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i
Before and
After Babel
Writing as Resistance in Ancient
Near Eastern Empires
z
MARC VAN DE MIEROOP
iv
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197634660.001.0001
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Contents
Illustrations ix
Introduction 1
Coda 103
viii Contents
Notes 253
Bibliography 287
Index 333
ix
Illustrations
Introduction
Historians of antiquit y would be out of a job were it not for the writ-
ten word. From their perspective, writing was one of the most important inven-
tions in world history—had it not been created, we could still study people of the
distant past, but we would not know their names and most of their thoughts, and
numerous other aspects of their existence would be so unclear to us that we could
not apply most methods of historical analysis to them. From the perspective
of the ancient people, too, writing was a critical invention. Even if few of them
knew how to write, for those who did it provided opportunities unimaginable
otherwise. Beyond its very practical applications, writing opened up intellectual
prospects and pathways. It allowed scholars to speculate, to communicate and
record ideas. Not all languages were written down, however. Potentially scribes
had many options, but they were not allowed to use them all if they wanted to be
taken seriously. Only certain languages were considered suitable for intellectual
pursuits, as is still true today when no one publishes scholarly research in collo-
quial idioms. Throughout history not all scripts had the same status either: cur-
sive scripts are not considered suitable for monumental inscriptions, for example.
A present-day parallel may be that no academic publication would accept a con-
tribution in which emojis make its point.
The choices of languages and scripts are not inconsequential. For modern his-
torians they determine what they can investigate through written remains—some
scripts remain undeciphered and some languages incomprehensible. Moreover,
throughout history when scribes utilized certain languages and scripts, they
became part of specific traditions that could extend back millennia in time and
carried much intellectual baggage. It is thus important for us to understand
what scripts and languages the people we study used and why. This book inves-
tigates these matters in the long history of the ancient Near East, exceedingly
well documented with hundreds of thousands of manuscripts. They stretch in
Before and After Babel. Marc Van De Mieroop, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197634660.003.0001
2
time from the fourth millennium bc to the first centuries ad, in space from the
eastern Mediterranean to western Iran. In this vast domain we can recognize mul-
tiple attitudes toward the uses of languages and scripts—attitudes that give us
insight into these ancient people’s thoughts that go much deeper than what they
expressed with the words they wrote down.
This book will contrast two distinct approaches toward the writing down of
languages in this long time frame and wide geography. On the one hand, there
was the shared use of the Babylonian languages—Sumerian, Akkadian, and
their combination in bilingual texts—all written in the same cuneiform script
across many regions and by people who spoke a wide variety of languages. This
was a cosmopolitan tradition with roots in the southern region of Iraq today,
but scribes from all over the Near East maintained and developed it. Over many
dozens of generations they copied out and rewrote texts that were in foreign lan-
guages, one of them already a dead language early in this sequence. On the other
hand, there was a wide variety of languages with several linguistic backgrounds,
spoken and written down regionally and in multiple scripts. Those were the ver-
naculars of the eastern Mediterranean with a great diversity of texts written in
each of the individual cases, some of them with ephemeral existences, others with
a very long-term impact on world literature. This book will argue for an evolution
in the attitudes of writers toward these systems with radical differences between
the second and first millennia bc. In the earlier millennium no one who wrote a
work of high literary or scholarly value would think of doing so in anything but
the cosmopolitan Babylonian idiom; in contrast, in the later millennium numer-
ous vernacular systems existed alongside the cosmopolitan one which survived in
the imperial centers of Mesopotamia alone. A major question will be what caused
the change in behavior and what the consequences were.
The existence of cosmopolitan and vernacular writings is not unparalleled in
world history. My work here owes much to that of Sheldon Pollock in his studies
of two other examples, somewhat later in history than what I study here, in the
first millennium ad: the Sanskrit and Latin cosmopoleis and the vernaculars that
succeeded them. I use the terms “cosmopolitan” and “vernacular,” which can be
employed in different contexts, as he does, that is, applied to literate culture and
irrespective of the geopolitical circumstances. In a cosmopolitan system people
with different cultural backgrounds, speaking diverse languages and living in
distinct political formations share the same language and script for their writ-
ten communications. In contrast, vernaculars make use of individual languages
and oftentimes scripts to record all types of writing. Those are not limited to
documenting speech but also enable high literary and scholarly creativity. The
vernaculars exist in a context that includes the cosmopolitan and interact with it.1
Very importantly, these usages are all the outcome of choices made consciously. It
3
Introduction 3
is not the case that one is elite, the other popular, but the same kind of people—in
the cases studied here, those attached to courts and government institutions—
decide which system to use. It should be clear that the evidence we will deal with
does not reveal the conditions among the populations in general. One of the
remarkable aspects of the eastern Mediterranean world, today and in the past, is
the diversity of languages its inhabitants actively use. I will repeat that through-
out the book in order to counteract groups like Daesh but also its critics, who
try to erase that fact and whose rewriting of history has penetrated the world’s
perception of the region. Although the polyglot situation I will describe in the
distant past was surely not the same as now, the general setting of people living
in the same region and using multiple languages and scripts is. But while we may
have access to all levels of society today if we make the effort, that is not true
for the past when only written remains inform us. And those of the periods dis-
cussed here are all the products of small segments of the populations, the literate
men and women, some with basic levels of education, others with much more
advanced ones. Not only the Babylonian cosmopolitan system was one of high
culture, so were the vernaculars.
The Sanskrit and Latin cases show different reasons for the existence of cos-
mopolitan systems and for the appearance of vernacular ones. The ancient Near
Eastern situation has its own distinctive features, the bilingualism of the cosmo-
politan tradition a very major one. I aim to demonstrate in the first part of this
book how the Babylonian cosmopolis functioned as a truly “international” (an
anachronistic term in a period without nations) system with active participation
and input of many different people. In the second part, I will describe the emer-
gence of some of the vernaculars (not all as there were too many and the evidence
on them can be too scanty to allow for substantive conclusions) and their rela-
tionship to the cosmopolitan tradition that continued to exist, as well as what the
consequences of their appearance were. My discussion will deal with many texts,
cultures, and traditions that have been the subject of numerous investigations
and have provoked much scholarly debate. While my bibliography is already very
long, I cannot say that I have been able to consult all this work and integrate it
here. Some colleagues may feel slighted, which was not my intention. Obviously
there will be people who disagree with my interpretations while others will feel
that my discussions are too superficial. My aim is to stimulate further debate by
combining topics often studied independently is a wider context, and I welcome
elaborations including those that prove me wrong.
I could not resist to call the book Before and After Babel, using the probably
somewhat hackneyed biblical reference to “the confusion of tongues.” It is espe-
cially appropriate for this study, however, because the story in the biblical book
of Genesis dramatically explains how humankind came to use multiple languages.
4
The story focuses on Babel, the city of Babylon, and its tower, which stand as
the icons of Babylonian culture. I will focus here on that other cultural icon of
Babylonia, the cuneiform script. While at one time every Near Eastern literate
intellectual understood that script, that was no longer the case when Genesis was
written. How could that have happened?
Without having planned this, it became clear to me while writing the vari-
ous chapters of this book that the Epic of Gilgameš provides the clearest example
of how people throughout Near Eastern history changed their attitudes toward
what to write and how. I do not want to repeat here the idea, popular a century
ago, that Gilgameš inspired the stories of Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Paul—a
theory elaborated at length by Peter Jensen in his monumental Das Gilgamesch-
Epos in der Weltliteratur (1906–1928). But Gilgameš was a central character in
the literary imagination of the ancient Near East. Stories about him certainly cir-
culated in writing in the early second millennium ascribing a remarkable array
of adventures and accomplishments to him. After an Akkadian-writing author
at that time molded them into a whole that we now call the Babylonian Epic of
Gilgameš, discarding some earlier ideas but also enriching the character with new
aspects, the text was copied and elaborated by numerous ancient Near Eastern
authors over many centuries. Manuscripts with sometimes surprisingly new vari-
ants continue to appear. This was not the preserve of Babylonians; authors from
Anatolia, Syria, and the Levant engaged with the epic, modified it, excerpted it,
and translated it. And once cuneiform was no longer the dominant script, people
referred to elements of it in a variety of languages. They did not translate passages,
but reformulated them to fit new contexts and ideologies or simply mentioned
characters from the epic. Gilgameš started out as a truly cosmopolitan text, shared
by all those who knew cuneiform. Every author contributed in shaping this text,
which was alive and never finished, and as a study of the evolution of the epic
now decades old pointed out, each of these versions should be “taken seriously
as a piece of literature in its own right.”2 But it was also a text that was so famous
in the ancient Near East that writers who did not use cuneiform knew about ele-
ments of it and reacted to it. The memory of the main character and some others
in the epic lingered for a long time in the later Near East. Thus I decided to refer
to the epic at least once in every chapter (whenever possible) as a narrative strat-
egy. This book is not an analysis of Gilgameš and its history, but the epic is just
one illustration of the long history of interaction with and manipulation of texts
that was common practice in the ancient Near East.
That is the aim of this book: I want to shed light on a millennia-long tradi-
tion about how and what to write, a tradition that upheld a system of thought
inherently connected to the script. While it dominated the entire Near East for
more than a thousand years, it lost that power later on. But that did not mean
5
Introduction 5
PART I
These words written on a clay tablet sometime in the early centuries of the sec-
ond millennium bc are part of the epic we call Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta,
a story that recounts the contest between Enmerkar, the king of the southern
Babylonian city Uruk in modern Iraq, and the unnamed lord of Aratta, a city in
modern Afghanistan. While Enmerkar bluntly demanded submission, his dis-
tant rival replied with seemingly impossible requests, such as a delivery of grain
in nets. Yet Enmerkar always found solutions. The hero of the tale is the herald,
also nameless, who made seven trips carrying messages back and forth. Framing
these travels are two passages that form a pair. In the first, just quoted, the author
looked back at a golden age when everyone—in the north and the east, in Sumer
and Akkad, and in the west—spoke the same language. Because lords, princes,
and kings squabbled, Enki, the god of wisdom had changed that, and now there
were foreign tongues.
8
The counterpart to this passage comes when the herald prepared for his final
trip to present the lord of Aratta with a counterchallenge. Enmerkar’s words were
so complex that he was unable to memorize them. So Enmerkar invented writing:
Those were his words, but their content was too deep. The herald could
not repeat them as the words were too heavy. Because the herald could not
repeat them as the words were too heavy the lord of Kulab (that is, Uruk)
patted some clay and placed the words on it as if it were a seal. Before that
day no one put words on clay. Now, when the sun rose on that day, it was
so. The lord of Kulab placed his words on clay—so it was!1
Putting his words on clay, Enmerkar wrote cuneiform, the script also used for all
the epic’s manuscripts. With this act he outwitted his opponent, reversing the
confusion with which Enki had ended the golden age: a single system of writing
became the means of communication everywhere. And that system was cunei-
form, the script with signs made up of a combination of wedges impressed on clay.
Cuneiform is perhaps the most iconic feature of ancient Babylonian culture.
People there and throughout the Near East utilized it from the mid-fourth millen-
nium bc to the first century ad to record a gigantic mass of writings the known
remains of which number more than a million today. They impressed the signs
on clay tablets or in wax spread onto wooden and ivory boards, carved them into
stone, engraved them in metal, and tattooed them onto the skins of people and
animals. The texts record a multitude of languages: Sumerian, Akkadian, Hittite,
Hurrian, Urartian, Elamite, and others, and render what people said or some liter-
alized version of it. They all wrote cuneiform, however, and with the script’s inven-
tion it became possible once again for all the world’s people to use the same system
to address the main god of the Sumerian pantheon, Enlil.
But to those who knew cuneiform writing well it was much more than a record;
it was not secondary to speech but primary to it. As the epic states, its messages
were deeper than could be rendered in speech. Each sign had the potential to reveal
more than its first reading. It was polyvalent in that it could be pronounced differ-
ently, read as an entire word or as a syllable, substituted by other signs, and manip-
ulated in other ways. Its meaning was never fixed; on the contrary, it had to be
explored, expanded, and explained to reveal insights that were only present in the
written word, much richer than the spoken one. The cuneiform sign was not just
iconic for the way it looked but also for the intellectual value it had for the ancient
Babylonians. It was the path to truth.
When Enmerkar’s epic was composed, it was indeed the case that everyone who
wrote—all over the world from the perspective of someone living in Babylonia—
did so in the cuneiform script and typically in the Sumerian and Akkadian
9
languages, distinct yet like twins in their use. Sumer was indeed “twin-tongued.”
By adopting the writing system, people from all over the Near East became part
of Babylonia’s world and its intellectual practices. They contributed to them by
expanding the procedures within new cultural spheres and for different languages
and thus, together with their colleagues in Babylonia, established a truly cosmo-
politan system. Describing and analyzing this cosmopolis is the subject of Part I of
this book.
Before and After Babel. Marc Van De Mieroop, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197634660.003.0002
12
southern Mesopotamian city from the sixth millennium bc to the 8th century
ad. The modern name Niffer or Nuffar still preserves its ancient designation,
Nibru in Sumerian, Nippuru in Akkadian. I will refer to it here as Nippur, fol-
lowing usual scholarly practice.1
Schooling at Nippur
Among the tens of thousands of cuneiform tablets and fragments the archaeolo-
gists found at Nippur over the many seasons of excavations were thousands from
the 18th century bc that contain literary and scholarly writings. The early mem-
bers of the project had a vicious debate—masking major personality clashes and
a struggle for control over a new scholarly discipline—over whether or not these
constituted a temple library, a collection of literature and scholarship like the
one of King Assurbanipal the British had discovered in Nineveh. Today every-
one agrees they are the products of schooling, which in the first centuries of the
second millennium bc, a period we refer to as Old Babylonian, took place in pri-
vate residences. Sometimes the students went to the houses of priests and other
educated people; at other times it seems that tutors came to the students. The
teachers were otherwise engaged in business and administration, and it was their
skills as writers that they passed on. When they were priests, for example, they
were the members of the temple staff who kept the accounts—priesthood was
not just a cultic activity; it involved practical tasks such as the administration of
the temple’s assets. The type of education they provided was essentially home-
schooling probably for some of their own children as well as a few others from the
neighborhood. They taught young boys and some girls how to read and write by
copying out a curriculum of increasingly complicated scholarly and literary texts
in the Sumerian language, which was no longer spoken at the time. The num-
ber of manuscripts from Nippur is gigantic and dominates the record we have of
Sumerian literature of the era. Some 7,000 items exist, making up more than 80%
of the total number of Sumerian literary texts from all sites in the Old Babylonian
period known today. In one house, some 1,300 literary manuscripts and school
tablets were discovered. Even if many of them contain brief extracts only, almost
every modern reconstruction of a work of Sumerian literature relies on Nippur
evidence, which most modern scholars take to have been the dominant tradition.
Nippur versions are often seen as the standard ones, and when those from else-
where show variants, they are considered to be inferior.2
The students started out learning to impress cuneiform signs into the clay and
then wrote out groups of simple signs with the same consonant and the three
vowels distinguished in writing: tu, ta, ti; bu, ba, bi; and so on. They progressed to
the copying of passages from word lists and from lists of personal names, and then
13
wrote out model contracts and short proverbs, their first introduction to com-
plete sentences. After that elementary stage they reproduced a standard sequence
of Sumerian literary works starting with a group of four hymns: three to kings
and one to the goddess of writing, Nisaba. Modern scholars refer to them as the
Tetrad. The royal hymns were composed in the 20th and 19th centuries and hon-
ored three rulers of the city of Isin, which early in those centuries was politically
the most powerful in Babylonia. By the mid-18th century the city had long lost its
leading status in the region, but that was irrelevant to the students, who wrote out
praises to these former kings as wise, just, and efficient. This approach to learning
was continued in copying out ten literary compositions—modern scholars call
them the Decad. The corpus started out with two hymns of praise to kings of the
past: Šulgi, the greatest ruler of the 21st century who had unified Babylonia and
extended its political influence far into neighboring regions (r. 2092–2045; Šulgi
A) and Lipit-Ištar of Isin (r. 1936–1926; Lipit-Ištar A), already known to students
from the Tetrad. The sequence continued with a Hymn to the hoe, a play on the
syllable “al,” the Sumerian word for this agricultural tool; three hymns to major
deities and their temples; two mythological texts concerning the great gods Enki
and Inana; a hymn to a minor goddess, Nungal; and finally a Sumerian tale of
Gilgameš and Enkidu’s encounter with the monster Huwawa. All the composi-
tions of the Decad were between 100 and 200 lines in length, and we know them
from scores of manuscripts mostly produced by students, roughly 80 of them for
each text. Afterward a wide variety of other Sumerian literary texts were taught,
including literary letters, hymns, and other genres.3
Why were these texts selected? Pedagogical reasons certainly played a role,
and an analysis of the hymn to king Lipit-Ištar of the Tetrad demonstrated how
it taught basic features of the Sumerian verbal system, elementary sentence struc-
ture, and the stylistic parallelism that characterized much Sumerian literature
(Lipit-Ištar B). By the time students reached the end of the Decad, they were
expected to have mastered the intricacies of Sumerian grammar and vocabu-
lary. How long the process took is difficult to estimate. Sumerian was just one
of the subjects the students learned—they also studied music, mathematics, and
surveying—and as instruction was a private affair with educated men (and prob-
ably some women) teaching small groups of students, we cannot assume they
all went at the same pace. We know that teachers varied in their choice of texts,
although they all selected them from the same corpus. How did instruction hap-
pen in practice? Many modern scholars think that much oral explanation and
recitation was involved. Students may have written out texts that were read aloud
to them, or they did so from memory. There are many examples of school tablets,
however, that contain the teacher’s written paradigm on one side and the stu-
dent’s on the other. When students penned down lists of Sumerian words early
14
on in their training, did the teacher translate those and explain why they were
grouped together? That Akkadian was more familiar to the students is clear from
the fact that some texts have short translation notes in that language inserted
into the Sumerian sentences (we call them glosses). It seems likely that not all
students reached the same level, and only the Nippur schools may have taught the
most advanced and extensive curriculum. The poetic works were of little use to
people who ended up writing out standard contracts and accounts; but in mod-
ern times, too, the literature students read in high school has no practical benefit
for most careers. And instruction in other genres of writing took place as well,
albeit in much less standardized fashion. We find multiple copies of Akkadian
letters, for example, which were more functional items in the education of a
scribe. When were these taught, however? They seem not to have been part of
the core curriculum.4
School exercises dominate the manuscript record we have today of Babylonia’s
literature and scholarship in the first centuries of the second millennium bc,
which does give a particular slant to our perception of these writings. It is clear
that the choice of texts was rooted in traditions that went back to the beginning
of writing in Babylonia. An important part of education was the learning of word
lists, a genre modern scholars refer to as lexical texts, which were developed at
the same time as the cuneiform script itself in the late fourth millennium bc.
They recorded words in the Sumerian language in sequences that were grouped
together following various principles of similarity: semantic connections and
resemblances in sound and in the shape of the cuneiform signs used to write them
out. A multitude of lexical lists is preserved from the Old Babylonian period,
and they were part of every level of scribal training, from the most basic when
students learned simple expressions to the very advanced when they explored eso-
teric values of signs and words. A remarkable aspect of this corpus is that it still
included works that had been created 1,500 years earlier preserving the original
order and organization of the entries. The prime example of this was a list of pro-
fessional designations which had been the most prominent in the earliest lexical
corpus known to us from the city of Uruk around 3400 bc and which through-
out the third millennium scribes in Babylonia, and at times in Syria, continued to
reproduce. In the early second millennium many terms in this text were outdated,
but scholars and some advanced students still wrote them out in the sequence
established long before. Those who studied it must have known that they were
heirs to a very old tradition.5
Much more pragmatic in scribal education was the study of legal and
administrative terminology—after all, most students went on to write docu-
ments using such language later in life. Cuneiform writing was invented for
administrative purposes and 90% of the earliest preserved tablets record
15
(a) (b)
Figure 1.1 Babylonian school tablet from the early second millennium. On small lentil-
shaped tablets like this one, some 10 cm in diameter, students learned to write Sumerian
cuneiform by replicating on the reverse (b) the example the teacher had written out on
the obverse (a). Here the exercise was to copy out three times the name of the god Ura.
(MMA 86.11.251. Image in public domain)
In the south, in Ur, I caused a House of the Wisdom of the goddess Nisaba
to spring up in sacrosanct ground for the writing of my hymns; up country
16
in Nippur I established another. May the scribe be on duty there and tran-
scribe with his hand the prayers that I instituted in the Ekur temple; and
may the singer perform, reciting from the text. The academies are never to
be altered; the places of learning shall never cease to exist. This and this
only is now my accumulated knowledge! The collected words of all the
hymns that are in my honor supersede all other formulations. By the gods
An, Enlil, Utu and Inana, it is no lie—it is true!
Most scholars interpret this as evidence that the king, who created the highly
centralized Ur III state, established academies for the training of the scribes to
be employed in his administration. His court set up a standard curriculum that
included hymns of praise to Šulgi, both to teach the Sumerian language and in
order to indoctrinate the bureaucrats, who should remain alert to the fact that
their careers depended on the king. The rulers of the first leading dynasty of the
Old Babylonian period from the city of Isin continued the practice, adding new
hymns of praise to the curriculum (to kings Lipit-Ištar, Iddin-Dagan, and Enlil-
bani). It was only after the 19th century that state-run education devolved into
the hands of private teachers who maintained the core elements of the curriculum
but adapted it to their needs and personal tastes. Even if the centralized control
of instruction may have been a figment of Šulgi’s imagination, it is certain that
throughout Babylonia scribal education was based not only on the same prin-
ciples of copying mainly Sumerian texts but also on the same corpus of texts that
must have been regarded as good pedagogical tools. We can observe that teach-
ers in different towns used somewhat different basic texts, but they chose them
from a common curriculum, which continued to be in use throughout the Old
Babylonian period. The power of tradition seems to have stimulated this continu-
ity. No central authority—palace or temple—coordinated schooling.7
A Library at Meturan
In any society, school books do not necessarily reflect what intellectuals read, and
one of the frustrating outcomes of the practice that literate adults tutored stu-
dents privately is that we do not know where the educational material ends and
where works of higher learning start. All the houses excavated at Nippur and Ur
that contained literature and scholarly texts also had remains of student exercises.
This situation has led to the perception that all preserved works from the Old
Babylonian period derive from a school setting. That this was not the case is sug-
gested by the find of a library belonging to active exorcists, not in the Babylonian
heartland, but on its outer fringes in the lower Zagros Mountains. The house that
held the library was discovered at the Iraqi site of Tell Haddad in the early 1980s,
17
and because neither the archaeology nor the epigraphic finds are fully published
so far, we do not yet know all the details of the collection. But the information
available today already gives a good idea of the contents and character of this
library, which shows a remarkable penetration of Sumerian literature and schol-
arship in the early second-millennium Babylonian world. Tell Haddad together
with the adjacent site of Tell es-Sib made up the ancient town of Meturan, stra-
tegically located on the Diyala where the river becomes navigable, some 200 km
northeast of modern Baghdad. The town was not large; its archaeological remains
take up some 12 hectares, while those of Nippur in the same period occupied 150
hectares and those of Ur 60 hectares. Meturan became part of the kingdom of
Ešnunna in the mid-19th century, which itself fell prey to Hammurabi of Babylon
in 1762. Probably the latter’s military campaign laid waste to the town, and the
conflagration it caused sealed the clay tablets in the ruins and thus preserved
them for us. The number of tablets excavated at various locations in Meturan is
remarkably high for such a small town, some 1,000 in total, by far mostly legal
and economic documents. Among them was a collection of literary and scholarly
texts discovered in a single house. The economic documents found with them
reveal the names of some of the residents: one Bēlšunu, son of Lu-Lisina and
husband of Bēltani, and one Lisinakam, possibly his cousin, are prominent in the
tablets found in one part of the house (rooms 8 and 10). A Zimri-Addu appears in
the unpublished texts from another room (30). None of the residents is identified
professionally, but the contents of the literary and scholarly texts found in both
areas show that those who consulted them were exorcists. The tablets of rooms 8
and 10 all contained material to be used in magic rituals, while in room 30 such
texts were kept together with works of Sumerian literature that may have had spe-
cial appeal to an exorcist. There is no clear distinction between the magical texts
from the two areas (which are also near each other in the house), and it seems that
the same people used them. They show what educated persons in a small town far
from Nippur, the intellectual center of Babylonia, read and how they dealt with
the difficult materials.8
We do not know exactly what language the people inhabiting the Diyala Valley
spoke in the early second millennium, but in the written material produced there
Akkadian dominated. A building inscription of an early ruler of Meturan, Arim-
Lim, was written in that language, as were all official inscriptions of the kingdom
of Ešnunna, which annexed the town. Yet the magical texts from Meturan were
almost entirely written in Sumerian and often rendered that language in a unique
way, different from what was used in Babylonia’s heartland at the same time. The
spellings were what modern scholars call “phonetic,” breaking up words into indi-
vidual syllables while parallels from Nippur and other southern Babylonian sites
used single signs to render them. The choice of Meturan’s writers was not the
18
result of incompetence, however. They were aware that each cuneiform sign had
multiple readings, that the same syllable could be written with various signs, and
that the graphic elements in signs could accentuate particular ideas, and often
they played around with those principles to add meaning to the written text.
A simple example is their writing the name of the goddess of grain Ašnan syllabi-
cally as še-na, the first element of which, še, was the sign for grain. Another may
be the use of the cuneiform sign for “canal,” íd, to render the verb “to irrigate,” a
dè. Other deviations from spellings we encounter in the Nippur material suggest
that the writers heard and read Sumerian words and wrote them down in unorth-
odox ways. These often confuse the modern Sumerologist trained in the reading
of Nippur manuscripts. The editors of the Meturan texts have referred to them as
“graphies presque sauvages,” but this assessment is too negative. The peculiarities
show that the scribes at Meturan truly engaged with the texts. The written format
of the words was meaningful to them, and they aimed to enrich the material with
the variants they introduced.9
The tablets contained incantations that were to be pronounced in Sumerian.
One of them—unusual because it also included an apotropaic formula in
Akkadian—had two short Sumerian sections that were written as if in short-
hand, giving the exorcist an aide-mémoire to recite the full spell. This particular
manuscript was poorly written, but most of the tablets with magical spells from
Meturan were carefully produced, regularly large in size with multiple columns
on each side. They were not at all the work of amateurs or imitators. And the
knowledge of Sumerian to the extent that such works could be created was not
limited to one person in the town. An analysis of the details of spelling shows
that different hands wrote parallel manuscripts. The scribes were probably the
men and women who performed the rituals and spoke the spells. The Akkadian
passage in the unusual text mentioned before contains the first-person statement,
“Let me cast a spell upon myself, let me enchant with a spell.”10 The exorcists’
concern was to protect farmers against threats to their fields and crops: vermin,
scorpions, invading armies, evil spirits, and so on. The agricultural focus of their
work probably also explains why two manuscripts of a text modern scholars call
The Farmer’s Instructions were found at Meturan. It was part of Sumerian wisdom
literature of the Old Babylonian period and is attested in numerous sources from
Nippur, and fewer from other sites. The Meturan version follows that text but
renders many of its words with unique spellings.
The magical material was most likely used in practice by active exorcists, and
it shows how educated people at Meturan knew the Sumerian language and the
intricacies of the cuneiform writing system to record it. The spells they uttered
had a long recorded history in Babylonia proper, where they were most likely
composed. They were brought as efficacious apotropaic formulae to the upper
19
Faith as also Time being double, we shall find virtues in pairs both
dwelling together. For memory is related to past time, hope to future.
We believe that what is past did, and that what is future will take
place. And, on the other hand, we love, persuaded by faith that the
past was as it was, and by hope expecting the future. For in
everything love attends the Gnostic, who knows one God. “And,
behold, all things which He created were very good.”[115] He both
knows and admires. Godliness adds length of life; and the fear of the
Lord adds days. As, then, the days are a portion of life in its
progress, so also fear is the beginning of love, becoming by
development faith, then love. But it is not as I fear and hate a wild
beast (since fear is twofold) that I fear the father, whom I fear and
love at once. Again, fearing lest I be punished, I love myself in
assuming fear. He who fears to offend his father, loves himself.
Blessed then is he who is found possessed of faith, being, as he is,
composed of love and fear. And faith is power in order to salvation,
and strength to eternal life. Again, prophecy is foreknowledge; and
knowledge the understanding of prophecy; being the knowledge of
those things known before by the Lord who reveals all things.
The knowledge, then, of those things which have been predicted
shows a threefold result,—either one that has happened long ago, or
exists now, or about to be. Then the extremes[116] either of what is
accomplished or of what is hoped for fall under faith; and the present
action furnishes persuasive arguments for the confirmation of both
the extremes. For if, prophecy being one, one part is accomplishing
and another is fulfilled; hence the truth, both what is hoped for and
what is past is confirmed. For it was first present; then it became
past to us; so that the belief of what is past is the apprehension of a
past event, and the hope which is future the apprehension of a future
event.
And not only the Platonists, but the Stoics, say that assent is in
our own power. All opinion then, and judgment, and supposition, and
knowledge, by which we live and have perpetual intercourse with the
human race, is an assent; which is nothing else than faith. And
unbelief being defection from faith, shows both assent and faith to be
possessed of power; for non-existence cannot be called privation.
And if you consider the truth, you will find man naturally misled so as
to give assent to what is false, though possessing the resources
necessary for belief in the truth. “The virtue, then, that encloses the
church in its grasp,” as the Shepherd says,[117] “is Faith, by which
the elect of God are saved; and that which acts the man is Self-
restraint. And these are followed by Simplicity, Knowledge,
Innocence, Decorum, Love,” and all these are the daughters of Faith.
And again, “Faith leads the way, fear upbuilds, and love perfects.”
Accordingly he[118] says, the Lord is to be feared in order to
edification, but not the devil to destruction. And again, the works of
the Lord—that is, His commandments—are to be loved and done;
but the works of the devil are to be dreaded and not done. For the
fear of God trains and restores to love; but the fear of the works of
the devil has hatred dwelling along with it. The same also says “that
repentance is high intelligence. For he that repents of what he did,
no longer does or says as he did. But by torturing himself for his
sins, he benefits his soul. Forgiveness of sins is therefore different
from repentance; but both show what is in our power.”
CHAPTER XIII.
ON FIRST AND SECOND REPENTANCE.
He, then, who has received the forgiveness of sins ought to sin no
more. For, in addition to the first and only repentance from sins (this
is from the previous sins in the first and heathen life—I mean that in
ignorance), there is forthwith proposed to those who have been
called, the repentance which cleanses the seat of the soul from
transgressions, that faith may be established. And the Lord, knowing
the heart, and foreknowing the future, foresaw both the fickleness of
man and the craft and subtlety of the devil from the first, from the
beginning; how that, envying man for the forgiveness of sins, he
would present to the servants of God certain causes of sins; skilfully
working mischief, that they might fall together with himself.
Accordingly, being very merciful, He has vouchsafed, in the case of
those who, though in faith, fall into any transgression, a second
repentance; so that should any one be tempted after his calling,
overcome by force and fraud, he may receive still a repentance not
to be repented of. “For if we sin wilfully after that we have received
the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more a sacrifice for
sins, but a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery
indignation, which shall devour the adversaries.”[119] But continual
and successive repentings for sins differ nothing from the case of
those who have not believed at all, except only in their
consciousness that they do sin. And I know not which of the two is
worst, whether the case of a man who sins knowingly, or of one who,
after having repented of his sins, transgresses again. For in the
process of proof sin appears on each side,—the sin which in its
commission is condemned by the worker of the iniquity, and that of
the man who, foreseeing what is about to be done, yet puts his hand
to it as a wickedness. And he who perchance gratifies himself in
anger and pleasure, gratifies himself in he knows what; and he who,
repenting of that in which he gratified himself, by rushing again into
pleasure, is near neighbour to him who has sinned wilfully at first.
For one, who does again that of which he has repented, and
condemning what he does, performs it willingly.
He, then, who from among the Gentiles and from that old life has
betaken himself to faith, has obtained forgiveness of sins once. But
he who has sinned after this, on his repentance, though he obtain
pardon, ought to fear, as one no longer washed to the forgiveness of
sins. For not only must the idols which he formerly held as gods, but
the works also of his former life, be abandoned by him who has been
“born again, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh,”[120] but in the
Spirit; which consists in repenting by not giving way to the same
fault. For frequent repentance and readiness to change easily from
want of training, is the practice of sin again. The frequent asking of
forgiveness, then, for those things in which we often transgress, is
the semblance of repentance, not repentance itself. “But the
righteousness of the blameless cuts straight paths,”[121] says the
Scripture. And again, “The righteousness of the innocent will make
his way right.”[122] Nay, “as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord
pitieth them that fear Him.”[123] David writes, “They who sow,” then,
“in tears, shall reap in joy;”[124] those, namely, who confess in
penitence. “For blessed are all those that fear the Lord.”[125] You see
the corresponding blessing in the gospel. “Fear not,” it is said, “when
a man is enriched, and when the glory of his house is increased:
because when he dieth he shall leave all, and his glory shall not
descend after him.”[126] “But I in Thy mercy will enter into Thy house.
I will worship toward Thy holy temple, in Thy fear: Lord, lead me in
Thy righteousness.”[127] Appetite is then the movement of the mind
to or from something.[128] Passion is an excessive appetite
exceeding the measures of reason, or appetite unbridled and
disobedient to the word. Passions, then, are a perturbation of the
soul contrary to nature, in disobedience to reason. But revolt and
distraction and disobedience are in our own power, as obedience is
in our power. Wherefore voluntary actions are judged. But should
one examine each one of the passions, he will find them irrational
impulses.
CHAPTER XIV.
HOW A THING MAY BE INVOLUNTARY.
Further, not even Ajax is silent; but, when about to kill himself, cries:
“No pain gnaws the soul of a free man like dishonour.
Thus do I suffer; and the deep stain of calamity
Ever stirs me from the depths, agitated
By the bitter stings of rage.”[135]
Anger made these the subjects of tragedy, and lust made ten
thousand others—Phædra, Anthia, Eriphyle,
“Who took the precious gold for her dear husband.”
For another play represents Thrasonides of the comic drama as
saying:
“A worthless wench made me her slave.”
Here again arise the cavillers, who say that joy and pain are
passions of the soul: for they define joy as a rational elevation and
exultation, as rejoicing on account of what is good; and pity as pain
for one who suffers undeservedly; and that such affections are
moods and passions of the soul. But we, as would appear, do not
cease in such matters to understand the Scriptures carnally; and
starting from our own affections, interpret the will of the impassible
Deity similarly to our perturbations; and as we are capable of
hearing; so, supposing the same to be the case with the Omnipotent,
err impiously. For the Divine Being cannot be declared as it exists:
but as we who are fettered in the flesh were able to listen, so the
prophets spake to us; the Lord savingly accommodating Himself to
the weakness of men. Since, then, it is the will of God that he, who is
obedient to the commands and repents of his sins should be saved,
and we rejoice on account of our salvation, the Lord, speaking by the
prophets, appropriated our joy to Himself; as speaking lovingly in the
Gospel He says, “I was hungry, and ye gave me to eat: I was thirsty,
and ye gave me to drink. For inasmuch as ye did it to one of the
least of these, ye did it to me.”[166] As, then, He is nourished, though
not personally, by the nourishing of one whom He wishes nourished;
so He rejoices, without suffering change, by reason of him who has
repented being in joy, as He wished. And since God pities richly,
being good, and giving commands by the law and the prophets, and
more nearly still by the appearance of his Son, saving and pitying, as
was said, those who have found mercy; and properly the greater
pities the less; and a man cannot be greater than man, being by
nature man; but God in everything is greater than man; if, then, the
greater pities the less, it is God alone that will pity us. For a man is
made to communicate by righteousness, and bestows what he
received from God, in consequence of his natural benevolence and
relation, and the commands which he obeys. But God has no natural
relation to us, as the authors of the heresies will have it; neither on
the supposition of His having made us of nothing, nor on that of
having formed us from matter; since the former did not exist at all,
and the latter is totally distinct from God, unless we shall dare to say
that we are a part of Him, and of the same essence as God. And I
know not how one, who knows God, can bear to hear this when he
looks to our life, and sees in what evils we are involved. For thus it
would turn out, which it were impiety to utter, that God sinned in
[certain] portions, if the portions are parts of the whole and
complementary of the whole; and if not complementary, neither can
they be parts. But God being by nature rich in pity, in consequence
of His own goodness, cares for us, though neither portions of
Himself, nor by nature His children. And this is the greatest proof of
the goodness of God: that such being our relation to Him, and being
by nature wholly estranged, He nevertheless cares for us. For the
affection in animals to their progeny is natural, and the friendship of
kindred minds is the result of intimacy. But the mercy of God is rich
toward us, who are in no respect related to Him; I say either in our
essence or nature, or in the peculiar energy of our essence, but only
in our being the work of His will. And him who willingly, with discipline
and teaching, accepts the knowledge of the truth, He calls to
adoption, which is the greatest advancement of all. “Transgressions
catch a man; and in the cords of his own sins each one is
bound.”[167] And God is without blame. And in reality, “blessed is the
man who feareth alway through piety.”[168]
CHAPTER XVII.
ON THE VARIOUS KINDS OF KNOWLEDGE.
It is then clear also that all the other virtues, delineated in Moses,
supplied the Greeks with the rudiments of the whole department of
morals. I mean valour, and temperance, and wisdom, and justice,
and endurance, and patience, and decorum, and self-restraint; and
in addition to these, piety.
But it is clear to every one that piety, which teaches to worship
and honour, is the highest and oldest cause; and the law itself
exhibits justice, and teaches wisdom, by abstinence from sensible
images, and by inviting to the Maker and Father of the universe. And
from this sentiment, as from a fountain, all intelligence increases.
“For the sacrifices of the wicked are abomination to the Lord; but the
prayers of the upright are acceptable before Him,”[174] since
“righteousness is more acceptable before God than sacrifice.” Such
also as the following we find in Isaiah: “To what purpose to me is the
multitude of your sacrifices? saith the Lord;” and the whole section.
[175] “Break every bond of wickedness; for this is the sacrifice that is