiple specialists. Thus, just as in smaller communities
today doctors tend to be generalists when they serve a great diversity of
patients, local gods tend to have more general abilities to meet the needs of
their “patients.”
In the Levant there is also no empire to agglutinate or syncretize the
gods into a single pantheon. Instead, a number of smaller, local polities
prevail whose gods tend to be (semi-)autonomous, as indicated by ritual
and international correspondence. In addition to the personalities out-
lined in mythology, gods are often defined by the roles they play.
Divine Overlap
Ugarit has a particular penchant for double names, in most cases joined by
a copula.51 Often the paired deities complement each other yet remain
distinct. For example, El-and-Athirat (KTU 1.65:5) represent the divine
power couple, Šḥr-w-Šlm (“Dawn-and-Dusk”) the morning and evening
star (KTU 1.23:52), and Heaven-and-Earth and Mountains-and-Abyss, the
vertical extremities of the world (KTU 1.118:11, 18). Baal’s messengers are
called Gpn-w-ˀUgr (“Vine-and-Field”) (KTU 1.3.iii:36; 1.5.i:12; 1.8.ii:7–
8), appropriate names as vine and field are the product of the sender’s
power, rainfall and fertility.52
In several cases these double names joined by a copula constitute
a single divine being. Similar to Mesopotamia and Egypt, the first name
often seems to carry the deity’s identity, while the second name functions
like an attribute.53 Ktr-w-Hss (“Skill-and-Wisdom”) appears to signify
̄ ˘
that Kothar is wise.54 Mt-w-Šr may signify “Death-and-Ruler” or “Death-
55
and-Evil” (KTU 1.23:8). Assuming that the deity in question is a form of
51 52
For a partial list, see Smith 2001:70–1. See briefly Ginsberg 1944:2.
53
Cf. Smith 2001:71. de Moor (1970:227–8) argues for a gradual elevation from distinct
beings to a single deity, though in most cases it is hard to verify his hypothesis.
54
Smith 2001:71. Smith further suggests that the name represents “both the divinization
and personification of craftsmanship” (76). Kothar-wa-Hasis may be identified by either
name (cf. 1.17.v:10–11, where they appear in parallel), and in one instance the names
appear together without the copula (1.123:28). For references, see “ktr,” in Cunchillos
2003, CUW-3184, 1724–6; “hss,” CUW-2133, 1280–2. ̄
55 ˘
Alternative possibilities include “Warrior-and-Ruler” and “Warrior-and-Death.” It
is also unclear whether the deity refers to Mot; cf. Tsumura 1974; Pardee, COS
1:276–7n13; Smith 2006a:40–2.
Mot, the binomial signifies either his rule of the underworld or his role as
the antagonist to Baal, not necessarily a morally evil character. Nkl-w-ˀIb
(KTU 1.24:1) likely identifies the Mesopotamian moon goddess Ningal
(“Great Lady”) as “Great-Lady-of-Fruit,” perhaps related to her
Akkadian epithet ilat inbi (“Goddess-of-Fruit”).56 Qdš-w-ˀAmrr is
Athirat’s messenger (KTU 1.4.iv:13; 1.123:26),57 whose name approxi-
mately translates “Holy-and-Blessed.”58
As elsewhere in the ANE, two divine names may be combined into
a single name without a copula. For example, Athtart(=Astarte)-the-
Name-of-Baal appears in Ugaritic mythology (‘ttrt šm bˁl; KTU 1.16.
vi:56, restored in 1.2.i:8) and in the fifth-centurȳ Ešmunazar Inscription
from Sidon (KAI 14:18).59 The precise relationship between Astarte and
Baal and the nature of the title Name-of-Baal remain disputed. Several
scholars posit Astarte as a hypostasis of Baal.60 Although it appears
outside our geographical bounds, the Punic identification of Tannit as
the Face-of-Baal provides an interesting parallel (pn bˁl; KAI 78:2; 79:1,
10–11; 85:1; 86:1; 87:2; 88:1; 137:1). Seow suggests that the role of
Astarte “in the Eastern Mediterranean world was replaced in North
Africa by the goddess Tannit” and that name and face are roughly equiva-
lent, connoting representative presence.61 Scholars again often assume
some kind of hypostatic relationship.62 In contrast, Lipiński takes pn
adverbially as “before” Baal, in reference to her original role as lamenter
in Baal’s cult.63
56
Smith 2001:71.
57
The names appear as parallel terms in 1.4.iv:16–17 and appear connected without
a copula in 1.3.vi:11. Regarding Qdš-w-ˀAmrr as a solitary messenger, see Ginsberg
1944:25; Cho 2007:222–3. For references, see “amrr,” in Cunchillos 2003, CUW-278,
136; “qdš,” CUW-5115, 2579–82.
58
In this instance the connection between names is unclear. Regarding amrr as “blessed,”
see del Olmo Lete and Sanmartín 2003:73. de Moor argues that amrr signifies Amorite
Amurru demoted to being Athirat’s messenger (1971:52). In favor of such an interpret-
ation Ashratu is the consort of Amurru in Mesopotamia (Jensen 1896–7:302–5).
Nonetheless, Amurru in KTU 1.4.i:41 appears as amr, not amrr (Wiggins 2007:49–50).
59
Smith 2001:74; S. Allen 2015:239.
60
For example, Cross 1973:30; Mullen 1980:120; McCarter 1987:147; Olyan 1988:48; cf.
Sommer (2009:27), who contends that Astarte “appears as an aspect of Baal’s self.”
Smith (2001:74–5) adduces parallels from the biblical use of the divine name.
61
Seow 1999:322. The name Tannit-ˀAštart (tntˀštrt) even appears in a Phoenician inscrip-
tion from Sarepta; Pritchard 1978:104–6.
62
For references, see S. Allen 2015:241n119. See also Sommer 2009:26–7.
63
Lipiński 1995:199–201.
154 Levantine Gods
In both cases one should not make too much of a compound name. As
we have seen elsewhere in the ANE, combined names do not imply the
absorption of one deity by another. As noted earlier, the identity seems to
lie in the first named deity and the second name often functions descrip-
tively. The Name-of-Baal may thus, simply be a title of Astarte to highlight
her martial or representative role. It may indicate that Astarte exercises
warrior qualities like Baal or that she acts as his ambassador, exercising
her warrior qualities in his name. In the case of Tannit as Face-of-Baal the
title may highlight her representative function as the visible (cultic) face of
Baal.
Anat-Bethel appears in two Neo-Assyrian treaties (SAA 2.5–6) and at
Elephantine (TAD C3.15:1, 123–8) alongside Anat-YHW (B7.3:3).
Again, the second name seems to qualify the first. Scholars take Anat-
Bethel and Anat-Yahu as Anat-of-Bethel and Anat-of-Yahu – that is, Anat
as consort of Bethel and Yahu.64 Although slightly out of our geograph-
ical purview, Syro-Hittite Rakib-El, the dynastic deity of Samˀal from
Southeastern Anatolia (KAI 24:16; 215:22), bears mention.65 While little
is known about the deity, the name may be more of a title, Chariot-Driver-
of-El,66 indicating his important position in El’s entourage.67 The
Moabite Mesha (Meˉ šaˁ) stela includes Ashtar-Kemosh alongside the
national god Kemosh (KAI 181:17).68
Several gods have expansive and fluid enough profiles to be considered
constellations, though they seem to be not as expansive as those in
Mesopotamia and Egypt. In this section we address three of the most
prominent – Dagan, El, and Baal – the latter of which has several distinct
constellations. In second millennium Syrian religion, Dagan/biblical
Dagon was the high god in inner Syria, while El served as the high god
along the coast.69 Baal in his various iterations was the weather god.
64
Sachau 1911:xxv; van der Toorn 1992:81. van der Toorn argues for a north Syria origin
of the deity Anat-Bethel (83–5) and that Anat-Yahu is an “Aramean creation, elicited by
the identification of Yahu with Bethel” (97). See also Eshem-Bethel and Herem-Bethel;
van der Toorn 2016.
65
He also appears in KAI 25:4; 214:2, 3, 11, 18; 216:5. See conveniently, van der Toorn
1999.
66
Landsberger 1948:45–6; S. Allen 2015:231n102.
67
As a result, some identify him with the storm-god Hadad (van der Toorn 1999:686).
68
The import of the union remains unclear. 69 Cf. Feliu 2003:302.
Dagan
With cult places at Tuttul and Terqa, Dagan was a dominant figure in the
middle and upper Euphrates of the early third and second millennia (e.g.,
from the Ebla, Mari, and Emar texts).70 Although he was largely absent
from Ugaritic mythology, except as the father of Baal (cf. 1.24:14), he
played an important role in cultic and ritual texts.71 In the first millennium
he appears minimally, but as far east as Aššur, where a chapel was
dedicated to Dagan in Aššur’s temple by Shalmanser V (726–722 BCE),
and in first millennium Philistia.72 References appear as late as the book of
1 Maccabees 10:83–4.73
Despite his widespread prominence, Dagan remains one of the “unex-
plained” deities of the Levant.74 He plays a minimal role in mythology,
not least because no substantial mythology remains from the region he
headed. While tantalizing, etymological connections to grain and fish
ultimately are unconvincing.75 Thus, his origin and developing character
profile remain obscure. As high god, he seems to be generally a “father-
creator.”76
In the ritual texts of Emar, we begin to see some of his profile and
fluidity. The zukru festival, in particular, purports to “give reverence to all
of the gods of Emar” (Emar 373:75).77 The ritual text follows the asser-
tion with an enumeration of (some of) the gods (373:76–162). Multiple
gods appear multiple times, distinguished by epithet, likely indicating
separate cults with divine presence manifest in separate cult objects.78
From the data, Dagan seems to have at least fifteen cults/images, by far the
most among Emarite deities.79 Like Marduk in Babylon, each cult (statue)
bears a title that indicates its function. In addition to the unspecified
Dagan, we find Dagan, Lord-of-the-Firstborn; Dagan, Lord-of-the-
Offspring; Dagan-of-the-Palace; Dagan, Lord-of-Creation; Dagan,
70
Sargon even attributed his conquest of Upper Mesopotamia to Dagan and worshipped
him at Tuttul (Healey 1999:216). Regarding Dagan, see especially Feliu 2003; Crowell
2001.
71
Ugarit even preserves his earlier connection to Tuttul, calling him Dagan-of-Tuttul twice
(KTU 1.100:15; 1.24:14).
72
While the presence of Dagon in biblical Philistia is undisputed, scholars debate the nature
and extent of Dagon’s presence in actual Iron Age Philistia. Regarding his presence in the
Aššur temple, see Crowell 2001:46–7.
73 74 75
Healey 1999:218. Feliu 2003:1–2. Healey 1999:216–18.
76
Feliu 2003:304–5, who also labels him the “Syrian Enlil” (298). For some of his titles in
the Levant, see further ibid. 171, 239–40, 301n161.
77 78
Translation after Fleming 2000:243. Ibid. 88.
79
In second place, Astart appears nine times, followed by the weather god at five (ibid.
88n168).
156 Levantine Gods
Lord-of-the-Camp; Dagan, Lord-of-Habitations; Dagan, Lord-of-the-

Valley; Dagan, Lord-of-Šumi; Dagan, Lord-of-Buzqa; Dagan, Lord-
of-Yabur; Dagan, Lord-of-Shade-and-Protection; Dagan, Lord-of-the-
Fortress; and Dagan, Lord-of-the-Quiver.80
Several of these names refer to locally manifested Dagans (e.g., Dagan-
of-the-Palace; Dagan, Lord-of-the-Valley; Dagan, Lord-of-Šumi; Dagan,
Lord-of-Buzqa; and Dagan, Lord-of-Yabur), while others refer to
a specific attribute or function of Dagan (e.g., Dagan, Lord-of-the-
Firstborn; Dagan, Lord-of-the-Offspring; Dagan, Lord-of-Shade-and-
Protection; and Dagan, Lord-of-the-Quiver).81 Dagan cult images, thus
were resident in and protected important places in and around Emar,
while other images served specific functions, thereby dividing the labor of
the larger Dagan into his smaller manifestations. On one hand, each image
served as an extension of Dagan as patron of the city, extending his sphere
of influence to all important areas and aspects, not just those traditionally
attributed to the deity. On the other hand, each was treated as cultically
distinct, such that depending on one’s perspective, Emar had many Dagans
or one Dagan with many detachable parts. Rather than appeal to a single
Dagan, the people also could appeal to the particular manifestation that
best suited their needs, such as the home, children, or hunting.
El
El serves as Dagan’s coastal counterpart.82 El is the common noun for
deity (ı̉ lu) and the name of the Ugaritic high god (ˀIlu).83 As such, it is
sometimes difficult to determine which deity the text intends at Ugarit and
especially elsewhere. El appears first in onomastica from Ebla, followed by
Mari and Amarna.84 At Ugarit, El features; he carries supreme authority,
under which Baal exercises kingship.85 El’s perdurance in the Iron Age
Levant remains a matter of debate.86 He features in Edomite and
80
Fleming surmises the unspecified Dagan is the resident of Emar’s primary Dagan temple
(ibid. 89).
81
Other epithets used elsewhere indicate other characteristics, such as “Lord-of-the-Seed”
(Emar 446:50–1; ibid. 145n18), associating Dagan with grain (ibid. 158).
82
Regarding El, see Cross 1973:3–75 and 1977. Pope 1955 and 1994:29–39, 47–61; Smith
2001:135–48; see conveniently, W. Herrmann 1999b.
83
Like Dagan, El has no agreed upon etymology (Smith 2001:135).
84
Gelb 1992:134, 149, 158, 193; Hess 1993:237; Smith 2001:135. Nonetheless, it is not
entirely clear if the singular El is in view.
85
There is some debate about whether El maintains his authority after Baal becomes king
(see briefly Smith 2001:136–7).
86
Ibid. 137–9.
Ammonite personal names as well as in the Deir ˁAlla inscription.87

However, while likely, it is not entirely clear if the deity El is the referent
of the onomastic evidence and if the Deir ˁAlla inscription is a copy of an
earlier inscription.88
El is described as the father (ả b) of the gods and king (mlk) with
authority over all, who is a wise and righteous judge (e.g., KTU 1.3.
v:30; 1.4.iv:41; v 3–4; 1.16.iv:1–2). In addition to being father, El is
“progenitor” (ḥtk; 1.1.ii:18; iii:6; 1.6.iv:11), while his consort Athirat is
“mother of the gods” (qnyt ı̉ lm; 1.4.i:22; iii:26, 30, 35; iv:32; 1.8.ii:2) and
of the “seventy sons of Athirat” (1.4.vi:46).89 As king and judge, he is
enthroned before individual deities (1.3.v; 1.4.iv–v) and the entire divine
council (1.2.i). He is also depicted as a mature “father of years” (ả b šnm;
KTU 1.1.iii:24; 1.2.i:10; iii:[5]; 1.3.v:8; 1.4.iv:24; 1.5.vi:2; 1.6.i:36; 1.17.
vi:49) with a gray beard (1.3.v:2, 25; 1.4.v:4; 1.18.i:12).90 His character is
kind and compassionate (lt ̣pn ı̉ l dpı̉ d; 1.4.iv:58; 1.6.iii:4, 10, 14; 1.16.
v:23), yet he preserves the power to cure diseases (1.16.v:23–50; 1.100;
1,107). Although his role as creator is not attested in mythology, texts call
him “father of humanity” (ả b ả dm) and “creator of creatures” (bny
bnwt).91
In Ugaritic mythology El is a single, undivided character. However, in
the ritual and cultic texts some of El’s characteristic qualities seem to be
detachable – namely, the Grace-of-El, the Solidity-of-El, the Well-Being-
of-El, Solicitous-El, Active-El, Magnanimous-El, Concerned-El, and
Compassionate-El (KTU 1.65:6–9; 1.102:15–28).92 The named El epi-
thets may be conceived of as distinct deities who receive their own cult.
One also may surmise that each represents a cult image, differentiated by
87
Regarding Edomite personal names, see Tigay 1987:171, 187n66. Regarding Ammonite
personal names, see Albertz and Schmitt 2012:506, 509–10 for a summary of the
evidence. Regarding the Deir ˁAlla inscription, see conveniently COS 2.27; references to
El appear in i:2; ii:6, 30. El also appears in the fourth-century pAmherst 63 from Egypt
(van der Toorn 2018:63).
88
El also appears further north in KAI 214 and 221 (W. Herrmann 1999b:277) and as “El-
Creator-of-the-Earth” at Karatepe (KAI 26A.iii:18). For the Ammonite onomastic evi-
dence, see Cornell 2015. For an argument that Milkom is an Ammonite form of El, see
Burnett 2009. Regarding the Deir ˁAlla inscription, cf. B. Levine 1985; Greenfield
1991:120; Smith 2001:139.
89
Regarding El as king, see 1.1.iii:23; 1.2.iii:5; 1.3.v:8, 36; 1.4.i:5; iv:24, 38, 48; 1.5.vi:2;
1.6.i:36; 1.17.vi:49; 1.117:2–3; cf. 1.14.i:41.
90
He appears elderly in the iconography as well (Smith 2001:136).
91
Cf. W. Herrmann 1999b:275–6, for dissenting voices.
92
The deified qualities in 1.123:12–16 may also belong to El since, as noted, several are
ascribed to him elsewhere.
158 Levantine Gods
the named characteristic of El. As with Dagan, one could argue that Ugarit
had multiple El deities or a single El with multiple parts depending on
one’s perspective.
Baal
Known by many names and localized in many places, Baal was an especially
prominent deity in second and first millennium Levant. The word bˁl (baˁlu;
beˉ lu in Akkadian) simply means “lord” and may be applied to numerous
deities and even humans.93 A god may be called bˁl to indicate his position
as lord of a place, master of a skill, or as an expression of supremacy, lord
par excellence.94 For example, at Emar texts use the Sumerogram en
(the equivalent of Akkadian beˉ l) to denote Dagan’s mastery of a place or
skill (i.e., Emar 373). In Akkadian Marduk often bears the title Beˉ l to
indicate his status as supreme lord and Ebla texts refer to Dagan as dbe
(Akkadian beˉ lu), likely to highlight his place atop the pantheon.95 Applying
the title Baal to a weather god, thus is a statement of supremacy.
In the late sixteenth and fifteenth centuries the title Baal was applied to
the weather god Hadda/u (later Assyrianized as Hadad) along the
Levantine coast.96 Inspired by the weather god’s rise to prominence,
Haddu/Hadad became synonymous with and eventually was supplanted by
the name Baal in places.97 As a result, Hadad effectively became an epithet for
Baal in Ugaritic mythology (e.g., KTU 1.4.vi:38–40; 1.5.i:22–3).98
While Baal was used as far east as Emar for a weather god, it never fully
replaced Adad (the Mesopotamian name) or Teššub (the Hurro-Hittite
name).99 In many cases different cultures continued to use their preferred
93
For example, bˁl in Ugaritic letters most often seems to refer to a human king, such as bˁly
(“my lord”; KTU 2.35:5), mlk bˁly (“the king, my lord”; 2.33:30–1), and mlk bˁlh (“the
king, his lord”; 2.47:1–2) (S. Allen 2015:214n39).
94
Cf. Schwemer 2008a:8. The title appears as early as the middle of the third millennium
from Tell Abuˉ Ṣalā bıˉh and the list of calendar names from pre-Sargonic Ebla (iti be-li,
“month of the Lord”), ˘ although it likely does not refer to the weather god; Pettinato
1981:150–4; Schwemer 2008a:8; S. Allen 2015:215.
95
First millennium texts also refer to the Moon-God-of-Harran as Baal-of-Ḥ arrā n (KAI
218:1) and Beˉl-of-Harrā n (Radner 1999:300–4). Baal-of-Ḥ amā n too may have been an
epithet for El, not a˘weather god (about which see later in this chapter). Regarding dbe as
“lord” at Ebla, see Biggs 2006:144.
96
Schwemer 2008a:8–9; Regarding the Assyrianization of Hadda/u to Hadad (vocalizing it
like the Assyrian weather-god Adad), see Schwemer 2001:53–4 and 2007:160.
97 98
S. Allen 2015:215–17. Schwemer 2001:502–11 and 2008a:9; S. Allen 2015:216.
99
Schwemer 2008a:14. Scribes wrote Haddu and Baal with the Sumerogram diškur;
Schwemer 2001:548–52 and 2007:159; cf. Pruzsinszky 2003:186n368; regarding the
Luwian, see Herbordt 2005:295, 298.
name for the weather god. For example, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo was
iškur-of-Aleppo for the Hittites, ˀAddu-of-Aleppo at Ebla, Teššub-of-
Aleppo for the Hurrians, Tarhunza-of-Aleppo for the Luwians, iškur
˘
(=Adad)-of-Aleppo for the Assyrians, Hadad-of-Aleppo at Sefire (KAI
222), and Baal-of-Aleppo at Ugarit.100 In the first millennium “Baal”
remained the favored term along the Levantine coast, while Aramean Syria
and Upper Mesopotamia preferred “Hadad.”101 Having surveyed the origin
and use of the title “Baal,” we turn to an examination of the presence of Baal
at Ugarit, about which we have the most information, before expanding to
include the rest of the Levant, especially Baal-of-Aleppo and Baal-of-
Heaven.102
Baal in Ugaritic Texts

Given the multiple Baal names present at Ugarit, one wonders how many
distinct Baals were worshipped there. Rather than be too dogmatic at the
outset, we follow the evidence before making tentative conclusions that
highlight the variability in the divine presentation.
In some cases Baal is treated as a singular entity. Within the mythology
of Ugarit Baal is a single figure and thus simply Baal. Myths tend to present
a deity as singular since multiple manifestations would be confusing and
undermine the prestige ascribed to the mythological character. In other
words, Baal would not be so impressive a figure if he was just one of the
many weather gods. In a hymn (KTU 1.101) Baal is singular, yet massive.
Like his divine mountain Baal has cosmic proportions, with his head in the
snow in heaven (1.101:7).103 Again, cosmic Baal would be less cosmic if
he had to share the cosmos with another Baal. In a prayer (KTU
1.119:26'–36'), the scribe encourages the supplicant to pray to
a singular (undefined) Baal to defend the city against attack.104
Even in mythology Baal seems to have detachable aspects. Like the Hittite
Weather-God, natural elements associated with the storm receive different
100 101
S. Allen 2015:220. Schwemer 2008a:160.
102
An examination of Baal’s broader character profile will feature under Divine Elevation
and Innovation. See also regarding Baal at Ugarit Schwemer 2001:511–48.
103
For text, translation, and commentary, see Pardee 1988b:119–52; Heffelfinger 2007; for
a convenient English translation, Wyatt 2002:388–90; see also Smith 2012:228–30.
104
Interestingly, earlier on the same tablet, offerings are prescribed for Baal-R‘KT (2) in the
temple of Baal-of-Ugarit (3), unnamed Baal deities (6), and Baal-of-Ugarit (22’). As we
will see, context is key to the presentation of deities. Multiple Baals even may appear in
the same prayer (i.e., KTU 1.42:10–11).
160 Levantine Gods
treatment in different texts.105 In KTU 1.5.v:6–9 clouds, winds, lightning, and

rain seem to be treated like personified agents. In another context lightning
(brq) and thunder (rˁt) are merely weapons in the divine arsenal (1.104:3–
4).106 Instead of being a weapon, thunder also serves as Baal’s voice (ql) (1.4.
vii:29). In still other cases storm elements are simply natural elements. Baal
also seems to have detachable qualities. The god list KTU 1.102 also seems to
include deified qualities of Baal: Hadad-Is-Generous, Baal-Is-Awesome, Baal-
Is-Magnanimous, Baal-Is-Compassionate, and Baal-Is-Powerful.
While largely singular in mythology, in other texts Baal is often
multiple.107 Deity lists and ritual texts include a number of Baals who
receive individual cultic care, including an unspecified Baal,108 Baal-of-
Aleppo, Baal-of-Ṣapun, Baal-of-Ugarit, Baal-KNP (-of-the-Wing), and
Baal-RˁKT.109 In several cases more than one Baal appears in the same
prescriptive ritual or god list.110 For example, KTU 1.130 prescribes
offerings for Baal-of-Ṣapun (7, 9), an unspecified Baal (16), Baal-of-
Ugarit (23), and Baal-of-Aleppo (24). KTU 1.41:33–5, 41–2 (//1.87:33–5,
41–2), 1.109:32–4, and 1.112:22–3 prescribe offerings for Baal-of-Ṣapun
before those for Baal-of-Ugarit.111 The god list KTU 1.148:26–7 (//RS
92.2004:6–7) mentions Baal-of-Aleppo before Baal-of-Ṣapun. The
prescriptive ritual texts KTU 1.130:23–4 and the related 1.109:16
105
Cf. Korpel 1990:596–8.
106
Unlike rain, lightning seems to have no other use than to express power.
107
For an argument for multiple Baals, see S. Allen 2015:200–37.
108
Since the data are sparse, scholarly opinions vary on the identity of the unspecified Baal
in ritual texts (see S. Allen 2015:209–12), and no definitive answer is forthcoming. The
unspecified Baal may be the superordinate Baal (of mythology), the deity behind the
diverse local Baals. Baal-of-Ugarit also could be the unspecified Baal, which seems more
likely than unmodified Baal as supreme Baal. When he is the only Baal in the text and
when offerings are presented in his temple, the GN may be redundant (i.e., KTU
1.109:11–15). In cases where multiple Baals are in view, the GN distinguishes him
from other Baals (see S. Allen). This argument finds support in the fact that the GN-of-
Ugarit, rarely, if ever, appears alone (cf. KTU 1.119:21'–2'). The answer even may be
context specific.
109
Regarding Baal-of-Aleppo, see KTU 1.109:16; 1.130:11; 1.148:26; 4.728:1–2; RS
92.2004:6; Baal-of-Ṣapun: KTU 1.14:33, 41; 1.46:12, 14; 1.109:6, 9, 29, 32–3;
1.112:22–3; 1.148:2, 10, 27; 1.130:17, 22; RS 92.2004:7; Baal-of-Ugarit: KTU
1.41:34–5, 42; 1.46:16; 105:6'; 109:11, 16, 34, 35; 1.112:23; 1.119:3, 9–10, 12, 22';
1.130:10, 24, 26; Baal-KNP:1.46:6–7; and Baal-RˁKT:1.119:2. See the convenient tables
(5.1–8) in S. Allen 2015:392–403; see also 207n24.
110
Transliterations, translations, and basic commentary are available in Pardee 2002 and
more exhaustively in Pardee 2000.
111
In KTU 1.41 and 1.87 an unspecified Baal appears right before Baal-of-Ṣapun and Baal-
of-Ugarit.
list offerings for Baal-of-Ugarit before Baal-of-Aleppo.112 RS 1.009:3,

6 includes an unspecified Baal followed by Baal-KNP, while KTU
1.119:2–3, 22' include offerings to Baal-RˁKT in the temple of Baal-
of-Ugarit, followed on the other side by offerings to Baal-of-
Ugarit.113
Texts even seem to prescribe offerings for the generic Baals as a group
alongside individual Baal deities.114 For example, KTU 1.39:9–10 pre-
scribes offerings for ı̉ lhm and bˁlm. The former seems to refer to the plural
sons of El and the latter to unspecified Baal deities.115 In addition, the
same ritual text prescribes rituals for the unspecified Baal (6, 14) and Baal-
of-Ṣapun (10).116 Rather than single out or enumerate Baal deities, the
plural bˁlm likely serves as a shorthand, encouraging the officiant to
present the same offering to all of the assembled Baal images without
specifying their number or identity.117
Some doubt remains about the proper translation of bˁlm because of its
presence in another text (KTU 1.47:5–11//1.118:4–10//Akkadian RS
20.024:4–10). In the god list Baal-of-Ṣapun appears followed by six
bˁlm. The Akkadian version lists the equivalent dim in the singular six
times, followed by numbers 2–7. Thus, the Akkadian version lists seven
Baal deities: Baal-of-Ṣapun and six other Baal deities. As a result, many
understand bˁlm as a singular distinct from the plural bˁlm just noted.118
Since the seven Baals occur in a ritual context, each is treated as a distinct
deity who receives individual offerings.119 We may assume that each also
represents or is represented by a cult object to whom the offerings are
112
KTU 1.109:13 includes the unspecified Baal before the Baals with GNs.
113
The meaning of Baal-RˁKT is currently unknown.
114
The Bible often employs the generic plural Baals as well, and various Baals with GNs,
seemingly to distinguish between them. Regarding the GNs, see S. Allen 2015:398–400.
115
Pardee 2002:107–8n88. Alternatively, bˁlm could be a single Baal with an enclitic-m (less
likely here following the plural ı̉ lhm), or it could refer to the generic assembly of Baal (7),
which appears following the circle of El. In the latter case the Baals would not be Baal
deities, but rather deities subservient to him.
116
See also 1.41:18, which prescribes offerings for ı̉ lhm and bˁlm as well as an unspecified
Baal (15), Baal-of-Ṣapun (33, 41), and Baal-of-Ugarit (35–42). See similarly 1.119:2, 3,
6, 12, 15, 22', 25'.
117
Alternatively, they may receive an offering as a group rather than individuals.
118
RS 92.2004:6–7, 38–41 (=KTU 1.148:26–7, 43–4) lists four Baal deities (bˁlm) with no
enumeration (and under a different name, d10) well after Baal-of-Aleppo and Baal-of
-Ṣapun (6–7). Unfortunately, there is no consensus regarding the import of the m or the
meaning of the repeated expression. For the possibilities, see Smith 2012:224–5; S. Allen
2015:202–5.
119
KTU 1.148; Pardee 2002:12–13.
162 Levantine Gods
proffered. Thus, they seem to represent seven Baal deities. Their identity
and relationship to each other remain open questions. Seven also
could either be figurative or an exact number. They could be seven
manifestations of Baal-of-Aleppo or Baal-of-Ṣapun, the total number
of Baals in the cult (e.g., Baal-of-Ṣapun, Baal-of-Aleppo, Baal-of-
Ugarit, Baal-KNP, Baal-RˁKT, and two unidentified Baals), or merely
an expression of the multiplicity of Baals (like the plural Baals)
enumerated for effect.120 In the end, their identity remains
a mystery, which is likely purposeful. The very obscurity of the
other Baal deities highlights the importance of Baal-of-Ṣapun among
the many gods and Baals at Ugarit.
Baal appears as multiple in prayers as well. While Baal is singular in
the prayer mentioned earlier (KTU 1.119:26'–36'), a Hurrian text from
Ugarit appeals to three weather gods – Teššub-of-Aleppo, Teššub-of-
Hazzi (=Ṣapun), and Teššub-of-Ugarit (KTU 1.42:10–11).121 The differ-
˘
ence between the two prayers seems to be a matter of context. In keeping
with Hittite comprehensive prayers, the Hurrian prayer seems to be a broad
appeal for assistance, including all the relevant weather gods to cover the
bases. In contrast, KTU 1.119:26'–36' is a direct appeal to Baal, the god of
Ugarit, to protect his city.122 Recognizing his geographic affiliation is
unnecessary and may be demeaning.123 Like the Hurrian prayer, appealing
to a singular Baal also has broader appeal to the wider constellation than
including a GN.
How then should we make sense of the various Baals at Ugarit? The
ritual texts and the Hurrian letter attest to three primary Baals whose GNs
distinguish between them – Baal-of-Ugarit, Baal-of-Ṣapun, and Baal-of-
Aleppo. Baal-of-Ugarit refers to the city god of Ugarit, Baal-of-Ṣapun is
the deity of the nearby mountain, and Baal-of-Aleppo is the city god of
Aleppo and a deity of transregional importance. As a foreign Baal, Baal-of-
Aleppo appears only occasionally in the Ugaritic cult, though he has
120
If each receives an offering, they also could serve as an approximation, indicating the
rank of Baal deities against each other and other gods, without being specific, to keep the
ritual flexible and to elevate Baal-of-Ṣapun. Pardee harmonizes the lists in RS 20.024 and
92.2004 by including Tarratiya as a manifestation of Baal (28), which alongside Baal-of-
Aleppo, Baal-of-Ṣapun, ̄ and̄ the four unnamed Baal deities equals seven, leading to
a total of seven Baal deities in both lists (2002:102n37).
121
Dijkstra 1991:136–7; Smith 2012:221.
122
Cf. Smith 2012:223; S. Allen 2015:211n30.
123
They might specify a GN if they were invoking a foreign Baal, such as Baal-of-Aleppo. In
this case, their city Baal is simply Baal. Cf. KTU 1.123, which addresses multiple deities,
a single Baal, and separate Yarikhs (unspecified Yarikh and Kassite Yarikh).
a distinct and expansive constellation of his own.124 In contrast, both Baal-

of-Ṣapun and Baal-of-Ugarit feature prominently (as does the deified Ṣapun
itself). Surprisingly, Baal-of-Ṣapun seems to play a more central role in the
cult of Ugarit than Baal-of-Ugarit.125 While not a hard-and-fast rule, the
order in texts often indicates hierarchy, especially in embedded god lists.126
Thus, when Baal-of-Ṣapun precedes Baal-of-Ugarit virtually every time they
appear together, we may infer that Baal-of-Ṣapun is the more important
deity. In addition, the primary deity lists of Ugarit feature Baal-of-Ṣapun yet
omit the patron deity of the city, Baal-of-Ugarit, altogether.127
International correspondences and royal decrees paint a similar picture.
Three Ugaritic letters mention Baal-of-Ṣapun (KTU 2.23:19; 2.42:6;
2.44:10), while none name Baal-of-Ugarit.128 In each context, Baal-of-
Ṣapun appears to be the national god of Ugarit. For example, in KTU
2.23 Baal-of-Ṣapun appears in loose parallelism to Amun, the supreme
deity of Egypt.129 Similarly, Adad-of-Mount-Hazzi appears in international
˘
treaties (RS 17.340:21'; 17.237:15'; 18.06:7) and royal decrees (16.144:12;
16.157:27; 16.238:18), while Baal/Adad-of-Ugarit remains conspicuously
absent.130 Thus, while Baal-of-Ṣapun is a deity of international importance,
Baal-of-Ugarit had little influence and identity beyond the city of Ugarit
where he occupied a secondary position to Baal-of-Ṣapun.
Even in the Baal Cycle recorded at Ugarit, Ugarit only appears in the
colophons (KTU 1.4.viii:49; 1.6.vi:57) and is entirely absent from other
literary texts.131 In contrast, Mount Ṣapun is explicitly the site of action
seventeen times (1.1.v:5, 18; 1.2.iii:19; 1.3.i:22; iii:29; iv:1, 19, 38; 1.4.
iv:19; v:23, 55; vii:6; 1.5.i:11; 1.6.i:16, 57, 62; vi:13), serving as the venue
for divine conflict and manifestation.132 Baal is even buried on Mount
Ṣapun before he returns (1.6.i:13–17).133 Thus, the unspecified Baal of
Ugaritic mythology seems to be Baal-of-Ṣapun.134 Since no other localized
124
While foreign, Baal-of-Aleppo has a significant influence on Ugarit, as indicated by
a tax receipt recording that five individuals paid their oil tax to Baal-of-Aleppo (KTU
4.728:1–2).
125
Schwemer 2001:514–25; 2008a:10–11; Smith 2012:220–31. Identifying the unspecified
Baal with Baal-of-Ugarit may alter the assessment in terms of quantity of offerings but
not appreciably in terms of hierarchy.
126 127
S. Allen 2015:95–140. Pardee 2002:texts 1 and 3.
128
Smith 2012:226–7. However, one Akkadian letter requests help to make an image for
the temple of Baal-of-Ugarit (RS 88.2158:15’–16’); ibid. 226; Lackenbacher 2001:240.
129 130
Clifford 1972:64; Smith 2012:226; cf. S. Allen 2015:213–14. Smith 2012:227.
131 132 133
Ibid. 227–8. Ibid. 227. S. Allen 2015:213.
134
Smith 2012:227–8; S. Allen 2015:212–13.
164 Levantine Gods
Baal is present, Baal-of-Ṣapun may drop the geographic surname and, thus
simply be Baal, a name that not incidentally carries more universal appeal.
While Baal-of-Ugarit appears only in Ugaritic ritual texts and a single
Akkadian letter, Baal-of-Ṣapun and Ṣapun itself feature in all levels of
Ugaritic writing and beyond, even after the fall of Ugarit. For example, the
Hittite Song of the Deeds Concerning the Sea (CTH 785) was told at
a festival for Mount Hazzi, suggesting that the Hittites recognized the
˘
Levantine Mount Ṣapun (=Hazzi) as the setting for divine conflict.135
˘
Baal-of-Ṣapun also appears in a Neo-Assyrian treaty with Baal, king of
Tyre (SAA 2.5.iv:10'), as well as a sixth-century Phoenician text from
Egypt (KAI 50:2–3) and a third-century Punic text from France (KAI
69:1). Mount Ṣapun is even called Mount-Baal-of-Ṣapun in two Neo-
Assyrian texts (RINAP 1, TP3, 13:6; 30:2), thereby associating the moun-
tain with the deity who shares its name. Indeed, Ṣapun seems to be the
mythological mountain of the northern Levant, an appropriate choice
given its location along the coast and Baal’s conflict with the sea.
A mountain also seems to be an appropriate setting for the weather god
since mountains tend to attract thunderstorms and wind.
Baal-of-Ugarit, thus seems to derive his authority, even his very identity,
from Baal-of-Ṣapun.136 In turn, Baal-of-Ugarit may be understood as part
of Baal-of-Ṣapun’s constellation, either as an extension of Baal-of-Ṣapun or
an originally independent deity incorporated into his orbit.137 Baal-of-
Ugarit could be an urban extension of Baal-of-Ṣapun, settling the deity
inaccessibly and mythologically resident on the divinized mountain visible
from the city, into the city itself and its temple. To borrow a Hittite concept,
Baal-of-Ugarit could be understood as a reduplication of Baal-of-Ṣapun –
that is, Baal-of-Ṣapun manifest in Ugarit or simply Baal-of-Ṣapun-of-Ugarit
(like diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša or diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha; KUB
˘ ˘
6.45.i:43, 51).138 More particularly, one might say that Baal-of-Ugarit as
the city god is the deity–statue symbiosis of Baal-of-Ṣapun in Ugarit, Baal-of
-Ṣapun as manifest in a statue and resident in Ugarit. The problem with this
interpretation is that Baal-of-Ugarit is nowhere explicitly identified with
Baal-of-Ṣapun.139 In fact, Baal-of-Ṣapun is also present at Ugarit. In the cult
he is manifest as the deity–statue symbiosis of Baal of the mountain and
135
Ayali-Darshan 2015, especially 23–6 with other evidence. See also Rutherford 2001;
Archi 2009:219. For the parallel Hurrian text, see Haas and Wilhelm 1974:260–3.
136
Cf. Smith 2012:223, 228.
137
My earlier conclusion that Baal-of-Ugarit is an extension of Baal-of-Ṣapun is but one
possibility (Hundley 2013a:354–5).
138 139
Hundley 2013a:368. S. Allen 2015:206–7.
mythology, Baal-of-Ṣapun’s presence concretized, enabling access and

influence.140 Thus, the manifestation of Baal-of-Ṣapun-of-Ugarit
would not be labeled Baal-of-Ugarit, but rather Baal-of-Ṣapun at
Ugarit.
Another possibility is Ugarit in general and Baal-of-Ugarit in par-
ticular leaned into the orbit of Baal-of-Ṣapun, drawing from his iden-
tity and authority, such that Baal-of-Ugarit came to be a reflection of
Baal-of-Ṣapun. Although we cannot know for sure, it is even possible
that the two deities remained fully distinct yet related. Regardless, the
two deities were connected, the connection seems mutually beneficial,
and their relationship may be understood in different ways depending
on the context.
What then is the relationship between the cultic Baal-of-Ṣapun and
Baal-of-Ugarit? On one hand, Baal-of-Ugarit could be presented as part of
Baal-of-Ṣapun’s divine person or constellation. By adding a temple as
a site of presence and service (either by expansion or absorption), Baal-
of-Ugarit expanded Baal-of-Ṣapun’s profile and sphere of influence.
Baal-of-Ugarit and Ugarit itself likewise benefited by drawing from
Baal-of-Ṣapun’s transregional prestige. Nonetheless, although Baal-of-
Ugarit may be Baal-of-Ṣapun, a satellite presence or clone, Baal-of-
Ugarit is not the fullness of Baal-of-Ṣapun, since his fullness lay in
the accumulation of his names, manifestations, and attributes.141
On the other hand, Baal-of-Ugarit also could be treated as (entirely)
distinct. Even if he functioned like a clone, Baal-of-Ugarit was localized
in a different place, received his own offerings, and presumably could
act as his own self-propelled agent (i.e., to protect his city in KTU
1.119:26'–36'). In other words, as the deity–statue symbiosis resident in
and patron of Ugarit, Baal-of-Ugarit was distinct from all other Baals.
In effect, Baal-of-Ṣapun appears to be a permanent visitor who does not
seem to have a temple of his own at Ugarit but rather is venerated in the
temple of Baal-of-Ugarit.142 Having a cultic presence at Ugarit grants
140
Non cultic references to Baal-of-Ṣapun do not refer specifically to the statued presence,
but rather to the larger constellation from which it derives.
141
In this way Sommer’s claim that each manifestation is a “diminution of the deity”
(2009:15) is somewhat justified, since while each manifestation is fully and functionally
the deity, each is also not the fullness of the deity.
142
Unless there was a temple on or near Ṣapun, Baal-of-Ṣapun seems to have no home
temple, although he may be a permanent resident in various temples or have satellite
temples of his own. It remains unclear if the temple of Baal-of-Ugarit is a satellite temple
or Baal-of-Ṣapun is merely a permanent visitor in another deity’s temple.
166 Levantine Gods
Ugaritians some measure of access and influence, yet Baal-of-Ugarit

remains their city god who resides within their walls, identifies with
their city, and protects their citizens. Whether they are two aspects of
the same deity or different deities altogether remains a matter of perspec-
tive. In the end, rather than attempt to spell out the precise relationship
between manifestations, cultic texts in particular simply juxtapose the
Baals and treat each as distinct so as to cover all the bases and not omit
any aspect of the deity from cultic attention.
Baal-of-Aleppo
Known by many culture-specific names, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo had
a long and distinguished career.143 Even Ugarit seems to acknowledge his
superior status to Baal-of-Ṣapun.144 Surprisingly, very little written infor-
mation comes from Aleppo (Halab) itself, but rather from the surrounding
˘
regions.145 Hadda-of-Aleppo already had a substantial presence at Ebla in
the third millennium and had satellite temples in such places as Dur and
Mari.146 In the early second millennium, Aleppo was the capital of the
kingdom of Yamhad and Addu-of-Aleppo was the high god. Texts
˘
reinforce the connection between deity and state, which was mutually
beneficial in various ways.147 For example, cylinder seals frequently refer
to the king as the “beloved of Addu,” and the land of Yamhad was also
˘
known as the “Land of Addu” (A. 4251+:27).148 In theory, Addu-of-
Aleppo directed the king politically and militarily, especially via oracle
(M. 14800+:43–6; A. 3347 + M. 5112:8–23).149 After the decline of
Yamhad, the later dynasty of Aleppo in Alalakh continued to worship
˘
143
Demonstrated by the page count relevant to him in Schwemer 2001:93–122, 211–37,
268–304, 489–502, 620–1. See also Durand 2002.
144
The god list KTU 1.148:26–7 (//RS 92.2004:6–7) lists Baal-of-Aleppo before Baal-of
-Ṣapun. Surprisingly, Baal-of-Ugarit precedes Baal-of-Aleppo in an offering list (KTU
1.130), presumably as a matter of decorum in his own temple (S. Allen 2015:208). Given
Baal-of-Ṣapun’s precedence over Baal-of-Ugarit, the hierarchy then seems to be Baal-of-
Aleppo, Baal-of-Ṣapun, and Baal-of-Ugarit.
145
Schwemer 2008a:163. Much likely lies below the modern city. For a list of Aleppan
deities from a Hittite perspective, see KBo 14.142; KUB 27.13; Schwemer 2001:499–
501.
146
Ebla too may have been a satellite temple. Schwemer 2001:108–12 and 2007:153, 163.
147
Regarding the importance of Addu-of-Aleppo, the king of Elam (in modern Iran)
presented a bow as a votive gift to Addu-of-Aleppo; Durand 2002:11–13, text 4;
Schwemer 2007:163–4.
148 149
Schwemer 2001:212n1465 and 2007:163. Schwemer 2001:211–14.
Addu as supreme. For example, King Idrimi calls him “lord of heaven and
earth and of the great gods” (lines 97–8).150
In the second half of the second millennium, the Weather-God-of-
Aleppo had satellite temples and a cultic presence nearly everywhere
weather gods were venerated in the ANE, including Nuzi east of the
Tigris, Ugarit on the Mediterranean coast (as Baal-of-Aleppo), and in
the Hittite capital.151 He was worshipped in each place by the culturally
appropriate forename, yet in each he retained the geographic surname of-
Aleppo, indicating the cult’s point of origin and borrowing from and
expanding its prestige. Among the Hittites he featured near the top of
several deity lists, was one of the personal protective deities of the Hittite
king Muršili III, and had satellite temples in important cities.152 In two
contexts, in particular, he is dubbed diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša and
d ˘
iškur-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha (KUB 6.45.i:43, 51), which clearly articu-
˘
lates the Hittite perspective. The Hittites reduplicated the cult of diškur-
of-Aleppo in Hattuša and Šamuha. Nonetheless, the relationship
˘ ˘
between iškur-of-Aleppo may be understood differently depending
on one’s perspective. Like a clone, diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša and
d ˘
iškur-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha are iškur-of-Aleppo, fully divine and
d ˘
fully iškur-of-Aleppo yet merely an aspect of a larger constellation.
At the same time, like a clone, Hittite texts treat reduplicated deities
(especially the Goddess-of-the-Night) as distinct.153 Even though they
have the same divine DNA, they manifest in different locales, have
a different worship base, and may develop different relations and
characteristics. In turn, one could argue that they are related but not
the same. By extension, each satellite temple and presence could be
understood as part of the constellation of the larger Weather-God-of-
Aleppo or as a related yet distinct deity.
Even after the fall of associated empires and the decline in importance
of the city, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo remained relevant on the inter-
national scene.154 For example, Šalmaneser III offered a sacrifice to
150
Ibid. 490–4; 2007:165.
151
See Schwemer 2001:464–5, 490, 494–502, 515, 521–2, 548, 562; and more briefly
Schwemer 2007:165. Regarding the Weather-God-of-Aleppo’s cult in the Hittite capital,
see also Popko 2002.
152
Regarding the deity lists, see conveniently S. Allen 2015:356–7, 364–8, tables 2.2–3,
2.6–10. Regarding the Weather-God-of-Aleppo (here diskur or Teššub) as personal
protector, see Hawkins 2003.
153
Hundley 2013a:301–20.
154
Schwemer 2007:167–8. See regarding the city’s decline Lipiński 2000:207; Pongratz-
Leisten 2011b:89.
168 Levantine Gods
d
iškur-of-Aleppo (RIMA 3.A.0102.2.ii:87) and the city of Aššur had
a shrine to Adad-of-Aleppo in the Neo Assyrian period (GAB §
1:116).155 Nonetheless, like Baal-of-Ṣapun, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo
seems to have lost prominence, at least in the first millennium treaty
tradition.156 diškur-of-Aleppo appears as the thirty-fifth divine name
(DN) of thirty-seven Neo-Assyrian deities, just after diškur-of-Kurbail
(north of modern Mosul, Iraq) and well after unmodified diškur in the
treaty between Aššur-neˉrā rıˉ III and Matiˀ-ilu of Arpad (SAA 2.2.vi:18).157
In a treaty between Matiˀ-ilu of Arpad and Bargaˀyah of KTK Hadad-of-
Aleppo again appears near the end (Sefire 1A:10–11 [KAI 222]).158
Baal-of-Heaven
As Baal-of-Ṣapun and Baal-of-Aleppo endured but seemingly lost some
authority, Baal-of-Heaven (Baal-Šamêm/Šamaim/Šamayn) rose to the top
of Levantine pantheons to fill their place. The origin of this Baal-of-
Heaven remains obscure. Data, especially early data, on Baal-of-Heaven
are sparse and his name is generic enough that it is unclear if the referent
refers to a single deity.159 He appears first in the tenth-century inscription
155
Schwemer 2007:167. Holloway highlights the importance of the offering since it is one
of only two extant offerings to deities outside of Assyria, Babylonia, and Harrā n by the
˘
Assyrian king (2002:342n146). The other is Marduk-Who-Resides-(in-)Til-Assuri, pre-
sented with an offering by Tiglath-pileser III. Regarding the offering, see Pongratz-
Leisten 2011b:89; S. Allen 2015:105. Regarding the shrine, see Schwemer 2001:620
with fn. 5007.
156
S. Allen 2015:223–4.
157
His placement at the bottom of the list alongside diškur-of-Kurbail and just after Ištar-
of-Nineveh and Ištar-of-Arbela indicates that deities with geographic surnames in
Mesopotamian tradition usually occupy a lower position in the divine hierarchy than
their unmodified counterparts; S. Allen 2015:108, 223; cf. table 3.10, 376. As we have
seen for the Hittites and the Levant, modified deities may appear in prime position,
probably owing in part to the proliferation of weather gods and the need to distinguish
between them.
158
S. Allen 2015:119, 223, table 3.12, 378. Nonetheless, even though Hadad-of-Aleppo is
unimportant on the list, he is the only deity with an appended GN (and one of only four
in SAA 2.2), indicating the importance of this particular cult. Interestingly, Hadad-of-
Aleppo appears just before the Sebittu as in SAA 2.2 as well as El and Elyon (KAI
222:11). Cross suggests that the Elyon who also appears as the epithet for El in Genesis
14:18–22 was originally an aspect or epithet of El who “split into a separate cult”
(1962:243).
159
Regarding Baal-of-Heaven, see especially Niehr 2003; regarding his origin, see ibid. 37;
Koch 1994:159–64; cf. S. Allen 2015:225. Baal-of-Heaven could be Baal-of-Ṣapun who
moved to heaven, though as we will see both deities appear in the same treaty (SAA 2.5.
iv). Perhaps Baal-of-Heaven was originally an epithet of Baal-of-Ṣapun that became
of King Yeḥimlk of Byblos (KAI 4:3), and he presumably remains relevant

until at least the third century CE (Kölner Mani-Kodex 49:3–5; cf. the
first–second-century KAI 244–8). It is even possible that Baal-of-Heaven
was not a weather god at all. However, he appears first160 among the
Tyrian gods in a treaty between Esarhaddon and Baal, king of Tyre (SAA
2.5.iv:10') ahead of the otherwise unknown Baal-Malagê and the well-
known Baal-of-Ṣapun, where he acts in conjunction with them to control
the sea.161 Thus, he was linked with the weather gods and employed
weather powers. Instead of being linked with a geographic cult, Baal-of-
Heaven remained theoretically above the fray, residing in heaven and
acting on behalf of various nations.162 Baal-of-Heaven’s universality
independent. Baal-of-Heaven could be another ancient deity who resided in or repre-

sented a personified heaven. Hadad-of-Aleppo is “lord of heaven and earth” in the
Idrimi inscription. One may surmise that Baal-of-Heaven is a newer form of Hadad-of-
Aleppo, modified to focus on his heavenly aspect. However, at Mari Zimri-Lim names
three weather-gods in sequence diškur-of-Heaven (ša ša-me-e ta-[ma]; perhaps
a precursor to the Hittite deity of the same name), diškur, Lord-of-Kumme (the chief
weather deity of the Mitanni empire), and diškur, Lord-of-Aleppo, suggesting that from
ancient times a Weather-God-of-Heaven existed and was not the Weather-God-of-
Aleppo. Regarding the text, see Joannès 1991:176; Allen 2015:219–20. Among the
Hittites and on the middle Euphrates and in Upper Mesopotamia in the Old
Babylonian period, the epithet -of-Heaven applies consistently to the primary weather
god (manifestation) (Schwemer 2001:284, 714b; Beaulieu 2003:346–7; Schwemer
2008a:15–16). Some Amarna letters even compare the pharaoh with “Baal in the
heavens” (EA 108:9; 147:14; 149:7; 159:7; 207:16; Smith 2001:159). Baal-of-Heaven
also may be a new weather god, distinct from the earlier Weather-God(s)-of-Heaven (see
Koch 1994:164; S. Allen 2015:225; cf. Niehr 2003:31–3; Schwemer 2008a:16). Lipiński
identifies Baal-Šamêm with (the unspecified) Hadad because they never appeared
together in a god list (1994:196). In the end, with the little data at hand it is hard to
say if Baal-of-Heaven is an ancient Baal with a new emphasis/identity or epithet or an
entirely new deity.
160
Bethel and Anat-Bethel likely should be considered the gods of Eber-Nari and, as such,
excluded from the Tyrian list (van der Toorn 1992:84). However, it is possible that they
are the first divine names of the Tyrian list (see Barré 1983:19; Smith 2002a:63).
161
Sommer (2009:24, 189n82) contends that the three refer to the same deity since the verb
lušatba is singular and “no explicit copula” appears between the names. However, no
other paired Phoenician deities in these curses are separated by an explicit copula (nor
are the summary deities in ll. 8’–9’), there is no other instance in which a divine name and
its two epithets each bear a divine determinative, and the singular verb is better inter-
preted as referring to the unified actions of three distinct deities (especially in light of the
use of the singular verb liškun to refer to the shared activity of the seven Sebittu deities in
the same text even though they are described in the plural as “heroic gods” [l. 5’]). In
fact, while lušatba is singular (Hämeen-Anttila 2000:92), lissuhuˉ (li-is-su-hu; “may they
˘
[the three Baal-deities] pull out”; l. 12’) is decidedly plural, indicating that˘while they act
together they are not the same. S. Allen 2015:222–3, table 5.4, 396.
162
He even appears in the fourth-century Egyptian pAmherst 63.12:18; cf. Koch 1994:164;
Schwemer 2008a:15–16; S. Allen 2015:225–6, 398.
170 Levantine Gods
also facilitated his position atop many of the deity lists in which he
appeared (in chronological order KAI 26A.iii:18–19; 202B:23–6; 9B:5;
259:3–4; 78:2–4).163 As in SAA 2.5, in a Punic votive from Carthage (KAI
78), Baal-of-Heaven appears as the first of three Baal deities, in this
instance preceding Baal-of-Ḥ amā n and Baal-Magnim.164
From the data available, it is difficult to identify a specific cult of Baal-of-
Heaven, though it is likely that Baal-of-Heaven had terrestrial temples or at
least cult images (especially in Phoenicia). A third-century Punic text from
Sardinia presents an uncertain though tantalizing possibility (KAI 64:1). It
refers to a Baa〈l〉-Šamêm on (b) Hawk Island (modern San Pietro, Sardinia),
which like diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša or diškur-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha
˘ ˘
(KUB 6.45.i:43, 51) has three elements.165 It seems to be an instance of
Baal-of-Heaven with an additional GN, such that Baal-of-Heaven-on-
Hawk-Island may be understood as an extension of Baal-of-Heaven. In
this case, like Baal-of-Ṣapun in Ugarit, Baal-of-Heaven-on-Hawk-Island is
not the reduplication of a particular cult, but rather the adlocation of a deity
without a clear home cult. Thus, Baal-of-Heaven-on-Hawk-Island seems to
be part of Baal-of-Heaven’s constellation, which may be understood either
as an extension of his person or a (semi-)independent deity.
Other Baal Deities

Other Baal deities also appear in the first millennium, some with
appended GNs and others with other epithets, many of whom we
know little about.166 We encounter such Baal deities as Baal-Ṣemed (KAI
24:15), Baal-KRNTRYŠ (KAI 26A.ii:19, iii:1, 4, C.iii:16–17, 19, iv:20),167
163
Cf. Schwemer 2008a:15–16. For references, see the convenient tables 5.5–6 in S. Allen
2015:398, 401; cf. the placement of Ištar-of-Heaven before the other Ištars in BM
121206 ix (ibid. 226). Although not the most important deity in most contexts, a sun
god often featured at the head of witness lists, presumably because he could see all and,
as such, was in charge of justice. Analogously, while he appeared first, it is possible that
Baal-of-Heaven was not the most important. Instead, his universality may have facili-
tated his placement atop the lists.
164
Afterward, he is no longer the first deity to appear (KAI 245–8; Kölner Mani-Codex
49:3–5). In the latter case he is incorporated into a Manichean tradition where he serves
as an angel of light (Henrichs and Koenen 1975:48–9; S. Allen 2015:226–7).
165
S. Allen 2015:227–8.
166
See S. Allen 2015:397–400, table 5.5 for a list of Baals with GNs, including biblical
examples.
167
The surnames of Baal-Ṣemed and Baal-KRNTRYŠ seem to specify the divine mace,
intimating Baal’s warrior aspect, or they may be deified weapons themselves (e.g., Lord-
Mace; ibid. 228–30). Regarding Baal-KRNTRYŠ, see also Schmitz 2009:119–60.
Baal-ˀAddir (KAI 9B:5), Baal-Magnim (KAI 78:4), Baal-Malagê (SAA 2.5.

iv:10'), Baal-Meˁon (KAI 181:9; cf. Samr 27:3), Baal-of-Lebanon (KAI
31:1–2), and Baal-of-Ṣidon (KAI 14:18). Baal-of-Ḥ amā n also appears in
several texts (e.g., KAI 24:16; 114:2; 175:1).168 Like Lebanon and Ṣapun,
Ḥ amā n seems to refer to a mountain (range), although its precise location is
unclear.169 Rather than being a weather deity, Baal-of-Ḥ amā n may be
identified with El.170 In addition to the various Baals with surnames, an
unspecified Hadad appears first in Samalian god lists, where he is the only
weather god in the list (KAI 214:2, 2–3, 11, 18; 215:22).171
Relationship between Weather Gods

While Ugaritic mythology recognizes a single weather god, cultic texts,
treaties, and inscriptions that contain weather gods with different sur-
names consistently treat them as different deities.172 One could argue that,
like with Dagan at Emar, the multiple weather gods are semi-independent
aspects of a single deity, a superordinate weather god, known by different
language and culture-specific names. Perhaps the supreme weather god is
the deity described in Ugaritic mythology and called an unspecified Baal or
Hadad.173 In this case, there would be a superordinate weather god with
multiple detachable aspects.
However, an amalgamation into a singular deity or a singular point of
origin is unlikely for various reasons. Like the Hittites, there seems to have
been an early proliferation of weather gods that endured at least until the
Greco-Roman period. In keeping with HADD and ToM, people posited
a deity in charge of the elements they needed to survive yet could not
control. Given the need for rainfall, the weather god became a primary
deity in most settlements, a supposition supported by the textual record.
However, unlike with the Hittites, there was no Levantine empire to
168
S. Allen 2015:230–2, tables 5.5, 5.8, 399, 403; see further Xella 1991.
169
S. Allen 2015:230.
170
See with references ibid. 230–2. However, Baal-of-Ḥ amā n is grouped with other Baals,
presumably weather gods, in KAI 24:15–16 and 78:2–4. Either they could be grouping
the deities by name, not function, or Baal-of-Ḥ amā n could have taken on weather god
traits.
171
Ibid. 219n58, table 5.7, 402.
172
As noted in Chapter 2, a collective constellation is one in which individual deities may be
grouped into a collective with a shared identity and may be treated either as part of the
collective or as individuals depending on the context.
173
So Sommer 2009:25. Baal-of-Ṣapun himself could be the superordinate weather god,
except for the fact that he is subordinate to Baal-of-Aleppo in the Ugaritic deity lists.
172 Levantine Gods
systematize the deities or syncretize them into a singular, imperial deity. In

turn, there seems to have been only a minimal effort to organize the
independent weather gods into god groups or collective constellations.
Although each weather god naturally controlled the weather, they
differed in important ways. At least three Levantine weather gods –
Hadad-of-Aleppo, Baal-of-Ṣapun, and Baal-of-Heaven – seem to be
expansive and distinct enough to have their own profiles. They were
localized in different places and venerated by different people. In fact,
their GNs represent different aspects of the cosmos – the most prominent
Levantine city weather god, the most prominent mythical mountain, and
heaven itself.
In several cases the weather gods also had different partners, suggesting
that they were not in fact the same.174 The Hittite Weather-God was
primarily connected with the Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna. Heˉbat was the
˘
consort of the Weather-God-of-Aleppo.175 Baal at Ugarit had no clear
consort yet seems most closely connected with Athtart/Astarte and
Anat.176 Further south at Tell Taˁanakh, Baal was paired with Asherah/
Athirat, El’s partner at Ugarit.177 Texts associate Baal-of-Ḥ amā n with
Tannit.178 In contrast, Baal-of-Heaven has no known consort.179
The various weather gods also seem to have had different family trees.
Baal(-of-Ṣapun) of Ugaritic mythology is the son of Dagan and the son of
El yet has no identifiable mother.180 According to a Hurrian psalm (KUB
174
S. Allen 2015:217–18, 227.
175
Schwemer 2001:220–1. Heˉbat was also paired with the weather god at Emar (Fleming
˘
1992:73–6; Schwemer 2008a:14) and among the Hurrians.
176
Schwemer 2001:542–6; 2008a:13; S. Allen 2015:217. Baal also had three daughters, not
attested for the other weather gods (Pidray, ˁArsay, and Tallay), “evidently reflecting his
meteorological and chthonic aspects” (Smith 2001:56). Instead of being his consort,
Heˉbat was associated with Baal’s daughter Pidray.
177 ˘
Caquot and Sznycer 1980:7. Baal and Asherah are also often paired in the Hebrew Bible.
178
S. Allen 2015:230. Again, Baal-of-Ḥ amā n may not be a weather god at all. Tannit has
also been associated with Astarte (regarding the later point, see ibid. 241n119).
179
Koch 1994:164; S. Allen 2015:227.
180
Regarding Baal as the son of Dagan, see KTU 1.2.i:18–19, 35, 36–7; 1.5.vi:23–4; 1.6:i:6,
51, 52; 1.10.iii:12–14; 1.12.ii:24–5; 1.14.ii:25; iv:7. Regarding Baal as the son of El, see
1.3.v:35; 1.4.iv:47–8; v:28–9; 1.17.vi:28–9; Baal even addresses El as “my father” in
1.17.i:23. The texts do not call him the son of Athirat, nor does she treat him as a son in
the mythological texts. Scholars explain Baal’s seeming dual paternity in different ways.
See with references Ayali-Darshan 2013. One may argue that his dual paternity preserves
variant traditions; that Dagan is the real father and El is merely his superior (thus,
“father”; cf. Smith 2001:64); that being the son of Dagan and El is functional, not
biological (i.e., W. Herrmann 1999a:133), that Dagan = El (Oldenburg 1962; del Olmo
Lete 2004:51–2, 74n78); that Dagan = Baal (Wyatt 1992b:408; Fleming 1993:88–98); or
47.78), the Weather-God-(Teššub-)of-Aleppo oddly has a male father,

Anu, and a male mother, Kumarbi, likely in a tradition related to that in
the Hurro-Hittite Kumarbi Cycle.181 Again in contrast, Baal-of-Heaven
has no known origin or parents.182
In several cases the weather gods were distinct and important enough to
reduplicate their cults, keeping their surname, even in places that already
had a weather god. Satellite temples and satellite deities include IŠKUR-of-
Aleppo-of-Hattuša and IŠKUR-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha and possibly Baal-
˘ ˘
of-Heaven-on-Hawk-Island and Baal-of-Ugarit or Baal-of-Ṣapun in
Ugarit.183 Like a franchise, they brought a preexisting weather god into
a city that likely had a weather god of its own. Like a franchise, the
reduplicated deity is at once part of the larger constellation and (semi-)
independent.
A surname distinguishes between deities with a shared forename.184 In
the case of reduplication, a second surname may be necessary to differen-
tiate between the original deity and its satellite presence. In other cases,
even when no other weather god is in view, the surname remains, as it has
become fundamental to the deity’s identity.185 This is especially the case
when the named deity is foreign and important. When related to an
important place (whether city or geographic feature) or temple,
a surname adds prestige, indicating that the named deity is not just any
weather god. A surname, especially in the case of Baal-of-Aleppo, seems to
add transregional prestige and to indicate that the Baal in view is not the
local Baal. Although no extant texts remain, we may presume that the
Weather-God-of-Aleppo was simply Haddu/Teššub/Baal to the local
that Baal has two fathers (see Ayali-Darshan 2013). See later in this chapter under Divine
Elevation and Innovation.
181
It is also possible that other Semitic traditions assign him different parents (perhaps
Dagan; cf. A. 1858). Regarding the Hurrian psalm (KUB 47.78), see Thiel and Wegner
1984; Schwemer 2001:454–5; Wilhelm 2003:394; Ayali-Darshan 2013:653.
182
Koch 1994:164; S. Allen 2015:227. It remains possible that his origins and marital
relations simply are not recorded in the extant data or that he had none. See under
Divine Elevation and Innovation for an explanation for the rhetoric of Baal-of-Heaven’s
missing origins.
183
In the latter case, rather than establishing itself as a satellite temple of Baal-of-Ṣapun,
who had no known primary temple, (Baal-of-)Ugarit may have associated itself with
him, borrowing from his prestige.
184
It also could unite deities with culturally specific weather god forenames. From another
perspective, the surname could distinguish between (localized) manifestations.
185
Regarding the function and importance of a surname, see also S. Allen 2015:201, 220–1,
232–7.
174 Levantine Gods
populace.186 A geographic surname also associates a deity with a specific

cult and cult image.
Returning to the singular Baal of mythology, one wonders why he is the
lone weather god with a fully developed profile and whether the myth
unites the otherwise disparate deities. Since the evidence for differentiat-
ing weather gods comes largely from nonnarrative and nonpoetic texts
(e.g., rituals and treaties), the various Baals, like all other gods mentioned
in these genres, “show no individuation of personality, character, or
function.”187 In other words, these texts consist primarily of divine
names and, in the case of ritual texts, a list of offerings received and thus
have little interest in presenting a character profile. Only in mythology do
we find fully developed profiles.
Since the only substantial Levantine mythology discovered comes from
Ugarit, we often assume that Ugaritic mythology is the only Levantine
mythology. More particularly, we often assume that all Levantine weather
gods share the Ugaritic mythology of Baal or had none of their own. With
a shared mythology, it is tempting to posit a shared origin. For example,
Sommer suggests that “the Baal of Canaanite myth seems to have frag-
mented into a great number of baal-gods who could be worshipped and
addressed separately.”188 Sommer goes further than many scholars in
recognizing the differences between Baals. However, he seems to under-
estimate how substantial the differences are and always have been. While
Baal(-of-Ṣapun) in Ugaritic mythology has a fully developed profile, there
is reason to suspect that the other Baals likewise would have borne similar
yet distinct profiles had other mythologies (and similar texts) been pre-
served. The scant references to other mythologies give us mere glimpses,
yet these glimpses are suggestive. While there seems to have been
a widespread motif of combat with the sea, there are hints that the
mythologies differed in important respects, suggesting that multiple dis-
tinct Baals had distinct profiles.
Within the Levant there are two non-biblical references to the weather
god fighting the sea – the Ugaritic Baal Cycle and a letter from Mari
containing a prophecy in which Addu/Haddu-of-Aleppo offers the weap-
ons (kakkıˉ ) with which he battled the sea (têmtim) to the king of Mari (A.
1968:1'–6').189 The Mari text offers no further details about the combat
beyond that it is against the sea and involves weapons. Nonetheless, if we
186
Even then, dropping the surname may add a degree of confusion, since it would not be
entirely clear which weather god was intended; cf. the unspecified Baal at Ugarit.
187 188 189
Sommer 2009:25. Ibid. See note 32 for references.
accept that Addu-of-Aleppo is different to Baal(-of-Ṣapun) of Ugaritic

mythology, the Aleppan and Ugaritic versions have different protagon-
ists. In addition, the Aleppan version likely would have featured Dagan
as father god rather than El and a different cast of characters in
keeping with their different contexts. As the god of an empire, his
victory likely would have been more final than that of Baal of Ugaritic
mythology.190
Looking further afield, we find related Hurro-Hittite and Egyptian
traditions from the second millennium that appear Levantine in
origin.191 Although fragmentary, both seem to include the sea cover-
ing the earth, the grain god(dess) suggesting the gods pay tribute, the
goddess closest to the weather god delivering the tribute (using seduc-
tion), and the weather god conquering the sea.192 Ayali-Darshan
contends that the myths come from a single Ur-myth localized at
Ṣapun, which spread northward and southward via Aleppo.193
Despite the similarities, both cultures adapt the story to their particu-
lar contexts and the Hittites graft it into the larger Kumarbi Cycle. In
turn, while similar and perhaps even identical in origin, they are not
the same.194
While there is not enough data to make definitive and wide-ranging
conclusions, some interesting possibilities emerge. There seems to have
been a widespread tradition in which the weather god battles the sea. This
combat motif may come from a singular Ur-myth related to Ṣapun (which
we do not have), or there could have been multiple combat traditions,
possibly with a shared setting of Ṣapun.195 Regardless, the stories as
preserved are not the same. Even if a hypothetical Ur-myth existed, it
changed when it was appropriated in different contexts. Likely the local
190
The Mari letter (A. 1968) and the aforementioned details suggest an indomitable
Weather-God-of-Aleppo. See further under Divine Elevation and Innovation.
191
For the Hurro-Hittite texts, see the related CTH 345, 346.9, 348, 350.3, and 785 and
references and analysis in Ayali-Darshan 2015:23–31. Regarding Egypt, see The Astarte
Papyrus (pAmherst 9) and references and analysis in ibid. 31–5. Regarding their shared
origin, see ibid. 39, 50.
192 193
Ibid. 35–6. Ibid. 39, 50.
194
Ayali-Darshan also associates the Ugaritic version with the Ur-myth, though she notes
that none of these shared details beyond combat feature in the Ugaritic account (ibid.
46). She attributes the differences to the Ugaritic interest in the royal court (43). Ayali-
Darshan then distinguishes this mythic tradition from the first-millennium biblical and
Mesopotamian tradition (Version B) (47–9).
195
We might have at least two versions, those preserved in Hurro-Hittite and Egyptian
contexts on one hand and the Ugaritic Baal Cycle on the other.
176 Levantine Gods
weather gods had their own local traditions into which the combat motif
may have been grafted and adapted to fit the local context.196
While the Levantine weather gods seem to be distinct, there is some
evidence that they were grouped together. Even then, in contrast to Hittite
Anatolia, while they may at times develop a group identity, they remained
primarily singular. There simply was not enough gravitational pull
toward the center to unite them deeply or for long.
The god group or collective constellation is nowhere as explicit as
among the Hittites. For example, there is no reference to “all the weather
gods.” Nonetheless, they are grouped in more basic ways, likely for
practical, organization purposes. Texts speak of the gods (ı̉ lm) as
a generic group (e.g., in letters [KTU 2.13:1–8; 2.16:4–6; 5.9.i:4–6; RS
16.111:4–5]). More specifically, the god lists – whether alone or embed-
ded in rituals, treaties, letters, and inscriptions – tend to list the weather
gods together and the Ugaritic ritual texts refer to the plural (bˁlm),
seemingly as a catch-all category. Although SAA 2.5 distinguishes
between them, the weather gods nonetheless act in unison. The text
employs the singular verb in the curse section, imploring them to “raise
(lušatba) an evil wind” against the Tyrian ships if they break the treaty.
Although no native empire assimilated or agglutinated weather gods,
a myth may have partially done the job. While the myths about them likely
differed, the weather gods in some way may be united by a shared motif,
combat. Thus, while the weather gods probably were distinct from the
beginning, a shared theme may have brought them together as a collective
constellation. One cannot even entirely dismiss the possibility that some
may have drawn from the mythic perspective to posit a singular super-
ordinate Baal, created not by an empire, but by a story, or more precisely
a shared motif.197 Nonetheless, we possess no meta-myth that unites
earlier traditions like Greek Theogony, Japanese Kojiki, or Norse Prose
Edda, nor do we have an Ur-myth that spawns those traditions.198
196
Ayali-Darshan (ibid. 38n50) notes the differences and appeals to folklore studies to
explain them: “i.e., each story was partially adapted to its new culture while retaining
some of the original elements.”
197
Sommer’s suggestion (2009:25) that there was an original Baal united by myth that
splintered into (semi-)distinct deities, thus requires qualification. If there was a unifying
myth, it likely emerged later and served to connect the already distinct Baals, not as the
origin of the weather god in the Levant.
198
Later Greco-Roman tradition went further than its Levantine predecessors in syncretiz-
ing the Levantine deities with each other and with their own. For example, Philo of
Byblos in his Phoenician History identifies El with Kronos (PE 1.10:18–19, 44; Attridge
and Oden 1981:50–1, 62–3).
Instead, we have a singular developed mythology and mythic fragments

that may be interpreted in different ways.
Context-Specific Presentation
The lack of data and the general fluidity of Levantine approaches cautions
against too dogmatic an approach. Once again, Levantine sources present
a fluid deity, understood variably depending on the context. Rather than
trying to systematize divine conceptions in all their diverse settings, they
adopted the approach that best suited the context without undue consider-
ation for overall consistency, even juxtaposing multiple approaches on
a single tablet. For example, KTU 1.119 preserves an offering list that
includes unnamed Baal deities (6), differentiates between Baal-RˁKT and
Baal-of-Ugarit (2–3, 22'), and concludes with a prayer to a singular Baal
(26'–36').
While there is a possibility that some may have seen a singular
supreme Baal behind the local Baals, the data suggest that even in
the case of the singular Baal of mythology, we are talking about only
one of several Baals extant in the Levant. Given the need for rainfall,
the disparate origins, and the lack of a native empire to unite them,
weather deities are primarily individuals with some shared identity for
organizing purposes in the cult and in treaties. In the end, nothing
seems to exert sufficient gravitational pull to create a superordinate
weather god or even a fully realized collective constellation as among
the Hittites (itself a product of trying to manage the one thousand gods
of Hatti).
˘
Diachronically, instead of a singular Baal fragmenting into multiple
Baals, it seems that multiple Baals existed from the beginning.
A treaty, ritual, or myth may unite them, yet they remain fundamen-
tally independent. Some distinct Baals may expand by reduplicating
or assimilating deities, while others may have fragmented or been
assimilated.
Even with the tendency for individuation, the Levantine approach to
deity remains variable. Texts alternatively may refer to a singular weather
god, a singular constellation with detachable aspects, a collective constel-
lation with detachable deities, or a multitude of distinct deities. Thus, it is
best to conclude that like LEGO, Levantine weather gods may be taken
apart, put back together again, and combined in new ways to suit the
needs of the beholder.
178 Levantine Gods
Access Points
This practical fluidity comes into clearer focus when we consider human
access points to the divine in the Levant. Celestial phenomena like the sun,
moon, and storm are visible signs of divine presence and perdurance (i.e.,
of the successful sun journey through the underworld). They also may
indicate divine activity (e.g., rain or disease), anger, judgment, or warfare
(i.e. the thunderstorm). However, their explanatory power is relatively
modest; celestial divination, as we will see, is far more limited than in
Mesopotamia. While visible, deities manifest as or in celestial phenomena
remain distant and largely unapproachable.
The terrestrial temple as a divine abode and cult image as a divine body
make the deity present and approachable.199 Each temple and image
enabled direct contact, communication, and service. In the cult, presenting
each image with offerings seems to indicate that suppliants viewed each as
a distinct access point. In the case of Dagan at Emar, giving images
surnames differentiated one from the other and divided the divine labor
among the various divine bodies. More broadly, assigning a deity a GN
localized the deity in a specific place and differentiated it from others.200
In some cases the various Baals were always distinct. The different sur-
name merely articulated the difference. In others, it connected and distin-
guished between Baals who were part of the same constellation, whether
individual or collective.
Although the precise relationship is nowhere articulated, the statue seems
to have been an essential component of the locally manifested deity. The god
who receives cultic care is functionally identical with the cult image, which is
its body. Thus, Baal-of-Ugarit is the deity–statue symbiosis resident in the
temple of Baal-of-Ugarit. When part of a single constellation (i.e., the various
Baal-of-Aleppo deities), each shares the same divine DNA yet each occupies
a different body. Thus, each is fully the god, part of the larger divine
constellation, and distinct, depending on one’s perspective.
With the absence of the statue, the people effectively lose their primary
access to the deity.201 While the destruction of an image does not destroy
a deity, the deity becomes inaccessible and effectively nonexistent until given
a new image to imbue. With the fall of Ugarit, Baal-of-Ugarit disappears
199
Regarding the relationship between deity and statue, see Hundley 2013a:354–60.
200
This also may be true of other surnames (cf. Dagan in the zukru festival), yet they may
serve different functions.
201
Regarding godnapping, see briefly Hundley (forthcoming A.).
from the record. With no one to rebuild the temple, Baal-of-Ṣapun lost part
of his profile and Baal-of-Ugarit lost any independent existence.202
Steles, attested throughout the Levant, extend access beyond the nar-
row confines of the temple and its cult image, providing another kind of
access point more suited to open spaces.203 Relatively immobile and
aniconic, the stela is more impervious to the elements and theft than
a statue. It also does not require regular anthropomorphic care. Instead,
it may be accessed (and activated) as needed.
Although the texts never articulate the relationship between deity and
stela and stela and statue, some clues emerge. In most instances the standing
stone does not receive the divine determinative, suggesting a greater dis-
tance between deity and stela than deity and statue.204 Nonetheless, the one
instance where it does (Emar 373:159) implies a close connection to the
deity, as does the procession of the statued deity to meet its corresponding
standing stone outside the city. As a result, the stela seems to function as
either a portal or temporary body, whereas the statue is a semipermanent
body that the deity theoretically may vacate if improperly served or if that
body is destroyed.205 The reference to an offering for a man’s “soul” (nbš)
on his mortuary stela from eighth-century Zinçirli in modern Turkey
suggests that a stela even may be a semipermanent home for one’s imma-
terial essence, one that like a statue seems to require or at least enjoy
nourishment.206 The import of the meeting of the stela and statue, also
attested among the Hittites, remains unclear.207 Minimally, the procession
and meeting connect the temple and open-air cults.208
202
This assumes that Baal-of-Ugarit is part of Baal-of-Ṣapun’s constellation. Just as the
establishment of a satellite temple (or the incorporation of a temple) expands the divine
constellation, so too does its destruction or repurposing contract it.
203
See Hutter 1993.
204
The text also does not explicitly identify the statue with the deity. However, the two are
closely linked such that offerings said to be presented to the deity are presented to the
statue, a statement not made of the stele.
205
The application of oil and blood to the standing stones also may imply their ritual
activation for the occasion (Emar 373:34, 60; see Fleming 2000:82–7, 238–41), enabling
them to serve as suitable (temporary) divine hosts.
206
See conveniently COS 4.23. See more fully Pardee 2009. Northwest Semitic inscriptions
from the late first millennium BCE use the cognate npš for “tombstone” or “mortuary
monument” as well as “soul” or “person” (Hoftijzer and Jongeling 1995:748–9; Triebel
2004; Kühn 2005). See regarding Hittite and Luwian evidence for the same concept
Masson 2010:53–4; Melchert 2010; Hawkins 2015:50–1.
207
For the evidence, see Michel 2015:53–66; see more expansively Michel 2014.
208
Cf. Fleming 2000:87. Michel (2015:64) claims that the procession returns the statue to
the standing stone, its cultic origin, to revitalize the statue. While possible, the text
nowhere indicates such a revitalization.
180 Levantine Gods
Divine weapons may serve as even more distant access points. While
they may be kept in the temple (A. 1858), deified (Emar 369:7, 29, 45, 65–
6), and receive offerings (KTU 1.65), they are not the god or part of his
constellation. As a moveable object and like the Neo-Assyrian weapon of
Aššur, they may have been used as a surrogate presence in battle and for
oath-taking purposes, transported well beyond the sphere of the cult
statue.209 The weapon, thus makes the deity more accessible and extends
its power and reach since it is not bound to the environs of the home city.
Relationship of a Deity to Those outside Its Constellation

Deities also have wide-ranging relationships with other deities, notably
hierarchical, familial, associative, and hostile. At Ugarit, various beings
belong to the genus gods (ı̉ lm), including so-called minor gods (KTU 1.3.
iii:32; 1.15.iii:19; 1.17.i:2–3).210 The larger pantheon seems to be subdiv-
ided into two groups led by El and Baal (“the circle of El and the assembly
of Baal” [dr ı̉ l wphr bˁl]; 1.39:7; 1.41:16//1.87:17–18).211 Other major
˘
gods have their own circles of influence; in fact, the more important the
deity, the greater their sphere of influence.
As the head of the pantheon, theoretically all deities are subordinate to
El.212 More particularly, El is the paterfamilias. With his consort Athirat,
he is the father of the sons (and daughters) of El (ả b bn ı̉ l; KTU 1.40:7, 16,
24, 33, 41; 1.122:2), likely including but perhaps not limited to the
seventy sons of Athirat (1.4.vi:46).213 Outside the family, he has highly
skilled laborers in his employ (i.e., Kothar-wa-Hasis) and general support
staff including servants (female [ả mt; 1.4.iv:61; 1.12.i:14–17] and male
[ˁbd; 1.4 iv:59–v:1]) and messengers (mlả k; 1.2.i:22, 26, 28, 30, 41, 42,
44; 1.13:25–6; 1.62:6; 1.124:11).
Baal is loosely grouped with other Baals and served by his “divine
helpers” (ı̉ l tˁdr bˁl; 1.47:26, 1.84:8, 1.109:21, 1.118:25, 1.148:8;
̄
cf. 1.84:7, 1.139:6, 1.162:12). More particularly, Baal has a servant
named Radaman (1.3.i:2–6), the messengers Gpn-w-ˀUgr, and his
209 210
Holloway 2001. See also Chapter 1. Cho 2007:11.
211
Smith 2001:42. Phoenicia seems to have similar divine groupings: dr ı̉ l, mphrt ı̉ lm, phr
bn ı̉ lm (KAI 4:4–5) (Cho 2007:14n31). ˘ ˘
212
While scholars generally agree that there are four tiers in the Ugaritic divine hierarchy,
Handy organizes it according to a bureaucratic model (Handy 1994), while Smith
suggests a family model (2001:41–66).
213
Regarding Baal’s place within the house of El, see under Divine Elevation and
Innovation.
meteorological entourage: clouds, winds, lightning, rains, seven lads, and

eight boars (1.5.v:7–9).214 Baal has a “sister” Anat (1.4.iv:39; 1.10.ii:16,
20), with whom he has an ambiguous relationship, and three daughters,
Pidray, ˁArsay, and Tallay (1.3.i:24).215 Baal and Shapsh also are patrons
of the heroic dead (rpủ m; 1.22:ii:18–23; 1.108:18–24; 1.161:18–26).216
Judging by their placement in the temples, many hybrid creatures seem to
function as guardians, protecting sacred spaces from unwanted intrusion,
perhaps from other hybrid beings as in Mesopotamia.217
In addition to elements in family, social, and professional circles,
elements associated with their dwelling places, households, and cults are
also divine. Deified elements include Baal’s mountain dwelling Ṣapun and
elements of the temple/palace (the door-bolt and potentially the tower,
steps, and staircase), as well as animals and objects in the household and
cult (e.g., weapons, tools, censers, the lyre, domesticated [sacrificial]
animals, jugs, jars, and the throne). Elevating aspects related to the divine
care and service thereby highlight the importance of proper service and of
the deity who receives it.
Baal (and Anat by association) in particular also have hostile relation-
ships (with “enemies” [ı̉ b]; 1.3.iii:36–8; 1.4.vii:35–7).218 Worried about
Baal and wondering what enemy could have arisen against him, Anat lists
her conquests seemingly on his behalf: Yamm/Nahar (“Sea/River”),
Tunnan (“Dragon”), Desire, Rebel, Fire, and Flame (1.3.iii:38–46;
cf. 1.83).219 After Mot consumes Baal, Anat dismembers Mot and scatters
his remains (1.6.ii:30–7). Baal too battles Yamm (1.2.iv:1–32) and
Mot (1.6.v:9–vi:35), and he defeats the seven-headed Litan (1.5.i:1–3,
27–30).220
Interestingly, with the exception of Tunnan and Litan,221 each of these
monsters is closely allied with El, instigating the tension between El and
214
Regarding his meteorological entourage, see Wyatt 1987:391–8.
215
Regarding Baal’s relationship with Anat, see briefly with references Smith 2001:56–7.
216
del Olmo Lete 2004:167–8.
217
In Mesopotamia “demonic” hybrid forces threaten humans far more than the gods. As
we will see, there are also hybrid monsters to threaten (some of) the gods.
218
Cf. Shapsh’s encounter with the dragon (1.6.iv:51–3).
219
Smith and Pitard 2008:245–65. Smith and Pitard argue that Yamm and Tunan should be
identified (245–58), in which case Yamm would be described as both a seven-headed
serpent/dragon and anthropomorphically (1.2.iv:16–7, 22–3) resembling the context-
specific description of Tiamat in Mesopotamia.
220
Both Baal and Anat claim victory over Yamm, perhaps preserving different traditions.
Given that both are described as seven-headed twisting serpents, it is possible that Litan
and Tunnan should be identified as well (Smith and Pitard 2008:258).
221
Again, Tunnan and Litan could be identified with Yamm.
182 Levantine Gods
Baal and El’s affinity for monsters (e.g., those that are other, do not receive
cult, exist on the periphery, and threaten the gods in the center).222 Rather
than being external cosmic threats, Baal’s primary foes are El’s children of
the same generation, Yamm and Mot, who are the beloved of El.223 Thus,
the conflict is within the circle of the gods, between the family of El and
Baal. As in Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia, it is a family affair, yet as
we will discuss the resulting victory is less conclusive.224
divine hierarchy
Among Levantine polities Ugarit has a fairly sizeable pantheon with
estimates ranging from 100 to 265 deities, whereas Israel’s neighbors in
the early first millennium – including Ammon, Moab, Edom, and the
Phoenician city-states – seem to have fewer than ten deities.225 Given the
paucity of data, reconstructing the divine hierarchy of Israel’s nearest
neighbors and the profile of its members is difficult, not least because of
the differences between dynastic and popular as well as state and local
conceptions.226
At Ugarit, El is the high god and primary decision maker, while Athirat
(biblical Asherah) shares the top line by virtue of her status as divine
mother and influence over her husband (i.e., KTU 1.4.iv:20–v:19).227
While he rules the pantheon, his profile is somewhat limited and his
character is somewhat passive compared with the Hittite and
Mesopotamian high gods. Major gods include Baal, Mot, and Yamm,
222
Yamm and Desire as the beloved of El, Rebel his calf, Fire his dog, and Flame his
daughter. Cf. Smith 2006b:38–63, reproduced and expanded from 2001:27–40.
223
See regarding Yamm 1.1.iii:20; 1.3.iii:38–9; and Mot 1.5.i:8, 13–14; ii:9; 1.6.vi:30–1.
224
Smith 1994:104–5.
225
Regarding Ugarit, compare de Moor 1970:216; Pardee 2002:222; del Olmo Lete
2004:78. Regarding the more southern states, see Smith 2002a:60–4. While Ugaritic
data abounds, the data for the more southern states are meager, stemming from biblical,
inscriptional, and onomastic sources; see the cautions in Cornell 2015. Some of the
difference may be attributed to geography and luck. There also seems to be a temporal
factor, as there seems to be a general pantheon reduction in the first millennium Levant.
For a recent explanation of the evolution of the Israelite pantheon alongside the general
pantheon reduction of the first-millennium Levant, see Sanders 2015. See also Smith
2004:chapter 3.
226
For the data, see Albertz and Schmitt 2012:245–368, 505–14, 534–609; for a cursory
analysis, see Sanders 2014.
227
The prevailing models posit four tiers, Handy’s based on a bureaucratic model and
Smith’s on a family model, respectively authoritative, active, artisan, and messenger
versus El and Athirat, the seventy sons of El, and two tiers of servants. See Smith 1984;
Handy 1994; Smith 2001:41–66; cf. Mullen 1980; Cho 2007:31–7.
who serve primarily as specialist deities, with a primary power (e.g., Baal
and the weather, Mot and death, and Yamm and the sea).228 Minor gods
typically are in the employ of the high and major gods, ranging from
important and highly skilled to minor. Deities of this type include crafts-
men, messengers, soldiers, gatekeepers, and support staff.229 With the
exception of Kothar-wa-Hasis, they have little individuation.
divine elevation and innovation

Levantine divine elevation and innovation are fairly limited compared
with Mesopotamia and Egypt. Nonetheless, Levantine texts still elevate
deities in informative ways, sometimes via direct conflict and competition
and other times in different ways.
Although divine characters seem slightly more fixed than in Mesopotamia
and Egypt, divine origin does not determine divine status or profile. For
many deities, we do not have enough information for a profile, let alone
a character progression. Even for deities about which we have more infor-
mation, original profiles are elusive (e.g., Anat and Athirat).230 Gods can
become more than they were born to be. Nonetheless, those that are special-
ists have more limited room for growth. For example, Baal of Ugaritic
mythology may overcome his parentage, yet he remains a weather god.
While his profile may expand with his rising importance, like the Hittite
Weather-God, being a weather god limits the possibilities. For example, he is
never the sun or moon god. Being less tied to a specialty, as we have seen in
Mesopotamia and Egypt, gives a god greater potential.
The texts introduce El and Dagan as divine heads of state with little
indication of where they came from or how they got there. Both exhibit traits
228
The expression ı̉ lm rbm (“great gods”; 1.107:2, 51; 1.124:1–2; 4.149:1–2) may be a way
of identifying major gods and distinguishing them from those on the third tier. Major
gods are powerful, active, and often part of the family of El. While clearly a major god,
Anat is somewhat difficult to classify. Although connected to Baal, she is a largely
unattached female. As a warrior goddess, her powers rival, if not surpasses, those of
the great gods. However, as a female, she is not a threat to be ruler of the gods.
229
Debate remains about the place of Kothar-wa-Hasis. He appears to be a foreign god
(KTU 1.3.vi:12–20) who serves as craftsman for the major gods. At times, he also seems
to be more knowledgeable than the major gods (KTU 1.1.iii; 1.2.iii; 1.2.iv; 1.4.v–vii). As
such, he is the primary deity of the third tier according to the dominant schemas,
standing between the major gods and the more minor servants. For our purposes, as
an employee of the high and major gods, he falls into the third tier.
230
Cf. Wyatt 1999a:540n36. Wyatt argues that “deities are essentially symbolic figures,
who will accrete in their personae the accumulated experience of the worshipping
community” (540).
184 Levantine Gods
of the divine patriarch as father and creator. El acts as judge, while at Emar
Dagan is protector as well as patron of hunting and fertility, of humans and of
the land. While El remains judge, he is older and not particularly active or
aggressive.231 In the texts he neither travels nor fights, leaving room for
a younger, more vigorous and militant proxy.232 Nonetheless, El has a bit of
a dark side, favoring his monstrous children at the expense of order, another
trait that invites intervention. With little mythological profile, Dagan is
more difficult to assess. Nonetheless, as with El, there seems to be room
for a more virile protagonist. In both cases weather gods step to the fore –
Baal/Hadad-of-Aleppo and Baal-of-Ṣapun. We now turn to their elevation,
followed by that of the relative newcomer, Baal-of-Heaven.
As with Dagan, we have little mythological information about Baal-of-
Aleppo. If we take the aforementioned Hurrian psalm (KUB 47.78) and
the association with the Kumarbi Cycle as determinative, Baal-of-Aleppo
was born from and for conflict.233 The Song of Kumarbi (CTH 344) (and
the larger cycle) concerns the conflict between sky and chthonic deities for
supremacy. The male Kumarbi, the weather god’s mother, swallows
Anu’s testicles. Rather than accomplishing the annihilation of Anu’s
line, Kumarbi’s act brings about the birth of the Weather-God borne
from his body. As the story progresses, the Weather-God maintains his
supremacy despite Kumarbi’s best efforts to defeat him. Even if uncon-
nected or if other traditions of Baal-of-Aleppo’s emergence are present,
Baal-of-Aleppo seems to have established or at least cemented his
status through conquest. As noted, in a prophetic letter from Mari
(A. 1968:1'–6'), Addu-(=Baal-)of-Aleppo proclaims that he established the
king of Mari with no rivals with his weapons, returned Zimri-Lim to the
throne, and presented him with the weapons with which he fought the Sea,
such that no one may stand before him. In other words, Addu fought the
Sea with his weapons and seemingly guaranteed the king’s safety with the
same weapons, indicating that he is an indomitable warrior who secures his
and his human underlings’ thrones with his might.234 As the patron deity of
Yamhad, Baal-of-Aleppo carried international prestige that lasted long
˘
231
It is possible that the texts suppress El’s warrior side to make room for Baal; cf. El’s
deified weapons in KTU 1.65. It is possible that Baal takes over Ṣapun from El as well; de
Moor 1995:231–2.
232
El seems to prefer a more part-time, overseer-type role.
233
For an English translation of the Kumarbi Cycle, see Hoffner 1998: texts 14–18.
234
The placement of the same weapons in the temple of Dagan in Terqa (A. 1858) suggests
that the Amorites connected Addu with Dagan, perhaps as father and son. Thus, there
may be alternative versions of his parentage.
after the fall of the kingdom. Presumably, like Dagan at Emar and the
Hittite Weather-God, Baal-of-Aleppo took on the characteristics necessary
to occupy the throne, thereby expanding his profile. For example, he was
able to speak his will through prophecy. In addition to demonstrating his
potency, Baal-of-Aleppo expanded his profile by establishing multiple sat-
ellite temples. In sum, Baal-of-Aleppo owes his prominence to being the
weather god of an important city who used violence and reduplication to
secure his position.
Given the extensive literature from Ugarit, we know far more about the
rise of Baal-of-Ṣapun in Ugaritic mythology. While there are different
ways of reading the text, Baal as the son of Dagan seems to have been
a bit of an outsider who had to earn his position as deputy ruler among the
sons of El.235 Within the Baal Cycle, there seems to be tension between El
and Baal in the first half of the story. Baal’s main enemies are the beloved
sons of El, Yamm and Mot. El accedes to Yamm’s demands for Baal (KTU
1.2.i:15–38) and for a palace (1.2.iii:6–11).236 Once Baal defeats Yamm,
El will not build Baal a palace until Athirat intervenes (1.3.iv:94–1.4.
iv:81). Afterward, he is far more favorable toward Baal. He laments
when Baal dies (1.5.vi:1–25) and rejoices when he returns (1.6.iii:2–21).
He also intervenes on Baal’s behalf via Shapsh in his conflict with Mot
(1.6.vi:22–35). In some ways the Ugaritic Baal Cycle then is about Baal’s
incorporation into and elevation within the pantheon.237 Combat is
a prominent means of exalting Baal, yet the text shows it is not the primary
reason for his exaltation.
In some ways the text may be read as a battle between order and chaos,
good and evil, heroes and monsters. From another perspective, as in
Enuˉ ma eliš, the conflict is between gods whose victories suggest alterna-
tive possibilities for world order. Both Yamm and Mot exist outside the
bounds of the civilized world and represent uncontrollable, chaotic, and
destructive powers. While the sea and flowing water more generally are
more ambivalent forces, death is seen as an unavoidable negative. In turn,
the audience and storyteller side with Baal. This is not because of his moral
235
While other options are certainly plausible (especially the preservation of different
traditions; see note 180), El seems to have been Baal’s father hierarchically rather than
biologically. There seems to have been two divine circles, one centered around El and the
other around Baal. The ritual reference to ı̉ lhm and bˁlm also seems to distinguish
between the sons of El and the unspecified Baals (i.e., KTU 1.39:9–10).
236
He also does not refute Yamm’s claims to be the master.
237
While certainly prevalent in the Levant, it is possible that a weather god was not
originally central to Ugarit, making such a story necessary.
186 Levantine Gods
character, but rather because his victory benefits us. He represents the
world as it stands and with good reason, since an unchecked water-world
or a world ruled by death would not benefit humanity. As we will see, his
absence comes with other heavy costs.
While Ugaritians favor Baal, El favors his children, the beloved mon-
sters. Yamm is a prince in the divine family favored by the sovereign El,
while Baal is an outsider whom El agrees should submit to Yamm. Thus,
from the divine perspective, Baal’s victory over Yamm is one of might but
perhaps not right.
While Baal kills and dismembers Yamm, the sea does not disappear.
Instead, his victory represents his control and supremacy over the sea,
a power he exercises alongside other weather gods in SAA 2.5.iv:10'–13'
where they can sink ships at will. Thus, with the victory he gains new
power and authority, one that prompts him to become the patron of
seafaring.238
Interestingly, his victory garners him little divine recognition. El still
will not build him a palace and the other gods do not attend his victory
celebration (1.3.i:1–22). Only after political maneuvering with the assist-
ance of Anat and Kothar does Baal secure Athirat’s support, who quickly
bends El to her will (1.4.iv:20–81). With El’s approval and the palace
built, the gods attend his second celebration (1.4.vi:40–59). Thus, while
might secures victory, diplomacy is necessary to turn victory to his
advantage.
In addition to an incomplete victory, the victory is also not entirely his
own. What sets Baal apart from Yamm in the battle and the textual
description of it is the animate weapons forged by Kothar-wa-Hasis
(KTU 1.2.iv:7–32). Seemingly without the support of Kothar, Baal faces
Mot and dies (1.5). As with Yamm, Baal’s death is short-lived, itself
a reflection of his partial victory over death. He returns to fight Mot to
a draw (1.6.vi:10–22), at which point El intervenes for Baal via Shapsh
(vi:22–35).239 Mot withdraws after El threatens to remove support for
Mot’s kingship over death. El, thus remains firmly in charge, Baal’s
victory over Yamm is partial (and of little import without El’s approval),
238
There is no explicit reference to his patronage, but evidence makes it likely. Various
votive anchors have been found in the temple of Baal-of-Ugarit and other coastal
sanctuaries. The location of the temple may also suggest that it is an orientation point
for sailors; Grave 1980:228; W. Herrmann 1999a:135; Schwemer 2008a:13. For
a comprehensive study of the stone anchors see Frost 1991.
239
Interestingly, Anat succeeds where Baal cannot. She defeats and dismembers Mot
(1.6ii:4–37), only for him, like Yamm and Baal, to return.
and El, not Baal, secures Mot’s nonaggression. As a result of the Cycle,
Baal has authority over the gods and the sea under the aegis of El and
death is forced back into its own realm. In the end, Yamm remains, Mot
remains a threat, and Baal rules according to the will of El.
Baal’s victory and kingship are, thus limited, especially compared with
that of Baal-of-Aleppo.240 This disparity may partially be attributed to the
political situations both faced. Although a prominent city-state, Ugarit was
always in the shadow of larger nations, while Yamhad was a powerful nation
˘
in its own right. The partial victory of Baal, thus seems to reflect the audi-
ences’ expectations of what victory looked like.241 In addition, it practically
recognizes the impossibility of fully destroying the sea or death. They may
only be contained, which Baal as human champion manages to do
successfully.
To this point, power and politics account for Baal’s elevation. One
wonders if there is more to it, more to El’s change of direction than his
wife’s intervention. Why support Baal against his beloved Mot? While the
text is not explicit, it seems that El only realizes Baal’s value when he is
gone.242 Athtar’s unsuccessful attempt to take the throne demonstrates that
there is no suitable replacement (1.6.i:56–66). Baal alone has power to
bring the land to life. The land is parched in his absence (iv:1–5, 12–16),
and El dreams of his return signaling the heavens raining oil and the wadis
running with honey (6–7, 12–13). El seems to intervene with Mot since Baal
is too important for death to take again. Thus, what makes Baal-of-Ṣapun
indispensable and irreplaceable is not his might, political savvy, or universal
skill set, but rather his fructifying power.243 Even with a limited divine
repertoire, his abilities are absolutely essential and exclusively his own.244
While the data are minimal, Baal-of-Heaven’s transcendence seems
to set him apart, like the celestial weather gods before him.245 While
240
Cf. Smith 1994:104–5.
241
In Egypt, the solar cycle also posited a partial and temporary victory. Here the pessimism
is likely less an expression of political pessimism and more connected to the precarious-
ness of life along the Nile. Stolz also connects the limited exaltation of Baal with Ugarit’s
limited political circumstances; Stolz 1981; Smith 2001:158–9. In contrast, Tugendhaft
(2018) suggests that Baal’s position is subversive, a critique of Late Bronze Age politics.
242
The text is also composite such that we should expect some inconsistency.
243
In the hymn to Baal (1.101) he has cosmic proportions, reminiscent of Mesopotamian
and Egyptian hymns to various deities. Nonetheless, while expansive, his description
focuses on his weather powers, magnifying them but not ascribing new powers to him.
244
This very essential fructifying makes him a threat to Yahweh.
245
He is not transcendent in the sense that he completely transcends our world. Rather, he
lives beyond the human sphere and is not attached to any one place within it.
188 Levantine Gods
Baal-of-Aleppo is situated in a prominent city and Baal-of-Ṣapun on

a prominent mountain, he lives beyond the human plane and is, thus
more universal. He also has no known backstory or familial connec-
tions. Since the text does not tether him in such ways, he represents
greater potential to adapt and be what the situation needs him to be.
Nonetheless, his appearance among the other weather gods in the Neo-
Assyrian treaty SAA 2.5, who together are implored to sink the ships
of Tyrian treaty breakers, identifies him as a weather god. This identi-
fication in some way circumscribes his role. However, as the heavenly
Baal/Lord, he theoretically may expand his profile to include other
aspects that are normally beyond the reach of a weather deity such
as controlling the sun and moon.
In the more modest southern Levant the Mesha Stela gives the most
substantial divine profile outside of the Bible. The stela presents Kemosh
as responsible for the fate of Moab and by extension neighboring Israel.
Here the text allows for no competition. Whatever happens is a product of
his divine will. With a smaller polity generally comes a smaller pantheon.
As the primary deity, Kemosh is a generalist who seemingly does every-
thing. In a way, he is a one-stop-shop god like Marduk, Aššur, and Amun,
yet on a much more parochial scale.
Once again, while humans communicate directly with the gods, especially
through the cult, gods communicate with humans primarily indirectly.
The Aqhat Epic (KTU 1.17–19) is unique in that multiple deities appear
directly to humans.246 At Ugarit and Emar Mesopotamian- (and Hittite-)
influenced divination appeared, largely based on the principle that obser-
vation of the natural world revealed the divine will. At Ugarit, these
included observations of malformed animal and human births, lunar
246
Humans are absent from the Baal Cycle, and El appears only in a dream to the Kirta Epic
(1.14–16). In Aqhat Danil wines and dines the Daughters-of-the-Moon and Kothar-wa-
Hasis (1.17.iv:24–40; v:9–33). While the Daughters-of-the-Moon seem entirely
anthropomorphic (they enter Danil’s house and stay with him for seven days), Kothar
appears to be supersized (he does not enter the home and instead may be seen from far
away). Anat also appears before Aqhat on two separate occasions (1.17.vi:11–46; 1.18.
iv:5–39), seemingly in anthropomorphic form. Nonetheless, certain features mark her
otherness. When she leaves angrily, the earth shakes (1.17.vi:46). Instead of being visible
from “one-thousand rods, one-thousand furlongs” like Kothar, she sets her sights on
Aqhat from the same distance (1.18.i:20–2). She approaches stealthily, flying above him
with a Sutean warrior in tow (1.18.iv:27–33).
Conclusion 189
phenomena, extispicy, and perhaps dreams.247 At Emar we find extispicy,

lunar signs, hemerologies, behavioral omens, medical omens, Hittite
oracles, and unpublished Hurrian omens.248 We encounter earlier evi-
dence for prophecy at Mari, including from Baal-of-Aleppo, preserved in
royal circles.249 The Deir ˁAlla inscription also attests to prophecy in
western Jordan (ca. 800 BCE).250
Nonetheless, while present, the documentation is minimal and of
limited practical value. The meager Ugaritic data lead Jeffrey Cooley to
state, “Based on the number of texts and their lack of practicality and
sophistication, I must conclude that celestial divination was barely rele-
vant at Ugarit.”251 While the Emarite corpus is larger, it seems that none
of the texts were produced at Emar. Rather, they were merely kept and
copied, leading scholars to question whether the diviners actually prac-
ticed divination at Emar.252 It is possible that prophecy was more preva-
lent than the textual record indicates. Regardless, Levantine peoples
undoubtedly had practical ways of receiving and deciphering the divine
will. What precisely they were unfortunately remains a bit of a mystery.
conclusion
Levantine deities are diverse, ranging from a musical instrument to the
masters of the universe. Each seems to possess a practical power to affect
the other gods and/or humans, and most appear anthropomorphic enough
to be relatable. As elsewhere, several deities are expansive enough to be
considered a constellation of aspects that may be treated as distinct or
a unity depending on the context. However, their profiles are more limited
than those of the major Mesopotamian and Egyptian gods. In addition,
rather than have predominantly distinct deities as in Mesopotamia,
Levantine deities have overlapping functions as in Egypt and Hittite
Anatolia. However, with no shared origin or no single empire, they were
only minimally organized into collective and combined constellations.
247
El also appears to Kirta in a dream (KTU 1.14.i:35–7; vi:31–2). Regarding the mantic,
see M. Dietrich and Loretz 1990; Pardee 2000:532–64, 763–5 and 2002:127–48; COS
1.90–3.
248 249
Rutz 2013:219–63, 319–21, 326. Nissinen 2019.
250 251
See conveniently COS 2.27. Cooley 2012:25.
252
At least at Ugarit divination seems to have been employed. For example, regarding
extispicy, we have no manuals, only inscribed model organs, seemingly used for actual
consultations (COS 1.92:291). See regarding Emar Fleming 2000:26–35, with the
section heading “The Diviner Who Does Not Divine”; Rutz 2013:319–21, 326.
190 Levantine Gods
While similar, the major weather gods were often treated as discrete
individuals. Nonetheless, here as elsewhere, that presentation was vari-
able. Their approach was aspective, or context-specific, focusing on the
configuration that best suited the context without undue consideration for
how it aligned with other presentations.
5
Synthesizing the Ancient Near Eastern Divine Sphere
The data reveal significant common ground between regions with some
important differences. Viewed from the modern West, ANE gods are
more numerous and diverse than we might expect and be comfortable
with. Nonetheless, rather than fit them into our categories or judge
them by our standards, it is better to look to the ancient evidence on
its own terms, to let it answer the question: what is a god?
what is a god?
ANE gods may include the heroes and villains of mythology, natural
elements like mountains and rivers, elements of society like servants and
messengers, architecture and movable objects, abstract qualities, animals,
plants, and even diseases. The Hittite divine world is perhaps the most
expansive in terms of the number and variety of deities, while surprisingly
less of the Egyptian world seems to be divinized than its ANE counter-
parts. In most cases the common denominator is perceived power, the
power to affect other gods and especially people. While many gods are not
anthropomorphic – that is, humanlike in form, people nonetheless tend to
ascribe humanlike agency to them. The humanlike major gods of myth-
ology represent the quintessence of divinity. As such, they are consistently
deified. The more a deity diverges from humanlike on the divine spectrum,
the less likely it is to be consistently deified. Often peripheral deities are
ascribed divinity insofar as they resemble the core deities in some way,
such as possessing numinous power or humanlike agency. Forces that
possess power but do not respond to human entreaty threaten the ordered
191
192 Synthesizing the Ancient Near Eastern Divine Sphere
world. The gods who are like us heroically rise to the challenge, not
primarily to defend us but rather to protect themselves and their world.
These deities often subdue or tame these forces, thereby rendering the
cosmos safer and more understandable.
Informed by the Cognitive Science of Religion, such personification is
natural.1 It is also profitable. Gods control the elements in our world that
we value but cannot (completely) control. Understanding them as human-
like beings gives us some agency that we leverage through gifts and service.
For example, being able to placate the weather god helps the offerer to feel
agency when the otherwise uncontrollable weather determines our fate.
ANE texts commonly also deify elements of the divine household,
likely by association. That is, their association with the deity renders
their function important enough to be deified (i.e., their divinity may
add to the efficacy of the cult). The Hittites even extend the deification
to elements of the human household, especially points of ingress like the
hearth. One is left to wonder whether such objects have any individuation
or agency. While it is not a requisite quality, some degree of anthropo-
morphization seems to be present since many receive offerings and
entreaties. The Hittites offer another clue that likely applies throughout
the ANE. They linguistically differentiate between regular and animated
objects by adding a suffix to the latter. Among the Hittites, deified objects
are animated objects. In turn, it seems that deities are or govern the
elements in the divine household that would be governed by human
servants in the royal household. In the human home, they may govern
the elements that are vulnerable and require protection.
Together, the deification of the important elements in the cosmos
represents the human attempt to understand and, as much as possible,
control the world. In a world where the divine duties are divided, the
maintenance and extension of order require divine cooperation. Thus, in
accord with more communal societies, divine value lies in one’s cosmic
role far more than personality. According to such a scale, the greater the
quality and quantity of roles, the more important the deity.
context-specific approach
It is tempting to read a single text or genre of texts as if it speaks for all
others. It is equally tempting to systematize all the disparate data into
a coherent system, no matter how unnatural the fit. However, life is rarely
1
See Chapter 1, Conceptual Background.
Context-Specific Approach 193
so neat and tidy. The human approach to the world often varies by
context.
This context-specific approach is especially pronounced in the ANE
regions under investigation. The ANE approach is often aspective – that
is, it focuses on individual aspects at the expense of overall consistency.
In some cases, ANE people focus on the individual aspects to such an
extent that they may be conceived of as independent, self-propelled
agents. Nonetheless, rather than being universal, they apply the aspec-
tive approach to different degrees in different contexts, genres, and
texts.
Certain texts tend to be more holistic, while others give individual
attention to divine aspects. Mythological texts, hymns, and prayers tend
to present a deity as a singular individual, while rituals and treaties tend to
isolate individual aspects. In a ritual context, for example, people practic-
ally ascribe agency to a deity’s various access points, thereby ascribing to
the form they have access the ability to act on their behalf. In
Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia, Egypt, and perhaps the Levant, ritualists
activate cult statues so that they become divine bodies and treat each as
a distinct self-propelled agent. Each presents different offerings to differ-
ent cult images. The Mesopotamian texts differentiate between localized
Ištars in a hymn, the Hittites and Egyptians distinguish between material
and immaterial divine aspects, and Hittite texts acknowledge that each
deity has agency and treat the deity-statue symbiosis in a satellite temple as
a distinct deity.
Nonetheless, even those texts with the greater penchant for cohesion
demonstrate some measure of fluidity. For example, mythological texts
treat the elements of weather as detachable aspects of the Levantine and
Hittite weather gods, while in Egyptian mythology one goddess (Hathor)
can morph into another (Sekhmet). While hymns tend to present the
praised deity as singular, they may incorporate other deities into the divine
person, especially in Mesopotamia and Egypt, thereby rhetorically elevat-
ing the exalted deity. A Mesopotamian hymn even addresses the distinct
Ištar-of-Nineveh and Ištar-of-Arbela. Whereas some prayers may be sin-
gular in focus, Hurro-Hittite prayers in particular may appeal to multiple
iterations of a god(-type) to cover the bases. Such flexibility also extends to
how individuals approach their deities. While those in an urban setting
may recognize the various divine specialists, those in a more rural setting
without the population to support multiple specialists tend to treat the
form of the deity they may approach as more of a generalist. Like a rural
doctor, they want a deity who can meet all their needs. In a way, then, the
Moabite Kemosh is a one-stop-shop god like Marduk, Aššur, and Amun,

yet on a much more parochial scale.
Rather than being dogmatic, the texts and people are generally prag-
matic. They tend to pragmatically juxtapose the different articulations of
deity without undue consideration for how they align, even in the same
text. In turn, the major ANE deities may be understood as a constellation
of interconnected aspects – names, attributes, and manifestations – that
may be treated as a part of an organic unity or as (semi-)independent
depending on the context. Rather than over-define, they preserve multiple
perspectives to better encapsulate the whole since, as the Egyptians attest,
each perspective is merely an approximation of an ineffable whole. Such
a fluid approach is also highly adaptable as a deity may adopt new names,
attributes, and manifestations or combine its parts in new configurations.
Nonetheless, in most cases there is some limit to divine flexibility.
Deities may be somewhat circumscribed by their specializations. For
example, rain deities do not control the sun and sun gods do not control
the rain. Deities with blurrier contours have greater potential for change
(e.g., Marduk, Aššur, and especially Amun).
divine constellations
In Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia, Egypt, and the Levant, major gods
seem to consist of a constellation of detachable parts – accumulated
names, attributes, and manifestations – with an anthropomorphic core.
The humanlike deity described in mythology remains largely inaccessible.
Visible phenomena like the sun, moon, storm, stars, and especially phys-
ical objects serve as access points that allow some measure of contact.
Since texts ascribe agency to most access points (and often particular
names and attributes), access points tend to develop their own identities.
Names and attributes too may inherit agency and distinct identities in
some contexts. In the case of a deity like Mesopotamian Ištar or the Hittite
weather gods with multiple names, attributes, and manifestations, the
divine name Ištar or Weather-God may refer to: (1) a specific manifest-
ation; (2) a single, larger divine entity that includes the totality of the
individual aspects and manifestations; or (3) a collection of distinct deities
that share the same forename.
In keeping with their imperial settings, Mesopotamian and Egyptian
deities have the most expansive divine constellations. In both contexts
major gods distinguish themselves by amassing aspects that together form
their divine profiles. Nonetheless, in each context deities overlap with each
Divine Constellations 195
other in terms of function and personhood. While Mesopotamian constel-

lations contain the largest diversity of elements, they tend to be the most
integrated and exhibit the least amount of overlap (with the primary
exception of Ištar). There seems to have been an early division of labor
such that Mesopotamian gods do not overlap in function as much as the
others. In addition, Marduk and Aššur have a single cultic home, a single
axis mundi. Even though Marduk has multiple different cult images in
Babylon that seem to be treated like self-propelled agents, they are all in
the same locale. As such, they are clearly aspects of the singular Marduk.2
Modern Constellations
While conceptions of deity as constellations may seem foreign and artificial,
they are not too dissimilar from our modern presentations of self. Modern
individuals likewise are made up of multiple aspects, of names, attributes,
and manifestations. In different settings – such as social media, gaming,
work, home, church, with family, friends, and even in Vegas – we are called
by different names, exhibit different attributes, and manifest in different
ways. Each presentation of self is a true representation of self, yet each is
partial. Each aspect is also distinct, and the whole self lies not in part, but in
the accumulation of aspects. Like ANE gods, the presentation of self can
always expand or change in new circumstances and with different experi-
ences. In addition, each aspect or manifestation is how people in each forum
access you, often leading them to assume that the partial self you present
represents the whole. In fact, such fluidity and diversity are a natural
expression of complex personhood. As complex characters, the major
gods exhibit more fluid and diverse selves than the minor gods.
Nonetheless, as gods are transcendently anthropomorphic, though they
resemble us, their selves are greater in scope and more malleable (i.e., they
theoretically may be present in multiple locations simultaneously).
Collective Constellations
Regarding function, Egyptian and especially Levantine and Hittites deities
overlap significantly. One factor especially contributes to the greater
overlap in the Levant and among the Hittites – geography. In the Hittite
2
Nonetheless, while Marduk and Aššur limit their primary manifestations, they are ever
amassing new names and attributes. Secondary manifestations, for example, on standards
and stele – also may proliferate.
and Levantine worlds rainfall is essential for survival, whereas in Egypt

and especially southern Mesopotamia it is not (Egyptians rely on the Nile
and Mesopotamians irrigation). In turn, there was an early proliferation
of weather gods in most Hittite and Levantine settlements, whereas
Egyptians and Mesopotamians had a diversity of deities from the
beginning.
The Hittite and Levantine peoples address their overlapping deities in
different ways. To make their 3,000 gods more manageable, the Hittites
tend to place them in collective constellations – that is, god groups with
detachable gods.3 In turn, “weather god,” for example, may refer to:
(1) an independent deity; (b) a member of a god group; or (c) a category
of related gods. While prevalent among the Hittites, collective constella-
tions do not feature in Egypt or Mesopotamia (though they may apply to
the Ištar constellation).
In contrast, with no indigenous empire to systematize or syncretize the
deities, there was only a minimal effort to organize the independent
Levantine weather gods into god groups. Nonetheless, it is possible that
a shared motif, combat, may have been enough of a uniting force to form
a limited collective constellation.
Combined Constellations
Whereas Levantine people generally kept their gods apart, Egyptians tended
to mix them. Egyptian constellations seem the most fluid. They formed
combined constellations in which otherwise discrete deities merged in whole
or in part to form new combinations, usually without losing their individu-
ality. As with individual and collective constellations, the relation between
the combined constellation and its constituent parts is variable. The com-
bined constellation, for example, Amon-Re – may be: (1) a manifestation of
the parent deities (i.e., a partial merger); (b) an independent deity connected
to the parents (e.g., a start-up connected to a parent company); (c) an
entirely discrete entity (i.e., a schism from a parent company); or (d)
a single deity (partially) co-opting another (i.e., a corporate takeover).
Combined constellations may appear in small measure in the hyphenated
names elsewhere and in the Mesopotamian amalgamations of attributes in
Marduk, Aššur, and the Ninurta hymn (STT 118 rev.), yet they are
3
Although more centralized than the Levant, the Hittite state generally was less centralized
than Mesopotamia and Egypt and had more overlapping deities from the beginning,
leading more to systematization than syncretism.
Divine Competition and Elevation 197
a primary feature of Egyptian religion. Egyptians reveled in new and diverse

conceptualizations of deities, at times approaching monotheistic statements,
yet, as Amarna indicates, balked when one was promoted too dogmatically
at the expense of the others.
Returning to our LEGO analogy, Egyptian gods in particular resemble
LEGO mini-figures. Each is discrete and comes with its own torso, legs,
head, hair or hat, and an accessory. Each also is made up of interchange-
able parts, such that a single LEGO mini-figure may borrow the parts and
attributes of others to form a composite figure. To use Marvel characters
as an example, Captain America may adopt Thor’s hammer, Iron Man’s
helmet, and Hulk’s legs, leading to the composite figure Captain America-
Iron Man-Hulk-Thor, which exists as long as it suits the builder. The birth
of a new hero in no way detracts from the continued existence and
individuality of Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, and Hulk. In the
same way Egyptian gods tended to combine in whole or in part with
other deities without losing their individuality.
the larger divine world and its hierarchy

Loosely speaking, there are three tiers of divine beings: the high god, major
gods, and minor gods. The high god typically bears the most or most
important aspects, the major gods are specialists with important roles, and
the minor gods are generally more circumscribed in power, spheres of
influence, or cultic attention. In addition to their constellations, major gods
also have numerous personal and professional relations: friends, family,
bosses, coworkers, subordinates, and adversaries. In many cases the adver-
saries are monsters (who often are also gods). Major gods defeat monsters,
hold them at bay, or tame them, thereby preserving order and asserting
their importance. When present, so-called demons generally threaten
humans, not gods. In fact, major gods often control them.
divine competition and elevation

Since a deity’s value often lies in what it contributes to society, the more
important the deity, the more valuable and numerous its skill set. A deity’s
skill set, though, like its position, is not fixed. One’s origin is not deter-
minative; indeed, one’s origin story may be rewritten and too defined
a profile may be restrictive.
Various external factors facilitate divine mobility (i.e., the popularity
of a story or festival). In several cases, a political reshuffling warranted
a divine reshuffling. For example, the rise of Babylon, Aššur, and Thebes
to the imperial capital instigated the rise of their patron gods to the head of
the pantheon. Texts also use various means to justify the cosmic reshuf-
fling. Combat is fairly common, yet it is rarely against the rival one hopes
to supplant in the lived pantheon. Instead, the social climber like Marduk
or Baal defeats a seemingly indomitable monster, thus demonstrating his
value. Nonetheless, combat is not the exclusive or likely most prevalent
means of elevation. In fact, supreme deities like Amun eschew combat
altogether.
Character poaching is perhaps the most notable form of divine eleva-
tion. Gods typically rise not by creating new powers but by creating new
combinations of preexisting powers. For example, deities traditionally
engage in combat or creation, not both, at least not in the same story.4
Enuˉ ma eliš innovatively makes Marduk creator and conqueror, combin-
ing the motifs so skillfully that scholars expect to find creation motifs in
other combat myths (e.g., the Baal and Kumarbi Cycles). In Mesopotamia
and Egypt, in particular, texts creatively rebrand Marduk, Aššur, and
Amun to justify their rise from relative obscurity to high god. Rather
than invent new powers or directly challenge the other gods, the texts
make them one-stop-shop gods, employing a similar business model to
modern megastores like Amazon.com. They co-opt the competencies of
the other gods as needed, offering in one place what the other gods offer
corporately. The goal is to justify their supremacy, not eliminate the
competition, deny their potency, or monopolize their worship. In
Assyria in particular, the high god Aššur has a minimal following outside
of the elite and neither Marduk nor Aššur is known for being accessible. In
each context, their blurrier definitional boundaries allow them to adopt
the traits the context requires.
Amun especially is presented as pure potential. While the Mesopotamian
divine monarchs are born, Amun is the hidden one of unknown origin. As
the hidden one, Amun is not confined by defining traits or connections. The
texts present Amun without competition or conflict, as conflict invites
comparison. Amun is the first principle, the creator, and the animating
force of the universe. Despite his hiddenness and supremacy, Amun is
also accessible. As such, he was more popular in Egypt than Marduk or
Aššur ever were in Mesopotamia.
4
Older gods tend to create, while newer gods establish themselves via combat (i.e., the
various weather gods).
Divine Communication 199
Among the Hittites and in the Levant, gods fall short of being one-stop-
shop gods. Their roles are in some ways circumscribed by their fixed
identities, though even deities with specific roles may expand their profiles
to meet the demands of the audience. The Hittite Weather-God establishes
his supremacy through conflict. In addition to the weather powers at his
disposal, his skill set expands to meet the demands of his imperial
position.
Baal-of-Ṣapun, like the Hittite Weather-God, engages in combat.
Nonetheless, his military prowess does not secure his elevation. His vic-
tories are incomplete and do not garner much divine recognition.
Acceptance comes through political maneuvering, yet it is his role as the
sole source of fructifying power that cements his status. As such, he reigns
because he is indispensable, not indomitable.5 In sum, gods establish their
supremacy by being one-stop-shop gods – amassing the most potent and
diverse skill set – or, barring that, being irreplaceable.
divine communication
In a cosmos governed by the gods it behooves humans to communicate
with them, to know and influence their plans and tap into their power.
Human communication is commonly direct, through prayer and cultic
service. However, prayer and the cult are primarily unidirectional forms
of communication. The gods respond in other, more indirect ways
through omens and oracles. Some form of divination is present in each
region, but to differing degrees. The Mesopotamian system is the most
elaborate. In it the gods write their wills into the fabric of creation,
requiring specialists to discern it. The Hittites borrow from the
Mesopotamian system and have some indigenous divinatory techniques,
yet their divinatory apparatus seems far less developed. Divination in
Egypt, as in Mesopotamia, is prominent, though it is far less varied
throughout much of its history. While the Levant undoubtedly had some
means of communication, the data are the sparsest.
5
His kingship too is limited, partially circumscribed by the limited power of his poetic
patron, Ugarit.
part ii
NON-PRIESTLY GENESIS AND EXODUS

6
Yahweh
Our exploration of the divine world in the non-P portions of Genesis and
Exodus begins with a profile of the primary deity, Yahweh, focusing on
explaining his names, attributes, and manifestations in context. Chapter 7
considers other potentially divine beings as well as the minimal and
common characteristics of gods. With the data in hand, Chapter 8 puts
the pieces together, sorting the divine sphere while taking into account
ideology, theology, and rhetoric. We then turn to the complicated rela-
tionship between Yahweh and objects and communication (Chapter 9)
before concluding with a synthesis of our findings (Chapter 10).
Of all the potentially divine characters in the non-P Pentateuch, it should
come as no surprise that Yahweh has the most expansive profile in terms of
the frequency, depth, and diversity of references. The main Israelite god in
many ways resembles other major ANE gods. Like them, he possesses
a constellation of aspects broken down into names, attributes, and mani-
festations. Nonetheless, as we will see in the following chapters, the ideol-
ogy and rhetoric behind the Israelite conception of the divine stands apart.
names and epithets

A name is central to an individual’s identity.1 In fact, it is a label for that
identity that differentiates the bearer from all others. People need names
1
A name refers specifically to an individual’s proper name. An epithet is a descriptive title or
byname, though here the term is used interchangeably with title. Under this heading, we
will focus on names and epithets associated with Yahweh but that may apply to disparate
deities. Only some of the most interesting, informative, and controversial epithets will be
203
204 Yahweh
so that their character, deeds, reputation, and authority may be ascribed

to them and no other. Since they are ascribed to the person who is
individualized by the name, they are also ascribed to the name itself.
Because the name may represent all aspects of a person, it may be used
in different contexts to express different aspects of the person, be it honor
or shame, strength or weakness, good character or bad.2
In addition to an individual’s primary name, characters often have
secondary names and epithets. In fact, the more important and complex
the character, the more names and epithets they bear. When an individual
has more than one name, each name refers to the singular person yet
represents merely an aspect of that person. This is especially the case with
epithets, which often ascribe specific attributes or manifestations to a deity.
In turn, an individual’s multiple names and epithets represent the totality of
the named individual, describing him from multiple angles. Secondary
names and epithets, though, are malleable; they may change, expand, or
contract, in the process affecting the profile of the named individual.
Genesis and Exodus are concerned with the divine name. While Genesis
accumulates names and epithets, Exodus focuses on promoting and
explaining the primary name of the Israelite deity. Exodus uses “name” in
reference to Yahweh numerous times (3:13, 15; 5:23; 9:16; 15:3; 20:7, 24;
33:12, 17, 19; 34:5, 14).3 Elaborated most fully as bookends of the Exodus
narrative (3, 34), the text promotes the name as it promotes the deity,
expressing the desire for all to know it, foreigner and Israelite alike. While
only Israel is expected to worship Yahweh, all should know, respect, and
fear the deity, which is functionally equivalent to knowing his name (3:19–
20; 9:14–16). The multiple epithets serve the complementary function of
identifying the qualities the name bears. As a result, “never again will
foreigners scoff, ‘Who is Yahweh . . . I have not known him’” (5:2).4
Yahweh
Yahweh is the personal name of the god of Israel, who, like other major
ANE gods, accumulates multiple epithets.5 Some of these divine
examined here. Other titles (more particularly the characteristics they reveal) will be
examined under attributes and, when associated with presence, manifestations.
2
Hundley 2009:535–6 and more specifically regarding D and the Deuteronomistic History
(Dtr) 533–55.
3 4
Propp 1999:36. Ibid.
5
Despite much speculation, there remains no consensus on the origin of YHWH or its
primary meaning (Freedman and O’Connor 1986). See recently Tropper 2017.
Names and Epithets 205
descriptors originally may have applied to other deities, yet, like Enuˉ ma
eliš does for Marduk, the larger non-P narrative applies them to Yahweh.6
Together, they serve to illumine the divine nature, characteristics, and
relationships.7
Like other proper nouns, Yahweh always appears in the absolute
state.8 While Yahweh may appear with epithets, it never takes the definite
article or has a surname in Genesis and Exodus. In other words, the text
sets Yahweh in apposition to his attributes (i.e., Yahweh, the god of the
Abraham) or modifies the name with a participle (i.e., Yahweh-Who-
Sanctifies). However, it never mentions Yahweh of X (e.g., Yahweh-of-
Jerusalem or Yahweh-of-Hosts, the latter of which features in other
literature). Other ANE deities may have a forename and a surname,
which in some ways distinguish between divine forms. The forename
functions as a personal name, while the surname frequently identifies the
named deity with a specific place (e.g., Baal-of-Ugarit and Baal-of-Ṣapun).
In contrast, Yahweh never has a place-specific surname, thereby intimat-
ing that Yahweh is singular and undivided, even though he localizes
himself and is worshipped in multiple locales in the text.9
El and Elohim
Before examining Yahweh’s epithets, we discuss the Hebrew common
nouns for god – ’eˉl and ’ĕ loˉ hîm – and their multivocality. In Hebrew as
in Ugaritic, ’eˉl (ı̉ l[u] in Ugaritic) is a label for the genus “god,” often
functioning in the singular or plural as a common noun or a title (e.g.,
Exod. 15:2, 11; 34:6, 14). In Ugaritic, El is also the name or title of the
6
Unlike Enuˉ ma eliš, the non-P narrative applies them to Yahweh alone.
7
Cf. Allah’s accumulation of ninety-nine names in Islam, which are not strictly names, but
rather titles and epithets. In fact, to the human audience, Allah remains nameless.
Together, the divine descriptors illumine the divine nature and relationship to the world.
8
The absolute state is the standard, uncontracted form of a noun. It may take a prefix, but
not a suffix. On reading the tetragrammaton YHWH as Yahweh and the various attempts
to discover its etymology, see Freedman and O’Connor 1986.
9
Scholars have argued that Yahweh with a bet-locative may function as a name of sorts that
distinguishes between localized Yahwehs (see esp. 2 Sam. 15:7–8 [Yahweh in Hebron]; Ps
99:2 [Yahweh in Jerusalem]); see McCarter 1987. However, such an identification does
not seem to hold up under closer scrutiny (see S. Allen 2015:297–308). Extra-biblical
references to Yahweh-of-Samaria and Yahweh-of-Teman do appear at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud
(see especially. S. Allen 2015:259–86; see also Hutton 2010b). Thus, it seems that while the
Hebrew Bible maintained a singular Yahweh, lived religion allowed for place-specific
manifestations (see further Chapter 8). Cf. the presence of Yahweh at Elephantine; see
Rohrmoser 2014; Granerød 2016 and 2019.
206 Yahweh
Ugaritic high god, and the deity El is widely attested throughout the West
Semitic world. In Hebrew as well, there are instances where El may be
a name or title rather than a category marker, especially when it appears in
epithets.10 Some scholars even suggest that El was the original god of
Israel.11 For example, the nation is called Isra-El, not Isra-Yah or Isra-
Yahweh.12 In places, El may be identified as the patriarchal god (Gen.
33:20; 35:1, 3; 46:3) and the god of the Exodus (Num. 23:22; 24:8;
cf. 23:8).13 Such an association is reasonable given El’s prominence as
the high god at Ugarit, likely regionally, and in nearby Ammon. Whether
or not we posit an original distinction between El and Yahweh, the text
clearly identifies El with Yahweh.14
’Ĕ loˉ hîm, which appears far more often than ’eˉ l, refers to the common
Hebrew plural “gods” and to a singular god as an abstract plural, roughly
translated as “divinity” or “deity.”15 Like ilā nuˉ in western peripheral
Akkadian and other Semitic cognate expressions, the morphologically
plural ’ĕ loˉ hîm often functions grammatically as a singular.16 Whereas
the plural “gods” functions primarily as a common noun, the abstract
plural often functions as a title. The title Elohim, like ’eˉ l used as a common
noun or title, functions generically; it theoretically may be used of any
god. In addition to being more often a title, ’ĕ loˉ hîm serves as a more
respectful, elevated form of address. The preference for the more sophisti-
cated abstract plural ’ĕ loˉ hîm over the singular ’eˉ l thus is likely more
a matter of style than of meaning.17
Elsewhere in the ANE, the abstract plural is used generically to refer to
various deities. It is often followed by a descriptor, specifying the (type of)
deity addressed. In many cases, it refers to a patron god who has
a particular connection to and serves as divine representative of
a specific individual, group, or place.18
10
Strictly speaking, since ’eˉ l takes the definite article, it can only be a title, not a proper
name. Alternatively, ’eˉ l may be used as a name in some circumstances and a title in others.
11 12
See especially Smith 2001:146–8; cf. Wyatt 1992a. Smith 2001:142–3.
13
Gen. 49:24–5 also separates El epithets from Yahweh (18) (ibid. 143).
14
See later in this chapter for the specific instances. Cf. the P texts, which clearly identify
Yahweh with El-Shadday (Exod. 6:2–3).
15
Burnett 2001:21–4.
16
Ibid. 7–63. There are scattered examples in which the abstract plural ’ĕ loˉ hîm takes plural
modifiers even though it functions as a singular: verbs (Gen. 20:13; 35:7; Exod. 22:8),
adjectives (Josh. 24:19; 1 Sam. 17:26, 36; Jer. 10:10; 23:36) and participles (Ps. 58:12).
See Burnett 2001:73; See also Sarna 1991:204 and 261n15; Propp 2006:551.
17 18
Burnett 2001:24. Ibid. 7–53, 63.
In the Hebrew Bible, ’ĕ loˉ hîm as abstract plural either appears followed
by a descriptor (often in a construct chain) or in the absolute state.
Modified ’ĕ loˉ hîm may function as a generic title given greater specificity
with a modifier and/or an epithet. For non-Israelites (Gen. 34:15; 1 Kgs
11:33; 2 Kgs 1:2) and Israelites alike, it may be used to indicate a patron
deity of an individual, group, or place. In its absolute form, ’ĕ loˉ hîm
functions as a title for Yahweh or it remains a generic title that need not
be specified since the deity in question has been specified earlier in the
passage or is patently obvious.19 In effect, since Yahweh is the only
(acceptable) ’ĕ loˉ hîm for the Israelites, the unmodified ’ĕ loˉ hîm is
a sufficient descriptor.20 Like ’eˉl, ’ĕ loˉ hîm in the absolute state may be
modified by the definite article h. The presence or absence of the definite
article, though, has little bearing on meaning, as calling Yahweh “Deity”
or “the Deity” is functionally equivalent.21
Using the common noun as a title in Hebrew finds analogs in English,
where common noun and title may be distinguished based on capitaliza-
tion. In English, “dad” is a common noun, functioning as a label for all
(human) male fathers, whereas “Dad” is a common noun turned title.22 In
this case, the common noun becomes a capitalized title because it is used
possessively. “Dad” then is a title for an individual’s father, not all fathers
generically. “God” and “god” function similarly in English to ’eˉl and
’ĕ loˉ hîm. Like singular ’eˉ l and the regular plural ’ĕ loˉ hîm, “god” is
a common noun, referring to all beings who qualify as gods. Like the
abstract plural ’ĕ loˉ hîm, “God” is a title that likely originally had
a possessive quality. An individual who worships the biblical god could
simply call him God with no need for qualification, especially when
speaking with other Yahweh worshippers. Likewise, the abstract plural
’ĕ loˉ hîm refers to a god of someone, somewhere, or something. Only with
19
Like ’eˉ l, since ’ĕ loˉ hîm takes the definite article, it technically cannot be a proper name.
Regarding ’ĕ loˉ hîm as a name or title, see Blum 2008; Schmid 2011.
20
In classical source criticism and according to the Neo-Documentary Hypothesis (see, e.g.,
Noth 1972; Baden 2009 and 2012), the divine name Elohim is characteristic of the
E source (and to a lesser extent P). Exod. 3 (classically assigned to E) posits the revelation
of the divine name Yahweh to Moses in the wilderness, indicating that all other instances
of the generic Elohim of the patriarchs should be understood as the self-same deity; cf. the
P version of the revelation of the divine name in Exod. 6. For a redactional approach, see
Blum 1984 and 1990; Levin 1993; Kratz 2005; Schmid 2010.
21
“Deity,” though, is more a form of address than “the Deity.”
22
See also professor and Professor, mom and Mom, doctor and Doctor, president and
President, etc.
208 Yahweh
the prevalence of monotheism did “God” become synonymous with the

one true god.
People- and Place-Specific Descriptors

Yahweh is the patron ’ĕ loˉ hîm of individuals, most notably Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob (Gen. 24:12, 27, 42, 48; 26:4, 24; 28:13; 31:5, 29, 42;
32:10 [9]; Exod. 3:6, 15, 16; 4:5; cf. Gen. 46:1). As the god of the family’s
patriarchs, this same god is the patron of the family (Exod. 3:13, 15). As
the family grows in keeping with the divine promise (Gen. 12:2; 15:4–5),
Yahweh becomes the patron of an ethnic group (“Yahweh, ’ĕ loˉ hîm of the
Hebrews”) (Exod. 3:18; 7:16; 9:13; 10:3). As the ethnic group gains
independence, Yahweh becomes the national god of Israel (Exod. 5:1;
24:10; 32:27; 34:23).23 In addition to being the family, ethnic, and
national god, Yahweh is the people’s personal god both individually and
collectively (“my” god: Gen. 9:26; 28:21; “our” god: Exod. 3:18; 5:3, 8;
8:10, 26–7; 10:25–6; “your” god: Gen. 27:20; Exod. 6:7; 8:28; 10:8, 16–
17; 15:26; 16:12; 20:2, 5, 7, 10, 12; 23:19, 23; 34:24, 26). Onomastics
attest to the popularity of Yahweh in practice among his people.24 Thus,
in the Levant, Yahweh is anomalously both the dynastic and most popular
deity.25
With no hint of centralization or an established sanctuary in the
narrative,26 Yahweh’s presence is associated with multiple places : Eden
(Gen. 2–3), Bethel (12:8; 28:10–22; 31:13; 35:1–15), Hebron (13:18),
(Jeru)Salem (Gen. 14:18–22), Beer-Lahai-Roi (16:13), Sodom and
Gomorrah (18–19), Beersheba (21:32–3; 26:24–5), Mahanaim (32:3
[1]), Peniel (32:31 [30]), Shechem (33:20), Midian (Exod. 2–4), Egypt,
and (the) Sinai. Genesis 24 even gives the deity cosmic dimensions, calling
Yahweh the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of heaven and earth (3, 7; cf. 14:9, 22). Distinct divine
titles are related to several places as well, such as El-Elyon of Salem (Gen.
14:18–22), El-Bethel of Bethel (31:13), El-Olam of Beersheba (21:33;
23
Here we follow the narrative chronology, leaving aside the historicity behind it.
24
See especially Albertz and Schmitt 2012:245–386, 505–14, 534–609. See also Tigay
1986; Pardee 1988a; Renz and Röllig 1995–2003.
25
In most cases, the dynastic god, as the patron of the ruling elite and by extension the
nation, is not the most popular among the populace. See briefly Sanders 2014:223–6. For
example, eighty percent of Ammonite names are derivative of El, indicating his popular-
ity, while the dynastic god Milkom appears in only 1 percent of names (ibid. 224).
26
The text may refer to etiologies for sanctuaries (e.g., Bethel and Shechem), yet the events
are set before the sanctuaries are established.
26:24–5), El-Roi of Beer-Lahai-Roi (16:13), and El, the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of Israel at
Shechem (33:20).27
Yahweh Epithets
Various epithets also are appended to the name Yahweh. Abraham names
the place where Yahweh provided a ram as a sacrifice instead of his son
Yahweh-Will-Provide (Gen. 22:14). While technically a reference to
a place and not Yahweh himself, the name of the place celebrates
Yahweh as provider. The Song of the Sea memorializes Yahweh as
Yahweh-Who-Heals (Exod. 15:26), while Yahweh identifies himself as
Yahweh-Who-Sanctifies (31:13). Following a victory against Amalek,
Moses builds an altar and names it Yahweh-Is-My-Standard/Banner
(17:15). Once again, the name is strictly applied to an object, yet it
celebrates a divine quality. At first glance, one would expect an object to
be the standard that concretizes divine presence and power, notably the
staff of Elohim that Moses holds aloft to ensure victory (8–13). Calling the
altar Yahweh-Is-My-Standard instead assigns the agency to Yahweh him-
self rather than an intermediary object.
El Epithets
El-Elyon (’Eˉ l ‘Elyôn)
In Genesis 14:18–22, the text introduces the enigmatic Melchizedek,
priest of El-Elyon (El-Most-High or Most-High-God).28 Some scholars
argue that El-Elyon was originally a designator for the Ugaritic high god
El.29 They find particular support in Psalm 82 and Deuteronomy 32:8–
9.30 Psalm 82 situates Elohim/Yahweh in the divine council/assembly of
El. Elohim condemns all the other gods – identified as sons of Elyon – to
death for dereliction of duty. After the divine verdict, the Psalmist urges
Elohim to assume the role of judge since he possesses all nations.
Assuming that El, Elohim, and Elyon are all titles for Yahweh, the text
then seems to represent a transition of leadership from different gods
ruling different people groups to Yahweh ruling them all. However, one
27
These El epithets will be addressed more specifically in the following section.
28
The following El epithets are analyzed according to narrative chronology. In each case, ’ě l
could be understood as the name or title “El” or the common noun “god.” For a potential
reconstruction of the prehistory of the text, see Cargill 2019.
29
See Smith 2004:107–9.
30
Ibid.; see also Smith 2001:155–7. El and Elyon are also paired in Sefire 1A (KAI 222:11).
210 Yahweh
also may identify El with Elyon and distinguish him from Elohim/
Yahweh, primarily on the grounds that the speaker, Yahweh, in the divine
council traditionally differs from the presiding god, El.31 D 32:8–9 speaks
similarly of Elyon in the role of high god, who apportions the nations
according to the sons of God, with Yahweh’s portion being Israel.32 While
the author/redactor of D likely equated Yahweh and Elyon,33 one could
argue that (El-)Elyon originally may have been the high god, while
Yahweh was one of the second-tier sons of God to whom the various
peoples were allotted.34
While El-Elyon originally may have referred to a god other than
Yahweh in some traditions, the Hebrew text nonetheless makes sure to
connect them. Melchizedek blesses Abram by El-Elyon, maker of heaven
and earth, and attributes his victory to the same god, an assertion that
Abram implicitly recognizes when he gives a tenth of the spoils to
Melchizedek. Abram then reassures the reader that, at least in his mind,
Yahweh is El-Elyon, as he refers to an oath he made to “Yahweh, El-
Elyon, maker of heaven and earth” (14:18–22). In placing Yahweh
before El-Elyon, Abraham effectively makes the latter an epithet, akin
to ANE hyphenated names. Some scholars identify the mention of
Yahweh as a theologically motivated gloss.35 Nonetheless, even if
a gloss, the audience would have read El-Elyon as none other than
Yahweh (cf. 2 Sam. 22:14; Ps. 21:8; 47:2), whom they regard as the
creator, especially if we read Salem as a precursor to Jerusalem (cf. Ps.
76:3), whose god they clearly identified as Yahweh. Whether original
or not, identifying Yahweh with El-Elyon renders Yahweh the
supreme, cosmic creator.
El-Roi (’Eˉ l-Rŏ ’î)

In Genesis 16:1–14, the pregnant Hagar flees from Sarai, only to be
found by the angel of Yahweh and told to name her son Ishmael
(May-El-Hear), since Yahweh has heard of her affliction. In response,
Hagar calls Yahweh who spoke to her “El-Roi” (“El/God-of-Seeing”
or “El/God-Who-Sees-Me”), and names a well Beer-Lahai-roi (“The
31
Parker 1995. Ugaritic texts often describe El as sitting enthroned, an image the iconog-
raphy seems to support (Smith 2004:107–8).
32
The LXX and DSS preserve the reading “sons of God,” while the Masoretic Text opts for
“sons of Israel;” see Himbaza 2002; Smith 2004:108. Scholars traditionally identify the
Masoretic version, which makes less sense in context, as a theological corrective.
33 34
See, for example, 32:17, 39. Smith 2004:108–9.
35
Interestingly, the LXX does not preserve the reading Yahweh in 14:22.
Well-of-the-Living-One-Who-Sees-Me”).36 Some argue that El-Roi was

a title for the Canaanite El worshipped by the patriarchs.37 However, Roi
never appears as an epithet of El in extant literature,38 leading others to
suggest that a redactor inserted it to sever the connection between the non-
Israelite Ishmaelites and Yahweh.39 Whatever its origin, El-Roi is clearly
a title for Yahweh according to the text (16:13), identifying him as a god
who cares for the needy and outcast.
El-Olam (’Eˉ l-‘Ôlā m)

After concluding a treaty with Abimelech, Abraham plants a tamarisk tree in
Beersheba and calls on the name of Yahweh, El-Olam (’eˉ l ‘ôlā m; Eternal-El/
God; Gen. 21:33).40 Eternal-El would be a fitting title for the immortal and
aged El, though at Ugarit ˁlm is only used with reference to the sun goddess,
Šapšu (KTU 2.42:7).41 In the context of the story, El-Olam is clearly an
epithet of Yahweh, regardless of whether it was always associated with
Yahweh or co-opted from another deity. Thus, Yahweh (too) is undying.
El-Bethel (’Eˉ l-Bêt-’eˉ l)

In Genesis 31:13, an angel of Elohim self-identifies in a dream as the El-
Bethel (ha’eˉ l bêt’eˉ l) where Jacob anointed a pillar and made a vow to
God.42 One may posit an original El-Bethel, a localized form of El, distinct
from Yahweh and contend further that the angel was inserted into the text
to mask the alternate El tradition. However, the text rejects such
a dissociation in several ways. Grammatically, the use of the definite
article with ’eˉl in construct is anomalous. Here it functions as a way of
replacing El-Bethel as divine name or title with the more generic “the god
of Bethel.”43 References to Yahweh bookend the chapter (3, 49), suggest-
ing that the references to ’ě loˉ hîm and ’eˉ l both refer to Yahweh.44 The
36
We will return to the seeming overlap of Yahweh and his angel in Chapters 7–8.
37 38
Cross 1973:46–60; Albertz 1992:55. Köckert 1988:75; Knauf 1989:48.
39
Van Seters 1975:193; de Pury 1999:291.
40
Cf. Isa. 40:28: “Yahweh is the eternal god.”
41
Ugaritic texts call El the “father of years” (ả b snm).
42
Here Bethel refers to a place. On the deity Bethel and its connection to the Jews of
Elephantine and Yahweh, see van der Toorn 1992. Even though a place in this instance,
associations with the deity Bethel likely facilitated Yahweh’s (partial) absorption of
Bethel; cf. Rofé 1979:230–2; Sommer 2009:208n77. On the seeming overlap between
angel and deity, see Chapters 7–8.
43
Cf. Wenham 1994:263.
44
According to traditional source criticism, the majority of the chapter belongs to E with
some J insertions (e.g., in 3 and 49), thus the use of ’ě loˉ hîm is to be expected.
212 Yahweh
dream also refers back to Jacob’s earlier encounter with Yahweh at Bethel
(28:13, 16, 21), thereby indicating that the god of Bethel is Yahweh.
At Bethel, Jacob builds an altar and calls the place El-Bethel because
’ě loˉ hîm revealed himself to Jacob there when he was fleeing from his
brother (Gen. 35:7).45 Another reference to El-Bethel adds further support
to an original El-of-Bethel. Nonetheless, the text again distances itself
from such an association. El-Bethel is a place name, not a personal
name. Earlier, Elohim commanded Jacob to go to Bethel to make an
altar to the god (’eˉl), who appeared to him (1), after which Jacob states
his intention to make an altar to the ’eˉl who answered him (3). The
mention of another god also would be peculiar following Jacob urging
his household to put away foreign gods (2). Again, the only god of Bethel
in view is Yahweh. By identifying Yahweh with El-Bethel, the text identi-
fies Yahweh with Bethel and all that occurred there in the narrative and
afterward.
El, Elohim of Israel and El, Elohim of Your Father

These two epithets shared by El and Yahweh facilitate the amalgamation
of the two deities.46 In Genesis 33:20, Jacob builds an altar at Shechem
and calls it El, Elohim-of-Israel, presumably naming the altar after the god
to whom it facilitates access. In context, Israel refers to Jacob, not the
nation of Israel, which does not yet exist according to the narrative
chronology. As a result, some surmise that the text preserves an older
reference to El as the god of Jacob.47 However, the ancestor narratives
serve as the origin story for the nation and its audience surely associated
Israel with the nation. Elsewhere, Yahweh is the ’ě loˉ hîm of Israel (Exod.
5:1; 24:10; 32:27; 34:23). Since Israel can presumably only have one
national god, El is Yahweh.48
In Genesis 46:3, Elohim calls himself the El, Elohim-of-Your-Father.
Some suggest that the text preserves a tradition that identifies El as the
patriarchal god. However, Elohim calls himself the ’eˉ l, not El, such that ’eˉ l
45
Morphologically plural ’ě loˉ hîm here takes a plural verb form. This may be a rare instance
of the plural verb form with a singular referent, or Yahweh and the angels may be the
’ě loˉ hîm encountered (Knafl 2014:166), thus placing the angel into the ’ě loˉ hîm category.
46
Burnett 2001:69. The equation of the two deities, though, likely was a complex and
gradual process; cf. Eisfeldt 1966.
47
Cross 1973:49; de Vaux 1997:204; cf. Burnett 2001:69.
48
Cf. Burnett 2001:69. Other Levantine nations and indeed Mesopotamian ones had
a singular national god, even though multiple gods were worshipped. One would expect
Israel too to have one national god, especially given its demand for exclusive worship.
Even if we read Israel as Jacob, Yahweh is explicitly his ’ě loˉ hîm (Gen. 28:21).
functions as a descriptor (“the god”) instead of a name (“El”). In context,

the ’ě loˉ hîm of his father Isaac is clearly Yahweh (28:13; 31:5, 29, 42;
32:10 [9]; Exod. 3:6, 15, 16; 4:5). Thus, since the ancestors can presum-
ably only have one god, ’ě l is Yahweh.49 The text, thereby connects
Yahweh (exclusively) with the patriarchs and the nation.
El Epithets in Jacob’s Blessing

Jacob’s blessing of Joseph seems to ascribe various epithets to El (49:22–
6).50 After hailing Joseph’s successful self-defense (49:23–24a), Jacob
attributes his escape to the Mighty-One-of-Jacob (’ă bîr ya‘ă qoˉ b), the
Shepherd, the Rock-of-Israel, El of his father, and šadday (24b–5). The
passage contains a concentrated assortment of divine descriptors. In
context, each seems to be associated with divine might, protection, and
blessing. The ’eˉl reference seems to be the central divine identifier, to
which the other descriptors are applied as descriptive epithets. Once
again, reference to El of his father may have originally intended El as its
referent, meaning that all the other epithets would apply to El as well.
However, in context, the author and audience clearly understood it as
a reference to Yahweh since Yahweh is Jacob’s god (’eˉl) (28:21).
The Mighty One of Jacob identifies this god as particularly strong.
When used elsewhere, it is always an epithet of Yahweh (Gen. 49:24;
Isa. 49:26; 60:16; Ps. 132:2, 5). Shepherd is a common epithet of ANE
kings and deities alike.51 When used of deities, it implies guidance and
especially protection. The reference to the stone is harder to pin down.
1 Sam. 7:12 applies the toponym Ebenezer (“Stone-of-Help”) (1 Sam.
4:1; 5:1) to Yahweh.52 Stone may refer to a geographic location or
a metaphor, both of which imply strength and protection. It also may
refer to a physical stone (e.g., Gen. 28:18; 31:45–6; 35:14), which
serves as a conduit to Yahweh or a memorial of an encounter with
him.53
The god of his father also is his helper, while šadday is a source of
blessing. Commonly translated as “Almighty,” the etymology and mean-
ing of šadday remain much debated.54 El-Šadday is a favored term of the
49
See Chapter 8 regarding monolatry.
50
Gen. 49:22–6 is a difficult text beset by text-critical and translation issues. For our
purposes, a precise translation is unnecessary.
51
Vancil 1992.
52
Stone as an epithet seems to have fallen out of use with the prophetic critiques of stones as
divine images (Amos 5:26; Isa. 37:19; Jer. 2:27; 3:9; Ezek. 20:32); see Korpel 1999:819.
53 54
See further Chapter 9. Niehr and Steins 2004:428–34.
214 Yahweh
P texts (Gen. 17:1; 28:3; 35:11; 43:14; 48:3; Exod. 6:3).55 In the P Exodus
6:3, Yahweh indicates that he appeared to the patriarchs as El-Šadday, yet
he withheld his name, Yahweh, until the time of Moses. With the revelation
of God’s true name, El-Šadday disappears from the P vocabulary. From P’s
perspective, the patriarchs worshipped a form of El, whom they did not yet
know was really Yahweh.56 They, thereby co-opt El-Šadday, which may
have been associated with another deity, as an epithet of Yahweh. Genesis
49:25 does not use the title El-Šadday, yet El parallels Šadday, such that the
two descriptors refer to the same deity. Thus, the god referenced is El and
Šadday.57 Šadday is the source of a comprehensive blessing invoking the
heights and the depths, the breast and womb (25).58
Yahweh’s Amalgamation of El and Elohim

’Ĕ loˉ hîm is a particularly supple term, and the non-P use of it is
a masterstroke. Using ’ĕ loˉ hîm in its modified and unmodified forms and
associating these forms with Yahweh “facilitates both the inclusion of
various traditions and the amalgamation of these into the representation
of a single deity.”59 The title ’ĕ loˉ hîm may be used generically while masking
the individual identity of its recipient. In turn, multiple disparate deities may
be called ’ĕ loˉ hîm, which may or may not lay behind the person-, story-, and
place-specific ancestral traditions. Identifying unmodified ’ĕ loˉ hîm as well as
particular ’ĕ loˉ hîms related to the patriarchs with Yahweh takes the generic
title and applies it to a singular deity, such that Yahweh is the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of the
patriarchs and, thus simply ’Ĕ loˉ hîm. Exodus 3 goes one step further. It
forges a connection between the family god of the fathers and the national
god of the Exodus.60 Yahweh of the Exodus revealed to Moses is the
’ĕ loˉ hîm of Moses’ father, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.61 Lest the identity
55
Šadday is a particularly popular title for Yahweh in Job, where it appears thirty-one
times.
56
Albright argues that the name derived from northern Mesopotamian roots and came with
the Israelite ancestors as a patriarchal god (1935:192–3).
57
Cf. Balaam’s Oracle in Num 24:16, which uses El, Elyon, and Šadday in parallel.
Although it uses different titles, the compilers and audience would have associated the
deity with Yahweh.
58
The reference to breast and womb seems reasonable enough as an expression of female
fertility. Nonetheless, Smith (2004:106) sees an allusion to Asherah, the consort of El
(Ugaritic Athirat).
59 60
Burnett 2001:68. Ibid. 68. See also Alt 1966:11–13; Cross 1973:5.
61
For (neo-)documentarians, this marks the revelation of the divine name in the E source.
While they worshiped Yahweh before, the patriarchs only knew him as Elohim.
of Yahweh and the unmodified ’Ĕ loˉ hîm be missed, the beginning of the
non-P narrative makes it more explicitly. Genesis 2–3 calls the deity
Yahweh-Elohim nineteen times.62
Unlike Baal, who is never assimilated by Yahweh and serves as competi-
tion in the wider Hebrew Bible (i.e., 1 Kgs 18), Yahweh has a much more
amicable relationship with El.63 The non-P Pentateuch does little to distin-
guish between El and Yahweh and offers no polemic against El.64 Instead, it
merges El into Yahweh, such that Yahweh absorbs all El’s titles and
characteristics.65 The peaceful takeover is so thorough that the interpreter
cannot be sure that they ever applied to anyone other than Yahweh.66 As with
Elohim, the use of ’eˉ l as common name/title and common noun helps cam-
ouflage disparate origins and facilitates a Yahwistic cooption of epithets.67
Together, the multivocality and inclusivity of ’eˉ l and ’ě loˉ hîm enable
a Yahwistic takeover of names and epithets that may have belonged to or
at least been shared by different deities.68 The non-P narrative thus gathers
multiple names and epithets that may be associated with other deities, like El,
and potentially local manifestations of deity, like El-Bethel, or even alterna-
tive Yahwehs, and associates them with the single divine figure, Yahweh.69 In
the narrative then, there is only one Yahweh with an expansive array of
epithets.
Other Epithets: Paḥad-Isaac

Jacob swears by the enigmatic Paḥad (“Dread” or “Dreaded-One”) of
Isaac, who could be associated with Yahweh or another independent deity
(Gen. 31:42, 53). While the dread of Isaac appears nowhere else in the
Hebrew Bible, the expression paḥad is well-attested as dread or fear and
often appears in construct.70 Dread (paḥad) in construct elsewhere refers
62
In fact, the text does not refer to him as Yahweh alone until Gen. 4:1.
63
Baal does not appear in Gen. and Exod. 64 Smith 2001:141. 65
Ibid. 139–48.
66
Unlike with Marduk and Enuˉ ma eliš, we do not have earlier texts with alternative
versions. Given the dearth of evidence in the Hebrew Bible, we must go further
afield (i.e., Ugarit) or to inconclusive data (i.e., onomastics) to garner support.
67
Regarding the common ground between El and Yahweh, see Smith 2001:139–42.
68
Interestingly, Egyptian often uses “god” (ntr) in wisdom literature in the opposite way.
̄
Instead of making all references to “god” apply to a single deity, Egyptians use the term
generically such that the reader may apply whichever god they encounter. Rather than
being singular, “god” is interchangeable and multiple; cf. Hornung 1982:42–60.
69
Regarding alternate Yahwehs, see Chapter 8 under Monolatry.
70
Various other meanings have been proposed yet remain unlikely. See Müller 2001:517–
18, 524–6.
216 Yahweh
to the fear associated with or caused by the second element in the con-
struct chain, such as fear of Jews, fear of Mordecai, fear of Yahweh, fear of
God, fear of enemies, terror of night, dread of evil.71 The dread of Yahweh
(or Elohim) in particular overcomes his enemies and servants alike (1 Sam.
11:7; Isa. 2:10, 19, 21; Ps. 36:2; 119:120; 2 Chr 14:13 [14]; 17:10; 20:29).
In construct, the expression is best translated in two ways, each of
which allows for two primary interpretations. First, the Dread-of-Isaac
may be read as: (1) the source of Isaac’s dread; or (2) the dread generated
by Isaac. Second, the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac may refer to: (1) the one who
inspires dread in Isaac. or (1) the one associated with Isaac who inspires
dread in others.72
We turn to the context to identify the being invoked and decide
between the translation options. Laban invokes the god of Jacob’s grand-
father Abraham and the god of his father Nahor as witnesses to their
treaty. Jacob then responds by swearing by the Paḥad of Isaac, which in
context seems to be his choice for a divine witness (31:53). In Genesis
31:42, Jacob attributes his protection to the god of his father, the god of
Abraham, and the Paḥad of Isaac before simply mentioning god
(’ě loˉ hîm).73 In this case, it is likely that Jacob uses three epithets to refer
to a singular being, especially since he uses the singular form of the verb
“to be.” Thus, while another deity originally may have been intended, the
Paḥad is likely Yahweh, whom Jacob identifies as the god of Abraham.74
Regarding the translation, Isaac (or Jacob) as the source of dread makes
the least sense, since nowhere in the narrative does the person of Isaac or
Jacob inspire fear.75 The Dreaded-One-of-Isaac and the Dread-of-Isaac,
understood as the one who inspires Isaac’s dread and the source of his
dread respectively, differ little in import, since the source of Isaac’s dread
in this instance would have to be animate to be the object of his oath.
71 72
Sarna 1989:366n17. Cf. Cross 1973:269; Sarna 1989:220; Köckert 1999:329.
73
Here, the text clearly intends a singular elohim since the verbal form for “saw” is singular.
74
It is also possible that Jacob swears by an object associated with his god. However, while
possible, this position is improbable, especially since a singular verb is used in Gen. 31:42.
Gen. 31:42 also may opt for the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac for aesthetic reasons. Having just
referenced the god of his father, repeating the god of Isaac would be unnecessary and
unwieldy. Instead, the author may have introduced the Dread as a further descriptor of
this singular divine being. Using the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac as title or epithet is especially
appropriate in an oath context, as inspiring fear makes it more likely that the parties will
adhere to the terms of the agreement.
75
However, in the other instances the fear is often generated by the element it modifies.
Here, the expression could be anomalous or the fear could be generated by Isaac in the
sense that Isaac is the source of dread because of his association with a powerful being.
Attributes 217
Thus, we are left with the one who inspires dread in Isaac or the one
associated with Isaac who inspires dread in others.
There is contextual support for both options. Isaac’s encounter with
Yahweh in Genesis 22 likely would have inspired fear in him as it did in his
father (22:12).76 In fact, fear is a running theme in the lives of both Isaac
and Jacob. Isaac fears Abimelech in Gerar, after which Yahweh reassures
Isaac that he need not fear since God is with him (26:7, 24). Jacob fears
being in the house of God at Bethel (28:17), Laban (31:31), and his
brother Esau (32:12 [11]). This same ’ě loˉ hîm also scared Laban into not
taking aggressive action against Jacob (31:14, 19), thus serving as a source
of dread for those who would wrong the family of Isaac.
In context, there is little to decide between the options, and perhaps the
phrase is intentionally ambivalent. Yahweh-Elohim is the Dreaded-One-
of-Isaac who inspires fear in both Isaac and others (in contrast to other
sources of fear that prove to be unfounded). As such, the Dreaded-One is
an appropriate witness to the treaty, frightening Laban to fulfill his end
and informing the reader that, despite appearances, Yahweh is the only
legitimate source of fear in the narrative.
attributes
The text presents Yahweh with a fairly expansive skill set, comparable to
the empire gods Aššur, Marduk, and Amun, and seemingly more diverse
than those of other Levantine and Hittite deities. While Yahweh’s pres-
ence spans much of the known world, including heaven, the entire Levant,
and Egypt, he remains the god of a single people Israel, attested both in the
text and in the archaeological record.
While his character profile is expansive, there are some notable omis-
sions, which likely are part of the non-P rhetoric. There is no mention of
him combating other deities or demons. He is single and without explicit
sexuality. Yahweh’s origins too remain obscure. Unlike many major ANE
gods, Yahweh emerges onto the scene with no backstory in Genesis
2:4b.77 Marduk in Enuˉ ma eliš is a biological descendant of Ea (I:78–
92). In an attempt to exalt Aššur as king of the gods, the Assyrians
associate him with Anshar from the same story, the descendant of
Lahmu and Lahama and the grandfather of Ea. The Hittite/Hurrian
˘ ˘
76
Nonetheless, here and in the next couple of examples the Hebrew Bible uses a different
root (yr’).
77
Cf. the P version in Gen. 1:1.
218 Yahweh
Teššub is the son of Anu and anomalously the male chthonic deity
Kumarbi.78 Baal is alternatively the son of Dagan and El.79 Egyptian Re
appears to be self-created, while the Ugaritic El, like Yahweh, has no
extant origin story.80 Egyptian Amun is explicitly the hidden one.
Yahweh’s place of origin too has been largely effaced, especially from
Genesis and Exodus. The few remaining clues are inconclusive, as scholars
debate whether he emerged from the north or the south.81 The text also
gives no indication of the origins of the other potentially divine beings in
Genesis and Exodus, except the serpent. Instead, it merely indicates their
subordinate status and function in the narrative. In contrast, especially in
P, human genealogies feature prominently. Yahweh’s original identity and
characteristics likewise remain mysterious. Most scholars identify
Yahweh as originally a storm/warrior god, though others argue for his
origins as a solar deity.82 While Yahweh’s origins remain purposely
opaque, his textual profile is clear and considerable.83 In fact, it is so
expansive that the following presentation must be highly selective.
Yahweh is both the eternal creator (Gen. 2; 14:22; 21:33) and destroyer
(Gen. 6; 19; Exod. 14–15). He brings disease (Exod. 15:26; 32:35) and is
the healer (15:26; 23:25). There is a hint that he rules a divine council, if
such a council exists (Gen. 3:22–3; 11:7; cf. 1 Sam. 22:19). Regardless, he
is the judge of all the earth (Gen. 18:25; cf. 2–3; 6–8; 19) and the greatest
of all the gods (Exod. 15:11; 18:11). He appears, speaks, and predicts the
future (15:13–16; cf. the polemic against Baal in 1 Kgs 18:20–48 and
Babylonian idols in Isa. 41:21–4). Yahweh controls human fertility, open-
ing (Gen. 13:14–17; 18:9–15; 22:17; 25:21; 48:9) and closing the womb
as he sees fit (20:14 [18]). He also controls the fertility of the earth and is
the bringer of rain (Gen. 2). Yahweh provides food (Exod. 16:4, 8, 12;
23:25) and controls the seas (Exod. 14:21, 27; 15:19). He is an indomit-
able warrior (Exod. 15), protector, savior, deliverer (Exod. 14:14, 23–5,
30; 15:2; 18:8; 23:22), shepherd (Gen. 48:25), and guide (Exod. 13:21–2).
Yahweh delivered the Israelites from Egypt preceded by multiple miracles
78
The Song of Kumarbi; see Hoffner 1998:40–3.
79
Regarding Baal’s paternity, see Chapter 4, note 180 and under Divine Elevation and
Innovation for its rhetoric.
80
The Book of Knowing the Creations of Re and of Felling Apep (xxvi:21–xxvii:5); see
Faulkner 1937:172.
81
See especially the contributions in van Oorschot and Witte 2017.
82
Regarding arguments for his solar origins, see Stähli 1985; Taylor 1993 and 1996; Sarlo
2019.
83
Regarding the purpose for obscuring divine origins, see Chapter 8.
Manifestations 219
(Exod. 12:51; 13:9, 14, 16; 16:6; 18:1, 8, 10) and will bring them into the
Promised Land (3:8, 17; 13:5, 11; 20:11 [12]; 33:3). He is holy and is the
one who confers holiness (Gen. 15:11; Exod. 19:6; 31:13).84
Yahweh is committed to his people’s welfare (Gen. 24:27; 39:21; Exod.
15:13; 20:5 [6]; 34:6–7). He is the god who makes a covenant with his
people on a personal and national level (Gen. 15:18; Exod. 19:5), gov-
erned by rules, rewards, and punishments.85 He confers fame (Gen. 12:2),
prosperity (41:52), and blessing (12:2–3; 26:4, 24; 28:14; 30:30; 49:25–6;
Exod. 20:20 [24]; 23:25). He is good, merciful, gracious, compassionate,
patient, and forgiving (Gen. 33:11; Exod. 22:26 [27]; 33:19; 34:6–7).
Yahweh also expresses anger (Exod. 4:14; 32:9–10), generational judg-
ment (34:7), and jealousy (20:4 [5], 34:14) as well as regret (Gen. 6:6–7),
and he changes his mind (Exod. 32:14). He is the source of both fear (Gen.
22:12; 31:42; Exod. 14:31; 15:14–16; 19:16; 20:14 [18]; 23:27) and joy
(Exod. 18:9).
In sum, in addition to being dangerous and volatile, Yahweh has
virtually every divine ability and can meet every conceivable need his
people might have. Like Marduk, Aššur, and Amun, he is a one-stop-
shop god who aggregates the skill set of all the gods into a single person
without denying their existence. Nonetheless, unlike Marduk, Aššur, and
Amun, Yahweh does not share his worship with others.
manifestations
Whereas elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible divine manifestations are minimal,
in the non-P Pentateuch, Yahweh manifests himself often, in various forms
and places.86 In fact, he appears everywhere his people do and in heaven
(Gen. 24:3, 7). While abundant, references to contact with Yahweh provide
few details. In divine-human encounters in Genesis and Exodus, there is
little attempt to pull back the divine curtain and describe the events in the
heavenly sphere or the divine thoughts and motivations.87 The text
84
In contrast to the P texts where priests alone are holy, in the non-P Pentateuch, all Israel is
holy.
85
In the non-P narrative, whereas Yahweh’s relationship with the patriarchs consists of
context-specific encounters and directives, the agreement with the nation of Israel
requires a more formal contract, like a constitution, befitting its new status.
86
For an examination of the divine form along source-critical lines, see Knafl 2014.
87
See regarding Gen. in particular Mirguet 2009; cf. Auerbach (1961), who refers to the
general lack of details in biblical narrative compared to the Odyssey, which is especially
true of divine language.
220 Yahweh
provides very little access to the thought world of God (or other deities)
except through words and actions in the terrestrial sphere.88
In Genesis and Exodus, form is beholden to function. The divine form,
if any, often serves as an introduction to the primary purpose of the
theophany, the divine words and actions.89 As such, there is no superflu-
ous description of the divine form. When the divine form is mentioned, it
is necessary for and appropriate to the purpose of the story.90 In most
other cases where no form is mentioned, it seems that a description of the
divine form is unnecessary to communicate the divine message. Since the
point of the encounters is found in the message, the activity, or the mere
presence of the messenger, any reference to form is unnecessary and may
distract from the message. In fact, a description of form even may upstage
the more central revelation, as interpreters focus on the theophanic forms
at the expense of the message.
The reader also should not demand consistency across texts (even those
ascribed to the same hand or stratum). Instead, as is common in the ANE
and even early Jewish interpretations, the approach is context-specific,
presenting the divine in the way that best suits the particular context
without undue consideration for unifying all individual presentations
into a consistent whole. As a result, we should not expect a fully integrated
and articulated picture of the divine. Rather, the text introduces and
presents divine presence differently in accord with the different purposes
of the various passages in which it appears. Attempts at systematization
and harmonization then run the risk of marginalizing the meaning in
context for overall consistency.
Most often, Yahweh is presented either as a seemingly disembodied
voice – Yahweh said to him (wayyoˉ ’mer YHWH ’eˉlā yw) is typical –
or through a vague reference to a divine appearance with no further
88
Within Genesis and Exodus, the only exceptions are Yahweh’s statement to the divine
“us” (Gen. 3:22; 11:7), to no one in particular (2:8; 6:3, 7), and to his heart (8:21), as well
as God’s judgment on humanity (Gen. 6:3–7), the apparent deliberation between Yahweh
and his angels (Gen. 18:17–21), and Yahweh’s reasoning in choosing an Exod. route
(Exod. 13:17). Each statement provides necessary context without which the story would
not make sense.
89
Cf. Savran 2009:323–4.
90
In fact, the text contains no superfluous descriptions of human form (cf. Auerbach 1961).
Descriptions of form serve the purposes of the texts in which they are embedded. For
example, 1 Sam. 9:2 describes Saul’s impressive appearance to indicate his outward
fitness to be king in contrast to David’s appropriate heart (16:1–13). In other words,
except for when the reader needs to know something about the characters appearance
(e.g., that Goliath is a giant or Eli is fat), the text generally omits physical descriptions
altogether.
Manifestations 221
details – typically, Yahweh appeared to him (wayyeˉrā ’ YHWH ’eˉlā yw)

(Gen. 12:7; 18:1; 26:2, 24; 35:1, 9).91 In these instances, descriptions
of divine form are unnecessary. The message alone is sufficient.
The fact that Yahweh appears suggests that he is visible, a fact sup-
ported by the multiple visual descriptions of him.92 While often visible for
the purposes of the story, it seems that Yahweh’s default setting is either to
be invisible or physically absent, a tendency that accords with the audi-
ence’s experience of the divine. At the same time, the narratives of divine
appearance provide hope that he may reveal himself again, especially
when the stories are memorialized in such a way that they become cultural
memories.
In Genesis, Yahweh seems to physically pop in and out of the scene.93
Yahweh’s occasional visible presence continues into Exodus 3–4, while in
the confrontation and plague narrative Yahweh speaks yet is not said to
appear. Once Israel begins to leave Egypt, the divine presence becomes
continual and most commonly takes a fiery form. The presence moves
until Israel reaches Sinai. There, it settles atop the mountain before mov-
ing again (in the book of Numbers).94 In Exodus as well, the divine
presence can be dangerous (e.g., Exod. 19:12; 33:20), while in Genesis it
is relatively benign (although cf. Gen. 32). Divine manifestations appear in
various contexts, including dreams (Gen. 20:3–7; 28:10–17; 31:10–11,
24; 37; 40–1; 42:9), visions (Gen. 15; 46:2), and daily life.95 With the
exception of the smoking fire pot in Genesis 15 and potentially the
stairway to heaven in Genesis 28, there is no appreciable difference
between dreaming and waking manifestations.96
91
Whatever an appearance or speech signifies, an appearance seems to be a more significant
encounter as only appearances are commemorated with altars. References to Yahweh
appearing are much more prominent in Gen. The one mention in Exodus features far
more detail (Exod. 3:2), where there is only one instance with further details in Gen.
(18:1). See further Chapter 9.
92
Alternatively, “appear” could simply be a shorthand for communication that need not
imply visibility (Fuhs 2004:236; Stein 2018:554). However, the other descriptions of
a visible Yahweh mitigate against this proposal, at least in certain places.
93
From Gen. 2–4:16, Yahweh seems to be continually accessible.
94
The P texts connect the fiery presence (glory) to the tabernacle. In 1 Kings 8:11, the glory
settles in the temple. Even with its destruction, Ezekiel imagines a fiery locomotive
presence. Thus, a fiery presence that may be stationary or mobile is a continuous feature
of biblical history from the Exodus to the exile and beyond; cf. Simone 2019:30.
95
Source critics often note dreams and visions are a hallmark of the E source.
96
In both exceptions, the text uses the medium of dreams to express its purpose by defying
the audience’s expectations of form. The smoking fire pot in Gen. 15 will be considered in
Chapter 9.
222 Yahweh
Mark Smith posits three divine body types: a seemingly realistic “natural”
human body, a supersized body, and a cosmic body.97 The non-P Pentateuch
does not feature the cosmic body, though it may be implied in references to
Yahweh as the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of heaven and earth (Gen. 24:3, 7). The other two
body types are amply attested.98 Here, we label the second category “Other
Bodies” to include supersized anthropomorphic depictions as well as non-
humanoid manifestations (like the pillar of fire and cloud). While natural
humanlike and other bodies seem relatively distinct, some theophanies blur
categories as they blur boundaries. The term “body” itself is somewhat
problematic, requiring qualification before proceeding. By body, I mean
a physical form that manifests presence. Thus, it may be applied to phenom-
ena like the pillar of fire and cloud that may serve as vehicles revealing the
proximate presence of the deity while concealing it from further scrutiny.
Ronald Hendel labels the biblical conception of deity “transcendent
anthropomorphism,” whereby gods were generally predicated on
a human model yet transcended that model in every conceivable way.99
In the Other Bodies category, elements of anthropomorphism remain.100
Even when manifesting in or as a pillar of fire, Yahweh continues to speak
in humanlike terms. Nonetheless, in each case something about the divine
presentation transcends the human model in size, hybridity, or form. Even
when depicting god in realistic anthropomorphic form, some measure of
cognitive dissonance remains, as the text in some way violates the audi-
ence’s expectations.101 In other words, the depiction of deity consistently
transcends anthropomorphic expectations.
In cases where the divine body is presented as simply other, depictions
are limited by the thought world of the authors and the audience. Divine
form thus draws from the natural world, whether human, natural objects,
or meteorological phenomena. Rather than adopt and adapt a single
prototype (as scholars often assume), texts draw creatively from the full
image bank available to them and depict the deity in the way that best suits
97
M. Smith 2015 and 2016. While there are some issues with Smith’s analysis of the texts,
his basic schema remains helpful.
98
In fact, Smith finds his parade examples in Gen. and Exod.
99
Hendel 1997:207 and passim. Hendel’s use of the term is to be differentiated from that of
Hamori (2008:32), who instead uses “transcendent anthropomorphism” to refer to an
anthropomorphic description of deity without mention of a concrete body.
“Transcending” is perhaps a better term than “transcendent” since the gods did not
wholly abandon anthropomorphisms but transcended them in various ways (ibid.).
100
Here, I do not limit anthropomorphism strictly to the human form. Rather, it includes
any humanlike attribute, including intellect, abilities, and emotions.
101
Regarding anthropomorphic realism in Gen. 18 and 32, see Hamori 2008.
Manifestations 223
the context.102 Since storm imagery is some of the most dangerous and
dramatic, it is often the first port of call when trying to establish divine
might, even when the deity is not a weather god (e.g., Marduk in Enuˉ ma
eliš and Aššur).103 Thus, the reader should not assume that Yahweh is
a storm god simply because the text uses storm motifs to describe him.
Such images are often mixed with others drawn from other realms to best
articulate the text’s purposes. Indeed, it is the very hybridity of description
that often marks the being depicted as divine; in many cases, the greater
the hybridity, the greater the deity. To this end, the non-P texts present the
deity as a category transgressor and violator of expectations.104
God’s Natural “Human” Body

Yahweh’s natural “human” body appears only in Genesis and this divine
body type is the only one Genesis explicitly mentions, with the possible
exception of Genesis 15 and 28. Nonetheless, even here the text is pur-
posely ambiguous. In the beginning, the text describes Yahweh in human-
like ways (Gen. 2–3). He speaks, breathes into Adam’s “nostrils the breath
of life” (2:7), plants a garden (2:8), makes a sound when he moves about
the garden (3:8), and Adam and Eve hide from his presence (8).
Nonetheless, as a creator with immortality who commands other super-
natural beings, he is no mere human. While Yahweh is visible and per-
forms humanlike actions, there is no description of the divine form.105
The Three Men by the Oaks of Mamre

While the divine form is relatively clear in Genesis 18, the text remains
opaque for different reasons.106 Genesis 18:1 introduces an appearance of
102
In cases of innovation, a new idea does not simply replace older ones. Rather, new – or at
least reimagined – ideas emerge to address new situations, while (older) ideas remain in
circulation. In other words, rather than saying that all ideas in a certain period were
expressed in one way, certain texts may offer innovations, while continuing to use and
adapt ideas already in the Israelite conceptual image bank.
103
For a survey with further examples, see Jeremias 1965:73–90.
104
See, for example, the presentation of Marduk in Enuˉ ma eliš. Drawing from the work of
narratologist Bal (1997), Feldt finds that god and monster alike blend mutually exclusive
semantic domains and violate expectations in the Sumerian story Lugale (2011). For
monsters as category transgressors, see the portrayals of Babylonian Tiamat and biblical
Leviathan.
105
Smith 2015:473–4.
106
One is the likely composite nature of the text. Many identify Gen. 18:1–15 and 19 as
originally distinct and posit 18:16–33 as a later bridge. For a summary of this position
and an argument for their relative unity, see Hamori 2008:68–77.
224 Yahweh
Yahweh, after which three men appear before Abraham (2). This presen-
tation leaves the reader to wonder if Yahweh appears as three men or as
one of the men, or if the men merely serve as his proxy. The text also shifts
between singular and plural forms (3–5 and 9–10). Abraham addresses an
individual (3), then verses 4–5 use the plural form. “Similarly, in verse 9,
the visitors (plural) inquire as to Sarah’s whereabouts; in verse 10, it is an
individual who tells Abraham that he will return in a year’s time, and that
Sarah will have a son.”107
Some scholars attribute the blurring of identities to the common con-
fusion between deity and messengers.108 However, while occasionally
illustrative, attributing all the activities to an agent on behalf of the
principal, Yahweh, is unconvincing in this context.109 The text flouts
ANE messenger conventions, which is understandable in a shorter pas-
sage, yet here seems ill-fitting.110 The passage makes extended reference to
Yahweh speaking, being spoken to, and acting; it also distinguishes
between Yahweh and the other two men. In fact, aside from the confusion
in number and identity of divine beings, the text is typical of divine speech
theophanies. Attributing an angelic proxy as stand-in for Yahweh then is
not the plain sense reading. Even if we interpret the passage according to
the principle of agency metonymy, this text (and others) seems to pur-
posely blur the boundaries.
While there are occasional terrestrial encounters between humans and
deities elsewhere in the ANE, the theophany in Genesis 18 remains
distinct.111 Hittite Illuyanka tales and the Epic of Gilgamesh feature
divine encounters, yet in both contexts the text does not mention divine
form, and the human seems to have no trouble identifying their divine
interlocutor. The Ugaritic Aqhat displays more similarities, such as an
unexpected anthropomorphic visit of a deity to a man followed by a meal.
107
Hamori 2008:5. While odd, shifting between singular and plural in a narrative is not
without parallel. See, for example, the episode involving three Assyrian messengers sent
to Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18:17–18) (Hamori 2008:5–6).
108
See Caquot 1971:121; Westermann 1995:281; cf. Knafl 2014:112, 115. Stein convin-
cingly argues that the plain sense meaning of a text is not always the literal one. Elision
and metonymy may prompt the reader to naturally interpret a text in a different way. He
posits agency metonymy to explain why “biblical narratives skip many details of the
messaging process” (2018:548). Through agency metonymy, the reader intuitively
understands the agent as acting and speaking on behalf of the principal, even in the
first person.
109
For a fuller explanation and assessment of their positions regarding angels, see
Chapters 7–8.
110
Regarding the messenger conventions, see the discussion of angels in Chapter 7.
111
Hamori 2008:82; see also her survey of ANE data (129–49).
Manifestations 225
However, while Yahweh and the two angels appear indistinguishable

from humans, Kothar-wa-Hasis is so large that he can be seen from one
thousand fields away.112 Only among the Greeks, during the Age of
Heroes, do we see the commingling of humans and (demi)gods, yet even
within ancient Greece, the (semi-)divine identity of the heroes and villains
seems readily apparent.
Genesis 18:1 seems to function as an interpretive aside, designed to
prepare the reader, but not Abraham and Sarah, for an odd encounter.113
Identifying the episode as an encounter with Yahweh at the outset pro-
vides the definitive interpretation of the passage, one the readers should
hold to no matter what they come across.114 Expecting Yahweh, the text
gives us three men. In addition to the surprising number of visitors, the
description of the men standing opposite Abraham is also peculiar (2).
There is no sense of movement to indicate they are walking toward him
from afar. Instead, it seems as if they simply appear and wait for Abraham
to notice them.115 Upon seeing them, Abraham runs toward the men and
bows down. Abraham then proceeds to address one of the men, presum-
ably the leader of the group, as “my lord,” indicating his superior status.
Abraham offers the men rest, refreshments, and water to wash their feet
(3–5). He serves them a calf, a valuable commodity, and stands to watch
as they eat (6–8).
The men together ask after his wife Sarah (9), intimating their prior
knowledge of his situation. Then “he,” presumably the leader, states that
Sarah will have a son, even though she is past the age for childbearing (10–
11). At this point, it seems clear these men have some connection to the
deity. Nonetheless, Sarah laughs to herself about the seeming absurdity of
the man’s statement, an action the man (miraculously) hears (12–13).116
Verse 13 identifies to the audience the primary speaker as Yahweh, who
asks Abraham why Sarah laughs. The speaker rhetorically asks, “Is any-
thing too wonderful for Yahweh?” after which he reiterates his prediction
(14). This rhetorical flourish seems to confirm to Sarah what the audience
already knows – the speaker is Yahweh himself or potentially one of his
proxies. She then denies laughing out of fear (15).
112
Regarding the Aqhat story and its relation to Gen. 18, see Hamori 2008:78–96.
113
Cf. Gen. 22:1. Such an introduction shapes how the text is interpreted. See Milstein 2016.
114
In Mesopotamia, the introduction to the Epic of Gilgamesh likewise frames how we are
to understand Gilgamesh and his quest.
115
Cf. Knafl 2014:113–14.
116
Ibid. 113. Cf. Gen. 17:17 in P, where Abraham laughs after a similar promise from
Yahweh, yet he receives no censure.
226 Yahweh
With the encounter concluded, the men set off toward Sodom, with
Abraham accompanying them (16). Yahweh asks, presumably of his two
companions, whether he should tell Abraham of his plans (17–19).117
Yahweh then indicates his intention to travel to Sodom and Gomorrah to
investigate (20–1), after which the two men go toward Sodom as his
representative (22).118
Abraham stands before Yahweh, likely still in anthropomorphic form,
and bargains with him over the fate of Sodom (23–32). After the conver-
sation Yahweh departs (33), presumably to heaven (especially when read
alongside the later reference to him raining down fire and sulfur from
heaven [19:24]).119 Genesis 19:1 at last identifies the men as angels,
perhaps because only now do they serve the messenger function.120
Their identity beyond their function remains obscure.121
Although implicit, the story seems to be an incognito encounter with
Abraham to get the measure of the man. The inconspicuous human form
is a perfect vehicle for the test. Had Yahweh appeared as a burning bush or
pillar of fire, Abraham would have reacted far differently. Only by taking
human form would the test truly serve its purpose. Thus, in this passage
a description of the divine form as men is necessary for the purposes of the
story.122 Nonetheless, multiple clues indicate that Yahweh tips his hand.
117
The men proffer no response, indicating that the question is rhetorical – perhaps Yahweh
must speak aloud to inform the reader – or that their response is omitted as superfluous.
In addition, no response is necessary since Yahweh provides his own answer (19).
118
Their going down on his behalf is functionally equivalent to him going down himself. As
we will see when discussing the angels, his absence from Sodom is necessary for
ideological purposes.
119
Using fire as a divine weapon sent from heaven is also attested elsewhere in the ANE. For
example, the Prism of Assurbanipal describes the fall of divine fire (dGIŠ.BAR), while the
Exaltation of Inanna depicts the goddess as raining burning fire on the land (Inanna
B:13); see Weinfeld 1983:138, 140; Simone 2019:49; cf. also Ezek 38:22.
120
An analysis of the angels in Gen. 18 and 19 will follow in the sections on angels.
121
Smith (2015:474n17), following Machinist (2000:58, 71n29), argues that the two men
represent “the military retinue of the warrior-god,” since Gen. 19:13 uses “the form
mašḥitim, the same word used in the noun form mašḥit for Philistine special forces in 1
Sam. 13:17 and 14:15.”
122
Knafl contends that the encounter is only a small-scale manifestation of Yahweh, that
“Abraham and Sarah have not actually seen the divine body but rather its presence
manifested in a human body” (2014:117). However, this begs the question, what is the
true divine body? Yahweh appears in multiple forms, each appropriate to the context.
What makes a human form less authentic? Elsewhere Knafl demurs, defining a full-scale
manifestation not on the basis of form, but rather on the amount of description. Thus,
a full-scale manifestation is a manifestation with the fullest description (76).
Manifestations 227
It remains unclear when Abraham and Sarah recognize the identity of

their guests. The realization seems to dawn on them at least by verse 14,
though there are hints that they suspected their visitors were more than
they seemed from the beginning.123 If we take the reference to Yahweh
appearing literally (12:7), Abraham has presumably already seen God.
Thus, one wonders if he recognizes him, or if not, why not. Regardless,
their appearance out of thin air and Abraham’s obsequious reaction to
them suggests that he is aware that they are no ordinary travelers.
Yahweh’s discourse about Sarah only confirms their suspicions.124 From
that point on, at least from the narrator’s perspective, one of the men is
clearly Yahweh. Nonetheless, the confusing description of characters and
events likely serves as a way of distancing Yahweh from too close an
association with humanity. Presenting Yahweh as a single man in
anthropomorphic form may tempt the reader to assume he is simply
a man. By blurring boundaries, the text suggests that the reality is more
complicated. Thus, while Yahweh may appear as a man, he is far more
than a man.
Yahweh and the Stairway to Heaven

Jacob’s encounter with Yahweh at Bethel (28:10–22) provides the next
potential example of Yahweh in human(like) form.125 After propping up
his head on a rock at Bethel, Jacob dreams of angels ascending and
descending a ladder-like structure (sullā m) connecting heaven and earth
(10–12).126 Yahweh appears atop the ladder or opposite Jacob.127
123
Hamori (2008:11–12) argues that they realize their visitor is Yahweh at the earliest when
he speaks in v. 10 and more likely only in vv. 13–14. Knafl suggests that they may have
been aware far earlier (2014:113–14).
124
Unlike in other texts (e.g., Judg. 13), there is no light bulb moment, when the text
describes the human recognition of whom they stand before.
125
Source critics traditionally divide the passage between the J and E sources, ascribing an
abrupt encounter with Yahweh to the former and a dream of angels followed by the
erection of the pillar to the latter.
126
The nature of this structure is much debated, though it is commonly identified as
a stairway or (siege) ladder. There is an interesting parallel in Nergal and Ereshkigal
(B. Foster 2005:410–28). In the story, only messengers can travel between heaven and
the underworld. In the Standard Babylonian Version, a long stairway (simmiltu similar
to Hebrew sullā m) connects the two realms, even though the gods cannot traverse it;
cf. van Wolde 2019, who identifies the structure as a descent road from the city of the
gods to earth. Peleg 2015 argues that the movement of the angels symbolizes the path
taken by the Patriarchs to and from the Promised Land.
127
The Hebrew is unclear. If we accept the source division of the text, Yahweh appears
without angels or ladder, such that he clearly stands opposite Jacob.
228 Yahweh
Because this marks Jacob’s first visual encounter with Yahweh, the deity
introduces himself.128 He self-identifies as the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of Jacob’s fathers
and promises Jacob land and descendants (13–14). Yahweh reiterates his
earlier promise (Gen. 12) that Jacob’s offspring will be a blessing for all
the earth and that Yahweh will continue to offer support until his promise
is fulfilled (28:14–15). Upon waking, Jacob indicates astonishment about
Yahweh’s presence and his earlier inability to perceive it (16). The encoun-
ter inspires fear and leads him to exclaim that the place is the house of
’ĕ loˉ hîm and the gateway to heaven (17). In response, Jacob sets up and
anoints his rock pillow as a pillar and names the place Bethel (“House/
Place of El/God”) (18–19). Jacob proceeds to make a vow. If Elohim holds
up his end of the bargain, Yahweh will be his god, the pillar will be God’s
house, and he will offer a tenth of all that Yahweh gives him (20–2).129
The narrator introduces the encounter as occurring in a dream (28:12),
thereby preparing the reader for some abnormality while adding some
distance between deity and depiction. While the text is not explicit,
Yahweh seems to appear in human(like) form in Genesis 28:12–22, as
Yahweh stands and speaks to Jacob. Such an assumption is more likely if
we translate Yahweh as standing opposite Jacob, suggesting he is of compar-
able size. However, the text is not clear. The absence of description invites the
reader to fill in the gaps. While a cosmic bear is possible, it is more reasonable
to assume a more humanlike figure, made more awesome standing beside or
above the stairway to heaven with angels doing his bidding.
The visible deity and angels are necessary to accomplish the story’s
purpose. The dream, which in the ANE was viewed as a revelation of
reality external to the dreamer, communicates the aberrance of the
encounter. Although Bethel is presumably the place where heaven and
earth meet and Yahweh appears, even here the divine world and Yahweh
himself are generally understood to be invisible to humanity.130 The
dream theophany serves as a privileged exception where Jacob sees God
and realizes where he sleeps. This more intimate encounter is nonetheless
somewhat mediated by the dream setting and minimal description.
Jacob’s Wrestling Match with the Man at Penuel

Genesis 32:23–33 (22–32) records a strange encounter between Jacob and
a man, occasioning much discussion on the identity and nature of Jacob’s
128
Knafl 2014:160.
129
Discussion of the pillar and place as the house of God will feature in Chapter 9.
130
It serves as an axis mundi, at least on the vertical plane.
Manifestations 229
assailant.131 Jacob’s life is truly one of struggle. Providing an overview of

the wider story helps put this particular struggle in context. Jacob escapes
from his brother Esau’s murder plot for taking his birthright and stealing
his blessing (25:19–27; 31:5–16). After causing both men to prosper
(30:30; 31:3, 5–16, 42), God ensures that Jacob escapes from Laban
unscathed (31:3, 24). On the way home, Jacob encounters angels, calling
the place Mahanaim (“Two Camps”) (32:2–3 [32:1]). In anticipation of
the long-dreaded reunion with Esau, Jacob divides his camp in two, so
that if Esau attacks one, the other might escape (7–8). Jacob begs Yahweh
to save him (9–13 [8–12]). The next morning he sends his servants ahead
with extravagant gifts for Esau, spacing out the herds in order to provide
a safe distance and with hopes of pacifying him (14–22 [13–21]). Once
Jacob is alone, a man wrestles with him until daybreak. Seemingly unable
to overpower Jacob, the man injures his hip before urging Jacob to release
him since it is daybreak (25–7 [24–6]). Jacob refuses until the man blesses
him (28 [27]). Ignoring his request, the man renames Jacob Israel. Jacob
asks for the man’s name, who asks the reason for Jacob’s request. The man
blesses Jacob, and Jacob names the place to commemorate his encounter
(29–31 [28–30]). In the following chapter, Esau surprisingly gives Jacob
a warm greeting (33:4). Still hesitant, Jacob goes his own way (12–17).
In its description of Jacob’s nocturnal struggle, the text gives little
indication that the attacker is anything other than a man. In fact, Jacob
and the unnamed man seem to have a protracted and more or less fair
fight. The subsequent dialogue and especially Jacob’s response to it may
hint that the unnamed man is more than he appears, yet the evidence
remains inconclusive. His request to be released before daybreak prompts
some scholars to posit that Jacob struggles with a river spirit or demon.132
However, there is no hint of a river spirit or demon in the text.133 Indeed,
the man’s request, whether he is human or divine, is without precedent in
131
For a survey and critique of interpretations of the man in Gen. 32, see Hamori 2008:13–
25. For literary-critical questions, see W. Dietrich 2001; Köckert 2003; Yoreh 2005;
Hutton 2010a; see also Hamori 2008:96–101.
132
See Westermann 1995:516–17, 521; Gunkel 1997:352–3.
133
The evidence adduced by Frazer and cited by Gunkel little resembles the content and
context of the Genesis account (Frazer 1919:412–24). The texts mentioned appear far
removed in time and space from the Genesis account, which lacks several key features of
the alleged parallels (e.g., the man is not a shape-shifter, there is no interference crossing
the river, and Jacob offers no propitiation). The being also cannot be a demon since
Jacob elicits a blessing from him. See briefly Sarna 1989:403; see more fully Hamori
2008:13–18.
230 Yahweh
the Hebrew Bible and the ANE, such that, while peculiar, his petition says
little about the character’s identity.134
Jacob’s desire for a blessing provides another clue. Nonetheless, while
it indicates the superior status of the man, it does not guarantee the man’s
divinity. While Yahweh is often the source of blessing, Isaac as the dying
patriarch blesses Jacob (Gen. 27), who in turn blesses his sons (49).
Indeed, Jacob has shown a keen interest in being blessed by all
sources.135 Again, renaming Jacob Israel suggests the other man’s super-
iority, yet it too is not the exclusive domain of the divine.136 In the
patriarchal narratives, Yahweh renames Abram and Sarai, yet Jacob
himself renames his youngest son Benjamin (35:18; cf. 25:30; Dan. 1:7).
Jacob’s request for the man’s name resembles Judges 13:18, where an
angel refuses to reveal his name to Manoah because it is “too wonderful.”
However, this need not suggest that the man’s refusal signifies his divinity
or Jacob’s realization of it.137 Jacob’s request suggests that he does not yet
know his opponent’s identity. Perhaps he does not know if the being is
divine or instead wonders what kind of ’ĕ loˉ hîm he struggles with.138
Jacob’s new name and his response to the encounter provide the strong-
est evidence for the being’s divinity. While scholars debate the precise
etymology of Israel,139 the man in Genesis 32:29 (28) offers the explanatory
“for you have striven with ’ĕ loˉ hîm and men and have prevailed.”140
Grammatically, ’ĕ loˉ hîm here may signify a god or gods.141 Nonetheless,
since the man uses the phrase to explain the name Isra-El, ’ĕ loˉ hîm seems to
be equivalent with ’eˉ l (literally “god”), suggesting a singular divine entity,
called either El or Elohim.142 Alternatively, the name could speak of
a singular divine entity El, represented by other divine beings (’ĕ loˉ hîm),
134
Perhaps the man’s desire to leave before daybreak signals not a loss of power (for which
there is no compelling evidence), but a desire to keep his identity hidden (Wenham
1994:296).
135 136 137
Cf. ibid. 296. Cf. Hamori 2008:23. Cf. Stephen Geller 1982:46.
138
Interestingly, since many associate the man with God or an angel, commentators often
assume that the man’s request for Jacob’s name is merely rhetorical. Regarding Jacob’s
request as an inquiry into what kind of god he encounters, see Smith 2002b:641.
139
See Sarna 1989:405; Hamilton 1995:334; Westermann 1995:513.
140
Here, the text offers an etymological pun to explain the meaning of Israel, where
“striven” (ś ā ritā ) resembles “yiś rā ’” in Israel.
141
Regarding the interpretation of ’ĕ loˉ hîm as gods, see Speiser 1964:254–5; Westermann
1995:518; Seebass 1999:396. The expression “’ĕ loˉ hîm and men” may even serve as
a merism for everyone (Judg. 9:13; cf. Prov 3:4; Dan. 6:8, 13 [7, 12]), with no special
reference to divine beings (Sarna 1989:227).
142
Hamori 2008:24. Whether the expression “’ĕ loˉ hîm and men” is intended literally or
more generally, divine beings likely remain in view.
Manifestations 231
including the man, angels (i.e., in 32:2–3 [1–2]), Yahweh himself (32:10
[9]), and perhaps the teraphim (31:19–34) and Dreaded-One-of-Isaac
(31:42, 53).
Jacob’s etiology of the place too suggests a close connection between ’eˉl
and ’ĕ loˉ hîm, tipping the odds in favor of a singular divine being.143 Jacob
names the place Peniel (Penuel) – literally “face of ’eˉl” – since he has “seen
’ĕ loˉ hîm face-to-face, yet [his] life has been preserved” (32:31 [30]).144
Thus, it seems that from Jacob’s perspective the man is an anthropo-
morphic manifestation of El/Elohim.145 As is common throughout the
non-P narrative, the narrator neither confirms nor denies Jacob’s
assessment.
While the man is likely divine, his specific identity remains obscure.146
The man’s refusal to offer a name may hint that he is not Yahweh himself,
since Yahweh freely offers his name during most encounters, while subor-
dinate divine beings are neither given names nor do they self-identify until
very late in the Hebrew Bible (compare Judg. 13:18 with Dan. 8:16; 10:13;
1 Chr 21:1).
Hosea 12:5 (4) – along with many commentators – seems to feel
uncomfortable identifying the man as Yahweh. Instead, it seems to spin
a midrash, calling the man an “angel.”147 Similarly, Geller opines,
“Jacob’s defeating God is blasphemous; his defeating a man is meaning-
less. One naturally tries to posit some intermediary, but still supernatural
being: an angel.”148 Indeed, whether we understand the encounter as
a victory for Jacob through perseverance or over his opponent, presenting
Yahweh as a near equal match for Jacob likely would not be very
reassuring.149 While such inner-biblical exegesis is tempting, we should
be careful not to insert one text’s interpretation into another. As we will
see, there also is a tendency in biblical literature to equate lower gods with
143
Cf. Hamori 2008:25.
144
Jacob’s surprise that he survives the encounter also points to a divine assailant (32:31
[30]).
145
“Instead of a 3rd person, narratival statement ‘God appeared (‫ )נראה‬to Jacob,’ we have
Jacob’s own words, ‘I saw [‫ ]ראיתי‬God’” (Knafl 2014:119).
146
Scholars too are divided. For example, Hendel identifies Elohim as “God” – that is,
Yahweh (1987a:101–2) – while Pagolu connects Elohim to El Shaddai (1998:168).
147
Alternatively, Hosea may refer to a different version of the Jacob-at-Jabbok tradition.
148
Geller 1982:54.
149
Elsewhere ANE divine combat may be evenly matched, yet divine–human combat rarely
if ever seems to be a fair fight. “The humans never stand a chance against Anat, for
instance, even though she fights against two towns full of people (KTU 1.3 II 9–30)”
(Hamori 2008:102).
232 Yahweh
angels and to use angels as a way of adding distance between Yahweh and
a human encounter. Though increasingly prevalent in (post–)Second
Temple Judaism and Christianity, such equations are not present every-
where in the Hebrew Bible. In addition, an angel is not entirely appropri-
ate to Genesis 32 since angels meet with humans during the day or in
a dream, do not wrestle with them, and do not ask for release.150
Since the name “Yahweh is entirely absent, and the ’ě loˉ hîm is never
clarified,” precision remains elusive.151 While one may argue that the current
text preserves an older story with a Yahweh alternative,152 in the context of
the larger non-P narrative, this ’eˉ l and ’ĕ loˉ hîm is Yahweh or perhaps his
representative.153 The non-P Pentateuch elsewhere always understands an
unspecified, singular ’ĕ loˉ hîm as Yahweh. In addition, the man’s question
may be answer enough for Jacob. The man may ask why Jacob asks for his
name since he should know with whom he struggles, Yahweh or his
envoy.154 It also would be inconceivable for the compiler and the audience
that the name of the nation and the event that coined it were originally
connected to another deity. In turn, the man most likely represents an
anthropomorphic Yahweh, yet the text remains opaque enough to allow
for reading the man as a divine envoy. In either case, the encounter in some
way involves Yahweh.155 The ambiguity of the man’s identity alongside his
clear identification with Yahweh is likely intentional.156
Again, divine form seems to be in service of narrative function, to which
we now turn. Various themes and creative punning unite the larger
narrative and help explain it.157 Jacob chooses the name Peniel (“Face
150 151
Cf. Smith 2015:477. Smith 2002b:644.
152
See Hutton 2010:31; cf. for a rebuttal, Köckert 2003.
153
Smith adduces ANE parallels to the importance of the name (see with references
2002b:642). A subordinate deity may be expressed by the word “name” plus the name
of the divine patron. For example, the warrior goddess Astarte bears the title “Name of
Baal” in Ugaritic (KTU 1.16.vi:56) and later Phoenician texts (KAI 14:18). Elsewhere in
the Hebrew Bible, the name is associated with presence (Exod. 23:20–1); see also the D
prominence of the name; Hundley 2009. However, while interesting, this parallel is not
particularly illuminating, as Jacob simply asks for his name; the man is never identified
by the name of Yahweh or any other deity.
154
Read synchronically, seeing Yahweh earlier in a dream should mean that Jacob should
recognize him now, unless the man is not Yahweh or the form is a different
manifestation.
155
In the P parallel, Elohim (=Yahweh) renames Jacob, with no hint of a wrestling man
(Gen. 35:9–10).
156
Cf. Geller 1982:54.
157
For productive punning using face and the Jacob-Jabbok-wrestling alliteration, see
Smith 2002b:643 and 2015:476.
Manifestations 233
of El/God”) because he has seen Elohim “face-to-face” (31 [30]), connect-

ing back to his mention of seeing Esau’s face (21 [20]) and forward to his
encounter with Esau, where he compares seeing him to seeing the face of
Elohim (33:10).158 The reference to two camps (Mahanaim; 32:2–3
[32:1]) likewise foreshadows the divisions to come. Perhaps the initial
reference refers to Jacob’s human camp and the divine camp and serves as
a reminder of Yahweh’s presence and protection. As Jacob progresses, he
fears what Esau’s camp will do to his, leading him to divide his own camp
in two. Alone, Jacob as representative of the human camp struggles with
a man who is a representative of the divine camp. When Jacob finally
meets Esau and his camp, the tension is diffused. Ever leery, Jacob none-
theless divides his camp from Esau’s.
Expecting a fight with Esau, Jacob instead fights with a deity. This
reversal may serve a theological purpose: the deity as or representing
Yahweh is the only one Jacob should worry about. Esau has never been
the true source of threat or blessing. It has always been Yahweh.159
Struggling and persevering with Yahweh effectively render his human
struggles moot. The deity, thus takes the form of a man likely because
Jacob needed a physical combatant with whom he could struggle instead
of Esau. Such a form would allow him to compete in a way a whirlwind or
giant would not. His perseverance then should serve as an encouragement
and a realignment of his hopes and fears. When the narrator compares
seeing Esau to seeing God, the text seems to imply that a positive reso-
lution in the divine struggle ensures a positive resolution in his human
struggles.
This conflict with Yahweh or his envoy certainly raises some theo-
logical issues. Why make the deity so weak, and why flee before daybreak?
Once again, the divine form seems appropriate to the context in which it
appears. With innumerable forms at his disposal, Yahweh chooses a weak
human(like) avatar whom Jacob may potentially beat. Nonetheless,
rather than offering firm answers, the text obscures the nature of the
encounter. Jacob and the reader know that he has encountered Yahweh
or a deity so closely aligned that he may be called by his name.
Nonetheless, so much about the encounter is abnormal that, while the
reader may identify the man as Yahweh, the man does not encapsulate the
deity either in form or in power. Thus, flexibility and opacity together
158
Cf. Smith 2015:476.
159
See the climax of the Abraham narrative, when Abraham’s near sacrifice of Isaac
demonstrates his fear of God (22:12).
234 Yahweh
allow Jacob to have a physical encounter with a man-shaped god, without

limiting Yahweh to manlike form or powers.
Yahweh’s Body As Other

Whereas in Genesis the divine form is either undefined or humanlike, in
Exodus Yahweh’s form is either undefined or related to natural elements –
fire, cloud, thunder, lightning, smoke, and shaking of the earth.160 These
fiery and stormy forms elicit awe and fear while connoting danger, power,
and protection. Before examining the texts according to the narrative
chronology, we look to the wider ANE for analogs.
Deities of Fire and Storm in the ANE

In Mesopotamia and at Ugarit, various secondary deities have control of
fire as a defining attribute, and several major deities employ storm powers.
In Akkadian išā tum (“fire”), in addition to its natural and social uses, is
associated with the storm, punishment, warfare, magic, the cult, and
purification.161 Išum (“Fire”) serves Erra, the god of war, pestilence,
and the underworld.162 The Erra Epic calls Išum a “torch” (dipā ru) and
associates him with light, the sword, and slaughter (1:10–12).163 He also
marches into battle in front and behind the gods (1:99). Despite being
devoted to a destructive master, Išum remains a champion of the
Babylonian people.164 Gibil/Gerra is a god of fire and light whose symbol
is a torch. He is both destroyer and protector: “you, Gibil, give light in the
dark house by means of your pure fire.”165 Nusku is another god of fire
and light. His symbol is the lamp, and he serves as the vizier of Enlil, the
king of the gods before the advent of Marduk and Aššur. Like Gibil, he
plays a protective role, in particular bringing good dreams while warding
off the bad.166 “Flame” also appears as a divine name. dNablum
(“Flame”) serves as the vizier of the fire god in a Babylonian god list.167
160
For an incisive study about the use of the fantastic in Exod. that employs fantasy theory,
see Feldt 2012.
161
CAD I–J:227–33.
162
There is no extant masculine form for fire (išā tum), though some scholars posit Išum as
an ad hoc masculine form, thus making the deity also “Fire;” Lambert 1957–8:400.
Regardless, descriptions of Išum clearly connect him with fire.
163 164
Cagni 1977. Bodi 1991:264–7.
165
CAD I–J:229. For texts, see B. Foster 2005:660–3.
166
For texts, see B. Foster 2005:717–20.
167
An=Anum II:342, cited in CAD N/2, 26b and W. Watson 1999b:335. See ibid. for other
potential parallels; regarding the related fire gods, see Watson 1999a.
Manifestations 235
While dangerous, the primary Mesopotamian fire deities were viewed

positively. Nonetheless, even Mesopotamian demons may use fire.168
In Egypt, prominent deities are associated with fire. It is one of the ten
bas of Amun, and the goddess Tefnut of Heliopolitan Ennead may be
better understood as fire, not moisture.169 Other deities use fire in defense
of the pharaoh and Egypt. Sekhmet breathes fire against the pharaoh’s
enemies, and Wadjet, the guardian cobra goddess of the pharaoh, rears up
and spits flames in his defense.170 The more sinister Am-Heh, “The
Devourer-of-Millions,” dwells in the underworld lake of fire threatening
passersby.171
Deities associated with fire in Ugarit seem to be predominantly hostile.
Described as “a fire, two fires . . . a sharpened sword their tongues,”
Yamm’s unnamed messengers inspire fear among the assembly of the
gods (KTU 1.2.i:22–4, 32–3). “Fire” and “Flame” conclude the list of
monsters slain by Anat (KTU 1.3.iii:45–7).172 Nonetheless, fire deities
also may be beneficial. Athirat, mother of the gods, rides after her servant
who is “caught on fire . . . like a star (KTU 1.4.iv:16–17) to light the
way.173
Adad/iškur, Baal/Hadad, and Teššub/iškur are major weather gods
in Mesopotamia, the Levant, and Hittite Anatolia respectively with the
power of the storm at their disposal.174 Among the Hittites, Teššub/iškur
is king of the gods, Baal is the acting king, and Adad, though powerful,
remains secondary in the divine hierarchy.175 Each is a powerful and
destructive warrior who can make the earth shake. Each controls thunder,
lightning (and its associated smoke and fire), wind, and rain. Baal’s
mythical palace is simultaneously on Mount Ṣapun and in the clouds,
and he rides through the sky in his cloud chariot.176 Finally, at Ugarit
Cloud (ˁnn) is a divine servant associated particularly with Baal (e.g., KTU
1.1.iii:17; 1.2.i:18, 35; 1.3.iv:76; 1.5.v:6–11).177 Personified clouds, thus
seem to be Baal’s travel companions and vehicles.178
168
CAD I–J:229.
169
See regarding Amun Traunecker 2001:88; see regarding Tefnut Assmann 2001a:182.
170 171 172
Hart 2005:139, 161. Ibid. 12. P. Miller 1965:258.
173
Mann 1977:98.
174
Storm powers, like storms themselves, are less common in Egypt. They are primarily
associated with Seth, who uses them ambivalently. Further afield in ancient Greece, Zeus
too controls the powers of the storm in Hesiod’s Theogony.
175
Perhaps their positions reflect the importance of rainfall in their regions.
176
Hundley 2013a:126–7. A primary epithet of Baal’s is Rider of the clouds (rkb ˁrpt).
177
Mann 1971:19–24. 178 Wyatt 1992b:422; Cho 2007:147–9.
236 Yahweh
Since fire and storm are (some of) the most impressive forces in the
world, other warrior deities and heads of the pantheon co-opt their more
impressive qualities to demonstrate their power and prowess.179 For
example, the warriors Ninurta and Ištar and the heads of the pantheon
Enlil, Marduk, and Aššur are also associated with fire and lightning.180
They and other major gods also shake the earth.181 Ištar, Marduk, Šamaš,
Sîn, and others are even called “torch.”182 Though neither is a weather god,
Enlil, an early head of the pantheon, and his son, the warrior Ninurta, are
called respectively “Lord of the Storm” and “The Lord, The Storm.”183
Ninurta in particular is a farming and warrior god who as the chief monster
slayer uses a combination of weapons to vanquish his foes.184
As rival claimants to the throne of the gods, Marduk and Aššur both
adopt storm-like qualities to enhance their claims. Marduk controls “the
raging winds and lightning.”185 While not a weather god, in Enuˉ ma eliš,
he comes to the fight with Tiamat armed with weather weapons (IV:35–
50, 95–100). As the amalgamator of divine traits, Gibil (the fire god) is one
of his fifty names (VII:115), indicating Marduk’s absorption of his fire
powers. Not to be outdone, Aššur in the Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta “ignited
against the foes the deterring fire.”186 As a goddess of love and war, Ištar is
“enclothed in fire and charged with splendor, who rains down flames.”187
She is likewise “the blazing fire that has been lit in the mountain.”188
Melammu is another Mesopotamian term commonly associated with
radiance.189 Primarily connoting strength and power, it was originally
a visible covering of a deity, person, or object that demonstrated power.
While there is no indication that it ever fully masked its bearer’s
identity,190 it signified overwhelming strength and over time became
associated with radiance.191 Thus, those with melammu theoretically
179
For a survey of some of the data, see Jeremias 1965:75–90. Major gods could also adopt
other important symbols and characteristics unrelated to storm and fire like the winged
sun disc. The widespread use of the winged disc “could signify major gods functioning as
heads of pantheons, who were furnished with characteristics of other deities, even solar
ones” (Ornan 2005b:207–8; cf. LeMon 2010:27–58, 95–7).
180
Painting Marduk and Aššur as warriors with storm and fire powers draws inspiration
from the earlier presentation of Ninurta (Pongratz-Leisten 2011a:162).
181 182
See briefly Weinfeld 1983:121–2. CAD D:156–7; Propp 2006:1181.
183
CT 15:11–12; CT 36:28–30; Jeremias 1965:75–6.
184
For example, “O Ninurta, your crown, the rainbow, flashes like a bolt of lightning
before you” (Lugale I:9; CAD B:103). See especially Lugale and the Epic of Anzu;
regarding Lugale, see Feldt 2011; see further Annus 2002.
185 186 187
CAD B:103. Weinfeld 1983:140. CAD I–J:228; Weinfeld 1983:140.
188 189 190
CAD I–J:229. Aster 2012; CAD M/2:9–12. Pace Oppenheim 1943.
191
Strictly speaking, namrirruˉ means “radiance” (CAD N/1:237–8).
Manifestations 237
shone and were indomitable, often inspiring dread in those they encoun-
tered. For deity and king alike, it was frequently an expression of
sovereignty.
With the emerging popularity of melammu as a royal quality, artists
likely employed radiant imagery to depict this complex concept.192 In
particular, an illustrated tile from Aššur depicts a winged god with drawn
bow enveloped in a sun disc with a lower body covered in feathers,
perhaps prepared to shoot arrows of lightning (see cover image).193 The
disc appears to be surrounded by tongues of fire and accompanied by
stylized rain clouds. Although the rest of the scene is damaged, compari-
son with similar tiles suggests that the deity, likely Aššur, accompanied the
king in battle.194 Regardless of whether the image depicts melammu, it
seems to picture an unstoppable, fire-encased deity flying through the air
and surrounded by storm clouds. This deity too appears to support his
chosen leader and protect him against his enemies.
Fire is not simply a divine quality. It also features in human warfare.
For example, fire was an important tactic in Akkadian siege warfare.195
The Lachish reliefs depict soldiers throwing burning objects into the
city.196 Assurnasirpal even boasted of using “devouring fire” against
Bıˉ t-Idini.197 Assyrians also threatened the use of fire against treaty
breakers.198 The Hittites even interpreted rain, cloud cover, and lightning
as tangible divine assistance in warfare.199
In the ANE, we thus, have elements of fire and storm that appear in
nature, are awe-inspiring, shake the earth, and are wielded by the gods for
status, in their battles with monsters, and on behalf of humans.
Nonetheless, the fiery phenomena do not mask the bearer or serve as
guides or as a means of revelation. Deities do not speak from these natural
elements; the only “voice” heard is thunder.200
192
Interpreting images and matching image to text are notoriously difficult tasks, especially
in this instance where no extant artistic representation bears the heading melammu. For
an optimistic survey of the interpretive power of images, see de Hulster, Strawn, and
Bonfiglio 2015.
193
BM 115706. Reproduced in Andrae 1925: pl. 8. It is unclear if the deity himself or the
sun disc is winged, but given his feathery lower body, the former is more likely.
194
See Keel 1977:260–3 and 1997:214–17; Mayer-Opificius 1984:200, 233; Ornan
2005b:211–17; Aster 2012:104–5.
195 196
Cassin 1968:76; Simone 2019:44. Simone 2019:44.
197
RIMA 0.101.1.3.iii:54.
198
Sefire Stele 1A:35–8 (KAI 222A:35–8) and Shalmaneser III (Monolith Inscription 2.89)
(Wolff 1977:155; Simone 2019:44–5n6).
199
Weinfeld 1983:139–40, 144–5; Simone 2019:46–7; cf. Chapter 2.
200
Cf. the Hebrew double entendre of qôl, which means both “voice” and “thunder.”
238 Yahweh
Fiery Forms in P and D

Before moving on to our primary texts, we turn to some that are closer to
home, from the P Pentateuch and D. When describing the divine presence,
the P writers use glory and the seemingly connected concepts of fire and
cloud.201 Glory generally signifies honor and importance. For P, it is more
specifically Yahweh’s visible honor or importance that manifests as a fire-
like refulgence. Described as “like a consuming fire” in appearance (Exod.
24:17), the glory is like yet not identical to fire. While it may be the full
manifestation of deity, it is more likely an emanation of his person. It
functions like a cloak that at once reveals that the deity is present while
concealing that presence from closer scrutiny. In effect, it resembles mel-
ammu with the radiance turned up to obscure the identity of its wearer. As
in Ezekiel 1:26–8, where the deity appears in enhanced humanlike form
surrounded by radiance and labeled glory, the form it conceals may be
transcendently anthropomorphic. Within P, the cover is so complete that
one cannot identify with any degree of certainty the divine form behind it
or even that there is a divine form behind it at all.
The cloud and fire seem to be secondary coverings, the mass-marketed
versions of glory that serve as the everyday signs of presence. They
alternatively rest atop the tabernacle or guide the people through the
wilderness (Exod. 40:34–8).202 While the glory reveals the immediate
presence of the deity, the fire and cloud indicate his more proximate
presence. In essence, having the light on indicates that Yahweh is at
home. The deity also could send forth fire as an emanation of glory to
consume offerings or people as the situation dictated (Lev. 9:24; 10:2).
D 4:11–15 describes a theophany at Sinai, detailed more fully in the
non-P texts of Exodus 19–20.203 Because Yahweh speaks from the midst
of the fire of the blazing cloud-encased mountain, the people hear a voice
but see no form.204 For the D, this spectacle is a visible expression of his
“glory and greatness” (24). The theophany also serves as grounds for the
prohibition of images. Since they saw no form, they cannot reproduce an
appropriate image and thus should not make any image at all (4:15–18).
Some assume this means that Yahweh was not present. However, it is
201
Hundley 2011:39–52.
202
It is debatable whether the fire is the glory or more likely an emanation from it, just as the
glory seem to be an emanation of deity.
203
Simone 2019:30–7.
204
In fact, Yahweh speaking from the midst of the fire is a recurring theme in D (4:12, 15,
33, 36; 5:4, 22, 24, 26; 9:10; 10:4; cf. 5:23).
Manifestations 239
more likely a veil that simultaneously localizes and conceals the divine
presence.205 While the P glory is “like a devouring fire,” Yahweh in D “is
a devouring fire, a jealous god” (4:24), who will go forth as a devouring
fire to defeat Israel’s enemies (9:3). The divine wrath is thus expressed as
fire, whether directed against Israel’s enemies or Israel itself.
The Burning Bush (Exodus 3)

Exodus 3 presents a new kind of divine manifestation. The angel of
Yahweh appears in a noncombustible burning bush (2), suggesting either
the bush and/or the fire is preternatural.206 Yahweh calls to Moses from
the midst of the bush, declaring the place holy (cf. Josh. 5:15) and self-
identifying as the patriarchal god, eliciting fear in Moses (5–6). Yahweh
promises to be with Moses and deliver the people from Egypt and into the
Promised Land with Moses as ambassador (7–12). God then gives his
name as “I-Will-Be-Who-I-Will-Be” (’ehyeh ’ă šer ’ehyeh; 14), before spe-
cifying further that he is Yahweh, the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of Moses’ ancestors.207 This
is his “eternal name” and his title or memorial for “all generations”
(15).208 Yahweh subsequently reiterates his name before talking specifics
about the Exodus (16).
As a prelude to an important divine announcement, the burning bush
serves as an attention grabber (3:3). The angel’s theophany is visual while
Yahweh’s is verbal. As in D and P, Yahweh speaks from and is presumably
concealed by fire. Yahweh then may be in the bush, either concealed by fire
or invisible, or the bush simply serves as a divine loudspeaker. The bush
thus concretizes and conceals divine presence.209
In fact, the burning bush episode seems to be a small-scale preview of
the later Sinai theophanies. The bush (sәneh) may be a pun on Sinai.210 In
Exodus 3, Moses encounters a fiery bush foreshadowing the people’s
return to the same mountain (3:12) engulfed in a fiery theophany (Exod.
205
Regarding divine presence in D, see Wilson 1995, especially 64–80 regarding the divine
presence in the fire. See also Hundley 2009; Simone 2019:30–5.
206
The text again blurs the line between Yahweh and angel as the angel appears (2) while
Yahweh speaks (4).
207
Scholars debate the meaning and import of the divine statement. For the current
translation, see Propp 1999:204–5.
208
It is unclear if I-Will-Be-Who-I-Will-Be or Yahweh is the eternal name. The latter is more
likely since it is the immediate antecedent and the name used throughout the narrative.
209
Cf. D 33:16, which may refer to Yahweh as the “bush-dweller” (Propp 1999:199;
though cf. Cross and Freedman 1975:116).
210
Propp 1999:222.
240 Yahweh
19). Both events also introduce important divine information – that is,
Yahweh’s name and plans to deliver Israel, and the terms of his covenant
once he has accomplished their deliverance. Finally, while both appear to
be holy ground, in the latter case requiring consecration (19:10), only the
Sinai theophany is dangerous.211 Thus, the burning bush seems to be
a gentle warm-up for the burning mountain.
After Moses’ attention has been secured, Yahweh provides the fullest
revelation of his name to date as a lead-in to Moses’ commissioning and
the Exodus. In fact, as we will see, the non-P Exodus narrative concludes
with another substantial revelation of the divine name. From Exodus 3
onward, Yahweh is always Yahweh or Elohim with various descriptors
explicating what kind of ’ĕ loˉ hîm he is. Yahweh’s self-identification as
“I-Will-Be-Who-I-Will-Be” and later “I-Will-Be” (14) remains obscure,
likely intentionally. It may be another divine name or epithet or an
explanation of the meaning or identity of Yahweh. Regardless of its
meaning, “I-Will-Be” only appears here in the narrative. Instead of divul-
ging information about Yahweh, it seems instead to be an obfuscating
introduction to his self-disclosure. Sentences with two identical verbs,
usually connected by the relative pronoun ’ă šer (Gen. 43:14; Exod.
3:14; 16:23; 33:19; 1 Sam. 23:12; 2 Sam. 15:20; 2 Kgs 8:1; Ezek. 12:25;
Est 4:16; cf. Exod. 4:13; Zech. 10:8 without ’ă šer) serve as a rhetorical
device whose purpose “is to be vague, whether to convey infinite potenti-
ality or to conceal information, by defining a thing as itself.”212 It also
is a way of shutting down further questions (Gen. 32:23–33 [22–32]
and Judg. 13). In effect, Yahweh seems to be saying that Moses does
not know him fully just because he knows his name. Yahweh, thus
seems to be entering into a binding agreement while at once stressing
his divine elusiveness.
Pillar of Cloud and Fire

An enigmatic encounter with Yahweh follows (4:24–6) and precedes the
conflict with Pharaoh in Egypt (Exod. 5–12). While in Egypt Yahweh only
speaks without explicitly appearing, his presence is felt in the multiple
miracles he performs.213 After strong-arming Pharaoh into releasing the
211
Nonetheless, Moses may approach in both instances, so that the primary difference
simply may be the presence of people who must be safeguarded.
212
Propp 1999:225–6.
213
The text does not specify that he did not appear. Rather, it omits this information since it
is unnecessary for the purpose of the story.
Manifestations 241
Israelites, Yahweh leads them to the sea (13:17).214 Yahweh’s guidance

takes the form of a pillar (‘ammûd) of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by
night (21–2).215 Pharaoh gives chase (14:6), eliciting fear (10). The guid-
ing pillar then serves a protective function, moving from before Israel to
between them and the Egyptians (19–20).216 Throughout the night
Yahweh parts the sea (21), and “in the pillar of fire and cloud [he] looked
down upon the Egyptian army, and threw the Egyptian army into a panic”
(24). In Exodus 17:6, Yahweh states that he will stand in front of Moses
on the rock. While there is no indication that Yahweh’s presence is visible,
Yahweh’s standing suggests that he continues to be present apart from the
pillar(s).217
Once Israel exits Egypt, the cloud seems to visibly mark Yahweh’s
perpetual presence throughout the desert period.218 The pillar appears
to function as a divine vehicle of sorts, akin to Baal’s cloud chariot and the
Priestly fire and cloud.219 It is a divinely propelled, floating meteorological
phenomenon. While clouds float, a floating pillar of fire is an unprece-
dented natural phenomenon. Primarily a guide, the pillar here also serves
a protective function. However, it does not seem to be a divine body;
rather, it appears to mask such a body, as Yahweh looks down from it.220
Although undescribed, his appearance seems to be visible or at least
somewhat perceptible. While the pillar does not explicitly elicit fear
among Israelite or Egyptians, when Yahweh peeks out, it throws the
Egyptians into a panic. Their panic then seems to indicate that they see
or at least feel his gaze.
214
The text offers rare access to divine self-reflection as a means of explaining God’s choice
of route (17).
215
Scholars debate whether a single pillar or two separate pillars is intended. Compare
Propp 1999:489 with Aster 2012:298–300. Propp also compares the guiding light to
ancient Greek and modern Arabian military practice of having a light lead the way as fire
by night and smoke by day (489). While fire never appears alone, the cloud does in Exod.
14:19; 33:9–10; Num. 12:5; Deut. 31:15; Ps. 99:7 (Simone 2019:27), in keeping with
their appearance in nature (e.g., where there is smoke, there is fire, and vice versa).
216
An angel too moves from before to behind Israel (19). See further Chapters 7–8.
217
“Standing” reads more like a reassurance that Yahweh will be with him. While standing
sounds anthropomorphic, it could just signify presence, even in the form of the pillar(s).
218
Propp 1999:490, pace Jacob 1992:382. Propp cites as evidence Exod. 16:10; 40:34–8;
Num. 9:15–23; 10:11–12; 14:14; Deut. 1:33; Ps. 78:14; Neh. 9:12, 19 (as well as texts
involving a guiding angel in Exod. 23:20, 23; 32:34; 33:2; Num. 20:16; Judg. 2:1–4).
The pillar(s) also seems to be a literary analog to the ark (Propp 1999:550; cf. Mann
1971; Van Seters 1994:340–1).
219
See regarding Baal’s chariot Jacob 1992:383; Propp 1999:549.
220
Alternatively, one could argue that it is a divine body of sorts, from which another (more
closely allied) body can detach itself.
242 Yahweh
Like the burning bush, the pillar of cloud thus seems to simultan-
eously reveal and conceal the divine presence. It is a hybrid with no
natural parallel that demonstrates Yahweh’s mastery of meteorological
phenomena and uniquely serves as a guide, not just as a natural
occurrence, for status, or in battle. Like melammu, it is the visible
radiance that marks its bearer as indomitable and seems to indicate his
support of his chosen leader and his people. However, unlike mel-
ammu, the pillar is a guide and its fiery radiance is so pronounced
that it conceals the deity it heralds.
The Exodus tradition also resembles the ANE combat motif yet
reframes it in important ways.221 A battle is fought at the sea, whose
waters are pushed back by a divine wind (Exod. 14–15). Yahweh
proves himself the greatest of the gods (15:11). He marches in triumph
to a holy mountain (15:17; 16–17), releases water (17:1–7), terrifies his
enemies (15:14–16; 17:8–16), and thunders forth (19:16, 19; 20:14
[18]). Finally, a banquet commemorates his victory (18:12; 24:4, 9–
11). Unlike the ANE trope, Yahweh’s enemies are not gods, but rather
people led by a man, Pharaoh. In fact, the Egyptian gods are conspicu-
ously absent from the entire episode.222 The water too is simply water,
not personified as Tiamat or Yamm.223 Since Yahweh’s opponent is
a man, he must fight on both sides to make the conflict endure long
enough to serve as a demonstration of his supremacy. When Pharaoh
loses his resolve, Yahweh hardens his heart (4:21; 10:1, 20, 27; 11:10;
cf. 7:14; 8:15; 9:7, 34–5).224 Yahweh thereby uses the event as
a medium for promoting his name, which inspires worship in Israel
and fear in others.225
221
Propp 1999:558–9; regarding the combat myth, see Batto 1992:102–52.
222
Cf. Exod. 12:2, where P describes divine judgment on the Egyptian gods.
223
While in this passage the sea is merely water, elsewhere in poetry it is personified (Ps.
77:17–21; 106:9; 114:1–3; cf. 104:6–9) (Propp 1999:559).
224
In several texts ascribed to P as well, Yahweh hardens Pharaoh’s heart (7:3; 9:12; 14:4, 8,
17; cf. 7:13, 22; 8:19).
225
Yahweh’s purpose, dramatized in a display of divine might, is divine rescue,
resettlement, and ethnogenesis (3:7–11). The events likewise are designed to inspire
belief among the Israelites (4:5) and recognition among the Egyptians (7:17); cf.
Feldt 2012:142–3. Matching the experience of the audience, Yahweh’s purposes
seem to fail on both counts. Feldt argues that while at first blush the divine
purposes fail, as the people’s direct experience leads to doubt and disorientation,
narration looks to the future, providing distance and promoting belief. Thus, she
suggests that “the fantastic strategies are used to create an origin, which may alter
the future” (167).
Manifestations 243
Sinai Theophanies
the sound and light show (exodus 19–20) Upon arriving at

Sinai, Yahweh proposes a covenant, expanding on the one made in
Genesis 15:18 and predicated on Yahweh’s deliverance of Israel
(19:3–6).226 Before setting the terms, he promises that if they keep
them, the people will become God’s treasured possession, a priestly
kingdom and holy nation (5–6). The people agree to Yahweh’s
proposal (8). Yahweh then announces his appearance in a thick
cloud so that the people too may hear his words and trust Moses
(9). Yahweh requires the people to consecrate themselves and stay at
a safe distance on penalty of death (10–15). Following preparations,
a thick cloud appears on the mountain, accompanied by thunder,
lightning, and a loud trumpet blast (16). Exodus 19:18 describes
Yahweh descending upon the mountain in fire, enveloping Sinai in
smoke while shaking it violently (18).227 Moses proceeds up and
down the mountain several more times before Yahweh gives the
Decalogue (19:20–20:1–13 [1–17]).
Following the giving of the Decalogue, the text returns to the the-
ophany, mentioning the thunder, lightning, and trumpet (20:14 [18]). It
adds the detail that it inspired fear among the Israelites, who ask Moses to
speak to them for fear that hearing Yahweh’s voice will prove fatal (20:15
[19]). Yahweh then outlines the terms of the covenant, indicating that he
spoke from heaven (20:18 [22]).
Exodus 19:16 describes the theophany as an impressive storm cloud,
while 19:18 portrays a fiery descent wrapped in smoke. The text nowhere
indicates what happens to the pillar(s), yet the two descriptions of the-
ophany resemble enhanced versions of the pillars. The storm(ing) cloud
and fire each seem to function as the divine carriage, bedazzled for this
momentous occasion.228 Scholars have struggled in vain to find a single
natural phenomenon the fiery theophany of 19:18 builds upon.229
226
Under this heading, we consider the disparate theophanies that appear on Sinai. Exod.
19, in particular, seems composite; when read together it is unwieldy. However,
uncovering its compositional history lies outside our purview. For a plausible source-
critical reconstruction, see Schwartz 1997:20–30, 46. For a source-critical analysis of
divine forms, see Knafl 2014:76–109.
227
Dozeman anomalously ascribes the theophany to P (2009:455–6).
228
Regarding the storm cloud as carriage, see Ehrlich 1908:337 and 1969:170; Propp
2006:160.
229
For example, Noth (1962:159) associates it with a volcano, while Cross (1973:169)
associates it with a storm.
244 Yahweh
Instead, “what makes this theophany impressive is precisely its

uniqueness.”230 It draws from various known phenomena to create
a display of power suitable for the moment, not dissimilar from
a modern military parade or an expression of shock and awe.
The resumption of the theophany in 20:14 (18) bookends the
Decalogue with a divine show of power and force, highlighting the
authority of both the lawgiver and his preview instructions.
The theophany likewise serves as an “intermezzo” between the
preview and the fuller stipulations.231 It also adds the element of
fear, an appropriate response given the drama and danger. Fear
serves as the reason that the people ask Moses to be their mediator
(20:15 [19]). The divine voice promised in 19:9 is too much for
them (20:16 [20]). The theophanies in 20:14 (18) and 24:10 likewise
bookend the Covenant Code instructions. Thus, while the visual
theophany stands alone as a show of power and status, the cloud
also serves as the source of the divine voice.
Thus, concludes the fiery theophanies of Exodus. They seem to be
a hybrid of natural and supernatural phenomena like but distinct from
their ANE analogs. Like melammu, they each serve as visible symbols of
status and power and signify support for the chosen leader. However, they
turn up the power, mixing the radiance with thunder, lightning, fire,
cloud, and quaking, elements only available to storm, high, and warrior
gods. For the Israelites, Yahweh is all three, as Marduk is to Babylonia and
Aššur to Assyria. Unlike melammu, the non-P sound and light show fully
conceals the divine form, so fully that it is hard to say if there is a form
beyond the fire, and, if so, what it is. The cloud and fire uniquely serve as
a guide, while fiery elements, unlike their ANE analogs, serve as the source
of the divine voice.
seeing god (exodus 24:9–11) In Exodus 24:3–8, the people

engage in a covenant ceremony in which they agree to the terms. Moses,
the priests, and seventy elders ascend the mountain and “[see] the ’ĕ loˉ hîm
of Israel,” though the text only describes the pavement by his feet (24:9–
10). Yahweh withholds punishment, and the people eat and drink (11).
Moses then approaches God to receive the stone tablets with Joshua,
while the leaders wait (12–15a).
Exodus 24:9–15a may be a distinct theophany grafted onto the Sinai
pericope. Nonetheless, read synchronically, the leaders seem to be granted
230 231
Propp 2006:164. Houtman 2000:72.
Manifestations 245
a more intimate encounter with the deity.232 Perhaps, the reader is to

imagine the group ascending into or above the theophanic cloud and
seeing Yahweh’s true form.233 Whether this is the case and what that
true form might be remain a mystery. “Although the elders see Yahweh,
the author conceals the divine appearance from the reader. We may see in
our minds only the pavement beneath his feet.”234
The divine form appears different, as there is no talk of fire and cloud
and the manifestation seems to be anthropomorphic. It is hard to say
definitively since the text focuses on the ground at his feet, leaving the
reader to fill in the gaps with their imagination. Scholars oblige, speculat-
ing that the people were unwilling to look up, they were gazing through
a translucent blue barrier that partially obscured their view, or human
descriptions are simply inadequate to describe the divine form and thus
should be omitted.235
The mention of feet does not indicate whether Yahweh stands or sits, or
even what sort of feet are intended. The ground at his feet appears blue
and solid, like lapis lazuli. Lapis lazuli is roughly the color of the sky and
conjures up images of Baal’s palace, constructed of gold, silver, and lapis
lazuli (KTU 1.4.v:15–19, 31–5, 38–40; vi:34–8), and Marduk’s lapis
lazuli throne in heaven.236 Propp further suggests that Ezekiel 1:26
“implies that the transparent sky receives its hue from Yahweh’s lapis
lazuli throne place directly above.”237 Like Mesopotamians, who
imagined the world as consisting of multiple levels, each with a floor,
the text may depict the pavement as representing the sky, our ceiling and
Yahweh’s floor.238 Some imagine the scene as delegates arriving at the
heavenly palace, where heaven and earth meet (cf. Gen. 28:17), with
Yahweh seated on a throne (cf. Isa. 6:1).239 Given the paucity of descrip-
tion, it is impossible to say. While a regular man-shaped god may be
intended, it is hard not to imagine something more. The laconic text
thus seems to stress a visual encounter with Yahweh, while providing
some distance between the elders’ experience and our own. As a likely
232
The encounter is also likely more tranquil than the earlier sound and light show (cf.
Houtman 2000:287).
233
Cf. Ezek. 1:22–6; Propp 2006:297. The reference to Moses ascending into the cloud
(15b) likely belongs to the P version.
234
Propp 2006:296, italics original.
235
See respectively Noth 1962:195; Childs 1974:506; Houtman 2000:194.
236
Propp 2006:296. Regarding Marduk, see Livingstone 1986:82–3.
237 238
Propp 2006:296. Ibid. Regarding Mesopotamia, see Livingstone 1986:86.
239
For example, Houtman 2000:294; cf. Propp 2006:297.
246 Yahweh
product of the discomfort with too close an encounter with Yahweh, the
LXX of 24:10 – “they saw the place where the God of Israel stood” –
implies that Yahweh is already gone when they arrive.240
Unlike all that have come before, the theophany is strictly visual with
no verbal accompaniment. In fact, it is totally silent, lacking the earlier
(super)natural fanfare of trumpet and thunder.241 It stands as the climax
of the Sinai theophany of Exodus 19–24.242 After concluding the coven-
ant ceremony, the vision becomes the message. The point of the encounter
is to indicate that the elders saw God. Further details are not necessary to
make this point. The text says enough to indicate the unique nature of the
encounter without saying too much to preserve divine privacy and
mystery.
The text then stresses that Yahweh withheld his hand, while the elders
beheld him and ate and drank (11).243 The need to qualify the peaceful
nature of the encounter may be because it was a more privileged form or
simply to stress Yahweh’s amicable relationship with the people, espe-
cially after the earlier danger of approaching. Perhaps now following the
covenant ceremony (24:3–8), their status as a kingdom of priests (19:6)
allows them to meet Yahweh in person.244 The reference even may not
imply a more intimate form, only that the previous threat of violence
against encroachers has been temporarily suspended. Regardless, the
text highlights that they see God while simultaneously acknowledging
the potential danger of doing so.
The following meal is also somewhat enigmatic. What do they eat and
with whom? Is it a covenant meal shared with the deity?245 Or do they eat
to commemorate the encounter, or as a sign that they remain
unscathed?246 Regardless, a meal after an intimate encounter with
240 241
Houtman 2000:292. See further Hanson 1992. Savran 2009:323.
242
Ibid. 332.
243
Verse 11 uses a different verb (wayyeḥĕ zû) to describe seeing God than rā ’â of verse 10.
Propp (2006:297, following Ehrlich 1908:363–4) suggests that the text employs alterna-
tive vocabulary since no one can rā ’â God and live. Such variance likely would carry little
import since the previous verse uses rā ’â. Alternatively, the text may use the synonym to
clarify the previous statement. While they saw God, they did not really see him.
244
Houtman 2000:287.
245
Seemingly unable to conceive of a meal eaten in the presence of deity, the Targum
translators typically render 24:11b: “and they rejoiced in their offerings which had
been accepted, as if they ate and drank”; see Houtman 2000:295 for details. The
translators likewise often insert “as if” in Gen. 18:8, 19:3 to distance Yahweh and his
messengers from eating (ibid.).
246
For the latter possibility, see Houtman 2000:296.
Manifestations 247
Yahweh implies that all is well, and as such serves as a fitting climax to
Exodus 19–24.247
yahweh’s glory (exodus 33–4) While all seemed well follow-

ing the conclusion of the covenant and the intimate experience of
Yahweh in Exodus 24, the golden calf incident in Exodus 32 provides
a major setback.248 After sending a plague (32:35), Yahweh consents
to send his angel with the people, yet he will not accompany them lest
he destroy them for their rebellion (33:2–4). The people mourn and
Moses sets up a tent outside of the camp. A cloud descends whenever
Moses enters the tent, and Moses and Yahweh speak face to face (4–
11).249 Moses bargains with Yahweh, who agrees that his “face”
(pā nîm) will accompany them (12–17). Emboldened, Moses asks to
see the divine glory (18). Yahweh instead offers to show his splendor
and proclaim his name. Yahweh allows Moses to see his back, but not
his face, placing him in the cleft of a rock and covering him with his
hand (33:19–34:5). As he passes, Yahweh proclaims his name and
several attributes (6–7). Moses bows, worships, and asks for forgive-
ness and God’s accompanying presence (8–9). The non-P narrative in
Exodus ends with the (re)establishment of the covenant, including
some of its terms (10–28).
The presence of Yahweh’s deputy angel theoretically would get the job
done, yet Yahweh’s absence is an especially scary prospect for the people.
In the narrative, they are about to leave Sinai and enter the land to conquer
and dispossess an unwilling people. The last time Yahweh (and Moses)
were absent showed the people’s panicked state, and the situation did not
end well (Exod. 32).250 The people this time respond with appropriate
mourning while Moses sets up the Tent of Meeting (’ôheˉl mô‘eˉ d).251 In
contrast to P’s Tent of Meeting, which is in the middle of camp with clear
safeguards to protect divine space and human visitors alike, the non-P tent
is set up at a distance from camp with no stated safeguards. Again, unlike
the P tent, access to the non-P tent seems available to all. However,
247
See briefly Propp (2006:297–8) regarding the ANE precedent for a divine victory meal.
248
See Chapter 9 for a discussion of the golden calf incident.
249
The people’s response shows their contrition, reverence, and desire to restore relations
(10).
250
Within the larger Pentateuch, it pauses the entire tabernacle enterprise outlined in
chapters 24–31.
251
The Tent of Meeting is Moses’ home in Jewish tradition (Ibn Ezra; Cassuto 1967:420).
248 Yahweh
attention quickly turns to Moses’ use of the space since Moses’ entry
seemingly guarantees a theophany (33:9).252
The resulting divine encounters creatively use the terms face, glory,
splendor, and name to accomplish their purposes. Each in its own way is
ambiguous. Face (pā nîm) may be used as a synecdoche, using the most
prominent and identifiable part of a person to signify the whole, the self or
the person. Alternatively, it simply may be a part or even be used meta-
phorically to signify something else.253 Glory (kā bôd) too has a range of
meanings. Read synchronically, it conjures up the Priestly glory, the fiery
presence akin to the pillar of cloud and fire. Glory also connotes renown
and all that contributes to it.254 As indicated, the name (šeˉm) is
a shorthand for the self, one’s identity and all accomplished by and
ascribed to the self. Splendor (t ̣ûb) implies visual grandeur, yet it is
nonspecific about what sort and need not be visual at all.
The pillar of cloud would descend on the tent as a sign of presence,
though it remains unclear if Yahweh spoke from within the pillar or exited
to speak to Moses in a different form.255 Regardless, describing the
encounter as face to face, as one speaks to a friend, implies direct, intimate
access (11). In the conversation available to us, Moses convinces Yahweh,
more precisely his “face,” to accompany the people on their journey (14).
The identity of Yahweh’s face remains ambiguous, yet the implication is
that it involves a more direct presence than the angel promised in 33:1–3
(cf. 32:34). Moses’ expectation and motivation when requesting to see
Yahweh’s glory are likewise unclear. Asking Yahweh to “show” him his
glory suggests that the glory is visible. Presumably, even though he has
already spoken to God face to face and “seen” him, he seeks a fuller, more
intimate vision. Perhaps the request is a need for reassurance after all that
has happened. In other words, he wants a tangible display as a guarantee
of the divine commitment stated in 33:17 (cf. Exod. 4:1–9).256
252
Read synchronically, the tent seems to be an emergency measure instituted as a stopgap
until the tabernacle is constructed and Yahweh indwells it. However, if we consider the
non-P narrative beyond Exod., it reappears (Num. 11:17, 25; 12:5, 10; cf. Deut. 31:14–
15).
253 254
Cf. Propp 2006:604. Weinfeld 1995; Hundley 2011:41.
255
If Yahweh spoke to Moses from the cloud, the cloud is the locus of divine speech in
addition to being a vehicle (cf. Num. 12:5; Deut. 31:15). Read synchronically, God
descends in the cloud, not fire, presumably because their encounters occur during
the day.
256
Cf. Houtman 2000:680. He also may want to see a little more than the priests and elders
to solidify his special status.
Manifestations 249
Yahweh offers splendor as a compromise, again using a multivalent

term to avoid telling the audience too much. What he means by the divine
splendor passing by awaits further clarification. The display of splendor is
accompanied by the verbal declaration of the divine name, Yahweh,
qualified by further descriptors.257 Yahweh’s declaration that he will be
gracious and merciful to whom he will be gracious and merciful to (33:19)
recalls his earlier self-designation “I-Will-Be-Who-I-Will-Be” (3:14). As
before, the statement seems to assert divine freedom to be and do what he
wants (cf. Job 38–41). Here, it is likely a reminder that, while Moses may
influence him, Yahweh will not be controlled. Rather than being auto-
matic, his grace and mercy are voluntary.
Yahweh qualifies his concession by denying access to his face, since no
one can see his face and live (33:20).258 Yahweh has agreed that his face
will accompany Israel and has spoken to Moses face to face, yet seeing
Yahweh’s face remains beyond Moses’ reach. This restrictive statement in
33:20 seems to stand in tension with 24:10. Perhaps we have two compet-
ing traditions of presence. Perhaps the authors of 33:20 were uncomfort-
able with too close an encounter with deity and, thereby added distance,
like later translators and commentators were wont to do. Perhaps for
them whatever Moses had seen before was not Yahweh’s face.259 Read in
context, Exodus 33:20 seems to set a precedent. While earlier manifest-
ations were possible, some measure of distance is the new normal,
a normal that extends into the lives of the audience. Regardless, in con-
text, Yahweh must hold some of himself back so as not to destroy those he
encounters.
To conceal the divine face, Yahweh offers to put Moses in the cleft of
a rock and cover him with his hand until Yahweh has passed. Then,
Yahweh will remove his hand so that Moses can see his back (21–3). It
is unclear if Yahweh putting Moses in his hiding place implies that
Yahweh picks Moses up in his supersized hand (Ibn Ezra) or simply directs
him to the right spot. Similarly, the reference to Yahweh’s hand is unclear.
Are we to imagine an anthropomorphic hand? If so, what size? How does
257
In rabbinic understanding, Yahweh’s self-disclosure teaches Moses how to pray (Rashi;
Propp 2006:607).
258
Whereas upon their first encounter Moses hid his face from Yahweh in fear (3:6), here
Yahweh hides his face from Moses, ostensibly for safety (33:20).
259
One could say that Yahweh, like the Egyptian gods, takes the form suited to the
situation, while masking his true form. Moses’ request then may be for an unmediated
audience. Cf. Knafl (2014:72) who harmonizes the two passages by suggesting that the
encounter in 24:10 is not a full-scale manifestation.
250 Yahweh
one simultaneously cover a person and pass by him?260 Perhaps, like

a parent, God covers Moses with his hand to shield him from danger.
Once Yahweh’s body (and the accompanying danger) passes in front of
Moses, God removes his hand so that only his back is visible. Regardless
of the particulars, more than an anthropomorphically realistic deity seems
intended.261
Moses cuts tablets, likely in anticipation of covenant renewal (34:1, 4).
Then Yahweh “descended in the cloud and stood by him” (5), implying
that he rides his cloud chariot down and exits it to meet with Moses. Read
synchronically, this implies that the pillars were never Yahweh himself but
rather a sign of and case for his presence, at once revealing and concealing
him. Yahweh stands and proclaims his name before passing by and
restating and elaborating on it. Standing implies anthropomorphism,
while passing suggests something else.262
Expecting a visual display, the text tells the reader nothing about what
Moses sees, only what he hears. There is no mention of visible glory or
splendor, any fiery phenomenon or any form at all. In contrast to the
unexpected visual display in 24:10, Exodus 34 turns an anticipated visual
display into a primarily verbal one. In effect, Yahweh’s glory and splendor
become verbal, not visual.263
With the proclamation of the divine name comes an explication of his
character. While the first explanation of the name championed divine
freedom in matters of grace and mercy (33:19), in the second he exercises
that freedom magnanimously (34:6–7). Nonetheless, lest Moses assume
his patience is infinite, he confirms his judgment, though it remains of less
severity (7). Moses responds with worship and a plea for forgiveness and
presence (9–10). Non-P Exodus concludes with Yahweh reaffirming the
covenant, once again accompanied by a warning that he is a jealous god,
thereby indicating his benevolence is not unlimited. The Exodus narrative
thus begins (3) and ends (34) with the fullest explanations of the divine
260
Cf. Propp 2006:608: “One cannot imagine a human, even one of gigantic proportions,
performing the contortion described in Exodus.”
261
Uncomfortable with the anthropomorphic intimacy of the encounter, Targum Onkelos
and Pseudo-Jonathan remove Yahweh’s hand, instead having Yahweh state that he will
“shield you with my word.” Pseudo-Jonathan and others have the angels pass before
Moses, instead of Yahweh (Houtman 2000:703).
262
Standing may simply mean locating himself in a certain place and need not entail
anthropomorphism, while passing also could indicate walking by Moses.
263
The reversal of expectations would be especially relevant for later audiences who can
only hear, not see Yahweh. By dramatically retelling and ritualizing the story, it becomes
part of their cultural memory.
A Comparison of Primeval, Patriarchal, and Exodus Narratives 251
name and an assertion of divine freedom and commitment. In effect, what

stands between them is a living example of the character the names
explain.
a comparison of primeval (genesis 1–11), patriarchal

(genesis 12–50), and exodus narratives
Regarding manifestations, in each context the text only gives enough
information to serve the purposes of the story. Unnecessary information
is excluded, while necessary information about presence is kept to
a minimum. Descriptions of form thereby serve the purposes of the
narrative while preserving divine mystery. Once again, efforts at system-
atization and harmonization are often futile and in some ways go against
the text’s purposes. Rather, each representation of deity is chosen to be
appropriate to its context and need not perfectly align with those around
it.
That being said, despite obvious differences, there are other similarities
about presence beside its laconic description. Most notably, behind all the
bells and whistles of the fiery theophanies, the texts seem to envision an
anthropomorphic god who transcends anthropomorphism in different
ways appropriate to the difference contexts. While clearly more,
Yahweh thinks, speaks, and acts in humanlike ways. Unlike P, D (and to
an extent Marduk and Aššur), Yahweh manifests in numerous locations
and forms. Nonetheless, as we will see in Chapter 8, they do not detract
from the integrity of his person. Yahweh has a fully integrated self, which
the text may choose to present as opaque or overlapping with his subor-
dinates for rhetorical purposes. In each context, Yahweh demonstrates
a commitment to his people’s welfare. He shows a willingness to engage,
protect, and punish both enemies and his own people.
There are also some interesting differences between the primeval, patri-
archal, and Exodus narratives. Regarding names and epithets in the
primeval narratives, Yahweh is simply Yahweh, Elohim, or Yahweh-
Elohim with no other epithets. In the patriarchal narratives, there are
multiple epithets, many of them featuring ’eˉl and ’ĕ loˉ hîm. Perhaps the
compilers/redactors of the patriarchal narratives had various extant tradi-
tions at their disposal, which they felt compelled to integrate. Given its
setting at the beginning and distance from any known places, the authors/
compilers/redactors of the primeval narratives were comfortable simpli-
fying the divine names. In fact, they seem to have set a simple template
252 Yahweh
through which the following narratives should be read, encouraging the

reader to identify all the disparate descriptors with Yahweh.
With the divine name established and the narrative set away from
Israelite settlements, Exodus, like the primeval narratives, is more limited.
While Genesis accumulates names and epithets, Exodus focuses on pro-
moting and explaining the primary name of the Israelite deity. In fact, the
most thorough explanations of the divine name bookend the narrative (3,
33–4). References to Yahweh being the ’ĕ loˉ hîm of the patriarchs appear
only at the transition between narratives (Exod. 3:6, 15, 16; 4:5), and
there are no ’eˉ l epithets. Yahweh’s primary epithets in Exodus are the
’ĕ loˉ hîm of the Hebrews and of Israel.
There also seems to be a progression regarding the object of Yahweh’s
patronage. In the primeval narratives, Yahweh is presented more as the
universal god of creation (2–3), destruction (6–8), and scattering (10 –11)
as well as the god of specific individuals: Adam and Eve (2–3), Cain and
Abel (4), and Noah (6–8). In the patriarchal narratives, while there are
hints of universality (14–15), Yahweh is primarily the god of individuals
and the family of Abraham. Exodus expands his patron profile to include
the ethnic group and the nation, with scarcely a mention of the ancestors.
Those outside of the group like the Egyptians are not under Yahweh’s
protection, but they are to recognize his supreme status. Yahweh’s patron
status and attention seem to simultaneously contract and expand as
attention shifts from the universal to the particular and from particular
individuals to the family and finally to the nation.
Regarding manifestations, there is little indication of the divine form in
the primeval narratives. Yahweh is presented anthropomorphically. In
fact, one could argue that he is different in degree, not in kind. Eating the
fruit makes humans like him, while barring them from the garden may be
an attempt to keep them from becoming too much like him (3:22; 5:1;
cf. 1:26). This need for proper distancing continues into the flood narra-
tive where human-divine commingling prompts destruction and their
overreaching in the Tower of Babel incident prompts their scattering.
Yahweh is also presented as an intimate companion of Adam and Eve in
the garden, after which the intimacy slowly wanes from Cain and Abel to
Noah and beyond.
In the patriarchal narratives, Yahweh is an occasional visitor. He
speaks and appears directly to the patriarchs yet does not live with
them. Before the age of temples and shrines, altars became more prevalent
as a way of connecting with the often-distant god, frequently established
where he had been known to appear before. Yahweh seems to manifest in
A Comparison of Primeval, Patriarchal, and Exodus Narratives 253
an anthropomorphically realistic body in most instances (cf. Gen. 15 and

28), though in each context the text transcends anthropomorphic expect-
ations and limits in various ways.264 In addition, Yahweh appears in
dreams only in the patriarchal narratives.
In Exodus, from the burning bush episode onward, Yahweh’s presence
is more sustained. While the plague narrative does not specify a divine
appearance, his presence is felt in his many words and actions on behalf of
his people. From the pillar of cloud and fire onward, Yahweh is consist-
ently present, often in a fiery cover of different intensities depending on the
context. This more dramatic presence is also largely mediated through an
individual, Moses, rather than directly available to all.
264
There are no storms, which seem more suited to the grand displays of Exod. than the
intimate encounters of Gen. In fact, “it is possible to epitomize the entire story of
Exodus as the movement of the fiery manifestation of the divine presence” (Greenberg
1969:16–17).
7
The Divine Cast of Characters
In this chapter, we identify and introduce Yahweh’s supporting cast, the

other potential deities, before sorting the divine sphere and analyzing its
rhetoric, placing Yahweh among the gods. In Genesis and Exodus, there
are multiple other divine beings, many of them strange and seemingly
incongruous with traditional, monotheistic theology. Nonetheless,
readers continue to assume monotheism likely because of heightened
language promoting (exclusive) Yahwism and modern associations of
monotheism. In addition, the absence of a Hebrew divine determinative
facilitates misidentification. While acknowledging other supernatural
beings, commentators tend to conflate potential deities into the nonthrea-
tening angel category, who anachronistically are not considered gods,
based on later developments and modern assumptions. While the seeds
for a later divine redefinition and redistribution are already present (about
which see Chapter 8), much can be said about the presence of other divine
beings in Genesis and Exodus.
From the beginning, the non-P creation story seems to indicate
divine plurality. Yahweh-Elohim, the primary god of the Bible,
declares that “humanity has become like one of us, knowing good
and evil” (Gen. 3:22).1 To whom does he speak? Who is this mysteri-
ous “us”? Some scholars argue for a plural of majesty, akin to the
royal “we,” thereby reading the plural reference as singular in
1
See also Gen. 11:7; cf. P (Gen. 1:26), where Yahweh proclaims, “Let us [pl.] make
humankind in our image,” and Isa. 6:8. It is possible that Gen. 3:5, which speaks of
humans becoming like ’ĕ loˉ hîm could have the plural gods in view instead of singular
Yahweh, especially in light of 3:22.
254
The Divine Cast of Characters 255
keeping with traditional monotheism.2 However, most commentators

interpret “us” as an expression of divine plurality, and with good
reason.3 There is no plural of majesty for Hebrew verbs.4 In addition,
if Yahweh were using the royal “we,” he would be talking to himself.
3:22 also speaks more literally of the man becoming “like one from
among us,” an odd expression if only the singular Yahweh were in
view.5
The question remains, which plural beings are in view? In con-
text, Yahweh speaks to nonhumans who also have the knowledge of
good and evil.6 The most likely scenario, then, is that Yahweh
speaks to other divine beings, perhaps (part of) his divine council,
a concept amply attested in the ANE as well as elsewhere in the
Hebrew Bible.7
The text soon goes beyond this somewhat oblique reference to
divine beings and explicitly mentions plural gods (Gen. 31:30, 32;
35:2, 4; Exod. 15:11; 18:11; 20:2 [3], 19 [23]; 23:13, 24, 32–3;
34:15–16).8 The texts use “gods” in three contexts – praise, prohib-
itions against foreign gods, and narratives involving gods – which will
be addressed in turn before examining the potential members of the
divine world.
The praise texts (Exod. 15:11; 18:11) are designed to exalt Yahweh
as the greatest god, lauding his incomparability and superiority. “Who
is like you, Yahweh, among the gods?” (15:11). “I know that Yahweh
is greater than all gods” (18:11). However, while raising Yahweh
above the other gods, the texts nonetheless acknowledge their
2
Zoran 1995. Others have argued along Trinitarian lines for a “plural of fullness” (Clines
1968:68; Hasel 1975:65; Hamilton 1990:134. See Garr 2003:18–20 for still more options.
3
See Weinfeld 1968:105–32; Smith 2001:90; Garr 2003:17–21, 45–9, 58–60, 72–92;
Sommer 2009:69, 223–4.
4
Joüon and Muraoka 2005: § 114e n. 1. The identification of the plural of majesty for
nouns in Hebrew itself is also debatable.
5
Cooke 1964:23; Cho 2007:57.
6
In Isa. 6:8, the context is even clearer, where other divine beings, seraphim, appear and are
likely the objects of Yahweh’s address.
7
See note 3. Regarding the divine council at Ugarit, see Mullen 1980; Handy 1994.
Regarding the other biblical references, see Ps. 29:1–2; 82; 89:7–8 (6–7); Job 1:6; 2:1;
38:7; Isa. 6:8; 1 Kgs 22:19–22; Dan. 4:14; 7:10 (Cho 2007:56).
8
Cf. Exod 12:12 from the P texts, Gen 31 (referring to the teraphim to be discussed later)
and Exod. 32:1, 4, 8, 23, 41 (with reference to the golden calf, to be discussed in
Chapter 9). There are also several verses where it is unclear if a singular or plural deities
are in view (Gen. 3:5; 28:17; 32:2–3 [1–2]; see regarding the latter two Burnett 2001:77).
The conclusion hinges on how one translates ’ĕ loˉ hîm.
256 The Divine Cast of Characters
existence.9 Such praise language features throughout the ANE in

clearly polytheistic contexts and even addresses gods who do not rest
atop the divine pantheon.10 The laudatory language may serve as
flattery, indicate the importance of that god for a specific situation,
or function as an expression of divine superiority.11 Regardless, rather
than expressing monotheism, such statements point to the belief in
multiple gods.
Other texts speak of gods in the context of divine prohibitions (Exod.
20:2 [3], 19 [23]; 23:13, 24, 32–3; 34:15–16). At the opening of the
Decalogue, Yahweh demands that his followers have “no other gods
before me” (20:2 [3]). Rather than being an expression of monotheism,
this verse stipulates that in order to enter into the divine–human contract
or covenant, Yahweh requires exclusive commitment.12 While Yahweh’s
followers must worship him alone, the demand for exclusivity tacitly
acknowledges other gods.
Exodus 20:19 (23) adds greater specificity, expanding the prohibition
beyond non-Yahwistic worship to include a ban on cult statues of other
gods. Exodus 23:13 extends the terms to not even speaking the names of
other gods.13 Yahweh warns that worship of or treaties with the gods of
the people whom he will dispossess “surely will be a snare to” them
(23:33; see further 23:23–33). Just as their names must not be spoken,
so too must their cultic apparatuses be destroyed (23:24).14 Exodus
34:15–16 prohibits making a covenant with foreign people because
doing so will lead to non-Yahwistic worship. Thus, by mentioning gods,
these texts demonstrate the polytheism prevalent among their primary
audience. In fact, the exclusive, contractual language is necessary precisely
because people believe in the existence of other gods. Rather than denying
their existence, the texts specify that non-Yahwistic worship represents
a breach of the Yahweh-Israelite contract.
9
Some may distance 18:11 from orthodox biblical thinking since the words come from
Jethro, a non-Israelite.
10
For example, Ninurta in STT 118 rev. (B. Foster 2005:613–14); see further Chapters 1
and 3.
11
Sommer 2009:160–5, especially 160–1.
12
Exod. 19:1–9 (cf. 20:14–17 [18–21]; 23:20–33) indicates that in order to enter a divine–
human contract and inherit the benefits, they need to agree to Yahweh’s terms. See
Chapter 8 for more on monolatry.
13
With so many stipulations, Yahweh rightly refers to himself as a “jealous god” (20:4 [5];
34:14).
14
Exod. 20–3 in context provide some of the terms of the contract.
In narrative contexts as well, the patriarchs distance themselves from

foreign gods. In Genesis 35:2, 4, Jacob put away the “foreign gods”
(’ĕ loˉ hê hanneˉkā r) before an encounter with Elohim at Bethel.15 These
foreign gods likely refer to some kind of divine representation, something
physical enough to be buried (4). While we might expect some condemna-
tion as in the legal texts or even claims of their lack of reality, the text says
nothing of the sort. Jacob puts them away not because other gods do not
exist or because they are not real connections to the gods. Rather, having
other gods is inappropriate to the relationship between Elohim and Jacob.
At Bethel, Jacob made a conditional oath to Elohim, promising to be his
servant if Elohim would take care of him (28:20–2). Here, he puts away
the foreign gods as the appropriate response to his oath.16
patron, family, and national gods

The belief in multiple gods as well as an individual’s or family’s primary
association with a single god finds expression in Genesis 31.17 Here,
Laban asks that the god of Nahor and the god of Abraham serve as
witnesses to their covenant of mutual noninterference (31:53), suggesting
that each character has a family god. Such family or patron gods appear
throughout the ANE and are often invoked in the context of treaties and
oaths.18 Yahweh even refers to himself as a family god, “the god of
Abraham” to Isaac (26:24), “the god of Abraham and Isaac” to Jacob
(28:13; 32:10 [9]; cf. 31:42), and “the god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob”
to Moses (Exod. 3:6, 15, 16; 4:5). Other texts related to the Exodus
narrative speak of Yahweh as the god of the nation, Israel (Exod. 5:1;
24:10) and the ethnic group, the Hebrews (Exod. 3:18; 7:16; 9:13; 10:3).
15
See later in this chapter for a discussion of the teraphim, alternatively referred to simply as
“gods” (Gen. 31:30, 32).
16
Nonetheless, by burying them, he seems to hedge his bet; he can always return if things do
not go as he hoped with Elohim.
17
See Smith 2008:99–130 regarding patron and national gods in the Hebrew Bible. See
Burnett 2001:63–70 regarding patron deities of individuals, groups, territories, or
nations.
18
Such treaties list as witnesses the patron gods of both parties as well as various local,
national, and even trans-regional gods and often call on the very same gods to punish
those who breech the terms of the contract. Binding the gods of both parties to enforce the
terms means that the parties will be less likely to break them for fear of divine retribution.
See regarding Hittite treaties Beckman 1999a, especially 1–6 for an explanation of the
treaty format. There is even evidence that in suzerain-vassal treaties between unequal
parties, the suzerain deposited the tablets in the vassal’s temple, ostensibly to remind the
gods and their followers of their obligations; see Harrison and Osborne 2012.
Having a national god suggests that other nations also have national or
dynastic gods (e.g., in the southern Levant Milkom for Ammon, Kemosh
for Moab, and Qaus for Edom).19
the potential gods

Having identified the belief in a plurality of gods, we turn to the individual
characters to see who might be classified a god. Each will be examined in
turn according to the narrative chronology, followed by an assessment of
whether they fall into the god category. Scholars and laypeople alike often
identify these characters as angels and sometimes demons. However, such
an association, as we will see, ill-fits the textual data. The chapter ends
with an examination of the minimal and characteristic qualities of a god
according to Genesis and Exodus, followed by a comparison of primeval,
patriarchal, and Exodus narratives.
In most cases, there is precious little information to go on. Since these
beings were likely known commodities to their audience, the texts are no
more interested in defining an angel than they are in defining a man.
Again, the biblical text is purposely laconic in its description, especially
of other potentially divine beings. The texts commonly give only the
information necessary for the purpose of the story. In most cases, infor-
mation concerns function, not form. The text gives no personal names
or traits, often limiting itself to mentioning class (i.e., messenger), function
(i.e., destroyer), and/or subordinate status. The texts also largely keep the
divine curtain drawn, such that the reader only encounters the divine as
they engage with the human sphere. There is likewise little access to the
thought world of the divine except through their words and actions in the
terrestrial world.20 Nonetheless, much can still be said with the scant clues
available.
The Serpent
In Genesis 3, we encounter the snake (nā ḥā š) in the garden, a category
transgressor who blurs the lines between human, animal, and divine.21
19
For references, see Smith 2002a:60–5; cf. Judg 11:24; see also Deut. 32:8–9 in the LXX
and DSS and Ps. 82. However, the identification of these gods as national or dynastic is
somewhat speculative. See regarding Ammon, Cornell 2015:73–80.
20
For exceptions, see Chapter 6, note 89.
21
For a convenient summary and largely incisive analysis of the biblical and ANE data, see
Hendel 1999.
Genesis 3:1 identifies the snake as an animal of the field created by Yahweh
(presumably a pre slithering prototype of later snakes [3:14]). At the same
time, the snake is capable of human speech, which in 2:19–20 is the quality
that distinguishes humans from animals. In addition, the snake has godlike
qualities. It is cleverer than the other animals (3:1) as well as early humans
and seems to possess secret knowledge otherwise reserved for the gods. In
fact, Yahweh seems to prohibit the consumption of the fruit (2:17) because
by eating it humans would gain the divine ability to distinguish good from
evil, becoming “like” Yahweh and his divine coterie (3:22). This awakening
prompts Yahweh to banish humans from the garden, lest they eat of the
Tree of Life and attain another godlike quality, immortality, thereby further
blurring the otherwise clear lines between human and divine (3:22–4).
Popular and scholarly imagination often associates the serpent with the
devil figure, the personification of all evil.22 However, there is no hint of
such a connection in the text, unless read through the lens of later texts and
interpretations. Instead of being a villain, the serpent seems to better fit the
trickster archetype, who uses cunning to break the rules and challenge the
status quo, often with mixed results (e.g., Greek Prometheus, Norse Loki,
Chinese Monkey, West African Anansi, and Polynesian Maui).
Serpents play ambivalent roles in adjacent cultures as well. On one
hand, they threaten danger. For example, various spells against snakebite
feature at Ugarit, while Apep, the giant Egyptian serpent, threatens the
sun god Re as he travels through the underworld each night.23 On the
other hand, serpents also protect. For example, the Egyptian uraeus
serpent protects the pharaoh, while another divine snake, Mehen, defends
Re in his nightly battles with Apep.24 Elsewhere in the Bible, we find
a similar ambivalence, as Yahweh uses snakes to punish the Israelites,
only to use another bronze snake to effect their cure (Num. 21:1–9). This
same bronze snake later must be destroyed because it has become an
object of worship (2 Kgs 18:4).25 In addition to serving as a source of
danger and protection, snakes also have been associated with immortality.
22
Regarding this figure, see the following chapter.
23
Regarding snakebite at Ugarit, see, for example, texts 48, 53, 54 in Pardee 2002. The
importance of the battle for the sun to reemerge each morning in Egypt even elicits human
participation. In the “Book of Overthrowing Apep” (EA 10188, 13 cols. 22–32), human
priests burn an effigy of Apep and mistreat a statue of him to help ensure Re’s victory.
24
Regarding the uraeus and the goddess Wadjet, see S. Johnson 1990. References to the
protective role of Mehen appear in the Amduat (Hornung 1999:38–9, 57, 78–9, 123).
25
The seraphim in Isa. 6, who surround the divine throne, have also been identified as
serpents (see the following chapter).
They shed their skin, indicating new birth, and in the Gilgamesh Epic,
a serpent steals from the protagonist the plant that grants immortality
(XI:279–89).
Cherubim
Cherubim (hakkərubîm) appear in Genesis 3:24 to protect the tree of life
from human incursion – that is, to keep humans from becoming more fully
divine (Gen. 3:22).26 Although commentators often assume two cheru-
bim, similar to the cherubim accompanying the ark in the temple and
tabernacle, the text does not specify their number.27 In turn, there theor-
etically could be two or two million.28 In fact, beyond their protective
role, Genesis offers no further description of these characters. Elsewhere,
a single cherub serves as a divine mount in a storm theophany (2 Sam.
22:11 = Ps. 18:11), suggesting a winged creature of the appropriate size
and shape to support a divine rider.29 Several texts refer to Yahweh as the
“cherubim dweller” (1 Sam. 4:4; 2 Sam. 6:2; 2 Kgs 19:15; Isa. 37:16; Ps.
80:1; Ps. 99:1; 1 Chr 18:6). Inanimate cherubim also feature in sacred
space and with sacred objects. Twin golden cherubim appear facing each
other with wings spread upward, apiece with and atop the ark’s cover in
P (Exod. 25:18–22; 37:7–9), while in the temple twin free-standing golden
cherubim cover the ark with their wings (1 Kgs 6:23–9; 8:6–7; 2 Chr 3:10–
13; 5:7–8). Embroidered cherubim also adorn the tabernacle interior, its
entrance, and the curtain between interior rooms (Exod. 26:31; 36:8, 35;
37:7–9).30 In the temple, cherubim decorate the interior and its doors (1
Kgs 6:29–35; cf. 2 Chr 3:7, 14; Ezek. 41:18–20, 25) as well as the bronze
basins (7:29, 36).
26
Syntactically, the sword or sword bearer could be the guardian, while the cherubim were
stationed there. However, it is more natural to read the cherubim and (or with) the
sword(bearer) as guardian. See later in this chapter for more on the sword.
27
See P. Miller 1973:31.
28
It is unclear if we are to imagine the area east of Eden as open-access, enclosed with
a gateway, small, or large. While two fits with the presentation of the ark itself, both the
tabernacle and temple are adorned with multiple cherubim (Exod. 26:31; 36:8, 35; 37:7–
9; 1 Kgs 6:29–35; 7:36; 8:6–7; Ezek. 41:18–20, 25). As such, it is difficult to envision how
many cherubim are intended. Nonetheless, because of the ANE preference for twin
guardian figures, two remains most likely.
29
See classically Cross 1973:147–63.
30
Coverings prevent the cherubim-bedecked curtains from being visible from the outside
(Exod. 26:7–14). If the tabernacle boards are solid (Exod. 26:17–28; 36:21–34), then the
curtains are only visible on the interior ceilings. See regarding the boards, Hurowitz
1995:134–43, 147–51.
Excursus: The Cherubim Formula

Since it has been the object of some controversy, Yahweh as cherubim
dweller requires further comment. Translating the divine epithet yoˉ šeˉ b
hakkәrubîm as “enthroned upon the cherubim,” scholars have envisioned
the cherubim as forming a divine throne or the supports for an invisible
divine throne.31 However, there is reason to question, if not dismiss, this
interpretation.32
The expression itself is ambiguous. The two words seem to be in
a construct relationship, with a literal rendering “sitter,” “sojourner,”
or “dweller of the cherubim,” and by extension “ruler of the cherubim.”33
The translation “enthroned upon the cherubim” combines two of the
possible meanings “sitter” and “ruler” and reads an implied ‘al
(“upon”) between words.34 In addition, yoˉ šeˉb in construct does not
mean “enthroned” anywhere else in the Hebrew Bible.35 Thus, the trans-
lation “enthroned upon the cherubim” is not the most obvious and finds
insufficient contextual support to suggest it.36 Syntactically and context-
ually, “dweller of the cherubim” is the most appropriate option, with
“ruler of the cherubim” as a possible extended meaning.37
Scholars who opt for the generally accepted translation do so primarily
because of contextual factors. They find support in archaeology,
a particular interpretation of the ark, imagery elsewhere of Yahweh as
an enthroned king (i.e., Isa. 6), and a textual link between cherubim and
the divine throne (Ezek. 10). However, none of their arguments is decisive;
in fact, the evidence points in a different direction.
The Megiddo ivories (ca. 1250–1150 BCE) and Ahiram’s sarcophagus
from Byblos (ca. tenth century BCE) in particular depict a throne flanked
by sphinx-like creatures. Scholars compare these findings to the biblical
description of the ark, suggesting that Yahweh sits enthroned upon the
outstretched wings of the cherubim or the cherubim form the supports for
an invisible throne.38 However, there is no precedent for suggesting that
31
Or more loosely, they claim the ark itself is the throne. See, for example, Albright 1938;
Haran 1978:246–59; Mettinger 1982a:109–38; cf. Ra. Schmitt 1982:128–9. For a survey
of interpretations, see Eichler 2015.
32
Wood 2008; Eichler 2011.
33
Cf. for example, Num. 21:1 where the king of Arad is said to yoˉ šeˉ b hannegeb, which most
likely indicates that he ruled the Negev (Wood 2008:12–13). The participial form
occasionally means ruler elsewhere (e.g., Isa. 10:13; Amos 1:5–8); Propp 2006:516–19.
34
A view supported by the LXX translation of the formula (Wood 2008:11–12).
35
Eichler 2014:366–7.
36
Cf. Wood 2008:9–22; Eichler 2014, though he perhaps overstates his case.
37 38
Cf. Judg. 1:9; Num. 14:25; Wood 2008:9–14. See Mettinger 1982b:119–24.
the god or king figure sits atop the outstretched wings of the creature,
which would make an awkward and most unsteady seat or support for
both the enthroned figure and his seat(bearer). If we interpret the creature
as forming a support for the chair, we run into the problem of an unmen-
tioned invisible chair in the biblical text.
In context, neither the cherubim as a throne support nor as seat makes
the most sense of the data. The most concrete textual support for this
proposal appears in Ezekiel 10, where the throne of divine glory is situated
upon (‘al) the cherubim (10:1).39 However, as we shall see, the Ezekiel
passage is bizarre, difficult, and anomalous. As such, it should not be given
undue weight.40 While the text employs throne imagery with Yahweh
elsewhere, the ark is never called a throne, nor does it describe Yahweh
sitting atop it. In addition, divine presence is primarily associated with the
ark, rather than the cherubim.41 Indeed, in Genesis 3, the cherubim are
present as guardians so that Yahweh does not have to be.
In the Priestly tabernacle account, Yahweh meets and speaks with
Moses from above the ark cover (kappoˉ ret) and between the cherubim
(Exod. 25:22). Rather than resting atop the cherubim, Yahweh thus
appears in the small space beneath and between the cherubim wings and
above the kappoˉ ret.42 P diverges from its biblical and ANE analogues
further in that the cherubim face each other with both wings spread
over their heads to form a canopy over the ark. In the temple account in
the Dtr the cherubim face forward with wings outstretched, with
one wing touching the outer wall and the other the wing of its partner
39
Cf. the use of ‘al for Yahweh as rider upon the cherub (2 Sam. 22:11; Ps. 18:11).
40
See with references Eichler 2015:26–7.
41
For associations between Yahweh and the ark, see Hundley (forthcoming A).
42
In each context, the nominal mā sā k refers to a physical and visual boundary marker,
denoting the screen that allows access: (1) to the tabernacle court (Exod. 27:16; 35:17;
38:18, 39:40, 40:8, 40:33), (2) to the tent itself (26:36–7; 35:15; 36:17; 39:38; 40:5, 28),
and (3) to the tent’s inner sanctuary where the ark and kappoˉ ret rest (35:12; 39:34;
40:21). In the latter context “the veil for the screen” (p̄ ā roˉ ket hammā sā k) appears. The
related verbal form skk is also used to describe the function of the veil, to screen the ark
from view (Exod. 40:3, 21). This same verbal form appears to describe the cherubim
soˉ kəkîm bəkanpêhem ‘al-ĕ hakkappoˉ ret, screening the area above the kappoˉ ret (Exod.
25:20; 37:9; cf. 1 Kgs 8:7; 1 Chr 28:18). Thus, when the text says that the cherubim cover
(skk) with their wings the area above the kappoˉ ret (Exod. 25:20; 37:9), where Yahweh
appears, it is natural to assume that these wings are a boundary marker. In turn, instead of
isolating divine presence to a statue, the P writers seem to locate Yahweh’s presence with
boundary markers. The gold slab of the kappoˉ ret and the wings serve as the vertical
boundaries, while the cherubim themselves set the horizontal limits. Yahweh’s presence
appears only between them (Exod. 25:20–2); cf. Wood 2008:30–1; see also Eichler 2011.
(1 Kgs 6:23–9). The priests place the ark beneath the cherubim wings,
which form a covering over it (8:6–7). Perhaps even more than in
P then, the outstretched five-cubit wings make for a poor seat or
support for an invisible seat.
By contrast, the translation “cherubim dweller” appears plausible in
context.43 The cherubim in Genesis 3:24 serve as guardians of the garden,
which Yahweh created (2:8–9) and owns (2:15), and in which he walks
(3:8). As noted, the three- and two-dimensional cherub figures in the
tabernacle and temple also adorn his dwelling place and may parallel his
Edenic or heavenly abode (cf. Exod. 25:9, 40; Heb. 8:5). Elsewhere,
cherubim are closely associated with Yahweh’s presence as well, serving
either as a mount (2 Sam 22:11; Ps. 18:11) or moving throne support
(Ezek. 10:1). Although less likely grammatically, “ruler of the cherubim”
has some contextual support since in every instance the cherubim are
subordinate to Yahweh.
The expression “cherubim dweller” may indicate that in his natural
habitat Yahweh dwells with cherubim, a situation they do their best to
recreate in his sanctuary. Elsewhere in the ANE, the shrine was associated
with heaven and adorned with hybrid creatures. In Egypt, the shrine
housing the cult statue was called “heaven” and served as a portal to the
divine world.44 In Mesopotamia as well, the shrine of the Anu-Adad
temple of Aššur was designed to be “like the interior of the heavens.”45
It also featured numerous fantastical creatures that served various
functions.46
What, then, does a cherub look like? Nothing may be said definitively,
except they bear little resemblance to the cute and cuddly figures of
modern lore.47 Aside from Ezekiel, the texts are mostly silent, which
may imply that the audience knew what a cherub looked like. As with
human figures, the cherubim are described only when it is necessary to
explain something in the text (e.g., their positioning in the tabernacle and
temple). Ezekiel describes them more fully precisely because they are
anomalous, just as the text takes time to describe abnormal human
features (i.e., Goliath’s size [1 Sam 17] and Eglon’s girth [Judg. 3]).
43 44 45
Eichler 2014:368–70. Hundley 2013a:46–7. RIMA 2.A.0.87.1.vii:97–101.
46
47
This more modern depiction corresponds to the softening of Yahweh’s attendants (see
also angels) and of Yahweh himself in art and literature, in contrast to the hardening of
characters seen as enemies of Yahweh like the serpent.
Their description appears in a vision and stretches the mind’s ability to

visualize. Indeed, literary descriptions often transcend categories far more
than visual representations to such an extent that they are not meant to be
visually imagined or even fully conceptualized (see, e.g., the description of
Ninurta in STT 118 rev or Marduk in Enuˉ ma eliš). The description of the
cherubim in Ezekiel also stands at odds with other biblical descriptions.48
In addition, the text labels the beings “living creatures,” not cherubim
(Ezek. 1:5, 13–14, 19–22).49 Labeling these creatures cherubim in Ezekiel
10 then may be a conflation for the purposes of harmonization.50 Thus,
we should not take the description of the cherubim in Ezekiel as represen-
tative of all cherubim in the Hebrew Bible. At most, it represents a variant
tradition.
What do the other texts tell us? Genesis 3:24 gives no hint, unless we
are to understand the sword as being held by a cherub, indicating a hand
with opposable thumbs.51 In both tabernacle and temple texts, cherubim
have wings (wings are also assumed in 2 Sam 22:11 for the purpose of
flight). Exodus 25:20 mentions a face, while 2 Chronicles 3:11–13 refers
to feet. In the temple, each golden cherub stands ten cubits high matching
its wingspan (1 Kgs 6:24–5), suggesting that a cherub may stand. Its
matching height and wingspan suggest that it is a biped, maybe in
human shape.52 Perhaps we should not take the measurements too liter-
ally because if each wing is five cubits in length, there is little girth to the
cherub torso (cf. 2 Chr 3:11–13). It would effectively be standing wings.
However, a winged human would make a very awkward mount for the
deity (2 Sam 22:11; Ps. 18:11). Alternatively, a cherub may simply be
a bird, though comparative evidence and its position in the temple make
this less likely. A cherub, then, is probably a winged land animal, whether
a winged biped or a quadruped. It is also possible that we have alternate
traditions: a winged biped, a winged quadruped, and Ezekiel’s hybrid
(which seems to be a winged, four-faced creature with a human body).
48
Eichler 2015:26–7.
49
Perhaps their animation serves as a deliberate contrast to the inanimate statuary in the
temple and tabernacle.
50
The label “cherubim” as the product of editorial activity is the generally accepted view
among scholars. For references, see Eichler 2015:27n1.
51
However, as we will see in the next section, this is not the best interpretation.
52
If the cherubim were quadruped, they also would shelter the ark cover with their bodies,
not wings. Quadrupeds facing each other with wings extended over their heads is likewise
an awkward position with no ANE precedent. See Eichler (n.d.) for these and other
arguments in favor of a winged human. For a history of interpretations, see Eichler 2015.
Before offering firmer conclusions about the cherubim in Genesis, we

turn to the wider ANE for other comparable guardian figures.53 In
Mesopotamia, numerous hybrid and fierce natural creatures like bison,
fish-men, goat-fish, wild dogs, wild bulls, scorpion-men, lions, long-
haired heroes, kuˉ ribu-genii, and lion-headed eagles guarded portals to
and between sacred spaces, many of which were adorned with precious
materials like gold.54 In a few cases, fierce creatures stood beside the
divine seat in the sanctuary. For example, Assurnasirpal II boasted of
placing “wild ferocious gold dragons (ušumgalluˉ ) by [the] seat” of
Ninurta in Nimrud (Kalhu).55
˘
In Egypt, the sphinx, with a leonine body and human or other animal
head, marked the processional paths connecting the landing quay to the
main entrance of the temple and occasionally connected temples by land
(e.g., Karnak to Luxor).56 The sphinx both served a protective function
and as boundary markers, forming a passage along which processing
deities could travel without leaving divine space. Among the Hittites as
well, seemingly protective lions and sphinx featured at temple portals.57 In
the Levant, twin lions framed the entrance to several temples.58 In the
Syro-Hittite temples of ˁAin Dara and Aleppo, various hybrid and fer-
ocious figures likewise featured, probably serving a protective function.59
In non-temple iconography as well, we have examples of Egyptian-style
winged sphinx flanking a divine or human throne.60
The Mesopotamian aladlammû, the majestic protective and interces-
sory figures, stood on either side of entryways to palaces and presumably
also temples.61 They served as the ideal bouncers, protecting the divine
53
Many scholars identify the cherub based on archaeological and comparative analysis as
a winged lion with human face. Albright 1938; G. Wright 1957:141; de Vaux 1967:234–
8; Keel 1977:18 and 2007:294–301; Metzger 1985:323; Mettinger 1999; Wood
2008:202–3; Staubli 2020.
54
Hundley 2013a:66–8; see further with references Novotny 2010:131–5.
55
RIMA 2.A.0.101.30:69–73; Novotny 2010:131; Hundley 2013a:65.
56
Hundley 2013a:24. Regarding the sphinx’s appearance, see ibid. 168. For a general
examination of the sphinx, see Demisch 1977.
57 58
Hundley 2013a:92. Ibid. 115.
59
Alternatively, the presence of these creatures may simply be a way of setting apart the
divine sphere and its god. For example, surrounding the Weather-God-of-Aleppo with
fierce and hybrid creatures highlights his supernatural otherness and superiority even over
the most dangerous of creatures. Regarding the temples, see respectively Abu Assaf 1990
and the summaries of Kohlmeyer 2009 and 2013.
60
See Mettinger, who associates these sphinx with the biblical cherubim (1999).
61
See Chapter 1 under Protective Deities for more details. See also Foxvog, Heimpel, and
Kilmer 1980–3; ANEP 646; Hundley 2013a:224, 227–8.
sphere from unwanted attention while introducing appropriate guests

to the deity. Depicted as often winged, colossal human-headed bulls or
lions outside temples or palaces, these figures also took human guise
when leading worshippers into the divine presence and more generally
served to protect individuals from all sorts of ills, including demonic
influence.
Like its ANE counterparts, the cherubim in Genesis 3:24 mark and
guard the boundaries of divine space. With the “flame of the whirling
sword,” they serve as an intimidating security force, bouncers who pre-
vent unwanted ingress while perhaps allowing entry to those on the
approved list.62 As in the wider ANE, the cherubim are likely intimidating
in appearance, yet with an otherworldly beauty befitting the divine space
and its master. They too appear as both living creatures and guardian
statuary. Like the aladlammû, they may adopt two forms, human(like)
and hybrid, depending on the circumstance.63
Flame of the Whirling Sword

After expelling humans from the garden, Yahweh stations “the cher-
ubim and (the) flame of the whirling sword” to guard the way to the
tree of life in Genesis 3:24. Many have translated lahat ̣ haḥereb as
“flaming sword” or “sword flaming.”64 However, this translation is
not the best or at least not the most literal. Since it appears in
a construct chain, the second noun modifies the first, not the other
way around; thus, “flame of the sword,” not “sword of the flame” or
“flaming sword.” The participle “whirling”65 (hammithappeket) modi-
fies the sword since both are feminine; thus, “flame of the whirling
sword.”66 While the translation is rather straightforward, its interpret-
ation is not.67 What is (the) flame of the whirling sword, and what is
its relationship to the cherubim?
62
The text nowhere grants anyone access, but presumably they would stand aside for God
or one of his envoys.
63
Whether these forms comprise part of the same tradition or represent (competing)
alternatives remains unclear.
64
So most major English translations. P. Miller translates the expression “flaming, turning
sword” (1973:31).
65
“Turning this way and that” is a fuller translation of whirling (BDB, 246). “Whirling”
could indicate the whirl of swordplay (Hendel 1985:671n6) or more simply turning
itself – that is, rotating or revolving (Wenham 1998:86).
66 67
Hendel 1985:671–2. Ibid.
Many have interpreted flame of the whirling sword as a flaming sword

in the hand of the cherub.68 However, the conjunction “and” suggests
that the lahat ̣ haḥereb is an object separate from the cherubim.69 In
addition, lahat ̣ haḥereb is in the singular, while the cherubim are plural,
indicating a mismatch between flame and cherubim.
The phrase more likely refers to the flame generated by a whirling
sword or the flame itself wields the whirling sword. Scholarly interpret-
ations vary. Some suggest meteorological phenomena, a lightning bolt
guarding the garden.70 Others posit an animate weapon akin to those in
the Levant and Mesopotamia.71 Finally, Hendel suggests an independent
being called Flame who wields a whirling weapon.72
The best parallels to “flame of the whirling sword” as divine weapon
probably come from Baal’s animate weapons used to defeat Yamm in the
Baal Cycle (KTU 1.2.iv:11–27) and Ninurta’s deified weapon Šarur,
which is an active character in Lugale.73 Like Baal’s weapons,
lahat ̣ haḥereb seems to be animate. No one appears to wield the whirling
weapon, though it remains to be seen whether the weapon is named
“Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword” or there is an animate being named
Flame who wields this potentially animate sword. Flame too is tasked
with a clear purpose, to guard the garden. If “Flame-of-the-Whirling-
Sword” is the name of a weapon, it too is given a name related to its
function. However, unlike Baal’s weapons, it is named not for purpose but
effect. It is an animate, whirling sword named for its ability to generate
flame. Nonetheless, while flame as the name of the sword is plausible, the
phrase remains somewhat awkward. Why not name the sword “Flame”
or describe the object rather than name it (e.g., the flaming and whirling
sword)? Perhaps “of the whirling sword” is a necessary descriptor to
specify what kind of flame is intended. In fact, it may not be a name at
all, but rather a description focusing on its effect – that is, flame generated
by the whirling sword.
68
P. Miller interprets it as originally in the hand of the cherubim, comparing it to Ugaritic
fiery messengers (1965:259 and 1973:28–31).
69
Hendel 1985:672.
70
See Zimmerli 1957:183; Cassuto 1961:176; von Rad 1968:97–8.
71
Gaster 1969:48–9; Gunkel 1997:25. Speiser and Gese adduce some comparative evidence
from Mesopotamia and Syria-Palestine (respectively 1964:24–5; 1973:80–1). Westermann
equivocates between an animate weapon and lightning (1974:374; see also Cho 2007:275).
72
Hendel 1985:672–4; followed by W. Watson 1999b:335.
73
See Chapter 4 under What Is a God?
Alternatively, Flame could be an independent fiery being that served as

a guardian alongside the cherubim.74 In the wider ANE, “Flame” appears
as a divine name: dNablum (“Flame”) serves as the vizier of the fire god in
a Babylonian god list.75 Others posit potential parallels from the Hebrew
Bible, yet their illustrative value is at best inconclusive.76 Joel 2:3 refers to
the divine army with fire devouring in front and flame burning behind.
However, Joel more likely offers a description of the destruction itself,
with fire and flame either metaphorical language to indicate total destruc-
tion or more literally burning everything that stands before them and
leaving smoldering flames in their wake. Psalm 104:4 refers to fire and
flame as Yahweh’s ministers. This personification either may indicate
animate divine servants or simply be a way of expressing Yahweh’s
mastery over creation in poetic language, which is an overarching purpose
of the psalm.
If “Flame” is understood as an animate being, the modifier “of the
whirling sword” then serves to indicate its primary weapon. Just as
Resheph-of-the-Arrow indicates his characteristic weapon, so too would
the whirling sword be characteristic of Flame.77 The sword then may
whirl because of Flame’s swordsmanship or itself be animate like Baal’s
weapons. In the end, with such scant evidence, it is hard to decide between
interpretations.
Regardless, Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword is a suitable guardian of
Eden alongside the cherubim, as it is potent, evocative, and dangerous.
It offers a threefold threat – flame, sword, and whirling – and its descrip-
tion is aberrant enough to cause some measure of cognitive dissonance,
causing interpreters to simplify the image into a sword held by the cherub.
Read appropriately, however, the description’s otherness and intimidat-
ing potency make it a suitable divine security system.
Sons of God
Genesis 6:1–4 contains perhaps the most striking and enigmatic reference
to divine plurality. In these verses, bənê ĕ hā ’ĕ loˉ hîm (“sons of god”) appear
and mate with “daughters of men” (ĕ bənôt hā ’ā dā m) producing offspring.
74
Hendel 1985:672–3.
75
An=Anum II 342, cited in CAD N/2, 26b and W. Watson 1999b:335. See ibid. for other
parallels, and regarding the related fire gods see W. Watson 1999a.
76
W. Watson 1999b:335–6.
77
Hendel 1985:673. Hendel (673–4) also notes other seemingly divine beings who carry
swords (Josh. 5:13–15; Num. 22:23; 1 Chr 21:6).
While some dissenting voices remain, there is widespread agreement that

these divine sons are divine beings.78 Nowhere in the Bible are humans
referred to as “sons of god(s).”79 In its other appearances, the expression
bənê ĕ hā ’ĕ loˉ hîm refers to divine beings who appear before Yahweh as
a divine council of sorts (Job 1:6; 2:2; cf. 38:7; Dan. 3:25). The related
expressions bənê ’eˉ lîm (“sons of gods” or “divine sons”; Ps 29:1; 89:7 [6];
cf. Deut. 32:8) and bənê ‘elyôn (“sons of the Most-High”; Ps. 82:6), the
latter of which stands in parallel with “gods,” likewise refer to divine
beings. In addition, the birth of supersized Nephilim and Gibburim sug-
gests mixed parentage.80 Other West Semitic texts also support identify-
ing the sons of gods as gods.81 Ugaritic texts from the late second
millennium frequently refer to the sons/children of El (bn ı̉ l) as well as
the seventy sons of Athirat (KTU 1.4.vi:46), who function as major gods,
while other first-millennium West Semitic texts use similar expressions.82
78
Dissenting voices seem to object primarily on theological grounds, uncomfortable with
the union of human and divine. Contextually, others are uneasy with the omission of
divine punishment. In other words, if the sons of gods are in fact divine, why doesn’t the
text punish them? However, if Yahweh did punish these divine beings, we should not
expect to find it in the text, since the text very rarely pulls back the divine curtain to show
events occurring off the human stage. Since such punishment would have occurred in the
divine sphere, it is beyond the human purview. See briefly J. Day 2012:427–9. For
a history of interpretation, see Dexinger 1992. See more recently and exhaustively,
Doedens 2019. Some argue that sons of god refers to early human royalty; see, for
example, Millard 1967:12; for earlier interpretations, see P. Alexander 1972; cf.
Westermann 1974:371–3. Other suggest that the sons of god refers to the godly
Sethites as opposed to the ungodly Cainites or vice versa; for the former, see Murray
1957:243–9; Scharbert 1967; for the latter, Eslinger 1979. The earliest (dominant)
interpretation, emerging in the second century BCE, identifies the sons of god as angels
(Doedens 2019:77–177), coinciding with the consolidation of other gods into the angel
category. Grossmann has recently proposed that the sons of god are giants (2018).
79
However, Ugaritic texts refer to the king as “son of god” (bn ı̉ l) (Wyatt 1999a:560–2).
80
Though see later in this chapter regarding the identification of these beings as the divine-
human offspring.
81
Hendel 2004:23–5.
82
J. Day argues that the seventy sons of god in Genesis 6 mirror the seventy sons of El and
Athirat at Ugarit (1985:174–5; 2002:23–4; 2012:429). Following the LXX and DSS
(4QDeutj) and against the MT (in line with many commentators including the New
Revised Standard Version translation), Day reads Deut. 32:8–9 as stating that the Most
High (Elyon) divided the nations according to the sons of god. In other words, each nation
received a son of god as its overseer and Israel was allotted to Yahweh. Since there were
seventy nations in Gen. 10, Day deduces that there should be seventy sons of god. He finds
support for his assertion in the later Jewish reference to seventy guardian angels of the
nations (Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Deut. 32:8; 1 Enoch 89:59–77; 90:22–7), support-
ing both the number seventy and the consolidation of the lower gods into the angel
category. Cf. for an alternative reading Parker 1995:550.
While it seems clear that the text has divine beings in mind, what sort of
“sons of god” are intended remains elusive. Since the biblical text rarely
describes activity in the divine world, the sons of god are mentioned as
they pop in to interact with human women in the human world. As
quickly as they come, they retreat behind the divine curtain. Who they
are and what Yahweh does with them remain a mystery. All that we see is
the terrestrial repercussions of their actions.
Naturally, this mystery has been the subject of significant
speculation.83 So, who or what are the bənê-ĕ hā ’ĕ loˉ hîm? Before address-
ing their identity and function, we need to examine our translation. Bənê-
ĕ hā ’ĕ loˉ hîm could be rendered “sons” or “children” of “the gods,” “God,”
or “the divine.”84 As noted, the word ’ĕ loˉ hîm, while grammatically plural,
could be used as a true plural meaning “gods,” an abstract plural meaning
“divinity,” or a title for the Israelite Yahweh. It is hard to decide between
the possibilities, and for our purposes one’s conclusion has minimal
import.85
Whatever the appropriate translation, “sons of god” seems to indicate
generic members of the god category as at Ugarit.86 Just as daughters of
men refers to beings in the human category, the paired sons of god
indicates beings in the god category. More precisely, because of their
union with human women, the sons of god should be understood as
male. In fact, the sons of god are unique in the Hebrew Bible as the only
divine beings with explicit sexuality.87 The sons of god as members of the
divine species corresponds with the expression “son of x” as indicating
membership in a group, such as the son of man as a human (i.e., Ezek.
33:2) or the son of the prophets as a prophet (i.e., 1 Kgs 20:36).88
83
See, for example, the Enochic Book of Watchers; see further the summary in Doedens
2019. See also A. Wright 2015.
84
See BDB bn 1–2, 120–1 for the use of bn to refer to males or children more broadly.
85
How the ambiguous phrase was intended may be variable, as the texts occasionally
substituted the plural ’eˉ lîm or the singular ‘Elyôn for (ha)’ĕ loˉ hîm (cf. however the
possibility that bənê ’eˉ lîm be read as the “sons of El” with an enclitic m [e.g., Cho
2007:122; cf. the comparable reading of bn ı̉ lm at Ugarit as the “sons of El”], which
alternatively would suggest that (ha)’ĕ loˉ hîm should always be understood as a singular);
see briefly Parker 1999b:794–5.
86
Parker 1999b:795–6.
87
This represents the only instance of interspecies mating or divine mating of any kind; Cf.
Garr 2003:54–5. Elsewhere the text assigns gender to angels, referring to them alterna-
tively as “men” (Gen. 19:5, 8, 10, 12, 16) and “angels” (19:1, 15); cf. 18:2 where three
men are juxtaposed with Yahweh, suggesting that at least in this particular incarnation
Yahweh is male. Gen. 32:23 (24) identifies Jacob’s mysterious combatant as a “man.”
88
See BDB bn 7a for convenient references; cf. 1.i–j.
While this use of sons of god is unique in Genesis and Exodus in that
there is no acknowledged relationship between them and Yahweh, there is
nonetheless strong contextual evidence that they are to be understood as
subordinate to Yahweh.89 Their subordination may be inferred in this
passage, at least in its composite form, since their mingling prompts divine
judgment in the following verses. Elsewhere it is more explicit, as the sons
of god report to Yahweh (Job 1:6; 2:2), celebrate his creation (Job 38:7),
praise him (Ps. 29:1), and cannot be compared with him (Ps. 89:7 [6]).90
Even if sons of god should simply be understood as gods, those who
belong to the son of x category may be understood as junior members or
at least not the leader of the group. For example, the sons of the prophets
have a father – that is, a leader (1 Sam 10:11–12).91 At Ugarit as well, the
sons of El function as a collective associated with and subordinate to El.92
In addition to falling hierarchically beneath El, the sons of El also seem to
possess less power than El, the high god (KTU 1.16.v:24–8). Like the sons
of god in Genesis 6, the sons of El also may visit humans on earth,
a journey El himself never makes.93
Some question remains whether “son” has a biological component to
it. At Ugarit, there seems to be a biological relationship between El and his
sons and Athirat and her sons. El is called the progenitor of the gods (ı̉ l
ḥtk; KTU 1.1.ii:8; iii:6; 1.6.iv:11) and thus father of the sons of El (ả b bn
ı̉ l; KTU 1.32.i:25, 33)94 and Athirat the creatress of the gods (qnyt ı̉ lm;
KTU 1.4.i:22; 1.4.iii:26, 30, 35; 1.4.iv:32; 1.8:2).95 However, if such
a connection was intended in the Bible, it has been effectively effaced
89
Parker 1999b:798.
90
Cf. Dan. 3:25–9 where the text juxtaposes God’s “angel” with a “son of god,” attributing
the deliverance of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego to their god, thereby suggesting the
subordination of this son of god, who is simply a messenger, as well as the potential
conflation of lower god categories.
91
Cf. Cooke 1964:24; J. Day 2012:430.
92
For example, the expression El of the sons of El (ı̉ l bn ı̉ l) seems to exalt El as the head of the
council of gods, conveniently called sons of El (KTU 1.65:1; Cho 2007:87–8). See more
generally Parker 1999b:798 and 1999a:205; Cf. further L’Heureux 1979.
93
Hendel 2004:24.
94
Cf. El addressing the gods (ı̉ lm) as “my children” (bny) (1.16.v:24). It is possible that El as
father may not imply a kinship relationship. Just as the father of the sons of the prophets is
their leader not biological progenitor, so too might El simply be the leader of the sons of
El – that is, the other gods. Nonetheless, the idea of biological descent is likely here,
especially in light of the reference to El as progenitor and the biological creation of other
deities at Ugarit and elsewhere in the ANE (see famously the Mesopotamian Enuˉ ma eliš).
95
Hendel 2004:23; Cho 2007:81, 85–6, 95.
such that there is no indication of a kinship relation to Yahweh or a divine

spouse.96
At Ugarit, rather than being minor deities, the sons of El are major
gods with specific skill sets, such as Baal and weather, Yamm and the sea,
and Mot and death. In Genesis 6, there is no hint of the divine sons’
official function or abilities other than their attraction to women and
their apparent autonomy to choose mates. Nonetheless, there is some
evidence elsewhere that they may have functioned as overseers of the
nations, akin to regional governors under the supervision of the high
god. As noted in the previous chapter, in the Septuagint and Dead Sea
Scrolls reading of D 32:8–9, the Most-High (Elyon) – that is, the high
god – apportioned the nations according to the number of the bənê-
ĕ hā ’ĕ loˉ hîm, such that each nation became the ward of a particular divine
son, including Israel, which was assigned to Yahweh.97 Psalm 82 seems
to depict a radical reshuffling of the cosmic deck. Elohim stands among
the divine assembly and judges them (1–5) before sentencing them for
their misdeeds and improper oversight of their human charges. While
Elohim acknowledges their divinity – they are “gods” (’ĕ loˉ hîm), “sons of
Elyon” (6) – he renders them mortal as a consequence of their actions (7).
Verse 8 concludes with the psalmist’s plea for Elohim to take their place
and judge the whole earth. Thus, where before the sons of God ruled the
nations, now Elohim, also known as Yahweh, alone exercises oversight.
While demoting the other gods, however, the text recognizes their previ-
ous role as overseers of the nations, a perspective amply attested in the
numerous references to the gods of foreign nations.98 Psalm 82 and 89:7
(6) also indicate that some identified these sons of god as members of the
divine assembly and divine council.99 In addition, the gods’ demotion to
mortal status in 82:6–7 suggests that they were commonly thought to be
96
The text itself posits no direct relationship between the sons of god and Yahweh at all.
Regarding the possibility of a divine spouse, see Chapter 8, note 52.
97
Again, the MT states that the nations are apportioned according to the number of the
sons of Israel, which most commentators agree is an attempt to avoid the polytheistic
overtones of the alternative (J. Day 2012:429n9). Regarding the identity of Elyon, see
Chapter 6.
98
See especially Judg. 11:24. In the context of a land dispute, Jephthah as leader of Israel
asks the Ammonites, “Will you not take what your god Kemosh gives you? Should we
not possess whatever Yahweh, our elohim, has conquered for our benefit?” The mock-
ing, polemical tone and the seeming misidentification of the Ammonite god aside,
Jephthah reiterates the common assumption that each nation has its own patron god,
while at the same time intimating the superiority of Yahweh over Kemosh; see also Micah
4:5 (Parker 1995:551).
99
Cf. Hamori 2008:119.
immortal,100 a perspective that aligns with Genesis 3:22, where humans

are denied access to the tree of life presumably so that they will not be
more like “us,” the gods.101
While later traditions and interpretations identify the sons of god as
angels,102 this text and the others in the Hebrew Bible mentioning divine
sons make no such connection.103 Instead, the sons of god seem to be
beings that belong to the god category with hints elsewhere that at least
some of them may be overseers of the nations. In this account, they have
no individuation, official role, or clear relationship to Yahweh. However,
rather than being entirely bland, they mate with humans, making this
episode the best – perhaps the only – example of divine beings acting
independently and possibly rebelliously in the Hebrew Bible.104 In most
instances, divine beings are mentioned generically or according to their
role in Yahweh’s service.
Nephilim (Nəpilîm) and Gibburim (Gibboˉrîm)

Genesis 6 is unique in the Bible in presenting divine–human mating.
Nonetheless, this phenomenon features elsewhere among the Hittites,
Mesopotamians, and Greeks.105 Both versions of the Hittite Illuyanka
myth involve human–divine intercourse. In the first the goddess Inara
mates with a human man Hupasiya, while in the second the weather god
mates with the daughter of a poor man, producing a son.106 In
Mesopotamia, Gilgamesh is described as two-thirds divine and one-third
100
Cooke 1964:31.
101
Job 38:7 testifies to their longevity, indicating that the sons of god were present at
creation. The reference in 6:3 limiting the human life span may also be a way of
distinguishing humans (and their semidivine offspring) from the immortal gods. In
Ugarit as well, the sons of El seem to be immortal (KTU 1.17.vi:26–9; at least in the
sense that they do not die of old age or disease; regarding Ugarit, see Hendel 1987b:16).
102
See briefly with references Bührer 2011:498n18; Doedens 2019:77–177.
103
Cf. however Dan. 3:25, a late text that equates a son of God with an angel, seemingly
marking the conflation of all subordinate beings into the angel category or simply
identifying this particular son of God as a divine messenger.
104
The serpent in the garden is another possibility of independent, rebellious action.
However, while rebellious, the serpent is less clearly divine. See further Chapter 8
under The Origin and Trajectory of Evil.
105
The two “women” El mates with in KTU 1.23, producing the deities Dawn and Dusk
(Shahar and Shalim), are likely not human. Rather than producing giants as a human-
divine mating pair might, gods are born. Likewise, “women” may be used of both
goddesses and humans (J. Day 2012:446).
106
For an English translation, see Hoffner 1998:10–14.
human (I:46; IX:51), son of the goddess Ninsun and the human king
Lugalbanda. In Greek mythology, Greek gods and human women often
had sexual intercourse, in many cases producing offspring.107 Perhaps most
famously, Heracles (Hercules) is the product of the divine Zeus and human
Alkmene (Apollodorus, Library, 2.4.8).108 In another noteworthy example
(Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women fr. 204 M–W from the seventh or sixth
century BCE), Zeus uses the Trojan War as a means of destroying the
demigods and ending the easy commingling of human and divine.109
While most commentators assume that the Nephilim were the semidi-
vine offspring of the trans-species union,110 the language and syntax
introduce some doubt. The Nephilim (literally “fallen ones”) appear just
after human–divine mating: “the Nephilim were on the earth in those
days – and also afterward – when the sons of god used to go in to the
daughters of men, who bore them children” (6:4). Day and others contend
that the syntax indicates that the Nephilim were already present before the
beginning of the divine–human union.111 He argues further that had an
identity between human–divine offspring and Nephilim been intended,
the text could have said it more explicitly as is done in 1 Enoch 7:2 and
Jubilees 5:1.112 Before assessing this proposal, we examine the informa-
tion about the Nephilim found elsewhere.113
Numbers 13:33 contains the only other reference to the Nephilim in
the Hebrew Bible.114 Here, the Israelite spies report of an encounter
with the Nephilim, more particularly the Anakim, who are a subset of
the Nephilim.115 Next to these gigantic beings, the spies were “like
107 108
Hendel 1987b:18–20 and 2004:30–2. Translation in López-Ruiz 2013:259–74.
109
Hendel 2004:31. For a translation, see Merkelbach and West 1967:101–2. See more
fully West 1985.
110
See Hendel 1987b:14; Hamori 2008:123.
111
J. Day (2012:432–4) and others (432n14) distinguish the Nephilim from the human-
divine offspring; cf. Schüle 2006:230–1; Bührer 2011:504–5.
112
J. Day 2012:433.
113
See briefly Hendel 1987b:21 and 2004:21–2; J. Day 2012:432. See more fully Doak
2013.
114
Cf. Ezek. 32:27 and the discussion in Hendel 1987b:22; J. Day 2012:433–4.
115
The perdurance of the Nephilim until the time of the monarchy raises a problem. How
did the giants survive the flood that purportedly destroyed everything living on dry land
(7:22)? Since the Nephilim were not included on the boat, they presumably remained on
dry land and perished. The most likely explanation is that the Pentateuch preserves two
different traditions about the Nephilim whose details do not fully align, a common
phenomenon among oral cultures (Hendel 2004:22; more generally, Lord 1960:99–123;
Zumthor 1990:103). The MT awkwardly preserves their continued existence in 6:4:
“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days – and also afterward.” Alternatively,
Num. 13:33 simply may be comparing the giants of the conquest period with the
grasshoppers.” Thus, for Numbers, the Nephilim are equated with the
aboriginal giants of Canaan.116 D 2:11 further identifies the Anakim
and by extension the Nephilim with the Rephaim. After considering
the wider context, the Nephilim in Genesis 6 seem to refer to
giants.117
The etymology of the term Nephilim and their repeated fate may tell us
more about their function in the story. Nephilim literally means “fallen
ones,” an etymology that to some as early as the third century BCE Book
of Watchers (1 Enoch 6–11) associated these beings with a rebellion in
heaven tradition and understood the sons of god to be rebellious
angels.118 However, there is no explicit mention of rebellion or divine
censure of the sons of god in Genesis 6, and as Day noted, the Nephilim
may not even be envisioned as the fruit of divine-human union. The very
brevity of our passage inspired the imagination of later interpreters.119 If
available, the motivation for calling these beings “fallen ones” likely lies
elsewhere.
The perdurance and ultimate fate of these giants provides a more
plausible alternative. The giants, whether Anakim or Rephaim, are exter-
minated repeatedly, by Joshua (Josh. 11:21–2), Moses (Josh. 12:4–6;
13:12), and Caleb (Josh. 15:14; Judg. 1:20), and conclusively by David
and his men (2 Sam 21:18–22; 1 Chr 20:4–8). Thus, in Israelite history
they represent a seemingly insurmountable threat that with Yahweh’s
protection and guidance the people overcome. In other words, their
purpose is to be vanquished.120 Such an interpretation aligns with the
double use of Rephaim to refer to both giants and the shades of the
dead.121 Thus, the “Fallen Ones” may be a “name given retrospectively
to denote the giants because they had fallen and were no more.”122
Nephilim of the pre-flood era for rhetorical purposes or some Nephilim somehow
managed to survive.
116
Cf. Amos 2:9, which refers to the giant inhabitants as Amorites; Deut. 2:10, 20–1; 3:11
similarly refer to the giant inhabitants of Canaan.
117
Cf. the LXX and Vulgate translation of Num. 13:33, which render Nephilim as gigantes
(Hess 1992:1072).
118
Hendel 1987b:16; J. Day 2012:434–6, 443. See further Stuckenbruck 2004, especially
87–9 regarding the fallen angel motif.
119
Regarding the treatment of Genesis 6 in the Book of Watchers in particular and the
origin of evil spirits more generally, see A. Wright 2015.
120
Hendel 1987b:21.
121
Ibid. 22; J. Day 2002:223–5 and 2012:447. See also the use of the root npl used
elsewhere to refer to those who have died (Hendel 1987b:22).
122
J. Day 2012:434.
In the flood narrative, as in the Greek Catalogue of Women, divine-

human mating seems to be a problem that needs to be rectified, by the
flood and the Trojan War, respectively.123 While the Nephilim theoretic-
ally survive the flood, their removal by David, like the removal of mon-
sters by the heroes of the Greek Golden Age, signifies the civilization of the
human world. In both cases, the event removes the chaos of a bygone era,
just as Yahweh/Zeus civilized the divine world. Whereas the Nephilim in
Genesis were an aberration to be excised, in Greece the demigods were
necessary to combat monsters. Once the Greek heroes suitably tamed the
monsters, their services were no longer required and they could be eradi-
cated through warfare, thereby eliminating the traces of human-divine
commingling.
After surveying the Nephilim and their associates in the Hebrew Bible,
should we identify the Nephilim with the divine–human offspring? On one
hand, virtually all commentators argue that such an identity was the
original intention.124 The Nephilim certainly mirror the divine–human
offspring in Mesopotamia and Greece in terms of size and stature.
Without this divine association, their size and potency remain unanswered
mysteries. Grammatically, rather than interpret ’ă šer as “when,” as is
commonly done, it may be translated “because,” thereby rendering the
phrase, “The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also after-
wards, because the ‘sons of god’ cohabited with the ‘daughters of men’ and
they bore offspring to them.”125 In addition, even if grammatically war-
ranted, the strict separation of the Nephilim and unnamed offspring may be
a bit pedantic, as some imprecision in language may be expected. The
reference to Nephilim being on the earth in those days and afterward may
instead serve as a parenthetical statement, uniting the tradition that had
them destroyed in the flood with one that had them endure. On the other
hand, there is some grammatical merit to distancing the Nephilim from the
unnamed hybrids. Such a separation also may have served a practical
function. The interpreter may have been uncomfortable with the idea that
the demigods survived the flood, both as a way for them to receive immedi-
ate divine censure and to avoid the implication that demigods were around
beyond primeval times into the onset of the monarchy.126 In the end, it is
123
In both cases, it also serves as an explanation for why demigods are no more.
124 125
See J. Day 2012:432. Doedens 2019:67 (italics original).
126
If Hendel (1987b) is correct that the story initially served as a prelude to the flood, whose
purpose was to destroy the demigods, their survival would be anticlimactic and
counterintuitive.
hard to make a definitive statement given the paucity and opacity of the
available evidence. On the whole, it is better to identify the Nephilim with
the fruit of the divine-human union. However, for our purposes, one’s
conclusion makes little practical difference. Either we have presumably
giant, human(like) demigods who are Nephilim or giant, human(like)
demigods and giant Nephilim.
Immediately after mentioning the Nephilim and the divine-human off-
spring, the text identifies them with the gibboˉ rîm, translated as “mighty
ones” or “heroes” and described as “men of the name” – that is, “men of
renown.”127 The text, however, does not specify the antecedent of “they
(heˉ mmā h) were ancient mighty ones.” If the Nephilim are the hybrid scions,
there is no question. However, if we distinguish the two, they either could
refer to the Nephilim or the unnamed children. In context, “they” most
likely has as its antecedent the Nephilim, since they are the main subject of
the previous sentence, while the offspring appear in a subordinate clause.128
The use of gibboˉ rîm and the further descriptor identifying them as men of
renown then sheds further light on the Nephilim.129 In addition to being
gigantic, they are powerful and famous, likely for their deeds, stature, and
perhaps even their origins. While certainly well known, their martial prowess
may be interpreted either positively or negatively (compare David’s mighty
men [2 Sam. 23:8–39; 2 Chr 11:10–47] with Goliath [1 Sam. 17:51]).
Angels
130
Angels do not appear in the primeval narrative, but from Genesis 16
they are by far the most frequently mentioned category of divine being in
Genesis and Exodus (Gen. 16:7, 9, 10, 11; 19:1, 15; 21:17; 22:11, 15;
24:7, 40; 28:12; 31:11; 32:3 [1]; 48:16; Exod. 3:2; 14:19; 23:20, 23;
32:34; 33:2).131 The presentation of angels (mal’ā kîm, literally
127
By labeling them “heroes of old,” the text indicates they were mighty warriors from the
past who have “almost entirely faded from memory” (Doedens 2019:64). Ironically,
these “men of name” are given no names in the text (Jagersma 1995:84–5).
128
If the unnamed offspring were intended, heˉ mmā h would be grammatically awkward and
unnecessary (Doedens 2019:68; cf. Bührer 2011:504–5; J. Day 2012:433).
129
For Gunkel (1997:58), the more common gibboˉ rîm explains the obscure nəpilîm.
130
The following analysis is based on Hundley 2017, whose content is split between this
and the following chapter.
131
Interestingly, P and D omit angels altogether. Here, unlike elsewhere in this chapter, we
limit ourselves primarily to Gen. and Exod. since there is ample information to go on and
because other biblical texts present angels in different ways (a point we return to in the
following chapter).
“messengers”)132 in Genesis and Exodus has occasioned much discussion

without much scholarly consensus.133 There is a rather general consensus
that differentiates the angel of Yahweh/Elohim (or an angel of Yahweh/
Elohim) (mal’ak YHWH or mal’ak ’ĕ loˉ hîm) from “ordinary” angels
(mal’ā kîm), who seem to function like divine employees.134 However, as
we will see, this distinction does not seem to hold in Genesis and Exodus.
Commentators diverge about the identity and function of the angel of
Yahweh. The main lines of interpretation may be roughly divided into
three categories: identity, representation, and interpolation.135 According
to the identity theories, Yahweh/Elohim is essentially identical with his
messenger, such that the messenger is interpreted as a theophanic form of
Yahweh or a divine hypostasis.136 The representation theories, developed
by Jerome and Augustine, claim that the angel is a distinct being who
represents Yahweh as his envoy and often attribute the confusion between
messenger and deity to messenger activity that merges the two.137 The
interpolation theories suggest that, especially in texts that posit
a simultaneous identity and discontinuity (i.e., Gen. 16), the angel of
Yahweh was later inserted into the text for theological purposes.138
Here, we should also mention the related theory that angels were origin-
ally Canaanite deities who for monotheistic purposes were transformed
into Yahweh’s messengers.139
132
Note that the Hebrew term mal’ak describes divine and human messengers, who may
only be differentiated in context.
133
Among the various monographs and collected volumes, see Rybinski 1929; Stier 1934;
Heidt 1949; Hirth 1975; Röttger 1978; Guggisberg 1979; Rofé 1979; Mach 1992;
Olyan 1993; Reiterer 2007; von Heijne 2010 as well as Meier 1988 and Greene 1989
on messengers more generally and P. Schäfer 1975; Fossum 1985; Barker 1992; Sullivan
2004; Tuschling 2007 on later developments.
134
See von Rad 1964; von Heijne 2010:49. Regarding whether “messenger of the Lord” is
to be understood definitely or indefinitely, see Meier 1999b:54.
135
See the summaries in Guggisberg 1979:133–56; Von Heijne 2010:114–20.
136
See, for example, Kaufmann 1937:228; Friedman 1995:12–13; Fabry 1997:322;
Hannah 1999:20; Kugel 2003:30–5; cf. Sommer 2009:42, who refers to the angel as
an example of divine fluidity; for an assessment of his proposal with special attention to
P, see Hundley 2014a.
137
The idea that messenger activity accounts for the confusion is associated with the related
messenger theory (see especially Van der Woude 1963–4). See A. Johnson 1942:5–41;
Paul 2007; cf. Rybinski 1929; Köckert 2007:69–75; Stier (1934) modified the theory into
the vizier theory (summarized and critiqued in Guggisberg 1979:149–53); See recently
Stein 2018; for a clear refutation of the equation of messenger with sender, see Meier
1999a:49 and 1999b:58.
138
For example, Von Rad 1964:77–8; Sarna 1989:383; Meier 1999b:58–9; Gieschen
1998:54.
139
Irvin 1978:101–2.
Each of these theories has its merits; each explains some of the data
particularly well. In fact, the theories plausibly may be used to explain the
same passage. For example, Genesis 16 could be read according to the
identity theory. The angel of Yahweh appears to Hagar and addresses her
without identifying himself, speaking as if he is Yahweh. His impersonation is
so convincing that Hagar names Yahweh who spoke with her El-Roi (13). At
the same time, one could argue that in each instance, the angel is interpolated,
perhaps to avoid having God speak personally with an Egyptian. The side
effect of such insertions is that Hagar identifies the angel as Yahweh.
Alternatively, one could argue that his messenger status is self-evident and
need not be articulated in the narrative. At the end, when Hagar names
Yahweh El-Roi, she gives credit to the sending deity, not his messenger.
Nonetheless, while informative, each theory is hard-pressed to explain
all the data.140 The reason for the diversity of interpretations likely stems
from the diversity of the material itself, which presents divine messengers
(whether the angel of Yahweh or a generic angel) as enigmatic beings and
in different ways in different contexts. For example, in Genesis 31:11–13,
the angel of God (mal’ak hā ’ĕ loˉ hîm) appears to Jacob in a dream and
identifies himself as the god of Bethel (hā ’eˉ l bêt-ĕ ’eˉ l), such that there is no
clear differentiation between the angel and God.141 In contrast, in Exodus
33:2–3 Yahweh decides to send an angel (mal’ak) with the people, but
remarks that he himself will not go with them, thereby clearly distinguish-
ing himself from his angel. How should we explain this variability, one
might even say inconsistency? What is an angel in Genesis and Exodus,
and more specifically, how is it related to Yahweh himself?
Divine Messengers in the ANE

ANE deities send messengers to communicate with other deities on their
behalf, analogous to the human (especially royal) realm. In turn, ANE
divine messengers normally transmit messages between deities, not
between deities and humans.142 Mythological texts are primarily set in
140
While each theory explains certain texts, each (over)simplifies passages that are likely
meant to be complex. Rather than rehearse the arguments for and against each position,
we will proceed to the data itself.
141
One could argue that the angel is an interpolation. However, there is no need to insert an
angel into the text. A degree of distance is already present in the dream setting and
Yahweh speaks directly to the patriarchs. Inserting an angel would add unnecessary
confusion. The representation theory offers a more promising alternative. The text omits
the messenger formula since it is self-evident that the angel speaks on behalf of Yahweh.
142
See regarding Ugarit and the Bible, Korpel 1990:163, 317. The Egyptian Amun-of-the-
Road is a primary exception serving as a messenger of Amun to humans (see further
the divine world and often give an account of the divine senders commis-
sioning their messengers for a specific task. For example, in KTU 1.3.vi:6–
25, Baal sends Qadesh and Amurr to Kothar-wa-Hasis, telling the mes-
senger to introduce his speech as “message of Mighty Baal” before
delivering his message.143 When the messengers arrive, they first identify
their sender, thereby distinguishing themselves from him via a messenger
formula (i.e., in Ugarit often “message of Deity X”), before delivering the
message in the first person.144
Many ANE messenger deities are clearly distinct from their senders and
have their own names and own distinct attributes. In the vast majority of
cases, messengers are subordinate gods who serve as part of the divine
entourage and serve a major deity.145 In some contexts, the texts consider
them important enough to mention their names and characteristics. For
example, Gupan-and-Ugar and Qadesh-and-Amurr serve as divine mes-
sengers in Ugarit, while Ninšubura, Ilabrat, and Nusku serve as messen-
gers in Mesopotamia.146 In Mesopotamia and Hittite Anatolia, rather
than simply transmitting messages, messengers of the major gods
(Akkadian sukkalluˉ ) often have more expansive roles and function more
as viziers or their masters’ chief advisors.147
Although generally considered distinct, at other times their individual
identities are subsumed by their role as transmitters of messages between
deities. For example, like human messengers, they could simply serve as
a means of establishing communication between parties and propelling
the narrative forward, such that their identities as (relatively) minor deities
are incidental to the larger narrative and, thus not worthy of mention.
Chapter 3, n. 140). ANE divine “messengers” who encounter humans frequently serve
destructive purposes and are often called demons by modern commentators.
143
Regarding commissioning of messengers in the ANE, see Meier 1988:42–55.
144
Ibid. 179–86.
145
Amun-of-the-Road, explicitly identified as a messenger (wpwtyw) of Amun in the Tale
of Wenamun, is the primary exception (Schipper 2007:11–12). Rather than forming part
of Amun’s entourage, Amun-of-the-Road is a cult image of Amun himself that extends
his presence “on the road” – that is, in foreign lands (regarding the complicated
relationship between statue and deity in the ANE, see Hundley 2013a:139–371).
146
Regarding Ugarit, see briefly Cho 2007:155; for a list of messenger gods and their divine
masters in Mesopotamia, see CAD S sukkallu 1c:358–9.
147
The sukkallu is a deity in its own right who is responsible for thinking, planning, and
representing its divine master, often serving as a bridge between its master and the other
gods and between its master and the terrestrial sphere. See further Chapter 1 under
Divine Court.
Thus, while the authors considered them distinct from the deity, they did
not view them as important enough to clearly identify them.
For the most part, ANE texts also fail to describe the form of messenger
deities. When a description is included, it is usually necessary for the
purpose of the story. For example, in Ugarit messengers are presented as
winged to indicate that they can fly (KTU 1.2.i:11–13; 1.4.ii:12–6, 21–4)
and are able to cover vast distances between divine realms.148 In the Baal
Epic as well, Yamm’s messengers are presented as fire-like to express their
defiant potency (KTU 1.2.i:31–3).149
Biblical Messengers in Genesis and Exodus

While analogous, divine messengers in Genesis and Exodus are dis-
tinct in multiple ways. Rather than having their own names and
distinct attributes, angels in Genesis and Exodus are simply dubbed
“messengers” and most often as messengers of Yahweh or Elohim.
They are only named and identified according to their function (“mes-
senger”) and subordinate status (“of Yahweh”). In every instance
when “of Yahweh” is not specified (Gen. 19:1, 15; 24:7, 40; Eod.
23:20, 23; 32:34; 33:2), the context makes clear that these messengers
are messengers of Yahweh/Elohim, such that the descriptor is unneces-
sary. Thus, in Genesis and Exodus, the identity and independence of
messengers has entirely been subsumed by their function and subordin-
ate relationship to Yahweh. Every angel then is an angel of Yahweh,
whether or not the text makes it explicit. Thus, while scholars distin-
guish between an angel or angels and the angel of Yahweh, there is no
clear distinction in Genesis and Exodus. As we will see more fully in
what follows, “angel” forms a general category whose members differ in
various ways according to their purpose and function in each context,
not according to their title.150 In addition, in contrast to the ANE,
nowhere does the Hebrew Bible claim that angels have wings.151
148
Korpel 1990:546; Cho 2007:164, 167; for parallels and iconographic representations,
see Keel 1977.
149
See also Athirat’s luminous messengers in KTU 1.4.iv:16–17 (Cho 2007:176–9).
150
Plural angels are easier to distinguish from Yahweh than a solitary angel of Yahweh.
However, the context, not the label, determines the nature and function of the angel. As
we have seen, Gen. 18 even blurs the relationship between Yahweh and his angels as the
text associates the three “men” who appear to Abraham with Yahweh (18:1–2). Later in
the (composite) text, the narrator identifies one as Yahweh (18:13) and the other two as
his angels (19:1).
151
See Claus Westermann’s provocatively titled book, Gottes Engel brauchen keine Flügel
(1978).
Whereas ANE messengers primarily transmit messages between

deities, Yahweh sends his messengers to humanity. Unlike in the
ANE, Genesis and Exodus do not describe Yahweh commissioning
his messengers. In contrast to the ANE texts, which set most mytho-
logical narratives in the divine world, Genesis and Exodus give the
reader very limited access to the divine plane. The reader primarily
encounters the divine when it intersects with humanity on the human
plane. Since the text leaves the divine curtains drawn, the text includes
no commissioning, only the angelic words and activity taking place in
the human sphere.152
In Exodus, divine messengers do not speak, while the presentation
of the message in Genesis is especially peculiar. Elsewhere in the ANE,
in both the human and divine spheres, and also in the Hebrew Bible in
the human sphere, messengers speak their message on behalf of rather
than as the sender. In the Bible, for example, human messengers or
prophets often introduce their messages with “thus says Yahweh”
(koˉ h ’ā mar YHWH) or “declares Yahweh” (nə’um-YHWH). In
Genesis 32:5 (4), Jacob sends messengers to Esau, prefaced with the
messenger formula: “thus you shall say to my lord Esau: ‘Thus says
your servant Jacob.”’ Such formulations were standard throughout the
ANE world.153
In contrast, with the exception of Genesis 22:15, the divine messenger
uses no messenger formula in Genesis and Exodus.154 Instead, he speaks
in the first person as if he is Yahweh. The text occasionally even appears to
set Yahweh and his messenger in apposition, such that the two are
seemingly equated (Exod. 3:2–3).155
152
There are scattered examples elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible of human access to the
deliberations of the divine council, including commissioning (1 Kgs 22:19–23; Job 1:6–
12; 2:1–6; Isa. 6), but only as it relates to activity in and concerning human realm
(Hundley 2015b).
153
There are also instances when the Hebrew Bible flouts the messenger tradition (e.g.,
Judg. 11:9; 2 Sam 11:5–6) (Stein [forthcoming]), yet in these instances such a formula is
unnecessarily unwieldy since it is clear to whom the various references refer.
154
The phrase “declares the Lord” in 22:15 even may be understood as part of the divine
oath rather than a differentiation between speaker and sender. Another possible
example of the messenger differentiating himself from the sender may be found in
the second Hagar passage (Gen. 21:17). The messenger speaks in the third person of
Yahweh seeing her: “for God has heard the voice of the boy.” While not the messenger
formula, using the third person nonetheless seems to differentiate the speaker from God.
155
Cf. Gen. 31:13. Similarly, in Gen. 16, Hagar speaks of seeing God, while the text only
mentions the angel appearing to her.
The Textual Presentation of Angels

Having established some peculiarities of biblical messengers in relation to
their ANE counterparts, we turn to the data in the texts themselves to fill
out and explain the biblical profile. In Genesis and Exodus, divine messen-
gers appear outside of a temple context in various locales and in various
ways.156 Unlike in P and D, there is also no hint of centralization, of a single,
accessible divine form (kā bôd) or concept (šeˉ m). In divine–human encoun-
ters in Genesis and Exodus, there is little attempt to pull back the divine
curtain and describe the events in the heavenly sphere or the divine thoughts
and motivations. There is no access to the thought world of messengers
except through their words and actions in the terrestrial sphere. Instead,
Yahweh’s angels simply show up in the human sphere in different locales,
catching both the reader and the characters by surprise in an unexpected
and often unrecognized form. As such, rather than being controlled, antici-
pated, and repeatable, each encounter is uncontrolled and unexpected, with
no expectation that it can or should be repeated.
When angels do appear, Genesis and Exodus do not seem to present
a single, unified portrait of them. Instead, as is common in the ANE and
even early Jewish interpretations, their approach is context-specific, pre-
senting the divine messenger in the way that best suits the particular
context, without undue consideration for unifying all individual presenta-
tions into a consistent whole.157 As a result, regardless of whether refer-
ences to angels are early or late additions to a text, we should not expect
a fully integrated and articulated picture of them. Rather, they are intro-
duced and presented differently in accord with the different purposes of
the various passages in which they appear.
As in the ANE, Genesis and Exodus rarely describe the angelic form,
instead focusing on the function of the messenger in the passage. In
contrast to the popular image of angels as winged maternal figures,
when gendered, angels are male,158 the Hebrew Bible never indicates
they have wings, and they often elicit fear.159
156
Although they appear in etiological narratives for sanctuaries, they are set before those
sanctuaries are erected (e.g., Gen. 28 and Bethel).
157
Regarding the ANE, see Part I; regarding early Jewish interpretation, see especially von
Heijne 2010.
158
The text alternatively refers to them as “men” (Gen. 19:5, 8, 10, 12, 16) and “angels”
(19:1, 15); cf. 18:2; 32:23 (24).
159
Just as popular culture softens the image of cherubim, so too does it soften the image of
angels as the primary beings associated with Yahweh, in contrast to the hardening of
figures that come to represent evil like the snake.
In Genesis, the only explicit mention of angelic form is the reference to

the two angels who appear to Lot in Sodom as “men” (’ă nā šîm) in
Genesis 19.160 The account in Genesis 28 mentions no form, but the
description of angels as ascending and descending something like
a stairway may suggest humanlike form. Other texts simply mention
the angel showing up (i.e., finding Hagar by a spring in Gen. 16:7),
speaking (i.e., wayyoˉ ’mer lā h mal’ak YHWH [“the messenger of
Yahweh said to her”] in 16:9), and/or acting, such that the reader has
little idea what if anything an angel is supposed to look like.
While visible on specific occasions, angels seem to be invisible to human
eyes unless they choose to visibly manifest themselves. Genesis 24:7, 40
speaks of Yahweh’s angel (mal’ā kô) accompanying Abraham’s servant to
Haran in search of a wife for Isaac, yet there is no reference to the angelic
form. His presence is merely assumed and presumably invisible, an unob-
trusive extension of Yahweh that extends his presence and blessing. In
Genesis 28, the dream aberrantly makes visible what is normally invisible,
exposing heavenly reality to human eyes. While Bethel is presumably the
place where heaven and earth meet and Yahweh and his angels appear,
Jacob would not know it without the dream precisely because he could not
see what was happening on the divine plane. As such, Jacob recognizes the
dream theophany as a privileged exception and responds with appropriate
awe and reverence.
In Exodus, there is no explicit reference to angelic form. Exodus 3:2
refers to the angel appearing in a flame of fire from the midst of a bush. It
remains unclear if the angel takes the form of fire, appears in its normal
(perhaps anthropomorphic) form, or is invisible.161 In 14:19, there is no
mention of divine form, but the angel is closely associated with the pillar of
cloud and, thus may appear as the cloud, in the cloud, or near the cloud, or
be invisibly present.162
Form and Function

When the divine form is mentioned, it is necessary for the purpose of the
story. In Genesis 19, the description of the messengers as “men” is
160
Gen. 32:23 (24) refers to Jacob’s mysterious combatant as a “man” yet not a messenger.
Hosea 12:4 interprets the mysterious figure as a messenger. As noted, the man is likely
a manifestation of Yahweh, though the text presents enough peculiarities that the reader
is unsure.
161
Since the angel appears, though, it is likely visible.
162
Cf. the Ugaritic ˁnn as divine cloud and companion and vehicle of Baal (Wyatt
1992b:422; Cho 2007:147–9).
necessary as it represents the most natural form for the messengers to

receive Abraham’s hospitality and to witness the atrocities of Sodom. The
burning bush in Exodus 3 clearly serves as an attention grabber. An
invisible burning bush or another “man” would not have the same dra-
matic effect. The pillar of fire and cloud serve as visible, non-
anthropomorphic signs of divine presence and guidance and, at the sea,
protect the Israelites by standing between them and the Egyptians.
In most other cases, where no form is mentioned, a description of the
divine form seems unnecessary to communicate the divine message. In
fact, descriptions of divine form appear to be as minimalistic as possible.
Since the point of the encounters is found in the message, activity, or mere
presence of the messenger, any reference to form is unnecessary and may
distract from the message. Although necessary in some cases, these
descriptions have even in some ways detracted from the primacy of the
message, as interpreters have focused and often failed to explain the
theophanic forms at the expense of the angelic function.
The Relationship between Yahweh and His Messengers

Divine messengers in Genesis and Exodus are presented as neither fully
assimilated into Yahweh nor fully independent from him. Instead, they
fall along a spectrum between the two poles. With such a complicated
presentation, it seems that the texts’ goal is not to provide clarity, but
rather to leave the relationship between deity and messenger undefined
and variable. Such opacity serves their distinct theological agenda –
namely, to establish simultaneous presence and distance, to promote
mono-Yahwism, and to promote monolatry.163 This theological config-
uration accounts for the unique portrait of angels in Genesis and Exodus,
which likely both draws and deviates from conceptions of other ANE
messenger deities.
As we will see in the following chapter, certain presentations of deity
seem designed to establish both presence and distance, to indicate that
Yahweh is at least functionally there while distancing him from unwanted
associations. Angels seem particularly designed to serve this purpose.164
Humans have no access to divine activity or thoughts in the heavenly
sphere; they only encounter Yahweh when he chooses to intersect with
163
See further Chapter 8.
164
Divine transcendence and the use of angels to establish it is a well-established idea, so
much so that it is impossible to adequately cite scholarly references to it. See Newsom
1992:250; S. White 1999.
humanity in the human sphere. Thus, for human–divine interchange some

degree of presence is necessary. However, divine presence also may be
problematic. It tempts the reader to equate Yahweh with whatever form
he chooses to manifest himself through, to assume that Yahweh is simply
a man or even a fiery bush. Likewise, divine presence occasionally puts the
deity in unpalatable situations. For example, while it is uncomfortable for
angels to be present in Sodom, it would be unpalatable to directly thrust
Yahweh into such a situation.
The insertion of an angelic mediator allows for both presence and
distance, allowing for divine–human interaction while communicating
that, although the angel at least represents God, it is not the deity in all
his fullness. In turn, while present, Yahweh is more and more mysterious
than any single manifestation would suggest. Thus, each divine encounter
is real but incomplete, providing access to the deity without unnecessarily
limiting or impugning him.
Since each text has both sides of the paradox in mind, messengers are
presented as neither fully identical nor fully distinct, but rather as
a variable admixture of both. For example, on one side of the spectrum,
in Genesis 16, 22 and Exodus 3, the introduction of the angel introduces
some element of distance to the divine presence. Rather than fully articu-
lating the relationship between deity and angel, the text purposely blurs
the boundaries, such that it is unclear where Yahweh starts and the angel
stops. While it remains true that the texts are concerned with function and
thus demonstrate little concern for spelling out the relationship between
angel and deity, confusion (or at least circumspection) seems to be part of
the function of the texts. The texts clearly communicate that the angel
represents some form of divine presence that is not the fullness of the deity
yet goes no further. Thus, presence is assured and the reader recognizes
that, although real, Yahweh’s manifest presence does not represent
Yahweh in his unmediated fullness.
On the other side of the spectrum, although an element of presence
remains, certain texts stress the difference between Yahweh and his
angels to add distance between Yahweh and an unpalatable situation
or when another supernatural agent is necessary for rhetorical purposes.
Genesis 19 stresses the difference between Yahweh and his angels to
distance him from the situation in Sodom, while Exodus 33:2–3, in
which Yahweh says that he will not accompany Israel, merely his
angel, establishes the divine displeasure and censure by establishing
some distance, while simultaneously confirming the promise to bring
them into the land through some form of accompanying presence.
Nonetheless, even in the situations where messengers are distinct, they

are not fully independent. They have no names or identities apart from
being Yahweh’s subordinate messengers who simply act as extensions of
his person.165
What Then Is an Angel?

Given the confusing and anomalous data, it remains uncertain what an
angel is and how it relates to its divine master, Yahweh.166 It is tempting to
argue that an angel is simply a being in the divine entourage, subordinate
but not identical to Yahweh. However, as demonstrated, the text presents
a more complicated portrait that sometimes blurs the boundaries between
God and messenger by rarely using messenger formulas and occasionally
appearing to equate the messenger and its master.
Alternatively, an angel may be envisioned as a temporary overlap of
Yahweh and his subordinate. As fluid beings, deities in the ANE could
overlap to some degree.167 This is especially pronounced in Egypt, where
such common forms as Amon-Re and more complex forms as Amon-Re-
Harakhte-Atum feature,168 yet also appear in Mesopotamia, Hittite
Anatolia, and the Levant.169 In most cases, although understood to be
a distinct deity (at least temporarily), the combined form continues to exist
alongside the two deities in their own right, such that Amun, Re, and Amon-
Re are three distinct deities. In the combined form, the second name often
functions as an epithet of the first-named deity, essentially representing
a role, association, or attribute relevant to the first deity in a specific
situation. Here, it may indicate Yahweh appearing in the role of
a messenger. However, while gods like Amun and Amon-Re may coexist,
they do not appear together in the same narrative, rendering the simul-
taneous references to the messenger of Yahweh and Yahweh problematic.
The messenger of Yahweh as a divine manifestation is likewise problem-
atic. As we have seen, a deity’s many manifestations, although associated,
may be treated as distinct.170 An angel may be understood as a part of
165
As we will explore in the next chapter, angels later develop both names and identities.
166
Here we merely list and assess the possibilities. A fuller explanation of the relationship
and its rationale awaits the next chapter.
167
For the ANE possibilities, see briefly Hundley 2014a:16–26.
168
See the classic study of Bonnet 1939; ET 1999) as well as Hornung 1982:91–9 and Baines
2000:31–5.
169
See Chapters 1–4. Regarding respectively Mesopotamia, Egypt, and the Levant, see
Porter 2009c:237 and Baines 2000:34–5; cf. Smith 2001:71.
170
See also Hundley 2013a:363–71.
Yahweh’s constellation, a separable self-propelled divine agent who when

presented bears some but not all the divine essence. However, whereas
different ANE texts seem to present the relationship between
a manifestation and its referent in seemingly conflicting ways, none seem
to present such a confusing relationship within the same passage like the
biblical account.
Unfortunately, none of these alternatives is fully satisfying, and
likely for good reason, since the texts’ purpose seems to be to leave
the relationship between Yahweh and his messengers undefined and
variable. In some places the text clearly differentiates Yahweh and
messenger, yet in others it chooses to blur the definitional edges,
keeping the focus on the message and Yahweh, not on the method or
agent of delivery. As such, and as a product of the texts’ unique
theological agenda, the divine messenger in Genesis and Exodus devi-
ates from its closest ANE analogues. In the end, on a synchronic level,
it seems that even the all-knowing narrator is not quite sure what kind
of being an angel is. Or, if he knows, he is not willing to tell us, since
too much information would detract from the text’s purpose. All that
is clear is that a messenger is Yahweh’s effective but not exhaustive
presence on earth. Everything else remains purposely circumspect,
thereby producing intentionally inconclusive and variable configur-
ations to suit the specific needs of the various texts.
Whereas in the ANE deities generally communicate with their
human subjects through encrypted messages, such as in omens, oracles,
and dreams, in Genesis and Exodus the divine message itself is clear.
Instead, the divine form is in some way encrypted, such that it may be
accessed but not fully comprehended or limited to any one form or
place.
Teraphim
Teraphim (tәrā pîm) appear in Genesis 31, yet their precise identity
remains unclear. In Genesis 31:19, Rachel steals her father Laban’s tera-
phim as Jacob’s household flees from him. Laban pursues and accuses
Jacob and his household of stealing his gods (31:30), suggesting that for
Laban the teraphim fall into the god category. Laban proceeds to search
for his gods, yet in a clever ruse Rachel hides the teraphim under a saddle
and sits upon it, claiming that menstruation prevents her from arising to
allay suspicion (31:34). What then are the teraphim?
In Genesis 31, teraphim appear to be a relatively small, physical

object(s).171 Other texts in the Hebrew Bible and the language used to
describe them reinforce their physicality (Judg. 17:5; 1 Sam. 19:11–17; 2
Kgs 23:24).172 1 Samuel 19:11–17 both helps fill out and further complicates
the picture. As a stand-in for David, who flees from Saul, the teraphim seem
to have humanlike shape and presumably size, though the likeness is imper-
fect since it must be disguised to pass muster.173 Thus, teraphim seem to have
been a (humanlike) physical object(s) that could vary in size.174
What purpose did teraphim serve? Laban explicitly refers to them as his
gods (31:30), a position Jacob does not dispute (31:32). While Genesis 31
offers no further clue as to their function, elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible the
teraphim are associated with divination (Ezek. 21:26 [21]; Zech. 10:2), the
practice of seeking divine or otherwise inaccessible information.175 Some
scholars more specifically associate teraphim with necromancy.176 As evi-
dence, they point to 2 Kings 23:24 where teraphim appear alongside ’oˉ bôt
and yiddĕ ‘oˉ nim, which are associated with spirits of the dead.177
171
Unfortunately, it is difficult to tell whether a single object or multiple objects is intended. In
each of its fifteen appearances in the Hebrew Bible, teraphim always appears in the plural
(van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:781). Either teraphim do not appear alone or the plural
teraphim may refer to a single object, used as an abstract plural or as a singular form with
mimation. van der Toorn argues for a plural of excellence (1990:206), though this appears
less likely. An abstract plural, like ’ĕ loˉ hîm for divinity (Burnett 2001:21), may be more
appropriate, but here it is difficult to decide because of the lack of context and of a well-
defined etymology. Regarding the etymology, see van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:778–9.
Regarding the argument for mimation, see A. Johnson 1944:32n4. Regarding its small size
and physicality, see Sarna 1989:216; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:782. van der Toorn
(1990:205) estimates it is no longer than 30–5 centimeters (12–14 inches).
172
van der Toorn 1990:205–28; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:781–2. Ancient transla-
tions likewise stress their physicality while dismissing them as idolatrous (van der Toorn
1990:210, 216; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:789). As such, they do not specify their
function.
173
Though possible, van der Toorn and Lewis’ (2006:782; cf. van der Toorn 1990:208)
attempt to harmonize Gen. 31 with 1 Sam. 19 by identifying Michal’s teraphim as
comparably small is unnecessary.
174
van der Toorn and Lewis further suggest that the physical teraphim were likely stored in
the dark bedchamber in the rear of the house (van der Toorn 1990:208–10; van der
Toorn and Lewis 2006:782–3).
175
Lewis 1999:849; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:787. Flynn (2012:708) notes that in
most cases where the context specifies their function, teraphim serve a consultative
function (Ezek. 21:26 [21]; Zech. 10:2; 1 Sam. 15:23; 23:9; 2 Kgs 23:29; Hos 3:4 and
by implication Judg. 17:5; 18:14, 17, 18, 20).
176
See Rouillard and Tropper 1987; van der Toorn 1990:215–22; Lewis 1999:849–50.
177
Lewis 1999:849; van der Toorn 1990:215. van der Toorn posits a tenuous parallel
between 2 Kgs 23:24 and Deut. 18:11, where the dead appear in the same place in the
list in D and the teraphim in Kings (1990:215).
Nonetheless, there is no indication here, as Lewis notes, that these or any of

the other terms listed in Josiah’s reform should be subsumed under the
heading teraphim.178 Scholars who support this theory also point to asso-
ciations between teraphim and qesem (“divination”; Ezek. 21:26[21]; 1
Sam. 15:23; Zech. 10:2), as well as the association between divination and
necromancy (Deut. 18:10–14; 1 Sam. 28; Mic. 3:6, 11).179 Nonetheless, the
connection of both teraphim and necromancy with divination does not
mean the two are identical. At most, they fall under the broader divination
category. Thus, while possible, necromantic associations lack sufficient
textual support.
While theories about the teraphim abound,180 scholars today generally
identify them either as household gods or deified ancestors.181 In favor of
the former, the beings are explicitly identified as gods (Gen. 31:30, 32; cf.
Judg. 18:24). Nonetheless, the dead too may be labeled gods on occasion
in the Hebrew Bible (1 Sam. 28:13; Isa. 8:19); supporters of the teraphim
as ancestors position also point to the purported associations with necro-
mancy. Proponents of both theories adduce further evidence from periph-
eral cultures, most notably Nuzi and Emar.182 Texts from Nuzi refer to
gods (ilā nu) associated with the household, thus household gods.
Nonetheless, the same texts refer not only to gods, but also to “the gods
(ilā nu) and spirits of the dead (et ̣emmuˉ ).”183 At Emar as well, the gods (ilıˉ )
and the dead (mıˉ tuˉ or meˉtuˉ ) appear together. More specifically, the care of
both the domestic gods and the dead were the responsibility of the occu-
pant of the parental house at Nuzi and the firstborn son at Emar.184
van der Toorn further suggests that the expression “the gods and the
dead” at Emar functions as a hendiadys, effectively, “the gods, spe-
cifically the dead.”185 By extension, he argues, that the association of
gods with ancestor spirits at Nuzi “has the same reality in view,
whether the expressions are synonymous or complementary.”186
Nonetheless, while possible, reading the Emarite expression as
a hendiadys (“the gods, that is, the dead”) is not the most obvious
178 179 180

Lewis 1999:849. van der Toorn 1990:215. See Lewis 1999.
181
Regarding the former, see Draffkorn 1957; regarding the latter, see van der Toorn 1990.
182
For the evidence from Emar and Nuzi, see van der Toorn 1994, though his interpret-
ations of the evidence are less certain. For the Egyptian evidence, see Flynn 2012:704–7.
183
van der Toorn 1994:52–7; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:779.
184
van der Toorn 1994:42–6; van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:779–81. Ancestors also could
be represented by physical objects as Mesopotamian necromancy employed figurines
representing a ghost or dead person (Scurlock 1988:53–64).
185
van der Toorn 1994:47.
186
van der Toorn and Lewis 2006:781; cf. van der Toorn 1994:57–9.
choice grammatically or contextually.187 While care of the dead is

certainly the responsibility of the living, there is little indication that
the gods are the dead. In fact, in both locales, “gods” (whether ilā nu
or ilıˉ ) most commonly refer to the gods of the pantheon and/or family
gods, not the dead.188 Although any conclusion is tentative, the
teraphim most likely represent gods in the form of anthropoid objects
whom the family cares for and contacts for aid.189 It remains far less
likely that these gods are in fact deified ancestors.190
Elsewhere teraphim carry pejorative connotations (1 Sam. 15:23; 2 Kgs
23:24; Zech. 10:2; cf. Hos 3:4), both in the MT and in ancient transla-
tions. In Genesis and Exodus; however, there is no explicit censure. While
they are not rejected as idolatrous, their association with Laban and
disappearance from the narrative (cf. putting away the foreign gods) at
least suggests they are unnecessary.
Destroyer
In contrast to the diversity of divine beings in Genesis, Exodus mostly
features Yahweh and his angels. As the primary exception, the enigmatic
Destroyer (hammašḥît) appears in Exodus 12:23. In the wider ANE, most
(major) gods were capable of mass destruction. Nonetheless, certain
deities seem to specialize in this function, especially West Semitic
Resheph and Mesopotamian Erra and Namtar.191 In fact, these characters
seem not to differentiate between innocent and guilty and must be stopped
before complete annihilation.192
In many ways, the Destroyer resembles these deities of destruction. As
Yahweh announces the impending death of the Egyptian firstborn, Moses
warns, “Yahweh will pass through to strike down the Egyptians; when he
sees the blood atop the doorframe and on the two doorposts, Yahweh will
pass over that door and will not permit the destroyer to enter your house
to strike you down” (12:23). Here then Yahweh seems to be working in
tandem with a subordinate, the Destroyer. Yahweh surveys the scene
187
Cf. B. Schmidt 1996:123–5.
188
Cf. regarding Nuzi, Schmidt 1996:124 and note 385 for references.
189
It is further unclear what form of representation is intended (e.g., a body, a portal, or
something more variable).
190
For a refutation of the ancestor theory, see Flynn 2012.
191
While each deity specializes in destruction, they are also capable of far more, even
benevolence toward their own people. Regarding Resheph, see Münnich 2013.
192
Meier 1999c:240–1.
while the Destroyer follows to slaughter all whom Yahweh permits – that
is, those whose doors are not appropriately blood-smeared. In other
words, like Resheph, Erra, and Namtar, the Destroyer does not discrim-
inate between victims. He simply brings destruction, while Yahweh is the
one who stays his hand.193 Like the Destroyer, Resheph, Erra, and
Namtar too are not supreme deities and are often under divine authority,
respectively El, Marduk, and Enlil.
Once again, we find rich ANE parallels, while the Exodus text says
precious little beyond job title (Destroyer) and related task
(destruction).194 Nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible do we find the
Destroyer specifically mentioned or further explained.195 Nonetheless,
the same term mašḥît elsewhere relates to various forms of destruction:
national destruction (1 Sam. 13:17; 14:15; Jer. 2:30; 4:7; Judg. 20:42),
self-destructive behavior (Prov. 6:32), religious abomination (2 Kgs
23:13; Isa. 1:4), and most commonly Yahweh bringing destruction, either
directly or indirectly (Gen. 19:13–14; Exod. 12:13; 2 Sam. 24:16; 1 Chr
21:12–15; Ezek. 5:16; 9:6–8; Jer. 22:7).196 The Destroyer also may be
related to plague as 12:23 speaks of the destroyer smiting, from the same
root (ngp) as plague; the sequence of divine actions against Egyptians are
described as plagues (maggeˉpoˉ t), again using the same root (9:14); and the
P version of the killing of the firstborn uses the word plague (negep) to
describe the divine actions (12:13).197
Other biblical texts offer some potential clarity. In Genesis 19:13–14,
the angels (19:1) identify themselves as the destroyers (part. mašḥitîm)
whom Yahweh has sent to destroy Sodom (ləšaḥă tā h). These angels are
visually indistinguishable from humans (19:1–5). 2 Samuel 24:16 and 1
Chronicles 21:15–16 describe an angel of destruction
(lammal’ā k hammašḥît) stretching out his hand to destroy Jerusalem
(ləhašḥîtā h; from the same root as the Destroyer). While 2 Samuel offers
no description, 1 Chronicles 21:16 describes the angel as visible (David
saw him) and supersized (standing between heaven and earth).198 Like the
193
Cf. Erra, who like the Destroyer, must be talked down to stop (by Išum his assistant in
the Erra Epic, while Namtar is shamed into withdrawing the plague by the people’s
offerings in Atrahasis).
194 ˘
Even the gender must be inferred from the masculine form of the name.
195
In the New Testament, Hebrews 11:28 mentions the “destroyer of the firstborn,” while 1
Cor. 10:10 urges its audience not to complain like those who “were destroyed by the
destroyer.”
196 197
Hamori 2008:124. Meier 1999c:242.
198
Meier (1999c:240–2) warns against finding parallels among all destructive divine beings;
he carefully distinguishes between the Destroyer and the angel of death, the latter of
Destroyer in Exodus 12, this destroying angel is prepared to slaughter

indiscriminately until Yahweh stays his hand. Other passages also resem-
ble Exodus 12:23, although the term mašḥît does not feature (Num.
17:11–15 [16:46–50]; 2 Kgs 19:25 // Isa. 37:36; Ezek. 9). Numbers 17
(16) refers to a divine plague against the Israelites, attributed by early
commentators to the Destroyer.199 Like Exodus 12:23, there is a plague,
indiscriminate killing, and a third party who averts further disaster.
However, there is no mention of an agent of destruction besides
Yahweh (17:11). 2 Kings and Isaiah mention the angel of Yahweh slaugh-
tering 185,000 Assyrians, which, like 12:23, is seemingly indiscriminate.
Ezekiel 9 speaks of six men, presumably divine beings, with weapons of
destruction. In Ezekiel, as in Exodus 12:23, the agents of destruction
slaughter all whom Yahweh permits and a special mark indicates who is
off limits.
While each of the passages offers helpful parallels, we should be cau-
tious about what conclusions to draw from them. There is only one
mention of an unmodified destroyer. When named elsewhere, the des-
troyer is identified either as Yahweh himself, a destroying angel, or the
angel of Yahweh. They are conceptually related and perform similar
functions, yet we should be careful not to conflate them. Furthermore,
while there are some potentially parallel texts, they do not shed much
additional light on the matter, beyond the possible identification of the
Destroyer as an angel and his physical description in 1 Chronicles or
Genesis 19. In sum, the Destroyer seems to be a divine being who destroys
indiscriminately at Yahweh’s command.
What is the Destroyer’s connection to Yahweh? Here, as elsewhere, the
Destroyer is clearly subordinate to Yahweh. Nonetheless, some argue for
the (semi-)identity of Yahweh and his Destroyer,200 potentially akin to
a divine hypostasis, Hindu avatar, or “small-scale manifestation” of
Yahweh.201 While there is some precedent for such a union in the non-P
whom visits all individuals, brings death to specific individuals, and brings death by
various means (whereas the Destroyer seems to bring about “premature and agonizing”
death [241]).
199
Meier 1999c:243. For example, 1 Cor. 10:10 warns his audience not to complain like
their forebears who were destroyed by the Destroyer (likely in reference to this passage
or Num. 14; D. Watson 1992).
200
For example, Propp 1999:409: “Most likely, in 12:23, the mašḥît is a personalized,
quasi-independent aspect of Yahweh”; see also Garr 2003:206; Sommer 2009:76–7.
201
The latter term is Sommer’s (Sommer 2009:40, 58–78), used to differentiate between
a manifestation of the divine fullness and a partial manifestation, often in mediated
form.
texts, such an association is unwarranted here. Some proponents of this

viewpoint may be influenced by monotheistic theological concerns –
namely the attempt to identify all divine beings as an extension of
Yahweh and/or an angel. Some point for evidence to the attribution of
the slaughter (negep) to Yahweh and the Destroyer.202 However, in this
case Yahweh and the Destroyer seem to be working in tandem, not partial
identity. Yahweh as the commanding officer surveys the field and is
responsible for the deaths, while the subordinate Destroyer follows
along to carry out the order, thereby doing the dirty work for
Yahweh.203 One could appeal to P’s omission of the Destroyer in its
account of the death of the firstborn, replaced with a plague to destroy
(12:13), such that for P the mašḥît becomes “an attribute of ‘plague.’”204
This demotion, one could argue, represents an evolutionary step from
partial identity of Yahweh and the Destroyer to the dissolution of the
Destroyer altogether. Nonetheless, the non-P texts are replete with
independent divine beings, while both P and D eliminate all subordin-
ate divine beings including angels.205 As will be argued in the following
chapter, each set of texts has a monolatrous agenda, yet pursues it in
different ways, such that the inclusion of divine beings need not be
read as a primitive stage in the evolution of the idea of the divine.
Instead, the ideas espoused in the non-P texts endured at least through
the Dead Sea Scrolls period.
In addition, (partially) equating Yahweh with the Destroyer would lead
to the odd result that (part of) Yahweh follows Yahweh and must be told
what (not) to do by him. The other biblical and ANE texts also testify to
the Destroyer’s distinct identity. In Samuel, Kings, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and
Chronicles, there is no indication that these similar divine beings are
somehow part of Yahweh. In the wider ANE as well, Resheph, Erra,
and Namtar are clearly distinct from their divine superiors. Thus, the
Destroyer likely does not overlap with Yahweh. Overall, since there is
so little to go on in the Exodus text, it is perhaps best to label the Destroyer
a subordinate supernatural agent, whose job and skills seem limited to
202
Gen. 19:13–14 offers a similar double attribution of the destruction of Sodom and
Gomorrah, attributing it both to angels and Yahweh (Hamori 2008:124).
203
Propp (1999:409) acknowledges that the Destroyer carries out the “dirty work,” yet
proceeds to identify the Destroyer as Yahweh’s “semi-autonomous dark side”; cf.
Loewenstamm 1992:208–16.
204
Garr 2003:206.
205
However, P and D do acknowledge the existence of other non-Yahwistic gods (Gen.
1:26; Exod. 12:12; Deut. 4:28 and passim).
destruction. While his profile may have been more expansive, there is little
indication of it in the text.206
who is a god?
After examining the potential cast of divine characters in Chapters 6–7,
we now assess whether or not they qualify as gods.207 We proceed in our
analysis from more to less likely divine and divide the potential deities into
four categories: explicitly divine, very likely divine, likely divine, and
potentially divine. Before doing so, we will examine criteria. We consider
evidence from the non-P, other biblical, and other ANE texts, which are of
decreasing explanatory value since they are increasingly distant from the
source texts.
Gods may be identified in the text in at least three ways208: (1) they may
be explicitly called a god (’eˉl or ’ĕ loˉ hîm), even if the worship of such a god
is prohibited; (2) they behave in a way characteristic of gods, such as
deliberating in the divine council, conferring blessing, receiving worship,
prayers, or offerings, or being invoked in an oath; and (3) they resemble
figures in the wider ANE who are divinized. Within the world of the text,
beings that fall into the first category should be considered gods.209
Characters who meet the second criterion may be considered divine in
some cases, yet other data may be needed to bolster their claim, since non
divine humans may confer a blessing or be invoked in an oath.210 Beings
who resemble ANE deities may be classed as gods with some caution,
taking into account that similarity does not equal identity and one cul-
ture’s perception need not extend to another. Nonetheless, given the
generally consistent identification of gods across the ANE and the many
ways in which the biblical beings parallel their divine counterparts, we
206
Meier (1999c:242) perhaps goes too far in situating the Destroyer among other ANE
plague deities. Exod. 12:23 identifies the Destroyer as the one who “smites,” which,
although it comes from the same root as plague (ngp), need not indicate death by disease.
In addition to indicating plague, the root ngp is used in other contexts for more general
damage – for example, to describe an ox goring another ox (Exod. 21:35) (Preuss 1998).
The analogous ANE deities too do more than simply bring plague; they may serve more
benevolent functions like healing (see regarding Resheph, Xella 1999:701; Münnich
2013).
207
Here we use the terms “divine” and “god” interchangeably.
208
Cf. the similar criteria for each ANE culture. Unlike in Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia,
and Egypt, there is no divine determinative in biblical Hebrew.
209
However, humans may claim their own divinity without being identified as gods (e.g., in
cases where the text condemns them for their megalomania [Ezek. 28:2]).
210
Cf. Dan. 6:8–10 (7–9), where citizens may only pray to the king of Persia.
may carefully assert their probable divinity in the world of the non-P
Pentateuch.
Before launching into our examination, we pause to consider the label
“god.” In the ANE as today, “god” is an artificial and fungible yet conveni-
ent category used to assign a genus to various beings. Strictly speaking,
there need not be commonalities across members of the genus, merely the
agreement of those creating and accepting the label. Nonetheless, there is
generally at least a family resemblance between members, such that all
beings who are gods have enough in common that they fit this label more
than any other. As with any genus, there also may be subcategories of
beings that rest under the umbrella category god.
While gods sometimes fit comfortably into a single genus, other times
they fit rather uncomfortably yet are assigned to the genus because there
is no better category. Throughout the ANE, an anthropomorphically
envisioned being with significant power represents the quintessence of
divinity, while other beings are less clearly and consistently labeled
divine. Sometimes they are deified because a particular trait (i.e.,
power) warrants their divinity since no other label adequately describes
the trait in view. Other times, when one of the characteristics of the
divine is not central or is adequately subsumed into another category, the
subject may be labeled something else (i.e., a river). This holds true for
Genesis and Exodus as well, where the anthropomorphically envisioned
Yahweh represents the quintessence of divinity, while the serpent,
Nephilim, and cherubim are less clearly divine. Lacking another clear
category for supernatural beings, these beings in the wider ANE and
Genesis and Exodus often fall into the god category, whether they are
understood to be essentially or peripherally divine.
Nonetheless, because “god” is an artificial category, a label, definitions
may shift with a culture’s perceptions and preferences. The line between
a group of gods with a single god as the dominant figure and a single god is
rather slight, yet it has major implications. Such a realignment, as we will
see, occurs when there is another genus created to accommodate the other
erstwhile gods.
Explicitly Divine
Yahweh meets all the criteria and should be labeled a god. Other beings
are explicitly called gods and should be identified as such. Although their
identity is unclear and used to exalt Yahweh, the “gods” qualify as gods
given their explicit label. Although they may be put away as a prelude to
Yahwistic worship, the foreign gods also fall into this category. Teraphim
too are explicitly identified as divine (31:19, 30), and the text makes no
attempt to question their divinity.
Very Likely Divine

Sons of god are not explicitly labeled gods in Genesis and Exodus.
Nonetheless, there is good reason to include them in the god category. As
noted, it is best to interpret “son” as referring to a member of the god
category, with a possible genetic relationship to Yahweh and a definite
subordination to him. Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, the sons of god are
members of the divine council, and thus, likely gods. In addition, the
analogous expression “sons of the Most-High” stands parallel to gods
(’ĕ loˉ hîm) in Psalm 82:6, explicitly identifying the sons as divine. Finally,
there are many instances of the expression son(s) of DN in the wider ANE,
which clearly refer to gods, who at Ugarit are substantial yet subordinate to
El. Thus, while they are not explicitly called gods, there is good reason to
conclude that they are divine in the narrative world of the non-P Pentateuch.
The Dreaded-One-of-Isaac, mentioned in the previous chapter, also
seems to refer to a god. If an epithet for Yahweh as is most likely, the
Dread is clearly divine. Even if not, the name appears in the context of
a treaty or contract where both parties invoke and swear by gods (both in
the immediate context and in the wider ANE). Laban invokes the god of
Jacob’s grandfather Abraham and the god of his father Nahor as divine
witnesses, to which Jacob responds by swearing by the Dreaded-One-of-
his-Father-Isaac. In context, there is no suitable solution but to conclude
that the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac is divine.
Likely Divine
While, as we will see, angels were later made into a sub-divine category
that served as a catch-all for all supernatural beings in Yahweh’s employ,
there is good reason to consider angels in Genesis and Exodus gods.
Angels even may be explicitly referred to as gods. Jacob identifies the
place where Elohim’s angels meet him as the camp of ’ĕ loˉ hîm (Gen.
32:2–3 [1–2]). However, it is unclear what he means by ’ĕ loˉ hîm. The
angels who constitute the camp may collectively be ’ĕ loˉ hîm (gods).
Alternatively, the camp may be associated with Yahweh Elohim since
the angels are his subordinates. Genesis 35:7 also mentions Jacob making
an altar to the ’ĕ loˉ hîm who appeared (pl.) to him. The morphologically
plural ’ě loˉ hîm here takes a plural verbal form, which may be a rare
instance of the plural verb with a singular referent, or the narrator may
refer to Yahweh and his angels, thus including angels in the ’ě loˉ hîm
category.
Contextual clues also point to their divine status. In several places in
Genesis and Exodus, angels seem to overlap with and speak as if Yahweh
himself. Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, Daniel 3:25–9 explicitly equates
an angel with a son of god.211 Angels seem to loosely fit in the same
category as sons of god, teraphim, and the likely divine Destroyer. In the
wider ANE, messenger gods are clearly divine, suggesting the divinity of
angels by comparison. While angels are not explicitly identified as divine,
their closest ANE and biblical analogs seem to be gods. Their classification
depends on how strictly the non-P Pentateuch demarcates the god cat-
egory. With the inclusion of gods, teraphim, foreign gods, and sons of god,
the category seems rather loosely defined, as in the wider ANE. Thus, it is
most likely that angels too are gods, forming a subcategory of divine
beings – that is, until their later demotion into another sub divine
category.
The Destroyer too is not explicitly called a god, yet he has some of the
earmarks of divinity. The text itself offers very little information. The
Destroyer is a nonhuman agent of Yahweh capable of mass destruction.
He resembles various other ANE deities who like the Destroyer have
impressive destructive abilities and remain under superior divine
authority.212 While not explicitly labeled divine, there is also no other
appropriate category for this being. In turn, it is best to identify the
Destroyer as a god.
The cherubim too seem to fit into the god category. Likely of a different
sort than the seemingly anthropoid angel and sons of god, the cherubim
are probably hybrid beings. They seem to fall into the protective deity
category, as in Mesopotamia, where the lamassu and šeˉdu figures are
consistently written with the divine determinative. Nonetheless, as less
clearly anthropomorphic, their divinity is less certain.
The man at Penuel discussed in the previous chapter is also likely a god.
From Jacob’s perspective, he is an ’ĕ loˉ hîm, an association the text never
211
However, rather than situating angels among the gods, this late identification may
produce the opposite effect, demoting sons of god into the emerging sub divine angel
category.
212
Cf. the potential association between the Destroyer and the destroying angel (2 Sam.
24:16; 1 Chr 21:15–16).
denies. His association with the naming of Israel suggests that the author/
redactor considers him to be Yahweh or a divine envoy. Nonetheless, his
odd behavior leaves some room for doubt.
Potentially Divine
If the Nephilim and Gibburim are not divine–human offspring, then they
are merely giant humans. If, as is more likely, they are the fruit of a divine–
human union, they would appear to be demigods, a category not men-
tioned in the Hebrew Bible. Nonetheless, there is some precedent for such
hybrids in the ANE, as Gilgamesh is labeled two-thirds divine. Their
precise classification is less important than that of the other potential
deities since they are no longer around, having been destroyed again and
again until their extinction in the time of David. The continual effort of
Yahweh and his human agents to destroy these beings is suggestive, as it
represents a blurring of categories – human and divine – that warrants
significant divine censure (Gen. 3:22–4; 6:5–8; 11:1–9). Their very hybrid-
ity testifies to their semidivine status and requires their destruction.
Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword also may be a god. If understood as an
animate weapon, it too may be deified. Nonetheless, other divine weapons
are not explicitly deified (i.e., Baal’s animate weapons).213 Flame as an
animate weapon remains potentially divine, or like other weapons occa-
sionally deified, with insufficient evidence in this case to evaluate its
divinity. If Flame is a supernatural being, it is much more likely that he
is divine by comparison with the wider ANE (i.e., dNablum [“Flame”])
and other subordinate beings (e.g., messengers, the Destroyer, and
cherubim).
The pillar of cloud and fire mentioned in the previous chapter too could
be labeled divine. At Ugarit Baal’s cloud companions are deified, while
objects, whether physical or mythological, too may be deified elsewhere in
the ANE. The pillars could be animate or an unnatural vehicle controlled
by Yahweh. In context, since they are largely undefined, it is hard to give
a definitive answer. On balance, it seems more likely that they would not
be considered gods, but rather supernatural vehicles or even emanations
of deity.
213
As noted, the relatively flexible and expansive identification of deities at Ugarit makes it
possible that the weapons may be qualified as divine, perhaps for lack of a better
descriptor.
Regarding the serpent, the text never argues for its divine status, yet it
never denies it either. In later Christian interpretation, commentators
identify the serpent with Satan or the devil.214 However, there is no
indication in the text of this connection, and even were this link to be
maintained, as we have seen for Mesopotamia, so-called demons may be
identified as gods. In favor of the snake’s divinity, divine serpents, like
Mehen, exist elsewhere in the ANE. In addition, this particular serpent
exhibits divine qualities and conceivably could be one of the divine “us”
referenced in 3:22.215 In the end, it is probably better not to limit the
serpent to any one category, since it is a boundary crosser, blurring the
lines between animal, human, and divine. Thus, the serpent most likely
represents an ambiguous and ambivalent figure only loosely associated
with the divine world, the quintessential trickster. It would either fall into
the category of occasionally deified beings or beings that are never deified
yet exhibit divine qualities.
what is a god?
With our cast of divine characters more or less set, what then is a god? In
other words, what are the minimal and common characteristics of deity?
The data and profiles of most of these gods are rather limited, making firm
and robust conclusions untenable. Nonetheless, some suggestive contours
emerge.
Under the generous divine umbrella, we have various subcategories of
gods, both individual beings and groups, classed according to their desig-
nators: by function, name or descriptor, and species. At the outset, we
consider all potential deities as part of the genus “god.” Among the individ-
ual deities (who may or may not be part of a larger group), the Destroyer is
identified by function; the man at Penuel, Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword,
and the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac by name or descriptor; and the serpent by
species. Among the groups, angels are identified by function; Yahweh,
teraphim, the pillar of cloud and fire, and Nephilim/Gibburim by name or
descriptor; and sons of god and cherubim by species.216
214
See further Chapter 8.
215
However, this is rendered less likely by the punishment it receives following the divine
council (3:14–15), though it remains possible that the serpent was there for the deliber-
ation before it was then censured.
216
Admittedly, “Nephilim” too may be a species designator, especially if it refers to the
human-divine hybrid. Cherubim even may be a title/descriptor, not a species, as the data
are too sparse to be conclusive.
With the obvious exception of Yahweh, each of these beings is either

subordinate to Yahweh (cherubim, sons of god, angels, the Destroyer,
Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword, the serpent, Nephilim and Gibburim, the
pillar[s], the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac, and the man at Penuel)217 or in some
way foreign (foreign gods, teraphim, and “gods”).218 While foreign gods
receive no explicit censure in Genesis, Exodus explicitly forbids contact
with them.
Each god is nonhuman, though some may take anthropoid form. The
potential exceptions (the man at Penuel and the Nephilim and Gibburim)
in some ways prove the rule. If merely a human, the man at Penuel would
not be divine. If divine, he would be either Yahweh or a divine envoy in
human form. The Nephilim and Gibburim too have a human side, yet
their hybridization likely prevents them from being fully divine and pre-
cipitates their destruction as illicit category-transgressors. If we identify
the teraphim as the deified dead, then we must refine our parameters to
include nonliving humans.219 If we include the serpent, which alongside
the Nephilim/Gibburim and the pillar(s) is the most dubiously divine, then
animals can be gods. If, as is most likely, they lie outside the god category,
gods are nonanimal as well. The teraphim and foreign gods are inanimate
objects, albeit objects imbued with the divine, while the sword, if divine, is
an animate object.220
While a being theoretically would not need to be in contact with
humanity to be divine, the deities that appear in Genesis and Exodus do
have some contact with humanity. Yahweh and angels make contact
through direct communication, the Destroyer through destruction, the
sons of god through intercourse, the serpent in the garden, the cherubim
and Flame as the guardians of the garden, the Nephilim and Gibburim as
terrestrial beings, the man at Penuel in combat, the teraphim and foreign
gods through their physical objects, the Dreaded-One-of-Isaac with
217
Rather than being strictly subordinate, the latter two may be best identified as Yahweh,
while the pillars could be emanations of deity.
218
The teraphim are not strictly called foreign, yet they belong to Laban, a foreigner in the
sense that he lives elsewhere and worships a different god and may be among the foreign
gods put aside (35:2, 4). While Exod. 15:11 and 18:11 speak of a generic category of
gods, the prohibition texts (20:2 [3], 19 [23]; 23:13, 24, 32–3; 34:15–16) highlight their
otherness. Exod. 15:11 and 18:11 also may include the subordinate divine beings as part
of the “gods.”
219
Even if not, it is intriguing that at least in some circles preserved in the Bible, the dead
could be classed as divine (1 Sam 28:13; Isa 8:19), further expanding the divine
parameters.
220
Regarding the golden calf, see Chapter 9.
Jacob, accessible via oath.221 Contact is a characteristic of divinity for at

least two reasons. First, unlike in the wider ANE, the non-P Pentateuch
gives very little access to the divine world apart from its interactions with
the human one. In turn, encounters with the divine tend to occur in
context of contact with humanity. Second, their relevance as gods is
directly correlated to their ability to contact and affect humanity. Had
they nothing to do with us or our world, they may exist yet would be
beyond our purview and have little relevance.
In addition to having the ability to interact with our world, the gods
possess the power to positively or negatively affect humanity. For
example, Yahweh oversees the human world, angels generally help, the
Destroyer destroys or withholds destruction, the cherubim and Flame
guard, the serpent tempts, and the sons of god mate. In addition to having
power, each of these beings seems to be sentient and have agency.222
Putting together the pieces, a god in non-P Genesis and Exodus is minim-
ally a sentient, nonhuman (and likely nonanimal) being with agency who
has contact with humanity and the power to help or harm us.223 This
definition excludes animals like a lion, which is sentient and may harm
humanity, as well as a storm or river, which though powerful and in
contact with humanity is not sentient.
gods in the primeval, patriarchal, and exodus

traditions
In each context, Yahweh is not the only deity, yet notably there is no
goddess.224 None deny the existence of other gods, but the approach toward
them varies. Genesis in its primeval and patriarchal narratives does not
denigrate other gods, at least explicitly, while Exodus rejects them as
221
With the potential exception of the unnamed “us” in Gen. 3:22 and some of the
unnamed gods. However, the very prohibition of worship of these gods in Exod. suggests
that humans were tempted to contact them.
222
With the possible exception of the pillar(s) and the sword, though the former is likely not
divine and the latter may be wielded by the divine Flame. One may argue that the foreign
gods and teraphim are not sentient. While it is true that as mere objects they have no
agency, their connection to the divine either as a body or more distantly a portal give
them a form of agency and sentience.
223
While the man at Penuel is man-shaped (like Yahweh and the angels in Gen. 18–19),
none are mere men; it is their nonhumanness that makes them divine. Again, if we accept
teraphim as deceased ancestors, we must amend the definition to nonliving humans.
224
Though we may find a hint in Gen. 49:25 (Smith 2004:106); cf. the discussion of Asherah
in the next chapter, note 52.
a condition of the covenant.225 When gendered, gods in Genesis are

always male, while the deities in Exodus are never assigned gender, nor
are deities other than Yahweh given any form.226 The primeval narratives
are replete with wild and diverse creatures, some of whom misbehave,
while the postdiluvian world is tame by comparison. It introduces angels
who dominate the scene and who faithfully do the divine bidding.
Nonetheless, the world of Exodus is grander than the patriarchal world
given its greater scope and greater desire to put on a spectacle, with
supersize theophanies and a creature like the Destroyer capable of mass
destruction. Some of the wildness of the primeval period may have been
considered acceptable given its setting. The further back in time and space
one goes, the more likely one is to suspend one’s disbelief. At the dawn of
time, there is a greater willingness to accept things that are no longer
possible, elements that seem more appropriate in the realm of the fairy
tale. Likewise, for the biblical audience, while not so distant, the patri-
archal and Exodus periods are also set in the distant past, where divine
presence and spectacle are expected.227
While called by the same name, angels in the patriarchal narratives
and Exodus are not described in the same way. Absent in the primeval
period, in Genesis 12–36 they speak often, while in Exodus they do not
speak at all.228 Angels in Genesis often blur the boundaries between
Yahweh and messenger, while Exodus angels are more commonly dis-
tinct. Likewise, they manifest differently in the two corpora. In Genesis,
their form is either unstated or anthropomorphic, whereas Exodus does
not mention the angelic form. However, in Exodus messengers are
accompanied by, if not present in or as, (super)natural elements like
fire and cloud.229 In Genesis, angels are necessary to establish some form
of distance and presence. However, in Exodus, the natural elements
already establish some distance. Fire and cloud are suitably impressive
225
Regarding the relative tolerance of cult images in Gen. and relative intolerance in Exod.,
see Chapter 9.
226
That is, unless we accept the pillar of cloud and fire as a deity, or an angel as the burning
bush or pillar.
227
Cf. regarding P, Hundley 2012:209–24. A bit more messiness is likewise acceptable in an
antediluvian world; it sets the table for the world that is and the new world to come.
228
Angels are also largely absent from the Joseph narrative.
229
The nature and duration of Yahweh’s presence are also distinct. Whereas in Gen. his
presence is transitory, after the exodus from Egypt, Yahweh is continually present as fire
and cloud and on Mount Sinai. Although not as clear for Yahweh’s messengers as for
Yahweh himself, some evidence exists for continuous angelic presence (Exod. 13:21–2;
14:19, 24; 23:20–3; 33:1–3).
and suitably distinct from anthropomorphic form to express the awe-

some otherness of the deity and to suggest that he is far more than either
manifestation. As such, angels in Exodus 3 and 14 serve as a secondary
rather than primary means of establishing simultaneous distance and
presence.
8
With the data at hand, we move to sort the non-P divine sphere and more
broadly situate Yahweh among the gods.1 Before examining the non-P
divine profile, we consider the theological parameters that motivate its
presentation.
presence and distance

Like P and D, the non-P Pentateuch is concerned with establishing divine–
human contact and simultaneously maintaining some element of distance.
Humans have no access to divine activity or thoughts in the heavenly
sphere; they only encounter Yahweh when he chooses to interact with
humanity in the human sphere. Thus, for human–divine interchange some
degree of presence is necessary. However, divine presence also may be
problematic. It tempts the reader to equate Yahweh with whatever form
he chooses to manifest himself through, to assume that Yahweh is simply
a man or even a fiery bush. Likewise, divine presence occasionally puts the
deity in unpalatable situations. For example, it would be unacceptable to
thrust Yahweh into the situation the angels face in Sodom (Gen. 19).
The non-P Pentateuch uses other divine beings as a primary way of
communicating Yahweh’s presence while establishing distance.2 The
1
The following discussion is not an attempt to trace the history of Israelite religion, but
rather the rhetoric of the non-P Pentateuch. Nonetheless, whatever its lived history might
be, the narrative with its pointed rhetoric effectively becomes the history of Israelite
religion as remembered by posterity.
2
As explained in the monolatry section, there is no room for rival gods. Thus, those that
receive (positive) textual attention are on team Yahweh.
305
306 Yahweh among the Gods
other (potential) gods render Yahweh close but not too close for comfort.
They serve three primary roles: adding a character so that Yahweh does
not have to play all the divine roles, acting as a surrogate presence, or
blurring boundaries when Yahweh is present.3
As Yahweh is the only meaningful divine actor, it is tempting to cast
Yahweh for all the roles. However, other characters are occasionally
necessary to introduce into the narrative often (though not always) to
remove Yahweh from having to play uncomfortable roles. The serpent in
the garden is necessary to tempt the humans. It seems inevitable that
humans eat the fruit, especially in light of our current situation out of
Eden. Having a tempter moves the narrative along to its logical conclu-
sion. Casting Yahweh as creator, lawgiver, tempter, and judge would
present him as working at cross-purposes. The serpent then emerges to
play the more sinister role for the sake of clarity and perhaps as a means of
distancing Yahweh from the seemingly more unsavory act. After fulfilling
its tempting/trickster role, the serpent disappears from the narrative.
The sons of god appear to misbehave. Yahweh mating with human
women would be unpalatable. The sons of god appear for this purpose
and to propel the narrative toward the Flood. The sons of god are an
appropriate choice for several reasons. The cherubim and angels would be
unsuitable since they are the quintessential servants who do their master’s
bidding and cherubim do not even seem to be (fully) anthropomorphic.
The sons of god too are generic characters and purposely so. Nameless
and faceless characters thus stir trouble and then disappear entirely from
the non-P narrative. Instead of misbehaving, the Destroyer seemingly does
the dirty work of mass slaughter, shielding Yahweh to some degree from
the act.4 Having a being like the Destroyer on staff also demonstrates
divine potency.
The angels in Sodom act as a surrogate presence while separating
Yahweh from an uncomfortable situation. The narrator requires the
audience (and Yahweh) to see the depravity of the Sodomites yet would
be uncomfortable directing sexual violence against the deity. Even though
the angels rebuff human advances, having those advances directed toward
Yahweh would be unpalatable.5 While Yahweh commands the sacrifice of
3
While illustrative, the categories are not mutually exclusive. An example in one section
very well may be suitable in another.
4
Though Yahweh is certainly not above being the direct source of destruction in other
contexts, even destruction against his own people (i.e., Exod. 32:35).
5
In addition, an anthropomorphic Yahweh meeting with his favorite servant is more
acceptable than anthropomorphically visiting those he is about to destroy. Even though
Presence and Distance 307
Isaac, the presence of the angel provides some physical and conceptual
distance from the attempted act itself. At Bethel, the angels add to the
visual effect, demonstrating that Bethel is a bridge between worlds while
simultaneously demonstrating Yahweh’s potency as master of this vast
enterprise. In Exodus 32–3 the presence of the angel is punitive, maintain-
ing surrogate presence for the conquest while distancing Yahweh himself
from his people.
Other figures primarily establish surrogate presence, so that Yahweh
does not have to be everywhere and do everything himself. Since God does
not need to guard his own garden, he stations the cherubim and Flame-of-
the-Whirling-Sword as intimidating bouncers. Angels too tend to distance
Yahweh from the fray. The angels in Sodom need to inspect the city on
Yahweh’s behalf. The angel in Genesis 24 accompanies Abraham’s ser-
vant to ensure that Isaac finds the right bride. The angels in Genesis 32
meet Jacob as a reminder and reassurance that Yahweh has a camp on
earth.6 The angels in Genesis 48:16 and Exodus 23 act as Yahweh’s more
immediate agents.7 The angel in Exodus 33 allows for Yahweh’s surrogate
presence and punitive distance.
When Yahweh seems uncomfortably close or anthropomorphic, later
translators and interpreters tended to change the details or insert
a subordinate figure to comfortably distance the deity from such associ-
ations. The targums suggest that the mysterious men in Genesis 18 and 19
did not really eat human food, just as the elders did not really eat with
Yahweh on Mount Sinai in Exodus 24.8 To avoid uncomfortable intimacy
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and others have the angels pass before Moses
instead of Yahweh. Certain New Testament texts even distance Yahweh
from the lawgiving at Sinai, instead ascribing the divine speech to angelic
proxies (Acts 7:38, 53; Gal 3:19; Heb 2:2).
Rather than remove Yahweh entirely from the fray, Genesis and
Exodus occasionally employ some measure of cognitive dissonance to
establish presence without unnecessary entanglements. The text presents
his anthropomorphic encounter with Abraham is more palatable, the text still chooses to
obscure the nature of his presence with three men.
6
They also prepare the reader for the possibility of another divine envoy. Nonetheless, the
man surprises the reader by fighting with – not for – Jacob.
7
In the latter case the angel bears the divine name. While the precise import of the expres-
sion is elusive, the angel seems to carry Yahweh’s authority and has an intimate connection
with him. Unlike in Exod. 33, the people seem content with a surrogate presence.
8
The LXX indicates that the elders saw the place where Yahweh stood to avoid having the
god of Israel actually be seen in Exod. 24:10. Targum Onkelos and Pseudo-Jonathan
likewise replace God’s shielding hand with a shielding word in Exod. 33.
Yahweh incompletely overlapping with his subordinates. The non-P texts

thereby adopt an unusual narrative strategy. Elsewhere in the ANE,
overlap is often seamless for the purposes of clarity. In the non-P texts,
it is purposely partial in order to confound the audience’s ability to
understand divine presence.
Thus, rather than opting for complete presence or distance, the text
preserves a measure of both. The angel may be present in the Hagar
encounters (Gen. 16, 21) to prevent too close an encounter with
a foreign woman. The angelic presence in the burning bush likely avoids
too close an association of Yahweh with the bush (Exod. 3). While the
pillar itself already provides a level of shielding, including an angel in the
narrative further obfuscates the nature of divine presence (13–14). The
three men and the wrestling man (Gen. 18; 32) establish presence while
creating some measure of conceptual difference, lest the reader fully
equate Yahweh with the men. The pillar(s) and fiery theophanies likewise
serve as a way of indicating presence while establishing distance, of
simultaneously revealing and concealing the deity.9
mono-yahwism
Non-P Genesis and Exodus also take care to present a single, unified
Yahweh. In the ANE, deities manifest themselves in multiple forms in
multiple locales. Rather than treating each manifestation as identical,
texts treat each as a semi-independent, self-propelled agent. In some
cases deities with the same forename are treated as entirely distinct.10
For example, a Mesopotamian hymn of Aššurbanipal addresses the dis-
tinct Ištars of Nineveh and Arbela, the divine witness list in the Hittite
treaty between Šuppiluliuma I and Huqqana of Hayasa lists twenty-one
˘ ˘
different weather gods, and offering lists from Ugarit mention multiple
11
Baals who receive distinct offerings.
9
The motivation for the blurring of Yahweh and messenger in Gen. 31:10 remains unclear.
Perhaps the angel provides some measure of secondary distance, since it is already
a dream, or the confusion results from omitted messenger language.
10
Regardless of whether the deities in question fragmented from a parent deity or were
always distinct varies, there are multiple deities with a shared forename rather than one.
11
See Chapters 1–4; see also regarding Mesopotamia K. 1290; Livingstone 1986:10–13; for
analysis, see especially Porter 2004. Regarding the Hittites, see treaty no. 3 in Beckman
1999a:28–9. Regarding the various Baals, see briefly Sommer 2009:25 with references;
see more fully Pardee 2002:11–72. For example, KTU 1.109 refers to a feast of Baal-of
-Ṣapun (5) in which offerings are presented to Baal, Baal-of-Ṣapun, Baal-of-Ugarit, and
Baal-of-Aleppo (Pardee 2002:29–33).
Mono-Yahwism 309
The Bible too records multiple forms of Yahweh worship in multiple

locations, many of which they deem unacceptable (e.g., the golden calves
at Dan, Bethel, and Sinai), leaving the reader to wonder if the people
imagined multiple different Yahwehs. While there is no conclusive evi-
dence to suggest divine fragmentation or originally distinct Yahwehs in
the Bible, extra-biblical inscriptions from Kuntillet ‘Ajrud mention
Yahweh-of-Samaria and Yahweh-of-Teman.12 Given the practice of treat-
ing different cultic manifestations differently, one may posit the presence
of multiple (semi-)independent Yahwehs, including a Yahweh-of-
Jerusalem.13
The non-P narrative likewise presents Yahweh with multiple names,
epithets, attributes, and manifestations. Genesis and Exodus also acknow-
ledge and even provide etiologies for non-Jerusalem sanctuaries and
include the disparate ancestral and Exodus accounts of divine encounters.
Without recourse to cult centralization – a tool used by P, D, and the Dtr
Marduk, and Aššur – the non-P texts nonetheless manage to preserve
a single Yahweh. Rather than centralizing the cult, they unite the various
accounts into a single narrative, thereby definitively identifying each
encounter with deity as an encounter with the same deity, Yahweh.14 As
in other ANE narratives, the text presents Yahweh as single and unified,
with a tightly bound constellation.15 While he remains fluid of form and
theoretically unrestricted, the text presents him as present in only one
place at a time in keeping with narrative conventions and, as we will see,
mono-Yahwism and monolatry.16
12
For an overview of Kuntillet ˁAjrud, see Meshel 2012; see also Chapter 6, n. 9. Regarding
the reference to Asherah, see note 52. Regarding localized Yahwehs in the Bible, see
Chapter 6, n. 9.
13
Nonetheless, evidence remains minimal, such that firm conclusions should be avoided.
See S. Allen 2015:247–309 regarding the texts and their implications for Israelite religion;
see also Hutton 2010b; cf. the presence of Yahweh at Elephantine; see Rohrmoser 2014;
Granerød 2016 and 2019.
14
Cf. Levin 2012:162.
15
As noted, too much fluidity could make for a bizarre narrative with a seemingly frag-
mented deity. By contrast, fluidity is especially appropriate to ANE ritual and treaty texts.
As such, it would be interesting to conjecture whether the biblical text would have a more
fluid and detachable presentation of deity if ritual texts from different sites and treaties
between different Yahweh followers appeared. Poetic texts too have a penchant for
greater fluidity (a comparison, i.e., with the Psalms, would, thus be fruitful).
16
Being in one place at a time, however, does not limit him to any one place or prohibit
simultaneous manifestations. As we will see, withholding information allows for
a theoretically unrestricted deity who can be anything the text needs him to be.
In fact, it skillfully weaves several potentially disparate mini-narratives

with potentially disparate deities into a single metanarrative. In doing so,
the single narrative assimilates potentially different Yahwehs and poten-
tially different deities into a single meta-deity, Yahweh, thereby simultan-
eously expanding the divine profile and avoiding divine fragmentation. In
addition, by presenting a singular people of the singular Yahweh, the text
avoids people fighting each other in the name of Yahweh or Yahweh
fighting himself.17
The divine names employed and their combination in a single narrative
facilitate a Yahwistic amalgam. The title ’ĕ loˉ hîm may be used generically
to mask the individual identity of its recipient. As a result, many different
deities may be called ’ĕ loˉ hîm. Identifying unmodified ’ĕ loˉ hîm as well as
particular ’ĕ loˉ hîms related to the patriarchs with Yahweh takes the gen-
eric title and applies it to a singular deity, such that Yahweh is the ’ĕ loˉ hîm
of the patriarchs and thus simply Elohim. The label ’ĕ loˉ hîm also enables
the identification of the family god of the patriarchs with the national god
of Exodus (Exod. 3). Using ’eˉl as a common noun and title (with various
epithets) for Yahweh likewise allows Yahweh to assimilate El and ’eˉl
epithets, while camouflaging potentially disparate origins. Together, the
multivocality and inclusivity of ’eˉl and ’ĕ loˉ hîm enable a Yahwistic take-
over of names and epithets that may have belonged to or at least been
shared by different deities. Thus, the texts may be called “mono-
Yahwistic,” positing a single, unified Yahweh with multiple different
names, epithets, attributes, and manifestations.18
monolatry
In addition to being mono-Yahwistic, Genesis and Exodus seem to sub-
scribe to monolatry.19 Rather than expressing belief in a divine world with
a population of one (i.e., monotheism), Genesis and Exodus are monol-
atrous, promoting worship of a single deity without denying the existence
of other deities.20
17
An issue faced by the Dtr when Israel fights Judah and resolved by putting God on Judah’s
side or his own.
18
Mono-Yahwism has been in scholarly use since the early twentieth century (Badè 1910).
19
Like mono-Yahwism, monolatry has been in use for quite some time, first appearing in
Schleiermacher 1830–1.
20
It must be noted that the present study does not address when historically monolatry
developed, but rather its place in the text. For a survey of scholarship on monotheism,
including monolatry and henotheism, see MacDonald 2012:21–71.
Monolatry 311
While there is some reference to interspecies covenants or contracts in

the ANE, the majority are between deities or between humans.21 In
contrast, the Hebrew Bible in general and the non-P narrative in particular
feature a divine–human covenant as the central relationship. Instead of
simply being a general agreement, the biblical covenant increasingly calls
for exclusive worship. In Genesis expectations of exclusivity are largely
implicit.22 Asking Abram to leave his land to follow Yahweh implies
leaving behind his local traditions and entanglements. As intimated in
Genesis 12, Abraham’s well-being depends on his absolute obedience,
culminating in his near sacrifice of Isaac, which proves that he fears
Yahweh above all else (22:12).23 In addition, Jacob solidifies his choice
to make Yahweh his god by putting away foreign gods (28:21; 35:2),
effectively committing to exclusive worship.
In Exodus demands for exclusivity are more explicit, as the narrative
covenant moves from a more intimate relationship governed by context-
specific requirements to a national constitution.24 Yahweh promises to
make the Israelites into a priestly kingdom and a holy nation if they keep
the terms of the covenant (19:5–6). Before hearing those terms, they agree
(19:8). Yahweh then proceeds to outline his terms (20–3), at the center of
which is exclusive worship, after which the people again agree, binding
themselves to monolatry (24:3, 7).
Demanding that Israel have no other gods before him (Exod. 20:2 [3])
is not a statement of monotheism, but rather of commitment. Yahweh
must come first, which even could be read as a statement of priority, not
exclusivity. However, when read alongside other prohibitions, the mon-
olatrous implications are clear. In the immediately following verses (20:3–
4 [4–5]), Yahweh forbids making any images for worship because he is
a “jealous god.”25 He then qualifies his statement by forbidding images of
21
On ANE divine–human contracts, see T. Lewis 2006:341.
22
There is no explicit condemnation of other gods in Gen., and non-P Gen. does not use the
word “covenant” until 15:18, when Yahweh officially commits to giving Abram’s des-
cendants the land (cf. the P version in Gen. 17). Rather than placing greater demands on
the lesser party, in Gen. Yahweh makes greater promises, some of which are conditioned
on obedience (Gen. 12, 22) and others of which are seemingly unconditional (Gen. 15),
though they are given in the context of a relationship in which obedience is assumed.
23
In turn, the well-being of others depends on how they treat the family of Abraham.
24
Here I follow the narrative chronology without implying that history actually followed its
story. Cf. Saudi Arabia for a modern nation whose constitution is essentially a religious
document, the Qur’an.
25
In fact, Yahweh’s self-proclaimed jealousy bookends the Sinai legislation in 20:4 (5) and
34:14.
gods, which is the primary method of accessing them (20:19 [23]). The
text later extends the terms to a taboo on speaking the names of other gods
(23:13) and making a covenant with other deities (23:32).26 Just as their
names must not be spoken, so too must their cultic apparatuses be des-
troyed (23:24).
The explicit monolatry of Exodus and implicit monolatry of Genesis
may best be explained by way of analogy. This exclusive relationship
resembles a modern monogamous marriage. While I recognize the exist-
ence of many other women, my marriage contract requires me to be
exclusively committed to my wife. My infidelity would give her grounds
for dissolving the relationship in divorce. Likewise, while the text acknow-
ledges the existence of other gods, the divine contract requires that the
Israelites worship their jealous god alone.
non-priestly rhetoric
How does the text sell exclusive worship to its audience?27 This seemingly
simple question begs a bigger one: how does it transform Yahweh from
a peripheral god to the head of the divine pantheon? Even more drastic-
ally, how does Yahweh later transition from being the supreme god of the
universe to the only one in the universe? In what follows, we attempt to
answer the first two questions before returning to the third.
Yahweh’s emergence as a major player on the divine scene especially
mirrors those of three other deities – Marduk, Aššur, and Amun – the
primary gods of the ancient Babylonian, Assyrian, and Egyptian empires.
While the non-P texts are set in a distant time and space, the Assyrian,
Babylonian, and/or Persian empires likely loomed large over its audience.
In turn, Marduk and Aššur rhetoric in particular may have influenced
Yahweh rhetoric.28
Marduk and Aššur both began as relatively obscure gods of relatively
obscure places before becoming rival claimants to the throne of the gods.
26
Exod. 34:15–16 prohibits making a covenant with foreign people because doing so will
lead to non-Yahwistic worship.
27
Again, it must be stressed that Yahweh’s target audience is Israel. While he wants to be
acknowledged by all, he only demands worship from Israel.
28
While especially illustrative, connections with Amun may be more indirect. The theory of
cultural translation helps explain more concretely the translation of religion from one
culture to another. As a tool, it facilitates more incisive reconstructions of Israel’s
historical development. Nonetheless, it lies beyond the purview of the present work.
Regarding the theory, see Asad 1986; Ghosh 1992. Flynn applies the theory to the Bible
generally (2013:73–90) and more particularly to its religious history (2020).
Non-Priestly Rhetoric 313
In order to justify their ascension, publicists rebranded both deities by

creatively rewriting their scripts. Since Marduk as canal-digger and Aššur
as mountain spirit would not do, both used the traditional trope of
monster slaying, to which they added the agglutination of all known
divine attributes.29
In Enuˉ ma eliš Marduk’s public relations team went to work to expand
his profile, employing a business model similar to modern megastores like
Amazon.com. Rather than claim that other deities did not exist or offer
new divine powers, Marduk demonstrated his superiority by claiming for
himself the other deities’ previously exclusive names and attributes (such
as in his accumulation of fifty names as the climax of the story). As a result,
Marduk became a one-stop-shop god who justified his status as the king of
the gods, the best among many, by being able to do in one person what the
other gods could do corporately. Assyria later followed suit in promoting
Aššur as king of the gods, who likewise rose from obscurity to become the
one-stop-shop god. Throughout the histories of Babylonia and Assyria,
Aššur and Marduk continued to vie for supremacy with megastore-like
rhetoric. Such an approach was particularly effective in a communal
society where the quality and quantity of one’s roles determine one’s
status. By playing all the necessary divine roles, Marduk and Aššur
aimed to demonstrate their social utility and thus fitness to rule.
Nonetheless, cementing supreme status did not involve a proselytizing
campaign to maximize worship. Instead, imperial rhetoric had little effect
on popular worship. For example, there is little indication of individual
Aššur worship outside the ruling elite.30
Amun likewise had relatively humble beginnings.31 He too co-opted
the powers of other gods. Nonetheless, rather than rewrite his script, texts
erased his backstory altogether, making him the hidden one. With no
predetermined limits, Amun was even more malleable than Marduk or
Aššur. Effectively pure potential with nearly limitless multiplicity, Amun
could be whatever the text needed him to be. He could present multiple
selves all while keeping his true self hidden. For the New Kingdom
Egyptians, Amun was the first principle who predated the other creator
29
Enuˉ ma eliš also innovatively combined combat and creation into a single narrative and
did it so convincingly that modern scholars often read creation into combat myths and
vice versa.
30
Pongratz-Leisten 2011a:182.
31
Since his prominence had waned by the turn of the first millennium, the non-P writers
likely did not respond directly to Amun. Nonetheless, a comparison remains profitable
because both arose in the same region by employing similar methods and motifs.
gods. More than that, he continued to be the animating power of the

universe, effectively making the various other gods his bas and their
powers his own. Unlike Marduk and Aššur, while hidden, Amun was
also accessible, adding to his popularity. However, unlike Marduk and
Aššur, he eschewed combat.32 As Amun was the dominant force in the
cosmos, combat was unnecessary and would bring him down to the other
gods level.
Yahweh too rose from relative obscurity, without offering any substan-
tially new powers. Instead, the non-P innovation lay in combining preex-
isting elements in a new way. While similar in many respects, the biblical
texts promoted a different goal. Whereas in Mesopotamia and Egypt the
goal was to legitimize the kingships of Marduk, Aššur, and Amun, in
Israel the goal was more ambitious still – to promote exclusive worship of
Yahweh. In essence, they aimed to corner the Israelite market.
To accomplish this goal, the non-P Pentateuch did not argue that
Yahweh was the only deity or invent entirely new powers.33 Rather, in
order to convince the people that it was worthwhile to serve Yahweh
exclusively, they presented him as possessing all the competencies of the
other gods. Yahweh supporters essentially argued that he was a one-stop-
shop god who offered in one place all the goods and services that the other
gods offered collectively.34 While Marduk, Aššur, and Amun merely had
to convince people that they were the best among many, Yahweh had to
convince them that he could meet all of their needs; for if he could not, as
the text attests, they would be tempted to shop elsewhere.35 In short,
biblical authors used their powers of persuasion to convince the people
to take their business to Yahweh(.com) and no one else.
Worshiping Yahweh primarily or in combination with other deities is
not a particularly difficult sell. However, exclusivity requires that the
people believe he is better than all the other gods combined. Such
32
While he inherits many of Re’s powers in the composite Amon-Re, he does not necessarily
inherit his enemies. Related texts minimize or eliminate the threat of Apep altogether.
33
The rest of the Hebrew Bible continues the trend of at least tacitly acknowledging the
existence of other gods (cf. the potential exceptions in Deut. 4 and Isa. 40–8, both
prompted by exceptional circumstances and likely more rhetorical than literal statements
of monotheism).
34
As the sole deity in Islam, Allah too had to be cast as one-stop-shop god, using earlier
Christian and Jewish rhetoric to do so.
35
In contrast, lacking a skill or two had little effect on Marduk’s and Aššur’s claims to
supremacy. Such a deficit would only come into play when mega-deity competed against
mega-deity, as one god being able to do what the other could not could determine divine
superiority.
Non-Priestly Rhetoric 315
supremacy alone likely would not be enough to inspire exclusive commit-

ment. In turn, the text provides the negative incentive that if they want
what Yahweh has to offer, they must choose between him and the other
gods.36 As a final incentive, the non-P texts work to remove other com-
petitors from the market altogether.37
The biblical monolatrous agenda most resembles the short-lived
Amarna experiment with the promotion of a single all-encompassing
god and persecution of his closest rival, Amun. The major difference
seems to be popular support. While biblical rhetoric proved successful,
Amarna rhetoric did not. As we will see, while the Amarna rhetoric was
rejected, the biblical rhetoric served as the impetus for monotheism.
In a parochial setting demands for a one-stop-shop god would be
comparatively modest. However, with the defeat of the nation and its
exile at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians with their cosmic
gods, exclusive worship became a harder sell.38 In order to inspire con-
tinued exclusive worship, Yahweh worshippers had to be convinced that
he was superior to Marduk (and Aššur), that Yahweh could still meet all
their needs. In essence, Yahweh’s power had to be inversely proportional
to that of his people; the weaker they became, the stronger and more
expansive he needed to be to warrant exclusive worship. The historical
reality they faced finds expression in the Exodus narrative. Israel
cannot fight, so Yahweh must fight for them. In fact, teaming with
a weak people ultimately enhances his profile, as his victory with
a powerless people would establish his supremacy in a way that
leading powerful people would not.39
With such competition, Yahweh was eventually recast as the universal
high god with no cosmic rival, rather than just the high god of the Israelite
system. The exclusive god of Israel then became the supreme god of
everyone and everywhere (cf. for a fuller articulation of this position Isa.
36
Today, most Americans shop with Amazon and other retailers since there is no incentive
to choose one exclusively. If; however, Amazon required an exclusive commitment from
potential shoppers, some people may choose Amazon over the rest of the field.
37
Direct competition, for example, with Baal the weather god, is more pronounced outside
of the Pentateuch (i.e., 1 Kgs 18).
38
While narrated elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, the events likely loomed large over the
non-P audience. Whereas other gods (including Marduk and Aššur) eventually fell into
obscurity with the fall of their nations, Yahweh rhetoric was successful enough to ensure
that Yahweh worship survived, enabling it to eventually expand to form the basis for the
world’s great monotheisms.
39
Similarly, in sports, coaches are given more credit for leading a team of underdogs to
victory than a team of all-stars.
40–8). While Yahweh’s absolute kingship and universal worship are not
goals of the non-P Pentateuch, the text moves toward presenting Yahweh
as absolute sovereign and lays the groundwork for later claims of univer-
sal worship. Like Marduk, Aššur, and Amun, Yahweh has an expansive
profile of names, attributes, and manifestations. Among other things,
Yahweh is creator and destroyer, indomitable warrior, in charge of illness,
fertility, food, water, storm, and fire.40 The Exodus is his primary proof
text (i.e., Exod. 19:4; 20:2 [3]), the primary reason why Israel should
commit to exclusive worship and trust that Yahweh can do what he says
he will do.41
Interestingly, like the Amun literature, Exodus omits a battle of the
gods. Yahweh does not fight the gods of Egypt or any other gods or
monsters in the non-P narrative. Instead, Yahweh’s combatant is the
human pharaoh, who poses no real threat.42 Indeed, Yahweh must
strengthen the pharaoh’s resolve long enough for Yahweh to demonstrate
his prowess (Exod. 10:1; cf. 4:21; 10:1, 20, 27; 11:10).43 The non-P
Pentateuch thus cleverly avoids the god-versus-monster trope. In other
monster-slaying narratives (e.g., Marduk and Tiamat, Ninurta and Anzu,
Baal, Yamm, and Mot), the hero god and monster are near matches in
order to make the victory more impressive. While the conflict demon-
strates divine supremacy, it does not clearly distinguish the deity from all
other cosmic forces. It indicates that there are forces that threaten the gods
and, even if defeated, leaves open the possibility that another monster will
come to threaten the would-be divine king.44 By avoiding conflict with
40
See Chapter 6 under Attributes for a fuller list with references.
41
I use the term “proof text” intentionally. The message of the non-P Pentateuch is not
addressed to the characters in the story but to a later audience. Whether or not the event
happened, the audience was not there to experience it. The text and its dramatic recitation
and reenactment thus must convince the audience of its veracity, enough to make the
story cultural memory and the basis of cultural identity.
42
When Yahweh does fight (Exod. 14:14, 25), what follows is more of an execution than
a battle.
43
See also the P Exod. 7:30, where Yahweh hardens the pharaoh’s heart in order to multiply
his signs and wonders.
44
Interestingly, with its more stable setting the Babylonian Enuˉ ma eliš is more decisive than
the Baal Epic, whose partial victory may mimic the Ugaritic experience among larger
empires. By the same logic, one would expect a relatively stable myth in Egypt. By
contrast, the Egyptian battle between Re and Apep must be daily resolved with the fate
of the world hanging in the balance. While Egypt was a relatively stable empire, more so
than either Assyria or Babylonia for much of its history, life along the Nile was precar-
ious; cf. the pessimistic Norse worldview where despite significant cultural and military
advances, the world will burn (its rebirth in the Prose Edda may be attributed to its
Christian author Snorri Sturluson and not original to the source material).
Non-Priestly Hierarchy 317
gods and monsters altogether and positing the comical battle of a god with
a man, Genesis and Exodus thereby present a god with no rival, who is
unquestionably sovereign.45
With no other gods to worry about, the drama moves to the human
world. The conflict set up in the garden of Eden continues to dominate the
larger biblical narrative: will Yahweh’s people follow him? For the non-P
narrator, other people and gods are largely irrelevant. Human allegiance
remains the only unresolved issue.46 Thus, with conflicts in the non-P
narrative long past, the battle becomes not of the gods but rather the
rhetoric about them.
Like Marduk, Aššur, and Amun, Yahweh as one-stop-shop god
remains flexible. He may adapt his profile to meet the needs of the context
and stay in business. Nonetheless, Yahweh has greater potential to adapt
than either Marduk or Aššur. Scribes essentially rewrote Marduk and
Aššur’s script. However, in doing so they gave them a defined backstory
and defined conflicts. With such a well-defined script, they may expand on
it yet cannot significantly alter it without rewriting the narrative again. In
Yahweh’s case, as with Amun, the narrative carefully excises Yahweh’s
backstory and any conflicts he might have had.47 In addition, by with-
holding all unnecessary information, the text presents Yahweh as a deity
without limit. As a result, Yahweh is more a blank slate who exhibits pure
potential.48 With undefined contours, Yahweh, like Amun, can be whom-
ever the audience needs him to be. This flexibility is succinctly expressed in
Yahweh’s self-declaration, “I will be who I will be” (Exod. 3:14).
non-priestly hierarchy
Having analyzed the non-P theological profile and rhetoric, we turn to the
divine hierarchy in order to further situate Yahweh among the gods both
foreign and domestic. Elsewhere in the ANE, pantheons differ in size and
complexity and scholarly reconstructions of their hierarchies vary, yet
45
Cf. P, which makes the great sea monsters part of Yahweh’s good creation (1:21).
46
For the audience, making allegiance the sole issue puts their current plight in perspective,
urging them to ignore all else and focus on following Yahweh as the path to liberation (cf.
Josh. 1:6–10).
47
For theories on the divine backstory, see briefly Chapter 6 under Attributes and the
references cited therein; see more fully van Oorschot and Witte 2017.
48
Often the more you know about an individual, the more your expectations narrow and
gain definition. Since you know nothing about strangers, they often represent pure
potential and, as such, are often more intriguing in both positive and negative ways.
they may be simplified into the same three-tier model: high god(s), major
gods, minor gods. A high god rests at the top, often accompanied by
a female consort.49 The high god exercises authority over the other deities.
Major gods occupy the middle tier and are often specialists in one or more
ways, such as being a sun, moon, weather, or war deity. The third tier
holds the minor gods, who have comparatively little individuation and
effectively work for the gods above them on the hierarchy (e.g., viziers,
messengers, and tamed monsters) or are more abstract or peripheral to the
central action (e.g., rivers and abstract qualities).
In non-P Genesis and Exodus, we also may posit a similar hierarchy.50
While P and D eschew complications like multiple manifestations and
multiple divine beings, the non-P Pentateuch expertly walks a fine line.
The non-P texts include complexity yet bend it to their will, promoting
without compromise presence, distance, mono-Yahwism, and monolatry.
In some ways the non-P presentation is an admixture of ANE aspects,
adapted to fit its monolatrous agenda. The texts present Yahweh as
a combination of ANE deities and largely depopulate or depersonalize
the remaining divine world to avoid competition.51 Like Marduk, Aššur,
and Amun, Yahweh is the one-stop-shop high god. In fact, a diversified
portfolio is often what separates high gods from the specialist major gods.
However, Yahweh stands alone on the top level without female consort.52
49
The following summary oversimplifies the other ANE hierarchies for illustrative pur-
poses. See the relevant chapters for more details.
50
Analysis omits the generic “gods” since there is not enough information to go on and the
hierarchy would likely exclude them on monolatrous grounds.
51
By calling Yahweh a “combination,” I am not positing clear borrowing. Rather the
conception of Yahweh in some ways resembles and diverges from those of other ANE
gods.
52
There may be a hint of a female counterpart in Gen. 49:25, but any associations with the
divine feminine largely have been excised from the text. To close the gap, Yahweh in other
texts takes on traditionally feminine attributes (e.g., Deut. 32:18; Hos 11:3–4; Isa. 42:14;
49:15). Asherah (the biblical equivalent of Athirat) features elsewhere in the Bible.
However, it is not entirely clear if the female goddess or a cult object is in view. The
term asherah usually occurs with the direct object or in the plural, suggesting that in most
cases the goddess was not in view. In context, these references seem to refer to a sacred
pole (e.g., 1 Kgs 14:15, 23; Isa. 27:9; Jer. 17:1), the wooden equivalent of a standing
stone. Nonetheless, there are clear instances where the goddess Asherah is in view (1 Kgs
18:19; 23:4). Thus, it is not entirely clear whether the sacred poles are intended as access
points or symbols of Yahweh or Asherah. Most likely, the referent varies based on the
context. As with Enlil in Mesopotamia, Asherah in some cases seems to be depersonal-
ized. Instead of being Yahweh’s consort, she becomes an object, now deemed illicit, used
to access him. At Kuntillet ‘Ajrud, inscriptions reference “Yahweh and ’šrth.” Here too
debate continues about whether to consider ’šrth, commonly translated “his Asherah,”
a deity or object. Many assume Asherah, the goddess, is in view (i.e., Köckert 1998:165).
In fact, the text preserves no female deities at all. Yahweh is the only deity
with a constellation whose aspects are especially tightly bound in pursuit
of mono-Yahwism, with the possible exception of angels and the fiery
manifestations. As an expansive constellation of aspects, Yahweh is mul-
tiple, yet his multiple parts are not easily detachable or dissoluble from his
person.
With the goal of exclusive Yahweh worship, the non-P texts have no
room for potential competitors. In turn, they either depopulate or deper-
sonalize the second tier, the major god category. Yahweh effectively
absorbs El names, attributes, and potential manifestations.53
Nonetheless, while he accumulates Baal’s powers, Baal remains fully
distinct and emerges in other biblical literature as Yahweh’s chief
competitor.54 The non-P texts ignore the fight by ignoring Baal altogether,
perhaps intentionally or perhaps since he is peripheral to the traditions it
preserves. Rather than compete directly with mighty Egyptian gods,
Yahweh achieves victory through benign neglect. Ignoring them
altogether, Yahweh performs his signs in their backyard with impunity,
thereby stressing their comparative impotence. The most likely denizens
of the second tier are the sons of god and the Destroyer. By analogy with
the sons of god at Ugarit, the sons of god in Genesis 6 may be a class of
major gods subordinate to Yahweh, the high god. In Job 1 they also seem
to form part of the divine council, usually reserved for major gods.55 The
Destroyer is a specialist with a major power and thus potentially a major
god, though his clearly defined role and subordinate status indicate that he
may simply be a highly skilled minor deity. However, it is difficult to say
for sure since we know virtually nothing about them.
In contrast, the third tier remains relatively full. The minor gods, for
lack of a more appropriate emic term, likely include angels and the
cherubim, analogous to the hybrid guards that are minor gods elsewhere
in the ANE. If divine, the serpent, pillar(s), and Flame-of-the-Whirling-
Sword also would be minor gods. While perhaps better suited for the
However, for others, the possessive “his” is decisive as names do not appear with
a possessive (i.e., Wiggins 1993:188). Thus, “his Asherah” would be an object as access
point. Tropper (2017:19–20) interprets ’šrth as ašir(a)tā , which he takes to be “the
(archaic) full form of the name of the goddess in the (lengthened) a-case, which appears
continuously in the Old Testament without case ending as ‘ašerā (h).”
53
Cf. the similar partial absorption of Re by Amun in the composite Amon-Re.
54
See W. Herrmann 1999a. In effect, the conflict pits the generalist high god against the
specialist weather god in a land where rainfall was necessary for survival. In pursuit of
monolatry, no compromise is possible; only an absolute Yahwistic victory will satisfy.
55
Alternatively, they may be minor attendants.
major god category, the sons of god and the Destroyer may simply be
minor gods as they have little individuation. As a group, non-P’s minor
gods have even less individuation than their ANE counterparts. With no
individuation, the angels, cherubim, the sons of god, and even the “gods”
(who are outside of the pantheon) each seem to form collective constella-
tions of distinct but related beings.
While minor gods seem to perform real functions in the non-P texts,
elsewhere the roles have become largely rhetorical, serving as a hype
squad meant to demonstrate Yahweh’s supremacy. For example, in the
Psalms various divine beings essentially function as cheerleaders whose
only discernible job is to praise (Ps. 29:1; 103:20–1; 104:1–2). The ser-
aphim of Isaiah 6 are a particularly creative and telling example of the
text’s rhetorical redistribution of roles. Seraphim seem to be fiery, winged,
serpentine throne guardians, a merger of Semitic and Egyptian
traditions.56 Expecting ferocious bodyguards like other ANE traditions,
the text presents guards who hide their faces from their charge. Such
a seeming dereliction of duty indicates that these most fearsome creatures
cannot even look at God, much less guard him. Indeed, they demonstrate
such a being does not need guarding, rendering their service ceremonial.
They likewise cover their feet, presumably because of the holiness of the
place, and, like good cheerleaders, sing his praises (Isa. 6:2–3). When
Isaiah approaches, they spring to action, purifying him. Thus, the rhetoric
of the texts transforms the scariest monsters into cowed priest-
cheerleaders, thereby highlighting Yahweh’s prowess.
The angels are a particularly noteworthy member of the minor god
category in Genesis and Exodus and, as we will soon see, elsewhere in the
Hebrew Bible. Other divine beings are clearly distinct from Yahweh, their
master, and thus clearly outside of the divine constellation. Angels are so
closely allied with Yahweh that they at times may fall at the edge of his
constellation as detachable aspects. Alternatively and perhaps more likely,
one could argue, as in Egypt, for a temporary and partial combined
constellation, expressed uniquely with both elements – Yahweh and the
angel – appearing side by side in the same narrative, likely for obfuscating
purposes. Such a combined constellation does not form for the purpose of
adding or highlighting an attribute, but rather to establish cognitive
distance between Yahweh and his manifestations. Instead of fully merging
forms or sharing identities, the overlap is merely partial, purposely blur-
ring the definitional edges between Yahweh and messenger.
56
Simone 2019:76–7.
Angels either may be fully distinct and dependent or incompletely

overlapping with Yahweh as the needs of the text dictate. The man in
Genesis 32 performs a similar blurring function. He seems to be part of the
divine constellation, yet the textual obfuscation indicates that he is likely
a more distant or at least partial form of presence. Rather than being fiery
vehicles, the pillar(s) and Sinai theophanies in Exodus 19–20 may be
emanations of Yahweh’s person designed to reveal and conceal his pres-
ence. As divine emanations, they then would serve as detachable aspects of
the larger Yahweh constellation.
As noted, these other divine beings play three meaningful roles, two of
which require them being distinct from Yahweh and the third either at the
edge of the divine constellation or as a partial combined constellation.57
They add a new character when needed and/or serve as a surrogate, and
they add a measure of cognitive dissonance and distance when Yahweh’s
presence risks being too close or anthropomorphic. In sum, the divine
hierarchy includes a fully formed Yahweh with undeveloped deities as his
subordinates or surrogate appendages.
The text’s reticence about these other characters is more than a matter
of parsimony. Rather, their indeterminateness serves the monolatrous
agenda. While useful in the narrative, the other deities are no threat to
Yahweh worship.58 While in most cases they are distinguished from
Yahweh, they remain dependent on him. In the text the other gods have
no independent identity, no names, no families, no social circles, no
personalities. They are simply described by their job title or category
and subordinate status to Yahweh, essentially existing only as employees
of Yahweh(.com). These one-dimensional subordinates, thus have no
substance to latch on to and offer Yahweh no real competition. Even if
the sons of god and the Destroyer are major gods, they pose no threat as
there is nothing concrete enough about their identities or commendable
about their behavior to threaten Yahweh.59 Thus, the text removes them
from competition by denying them the dimensionality, personality, and
independence that may be alluring to prospective worshippers.
While Israel may have lost on the battlefield of history, its fight raged on
in rhetoric. Perhaps then Israelite exceptionalism may lie not in the events
57
If the pillar(s) may be called a being and divine.
58
Yahweh seems to be jealous of his position and of keeping the various beings in their place
as evidenced by his punitive action when humans begin to blur boundaries (Gen. 3, 6, 11).
59
The employee function may not apply to the sons of god and serpent, as we will see, who
play more sinister and seemingly unsanctioned roles. Nonetheless, they remain ephemeral
as they, like the Nephilim, immediately disappear from the narrative.
of history but in the rhetoric used to interpret it.60 This rhetorical battle
would be especially real to the audience, since the events the texts describe,
if in any way historical, are long gone. Whether true or not, their memory
and power live on only in the stories told about them.
later developments: monolatry on the way to

monotheism
The momentum of monolatry likely caused another reshuffling of the
cosmic deck toward the end of the Hebrew Bible and into early
Judaism and Christianity.61 The disparate minor god category was
given a name – angels (literally “messengers”) – even though most of
its members were not actually messengers.62 In effect, rather than being
several collective constellations (e.g., angels, cherubim, and sons of
god) with some individual members (i.e., the Destroyer), the minor
god category became a single collective constellation of sub divine
beings called angels. As a result, Yahweh became the only ’ĕ loˉ hîm
for Jews and Christians alike.63 Monotheism, though, awaited one
further consolidation.
Since they no longer posed a threat to Yahweh, angels began to
gain individuality, leading to the explosion of interest in the angelic
(and demonic) worlds in late Second Temple times.64 In its last stages
the Hebrew Bible documents the beginning of the trend ascribing
60
In another sense their exceptionalism is historical since theirs is the ANE religion that
made the largest impact on the modern world.
61
Here, it must be stressed that monolatry had not completely won the day, yet it became
well established enough that the other categorizations gradually lost influence. The
resulting migration from multiple minor gods to angels was likely slow, complex, and
in some ways incomplete; one model does not immediately replace the other; cf. Ben-Dov
2016.
62
See Mach 1992:14–15; Meier 1999a:49–50; von Heijne 2010:13; Martin 2010:665;
Doedens 2019:171–3, 181; cf. Newsom 1992:1251; Köckert 2007:54. Some see this
development already in Dan. 3, which equates a “son of God” (25) with an angel (28).
However, the text is ambiguous. The angel could be the generic category that subsumes
all other divine beings, including sons of god. Alternatively, the son of god in Daniel could
be the generic category, with angel specifying the son of god’s role (cf. Doedens
2019:230–1).
63
Whereas the Amarna experiment seems to have largely lifted Aten out of the god
category, the biblical experiment reduced the god category to one; cf. the Great Hymn
to Aten, which also describes Aten as the only god (see Chapter 3 for details).
64
Cf. von Heijne 2010:13, who notes that from the third century BCE onward, texts
emphasize divine transcendence and the corresponding increase in the angels’ roles as
mediators.
The Origin and Trajectory of Evil? 323
names to the angels Gabriel (Dan. 8:16; 9:21; cf. Luke 1:19, 26) and
Michael (Dan. 10:13, 21; 12:1; cf. Jude 1:9; Rev 12:7).65
Interestingly, even with names and identities, their subordinate status
remains embedded in their names, which end in ’eˉl, now thoroughly
associated with Yahweh.66 With the predominance of angels in
Genesis and Exodus, the non-P texts seem to represent an intermedi-
ate stage between a deity-rich world and one populated by Yahweh
and his angels.
the origin and trajectory of evil?

The triumph of monolatry also brought with it the problem of evil. In other
contexts evil was less of a philosophical issue and more of a practical
concern.67 With multiple active deities, monsters, and demons, it could
have multiple sources. To establish monolatry, the non-P texts posit only
one meaningful divine actor. No other god, monster, or demon is in view. In
such a world, especially when projected onto a global rather than local scale
in the primeval narrative, Yahweh is ultimately responsible for whatever
happens. Thus, arises among his followers the need to justify him in the
face of evil (theodicy).
The difference between the non-P and other ANE narratives emerges
most clearly in a comparison of flood stories. Both Genesis 6–8 and
Atrahasis have the same essential building blocks: a divine decree to
˘
destroy humanity by flood, a divine savior, a human hero who survives
the flood on a boat, and a resolution with a sacrifice.68 Nonetheless,
both build different stories with their blocks, products of their different
contexts. In Atrahasis Enlil is responsible for destruction on the
˘
grounds that humans are disturbing his rest.69 Another deity, Ea, is
the savior. In contrast, as the only meaningful actor, Yahweh must
play both roles, thus presenting a single deity working at cross-
purposes.70
65
Gabriel (Jibril) is also the angel who delivers the Qur’an to Muhammad in Islam.
66
Cf. Propp 1999:198.
67
Cf. the late second millennium Ludlul beˉl neˉ meqi. While clearly not monotheistic, with
Marduk as absolute ruler, the text wonders why he allows the righteous to suffer and why
divination fails (Lenzi 2012).
68
The Gilgamesh version contains even more parallels, including sending out three birds as
scouts.
69
In context this is reasonable. Since humans were created to enable divine leisure and they
are failing in their purpose, Enlil is justified in eliminating them.
70
While the sons of god are introduced to start the conflict, Yahweh alone resolves it.
To justify his actions, the text makes human moral failure the reason
for the punishment (6:5).71 While Yahweh’s maintenance of the world
and the reason for evil in it remain somewhat inscrutable, evil seems to be
primarily a product of human misconduct. In turn, divine extermination
of most of humanity becomes a punishment for moral failure.72
Within the pages of the primeval narrative, within the same flood story
and in the Eden narrative, the reader finds seeds of another solution.
Genesis 3 and 6:1–4 feature the best examples of potential divine disobedi-
ence in the Hebrew Bible.73 The quasi-divine serpent incites humans to eat
the forbidden fruit, leading to their moral awakening, eventual punish-
ment, and expulsion from paradise. One could make the case that the
serpent is merely doing the divine bidding, that Yahweh wanted to test
them and used the snake as his instrument. However, Yahweh’s punish-
ment of the snake implies disobedience, since he would presumably only
punish an employee when he had done something wrong (3:14–15). Part
of the snake’s punishment includes enmity with humans, perhaps as an
explanation of the perceived antagonism between humans and snakes in
the author’s world.
In Genesis 6 the divine sons of god mate with human women, prompt-
ing a shortening of the human life span and precipitating a flood that put
an end to human-divine commingling.74 While there is no explicit divine
censure of the sons of god, the results and the larger context imply sexual
misconduct.75 In Genesis 3 humans rebelliously consume fruit from the
tree of the knowledge of good and evil, leading to a blurring of the line
71
Turning the issue into a moral one also means that there is no real resolution, unlike the
Atrahasis story where population control is a fitting conclusion to the conflict. (Human)
˘
evil remains in the world, leading the Bible to anticipate a better world in the future,
sometimes near and other times more distant.
72
In a similar but slightly different vein, Gen. 15 explains the suffering in Egypt as a prelude
to divine justice. Divine justice is delayed because “the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet
complete” (Gen. 15:16). The conquest then is Yahweh’s judgment on the inhabitants of
the land. It delays four hundred years so that their extermination is justified. In essence,
their sin cup gradually fills. Eventually, it spills over, triggering punishment. While it does
not directly justify the harm done to the Abraham’s descendants, it introduces the concept
of delayed justice as a way of contextualizing current and future hardship (one that would
surely resonate with the text’s audience). Gen. 22:1 introduces the parallel idea of
suffering as a divine test of character.
73
The other potential examples lie with the ś ā t ̣ā n character, to whom we will shortly return;
cf. Lev. 16:8–10, 26; 17:7; Deut. 32:17 Dan. 10, which imply divine adversaries rather
than rebellious deities.
74
Humans, though, are the primary reason for the flood since they are “wicked” and all of
their inclinations are toward “evil” (6:5).
75
Pace A. Wright 2015:5, 50, 52, 90.
between human and god. Human expulsion thus becomes necessary lest
that line be erased altogether with immortality granted by the tree of life
(3:22–4). Later in Genesis 11:1–9 humans’ seemingly rebellious coordin-
ation leads them to build a tower reaching to the heavens and presumably
to challenge Yahweh, either directly or by rendering him redundant.
Yahweh restores the balance by scattering the people and confusing
their languages. In Genesis 6 the blurring of boundaries instigated by the
sons of god and never repeated has cosmic consequences. Thus, it follows
that the actions of the sons of god are rebellious.
While both passages provide only hints of divine rebellion, later inter-
preters latched on to the hints and imaginatively filled in the gaps to flesh
out their theologies. The Enochic Book of Watchers in particular waters
the seeds in Genesis 6:1–4 to produce an explanation for the origin of evil
spirits.76 With the consolidation of the divine sphere, all divine beings in
Yahweh’s employ become angels. By commingling with human women,
the sons of god become fallen angels, in terms of both their illicit descent
and the actions that follow. Rather than blame humanity, the text lays the
blame for the flood at their feet, leading to their own destruction and that
of their giant offspring. While physically gone, they leave a remnant in the
evil spirits that survive the giants death. The evil spirits proceed to oppress
and possess humanity. The story thereby offers a possible origin of evil in
early Judaism.77 While it remains unclear if the Enochic interpretation is
novel or a consolidation of (latent) beliefs, it was part of and inspiration
for the emerging literature on angels and demons.78
Today, Christian circles tend to read the serpent in the garden as Satan,
the instigator of original sin and the fall of humanity, and the conflict as
one between the forces of good and evil. However, such a reading likely
lies not in the text itself but in a retrojection of later ideas onto it. To better
understand this retrojection, we turn to the enigmatic ś ā t ̣ā n figure, who
appears only elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible.
In the Hebrew Bible ś ā t ̣ā n is a common noun meaning “adversary” or
“accuser.” In most cases it refers to a human adversary with no moral
overtones (i.e., David in 1 Sam 29:24).79 In four other places (Num. 22:22;
Job 1–2; Zech. 3; 1 Chr 21:1) the noun is used with a divine referent. In
76
Ibid. 1.
77
Ibid. 166. It also suggests that angels may have a physical form and can sin.
78
See references to it in CD II:17–21, 4Q180; see ibid. for a detailed analysis of the text and
its afterlife.
79
Other references may be found in 2 Sam 16:5–14; 19:23 (22); 1 Kgs 5:18 (4); 11:14, 23,
25; Ps. 109:6. Ps. 109:6 uses it in a legal context, calling the accuser evil. However, this
Numbers 22 Yahweh sends an angel as an adversary to (invisibly) bar

Balaam’s path. In this context, a being with the title of angel serves
a specific function, being a physical adversary at Yahweh’s behest. Job
and Zechariah add the definite article h as prefix to ś ā t ̣ā n (haś ś ā t ̣ā n),
indicating that it is not a name but instead may refer to a title or (tempor-
ary) function.80 In both instances, the being serves in the role of verbal
accuser, the first in what seems to be the divine assembly (Job 1:6–12) and
the second in what appears to be a divine courtroom scene, perhaps also
the divine assembly (Zech. 3:1–7). In both the “accuser” seems to be on
the divine payroll. Minimally, he is under divine authority and acts only
with divine permission (Job 1:12).81 In both cases the being’s identity
beyond its function is unclear. It is also unclear if haś ś ā t ̣ā n is an accuser by
profession or a divine being that plays the role on an ad hoc basic (i.e.,
Num. 22:22). Regardless, the “accuser” is a far cry from Satan, the Prince
of Darkness. In 1 Chronicles 21:1 ś ā t ̣ā n appears without definite article,
leaving open the possibility that we have Satan for the first time or merely
“an (unnamed) accuser.” While tantalizing, nothing in the story and little
else in the Hebrew Bible supports reading it as Satan, thus rendering the
original referent uncertain.82
From where then did the diabolical Satan, also known as the Devil, and
his demonic horde emerge? Rather than transliterating ś ā t ̣ā n as ho Satanas,
the LXX translates it as ho diabolos.83 While diabolos later meant the devil,
in context it simply means an adversary, either human or divine (Est 7:4;
8:1).84 The term likewise has no moral overtones, as the later 1 Macc 1:36
describes Antiochus IV as a diabolon poneˉ ron, “an evil foe.” The adjective
“evil” indicates that the adversary is morally neutral, for if diabolos implied
wickedness, “evil” would be redundant.85 Thus, rather than imply malevo-
lence, the translator likely intentionally used a neutral expression.86
However, the associations soon grew darker.
In Greek culture daimonion (“daimon”) was a generic term for deity,
which could be applied to the high gods with no overtly negative
need not imply that accusers are inherently evil; rather they wish to appoint a wicked
accuser so David is convicted (7).
80
Cf. regarding its temporary nature, Breytenbach and Day 1999:728.
81
In Zech. 3, once rebuked, the ś ā t ̣ā n stays silent.
82
One may appeal to Dan 10, where Michael faces off with the princes of Persia and Greece,
presumably malevolent supernatural entities.
83
By contrast, the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs employs the transliterated ho Satanas
six times as a synonym for the evil Beliar (Hamilton 1992:986).
84 85 86
Ibid. Ibid. Gammie 1985:18–19.
associations. The LXX consistently applies the Greek term to the gods of
other nations, yet never to angels, which they render angelos. In doing so,
the ancient Jews effectively created two technical terms, which consolidated
all divine beings in Yahweh’s employ into the angel category and all deities
outside of his employ in the daimon category. They, thus gave a neutral
Greek word pejorative connotations, paving the way for the modern
“demon.”87 Beginning in the second century CE, Christians further com-
bined categories, equating demons with the fallen angels in the Enochic
interpretation of Genesis 6:1–4 while assimilating evil spirits into the
group.88 Thus, two types of beings remained in the pantheon, gods and
angels, with the latter category split into good angels and bad angels, also
known as demons. With this final consolidation, monotheism was born. By
effectively eliminating the middle tier and redefining the lower divine tier,
the biblical writers essentially reduced the members of the ’ĕ loˉ hîm category
to one, Yahweh, who as the unique member of the species moved from god
to God. Thus, in doggedly pursuing monolatry in the face of seemingly
insurmountable odds, the Israelites effectively backed into monotheism.
Over time “the accuser” and the adversarial diabolos became Satan,
the Devil, the leader of the demonic fallen angels and a fallen angel
himself.89 Satan thereby assimilated into his person the various leaders
of these diabolical forces (e.g., Mastema, Belial, and Belial) as Yahweh
had done the other gods and their powers. Satan likewise absorbed into
himself all that was evil as Yahweh had all that was good.
Despite the changes, the New Testament Satan did not completely sever
all connections to the ś ā t ̣ā n of the Hebrew Bible. Armed with a new inter-
pretive lens, Christian (and Jewish) interpreters retrojected Satan into the
Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. With the forces of evil localized in the person
of Satan, all references to supernatural evil or rebellion were applied to him.
Interpreters naturally gravitated to the passages featuring a divine ś ā t ̣ā n.
They also turned to the snake in the garden, equating him with Satan.90 In
search of an origin story, interpreters applied the New Testament references
87
Martin 2010:662–6. Martin speculates that the reasons for this division may stem from
the desire to separate the gods of the nations from Yahweh’s angels and angels from the
god category altogether (665).
88
Ibid. 657, 675–7. The ideas were germinating in the New Testament, yet it was likely not
yet fully formed (ibid. 673–5).
89
The name Satan appears unequivocally for the first time in Jubilees 23:29 and the
Assumption of Moses 10:1, alongside other demonic names (ca. the second century
BCE) (Hamilton 1992:987).
90
Even Jewish sources make such an equation (Sot ̣a. 9b; Sanh. 29a).
to Satan “falling from heaven” (Luke 10:18) to passages referring to human

anti-Yahweh figures founding their kingdoms on hubris, who are divinely
humbled by metaphorically falling from heaven (Isa. 14:12–15; Ezek. 28:11–
19).91 They thus read them even more figuratively than originally intended.
Nonetheless, the ś ā t ̣ā n character changes little between testaments.92
He continues to be a human adversary, questioning human loyalty to
Yahweh. Both ś ā t ̣ā n and Satan are no threat to Yahweh and may only
act when he allows it.93 The primary difference is that Satan no longer
works for Yahweh(.com). Satan’s primary conflict is with Yahweh’s
angels not over the fate of the world, but over the fate of the human
soul. While still under Yahweh’s ultimate authority, he and his horde join
humans as another explanation for evil in the world. Thus, while neither is
present in the narrative, the non-P Pentateuch lays the groundwork for
later Christian, Jewish, and Muslim monotheism and demonology.
91
Isa. 14:12 is also the source of Satan as Lucifer (Latin “light-bringer” referring to the
planet Venus).
92
Interestingly, his appearance in both cases is undefined. The Hebrew Bible says nothing
about form, while the New Testament includes a description of Satan as the likely
nonliteral dragon (Rev. 12) and a vague reference to him masquerading as an angel of
light (2 Cor 11:14).
93
Again, this is not the only perspective in early Christianity (or Judaism). In other cases the
worldview is more dualistic. See Frey and Popkes 2018.
9
Divine Access and Objects
Having situated Yahweh among the gods, we turn to situating Yahweh in

relation to people and objects in non-P Genesis and Exodus. More par-
ticularly, we consider human access to and communication with the deity.
Since elsewhere in the ANE, objects are the primary locus of presence and
human–divine communication, we also will assess the relationship
between Yahweh and objects.1
Whereas elsewhere in the ANE direct divine speech to humanity is rare, it
is the primary mode of communication in Genesis and Exodus.2 In most
cases, the narrator simply introduces direct divine speech without indicat-
ing the means of delivery, leaving the reader to wonder if Yahweh appears
or communicates another way. “Yahweh (or Elohim) said” (wayyoˉ ’mer
YHWH) is typical (Gen. 2:18; 4:6, 9, 10, 15; 3:22; 6:3, 7; 7:1; 8:21; 11:6;
12:1; 22:1; 31:3; 35:1; Exod. 7:14; 8:16; 9:1, 13, 22; 10:1, 12, 21; 11:1, 9;
16:4, 28; 17:5, 14; 19:9, 10, 21, 24; 20:18 [22]; 24:1, 12; 32:7 [8], 9 [10],
33; 33:1; 34:1).3 In other cases, the text adds the additional detail that
1
As noted, while images may offer oracles, primarily they offer a (surrogate) presence that
allows for human-divine communication and service.
2
For ANE examples of divine-human communication, see the summary in Hamori
2008:129–49.
3
In Gen. 2:18; 3:22; 6:3, 7; 11:6–7, Yahweh speaks to no one in particular or to an
ambiguous “us”; cf. 8:21 where Yahweh speaks in his heart. Such speaking presumably
serves as a way to give the audience vital information without giving us direct access to his
thoughts, a soliloquy of sorts.
329
330 Divine Access and Objects
“Yahweh appeared” (wayyeˉrā ’ YHWH), which features exclusively in

Genesis (Gen. 12:7; 18:1; 26:2, 24; 35:1, 9).4
In places the text provides more theophanic details. Yahweh appears by
the oak of Moreh in Shechem (12:6–7), by the oaks of Mamre at Hebron
(13:18; 18:1), at Gerar (26:2), and at Beersheba (26:24). In Exodus an
angel appears in a burning bush and Yahweh speaks (3:2), while Yahweh
speaks in the context of the Sinai theophanies (19–20; 34) and at the tent
of meeting (33:12–23). While the text gives few details, appearing and
speaking seems to be a more intimate and important form of divine
communication since the patriarchs primarily build altars in places
where Yahweh appeared (12:7; 26:5; 35:1, 3, 7).
Divine speech also may be indirect in Genesis, via either a messenger
(Gen. 16; 21:17; 22:11, 15; cf. Gen. 19) and/or a dream (Gen. 20:3–7;
28:10–17; 31:10–1, 24; 37:5–11; 40–1; 42:9) or vision (Gen. 15; 46:2). In
Genesis 31:31 the angel speaks in a dream.5 In Genesis 15, 20, 28, 31:24,
and 46:2 Yahweh speaks directly in the dream. Genesis 15 and 28 also
feature dream theophanies, revealing something that one could not see
while awake. In the Joseph cycle dreams do not feature direct divine
speech but rather visions that need interpreting. In Exodus communica-
tion is exclusively direct, though it is mediated to the people through
Moses.
Of all the forms of divine-human communication mentioned, only the
symbolic dreams of the Joseph cycle resemble traditional divination prac-
ticed by their ANE counterparts.6 Laban too claims to practice some form
of divination (Gen. 30:27).7 As is its bent, Genesis does not reject the
practice or its efficacy; divination is simply something that Yahweh fol-
lowers generally ignore. The potential exceptions may not be exceptions
at all, but rather rhetorical flourishes. When Joseph’s men confront his
4
In Exod. 3:2 the angel “appeared” in the burning bush. In Exod. 3:16; 4:1, and 5 Yahweh
and Moses discuss the divine appearance.
5
Exod. does not have speaking angels, dreams, or visions. Source critics note dreams and
visions are a hallmark of the E source.
6
Loosely, divination refers to practices designed to gather otherwise hidden information or
power, with the divine as the most common source. While prophecy is common in the
Hebrew Bible (itself debatably classified as divination), other forms are not; see Nissinen
2018. Regarding divination, discussed in the larger context of magic, see Jeffers 1996; Rü.
Schmitt 2004; Dolansky 2008; for a comparison of magic in P and the wider ANE, see
Hundley (forthcoming B).
7
Cf. Wenham (1994:251) who translates the word niḥaštî as “grown rich” following
Waldman (1964) and Finkelstein (1968:34n19), who link the verb with the Akkadian
nahā šu “become full, wealthy.”
˘
Human–Divine Communication 331
brothers about the silver cup he planted on them, he commands the servants
to stress its divinatory function (44:5). While clearly intended to intimidate
them, it is unclear if Joseph actually practiced drink divination. Regardless,
it purposely draws on their expectation that a person like him would. In
Genesis 44:15 as well, Joseph urges his brothers to tell the truth since he can
perform divination. Once again, his statement is designed to intimidate and
may or may not indicate an ability to practice divination. In fact, the only
sort of divination he practices in the text is dream interpretation. As is its
tendency, Exodus is more openly critical, calling for the death penalty for
a female sorcerer (məkaššeˉ pā h) (22:17 [18]). While it remains unclear
precisely what a female sorcerer is, one of her roles was likely related to
divination. Elsewhere, Leviticus forbids various forms of divination (19:26,
31), while D prohibits elicit ritual activity, including various forms of
divination (18; cf. 1 Sam. 18).8
Instead, Yahweh is strikingly direct. Given its setting in the distant past
with the founding fathers, such directness is appropriate. Its abnormality
marks the specialness of the occasion and is believable because of its
distant and important setting.9 Nonetheless, such a presentation leaves
the would-be suppliant in a precarious position. As we will see, one may
invoke the deity, yet once invoked the deity never explicitly speaks to the
invoker.10 When people want to hear from Yahweh in non-P Genesis and
Exodus, they simply must wait.11
human–divine communication
In the other direction, while humans communicate directly with Yahweh
when he appears, the non-P texts do not explicitly mention prayers.
Instead, when Yahweh is absent, supplicants “call on (or invoke) the
name of Yahweh” (Gen. 4:26; 12:8; 13:4; 21:33; 26:25).12 In Genesis
8
Certain divinatory practices make it past the censors in other texts. For example, even
priests and kings may use the ephod, Urim and Thummim, and lots (e.g., Lev. 16:8; Josh.
18:6; 1 Sam. 2:28; 14:18; 23:6–12; 30:7–8).
9
Cf. the similar fantastical elements in other founding narratives, including those of the
United States.
10
An invocation then seems designed to ensure the deity receives human communication; cf.
Gen. 8:20–2, where invocation prompts Yahweh to speak to himself.
11
In Gen. 2–4:16 people presumably may approach Yahweh directly. Moses may approach
Yahweh at the Tent of Meeting (Exod. 33:9). Common people could theoretically wait at
the Tent of Meeting for an audience as well (33:7).
12
Cf. Exod. 23:13, which forbids calling on other gods, in the next breath forbidding even
speaking their names. This verse seems to be an example of what later became known as
4:26 the birth of Enosh marks the beginning of people invoking Yahweh’s
name. This statement likely reflects both the piety of the suppliants and
Yahweh distancing himself after the murder of Abel such that he now
must be invoked. The text; however, says nothing about what invoking
Yahweh entails.
In each instance except for Genesis 21:33, calling on Yahweh involves
an altar. The patriarchs construct multiple altars (Gen. 12:7, 8; 13:18;
22:9; 26:25; 33:20; 35:3, 7), Noah constructs one (8:20), Moses two
(Exod. 17:15; 24:4, 6), Aaron one (32:5), and Exodus 20:19–22 (23–6)
offers the first altar legislation. Read in the context of the larger narrative,
Noah’s altar comes first and features the most detail. As such, it may be
read as the prototype. After being rescued by the flood, Noah burns clean
animals on an altar.13 While it does not mention invoking the deity,
Yahweh smells the “soothing scent” and resolves never to curse the
ground again because of humanity (8:20–1). While Yahweh never again
directly responds to entreaty, the initial precedent suggests that if invoked
Yahweh will hear and respond favorably (cf. Exod. 20:20 [24]).14 In turn,
not unlike Batman’s bat signal, the aroma from the burnt offering wafts
heavenward, attracting the deity’s attention and eliciting a favorable
response.15 The offering at an altar seems to be the primary form of
invocation, presumably though not explicitly accompanied by some
form of verbal entreaty.
People in the patriarchal narratives most often construct altars at the
sites of previous theophanies (Gen. 12:6–7; 26:23–5; 35:3, 7).16 This
practice reflects the human tendency to commemorate the place where
something miraculous happened in the hope of tapping into its potency
(e.g., at Lourdes and in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre). Practically, in
addition to marking the spot of theophany, the altar marks where Yahweh
building a fence around the Torah, banning saying the name altogether lest one be
tempted to invoke it.
13
Regarding clean and unclean animals, see the Priestly Leviticus 11.
14
Even here, his response seems to lie beyond Noah’s purview.
15
Propp (2006:499) calls the altar a “pipeline to heaven.”
16
Abraham builds his last altar to sacrifice his son (Gen. 22:9). Following Yahweh’s speech
in Exod. 17:14, Moses builds an altar to commemorate his miraculous victory against
Amalek and perhaps as a locus for offerings (Exod. 17:15). In addition to its commem-
orative function, it likely also serves as a place to invoke the deity in the future. Moses’
altar in Exod. 24 is not for the purpose of invocation since Yahweh is already present, but
rather as a place to present offering for the covenant inauguration ceremony that follows.
Aaron’s altar may be a means of invoking deity, perhaps to indwell the golden calf (32:5).
More likely, the altar is a way of serving the deity already present in the calf.
Human–Divine Communication 333
has appeared before and is most likely to appear again.17 One may simply
choose to build an altar where they are to communicate with Yahweh even
if there has been no previous theophany (Gen. 12:8; 33:25).18
Nonetheless, Yahweh’s speech and manifestations are not restricted to
altars. In fact, only in Genesis 18 does Yahweh appear and speak at a site
with an altar. In the passage, though, the altar seems to be so unrelated to
presence that it is not mentioned at all. Thus, there is no indication that
Yahweh appears at, as, or on the altar physically.19 Rather, it is merely an
approved divine postbox that transmits the human message godward.
In Exodus, the Tent of Meeting seems to be the primary locus of
invocation (33). In Genesis 21:33, the text mentions an invocation with-
out an altar. Instead, Abraham plants a tree. Here, the altar simply may be
omitted, or the tree serves as an access point. Rather than being an isolated
incident, Yahweh’s presence is connected to wood in other texts.20 In
Genesis 12:6–7 Yahweh appears by the oak of Moreh in Shechem, after
which Abram builds an altar. In Genesis 18:1 Yahweh appears at the oaks
of Mamre, where Abram had previously built an altar (13:18). In Exodus
3:2 an angel appears in a burning bush, perhaps to distance Yahweh who
speaks from it. D may even refer to Yahweh as a bush-dweller (33:16),
thus rendering the bush a spirit-holder.21 Minimally, living wood (trees
and bushes) seems to be characteristic of sacred spaces. Perhaps the tree
also serves as a conduit for presence or communication. Yahweh’s appear-
ance at the oaks of Mamre in anthropomorphic form by the oaks suggests
that Yahweh does not manifest as or in a tree, while Exodus 3:2 may
suggest the opposite perspective. Given the dearth of concrete data, it is
difficult to say anything definitively, though tree as portal is most likely.
17
At Beersheba Isaac also digs a well to make the site more habitable for a longer stay and
future return (Gen. 26:25).
18
Altars are especially prominent in the land of Israel (in Gen.), though they do feature in
Exod. In Exod. they are less necessary with continual divine presence. As an alternative,
the Tent of Meeting is introduced following divine censure and partial withdrawal (Exod.
33). Rather than moving away from altars altogether, Exod. offers altar legislation,
providing protocols for appropriate altar construction and use (Exod. 20:19–22 [23–6]).
19
Sommer (2009:51–2) contends that the altar called El-Elohim-of-Israel refers to an
incarnation of Yahweh (Gen. 33:20). However, while possible, nothing in the text
suggests such a reading; cf. Exod 17:15, where Moses names an altar Yahweh-Is-My-
Standard/Banner. More likely, he names the altar after the deity to whom it facilitates
access. Uncomfortable with such an association, later translators nonetheless offered
a more innocuous translation (ibid.).
20
Cf. regarding the relationship between Asherah and wood, Sommer 2009:44–8.
21
Though cf. Cross and Freedman 1975:116.
Thus, while Yahweh (generally) appears apart from objects, an object may
be necessary to contact him.22
yahweh and objects

The discussion of altars and trees leads us to an examination of the
relationship between Yahweh and objects. Instead of appearing in natural
form, deities in the wider ANE most commonly presence themselves via
objects, from the cult statue that constitutes the divine body to more
distant standards and stelae that represent surrogate presence. While
P and D eschew divine presence in objects, opting instead for the glory
and the name respectively, Genesis and Exodus are more ambivalent.23 In
some places the text seems to support Yahweh’s connection to objects,
while in the legislation of the Decalogue and the narrative golden calf
episode (Exod. 32) the text specifically rejects Yahweh’s connection to
a cult image. In what follows we examine the relationship between
Yahweh and objects according to the narrative chronology.
The Burning Firepot and Torch

Genesis 15 is the clearest example of Yahweh manifesting as an object.
After Abram asks for reassurance that he will possess the land, Yahweh
requests a heifer, goat, ram, turtledove, and pigeon, which Abram pro-
ceeds to cut in two (15:7–11). After Abram falls into a deep sleep, accom-
panied by a deep and terrifying darkness, Yahweh makes an oath related
to land possession and a smoking firepot and burning torch
(tannûr ‘ā šā n wəlappîd ’eˉ š) pass between the carcasses (12–20).
The seemingly bizarre episode resembles other Neo-Assyrian impreca-
tion ceremonies. For example, the Aramaic text of a treaty reads, “(Just as
this) calf is cut in two, thus may Matiel be cut, and may his nobles be cut”
(Sefire 1A:39–40).24 In the treaty, “violence done to the animal fore-
shadows violence done to treaty violators.”25 Genesis 15 seems to carry
a similar meaning (cf. Jer. 34:18–20).
22
Pace Sommer 2009:49.
23
Other biblical texts (as well as Exod. 32) indicate that Israelites connected presence to
a cult statue. However, the text rejects such practice as unacceptably heterodox (see
briefly Sommer 2009:50–1). Regarding P’s glory, see Hundley 2011:39–52; regarding the
name in D and the Dtr see Hundley 2009.
24
Fitzmyer 1995:46–7, 97; Simone 2019:69.
25
Ibid. See further Hagelia 1994:152; Lewis 2006:344.
Yahweh and Objects 335
What then are the firepot and torch meant to represent? Although
unclear, they seem to represent cult objects.26 In this case they are likely
stand-ins for Yahweh himself, rendered appropriate by the dream setting.27
The objects are symbols for presence, likely not manifestations.28 Having
Yahweh himself walk through the carcasses or carry the objects through
them may be a bit too morbid, or it may suggest a vulnerability the
storyteller wants to avoid. By contrast, using symbolic surrogates simultan-
eously binds Yahweh to fulfill his promises on penalty of death while
distancing him from the scene by inserting objects as proxies.29
Jacob’s Pillar at Bethel

In Genesis 28:10–13 Jacob encounters in a dream angels ascending and
descending a stairway to heaven and Yahweh standing atop it or opposite
Jacob. Upon awakening, Jacob acknowledges Yahweh’s presence “in this
place” and calls it the house or place of ’ĕ loˉ hîm and the gate of heaven
(16–17). He sets up the stone he lay upon as a pillar and pours oil on it,
and he calls the place Bethel (Beˉt-’eˉl; “house or place of El or god”) (18–
19).30 The passage concludes with Jacob’s vow to make Yahweh his
’ĕ loˉ hîm and the stone beˉ t-’eˉl (20–2). In a parallel version in Genesis
34:14–15, Jacob sets up a pillar of stone in the place where Yahweh had
spoken to him before pouring a drink offering and oil on it. He too calls
the place where Yahweh spoke with him Bethel.31
Scholars are divided on the import of the standing stone. For example,
Knafl reads it as a representation of Jacob’s dream vision, while Sommer
suggests it is a form of divine embodiment.32 Before assessing the text, we
26
Simone 2019:71–3.
27
The wording of 15:17 leaves open the possibility that the pot and torch may appear in the
waking world, not just the dream, especially since the carcasses exist in the waking world.
In either case, it seems to be a liminal experience.
28
Admittedly, the difference here is minimal.
29
The presence of two objects also may be intentional, cautioning the reader against
associating Yahweh with one or the other too closely.
30
One could take “place” to mean the stone as cult place or baetyl (Sommer 2009:49).
However, the parenthetical (whether original or not) identifies the city formerly as Luz
(19). As a result, the text equates the city of Luz with the place of Bethel.
31
Verse 15 may be ascribed to P. Sommer (2009:49) again translates beˉ t-’eˉ l as baetyl.
However, Jacob names the place where Yahweh spoke to him, not the stone that was
erected after the fact. Naming it after a stone he just erected and not an encounter with
deity would be odd. Regarding Sommer’s translation of 31:13: “I am the God in the betyl
that you anointed into a stele there” (50), see Knafl 2014:164–5.
32
Sommer 2009:49–50; Knafl 2014:166.
turn to parallels elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible and ANE. Standing stones
in the Hebrew Bible also may be a tombstone for Rachel (Gen. 35:19–20),
a witness between Jacob and Laban (31:44–54), markers for the twelve
tribes (Exod. 24:3–8; Jos. 4), and a memorial for Absalom since he has no
male heir (2 Sam 18:18).33 Joshua even establishes a pillar in Yahweh’s
sanctuary as a witness against the people (24:26–7). Whatever else they
may be, each serves a memorial function, reminding people of someone
(Rachel, Absalom) or something (the covenant, Jacob’s treaty, the cross-
ing of the Jordan on dry ground). Comparative ANE material, as we will
see, suggests further possibilities. While pillars may be acceptable in some
form among Israelites, foreign pillars must be destroyed, along with
foreign altars and sacred poles (Exod. 34:13; cf. Jer. 2:27; 3:9).34
Standing stones especially feature in the Levant and Hittite Anatolia.35
They generally functioned as extensions of divine presence beyond the
heavenly and temple spheres, ranging anywhere from an incarnation of
deity to a more distant marker of sacred space.36 In both cases they served
as either free-standing monuments or less commonly the focal points of
sanctuaries. While it is hard to say for sure, their identity likely varied
based on their location. They were probably temporary bodies or portals
to deity outside of shrines and (semi)permanent divine bodies in the
temples. Unlike the cult image, the standing stone was especially suited
to open spaces and probably was the object of only occasional ritual
attention, used as needed.
Given their setting and durability, standing stones also were more suitable
for major festivals where the entire gathered population could not fit within
a temple court.37 In the case of the major zukru festival from Emar, the city’s
deities – presumably in the form of cult statues – and its people processed to
standing stones outside of the city.38 At Emar as well, the zukru festival and
the installation of Baal’s high priestess include the presentation of offerings
to the standing stone (sikkā nu) of Hebat,39 reflecting its identification as at
least a surrogate presence. The same˘ rituals involve the application of oil and
blood to the stones in preparation for the ritual.40 In Hittite Anatolia the
33 34
Lewis 1998:41; cf. Knafl 2014:199–200. Propp 2006:613–14.
35
See especially the discussion of huwaši-stones in Chapter 2 under Divine Accessibility,
˘ standing stones.
which applies as well to Levantine
36
See Chapters 3–4; see also Hundley 2013a:328–9, 347–8, 353.
37
Hundley 2013a:119–20; A. Otto 2013:375.
38
Fleming 2000:82; regarding this festival, see further ibid. 48–140, 234–67.
39
Emar 369, 373; Fleming 1992:75–9. COS 1.122:429, 1.123:435.
40
Emar 373:34, 60; Fleming 2000:82–7, 238–41; COS 1.122:433.
huwaši-stones likewise may be washed and anointed.41 Since the stones

˘
already have been ritually installed, the ritual attention prepares them for
ritual activity, effectively (re)vitalizing them.
Katumuwa’s eighth-century BCE mortuary stele at Zinçirli provides
another interesting parallel. The stele describes offerings to five different
gods and a “ram for my ‘soul’ (nbš) that is (or will be) in this stela.”42 This
stela makes explicit what is implicit elsewhere; the mortuary stela concret-
izes the “person” or “soul” of the deceased.43 With no human remains in
the vicinity,44 the stela also indicates that the soul can exist apart from the
body and consume food.45
Returning to Genesis 28, the pillar clearly serves a memorial function,
a way of marking the spot, at least until the later construction of an altar
(35:3, 7). Nonetheless, pouring oil suggests something more. Anointing with
oil produces an elevation in status for objects (i.e., the tabernacle in Lev.
8:10–11) and people (e.g., the high priest in Lev. 8:12 and the king in 1 Sam
16).46 In Leviticus, the anointing is part of the inauguration process. It helps
prepare the tabernacle for presence and the altar for ritual activity. Elsewhere
in the ANE, anointing ritually reactivates stelae. Anointing Jacob’s pillar
then may elevate the pillar from a normal stone to a cultically enlivened
object. Alternatively, when read alongside Genesis 35:14, the oil may be an
offering (accompanying the drink offering). In P, oil is also added to the grain
offering, seemingly as a flavor enhancer (Lev. 2).47 Whether an offering or an
anointing, Jacob treats the pillar like he would an altar, either preparing it for
cultic service or using it in cultic service.48
Nonetheless, while the altar is merely a conduit, one wonders if the
stela is something more. The reference to the pillar as the house of ’ĕ loˉ hîm
(not beˉ t-’eˉl) is suggestive. It simply may be a way of identifying the pillar as
the foundation for the later shrine, which serves as the house of ’ĕ l.49 Since
a standing stone may receive offerings and anointing and/or be a “spirit
41 42
Goetze 1957:168; Haas 1994:507–8; Collins 2005:33. COS 4.23.
43
Northwest Semitic inscriptions from the late first millennium BCE use the cognate npš for
“tombstone” or “mortuary monument” as well as “soul” or “person” (Hoftijzer and
Jongeling 1995:748–9; Triebel 2004; Kühn 2005).
44
V. Herrmann 2014).
45
See regarding Hittite and Luwian evidence for the same concept Masson 2010:53–4;
Melchert 2010; Hawkins 2015:50–1.
46
See regarding anointing Kutsch 1963.
47
Cf. Lev. 5:11, which forbids adding oil to an offering for sin.
48
Its similarity to an altar may be a reason why Jacob did not construct one until ordered to
do so.
49
See further regarding Bethel Gomes 2012.
holder” (Hittite šiuniyatar), it also may be either a portal or a divine body.

Since in its narrative setting the pillar appears outside of a temple context,
if a body at all, it is likely a temporary vessel (akin to the burning bush).
The other licit uses of pillars, however, seem fairly mundane.
Nonetheless, although the text presents Rachel’s pillar as her grave marker,
the Zinçirli soul in the stele example means that one cannot dismiss the
possibility that it also contained her “soul.” Viewed in light of the ANE, the
witnessing stones may be more than a visual reminder of a covenant. They
even may be animate witnesses or a conduit through which the divine
witnesses may keep a watchful eye (31:49). While the gravestone and treaty
signs likely have no numinous associations, one cannot dismiss the possibil-
ity. In fact, the biblical condemnation of (foreign) standing stones suggests
that some people believed they were animated (Exod. 34:13; Jer. 2:27; 3:9).
Thus, Jacob’s pillar may be an acceptable part of the divine constellation
or merely a memorial monument. The text simply does not provide the
reader with enough data to make a firm conclusion. Even if a part of the
divine constellation, the text leaves no room for it to be a detachable aspect.
Whatever it is, Jacob’s pillar is clearly in service of the undivided Yahweh.
Teraphim/Laban’s Gods and Foreign Gods

Genesis offers no censure of the teraphim/Laban’s gods or of foreign gods,
a group to which Laban’s gods likely belong. For those who employ them,
these objects are clearly access points to deity. As such, they may simply be
called “gods,” though, as they are located outside of the official cult
temple, the objects were likely seen as more of a portal or conduit than
a divine body. The fact that Jacob puts them away when he ratifies his
covenant with Yahweh and that Yahweh never (licitly) appears in such
form suggests that they are unnecessary. In fact, given the exclusive nature
of the covenant, they are taboo for all Yahweh worshippers, especially if
they are carved in the likeness of anything in the natural world (Exod. 20).
This act is especially significant since Jacob gives up a means of concrete
access and mediation for the less-controlled medium of dreams and altars.
Moses’ Staff
Moses’ staff (mat ̣t ̣eh) features prominently in the plague narratives (Exod.
4:1–5, 17; 7:15, 17, 20; 9:23; 10:13).50 Moses comes to his initial
50
It also features in the P version (7:9–12, 19; 8:5, 16–17; 12:11; 14:16).
encounter with Yahweh at the burning bush with staff in hand (4:1).
Yahweh responds to Moses’ plea for reassurance by transforming
Moses’ ordinary staff into a snake (3–5). After coming to terms with
Moses, Yahweh commands Moses to take the staff with which he will
perform signs (17).51 When Moses returns to Egypt, the staff he carries is
now the staff of Elohim (4:20). When Moses confronts the pharaoh,
Yahweh commands Moses to strike the water with his staff and turn it
into blood in order to demonstrate that he is Yahweh (7:17), which Moses
proceeds to do (20). Moses extends his staff toward heaven, and Yahweh
sends thunder, hail, and fire (9:23). Moses likewise extends his staff over
the land of Egypt, and Yahweh sends an east wind accompanied by locusts
(10:13). In their first battle after leaving Egypt, Israel prevails against
Amalek as long as Moses holds aloft the staff of Elohim (17:8–13).
Afterward, Moses builds an altar and calls it Yahweh-Is-My-Standard
/Banner (15), likely with military undertones.
Functionally, a staff serves to extend one’s reach.52 As such, the text
presents the staff as an extension of Moses’ arm; thereby it uses “staff”
and “hand” interchangeably.53 For example, in both 9:22–3 and 10:12–
13, Yahweh commands Moses to raise his arm and Moses complies by
raising his staff.54 In other places Moses stretches out his arm with no
mention of the staff (9:29, 33; 10:21–2).
The staff also extends Moses’ reach figuratively. Initially, Yahweh
offers it as a tangible reassurance to Moses and others of Moses’ authority
as Yahweh’s ambassador (Exod. 4:1–5). Over the course of the narrative,
it becomes an extension of Yahweh’s arm as well – that is, his power,
reach, and authority. In commissioning Moses, Yahweh stresses that the
pharaoh will not let the Israelites go unless compelled by a mighty hand. In
turn, he will stretch out his hand and strike Egypt with all his wonders so
as to force the pharaoh’s hand (3:19–20; cf. 9:14–16).
In most cases Moses’/Elohim’s staff visibly activates Yahweh’s hand. In
7:17 Moses’ striking the waters with his staff prompts Yahweh to turn the
river to blood, thereby demonstrating the divine might. Moses’ extension
of the staff toward heaven and over Egypt demonstrates the extent of
Yahweh’s authority, punctuated by the miracles that follow. In the battle
51
It is possible that instead of a single staff, two staffs are in view – the staff Moses brings
and the one Yahweh gives him (Propp 1999:227–9). Nonetheless, reading the text as
presenting a single staff is more straightforward.
52 53
Propp 1999:229. Cf. ibid.
54
In Exod. 17:8 as well, Moses holds the staff of Elohim in his hands, while the rest of the
passage concerns itself with Moses raising his hand(s) with no mention of the staff.
with Amalek, Moses’ extension of the staff extends Yahweh’s power onto
the battlefield. When the staff is lowered, that power is lost as the Israelites
have no strength without their god. The language of 7:17 even blurs the
line between Yahweh’s hand and Moses’. The verse moves from a divine
message in the first person about a sign of his power to a first-person
statement identifying the staff in “my hand” as the instrument of the sign.
The latter part of the verse leaves the identity of the speaker unclear. Is
Yahweh claiming Moses’ hand as his own or is Moses now understood to
be the speaker? The text is likely purposely vague, as the overlap of hands
underscores that Moses’ hand is an extension of Yahweh’s.
The term “staff of Elohim” is also ambiguous. Does Moses acquire
Yahweh’s personal staff (Exod. Rabbah 8:1)? Is the staff merely a prop or
does it possess numinous power of its own?55 Is it merely symbolic or
a tangible quasi-magical connection to deity? Propp adduces numerous
examples of divine staff-like weapons, including Yahweh’s brandishing
his staff over the sea as he did in Egypt (Isa. 10:24–6; cf. 30:30–2).56 Baal
too uses a cedar staff (ˀarz) to rout his enemies (KTU 1.4.vii:41) and wields
a “lightning tree” (ˁṣ brq; KTU 1.104:4). In places these weapons may be
transferred to mortals. For example, a letter from Mari claims that Addu-
of-Aleppo (the weather god) gave Zimri-Lim the weapon he used to defeat
the sea (A. 1968).57 Assyrian monarchs also claim to wield various gods’
weapons, including their rods.58
Exodus does not specify. While it highlights the central role of the staff,
the text nonetheless stresses that the real power belongs to Yahweh. From
Exodus 4–10 Moses only follows instructions; he brandishes the staff
when told to do so.59 Both 9:23 and 10:13 explicitly mention Yahweh
acting after Moses moves the staff, likely to indicate that Yahweh, not the
staff, releases power.60 The description of the battle with Amalek fails to
mention Yahweh, instead focusing on the staff of Elohim (17:8) and
Moses lifting his hand(s) presumably with the staff (9–13). This might
give the impression that Moses wields divine power apart from or at least
without consulting the deity. However, the following divine speech stres-
ses the divine hand in present and future battles (14). Moses’ construction
55
Cf. Targum Onkelos: “the staff with which miracles may be worked from before
Yahweh.”
56
Propp 1999:228, 621.
57
Charpin and Durand 1986:174; Durand 1993:45; Propp 1999:228.
58
CAD H:153–5; K:52, 54; Š/2:377; Propp 1999:228.
59 ˘
The variance between staff and hand also may indicate that the staff is unnecessary.
60
It also demonstrates the close coordination between man and deity.
and naming of an altar are likewise suggestive. Building an altar implicitly

credits Yahweh with victory, while its name assigns the agency to Yahweh
himself rather than an intermediary object. The placement of the only two
references to the staff as the staff of Elohim is also telling. Placing the label
before and after the Exodus seems to suggest that the power is not in
Moses but Yahweh, while the rest of the pericope is careful to situate
power in Yahweh, not the staff.
The Golden Calf

In Exodus 32 the Israelites construct a golden calf, inviting divine
censure.61 Seeing that Moses, the guide and mediator, has not returned
from his forty-day sojourn atop the mountain (24:18), the people take
matters into their own hands. Alone in the wilderness with nothing to do
and no idea where to go, with both god and guide nowhere to be seen, the
people request that Aaron “make ’ĕ loˉ hîm” for them, who will “go before”
(yeˉlkû) them. Aaron makes a golden calf, builds an altar for it, and
declares a festival to Yahweh (4–5). Afterward the people proclaim,
“This is/these are your ’ĕ loˉ hîm, O Israel, who brought you up out of the
land of Egypt.” The people then celebrate and present offerings (6). In this
passage and in the parallel episode with Jeroboam (1 Kgs 12:26–30), the
people anomalously employ plural verb forms (32:2, 4, 8, 23) and pro-
nouns (4, 8) to refer to the contextually singular deity.62
Throughout the chapter the text presents the perspectives of the various
characters – the people, Aaron, Moses, and Yahweh – as well as that of the
storyteller. The people make the calf as a symbol of deity that concretizes
presence, either presencing or replacing Yahweh as god and eliminating the
need for Moses as guide and mediator.63 Presumably, the people intend the
calf to presence Yahweh, but in their desperation may take any god who
wants to take credit for the Exodus. Aaron attempts to reforge a tangible
connection to Yahweh (5) and either replace Moses as guide and mediator
61
For a more detailed analysis of the golden calf pericope and a defense of my position, see
Hundley 2017.
62
While ’ĕ loˉ hîm is morphologically plural, it often functions as an abstract plural for
a singular deity that uses singular designators. While there are examples of the abstract
plural taking plural forms, such a usage is unnatural in context (see Chapter 6, n. 16).
63
Elsewhere in the ANE, a bull may serve as a representation of divine form, a symbol,
a pedestal, or mount. The people most likely intend a symbol since they have not seen the
divine form and a pedestal for an invisible deity is both unprecedented and too abstract.
A calf or young bull signifies a strong and active deity, the very qualities they seek. It is
also nonspecific enough to apply to multiple deities.
or stall until Moses returns. Yahweh distances himself from the calf.
Regardless of the people’s intentions, he will not deign to associate with
the image even if crafted for him. Rather than elucidating whether they are
worshipping him the wrong way or worshipping another deity, Yahweh
condemns the whole enterprise out of hand (7–10). While seemingly unob-
trusive, the storyteller exerts significant influence on the story. Elsewhere in
the Hebrew Bible, the text takes the ANE penchant for using plural “gods”
and applies the descriptor to the singular Yahweh in “defiance of logic”64
both from the mouth of foreigners (1 Sam 4:7–8; 1 Kgs 20:30) and in the
context of heterodox worship (1 Sam 28:13–14; Isa. 42:17). The Israelites’
use of the peculiar plural thus associates them with foreigners and implicitly
judges their actions. The storyteller seems to conflate the wrong worship of
the right god and wrong god categories.65 In effect, there are essentially only
two classifications – right worship and wrong worship – and the two may be
identified according to their use of ’ĕ loˉ hîm.
Worshipping the deity in an unapproved way – in this case through
a calf image – even in a dire situation, is unacceptable and subject to
extreme censure. It lies in the category of heterodox worship, which leads
to the worship of other gods and the rejection of Yahweh. The use of the
grammatically plural ’ĕ loˉ hîm in a singular context is the storyteller’s way
of making his displeasure clear.
After reexamining the people’s perspective with the data before us, the
text’s rhetoric emerges more clearly. Perhaps the people’s intentions are
unclear precisely because they do not matter. Their illicit actions condemn
them regardless of whether or not they are seeking Yahweh and regardless
of what form they intend the calf to represent.
According to the majority voice in the Hebrew Bible, the standards are
clear, most notably here the prohibition of images. They categorically
condemn even well-intentioned heterodox Yahweh worship. Even when
no clear alternative presents itself, the text suggests that heterodox wor-
ship will only bring destruction (e.g., Exod. 32; 1 Sam. 4–7; 13:15; 28:13–
14; 1 Kgs 12; 2 Kgs 17:7–23). Even when Yahweh seems inaccessible,
especially through normal channels, the storyteller ultimately urges the
reader not to compromise, which would be particularly tempting for an
exilic or postexilic audience, where normal channels of worship were
64
Propp 2006:552.
65
Elsewhere (and perhaps here) there seems to be a hierarchy of wrongdoing, with wor-
shipping Yahweh improperly not as serious as worshipping Baal (1 Kgs 16:31–3; 2 Kgs
3:1–3; 10:18–31).
Synthesis of Divine Access and Objects 343
either unavailable or far less impressive and successful than in their glory
days.66 In this case the storyteller tells his audience that religious com-
promise, especially in the form of image worship, is never profitable, even
when seemingly better alternatives present themselves. Ultimately, his
message transcends the text, turning the “golden calf” into a byword for
future generations warning against the dangers of constructing a divine
image.
synthesis of divine access and objects

Regarding divine contact, Yahweh primarily makes a direct appearance or
speech without mediating objects. However, as we have seen, the divine
form varies, even occasionally partially overlapping with a being at the edge
of the constellation or forming a temporary and partial combined constella-
tion. In contrast, while Yahweh communicates directly with humans,
humans need mediating objects to invoke him. Nonetheless, invocations
do not prompt an encounter with the deity.67 Rather, since communication
is unidirectional, they ensure the human message is received. In addition, the
divinatory techniques of Israel’s neighbors are forbidden.68 Thus, to hear
from the deity, one simply must wait (potentially at the Tent of Meeting).
Regarding objects, the narrative arc ends with a strong condemnation
of images as divine representations, yet some objects seem to slip by the
censor, leaving the audience with an ambivalent portrait. The altar serves
as a means of establishing contact through offerings. Yahweh does not
manifest in the altar or even in response directly to offerings on it. Living
wood is more ambiguous. Like the altar, it is a common though not
requisite feature of sacred space. It also may be a means of invocation or
even a spirit-holder. Nonetheless, Yahweh does not appear in a tree to
suppliants or respond from it. Stelae serve variable functions. At base,
they serve as a reminder of something or someone. They too could be
more, a conduit to deity like an altar or even a spirit-holder. While likely
not a means of invocation, the staff seems to be an extension of the divine
power. Whether symbolic or actual, the power remains thoroughly in the
divine control.
66
See, for example, the similar arguments in Chronicles and P that appeal to ancient
precedent to bolster a precarious present situation. See respectively Lynch 2014;
Hundley 2012.
67
One wonders how the individual away from Jerusalem should invoke Yahweh when
altars and other objects are forbidden in P, D, and the Dtr.
68
Casting lots and Urim and Thummim also do not appear in the non-P texts.
The texts also contain three clear representations of deity as or in objects:

the firepot, the teraphim, and the golden calf.69 Yahweh himself may choose
to manifest as an object (Gen. 15). The problem arises when humans try to
make an object for him, even one that resembles a manifest form. The
Decalogue forbids all (divine) images outright (Exod. 20:3–5 [4–6]).70
Those who used the teraphim clearly believed them to be spirit-holders or
conduits to the deity. Genesis tacitly rejects them by having Jacob put away
the foreign gods when he commits to worship Yahweh (Gen. 35:1–4).
Whether an image or not, Exodus would reject them on monolatrous
grounds. While one may reject foreign gods because of their foreignness,
Exodus 32 rejects the golden calf regardless of whom it is meant to represent.
In the end it scarcely matters because wrong worship is wrong worship.
Ending the non-P narrative in Exodus with such castigation of divine
representation also shapes how one reads earlier episodes. In effect, the
golden calf episode actualizes the Sinai legislation (Exod. 20–3; 34),
setting up a clean break with the past that extends into the future with
the giving of the Torah.71 Read in this light, earlier deviations from the
ideal are more permissible because people did not know better. Now that
the rules are clear(er), the people must obey them more strictly as part of
the contract they made with Yahweh.
Recognizing that (unsanctioned) mediating objects are a real
temptation,72 non-P Genesis-Exodus ends with an object lesson. There
are consequences when God’s people attempt to forge contact on their
own terms. The only way to procure blessing is to follow God’s rules and
wait for his response on his terms.73 When read in exilic or postexilic times,
the golden calf episode gains wider relevance. It both explains national
failure (similar to 2 Kgs 17, 21–5) and offers a path for future success.
69
The burning bush (Exod. 3) may be another example of deity in an object, though in this
case the deity is explicitly an angel.
70
Interestingly, Exod. does not deny the efficacy of prohibited practices, only that they
break the terms of the contract and invite divine censure.
71
While differences may be attributable to different traditions, ending with the golden calf
episode and Sinai legislation offers a different possibility. Regarding the importance of
beginnings and endings for shaping how literature is received (including how one under-
stands literary seams), see Milstein 2016.
72
Cf. 1 Sam 28. When acceptable invocation goes unanswered and acceptable channels of
communication (Urim and Thummim and dreams) fail, Saul pursues illicit means via the
medium of Endor.
73
P, D, and the Dtr promote further restrictions, centralizing the cult and outlawing non-
Jerusalem altars and sanctuaries.
10
Synthesis of Perspectives
At the end of our journey, we return to our guiding questions: What is

a god? What is the relationship between gods? How do gods interact with
humans? With these questions in mind, we compare the non-P divine
portrait to those of the wider ANE, the various components of the non-
P portrait to each other (primeval, patriarchal, and Exodus narratives),
and the non-P portrait to the P and D perspectives.
gods in the non-priestly pentateuch and the wider

ancient near east
Traditionally, scholars have viewed ANE and non-P pentateuchal texts as
primitive compared to the more sophisticated P and D perspectives.1
Nonetheless, while different, they exhibit a logic and sophistication that
best emerges when studied together.
Given the lack of divine determinatives and our modern confirmation
bias, it is tempting to find only a single god in the non-P narrative.
However, upon closer inspection, gods appear to be multiple and variable
in keeping with the text’s ANE setting. Biblical and other ANE gods have
the power to affect humanity positively or negatively (and the power to
affect other gods in the wider ANE). Even if not all are anthropomorphic,
they tend to be sentient as well as possessing humanlike agency to act and
be acted upon. Together, the diverse pantheons represent the human
1
For a comparison of ANE divine conceptions, see the conclusion to Part I.
345
346 Synthesis of Perspectives
attempt to understand and in some way control the world around them by
influencing the humanlike gods.
However, while present, the other non-P gods lack dimensionality. The
texts offer no independent identity, no names, no families, no social
circles, no personalities.2 They are simply described by their job title or
category and subordinate status to Yahweh. Thus, whereas gods are
multiple in each context, their textual description is quite different.
While the wider ANE presents multiple three-dimensional divine charac-
ters alongside many others who receive less coverage, the non-P texts
present a fully formed Yahweh with multiple underdeveloped subordin-
ates or surrogates, as well as underdeveloped foreign gods who often
receive divine censure.
Throughout the ANE, the text’s presentation of deity is context-
specific. The approach tends to be aspective, focusing on presenting
the deity in the way that best suits the context without undue consider-
ation for unifying all presentations into a consistent whole. Non-P and
other ANE texts also tend to juxtapose and connect mini-narratives into
a larger metanarrative without smoothing out the details.3 Some of this
may be attributed to the compositeness and variety of texts and some to
their pragmatic approach. Regardless, the non-P and other ANE writers
seem to value tailoring the divine presentation to context more than
presenting a fully integrated and articulated overall portrait. In other
words, they tend to care more about including the details than harmon-
izing them.4 Thus, in each context, harmonization and systematization
in pursuit of overall consistency run the risk of marginalizing the
meaning in context.
Given their aspective approach, texts across the ANE tend to present
major deities as a constellation of different aspects that may be treated
differently depending on the context. At the core, whether human-shaped
or not, the deities tend to be presented anthropomorphically, like humans
but on a much grander scale. This anthropomorphic core exerts
2
Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword could be a divine name, title, or description. There simply
are not enough data to go on. The Dreaded-One-of-Isaac too may be a name or title,
though presumably one ascribed to Yahweh.
3
See regarding Mesopotamian narratives Milstein 2016; cf. my review of her work
(Hundley 2018).
4
Unlike in the modern West, logical consistency is not the priority.
Gods in the Non-Priestly Pentateuch and the Wider Ancient 347
a gravitational pull that attracts multiple other aspects – names, attributes,

and manifestations – that become part of the divine person. Nonetheless,
since the context and gravitational pull vary, these aspects may be treated
(semi-)independently. The Mesopotamian constellations of Marduk and
Aššur and especially the biblical constellation of Yahweh tend to be tightly
bound, such that their person is presented as cohesive in most contexts.
Nonetheless, even with Yahweh, there is some confusion of identity at the
constellational edges between Yahweh and his manifestations or eman-
ations (e.g., the men in Gen. 18 and 32 and the pillar of fire and cloud).
Whereas elsewhere in the ANE, such fragmentation serves to give agency
to the individual access points or to show divine potency, the biblical
purpose appears to be obfuscation. The texts insert these forms as a way of
establishing divine presence, but adding some cognitive dissonance and
distance between the form presented and Yahweh himself. They thereby
protect him from unwanted associations and limitations. Thus, like the
Egyptian gods, Yahweh in these instances shows many faces, yet his true
form remains hidden.5
Collective constellations, in which gods with a shared forename, title,
or species are put into a god group with detachable gods, feature in Hittite
Anatolia. The non-P Pentateuch too seems to present collective constella-
tions (e.g., angels, cherubim, the sons of god, and gods). However,
whereas the Hittite purpose seems to be to manage the multiple gods,
who continue to get individual treatment and overlap without redun-
dancy, the biblical purpose seems to be to depersonalize Yahweh’s subor-
dinates and foreign gods in the interest of monolatry (an issue to which we
will soon return).
Combined constellations, in which otherwise distinct deities merge
their persons, are present throughout the ANE yet remain a hallmark of
Egypt. In the non-P Pentateuch, the blurring between Yahweh and angels
also may be a temporary divine merger.6 However, while in Egypt mergers
primarily allow the first-named deity to coopt the qualities of those that
follow (i.e., Amon-Re) to expand the divine profile, the biblical merger
serves different goals. Rather than expand his profile, Yahweh merges
with a subordinate deity to establish presence and distance.7 The merger
5
This is not to say that his true form is unknowable or even that he has a (singular) true
form. Rather, the semi-independence of a surrogate and the blurring between Yahweh and
that surrogate emphasize that the form presented is not a full manifestation of Yahweh.
6
One also could argue that in this instance, an angel, like the man at Penuel, rests at the edge
of Yahweh’s constellation.
7
In contrast, the angel gets temporarily promoted into the divine constellation.
of Yahweh and angel is also distinct in that the two appear in the same
narrative. Whereas Egyptian composite deities may be depicted alongside
their parent deities, they do not appear together in a narrative setting.
Once again, the biblical purpose seems to be obfuscation.
Divine Communication and Objects

ANE supplicants typically communicated directly to the gods through
prayer and the cult, especially by using mediating objects. Nonetheless,
their communication was often unidirectional, as the gods responded in
other ways, primarily indirectly through omens and oracles.
Mesopotamia, in particular, developed an elaborate divinatory system
to decipher the messages the gods inscribed in creation itself.
In the non-P Pentateuch as well, people communicate directly, when
specified by means of a mediating object (an altar and perhaps a tree).
However, unlike elsewhere in the ANE, the divine response is surprisingly
direct (though occasionally mediated by angels). God either simply speaks
or appears and speaks directly to his people, often while awake and at
times in dreams. While an altar may invoke Yahweh, it cannot summon
him. Yahweh appears on his own terms apart from any object. The text
also largely eschews divinatory means of hearing from deity apart from
dreams. Thus, when people want to see or hear Yahweh, they simply must
wait.
Elsewhere in the ANE, while deities are visible in physical phenomena
like the stars, objects serve as primary access points, concretizing the
otherwise distant deity and enabling cultic care. Cult images are divine
bodies, while standards and stelae serve as conduits to deity. Worshippers
often ascribe agency to their access points, pragmatically treating them as
self-propelled actors.
The non-P texts are ambivalent about objects. A firepot and torch serve
as suitable proxies in a dream sequence, likely so that Yahweh does not
have to physically traverse the corpses. Moses’ quasi-magical staff chan-
nels divine power. Jacob’s pillar is of indeterminate function, serving
either as a memorial, makeshift altar, access point, or spirit-holder.
Genesis even fails to condemn foreign gods/teraphim. While Exodus
does, it does not deny their efficacy.
Nonetheless, the non-P texts minimize objects as access points and their
automatic efficacy and agency. Yahweh only appears in or as objects in
a dream. The later condemnation of standing stones in Exodus 34:13
suggests that Jacob’s pillar is either a memorial or a temporary measure
Gods in the Non-Priestly Pentateuch and the Wider Ancient 349
allowed before the people have clearer instructions in the Sinai legislation.
Non-Priestly Exodus fittingly ends with an object lesson that recontextua-
lizes the earlier narrative by actualizing the new Sinai legislation. Divine
representations of any deity become taboo, products of a bygone era.
Regarding objects of power, the text situates power in Yahweh, not the
staff, and it only seems to work when Yahweh tells Moses to use it.
The texts, thus avoid several of the potential pitfalls of cult objects.
They preserve mono-Yahwism, preventing fragmentation or diffusion of
power. Distancing Yahweh from mediating objects means he cannot be
manipulated, deported, or destroyed. He also avoids the unflattering
association with inert objects, a problem that other ANE cultures
carefully mitigate. However, the downside is that the people have no tangible
access point, as the ark too is absent from the non-P story. In turn, they
cannot secure presence or ensure contact. They can invoke the deity but must
wait for his response. In fact, they eliminate the divinatory apparatus of the
wider ANE world (and elsewhere in the Bible). As the golden calf illustrates,
though it is tempting to try to forge contact, consequences await those who
sidestep the rules. Blessing comes only through obedience.
The Rhetoric of Divine Competition and Elevation

Gods are fluid beings, who ever can be defined in new ways, gaining (or
losing) names, attributes, and manifestations. The scholarly quest for
origins then is a bit of a red herring. In most cases, a deity’s original
characteristics are not determinative. Virtually any god may poach the
characteristics of other gods to alter their profile, and virtually any deity
may alter their standing.
Combat with a seemingly indomitable monster is a characteristic
means of reshuffling the cosmic deck. Since a deity’s value in
a communal society lies in the quality and quantity of its powers, elevation
by accumulating aspects is even more characteristic. For the most part,
rather than create new powers, gods creatively draw from the full arsenal
of divine powers and combine them in new ways. In turn, their textual
profile is only limited by the human imagination. For example, multiple
gods borrow the weapons of the storm to fight and Marduk combines
creation and combat motifs in the Enuˉ ma eliš.
In most cases, the goal of character poaching is not to eliminate other
gods or steal their worship. Instead, it is divine exaltation. In the cases of
Marduk, Aššur, the Hittite Weather-God, Amun, Baal-of-Ṣapun, and
others, the goal is to defend divine supremacy. The Hittite Weather-God
and Baal employ the combat trope, though in Baal’s case, his exaltation is
primarily a consequence of his indispensable and irreplaceable fructifying
powers. As the divine monarch, the Hittite Weather-God adds other
potencies required to play his more expansive role. Nonetheless, both
deities are in some ways circumscribed by their primary identities as
weather gods. Since their core features are well established, there is only
so much they can deviate from them.
In contrast, the blurrier contours of Marduk, Aššur, and Amun allow
them to be more malleable characters, essentially whatever the story needs
them to be. To overcome their humble beginnings, Marduk and Aššur
rewrite their scripts, whereas Amun erases his altogether. Presented as the
hidden one, Amun has virtually unlimited potential.
Marduk, Aššur, and Amun essentially become one-stop- shops, like
Amazon.com who can do in one place what the other gods can do
corporately. Like them, Yahweh rises from relative obscurity without
offering any substantially new powers. Instead, he too accumulates
names, attributes, and manifestations to become a one-stop-shop god.
The Bible, like Egyptian literature, obscures Yahweh’s origins, so that he
too may be presented as pure potential, able to do whatever the situation
requires of him. Like Amun, Yahweh eschews combat with other deities,
thereby presenting himself as without rival.
However, whereas the ANE goal is supremacy, Yahweh’s goal is more
ambitious still: monolatry.8 Thus, rather than being monotheistic, the
non-P Pentateuch (indeed the Hebrew Bible) is monolatrous. That is, it
promotes the exclusive worship of one god without denying the existence
or powers of other gods.9 In order to justify exclusive worship, Yahweh
must be able to do individually what the other gods can do corporately.
Unlike Marduk, Aššur, and Amun who only need to be better, Yahweh
needs to be universal. If his people do not believe that he can meet all their
needs, they will turn elsewhere.
A patron deity’s power is often proportionate to that of its people.
However, in Yahweh’s case, it becomes inversely proportionate. As his
people grow ever weaker and come into contact with increasingly potent
gods, he must become ever stronger to justify exclusive worship. In the
process, even though absolute kingship and universal worship are not his
stated goals, the non-P Pentateuch moves toward presenting Yahweh as
8
They also promote mono-Yahwism to ensure a singular Yahweh and presence and
distance to present that Yahweh most palatably.
9
Nonetheless, Yahweh demands exclusive worship only from his people.
The Primeval, Patriarchal, and Exodus Narratives 351
absolute sovereign and lays the groundwork for later claims of universal
worship.
The non-P texts further incentivize their monolatrous appeal in two
ways. First, they make exclusive worship a condition of the covenant with
Yahweh such that if people want what Yahweh has to offer, they must
choose between him and everyone else. Second, they depopulate and
depersonalize the divine world to ensure that there is no divine
competition.
The expansion of Yahweh’s divine profile and contraction of the divine
sphere in pursuit of monolatry in the face of seemingly insurmountable
odds eventually had another (unintended) consequence: monotheism.10
Pantheon reduction eventually led to a divine redefinition. Major gods
were purged from the market and the minor god category was named after
its most prominent member – angels – even though many of them were not
messengers. Later the angel category split into good angels and bad angels
or demons, incorporating the otherwise independent foreign gods into the
demon category. Through a verbal redefinition, the god category, thereby
contracted from many to one and monotheism was born.
the primeval, patriarchal, and exodus narratives

The various subsections of the non-P pericope – the primeval, patriarchal,
and Exodus narratives – exhibit areas of convergence and divergence.
Each in its own way adopts a context-specific, laconic approach to
deity. Each envisions a humanlike deity with similar characteristics who
exhibits commitment to his people and physically manifests his presence
in various ways and settings. While each excludes goddesses, each also
acknowledges the presence of other deities, in Exodus primarily to outlaw
their worship. Each promotes monolatry, mono-Yahwism, and divine
presence and distance.
Nonetheless, there are multiple differences. While divine names are
limited in the primeval and Exodus narratives, epithets are multiple in
the patriarchal narrative. The narrative shifts its focus from the individual
and universal (primeval) to the individual and family (patriarchal) to the
nation (Exodus). As to the divine presence, the primeval narrative does
not describe the divine form, though it is presumably anthropomorphic
10
Interestingly, the biblical monolatrous agenda and persecution of rivals resembles the
Amarna experiment. With time and popular support perhaps it too could have merged
into monotheism.
and is continually present and accessible. Yahweh pops in and out of the
patriarchal narrative, in an anthropomorphic guise when specified. In
Exodus, Yahweh is continually present in fiery form from the beginning
of the Exodus event. Wild, misbehaving divine characters feature in the
primeval narrative, but no angels, who are the dominant subordinate
deities in the rest of the narrative. Angels in Genesis speak, seem anthropo-
morphic, and partially overlap with Yahweh, while in Exodus angels do
not speak, are commonly differentiated from Yahweh, and appear with
a fiery cover. Angels in Genesis provide cognitive distance between
Yahweh and the events in the narrative, while in Exodus distance is
already present in the various fiery forms. In contrast with the patriarchal
narratives, the primeval and Exodus narratives feature no dreams, visions,
or speaking messengers.
There are also some differences between Genesis and Exodus. In
Genesis, contact with Yahweh is primarily direct and unmediated,
while in Exodus it is mediated through Moses. Genesis offers no
evaluative comment on the other gods, while Exodus rejects them as
a condition of the covenant. When gendered, divine beings in Genesis
are male, whereas they are never gendered in Exodus. When specified,
Genesis features an anthropomorphic deity, while Exodus features
supersized fiery theophanies and weapons of mass destruction like
the Destroyer. In Genesis, Yahweh (and other gods) manifest as and
potentially in objects, while Exodus outlaws divine representation of
any kind.
Thus, the three larger pericopes seem distinct, themselves likely also
composites. The overarching similarities indicate that they were skillfully
woven into a single metanarrative. The shared metanarrative and distinct
details indicate that the editor’s approach was context-specific, ensuring
continuity on the macro level while allowing for context-driven differ-
ences to remain on the micro level. When, how, and by whom they were
combined, though, remains a topic for another day.
the non-priestly, priestly, and deuteronomic

perspectives
Having compared the non-P perspective to the wider ANE and the non-P
subsections to each other, we now move to a comparison with the other
primary Pentateuchal voices.11 Differences between non-P, P, and D texts
11
Regarding P, see Hundley 2011; 2014a; regarding D, see Hundley 2009.
The Non-Priestly, Priestly, and Deuteronomic Perspectives 353
are obvious. P and D do not include subordinate deities.12 While non-P

texts feature multiple viable altars, P and D centralize worship. While
non-P texts have varied expressions and manifestations of deity, P and
D respectively have the central concepts glory and the name. P is preoccu-
pied with the cult far more than non-P and especially D, while P and D are
far more consistent in their presentation than non-P.
Nonetheless, on the macro level, the perspectives are quite similar,
suggesting that they too were woven skillfully into a mosaic metanarrative
without undue concern for camouflaging the individual patches and their
context-specific differences. In each, Yahweh is committed to his chosen
people. Each takes pains not to impose unnecessary limits on Yahweh and
features divine deliverance followed by a divine compact through which
obedience is the key to success. None is monotheistic, as each acknow-
ledges other gods, yet each stresses monolatry, mono-Yahwism, and
presence and distance.13 In each, Yahweh communicates primarily dir-
ectly, receives cultic service via offerings, and eschews too close an associ-
ation with objects and divinatory techniques. Each also features a fiery
divine presence, effectively melammu turned up so that Yahweh’s fiery
cloak both reveals and conceals his presence.
Regarding mono-Yahwism, while P and D texts centralize the cult,14
non-P texts centralize the narrative, such that disparate references to deity
refer to the singular Yahweh. Each corpus also aims to mitigate some of
the perceived weaknesses of cult images. Non-P limits the divine associ-
ation with objects, provides legislation against it, and ends with an object
lesson highlighting the consequences of disobedience.
In P, the glory, like a cloak, reveals immediate presence while conceal-
ing Yahweh from closer scrutiny behind its radiant folds. While Yahweh
theoretically may be present in heaven and anywhere in the terrestrial
world, he limits himself and the people to a single access point in the
tabernacle, in some ways prefiguring the later temple. In P, his only limit is
thus self-imposed.
12
P, however, does include inanimate cherubim, while the Dtr features various subordinate
deities like angels.
13
In P, Gen. 1:26 implies divine plurality, while Exod. 12:12 acknowledges the gods of
Egypt. Lev. 16 acknowledges the potentially malevolent Azazel, while Lev. 17:7 (technic-
ally H) seems to refer to goat demons. D mentions “gods” thirty-nine times, mostly in the
context of condemnation.
14
Rather than limiting the deity themselves, P and D contend that the deity limits the way he
may be worshipped – namely, in one locale, with no cult statue, and without being
inextricably bound or limited to that locale or to any particular form (pace Sommer
2009).
In D, Yahweh’s primary form is the name. By connecting his name to

the chosen place (later temple), Yahweh intimately attaches his power,
character, actions, and reputation to it and the people who worship in it.
Forging such a connection compels Yahweh to act on behalf of Israel and
in defense of his temple for his own name’s sake. At the same time, placing
the name equivocates about the nature of presence.15 However, rather
than absenting himself from earth as classic Name Theology suggests,
Yahweh merely abstracts his terrestrial presence.16 In D, Yahweh is
tangibly present and speaks from behind a fiery veil. Rather than remove
Yahweh’s presence with the centralization of the cult, D proposes a semi-
permanent conceptual presence, leaving the exact nature and extent of
physical presence ambiguous. With less of a cultic focus, D does not
require a physical form to be the object of cultic attention. Instead, the
conceptual name secures divine attention while being circumspect about
physical presence. In D, as in P, the only divine limit is self-imposed. P and
D, like the non-P texts, thus attempt to minimize the weaknesses of ANE
cult statues. The glory and name are not human-made or inert and cannot
be physically manipulated, deported, or destroyed.
In turn, while the non-P narrative may be wilder and messier, it is no
less sophisticated. While its presentation of divine details remains context-
specific, it manages to weave together a diverse tapestry of texts into
a metanarrative that promotes primary biblical concerns: covenant, mon-
olatry, mono-Yahwism, presence and distance, and proper cultic service.
Thus, like P and D, the non-P texts emerge from the wider ANE and stand
among the pentateuchal voices that carefully situate Yahweh among the
gods, leading eventually from monolatry to monotheism. For the non-P
texts as for much of the Hebrew Bible, Israelite exceptionalism lies not in
the events of history but rather the rhetoric used to remember it.
15
The name does not have enough individuation or definition to be considered a hypostasis.
16
Regarding name theology, see classically von Rad 1947:25–30.
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Index
The Author Index and index of Primary Texts can be found online at www.cambridge.org/
9781108482868 or by scanning this QR code.
Abraham elevation of Aten, 135, 136

and the three men, 223–7, 308 intolerant monolatry, 138
abstract qualities, deified, 19, 20, 65, 103, persecution of Amun, 134, 135
147 reaction to, 137, 138, 197
explanation of, 24, 36, 67, 105, 151 akıˉ tu, 41
in divine constellations, 28 aladlammû, divine. See also lamassu
reason and wisdom, 66 and cherubim, 265
respect and reverence, 65, 78 description of, 18, 45
truth and justice, 20, 24 function of, 46
access, divine, 36, 41–3, 80–1, 124–8, Aleppo, 69, 83, 149, 162, 166, 167, 175,
178–80, 329–44 185, 265, See also Adad; Baal;
reliefs and secondary statues as access Hadad; iškur; Weather-God
points, 126 Allah, 205
Adad, 32, See also Baal; Hadad; iškur; 99 names of, 205
Weather-God as one-stop-shop god, 314
Adad-of-Aleppo, 148, 159, 166, 168, 175 altar, 341
combat with sea, 148, 174, 340 and divine manifestation, 333
high god of Yamhad, 166 as mediating object, 252, 332, 343
Adad-of-Mount-Hazzi, ˘ 163 at theophanic sites, 330, 332
˘
and other weather gods, 83 naming of, 209, 212, 339
and rainfall, 75 Amarna, 102, 134, See also Akhenaten
as specialist major god, 24, 49, 50 texts from, 136, 143, 156
overlap with Aššur, 55 Amazon.com. See modern analogies
reduplication of, 52 Am-Heh, 235
additive approach, 28, 40, 131 Amon-Re. See Amun
ˁAin Dara, 149, 265 Amun
Akhenaten, 134–7 absence of combat, 131, 198, 314
and biblical monolatry, 137, 315, 351 absorption of other gods, 118
and biblical rhetoric, 322 and Hindu Brahman, 139
effect of, 135 and Marduk and Aššur, 133, 134
395
396 Index
Amun (cont.) individuation, later, 323

as anthropomorphic, 107 laconic description of, 282, 283
as divine constellation, 122 names of, 323
as hidden one, 128, 133, 198, 313 of destruction, 292
as high god, 128, 130 rebellious, 275
as one-stop-shop god, 130, 134, 350 relation to Yahweh, 285–7
as pure potential, 133, 194, 198, 313, 350 rhetorical function of, 306–8
bas of, 121, 235 what is an angel?, 287–8
consorts of, 119, 130 animals
cooption of divine attributes, 114, 124, and divination, 58, 96, 140, 188
133 as access points, 105, 124, 127
cult image as messenger of, 120 in divine entourage, 64
direct appearance of, 140 reason for deification, 151
humble origins of, 132 animate suffix, Hittite, 65
hyphenated forms, 114, 127 anthropomorphization, divine, 30–3,
manifestations of, 118–20 107–8, 116, 145, 194, 296
multiple temples of, 107, 118 Anu
persecution of, 134, 136, 315 as father, 18, 173, 184, 218
relation with Amon-Re, 117, 123 as specialist, 24, 50
rhetoric of elevation, 132–4, 198, 314 conflict with Kumarbi, 184
supremacy as goal of rhetoric, 314, 349 Anzu
Anansi, 259 and Ninurta, 47, 316
Anat description of, 46
and Baal, 172, 181 Apep
as major god, 144 and cosmic instability, 106, 316
hyphenated forms, 154 as monster, 129
obscure origins of, 183 conflict with Re, 106, 129, 131, 259
warrior, 181, 235 human actions against, 106, 259
winged, 145 Apis bull, divine, 103
angels, 211, 224, 226, 232, 277–88 as divine manifestation, 127
absence in P and D, 294 Arbela, 28, 39, See also Ištar
absence of competition for Yahweh, 321 Asherah. See also Athirat
absence of individuation, 281, 321 and Yahweh, 318
and demons, 326–8 aspective approach, 2, 12–15, 77, 99–100,
and monotheism, 322–8 190, 193–4, 346
ANE messengers, 279–81 Aššur (city), 52
as collective constellation, 320, 322, 347 as axis mundi, 53
as combined constellation, 320, 348 rise to prominence, 198
as detachable aspects, 320 shrines in, 155, 168
biblical vs. ANE, 281–2 Aššur (god)
conflation of gods into, 254, 294, 322–3, as high god, 49
351 as one-stop-shop god, 16, 57, 350
context-specific presentation of, 283, 321 consort of, 49, 51
divine overlap, 287, 320 context-specific approach to, 36
divinity of, 298, 319, 320–2 cooption of divine attributes, 57, 236,
encrypting function of, 288 313
fallen, 325, 327 cult centralization, 49, 53, 118, 195
focus on function, 284–5 deified crown of, 27, 29
in Genesis vs. Exodus, 304 Enlilship of the gods, 53
in primeval, patriarchal, and Exodus humble origins of, 57, 312
narratives, 352 hyphenated forms, 36, 54, 55
Index 397
image of, 237 as singular, 159

inaccessibility of, 58, 198 relationships between Baals, 166
individuation of cult images, 16 three primary Baals, 162–6
limited worship base of, 58 Baal-of-Aleppo, 160, 162, 166–8
potential for adaptation of, 57, 194, 350 elevation of, 184–5
rewritten origins, 317, 350 reduplication of, 167
rhetoric of elevation, 56–8, 198, 217, Baal-of-Heaven, 168–70
236, 313 Baal-of-Heaven-on-Hawk-Island, 170,
standard of, 35 173
supremacy as goal of rhetoric, 57, 58, constellation of, 172
217, 314, 349 elevation of, 188
weapon of, 35 obscure origins of, 168, 173
Assurbanipal, hymn of, 36, 39, 51 Baal-of-Ṣapun, 160–6, 169, 179
Astarte as Baal in Ugaritic mythology, 163
as Name-of-Baal, 154, 232 centrality at Ugarit, 163
Aten, 102, 135. See also Akhenaten constellation of, 172
absence of conflict, 131 elevation of, 185–8
absence of divine determinative, 102 relation with Baal-of-Ugarit, 165–6
elevation above gods, 136 supremacy as goal of rhetoric, 349
elevation of, 134 Baal-of-Ṣapun at Ugarit, 165
Athirat. See also Asherah Baal-of-Ugarit, 160–6
as mother of the gods, 157, 180, 271 disappearance of, 178
high god, 182 relation with Baal-of-Ṣapun, 165–6
obscure origins of, 183 relative unimportance of, 164
practical power of, 185, 186 combat of, 185, 199, 350
Atum commissioning messengers, 280
cooption by Amun, 114 constellations of, 158–71
cooption by Re, 124, 132 context-specific approach to, 159–62, 177
cooption of Ben, 124 cult images of, 178
hyphenated forms, 113 deified qualities of, 147, 235
rhetoric of elevation, 131 different consorts of, 172
avatar, 127, 233, 293 divine tower of, 147
god groups, 176
ba indispensability and irreplaceability of,
and temple, 125 187, 199, 350
aspect of divine constellation, 120–1 lack of centralizing power, 176
celestial bodies as divine ba, 127 limited kingship, 187
of Amun, 117, 121, 133 limited potential as specialist, 183, 350
of Re, 121 Name-of-Baal, 154
Baal. See also Adad; Hadad; iškur; nonhuman manifestations of, 145
Weather-God obscure origins of, 172
adversaries of, 149, 181–2 other Baals, 170–1
and Astarte, 154 political maneuvering of, 186
and Mount Ṣapun, 146, 163, 164 reduplication of weather gods, 173
and storm, 235 relationships between Levantine weather
and Yahweh, 319 gods, 171–7
as patron of heroic dead, 181 relations with other gods, 180–1
as specialist major god, 182 surnames of, 174, 205
as title, 158–9 tension with El, 185
at Ugarit, 159–66 unspecified Baal, 160, 163
as multiple, 159–62 weapons of, 147–8, 267, 340
398 Index
Babylon, 52 context-specific approach to, 36–8, 41–3,

as axis mundi, 53 80–1, 177
cult images of Marduk in, 41, 195 elements of, 33–6
rise to prominence, 198 as access points, 41–3, 80–1, 124–8,
Bastet, 102, 113, 129 178–80
bau, 128, 141 fragmentation and, 51–2
Beersheba, 208, 211, 330, 333 modern constellations, 195
Ben, 118, 124 of Yahweh, 203, 288, 309, 319
Bes, 111 relationship between elements in, 38–41
Bethel (god), 154 crowns
Bethel (place), 208, 211–12, 217, 228, 257, deified, 19, 20, 29
279, 284, 307, 309, 335 Lord Crown, 27
bodies. See form, divine effect of deification of, 45
burning bush, 239–40, 285, 333 horned, as marker of divinity, 17, 32
of Ninurta, 236
celestial bodies Cultural Translation, 7, 312
as access points, 16, 33–4, 127, 178, 194
as means of divine communication, 58, 94 Dagan, 155–6, 158
as part of cosmic body, 55 as father of Baal, 172
in divine constellations, 33 as high god, 154
occasional deification of, 20, 105 cult images of, 156, 178
centralization, cult, 49, 52–3, 118, 309, 353 hyphenated forms, 155–6
axis mundi, 53, 57, 195 profile of, 183
cherubim, 260–6 weapon in temple of, 148, 184
and Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword, 267 Decalogue, 243, 244, 256, 334, 344
ANE analogues to, 265–6 deities. See gods
as collective constellation, 320, 322, 347 demigods, 273–4, 299
cherubim formula, 261–3 eradication of, 276, 299
description versus depiction, 264 perdurance of, 276
divinity of, 298, 319 demons, 46–9, 235
function of, 266, 302, 307 agency of, 106
Cognitive Science of Religion, 2, 15–16, 192 and gods, 48–9, 197
communal views of personhood, 2, 15, 25, as minor gods, 130
28, 73, 100, 192, 313, 349 as threat to humans, 47, 129, 197
communication, divine-human, 58–60, biblical, 5
94–7, 139–42, 188–9, 199, 329–31 context-specific approach to, 105
communication, human-divine, 331–4 deified, 29, 104
competition, divine, 56–8, 130–7, 183–8 emergence of biblical, 325, 326–8
rhetoric of, 349–51 stationary and wandering, 129
rhetoric of biblical, 305–28 Destroyer, 291–5
comprehensive mentality, 41, 69–71, 96, ANE parallels to, 291
162 divinity of, 298, 319
constellation, divine, 28–43, 60, 77–80, role of, 302, 306
116–22, 142, 154–71, 194–7, 321, determinative, divine
338, 346–8 absence in Hebrew, 254, 345
anthropomorphic core of, 28, 30–3, absence with Aten, 136
107–8, 116, 346 as criterion for deification, 17, 64, 101,
collective constellations, 81–5, 176, 177, 144
195–6, 320, 322, 347 in Egypt, 101–2
combined constellations, 122–4, 196–7, Deuteronomy (D)
320, 321, 347 absence of divine subordinates, 294, 353
Index 399
and divine name, 353, 354 combination of creation and combat

cult centralization, 309, 353 motifs, 57, 198, 313, 349
gods, 294, 353 cooption of divine attributes, 36
monolatry, 353 dependence on Anzu myth, 47
mono-Yahwism, 353 omission of Enlil, 50
presence and distance, 353 rhetoric of, 28, 57, 313
rejection of presence in objects, 334 Erra, 234, 291, 292, 294
Yahweh encased in fire, 238 evil, origins of, 323–8
Devourer-of-the-Dead
as hybrid, 110 face, divine, 248
as specialist, 107, 111 accompanying people, 247
determinative of, 104 Face-of-Baal, 153
dharma, 105 many faced, 108
displacement, divine, 54, 121–2 not true face, 110
Dreaded-One-of-Isaac, 215–17 Peniel (Face of El), 231, 232
Durga, 116 seeing as taboo, 247, 249
seeing face to face, 231, 233, 247,
Ebla, 155, 156, 158, 159, 166 248
El, 156–8 fantastic animals. See hybrids
and Baal, 172, 185, 186–7 fiery forms in P and D, 238–9
and Dagan, 183–4 fire and storm, ANE divine, 234–7
and his beloved monsters, 181, 184, 185, firepot and torch, 334–5
186 as divine proxies, 335, 348
and sons of El, 272 Flame-of-the-Whirling-Sword, 266–8
as common noun, 156 as potentially divine, 299, 319
as father of Baal, 172 form, divine
as high god, 154, 182 animal, 18, 64, 109, 145
as paterfamilias, 180 anthropomorphic, 109
detachable qualities of, 157–8 hybrid, 64, 109. See also hybrids
hyphenated forms, 157–8 animal–animal, 18, 64
nonhuman forms of, 145 human–animal, 18, 64
profile of, 157, 183–4 human–natural elements, 64
El, biblical, 205 fragmentation, divine, 50–3, 116, 118, 177,
co-option by Yahweh, 215, 310, 319 309, 349
epithets of, 209–14
El-Bethel, 211–12 Gibil/Gerra, 234, 236
El-Elyon, 209–10 Gilgamesh as hybrid, 273, 299
El-Olam, 211 Goddess-of-the-Night
El-Roi, 210–11 benefits of reduplication, 86
in Jacob’s blessing, 213–14 full potency of reduplicated images, 86
elevation and innovation, divine. See reduplication of, 71, 77
competition, divine gods, 103. See also abstract qualities,
Elohim. See also Yahweh deified; animals; celestial bodies;
as abstract plural, 206 crowns; form, divine; hybrids;
Enlil images, cult; mountains; rivers;
as destroyer, 32, 323 weapons
association with fire and lightning, 236 abstract qualities, 19
loss of prominence, 50, 53 animals, 148, 181
temple of as axis mundi, 53 beds, 23, 65
Enuˉ ma eliš human-like agency of, 24
and cosmic stability, 316 biblical redefinition of, 5
400 Index
gods (cont.) Tigris, 21

celestial bodies, 18, 64, 81, 102, 145 tools, 147
censer, 147 reasons for deification of, 151
function of, 150 what is a god?, 16–19, 63–6, 101–4,
characteristics of, 22–7, 66–8, 106–7, 144–9, 191–2, 295–300
150–2, 300–2 criteria, 17, 64, 101, 144
awesomeness, 24, 67 gods, biblical, 254–304, See also angels;
divinization by association, 25–6, 67–8 cherubim; Destroyer; Flame-of-the-
human contact, 301 Whirling-Sword; Nephilim and
human-like agency, 23, 67, 106, 150 Gibburim; serpent; sons of god;
important, necessary, uncontrollable, teraphim
24, 67, 106 absence of competition for Yahweh, 321
luminosity, 27 as collective constellation, 347
nonhuman, 301 comparing primeval, patriarchal, and
pantheon as ordering of cosmos, 25, Exodus traditions, 302–4, 352
68, 107 comparing sources, 352–4
power, 22–3, 66–7, 106, 150, 302 goddesses, 318
clouds, 65 gods, foreign. See also teraphim
comparing non-Priestly and ANE, as demons, 351
345–51 depersonalization of, 346, 347
context-specific approach to, 12–15, Jacob and, 257, 291, 311, 344
36–43, 77–9, 80–1, 177, 192–4, rejection of, 255, 257
220, 283, 346, 351 golden calf, 247, 334, 341–3, 344
crowns, 20
dead, 103, 104, 124, 130, 149, 301 Hadad, 171, See also Adad; Baal; iškur;
direct appearance of, 58, 90, 140, 188–9, Weather-God
225, 329–31 as epithet for Baal, 158
door-bolts, 66, 147 hyphenated forms, 147, 160
reason for deification of, 66, 67, 150, Upper Mesopotamian preference for, 159
151 Hapy, 103
hearth, 63, 66 Hathor
reason for deification of, 66, 67 as eye of Re, 101, 116, 128
hybrids, 18, 20 hyphenated forms, 113, 126
illnesses, 19, 29 into Sekhmet, 101, 116, 193
epilepsy, 1, 20 presence in reliefs, 126
reasons for deification, 24 Hattušili III, 77, 78, 95
immaterial aspects of, 86, 97, 120–1, 193 H˘ ebat
laconic description of biblical, 220, 245, ˘ as collective constellation, 82
258, 282, 283, 351 as consort of weather god, 69, 89, 172
metals, 19 deified stela of, 147
reason for deification of, 26 equation with Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna,
silver, 65 83, 85
mountains, 19, 65, 89, 146 hyphenated forms, 72
musical instruments, 19, 20, 147 Hebron, 208, 330
reason for deification of, 26, 150, Heracles (Hercules), 274
151 hierarchy, divine, 49–50, 88–9, 129–30,
national, 257 163, 168, 182–3, 197, 317–22, See
rivers, 19, 65, 89 also high gods; major gods; minor
Balih, 146 gods
Mala,˘ 71 high gods, 49–50, 88–9, 128, 154, 166,
Nahar, 181 182, 197, 272, 318
Index 401
and sukkallu, 44 relation between, 41, 51

as one-stop-shop gods, 49, 130 relation to deity, 40
authority of, 318 relation to stele (and standards), 92–3,
comparison of, 118, 198 179, 348
competition between, 131 surnames as individuators, 174, 178
cult centralization of, 49 unidirectional communication with, 94,
most impressive portfolios, 50, 197, 318 97
Yahweh as, 315 Isis, 122
Horus as anthropomorphic, 111
and kingship, 125 direct appearance of, 140
conflict with Seth, 131 iškur. See also Adad; Baal; Hadad;
hyphenated forms, 113, 132 Weather-God
obscure origins of, 131 and Kumarbi, 78
without divine determinative, 101 as generic label, 82
huwaši. See stele as high god, 235
˘hybrids, 45–9, 109–11 combat of, 89
ambivalent relation to major gods and context-specific approach to, 78, 89
people, 24 expansion of profile of, 89
and major gods, 32, 129 familial relations between iškurs, 84
as cherubim (analogues), 264, 266 hyphenated forms, 78
as divine foes, 149 iškur-of-Aleppo, 168
as hostile, 129 reduplication of, 167
cherubim as, 298 iškur-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša, 164, 167,
fiery theophanies as, 242, 244 170, 173 ˘
Nephilim as, 277 iškur-of-Aleppo-of-Šamuha, 164, 167,
occasional deification of, 21, 103 170, 173 ˘
protective, 149, 181 localized forms of, 78
Hypersensitive Agency Detection Device Ištar
(HADD), 15, 31, 59, 65, 68, 105, as anthropomorphic, 30
108, 171 as category, 75, 82
associated number of, 20
Idrimi, 167, 169 constellation of, 28, 60
Ilabrat, 44, 280 context-specific approach to, 37, 42, 194
images, cult cooption of divine attributes, 236
and divine expansion, 60 Hittite, 82
anthropomorphic service of, 31 Ištar-of-Nineveh, 83
as access points, 33, 80, 91, 120, 134, 178 Ištar-of-Šamuha, 77, 83–4
as divine bodies, 125, 178, 193, 334, 348 ˘ and Arbela, 11, 39, 51,
Ištars of Nineveh
as divine ka, 121 193, 308
as manifestations, 120, 156 multiplicity of, 11, 37, 39–40, 50, 51–2
biblical response to, 256, 353, 354 origins of, 52
connection to cities, 39 surnames of, 37
distribution of agency, 16 Išum, 234, 292
divine radiance of, 27
individuation of, 70–1, 120, 156, 157, Jacob
193 and the wrestling man, 228–34, 308
mouth-washing and mouth-opening on, Jacob’s pillar. See stele
38
Opening of the Mouth on, 104, 106, 125 ka
oracles of, 140 and king, 103, 124
potency of, 86 as aspect of divine constellation, 120–1
402 Index
Kali, 116 as high god, 49

Kemosh as one-stop-shop god, 16, 57, 313, 350
as limited one-stop-shop god, 188, 194 Asalluhi, 16
elevation of, 188 ˘
Beˉl, 158
hyphenated form, 154 consort of, 49
Kothar-wa-Hasis cooption of divine attributes, 57, 223,
as divine craftsman, 148, 180, 186 236, 313
iškur 6 cooption of other traditions, 29, 57, 236
name of, 152 cult centralization, 49, 53, 118, 195
place in hierarchy, 183 Enlilship of the gods, 50, 53
size of, 225 humble origins, 57, 312
Kumarbi inaccessibility of, 198
as grain, 64 individuation of cult images, 16, 41
as mother of Weather-God, 173, 184, 218 monster-slayer, 47, 56, 198
conflict with line of Anu, 65, 78, 184 potential for adaptation of, 57, 194, 350
Kuntillet ˁAjrud, 205, 309, 318 rewritten origins, 217, 317, 350
rhetoric of elevation, 56–8, 198, 236
lamassu, 45–6, See also aladlammû supremacy as goal of rhetoric, 58, 313,
function of, 45, 61 314, 349
Lamaštu Mari, 60, 148, 156, 174, 184
as divine, 18 Maui, 259
hybrid form of, 18 McDonalds. See modern analogies
role of, 48 melammu, 26, 236–7
lammas. See also lamassu and biblical radiance, 353
as generic label, 82 and fiery Exodus theophanies, 244
creation of new, 68 and glory, 238
LEGO. See modern analogies and pillar of cloud and fire, 242
Loki, 259 minor gods, 50
as collective constellation, 322
maat, 24, 103, 105, 108 as more peripheral, 89
major gods, 130 biblical, 319–22
anthropomorphic core of, 30–3, 108, hostile to humans, 129
116, 145, 296 into angels, 322, 351
as quintessence of divinity, 20, 102, 191, limited individuation of, 318
296 more limited power and influence, 130,
as specialists, 50, 89, 145, 182, 197, 318 197
combat with monsters, 56, 197 pharaoh as, 105
constellations of, 60, 77, 142, 194, 346 subordination of, 50, 89, 130, 183, 318
depopulated and depersonalized in Bible, without constellations, 60
319, 351 Mitanni, 62, 144, 169
elevation of, 56, 194 modern analogies
more fluid than minor, 195 Amazon.com, 2, 56, 198, 313, 350
multiple (names and) manifestations of, blind men and the elephant, 14
108, 118 clone or identical twin, 39, 42, 84, 86, 97,
relationship to other gods, 43–9, 87–8, 126, 165, 167
128–9, 180–2, 197 constellations. See constellation, divine
sons of El as, 272 corporate takeover, 124
Marduk. See also Enuˉ ma eliš corporate takeovers, 3, 123, 124, 133,
50 names of, 15, 29, 57, 313 196
and Tiamat, 57, 236, 316 franchises, 2, 81, 122, 173
as anthropomorphic, 30 access points as, 41–3
Index 403
LEGO, 3, 28, 80, 116, 177, 197 mountains

McDonalds, 2, 42, 97 deified Hazzi, 88
mergers, 3, 113, 114, 123–4, 196, 347 ˘
deified Nanni, 88
one-stop shop, 130, 131, 134, 188, 194, deified Ṣapun, 146, 163, 181
198, 199, 219, 313, 314, 315, 317, wildness of, 29
318, 350 mouth-washing and mouth-opening, 38
related stores, 3, 85, 97, 122 Muršili II, plague prayers of, 71, 73, 91, 94
star cluster, 28, 116 Muršili III, 167
start-ups, 3, 123, 124, 196 Muršili, aphasia of, 94
Monkey (Sun Wukong), 259 Mut
monolatry, 3, 5, 310–12 consort of Amun, 119, 130
and hierarchy, 317–22 hyphenated forms, 113, 119
and monotheism, 322–8 Muwatalli, prayer of, 71
and origin of evil, 323–8 myth, problem of in Egypt, 116
and pantheon reduction, 322–3
as goal of rhetoric, 312–17, 350–1 Nablum, 234, 268, 299
depopulation and depersonalization of Nabû, 25, 43, 53, 145
divine world, 322 names, function of, 203–4, 248
in P and D, 353 Namtar, 291, 292, 294
of Akhenaten, 136, 138 Nephilim and Gibburim, 269, 273–7, 301
monotheism, 3, 208 as potentially divine, 299
as language game, 4 Ninšubura, 44, 280
assumptions of, 1, 63, 254, 255, 278, 294 Ninurta
definition of, 5 as monster-slayer, 27, 56, 236, 316
emergence of, 322–8, 351 cooption of divine attributes, 236
language as flexible polytheism, 137–9 divine weapon of, 148, 267
language as hyperbolic praise, 55–6, 136, hyphenated form, 54
138 Ninurta hymn, 138, 196
origins of, 322–8 as hyperbolic praise, 56
mono-Yahwism, 308–10, 319, 349, 353 cooption of divine attributes, 56
in P and D, 353 description versus depiction, 264
monsters, 46–9 gods as body parts, 55–6
as defeated (and domesticated) foes, 61, Nippur as axis mundi, 53, 57
197 ntrj (divine), 101, 102, 103, 104
as threat to gods, 47, 129, 197 ̄
Nun, 108, 121
beloved of El, 181, 184, 185, 186 Nusku, 44, 50, 234, 280
deified, 29 Nut, 127
non-P avoidance of conflict with, 316
removal of by Greek heroes, 276 occasional deification, 20–2, 104–5,
role of divine combat with, 56, 185, 198, 149–50
313, 349 Opening of the Mouth, 104, 106, 125, 126,
Mot 128
as beloved of El, 182 origins, profile not determined by, 130, 183,
as specialist major god, 145, 151, 182, 217
272 Osiris
as threat, 185 and deceased king, 125
beloved of El, 185 as anthropomorphic, 108
conflict with Baal (and Anat), 146, 181, as king of underworld, 114
185, 186 assimilation of Ben, 124
humanlike, 151 benefit of anthropomorphization of, 108
hyphenated form, 153 merger with Re in underworld, 114, 123
404 Index
overlap, divine, 54–6, 72–3, 112–14, Hu and Sia, 105, 118

152–4, 287, 298, 308, 321, 343 hyphenated forms, 132
of function, 72–3, 195 kas of, 121
merger with Osiris, 114, 123
Paḥad-Isaac. See Dreaded-One-of-Isaac rhetoric of elevation, 132
pantheon reduction, 322–3 role in Amon-Re, 123
Pazuzu self-created, 218
as divine, 18 true name of, 112
hybrid form of, 18 rebellion, divine, 325
role of, 45, 48 reduplication, divine, 41–3, 69–70, 71, 77,
pharaoh 80–1, 86, 167, 170, 173–4
as minor god, 104, 125 Resheph, 151, 291, 294
conflict with Israel, 241 hyphenated form, 268
conflict with Yahweh, 242, 316 rhetoric, ANE
defended by divine fire, 235 supremacy as goal, 58, 313, 349
hardened heart of, 242 rhetoric, non-P
pillar of cloud and fire, 240–2, 243, 248, biblical exceptionalism, 321, 354
250, 285, 299, 308, 321, 347 monolatry as goal, 312–17, 350–1
as divine body, 222 rivers
planets. See celestial bodies occasional deification of, 20
polytheism, flexible, 137–9 reason for deification of, 23, 24
presence and distance, 285–7, 305–8 wildness of, 29
in P and D, 353
Priestly texts (P) Šamaš
absence of divine subordinates, 294, 353 as anthropomorphic, 30
cloud and fire, 238 as specialist major god, 24, 49, 50
cult centralization, 309, 353 deified qualities of, 20
glory, 238, 353 relation between aspects of, 40
gods, 294, 353 simultaneous presence of, 40
monolatry, 353 Šarur, 148, 267
mono-Yahwism, 353 satan (ś ā t ̣ā n), 325–8
presence and distance, 353 Šauška, 71, 78, 95
rejection of presence in objects, 334 Sekhmet, 101, 116, 128, 129, 193, 235
Prometheus, 259 as eye of Re, 128
Ptah as major god, 130
and Akhenaten, 135 description of, 111
and Apis bull, 127 Sennacherib, 41
cooption of Tatenen, 124 seraphim, 320
determinative of, 102 serpent, 258–60
hyphenated forms, 113, 114, 118 and divine rebellion, 324
rhetoric of elevation, 132 Apep, 259
Puduhepa, 83, 85 as potentially divine, 300
˘ as Satan, 325
Re Illuyanka, 90
and deceased king, 125 in Kumarbi cycle, 88
bas of, 121 Litan, 181
consolidation of divine powers in, 116–17 Mehen, 259
cooption by Amun, 114, 133 role of, 306
cooption of solar deities, 114, 124 seraphim, 320
cooption of solar powers, 132 uraeus, 109, 259
daily conflict with Apep, 106, 131 Seth
Index 405
absence of divine determinative, 102 function of, 60

as storm god, 107, 235 Sun-God, 90
conflict with Horus, 131 hyphenated forms, 74, 87
obscure origins of, 131 Sun-Goddess-of-Arinna
Shapsh as consort of Weather-God, 89,
as intermediary, 185, 186 172
as patron of heroic dead, 181 as specialist high god, 67, 74
as specialist major god, 144 equation with Hebat, 83, 85
combat with dragon, 145, 181 individuation of˘ cult images, 71
hyphenated form, 145 surnames, divine, 37, 52, 167, 168, 171,
underworld journey of, 145 173–4, 178, 205
Shechem, 208, 209, 212, 330, 333
Sîn Tannit
as specialist major god, 24, 49, 50 as Face-of-Baal, 154
associated number of, 20 consort of Baal-of-Ḥ amā n, 172
Sinai theophanies, 243–51 hyphenated form, 153
šiuniyatar (spirit holder), 86, 91, 338 Tatenen, 118, 124
solar cycle Tefnut, 113, 235
and Akhenaten, 134 Telipinu
and Amun, 133 absence of, 72
and cosmic instability, 106, 187, 316 as oak, 64
and Re, 114, 116, 124, 132 as specialist high god, 74
as cosmic drama, 128 teraphim, 288–91, 338, 344
sons of god, 210, 268–73, 275, 306 as divine, 297
as collective constellation, 320, 322, 347 Teššub. See Adad; Baal; Hadad; iškur;
as origin of evil, 325 Weather-God
divinity of, 297, 319 textual genres
rebellion of, 324–5 god lists, 23, 27, 37–8, 49, 56, 145, 149,
sphinx, 141, 261 160, 163, 171, 176
as hybrid, 111, 265 hymns, 3, 14, 27, 36, 39, 55–6, 74, 114,
function of, 265 115, 117–18, 119, 123, 133–5,
Harmachis, hyphenated forms, 113, 114 137–9, 159, 193
staff of Moses, 338–41, 343, 348 images, 110, 264
standards inscriptions, 34, 41, 157, 167, 309,
as access points, 34–5, 334 318
deified, 19, 34 letters, 23, 38, 148, 152, 158, 162, 163,
in oath-taking, 35 169, 174, 176
Yahweh-Is-My-Standard, 209 mortuary texts, 101, 102, 103, 105, 110,
standing stones. See stele 114, 115, 116–17, 121, 124, 128,
stars. See celestial bodies 131, 132, 138, 179, 337
statue, cult. See images, cult narrative, 3, 14, 27, 38, 47, 56, 58, 72, 74,
stele 78, 89, 90, 115–16, 155, 157,
anointing of, 337 159–60, 163, 171, 174–7, 185–8,
as access points, 92–3, 127, 179, 334 193, 257, 274, 309–10
as human spirit holder, 179, 337, 338 oracles, 70
biblical condemnation of, 348 prayers, 3, 26, 71, 73, 74, 84, 87, 91, 94,
deified, 54, 147 119, 146, 159, 162, 193
function of biblical, 343 ritual texts, 3, 14, 27, 38, 54–5, 70–1, 77,
huwaši-stones, 92–3, 337 84, 91–2, 115, 119, 120, 123, 152,
˘Jacob’s pillar, 335–8 155–6, 157, 160–2, 164, 166, 171,
sukkallu, 44 174, 176, 177, 178, 193
406 Index
textual genres (cont.) reduplication of, 81, 83

treaties, 14, 35, 37, 65, 70, 74, 154, 163, relationship between Levantine weather
168, 169, 171, 177, 193, 216, 217, gods, 171–7
257, 297, 308 storm as communication of, 94
Thebes, 118, 132, 198 supremacy as goal of rhetoric, 349
Theory of Mind (ToM), 15, 31, 59, 65, 68, Weather-God-of-Aleppo, 159
79, 105, 108, 171 and other weather gods, 69
Thoth consort of, 69
as moon god, 102 constellation of, 84, 167
as specialist high god, 128 male parents of, 173
variable depiction of, 109 reduplication of, 70, 77, 167
Tiamat Weather-God-of-Aleppo-of-Hattuša, 70
as major god, 56 Weather-God, Hittite, 172 ˘
as Marduk’s monster, 47, 57, 236, 316
fluidity of presentation, 27 Yahweh
tricksters, 259, 300, 306 amalgamation of Elohim and El, 214–15
Trojan War, 274, 276 and goddesses, 302, 318
and objects, 334–44
ulihi and wood, 333–4
˘ receptacle for presence, 91
as as name, 204–5
as one-stop-shop god, 317, 318
weapons, 147–8 as pure potential, 317
as access points, 34, 35, 180 attributes of, 217–19
deification of, 20 communication with, 329–34
deified, 19, 26, 147, 148 in primeval, patriarchal, and Exodus
effect of deification of, 45 traditions, 251–3
in oath-taking, 35 manifestations of, 219–51
of weather god, 184 monolatry as goal of rhetoric, 312–17,
Weather-God 350–1
(different) consorts of, 74, 172 names and epithets of, 203–17
and combat, 88, 199 obscured origins of, 215, 217–18, 310,
and geography, 144, 196 317
and Illuyanka, 90 revelation of name, 239, 240, 247, 249,
and mountains, 88, 164 250
as collective constellation, 81–5, 122, rhetoric of elevation, 305–22
196 Yahweh in Hebron, 205
as constellation of aspects, 69, 77, 80 Yahweh in Jerusalem, 205
as specialist high god, 67, 74, 88 Yahweh-of-Samaria, 205, 309
conflict with line of Kumarbi, 184 Yahweh-of-Teman, 205, 309
context-specific approach to, 81, 194 Yamhad, 144, 166, 184, 187
deified qualities of, 78 Yamm ˘
divisible without diminishment, 86–7 as beloved of El, 182, 185, 186
fluid self of, 89 as specialist major god, 145, 151, 182,
geography and, 75–6 272
hyphenated forms, 67, 70, 78, 84, 87, as threat, 185
162 conflict with Baal (and Anat), 148, 181,
limited potential as specialist, 183, 350 185, 186
multiplicity of weather gods, 70, 72, 308 messengers of, 235, 281
overlap without redundancy, 72–3, 97
parentage of, 218 Zeus, 235, 274, 276
personification of, 192 Zukru festival, 146, 155, 336

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Michael Hundley - Yahweh Among The Gods - The Divine in Genesis, Exodus, and The Ancient Near East-Cambridge University Press (2022)

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Yahweh among the Gods

In this study Michael Hundley explores the diverse deities of Ancient

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

Preface page vii

part i the ancient near east

part ii non-priestly genesis and exodus

reminded me as I wrote this, thirteen in eight days), Evangeline Grace

A. tablets in the collections of the Oriental Institute, University

BD Book of the Dead

LÄ W. Helck et al., eds. Lexikon der Ägyptologie. 7 vols.

SCCNH Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the

attempts to answer these questions in Mesopotamia, Hittite Anatolia,

title to associated stores like high-end fashion, and divine overlap to

disclaimers and clarifications

Bible scholars have attempted to redeﬁne monotheism, originally under-

Pentateuchal scholarship enjoys a relative consensus on the identity and

THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST

The divine is seemingly ubiquitous in Mesopotamian society, yet despite its

the individual aspects to such an extent that they may be conceived of

of HADD contend that in the face of ambiguous environmental stimuli

anthropomorphism is indeed the most prominent mode of perceiving the

the depiction of a deity in the Northwest Palace at Nimrud as a fusion of the

How Can the Phenomenon of Occasional Deiﬁcation Be Explained?

general characteristics of divinity: what makes a god

Potency and Perceived Power

interested in developing a systematic or exhaustive system of deities;65

Other Characteristic Qualities of Divinity

creations, other anthropomorphically conceived deities are connected

weapons, chariots, beds, musical instruments, and temple elements,

sorting the divine sphere

emblem, a star, a constellation or other celestial entity, and various

The analysis will proceed to explore the divine constellations, begin-

order to make these deiﬁed forces more understandable, approachable,

Consequences of Divine Anthropomorphization and Strategies

assortment of other powerful beings and forces, they depict them as

Other Elements in the Divine Constellation

in such contexts serve as an appeal to or mark of divine support, and thus

The Multidimensionality of Divine Constellations

in mythological texts, multiple Ištars and divinized aspects of Ištar are

Practical and Theoretical Approaches to Divine Constellations

point to it. Worshippers’ concern was purely practical; their effective

perspective, Ištar-of-Arbela and Ištar-of-Nineveh are also substantially

approaching a single manifestation of the deity and differentiating it from

Access Points As Divine “Franchises”

franchises or chain stores.167 While a single store or restaurant provides

Deities outside of the Divine Constellations

The Divine Court

Hybrid Creatures: “Monsters” and “Demons”

anthropomorphic gods are more or less clearly differentiated and have

especially through the incantation literature.194 However, although some-

commissioned to carry out evil intentions.202 “Good” demons likewise

other effects of divine multiplicity

Potential Pitfalls of Divine Multiplicity

as noted, a hymn of Aššur-bā ni-apli addresses the distinct Ištars of

Interaction between Deities

Competition and Character Poaching

aspects are especially characteristic of the national gods, Aššur and

specific, delivered to a specific audience at a specific time about a specific situation. As

diversity of divine expressions that Volkert Haas may claim, “All of

Wisdom, which are associated with Ea.28 In addition, human-made elem-

what makes a god a god?

Hittite parā handandatar approximates this concept of potency and the

conquering god’s temple, the Weather-God-of-Aleppo was incorporated