Ancient Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast: Rethinking Ideology and Propaganda in the Ancient Near East (Wedge, 2) 3963271868, 9783963271861

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
List of Abbreviations
Portuese / Pallavidini: Ideology and Propaganda:
An Introduction
MESOPOTAMIA
Nadali: An Ideological Approach to the Issue of Propaganda in Ancient Near Eastern Studies:
New Answers to Old Questions
Di Paolo: Visual Tools of Power Argumentation:
Models in Contrast?
Artemov: LUGAL KIŠ and Related Matters:
How Ideological are Royal Titles?
Galter: Assyrian Royal Inscriptions between
Royal Propaganda and Historical Positioning
Bach: Revisiting the Representation of the “Other”
in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”
Bonatz: Are Monsters Propagandistic? Thoughts on the Imagery of Hyperreality
in Ancient Assyria
Portuese: Doorway Creatures: Crises, Ideologies and Persuasion
in the Neo-Assyrian Palace
Collins: Kingship in Space and Time
at the Northwest Palace, Nimrud
Wagner-Durand: Bodies of Propaganda? The Visual Embodiment of Kingship in the Neo-Assyrian Empire
Karlsson: “An object of wonder for all of the people”: Ideology and Propaganda in the Neo-Assyrian
and Neo-Babylonian Empires
ANATOLIA AND EGYPT
Pallavidini: The Hero, the Pious, the Chosen, the Legitimate: One Ideology, Different propagandae
in the Hittite Empire
Gilan: “Šawoška of Šamuḫa, My Lady,
caught him like a fish with a net”: Usurping the Throne and writing about it
Gordeziani / Tatišvili: Hittite Funeral Traditions and Afterlife Beliefs
in the Context of Hittite Cosmology
De Pietri: ḥr.w n k3.w and bibrû: Between Tribute and Gift: Ideological and Propagandistic Developments
in Egypto-Hittite Relationships
SYRIA AND THE LEVANT
Pfoh: Friend of the KingRevisiting the Household Terminology in EA 288
and its Socio-political Implications
Montesanto: Ideology and Material Culture in the Late Bronze Age Northern Levant:
A Pottery Perspective
Coppini: Fragments of Power: The Use of Pottery and the Reconnaissance of the Presence of the Middle Assyrian State
in the Archaeological Record
Susnow: Elite Ideology, Ritual Manipulation and the Anomalous Cultic Practices
Implemented by the Hazor Rulership

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wEdge 2 wEdge 2 Ancient Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast

www.zaphon.de

Ancient Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast Rethinking Ideology and Propaganda in the Ancient Near East

Edited by

Ludovico Portuese and Marta Pallavidini

Zaphon

wEdge-Cover-2.indd 1

31.05.2022 21:26:02

Ancient Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast Rethinking Ideology and Propaganda in the Ancient Near East

Edited by Ludovico Portuese and Marta Pallavidini

wEdge Cutting-Edge Researches in Cuneiform Studies Volume 2

Editor-in-Chief: Lorenzo Verderame Editorial board: Eva von Dassow Agnès Garcia-Ventura Jean-Jacques Glassner Ann Guinan Emanuel Pfoh Jordi Vidal

Ancient Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast Rethinking Ideology and Propaganda in the Ancient Near East

Edited by Ludovico Portuese and Marta Pallavidini

Zaphon Münster 2022

Illustration on the cover: KBo 1, 7, obv. 1–25.

Ancient Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast. Rethinking Ideology and Propaganda in the Ancient Near East Edited by Ludovico Portuese and Marta Pallavidini wEdge 2

© 2022 Zaphon, Münster (www.zaphon.de) Printed in Germany. Printed on acid-free paper.

ISBN 978-3-96327-186-1 (book) ISBN 978-3-96327-187-8 (e-book) ISSN 2698-7007

“Se il modello culturale non viene rispettato nell’azione, il racconto può rimediare fornendo i valori culturali che in realtà erano mancati. In questo caso l’ideologia diventa propaganda.” (Mario Liverani, Guerra e diplomazia nell’antico Oriente: 1600–1100 a.C., 1994, 272)

Table of Contents Acknowledgements............................................................................................... 9 List of Abbreviations .......................................................................................... 11 Ideology and Propaganda: An Introduction Ludovico Portuese / Marta Pallavidini............................................................... 15 MESOPOTAMIA An Ideological Approach to the Issue of Propaganda in Ancient Near Eastern Studies: New Answers to Old Questions Davide Nadali ..................................................................................................... 31 Visual Tools of Power Argumentation: Models in Contrast? Silvana Di Paolo ................................................................................................. 53 LUGAL KIŠ and Related Matters: How Ideological are Royal Titles? Nikita Artemov .................................................................................................... 67 Assyrian Royal Inscriptions between Royal Propaganda and Historical Positioning Hannes D. Galter ................................................................................................ 87 Revisiting the Representation of the “Other” in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” Johannes Bach .................................................................................................. 115 Are Monsters Propagandistic? Thoughts on the Imagery of Hyperreality in Ancient Assyria Dominik Bonatz ................................................................................................ 143 Doorway Creatures: Crises, Ideologies and Persuasion in the Neo-Assyrian Palace Ludovico Portuese ............................................................................................ 163 Kingship in Space and Time at the Northwest Palace, Nimrud Paul Collins ...................................................................................................... 183 Bodies of Propaganda? The Visual Embodiment of Kingship in the Neo-Assyrian Empire Elisabeth Wagner-Durand ................................................................................ 205 “An object of wonder for all of the people”. Ideology and Propaganda in the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Empires Mattias Karlsson ............................................................................................... 245

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Table of Contents

ANATOLIA AND EGYPT The Hero, the Pious, the Chosen, the Legitimate: One Ideology, Different propagandae in the Hittite Empire Marta Pallavidini.............................................................................................. 273 “Šawoška of Šamuḫa, My Lady, caught him like a fish with a net”: Usurping the Throne and Writing about it Amir Gilan ........................................................................................................ 289 Hittite Funeral Traditions and Afterlife Beliefs in the Context of Hittite Cosmology Levan Gordeziani / Irene Tatišvili .................................................................... 309 ḥr.w n k3.w and bibrû: Between Tribute and Gift. Ideological and Propagandistic Developments in Egypto-Hittite Relationships Marco De Pietri ................................................................................................ 323 SYRIA AND THE LEVANT Friend of the King: Revisiting the Household Terminology in EA 288 and its Socio-political Implications Emanuel Pfoh.................................................................................................... 341 Ideology and Material Culture in the Late Bronze Age Northern Levant: A Pottery Perspective Mariacarmela Montesanto ............................................................................... 359 Fragments of Power: The Use of Pottery and the Reconnaissance of the Presence of the Middle Assyrian State in the Archaeological Record Costanza Coppini.............................................................................................. 387 Elite Ideology, Ritual Manipulation and the Anomalous Cultic Practices Implemented by the Hazor Rulership Matthew Susnow ............................................................................................... 403

Acknowledgements “Near Eastern Weltanschauungen in Contact and in Contrast: Rethinking the Terms Ideology and Propaganda” was originally planned as a workshop for the 66th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale “Cultural Contact – Cultures of Contact” that was supposed to take place in July 2021 in Frankfurt and Mainz. Unfortunately, the Recontre was postponed due to the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic. We strongly felt that the engagement of the authors who already accepted to take part in the workshop should have been rewarded, therefore we took the decision to turn our original idea of a workshop into a book. We deeply thank the authors who accepted the invitation to contribute to this volume, for having met our deadlines despite the complex situation of the access to libraries and other facilities, and for having been in an open and friendly communication with us all along. Their positive attitude made possible for us to submit the book for publication in a few months. In this respect, our gratitude goes to the editors of the series wEdge: CuttingEdge Researches in Cuneiform Studies for having enthusiastically accepted our proposal of publication: we are honored to see our volume included in this excellent series. We kindly thank also Maria Bianca D’Anna who reviewed the formal aspects of the editing process before submitting the manuscript. We appreciate the thoroughness of her work and the improvements made thank to her expertise. Needless to say, every mistake still present in the volume is only our responsibility. We would like also to express our immense respect to Professor Mario Liverani, for having been a pioneer in the study of the topics discussed in this volume: his contribution to the scholarship is still unequalled. Finally, a special thanks goes to our families, in particular to our spouses Teresa and Marco, for their constant and loving support, without which we would have not been able to dedicate our time and concentration to this endeavor, and to our children Leopoldo Maria and Minerva Charlotte for providing the joyful distraction necessary to any enterprise. Modica / Berlin, April 2021 Ludovico and Marta

List of Abbreviations ÄHK

ANE CAD

CDA

CHD

CTH

ETCSL

HL1

KBo KUB PM I/2

PNA 2

Edel, E. 1994. Die ägyptisch-hethitische Korrespondenz aus Boghazköi in babylonischer und hethitischer Sprache, 2 Volumes (Abhandlungen der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 77), Opladen: Westdeutscher. Chavalas, M. W. 2006. The Ancient Near East: Historical Sources in Translation, Malden: Blackwell. Gelb, I. J. et al. (eds). 1956–2010. The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. https://oi.uchicago.edu/ research/publications/assyrian-dictionary-oriental-institute-universi ty-chicago-cad. Black, J. / George, A. / Postgate, N. 2000. A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian (SANTAG: Arbeiten und Untersuchungen zur Keilschriftkunde 5), Second edition, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Goedegebuure, P. M. / Güterbock, H. G. / Hoffner, H. A. / van den Hout, T. P. J. 1980–2019. The Hittite Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. https://oi.uchicago.edu/research/publi cations/hittite-dictionary-oriental-institute-university-chicago-chd. Laroche, E. 1971. Catalogue des textes hittites (Études et commentaires 75), Paris: Klincksieck. http://www.hethport.uni-wuerzburg. de/CTH/. Black, J. A. / Cunningham, G. / Fluckiger-Hawker, E. / Robson, E. / Zólyomi, G. 1998–2006. The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, Oxford. http://www-etcsl.orient.ox.ac.uk/. Hannig, R. 2015. Großes Handwörterbuch Ägyptisch – Deutsch (2800 bis 950 v. Chr.) (Hannig-Lexica 1), Sixth edition, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Keilschriftttexte aus Boghazköi, Leipzig 1916–1923, Berlin 1954 ff. Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi, Berlin 1921–1990 Porter, B. / Moss, R. L. B. 1964. Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings. Vol. I: The Theban Necropolis. Part 2. Royal Tombs and Smaller Cemeteries, Second Edition Revised and Augmented, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Baker, H. D. 2001: The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, Volume 2, Part II: L–N, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project.

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PNA 3

List of Abbreviations

Baker, H. D. 2011. The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, Volume 3, Part II: Š–Z, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project RIMA 1 Grayson, A. K. / Franye, D. / Frame, G. / Maidman, M. P. 1987. Assyrian rulers of the third and second millennia BC (to 1115 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Assyrian Periods 1), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RIMA 2 Grayson, A. K. 1991. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Assyrian Periods 2), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RIMA 3 Grayson, A. K. 1996. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, II (858–745 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods 3), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RIME 1 Frayne, D. R. 2008. Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods 1), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RIME 2 Frayne, D. R. 1993. Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods 2), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RIME 3/2 Frayne, D. R. 1997. Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods 3/2), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RIME 4 Frayne, D. R. 1990. Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods 4), Toronto: University of Toronto Press. RINAP 1 Tadmor, H. / Yamada, S. With the editorial assistance of Jamie Novotny. 2011. The Royal Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III (744– 727 BC), and Shalmaneser V (726–722 BC), Kings of Assyria (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 1), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. RINAP 2 Frame, G. 2021. The royal inscriptions of Sargon II, King of Assyria (721–705 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 2), University Park: Penn State Press. RINAP 3/1 Grayson, A. K. / Novotny, J. 2012. The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1 (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 3/1), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. RINAP 3/2 Grayson, A. K. / Novotny, J. 2014. The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 2 (Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 3/2), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

List of Abbreviations

RINAP 4

13

Leichty, E. 2011. The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 4), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. RINAP 5/1 Novotny, J. / Jeffers, J. 2018. The Royal Inscriptions of Ashurbanipal (668–631 BC), Aššur-etel-ilāni (630–627 BC), and Sı̂ n-šarraiškun (626–612 BC), Kings of Assyria, Part 1 (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 5/1), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. RINAP 5/2 Novotny, J. R. / Jeffers, J. The Royal Inscriptions of Ashurbanipal (668–631 BC), Aššur-etel-ilāni (630–627 BC), and Sı̂ n-šarra-iškun (626–612 BC), Kings of Assyria, Part 2 (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 5/2), http://oracc.orgrinap/rinap5/rinap 52/. SAA 1 Parpola, S. 1987. The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part I: Letters from Assyria and the West (State Archives of Assyria 1), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 2 Parpola, S. / Watanabe, K. 1988. Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths (State Archives of Assyria 2), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 3 Livingstone, A. 1989. Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (State Archives of Assyria 3), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 4 Starr, I. 1990. Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria (State Archives of Assyria 4), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 8 Hunger, H. 1992. Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (State Archives of Assyria 8), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 9 Parpola, S. 1997. Assyrian Prophecies (State Archives of Assyria 9), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 10 Parpola, S. 1993. Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (State Archives of Assyria 10), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. SAA 13 Cole, S. W. / Machinist, P. 1998. Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Priests to Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (State Archives of Assyria 13), Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Urk. IV Sethe, K. / Helck, W. 1906. Urkunden der 18. Dynastie. Historisch-biographische Urkunden (Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums 4), Berlin: Akademie-Verlag / Graz: Akademische Druckund Verlagsanstalt. Wb. Erman, A. / Grapow, H. 1926–1963. Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache, 7 Volumes, Leipzig / Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.

Ideology and Propaganda An Introduction Ludovico Portuese / Marta Pallavidini École pratique des hautes études – PSL Université Paris / Freie Universität Berlin

Everything that is nowadays said about “ideology” and “propaganda” could well be incorrect. Moreover, the fact anything today may be described as “ideological” and/or “propagandistic” leads scholars of the ancient Near East to a crossroads: if one or both terms are adopted, scholars tend to justify their use; otherwise, they are rejected with a plethora of different explanations. Both the acceptance and the rejection of these words basically rely on reasons and arguments, which are mostly built on philosophical and political theories as well as on the analysis of the historical document being studied. Scholars have intensively discussed, questioned, and pondered the appropriateness or inappropriateness of these terms to pre-classical cultures, shifting from mere terminological discussions to more complex political and economic issues. Furthermore, when dealing with past societies, ideology and propaganda come into play to define not only written and visual sources but also archaeological evidence which is in a sense “silent”, with the consequence that the use of modern terms to describe archaeological findings can be perceived as reasonable to some, but awkward and misleading to others. This book does not set out to tip the balance in favour of one group or another. Rather, it attempts to offer theoretical tools to future researchers for regulating the application of the concepts of “ideology” and “propaganda” to ancient Near Eastern societies. In doing so, it consists of a collection of essays which each evaluates the appropriateness, or inappropriateness, of western-centric terms such as ideology and propaganda through contemporary research methods applied to written, visual and archaeological sources. In this approach, it represents an up-to-date contribution that shows the general trend of a new generation of scholars who build their critical thought on the last century of scholarship. What emerges from these contributions is an ensemble of general rules which may be important to take into account in the evaluation of the use of western terms. In fact, it seems that scholars who adopt or question the terms “ideology” and “propaganda” today should consider 1) the reception history of the ancient Near Eastern past; 2) the origin of the definition of the terms, including the question whether they come from philosophical and political contexts or from actual historical (textual, visual and archaeological) evidence; and 3) the importance of analysing single-case studies and specific historical events. To begin with, reception history is the study of how certain texts, images, and events in the ancient world were received and perceived in other historical con-

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texts. Much of today’s reception history (Rezeptiongeschichte) makes reference to the work of Hans-Georg Gadamer and his student Hans-Robert Jauss. The theories which were developed by these two scholars came to fruition during the 1960s and 1970s within literary studies and claimed that a text does not stand for itself but that the meanings of a given literary composition depend on the reader and his/her own background.1 From this standpoint, reception history pursues the transformation of not only texts but also artistic formulas and any other past event through different artistic contexts and historical periods.2 As Harold Marcuse has written, reception history is essentially “the history of the meanings that have been imputed to historical events. This approach traces the different ways in which participants, observers, and historians and other retrospective interpreters have attempted to make sense of events, both as they unfolded, and over time since then, to make those events meaningful for the present in which they lived and live”.3 Studying the history of reception involves the analysis of the afterlife or post-history of ancient texts, images, archaeological evidence, historical events and the question of how they were understood. However, as theorists warn, the problem of understanding past events and sources correctly must take into account the need for a consciousness that we are already affected by history. In this connection, Gadamer mentions that there is a principle—the Wirkungsgeschichte, translated as the principle of history of effect—according to which every analysis operates universally through an act of understanding and interpretation that is historically-effected: “Understanding is, essentially, an historically-effected event”.4 With a special focus on texts, Gadamer further argues that “all understanding inevitably involves some prejudice”.5 This means that contemporary scholars who try to understand past events and any evidence coming from a past culture must be sensitive to the alterity of what is being studied; this sensitivity represents “the foregrounding and appropriation of one’s own fore-meanings and prejudices” that, “far more than his judgments, constitute the historical reality of his being”.6 Today’s scholars must therefore be aware and conscious of the prejudices which govern his/her own understanding so that what is being analysed can be isolated and valued on its own.7 This is certainly valid for any evidence, be it textual and visual and archaeological. Jauss also recognizes in this regard that the meaning of a work of art “is extracted only during the progressive process of its reception; it is not a mystic whole that can reveal itself totally on its first showing. The art of the past, just like history, does not interest merely because it was, but because ‘in 1

Gadamer 2004; Jauss 1982. See Kemp 1998 and related bibliography. 3 http://marcuse.faculty.history.ucsb.edu/receptionhist.htm. 4 Gadamer 2004, 299. 5 Gadamer 2004, 272. 6 Gadamer 2004, 271, 278. 7 Gadamer 2004, 298. 2

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a certain sense it still is’ and invites one to new adaptations”.8 This new approach, or field, of investigation is particularly rich within studies on Classics.9 However, a history of reception of ancient Near Eastern cultures is often ignored.10 The way in which western culture has perceived and created its own Orient hugely influenced the reception and creation of ancient Near Eastern motifs in western culture. The first European archaeological campaigns that took place in the middle of the nineteenth century were politically motivated and any discovery was pervaded by nationalist and imperialist interests. The Orient soon became an estate of European powers and the artefacts from those cultures were perceived as having a sort of compulsive, mysterious quality.11 The East was perceived as remote and exotic and a forerunner of Greek culture, a kind of cradle of western civilisation. At the same time, however, the East was opposed to the West and the oriental civilisations were envisioned as environments full of vice, sin, and excess (both moral and sexual).12 This European view of the East created an oriental vision, which Edward Said defines as Orientalism, a prejudiced outsiderreading that was shaped and distorted by the political and cultural attitudes of European imperialism in the 18th and 19th centuries.13 This vision was also built on Greek historians, such as Ctesias, Herodotus, Xenophon and Pseudo-Aristotle, as well as the Bible, which already offered and imposed an essentially distorted vision of some cultures of the ancient Near East (esp. Assyria), on which westerners built the main cliché of the Oriental court governed by despotic kings.14 Besides the religious and imperial ideas of the nineteenth century, the racial views of the first half of the twentieth century and the democratic and globalist perspectives of the period that followed World War II all influenced or distorted scholarly

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Jauss 1982, 59. A theoretical and methodological overview of reception studies as applied to ancient history is offered in Hardwick 2003. 10 Bohrer (2003) greatly contributed to the understanding of the phenomenon of Orientalism and the image of Mesopotamia in nineteenth-century Europe, especially regarding visual culture. Malley (2012) investigated the reception of archaeological artefacts in and Layard’s discovery of Nineveh on Victorian culture. McGeough (2015) contains a meticulous three-volume series on the reception of Near Eastern culture, history, and art in nineteenth-century Europe and United States. Some papers have also dealt with historiography and (in part) the reception of the Near Eastern past (see, for instance, Larsen 1996; Holloway 2006), but particularly interesting and revolutionary in this respect is the series of lectures and workshops organised at “Sapienza”, Università degli Studi di Roma, under the title “Storia degli studi sul Vicino Oriente Antico” and now published in two volumes (i.e. Verderame and Garcia-Ventura 2019; Garcia-Ventura and Verderame 2020). 11 Bohrer 2003, 5. 12 Lopes et al. 2020. 13 Said 1978. 14 In this respect, see Lanfranchi 2010; 2011; Portuese 2020a; 2020b. 9

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perceptions of ancient Near Eastern cultures.15 This is not the place to investigate the ways in which the ancient Near East and the evidence from its cultures were received, perceived, interpreted, and appropriated. However, a review of the history of reception and the notions of Orientalism do need to be taken into account when evaluating past cultures through modern terms, such as ideology and propaganda. These terms and the ideas associated with them mostly have a Eurocentric or Western-centric origin, because this is the scholarly tradition which has produced them. Therefore, since they are Western-centric terms, a deep knowledge of reception history leads the investigating scholar to evaluate their nature and their potential application without any western or any other sort of moral preconception. In other words, a reception history of the Near Eastern past may help contemporary scholars to suspend their prejudices, develop a trained mind that is able to include historical consciousness, and evaluate carefully the appropriateness or inappropriateness of various loaded terms and notions. The intention of this introduction is not to present a state of the art regarding the concepts of ideology and propaganda applied to the ancient Near East. Yet, it is important to acknowledge the fundamental impulse given to this study, namely Mario Liverani’s publication on the “Memorandum on the approach to Historiographic Texts”16 and Guerra e diplomazia nell’antico Oriente: 1600–1100 a.C.17 Also crucial for the development of scholarly discussion have been the contributions of Mario Fales’ “Kilamuwa and the Foreign Kings: Propaganda vs. Power”18 and Alfonso Archi’s “The Propaganda of Ḫattušiliš III”19, as well as the publication of the act of the symposium Power and propaganda. A symposium on ancient empires, edited by Mogens Larsen.20 Another important aspect that today’s scholars must keep in mind is the origin of the definition of these terms. The term ideology originated as a neologism in the aftermath of the French Revolution, when the scientist Destutt de Tracy transferred its usage within the natural sciences to describe a new science whose purpose was the “knowledge of effects and their practical consequences”.21 Under Napoleon the word lost its scientific and positive character and acquired a pejorative sense, while later Marx associated the term with class interests in arguing that 15

European western views built specific clichés around the first-millennium Assyrian Empire, which then became synecdochic of the entire ancient Near East. On this topic, see Bohrer 1998; 2003; Holloway 2002, 1–12, 427–444; Frahm 2003a; 2003b; 2006; Rollinger 2017. 16 Liverani 1973. 17 Liverani 1994. 18 Fales 1979. 19 Archi 1971. 20 Larsen 1979. 21 Kennedy 1979, 255.

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ideologies primarily served to advance the interests of dominant groups as the general interests of society. For Marx the word ideology turned out to describe a false class consciousness. 22 Soon after the metamorphosis took place and the meaning of ideology was conceived differently among scholars of Western Marxism and French structural Marxism as well as new archaeologists, Marxist archaeologists, and post-processual archaeologists.23 Thus, having undergone so many reflections throughout history, the term lost both its essence and its substance, as well as its proper identity and univocal significance. The complexity of this word is further complicated by its application to cultures of the ancient Near East. The origin of the definition of a term can lead some to object to the views and meanings which permeate it. This is the case, for instance, with the Marxist view of ideology, which holds that so-called “illusions of consciousness” such as religion, law, morality can only be understood in the context of social and economic processes. Therefore, it was sometimes rejected by scholars because ancient Near Eastern religion, by contrast, has its own history and dominates and permeates every economic, political, and military source.24 Similar instances remind us that the acceptance of some terms tied to philosophical thought must always be considered and set in their intellectual context. The same problem applies to the much-debated term propaganda. The Latin neologism propaganda was used in biology to refer to the reproduction of plants and animals.25 In its basic and neutral meaning, it then came to denote the dissemination and promotion of particular ideas.26 However, it lost its neutrality and acquired a pejorative meaning when it appeared to be associated with religion, especially after a commission of cardinals, called Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, was established in 1622 by Pope Gregory XV. This commission was charged with carrying the faith to the New World and countering the Protestant revolution.27 This religious use of the term propaganda persisted throughout the eighteenth and much of the nineteenth centuries.28 It was during the World Wars that this term received impetus, increasing in its frequency of use but also undergoing a notable change of its meaning. Especially in World War II, the term ‘propaganda’ indicated any set of persuasive activities which were highly organised

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Kennedy 1979, 353–354; McGuire and Bernbeck 2011. For a brief history of the concept of ideology and its use in archaeology, see McGuire and Bernbeck 2011. With special reference to the ancient Near East, see Pongratz-Leisten 2015; 2019; Artemov 2018. 24 E.g. Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 23–25. On this aspect, see Artemov 2018, 48–49, 54 with particular attention to the meaningful closing sentence “Modern people believe in ideologies, the ancients believed in gods”. 25 Fellows 1959, 182. 26 Jowett and O’Donnell 2012, 2. 27 Bachelot 1991, 116; Jowett and O’Donnell 2012, 75. 28 Fellows 1959, 182. 23

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and developed under the leadership of experts in order to influence opinions, with the result that the term ‘psychological warfare’ came into use to describe this work. Nowadays, the term is conceived as a tool which adds purpose to an ideology: by losing its original neutrality, propaganda is basically perceived as a negative and deceitful message, which evokes images of totalitarian regimes of the twentieth century. The consequence of these changes is that a message is identified as propaganda when something negative and dishonest is implied, with the result that words associated with propaganda often encompass lies, distortion, deceit, manipulation, mind control, brainwashing, and palaver.29 Attempts to reappraise this negative perception have been proposed, which seek to understand and analyse propaganda by placing it within the domain of communication studies and by examining the qualities of context, sender, intent, message, channel, audience, and response.30 In any event, the use of the term must be always determined carefully, in order to avoid anachronism or the classification of vastly different concepts under the same term. Finally, the third piece of advice which this introduction would like to offer is the importance of analysing single-case studies and specific historical moments. Labelling any evidence from the past, such as from the ancient Near East, as a product of ideology or the result of a propagandistic act may overlook the crucial question, which was pointed out by Nikita Artemov, “why a certain motif or idea comes to the fore (or, to the contrary, remains unvoiced or suppressed) in a particular context at a particular moment in history”.31 Moreover, excessive generalisation may lead to evidence (texts, images, archaeological artefacts) which become flattened and monolithic, when in fact such evidence is characterised by different nuances that contemporary scholars are not able to grasp. This does not imply a rejection of research which focuses on large random samples, but rather that, in the specific case of ideology and propaganda, one should single out and investigate evidence at a “specific” level. By contrast, one should not generalize on the basis of a single case, but may extend the scope of one’s findings after testing systematically a larger number of cases. On this aspect, one should be cautious about analysing long historical periods, since choices taken by individuals, groups of individuals or even elites are not permanent but rather fluid and adjustable to the current situation. A king, for instance, in decorating his own palace or conquering a specific region might be guided not by ideological premises in characterizing a dynasty but rather by his own personal preferences. This implies that single-case studies and specific historical moments may help the investigating scholar to become more conscious and appreciative of the ductility of past cultures in expressing themselves. 29

For a history of the word ‘propaganda’ see still the older work of Fellows 1959. For a more recent and thorough study, see Jowett and O’Donnell 2012. 30 Jowett and O’Donnell 2012. 31 Artemov 2018, 48 (emphasis in the text).

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Such a consciousness, which leads to a more balanced approach towards past evidence, is the dominating outlook which drove the contributors of this volume through their original investigations. The present volume is divided into three parts: the first is devoted to the Middle and Neo-Assyrian period; the second focuses on the Hittite Empire; and the third offers comparative perspectives from other times and places in the Levant. The contributions, which are offered by archaeologists, art historians, and philologists, illustrate various ways of analysing archaeological sites and material culture, inscriptions and cuneiform tablets, through the use of the terms “ideology” and “propaganda”. Common themes are interwoven throughout the volume, and each paper presents a specific case-study that augments, complements or complicates the others’ findings, giving further food for thoughts on the application of Western terminology to ancient Near Eastern cultures. With its abundance of material, such as royal palaces, reliefs, inscriptions, the Assyrian period is the perfect training ground for investigating ideology and propaganda and their fluctuating meanings. While anchored to material evidence and concrete examples, the analysis offered by Davide Nadali may be taken as a theoretical introduction to this section. Nadali dissects the several uses of the terms “ideology” and “propaganda” according to two distinct perspectives: an etic perspective (from outside), namely through and with the eyes of the analysts; and an emic perspective (from inside), namely through and with the eyes of the same ancient culture and society. Nadali accepts the use of both terms to describe and explain the mechanisms of communication in ancient Near Eastern societies, and in the Neo-Assyrian context in particular; however, he also points out the importance of the audience and the nature of the sources, which in many cases may help us to distinguish a piece of propaganda ascribed by a modern scholar to the Assyrian intellectual milieu. A theoretical framework in this section is also offered by Silvana di Paolo’s contribution, which presents some reflections on various visual tools of power that were used to influence people’s beliefs and behaviours. By reviewing the history of the word “propaganda”, Di Paolo retraces and reassesses its use within the context of the Neo-Assyrian royal palaces before advancing to the replication and proliferation of images—especially those including the serial production of the same motifs—which were conceived as phenomena that can be interpreted as propaganda, based on the ancient Latin definition. This is the case for the royal statues of Manishtushu and Gudea, or for the Old Babylonian cylinder seals, which were popularised in order to spread word of royal power and to educate a wide circle of people. Di Paolo concludes that the communicative process seems to be rather based on practices such as “persuasion” and “self-presentation”. Moving to specific case-studies, Nikita Artemov questions the use of the term “ideology” in relation to the representation of royal power by exploring the title LUGAL.KIŠ in the inscriptions of Old Akkadian kings, Shamshi-Adad I, and at

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the beginning of the Middle Assyrian period. This title was effectively employed to legitimise a new political and historical situation especially in the aftermath of important conquests. Artemov thus draws the conclusion that LUGAL.KIŠ was adopted according to specific circumstances and was not, as it has been hitherto suspected, an element of an ideological and propagandistic program. Assyrian royal inscriptions are the focus of the contribution from Hannes Galter, who assesses the application of the term “propaganda” to Assyrian royal inscriptions in light of the challenging question of these inscriptions’ audience. Galter first takes a refreshing and detailed look at the concluding formulae that feature in many royal texts in order to analyse the intended addressee of royal inscriptions, which is the group of future rulers. He then adopts the term “resonance” to describe Assyrian royal inscriptions as the place where past and future meet in a dialogue: such a view sees royal inscriptions as a producer of historical resonance and accounts for how kings fulfilled their historical task. The following paper by Johannes Bach takes on a single-case study and investigates the ideological meanings behind the famous Sargon’s Eighth Campaign. Bach presents a painstaking analysis of this text with a particular focus on the unusual non-malevolent descriptions of the “Other”. Focusing specifically on three episodes narrated in the campaign report, Bach notes that, contrary to the standard model of royal inscriptions, these non-stereotyped descriptions might have been influenced by ideological factors in order to present the Assyrian king as both pious and without equals before his audience. Finally, Bach’s contribution offers a contextual, reception-oriented model of Sargon’s Eighth Campaign genesis which could explain its unusual poetics. Shifting from the philological to the archaeological and art-historical evidence, the next two contributions in this section consider how one particular Assyrian feature—monsters or apotropaic figures—is represented and conceived in Middle Assyrian seals and Neo-Assyrian monumental art. Dominik Bonatz carries out a comparative analysis of monsters depicted on Middle Assyrian seals and in NeoAssyrian palaces to pursue a connection with royal ideology and propaganda. His analysis relies on the notion of “hyperreality”—the fusion of the real and the fictional—adopted as a critical term to investigate the modes and conditions of visual communication in the context of Assyrian imperial ideology and propaganda. Bonatz argues that the depiction of monsters represents an intellectual desire for hyperreality which transcends ideology and propaganda claims, and concludes that seals and monumental art may have worked differently in term of propaganda. Specifically, monsters in the context of seal-media mass communication may have performed a propagandistic function, whereas, in the context of a restricted communication within the royal palace, where some spaces were clearly inaccessible, monsters were definitively not a means of propaganda. Ludovico Portuese’s contribution complements Bonatz’s by offering an analysis of doorway creatures, or monsters, from the Neo-Assyrian royal palaces of

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Sargon II and Sennacherib. Relying mostly on textual evidence, Portuese presents an identification of the most unusual doorway creatures which have been introduced by these kings; however, compared to previous studies and approaches, the new creatures are evaluated in light of a crisis that the scribal group tried to cope with when a new king ascended the throne. He thus argues that these new figures were conceived as less direct ways by which an Assyrian king built his self-representation and laid claim to present a new ideology. Portuese concludes that doorways creatures were used to persuade the king’s supporters, such as aristocrats and scholars, to accept the new king. The Assyrian royal palace is also the subject of Paul Collins’ contribution. His analysis takes us into the temporal meaning linked to the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal II at Nimrud to show how texts and images were connected with each other in order to present the Assyrian kingship as timeless. Relying on the Neo-Assyrian notion of time, Collins argues that a sequence of ritualised connected spaces in the palace linked together past, present, and future in front of the divine world. As a consequence, when conceived as products of the scholarly group, palace reliefs and inscriptions were not exclusively declarations of royal ideology addressed to contemporary and future audiences, but also brought about the transformation of lay and mundane scenes into timeless myth, with the purpose of ensuring Assyrian kingship. Collins thus concludes that the Assyrian royal palaces were time capsules built to ensure that kingship would be eternally present. Visual media from the Neo-Assyrian period are next investigated in detail in Elisabeth Wagner-Durand’s contribution, which seeks to gain a deeper understanding of the ontological status of the king’s body in the visual world of Assyria. Relying on the concepts developed by Philippe Descola and Ernst Kantorowicz— according to which the king has a natural body and a body politic, and that every being can be understood by its physicality and its interiority—to externalise the divine interiority of the king, Wagner-Durand contends that the visual media showing the Assyrian king must represent manifestations of kingship, the body politic, and what the natural body cannot show. She concludes that these images have the power to emanate something that cannot be explained by mere propaganda, but only by understanding properly the complex ontological system in which these images were created. A more positive take on the use of the word “propaganda” is developed by Mattias Karlsson, who expands his investigation to both Neo-Assyrian and NeoBabylonian inscriptions on public buildings. Karlsson carefully reviews and analyses all the attestations of the term tabrītu (“wonder”) and the expression ana tabrāti (“for the wonder”) to describe public buildings and their intentions, which inspired awe and cohesion among “the people” (nišē) or “all of the people” (kiššat nišē). These explicit references to receivers in royal inscriptions lead Karlsson to accept the notion that Assyrian and Babylonian rulers employed propaganda as a

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political strategy. The second part of the volume gathers contributions that address the issue of ideology and propaganda in the Hittite imperial context. It opens with a paper from Marta Pallavidini on various aspects of Hittite royal ideology conveyed in the diplomatic and historiographic texts. Pallavidini’s contribution aims to show how each king focussed on different issues in order to propagate a specific image of himself for his audience and adjusted to the historical circumstances. The article takes into consideration the texts of the reign of Šuppiluliuma I, Muršili II, Ḫattušili III and Tutḫaliya IV, and shows how each king communicated different aspects of the ideology of kingship depending on the audience and on the specific historical circumstances in order to fulfil his purposes. On the reign of Ḫattušili III focuses the contribution of Amir Gilan. The author examines in detail the narrative Urḫi-Tešub’s capture, as depicted in Ḫattušili’s “Autobiography” and in the “parallel” texts, in particular in CTH 86. The comparison shows that these narratives were intended to conceal rather than to reveal the facts as they actually happened. It is therefore possible to find a great variety of ideological tendencies. Levan Gordeziani and Irene Tatišvili present an investigation on the death and afterlife of the Hittite king and his family members, arguing that this aspect contributes an integral part of the royal ideology. Specifically, Gordeziani and Tatišvili think that the emergence of cremation could be viewed in the light of a specific ideology linked to the king and the kingship: inhumation could be a problem both for the king, who was unsure of his fate after death, and for the public, who had to believe in the “privileged death” of the ruler; by contrast, cremation was an extraordinary measure that liberated the soul and would have opened directly the door to heaven. The next contribution takes us to a cross-cultural analysis, as Marco De Pietri uses rhyton-like vessels as a diagnostic tool to analyse the relationships between Hatti and Egypt. The vessels taken into account are described in the Annals of Thutmose III (ḥr.w n k3.w, “vessels in the shape of a bull”) and depicted in two tombs as tribute from the Hittite chief; they were also widespread in the Hittite culture. Building on archaeological, textual and iconographic evidence from Egypt and Hatti, De Pietri concludes that a decisive shift in the Egyptian ideological perception of these objects occurred, in which they conceived first as “tributes” and then as “gifts”. He then contends that such a shift must be interpreted in the light of the status of Hatti, which was considered by Egypt as a subject country at the beginning and as a peer and equal “brother” at a later stage. The third section is devoted to the Levant and begins with a paper from Emanuel Pfoh which dissects the expression “friend/companion of the king” contained in the Amarna letter sent by ‘Abdi-Ḫeba, ruler of Jerusalem, to the Egyptian king, his overlord (EA 288). Compared to previous readings, Pfoh takes a fresh look at this noun-phrase and brings into his discussion the ethnohistorical and ethno-

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graphic records on friendship and companionship, in order to shed light on ancient terminology, its ideologies, and the political ontologies. Pfoh draws the conclusion that the phrase may be understood in the context of a patrimonial order in society, especially within the patron-client relationships in Syria-Palestine during the Late Bronze Age era. He also argues that this order was conceived as an indigenous political ontology which is reflected in the Amarna letters. Mariacarmela Montesanto, offers a further cross-cultural examination based on archaeological evidence—pottery—to review the impact that the Mittani and Hittite empires had on local material culture during the Late Bronze Age in the Northern Levant. Giving special focus on Alalakh, Montesanto suggests that the imperial presence is associated with the appearance of non-local pottery types, as a consequence of the impact which Mittani and Hittite empires had on social habits and local identities. Archaeological data from pottery assemblage is also the focus of the contribution by Costanza Coppini, who concentrates on the site of Tell Fekheriye. By merging archaeological and written evidence, Coppini notes that potters were not controlled and employed economically by the state apparatus, so that they had no official role in the imperial program. This leads Coppini to suspect that the use of pottery must be seen as both utilitarian and as a sign of the Assyrian presence (in the Middle Assyrian Period), noting that the homogeneity of pottery assemblage at Tell Fekheriye increases as the control from the Assyrian bureaucratic mechanisms tightened. Coppini concludes that it is more helpful to consider pottery as a medium for the identification of the Assyrian presence and not as a medium of propaganda. The volume’s closing chapter by Matthew Susnow investigates the temples from Hazor in southern Levant, adopting a comparative approach with contemporary temples in the region to highlight the anomalies featuring Hazor. By contextualizing objects and through a spatial analysis, Susnow notes that Hazor’s elites made use of specific and recognizable forms of cultic space so as to control the admittance or rejection to these spaces. Susnow believes that anomalies were the result of an intentional control and manipulation of the performance of ritual by Hazor’s elites in order to promote their own ideology and to maintain control over the other. Susnow concludes that Hazor was a stage within which elites exerted control and communicated their powerful statuses through material means; ritual was accordingly used to mask the imbalance in power and to legitimize social inequalities. Bibliography Archi, A. 1971. “The Propaganda of Ḫattušiliš III”, Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici 14, 185–215. Artemov, N. 2018. “Ideology and Propaganda. Some Reflections on Two Problematic Terms”, in: K. Kleber / G. Neumann / S. Paulus (eds), Grenzüberschrei-

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tungen. Studien zur Kulturgeschichte des Alten Orients. Festschrift für Hans Neumann zum 65. Geburtstag am 9. Mai 2018 (dubsar 5), Münster: Zaphon, 43–57. Bachelot, L. 1991. “La fonction politique des reliefs néo-assyriens”, in: D. Charpin / F. Joannès (eds), Marchands, diplomates et empereurs : études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli, Paris: Recherche sur les Civilisations, 109–128. Bohrer, F. N. 1998. “Inventing Assyria: Exoticism and Reception in NineteenthCentury England and France”, The Art Bulletin 80, 336–356. Bohrer, F. N. 2003. Orientalism and Visual Culture: Imagining Mesopotamia in Nineteenth-Century Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fales, F. M. 1979. “Kilamuwa and the Foreign Kings: Propaganda vs. Power”, Welt des Orients 10, 6–22. Fellows, E. W. 1959. “‘Propaganda’: History of a Word”, American Speech 34/3, 182–189. Frahm, E. 2003a. “Images of Ashurbanipal in Later Tradition”, Eretz-Israel, Archaeological, Historical and Geographical Studies 27, 37–48. Frahm, E. 2003b. “Zwischen Dichtung und Wahrheit: Assur und Assyrien in den Augen der Nachwelt”, in: J. Marzahn / B. Salje (eds), Wiedererstehendes Assur, 100 Jahre deutsche Ausgrabungen in Assyrien, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 19–28. Frahm, E. 2006. “Images of Assyria in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Western Scholarship”, in: S. W. Holloway (ed.), Orientalism, Assyriology and the Bible (Hebrew Bible Monographs 10), Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 74–94. Gadamer, H.-G. 2004 [1975]. Truth and Method, London / New York: Continuum. Garcia-Ventura, A. / Verderame, L. 2020. Perspectives on the History of Ancient Near Eastern Studies, University Park: Eisenbrauns. Hardwick, L. 2003. Reception Studies (Greece & Rome, New Surveys in the Classics no. 33), Oxford: Oxford University Press. Holloway, S. W. 2002. Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 10), Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill. Holloway, S. W. 2006. Orientalism, Assyriology and the Bible (Hebrew Bible Monographs 10), Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Jauss, H. R. 1982. Toward an Aesthetic of Reception (Theory and History of Literature 2), Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Jowett, G. S. / O’Donnell, V. 2012. Propaganda and Persuasion, Fifth edition, Los Angeles / London / New York / New Delhi / Singapore / Washington: SAGE. Kemp, W. 1998. “The Work of Art and Its Beholder”, in: K. Moxey / M. A. Cheetham / M. A. Holly (eds), The Subjects of Art History: Historical Objects

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in Contemporary Perspectives, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 180– 196. Kennedy, E. 1979. “‘Ideology’ from Destutt De Tracy to Marx”, Journal of the History of Ideas 40/3, 353–368. Lanfranchi, G.-B. 2010. “Greek Historians and the Memory of the Assyrian Court”, in: B. Jacobs / R. Rollinger (eds), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court, Akten des 2. Internationalen Kolloquiums zum Thema „Vorderasien im Spannungsfeld klassischer und altorientalischer Überlieferungen“ Landgut Castelen bei Basel, 23.–25. Mai 2007, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 39– 65. Lanfranchi, G.-B. 2011. “Gli AΣΣΥΡIAKÀ di Ctesia e la documentazione assira”, in: J. Wiesehöfer / R. Rollinger (eds), Ktesias’ Welt / Ctesias’ World, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 175–223. Larsen, M. T. (ed.) 1979. Power and Propaganda: Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Larsen, M. T. 1996. The Conquest of Assyria: Excavations in an Antique Land, 1840–1860, London: Routledge. Liverani, M. 1973. “Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts”, Orientalia NS 42, 178–194. Liverani, M. 1994. Guerra e diplomazia nell’antico Oriente (1600–1100 a.C.), Roma / Bari: Laterza. Lopes, H. T. / Almeida, I. G. de / Rosa, M. de F. 2020. “Introductory Chapter: The Importance of Reception Studies for Ancient History”, in: H. T. Lopes / de I. G. Almeida / M. d. F. Rosa (eds), Antiquity and Its Reception / Modern Expressions of the Past, London: IntechOpen, 1–11. Malley, S. 2012. From Archaeology to Spectacle in Victorian Britain: The Case of Assyria, 1845–1854, Farnham: Ashgate. McGeough, K. 2015. The Ancient Near East in the Nineteenth Century: Appreciations and Appropriations, 3 volumes, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. McGuire, R. / Bernbeck, R. 2011. “Ideology”, in: T. Insoll (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and Religion, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 166–178. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2019. “Ideology”, in: A. C. Gunter (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Near Eastern Art, Hoboken: Wiley Blackwell, 283–308. Portuese, L. 2020a. “A Foucaultian View on the Modes of Governance in the NeoAssyrian Empire: The Good Shepherd”, Göttinger Forum für Altertumswissenschaft 23, 1–31. Portuese, L. 2020b. Life at Court: Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon.

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Rollinger, R. 2017. “Assyria in Classical Sources”, in: E. Frahm (ed.), A Companion to Assyria, Hoboken: Wiley Blackwell, 570–582. Said, E. W. 1978. Orientalism, New York: Pantheon. Verderame, L. / Garcia-Ventura, A. 2019. Receptions of the Ancient Near East in Popular Culture and Beyond, Atlanta: Lockwood Press.

MESOPOTAMIA

An Ideological Approach to the Issue of Propaganda in Ancient Near Eastern Studies New Answers to Old Questions Davide Nadali Sapienza Università di Roma

“E allora don Giuseppe pianamente gli spiegava che il lavoro dello storico è tutto un imbroglio, un’impostura: e che c’era più merito a inventarla, la storia, che a trascriverla da vecchie carte, da antiche lapidi, da antichi sepolcri” (Leonardo Sciascia, Il consiglio d’Egitto, 1963)

Abstract: Synonyms? Complementary words that comply with the same concept? Too often ideology and propaganda have been interchangeably used. Propaganda is the practical instrument to express, foster, and propagate an ideology, either political or religious (sometimes the two expressions coincide). If, on one hand, ideology is the structure, propaganda is the shape that ideology assumes to enable it to be clearly expressed, displayed, and represented through different forms, languages, and images. The present contribution faces the question of ideology and propaganda on two different levels and via two different perspectives: etic and emic. First I will analyse the concept of ideology and propaganda through an etic lens, that is through and with the eyes of the analysts—from outside. How has the social and cultural background of the observer affected the analysis of ancient societies, actually adopting and in the end adapting his/her own tenets to the ancient culture under analysis? Has this method of investigation always been used? Is it the result of a deliberate choice or is it an unavoidable effect that observers and analysts should in fact mitigate and control, preventing the constraints that derive from it? The second part of the paper will look at the concepts of ideology and propaganda through an emic lens, that is through and with the eyes of the same ancient culture and society—from inside. Can we still speak of ideology and propaganda? Does an unbiased analysis of the documents at our disposal confirm or deny the systematic superstructure of ideology and propaganda? In this respect, I will try to show how the words ideology and propaganda, once their negative and pejorative political acceptation is denied, can in fact still work and explain the mechanism of the communication in ancient Near Eastern societies, without necessarily implying a strict top-down coercive hierarchy: as largely admitted in current studies, it seems that communication of ideological aspects and contents were mostly (surely not exclusively) addressed to ranks of people who did not need to be convinced via a propagandistic bombastic use of verbal and visual slogans. Keywords: ideology; propaganda; Assyria; royal inscription; art.

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Introduction: setting the questions Propaganda can still rightly be considered a current issue of Near Eastern studies: the reasons can be settled at the origin of the archaeological exploration in the regions in the Near East, in the area of northern Iraq since 1842.1 One can even argue that the use always had a political connotation, actually pointing to negative aspects and pejorative evaluations and judgements: this choice had two directions. On one hand, the instrumental use of propaganda was the effect of the Western tradition and inclination towards the Orient, what Edward Said labelled as Orientalism, that is the biased view and consideration of modern and contemporary Orient from a Western (mostly European at the beginning) perspective.2 On the other hand, propaganda became, specifically in the 1970s and 1980s,3 a methodological practice of analysis of the ancient Near Eastern cultures and civilisations, a lens through which ancient states and, more specifically, ancient empires (with indeed a very focused case study on ancient Assyria)4 have been seen, interpreted, and narrated via stereotypes, models, and definitions that are external to the cultures under review and analysis, but that belong to and reflect the cultural behaviours and educations of the analysts. How did this framework change today? Did it change? Apparently, the bombastic claim of propaganda for the ancient Near Eastern imperial structures has been, if not denied, at least attenuated or contextualised within a solid historical framework where different aspects (specifically the one related to the issue of the audience, that is the targeted people who were supposed to be the addressees of the supposed propaganda) have been purposely taken into account. Nevertheless, the issue of propaganda in official chancellery inscriptions or royal visual monuments is still actual and some scholars still believe and confirm that propaganda, mainly in its pejorative meaning and outcome, is a valid key to interpret and explain the reasons, on one hand, and the impact, on the other, of the ancient official royally issued documents. Further to this point, I am more and more sceptical about the solid validity of this kind of classification and explanation that seems sometimes too obvious and simplistic in its conclusions: rather, the situation is more complex and nuanced, and the question must necessarily encompass not only the sender but also the recipient of the message to really evaluate whether an intentional manipulation or exaggeration of the provided information exist. 5 1

Larsen 1996. Said 1979. 3 See the seminal work by Liverani (1979) and Reade (1979) who really settled the questions of propaganda in ancient Assyria; on the same aspects in Assyria, see also Garelli 1982; Tadmor 1997; Karlsson 2016; 2017; Sano 2016. 4 Lastly, on the imperial attitude and characteristics of ancient Assyria, see Liverani 2017. 5 On the issue of the audience within the Assyrian communication system, see the recent evaluations and considerations of Siddall 2013, 134–149; Bagg 2016; Karlsson 2016, 14; and Portuese 2020, 252–261. 2

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Moreover, if the sender can be clearly and easily identified as the king (the official power), the recipients are many and I think that the precise nature of the recipient is the key to understanding whether a propagandistic emphasis has been effectively employed and realised. The implications of the meaning of propaganda actually depend on the semantic definitions that are applied and the references that are made (specifically when one has in mind modern and contemporary examples of political regimes, or simply kingdoms of the past, with a predilection for ancient Egypt and the Near East). In the often-quoted essay of Garth S. Jowett and Victoria O’Donnell, it is said: “The ancient world, prior to 500 B.C.E., provides many examples of effective propaganda techniques being used by rulers, mostly in support of the consolidation and maintenance of power, the waging of war, or strengthening religious practices”; but it is also noted that “although the ancient kingdoms of Sumer, Babylonia, Assyria, Egypt, and others all used techniques of propaganda, such applications were often sporadic and lacking in a philosophical (one could say “psychological”) base. Not until the emergence of Greek civilization after approximately 800 B.C.E. do we find the first systematic application of propaganda in both warfare and civil life”.6 Starting from this assumption, we should thus conclude that propaganda was not properly and efficiently used by ancient Egyptian and Near Eastern kingdoms: moreover, I wonder whether this declaration, that supports the opponents of the propaganda group, is even worse, that is the ancient kingdoms of Sumer, Babylonia, Assyria, Egypt, and others were unable to properly use the sophisticated propagandistic means of communication, they had an imperfect propaganda compared to the later philosophically and psychologically sounded Greek and Roman civilisations, to keep the comparisons in antiquity. According to the definition in the Oxford English Dictionary,7 propaganda is “an organization, scheme, or movement for the propagation of a particular doctrine, practice, etc.”: it is thus a structure with a religious, political, and cultural intention to promote and propagate a system of beliefs and thoughts, without an intrinsic, at least not immediate, consequence towards a coercive manipulation and indoctrination of others (the ones to whom the message is directed). Propaganda is also “the systematic dissemination of information, esp. in a biased or misleading way, in order to promote a political cause or point of view”: this second meaning, on the contrary, points to the intentional control of information and data with a clear goal of shaping reality and making people believe that such narration is true. From a political point of view, the manipulation of things works toward the influence of people whose cognitions, beliefs, and behaviours are consequently reshaped and moulded upon the model that is obsessively and intensely broadcasted and fostered. 6 7

Jowett and O’Donnell 2015, 59–60. https://www.oed.com.

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While it can be asserted that the first meaning of propaganda can be recognised in the communication systems of ancient kingdoms—and this is probably what the propaganda group means—the implications of the second meaning are, however, often added particularly when the analysis and study concern ancient political powers that are usually called empires: the imperial view and nature of Egypt, Assyria, and Babylonia is explained not only via the evaluation of the characteristics that contribute to shape a state and political power as an empire,8 but also via the explicit use of propaganda that is seen as a natural and consequent means of communication and the reason which an empire is founded on; propaganda is the essential superstructure that is needed to keep the power and status quo unaltered. The present analysis is based on the edge between the first and second definition and is focused on ancient Assyria: the amount of both epigraphic and visual documents allows for a sound analysis of the principles of propaganda, whether it exists (and in which form) or not. In particular, two approaches to the issue of propaganda will be presented, discussed, and confronted: an etic approach, through and with the eyes of the analysts (from outside), and an emic approach, through and with the eyes of the same ancient culture and society (from inside). Ideology and propaganda: Two sides of the same coin? Doubtless, the Assyrian political and cultural system was based upon a solid ideological framework of reference that was the result of elaboration and re-elaboration of a remote tradition that was replicated, via re-adaptation, by the Assyrians. From a strict political perspective, the Assyrian rulership follows a programmatic plan of actions, behaviours, and intentions that reflect, in any aspects, and necessarily match the cornerstones of Assyrian ideology: in particular, this ideology is firmly built upon the institution of kingship that has a divine origin—the Assyrian king is the chosen one of the god Assur and this divine choice guarantees both continuity and success.9 Actions are physically carried out by the Assyrian kings, who is in charge of accomplishing the prescription of the Assyrian national god: on one hand, the success of a single activity is clearly attributed to a named Assyrian king (his body in the flesh), but one can conclude that the only real successor is the Assyrian kingship as institution. This actually explains why it is improper to speak of portraits of the ancient Assyrian kings, because images are not thought to physically and mimetically reproduce the facial features of a named king (his body in the flesh) but rather they match the physical, psychological, and intellectual qualities of the Assyrian kingship that is, on that occasion, for that time, in that precise space, represented by the one who was divinely selected and

8

For the features that define the prototype of empire (such as multiethnicity, multiculturalism, and expansionistic policy), see Liverani 2017. 9 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 198–218.

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consecrated by Assur.10 I think that this example perfectly shows how ideology worked in Assyria and should thus be evaluated: kingship is just one, probably the most important or at least the most operative, idea of the set of ideas that actually shape and express the political, cultural, and religious complex Assyrian discourse and system of reference to both encode and represent the world.11 The ideological structure is not a personal affair of the king, but it is rather a general over-structure that is executed and realised by the king, it became manifest through the actions and the physical qualities of the Assyrian king. The complexity of the Assyrian ideological system is made up of different actors and components: it involves, at different levels of importance and operations, people and members of the Assyrian society who, from their position and role, contribute to the construction, on one hand, and the execution of the ideological principles, on the other: the king surely is the operative and most symbolic element, but even more operative is the apparatus of Assyrian State, encompassing the state religion (the clergy of the city of Assur), the royal court (dignitaries, bureaucrats, magnates), the theorists (scholars who write down and organise the philosophical framework) and the executors (scribes and sculptors who translate the concepts into concrete tangible and visible things).12 At different levels of involvement and importance in the hierarchy of the architecture of Assyrian ideology, the pyramidal organisation, with the god Assur at the top and the king and the scholars following, at the same position as co-protagonists in designing and representing the ideology, and finally the craftsmen of the programme has been often interpreted as the result of an artificial construction, somewhat detached from reality, that is purposely built not to foster a thought but rather to build a parallel world.13 As a consequence, the concept of ideology has been seen as a set of ideas which are specifically targeted with personal interests that are thus pursued with any effort and method: in this respect, the notion of propaganda precisely comes to the point because it is the perfect machine that fosters, promotes, and eventually imposes the ideology. In the end the set of ideas, once it becomes the object of the propaganda, acquires a strongly negative connotation because ideology is no longer the political, religious, and cultural framework of reference but it becomes a political, religious, and cultural imposition that aims to manipulate and convince people.14 In the first instance ideology has, if not a positive, a neutral connotation, being the entire system of thoughts and behaviours that in fact define and mark the state of being of a society; when ideology is transferred to the political field, 10

Winter 2009; Nadali 2018. Karlsson 2016, 10. 12 Liverani 2014. 13 See also the considerations by Artemov 2018. 14 Gillmann 2011–2012, 206. 11

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something more negative is implicitly and automatically added: ideology is just the materials that propaganda has the duty to efficiently broadcast to reach the largest number of people that are, without choice, called to believe, accept, and share the intended narrative of events. Are these mechanisms and combinations always valid? Moreover, if this structure is based on the analysis of modern and contemporary political regimes where the need to transmit ideology via coercive instruments and mass communication is central, can we simply adopt and transfer the very same structure to ancient societies? In this case, can the political and cultural ideology of the Assyrians be interpreted and analysed by using the terms “ideology” and “propaganda” with the same exact connotation?15 Actually, Assyria, in its being an empire—a definition that should be further contextualised and investigated16—has been, and to a certain extent still is, used and referred to as the perfect paradigm of the propaganda as a systematic instrument to promote the royal ideology. In doing this, it is implied that ideology only belongs to the king and is not a more complex set of ideas where the king (or, as we said, the kingship) is one of the ideas; as a consequence, propaganda is not intended in its denotative meaning,17 but as the well-organised machine that, via different channels and supports, does not simply present but rather establishes and dictates the message from the top. This is at least in principle: further studies should go beyond the surface and face the question of how and whether this propaganda was really incisive and efficient.18 Ideology and propaganda: An etic approach From an external analysis, the paradigm of propaganda, as the most efficient and unavoidable tool to manifest and broadcast ideology, has been seen and used as the correct key of reading and interpretating the communication system of ancient Assyria. In this respect, Assyria being an empire, moreover an oriental one, has all the essential features and qualities necessary for purposeful analysis according to the model: the classification of ancient Assyria within the category of ancient empires is also a question of debate and methodology, particularly when it is included in the evaluation of ancient imperial and imperialistic political systems, it is then compared to other realities and is eventually used to formulate political and moral judgments. Based on a Western-centred perspective, the Assyrian empire, like many of the non-Western empires, is an example of despotic power: while Western empires, in the colonial era, aimed at the promotion, diffusion, and export of culture, knowledge and, even more recently in a supposedly decolonised time, democracy (all clearly Western principles and traits), the other empires (the

15

Bernbeck 2010; Liverani 2017, ix–xviii, 256–262. Radner 2014. 17 Liverani 2014, 374; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 28. 18 Porter 2003, 59–79; Liverani 2013. 16

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devil ones) used inwardly and exported despotism, cruelty, slavery and lust.19 This framework of opposition or confrontation between West and East mostly reflects the intention of the analysts, which is an etic approach: the societies and cultures of the Ancient Near East are read and studied through canons and lens and the distorted use of the term “ideology” (again with an opposition between a good and positive set of ideas, if accepted and Western, and a bad and negative group of notions, if foreign and Oriental). In fact, this attitude led Edward Said to speak of Orientalism as the systematic political and cultural approach of the West in describing the Others (the Orient) from on high, with the presentation of schematised judgements of the behaviours and traditions of the people who were physically met or simply studied. The decolonised or post-colonialist trend of the current research, actually starting from Said’s essay, opens new paths in the research and evaluation of ancient empires, with new eyes and positions. However, it seems that resistance still persists when dealing with ancient Oriental political organisation and, more specifically, with the Assyrian empire: notwithstanding the new course of studies, the Assyrian empire is still seen as the most representative example of that Orient that it seems we unconsciously (or consciously?) wish it to be. Therefore, the Assyrian empire we present seems more to be the result of our desires and the construction we have in the mind. I think this effect can be seen in how we still connote the terms ideology and propaganda, on one hand, and the overturning of the terms in the question of the Orientalism paradigm, as recently proposed by Karlsson, on the other.20 Indeed, more than the post-colonial and post-modern historical perspectives, the effect of the globalisation and financial economy, as observed by Liverani,21 influences the evaluation of ancient empires: while empires of the colonial period were perceived as positive, now the term empire immediately recalls negative aspects because it is related to slavery, exploitation of people and lands, negation of freedom and rights, and despotic rulership; this negative connotation is precisely addressed to the Asiatic empires as opposed to the West: therefore, while being an empire was at the beginning a glory and a merit, it is now a pejorative term that identifies the Other, the enemy. In this respect, I think that even the term ideology finally entered a negative and pejorative sphere: the Twentieth Century, in particular, led to a deep reconsideration of the term ideology within politics and economy in particular, acquir19

Liverani 2005, 225–226. In a very general and too-simplistic overview of the Ancient Near East, it is often assumed that this agenda was also shared by other political entities that in fact should not be properly called empires: this opinion depends on the political organisation of any state and city-states of the Ancient Near East, having a king in chief at top who rules autocratically, thanks to the choice and support of the gods. See Liverani 1993, 8; 2005, 229–230. 20 Karlsoon 2017. 21 Liverani 2017, 254.

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ing definitely negative implications after the experience of the Nazi and Fascist regimes in the Second World War and after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Ideology can be mostly, from a Marxist perspective, intended as a strategic and conscious system to present reality and intervene in the regulation of economy and therefore social stratification from a top-down position (from an elite ruling class): can this definition be applied to ancient Assyria?22 Or is ideology a wider system of reference that can encompass not only politics, but also religion, thought, and any cultural product?23 In the end, is it necessarily a negative aspect? Does having an ideology or being an ideologist automatically imply the negative intention to present or, worse, distort the reality according to an agenda? The answer strongly depends on the starting point of the analysis and the cultural background of the analysts or, better to say, how this cultural and political framework influences and biases the analysis. Assyrian products (texts, art, architecture) are ideological, they reflect the Assyrian ideology and are manifestations of that system of beliefs, thoughts, and references of the Assyrian way of life and interpretation of the functioning of the world (encompassing politics, religion, behaviours):24 it is useless, naive, and incorrect to deny it, but I do not see anything negative in admitting it and in trying to disclose the different aspects, uses, and outcomes of the Assyrian ideology as a political and cultural thought emanating from the Assyrian king or, more properly, from the institution of the Assyrian kingship. Karlsson25 contests the definition of Siddall26 that ideology is “the system of thought, customs and beliefs of a culture”; according to Karlsson, this position implies that the political aspects of the Assyrian ideology were only secondarily expressed in inscriptions and basreliefs; however, Siddall does not deny the ideological implications of the Assyrian expressions nor does he deny the political aspects of those products: what he points out, correctly, is that research on this matter “connects ideology exclusively with politics”27 and this conclusion, in fact, has been instrumentally used to introduce, actually to corroborate and support, the systematic and automatic appeal to the propaganda. Because Assyrian ideology, in its very first political denotation, is built upon the needs of the elites to present and represent a shared view of the world via the role, the action, and the image of the king, the necessary counterpart is the Other: the non-Assyrianised world, the enemy, the foreigner, the lands outside the māt 22

On this matter, see the consideration by Bahrani (2008, 65–74) for what precisely concerns Assyrian art (the position of Bahrani has been commented on and criticised by Fales 2009, 273–279). 23 Siddall 2013, 134–140. 24 Parker 2011, 360. 25 Karlsson 2017, 13. 26 Siddall 2013, 136, 138. 27 Siddall 2013, 138.

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Assur (the Land of Assur). Therefore, every aspect, before becoming Assyrian, before accepting the yoke of Assur, is subject to a process of humiliation and shaming via metaphors, similes, and attributes that aim to point out the qualitative difference and contrast between the Assyrian king and the Other. In his work specifically dedicated to the issue of alterity in Assyrian propaganda, Karlsson starts from the precepts of the post-colonial theory and approach, in particular for what concerns the artificial construction and depiction of the Other and the hierarchical and binary vision of the world.28 Assyrian inscriptions and bas-reliefs widely make reference to the enemies as the fundamental basis for comparison in the ideological construction of the Assyrian kingship: the enemies, and their negative connotations, are part of the discourse and system of thought and behaviours that are needed in the presentation and representation of the world. In this respect, can we compare the Assyrian attitude towards the Others to the paradigm of subalternity and inferiority of the colonialist and imperialist policies of the modern era? The categorisation of the Others within the Assyrian ideology is limited, if I may say, to the system of representing the reality, more specifically the Assyrian version and reading:29 for ancient Assyria, while the empire was then organised into provinces, we cannot speak of a colonialist intention and practice.30 Therefore, to use the paradigm of the Others of the colonialist empire of the modern era is misleading, while the approach of post-colonial theories is surely interesting to disclose similar behaviours, but not the same aims. In this respect, the provocative conclusions of Karlsson, in the application of the terms of the Orientalistic view, cannot be shared. In Karlsson’s words, “in this context [i.e. the alterity discourse], ancient Assyria rather plays the role of the Occident, speaking in Orientalist terms”: 31 the scholar himself, in the introduction, points out the irony of the fact that Assyria was in fact traditionally seen as the prototype of that eccentric, exaggerated, and even perverted Orient, from the perspective of Said’s Orientalism.32 But this is exactly the point: we need first to deconstruct that paradigm and view (encompassing a re-evaluation of the connotations of ideology and propaganda); making Assyria play the role of the West (thus reversing the poles) does not solve the question. What should this imply? That Assyria, whose imperialist view is the result of a Western-centric interpretation, is like us? It seems to me that the alterity discourse passed from the analysis of the contents to the examination of the protagonists: Assyria is no longer the Other (the Orient), but its attitudes and behaviours (or the ones we wish they are) belong to the West. I wonder whether this change moves the question from the Orientalism to an Occidentalism, in a neo-colonial rather than post-colonial perspective. 28

Karlsson 2017, 9–10, 122. Rivaroli and Verderame 2005, 291. 30 Liverani 2017, 194. 31 Karlsson 2017, 122. 32 Karlsson 2017, 10, fn. 33. 29

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Ideology and propaganda: An emic approach When one moves to the direct analysis and reading of the Assyrian documents, both textual and visual, can we still keep the terms of ideology and propaganda to explain the mechanism of communication? I think the answer can be positive if both terms are taken into account without any derivative and misleading connotation: surely, royal inscriptions and sculptures are the product of the Assyrian ideology and they work to reinforce, corroborate, and make manifest that set of notions, ideas, beliefs, and visions, of course from the Assyrian perspective. Can the diffusion and presence of those messages and royal images implicitly be seen as propaganda, that is as the programmatic way of informing via pervasive imposing words and iconographies? Doubtless, royal inscriptions and sculptures were conceived to reach an addressee: were the addressees of Assyrian communication generic or targeted? This apparently simple question indeed brings an end to the propagandistic value of the Assyrian documents: if the audience of the royal inscriptions and sculptures was generic, this means that the communication was thought of as pervasive and directed at all people without any difference; if, on the contrary, the audience of the Assyrian ideological system of reference was targeted, any automatism and generalisation need to be contextualised and explained, taking into account the place and the scope of words and images of the Assyrian kings. The reality of events is the result of mixing elements and situational conditions: on one hand, Assyrian products were probably intended to cover the widest range of people, so the effects of the content depended on the nature and cultural background of the audience (for example, it has been often argued that while inscriptions were less accessible, images were more easily—was it really like that?—understood by anyone, being an informed viewer or not). On the other hand, the situations where inscriptions and images were placed, sometimes even read and publicly displayed, definitely change the scope. From the point of view of the conception and elaboration, ideology and its propaganda (in its denotative meaning) clearly originate from the top towards the bottom; from the point of view of the communication, while the direction is still the same (from the top), the scheme that can better describe the degrees of the involvement of the audience is concentric circles: from the inner circle, that describes the esoteric knowledge and encompasses the Assyrian gods, the king, the royal court and its strict entourage (including the scholars, scribes, architects, and artists who were personally involved in the creative and executive projects), to the external circles which define the exoteric knowledge and encompass, at different degrees and levels, the rest of the audience that is, as a consequence, influenced and pushed to share the same system of reference of ideas, beliefs, and behaviours of the esoteric group. According to this distributive representation of communication, I think that one can still keep the idea of a propaganda that serves to broadcast the message, but at the same time the imposing pyramidal nature with a quite

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automatic implication of imposition and manipulation of cognitions and minds is rightly questioned or, at least, contextualised: this of course does not want to deny that, in some instances, the communication can be properly defined as propagandistic with a real construction of the words and images that are made public and manifest. The examples of the similar but different steles of Esarhaddon at Til Barsip and Zincirli are a perfect situation of intended audience, as happens in the stele of Zincirli with iconographic choices and wording that are explicitly threatening and directed at the enemies (“I set [it] up for all time for the admiration of all of [my] enemies”).33 It is very interesting that this happens with two steles that were in fact publicly displayed at two cities with the clear intention to be seen daily; even in this case, although the content of the inscription, in particular, was for literate people,34 we can integrate the power of the monuments with the open public context and the oral tradition that surely circulated around them, probably referring to and reporting, basically, the topic and surely the significant words qualifying the target, i.e. the enemies. The case of the steles of Esarhaddon can be properly ascribed to the propaganda system of the Assyrians, with the creation and exhibition of a message that wants to warn and finally to manipulate cognitions and control others’ behaviours.35 Another example shows how the use of different wording can be interpreted as an indication to diverse types of audience: in the time of Ashurnasirpal II, the contents of the Annals, displayed in the temple of Ninurta, and the Standard Inscriptions, carved onto the bas-reliefs of the throne room in the North-West Palace, at Nimrud are clearly marked, the first with an emphasis on brutal violence of the Assyrian king towards his enemies, the second with a more balanced use of violent descriptions and moments of invitation and gentle persuasion to commit to the Assyrian cause.36 From a contextual point of view and if one adheres to the propagandistic consideration of the Assyrian inscriptions, one should expect the reverse: the Standard Inscription in the royal residence of the king, the place where visitors and foreigners were, on some occasions, admitted (at least into the throne room of the palace), should indeed contain and present the most heroic and violent actions of the king towards his enemies as a manifest warning message that is even strengthened by the images of the bas-reliefs depicting the defeat and killing of the foes. The visitors entering the throne room would thus have been directly targeted and shocked by the content of the figurative and verbal programme of the room: can we in fact exclude that this really happened? To a certain extent, we 33

RINAP 4, Esarhaddon 98, ll. 52–53. On Esarhaddon’s steles, see the detailed analysis made by Porter (2003, 59–79). See also the reconsideration by Sano (2016, 227–229, fn. 55). 34 Siddall 2013, 141. 35 Karlsson 2016, 13–15. 36 Porter 2004; 2010.

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cannot: however, we have to take into account not only the number and types of people admitted, but also the conditions of the accessibility and the visit, such as for example the issue of lighting of the room and, therefore, the readability of both texts and images. Together with the official royal inscriptions, Assyrian art has also been investigated through the lens of ideology and propaganda: art is ideological because it reflects the thought of the Assyrian ruling class, mainly the divine world and the life (his actions, involvement, and attention-seeking behaviour) of the Assyrian king; art is propaganda because it mainly (some would even say exclusively) works for the exaltation of the royal persona (his body, built upon fixed canons of “portraiture”, and his deeds in any field, war, hunting, constructions).37 Assyrian art has been seen as the physical translation of the wording of the royal inscriptions, but this strict combination and relationship is not totally automatic and, in fact, does not always occur; moreover, even when a link between inscriptions and art exists, the visual rendering functions as an independent medium of the Assyrian communication, with its own rules, canons, and destination (starting from the place where images were displayed and, therefore, the audience they were conceived to address). Within this frame, is Assyrian art an ever-clearer and apparently more comprehensible manifestation of the propaganda? Yes, if we judge the sculptures, particularly the narrative bas-reliefs depicting the Assyrian wars, as fictional, because they just visually reinvent facts by representing the Assyrian army always winning, without any defeat or loss; in this respect, the Assyrian bas-reliefs showing wars falsify the reality by hiding the negative aspects. On the other hand, the answer to the question is no, if we really compare inscriptions and art and we also contextualise the use of the Assyrian bas-reliefs within the Assyrian palaces. In particular, taking for granted the degree of manipulation of data (e.g. the use of numbers in the Assyrian written documents and official inscriptions),38 Assyrian inscriptions and bas-reliefs can however be considered and used as historical documents: if we start from the principle that they are exclusively political (and surely they are) and not historical, then we should not lose time in making any kind of analyses; because of the fictional nature of the sources, any result of our analyses would necessarily be affected. In this respect, I believe that the Assyrian inscriptions and sculptures are based upon a solid historical foundation: looking at the military campaigns of the Assyrian kings, the Assyrian army really moved to war, faced the enemies in open field battles and sieges, destroyed cities, deported people, and collected booty. I believe that the Assyrian bas-reliefs in the Assyrian palaces represented what the Assyrians really did, maybe emphasising some aspects and hiding others,39 but 37

Karlsson 2016, 12, 14–15. De Odorico 1995; Nadali 2020. 39 Nadali 2019. 38

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the essence is true: did the Assyrian not besiege and conquer cities? Did they not defeat and kill enemies by the use of violent actions and tortures (beheading, impaling etc.) with the public exhibition of the bodies of the enemies? This seems particularly true if we assume that the representations of the Assyrian wars onto the palace wall reliefs exactly correspond to real historical events: documents, in fact, show how the Assyrians preferred not to face their enemies in open field battles40 or that they resorted to assault of cities with ladders and battering rams only after all persuasive actions or alternative expedients failed.41 Even inscriptions, although not directly and explicitly but with the use of a rhetoric style of metaphors and similes, actually reveal some problems when, for example, they refer to difficult passages and movement of the Assyrian army, and the pursuit of the fleeing enemies: in this case, the royal inscriptions make wide use of pejorative descriptions of the enemies who are compared to shameful and repugnant animals, actually revealing the failure of the Assyrian army. How are these defeats and weakness of the powerful invincible Assyrian war machine represented onto the palace wall reliefs? Simply, they are not: so, one might conclude this to be the effect of the Assyrian propaganda. But, if Assyrian sculptures are fictional, then Assyrian artists would have been able and skilful in reinventing a battle or a siege just by putting together a scene that imitates and takes inspiration from other representations of successful fights. With the exceptions of steles, obelisks, and statues in the round that were placed in open public spaces or temples,42 Assyrian bas-reliefs were conceived as integral part of the personal royal residences of the kings: the Assyrian kings themselves tell in their inscriptions that they made their palaces the place for the representations of their conquests, being indeed “an object of wonder”. Sargon II precisely states: “I depicted the settlements that I had conquered upon large limestone slabs and surrounded their (the palatial halls’) lower courses (with them). I made (them) an object of wonder. I placed inside these palatial halls representations—(made) by the craft of the sculptor—of the settlements of every land that I had conquered, from east to west, by the strength of the god Aššur, my lord”.43 Bas-reliefs were thus intended for the palaces, they were placed in the rooms of the royal residence to be wondered at and admired by the beholders: who were those beholders? It has been suggested that the addressees of the bas-reliefs were the Assyrian gods:44 while one can conclude that Assyrian gods were indeed the first (the only) recipients of every royal act, the specific case of the palatial sculptures might in fact also encompass other receivers. The gods live in the temples, they can be invited into the palace by the Assyrian king, as for example Ashur40

Nadali 2010. Fuchs 2008. 42 E.g. the statues, see Nadali and Verderame 2019. 43 RINAP 2, 7, 162b. 44 Gillmann 2011–2012, 234. 41

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nasirpal II states in the Banquet Stele when he celebrates the special occasion of the inauguration of his palace at Nimrud:45 therefore, it seems more plausible to think that the palace wall reliefs were there for the admiration of the people living in the palace and this encompasses not only (obviously) the king and his family, but the entire personnel forming the royal household.46 Did those people of the royal household need to be mentally manipulated and controlled by the imperial propaganda? In this context, they were not the subjects of the Assyrian propaganda, but rather they were the protagonists (the king was the real agent) of the imperial ideology centred on the institution of the Assyrian kingship: as suggested, the entire system was essential for the success of the chosen person of the god Assur in fulfilling the duty and position of being the king of Assyria and, from there, to reach, thanks to his skills and the support of the gods, the four regions of the world, thereby achieving the imperial mission.47 At the same time, exhibition and admiration of the royal deeds were also conveyed to an external audience who could be admitted to the palace, for example foreigners, ambassadors, and tribute bearers, who entered the large outer throne room courtyards and, quite surely, the throne room: it is not coincidental that the throne room is the semantic nucleus of the palace, the real link between the inner court and the outer world, and for this reason it had a special figurative programme that aimed at summarising the qualities and outcomes of the Assyrian king. 48 Here, if one really wants, we can recognise the power of the Assyrian propaganda with the emphatic choice of the most significant and signifying talents of the Assyrian king which are exhibited for the admiration (positive) of the inner members of the court and the wonder (terrifying) of the external people. Again, we can recognise a scheme of concentric circles, with a reverse structure: the inner core of the palace corresponds to an exoteric knowledge, which is in fact open and shared by Assyrians and non-Assyrians, while the rest of the wings of the palace correspond to the esoteric knowledge, directed at the king and his family and the royal household. This dichotomy is clearly visible in the figurative programme of the North-West Palace of Ashurnasirpal II, where historical military narratives are exclusively located in the public rooms, whereas the inner wings host representations of king in religious, cultic, and non-military actions.49 The effect of propaganda can indeed even be questioned in looking at the later Assyrian palaces, where the historical military narratives are not exclusively placed in the public 45

“When Ashurnasirpal, king of Assyria, consecrated the joyful palace, the palace full of wisdom, in Calah (and) invited inside Assur, the great lord, and the gods of the entire land” (RIMA 2, A.O. 101.44, ll. 102–105). 46 Including different offices, people of different origin, and foreigners working and living at the Assyrian court, Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 167–174; Groß 2020. 47 Parker 2011, 365–366, 368, 371; Siddall 2013, 137. 48 Winter 1981; Nadali 2008. 49 Russell 1998; Ataç 2006.

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throne room, but cover the walls of nearly all rooms, including those that, we can suppose, were not available to a large audience. If one wants to stress the use of public exhibition for the terrified admiration of all people, one should look at the Assyrian practice of exhibiting the corpses of enemies or parts of their bodies (heads, limbs, skin) at the gates or on the walls of the conquered cities: this is a real warning to instil fear and terror in those who (are forced to) assist. These practices are then in fact also replicated in the representations of wars on the bas-reliefs and bronze bands of Balawat: as Bagg has rightly observed, however, these details are sometimes too small and located in places (inner rooms) or at heights (the bronze decoration of the doors of the palaces and temples) that are, if not impossible, very difficult to see.50 Therefore, this obstacle definitely limits the coercive power of the images. But the same practice was also largely used in the Assyrian capital cities: enemies, their corpse, or heads were publicly exhibited at the city gates or triumphally carried across the city. Before entering the palace, or even without entering the palace, any citizen and visitor could physically see the destiny of the enemies whose bodies perfectly worked for the Assyrian propaganda, i.e. the broadcasting and exhibition of the fate of those people who revolt against and do not submit to the yoke of Assur: “I plundered the city Arzâ, which is in the district of the Brook of Egypt, and threw Asuḫīli, its king, into fetters and brought (him) to Assyria. I seated him, bound, near the citadel gate of (the city of) Nineveh along with bear(s), dog(s), and pig(s)”.51 “To show the people the might of the god Aššur, [m]y lo[rd, I hung] the heads of Sanda-ua[rri and] Abdi-Milkūti around the necks of th[eir] nobles [an]d [I] paraded in [the squares of Nineveh] with singers and lyre(s)”.52 “I hung the head of Teumman, the king of the land Elam, around the neck of Dunānu. With the spoils of the land Elam (and) the booty of the land Gambulu, which I captured by the command of (the god) Aššur, with singers performing music, I entered Nineveh in (the midst of) celebration […] (As for) the decapitated head of Teumman, I displayed (it) opposite the Citadel Gate of Nineveh as a spectacle in order to show the people the might of (the god) Aššur and the goddess Ištar, my lords—the decapitated head of Teumman, the king of the land Elam”.53 The exhibition of the enemy, dead or alive, is an efficient political message, more effective than the bas-reliefs that are in the closed spaces of the palaces and surely the number of those admitted to the palaces was less than the quantity of people 50

Bagg 2016. RINAP 4, Esarhaddon 1, iii 9. 52 RINAP 4, Esarhaddon 3, ii 1’. 53 RINAP 5/1, Ashurbanipal 3, vi 42, vi 57. 51

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who could just walk in front of the city gates. This, as suggested by Sano,54 was also the objective of the stele of Esarhaddon at Zinrcili that was in fact placed at the city gate for the people living there and for the people of the neighbouring lands. Conclusion Regarding the nature of Assyrian primary sources (royal inscriptions and art), Karlsson concludes that they “should be regarded as state ideology, conveying mainly political propaganda”.55 I totally agree with his first assumption: royal inscriptions and art are both the result and, consequently, the way of expressing Assyrian ideology, as the set of notions, ideas, beliefs, and behaviours. The content of Assyrian ideology is then communicated and broadcasted via the system of propaganda that I define in its denotative meaning of promoting and propagating the Assyrian version and vision of the world: is it exclusively political? Does the political connotation imply a distortion of the use of propaganda to coercively manipulate and indoctrinate the Others? I think this conclusion is misleading because it puts all data and contexts on the same level, without a distinction of scope, dissemination, and type of audience. Assyrians made use of propaganda: it would be naïve to deny it; at the same time, labelling the whole Assyrian documents as the result of this communicative methodology is intentionally misleading as well and this also depends on the modern perception of the terms “ideology” and “propaganda” that are too often interchangeably and metonymically used.56 For example, I think that the assertion “a proof of the ideological and at least partly fictive contents of the primary sources is that they do not contain descriptions of Assyrian defeats”57 would be more correct if, instead of ideological, the more suitable term propagandistic was used: the mystification of numbers or the denial of any loss is precisely what propaganda makes. The questions of the audience and nature of the sources are also important: the analysis of the beholders and addressees of the messages conveyed by the Assyrian royal inscription and art does not want to totally deny the use of propaganda by the Assyrians, but the contextualisation contributes to the effective and intentional use and effect of propaganda, distinguishing between propaganda marked by cultural practice within the Assyrian ideological system and propaganda ascribed by us, as analysts of Assyrian works and documents. It seems to me that the ascription of propaganda is sometimes indiscriminately abused: there are however instances when information is clearly changed, as observed by Sano in comparing two episodes as reported in the royal correspondence 54

Sano 2016, 229, fn. 55. Karlsson 2016, 18. 56 Artemov 2018. 57 Karlsson 2016, 12 (emphasis mine). 55

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and in the official royal inscriptions at the time of Sargon II and Esarhaddon:58 Sano concludes that the version of the royal inscriptions is the result of a manipulation of the reality (historical fact) that is on the contrary reported in the letters. If this is really the case, we have to conclude that the manipulated version, that puts the enemies in a bad light, entered the official royal inscriptions whose addressees were not surely common people who needed to be convinced by the story of the Assyrian king. Maybe the abuse of propaganda also depends on the political nature of the Assyrian state as an empire with an imperialistic view and policy: empire and imperialism have been recently at the centre of a re-evaluation59 that is very useful for further reconsideration of what ideology is and when propaganda is used. Again, derived terminology is central when it is applied to, for example, Oriental contexts, so that we have an empire, with all consequent implications (although the Assyrians did not name their land like that),60 but we do not have emperors (the Assyrian monarchs call themselves kings).61 In conclusion, I agree with Dewar’s conclusion that “the Assyrian royal inscriptions [I would also add Assyrian art], although not themselves propaganda, are an important source for understanding the propagandistic communications of the Assyrian kings”.62 My vision can certainly be judged too positivistic, trying to explain the reasons of the communication without always resorting to the pejorative meaning and use of propaganda and, for this reason, I might be considered as a victim of the efficiency of the Assyrian propaganda machine. Conversely, we have not to run the risk of being victims of the propaganda paradigm in general, because it helps us in defining, more uniformly and, from our perspective, more logically, the passages, choices, and consequences of Assyrian communications. Bibliography Artemov, N. 2018. “Ideology and Propaganda. Some Reflections on Two Problematic Terms”, in: K. Kleber / G. Neumann / S. Paulus (eds), Grenzüberschreitungen. Studien zur Kulturgeschichte des Alten Orients. Festschrift für Hans Neumann zum 65. Geburtstag am 9. Mai 2018 (dubsar 5), Münster: Zaphon, 43–57. Ataç, M.-A. 2006. “Visual Formula and Meaning in Neo-Assyrian Relief Sculpture”, The Art Bulletin 88/1, 69–101. Bagg, A. 2016. “Where is the Public? A New Look at the Brutality Scenes in NeoAssyrian Royal Inscriptions and Art”, in: L. Battini (ed.), Making Pictures of War: Realia et Imaginaria in the Iconology of the Ancient Near East (Archae58

Sano 2016, 224–225. Liverani 2005; Pongratz-Leisten 2015. 60 Postgate 1992. 61 Liverani 1993, 23; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 12. 62 Dewar 2020, 121. 59

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opress Ancient Near Eastern Archaeology 1), Oxford: Archaeopress, 57–82. Bahrani, Z. 2008. Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia, New York: Zone Books. Bernbeck, R. 2010. “Imperialist Networks: Ancient Assyria and the United States”, Present Past 2, 142–168. De Odorico, M. 1995. The Use of Numbers and Quantifications in the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (State Archives of Assyria Studies 3), Helsinki: The NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project. Dewar, B. 2020. “Us against Them: Ideological and Psychological Aspects of Ashurnasirpal II’s Campaign against Assyrian Rebels in Ḫalziluḫa”, Iraq 82, 111–124. Fales, F. M., 2009. “Art, Performativity, Mimesis, Narrative, Ideology and Audience: Reflections on Assyrian Palace Reliefs in the Light of Recent Studies”, KASKAL 6, 237–295. Fuchs, A. 2008. “Über den Wert von Befestigungsanlagen”, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 98, 45–99. Garelli, P. 1982. “La propagande royale assyrienne”, Akkadica 27, 16–29. Gillmann, N. 2011–2012. “Les bas-reliefs néo-assyriens : une nouvelle tentative d’interprétation”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin XIX, 203–237. Groß, M. M. 2020. At the Heart of an Empire. The Royal Household in the NeoAssyrian Period (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 292), Leuven: Peeters. Jowett, G. S. / O’Donnell, V. 2015. Propaganda & Persuasion. Los Angeles: SAGE Publications. Karlsson, M. 2016. Relations of Power in Early Neo-Assyrian State Ideology (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 10), Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter. Karlsson, M. 2017. Alterity in Ancient Assyrian Propaganda (State Archives of Assyria Studies 26), Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Larsen, M. T. 1996. The Conquest of Assyria. Excavations in an Antique Land, 1840–1860, London / New York: Routledge. Liverani, M. 1979. “The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 297–317. Liverani, M. 1993. “Nelle pieghe del despotismo. Organismi rappresentativi nell’antico Oriente”, Studi Storici 34, 7–33. Liverani, M. 2005. “Imperialism”, in: S. Pollock / R. Bernbeck (eds), Archaeologies of the Middle East. Critical Perspectives, Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 223–243. Liverani, M. 2013. “‘Untruthful Steles’: Propaganda and Reliability in Ancient Mesopotamia”, in: S. C. Melville / A. L. Slotsky (eds), Opening the Tablet Box. Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Benjamin R. Foster (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 42), Leiden / Boston: Brill, 229–244.

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Liverani, M. 2014. “The King and His Audience”, in: S. Gaspa / A. Greco / D. Morandi Bonacossi / S. Ponchia / R. Rollinger (eds), From Source to History: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond: Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014 (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 412), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 337–385. Liverani, M. 2017. Assiria. La preistoria dell’imperialismo, Rome / Bari: Laterza. Nadali, D. 2008. “The Role of the Image of the King in the Organizational and Compositional Principles of Sennacherib’s Throne Room: A Guide to the Historical Narrative and Meaning of a Specified Message”, in: H. Kühne / R. M. Czichon / F. J. Kreppner (eds), Proceedings of the 4th International Congress of the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East 29 March / 3 April 2004, Freie Universität Berlin, Volume 1, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 473–493. Nadali, D. 2010. “Assyrian Open Field Battles. An Attempt at Reconstruction and Analysis”, in: J. Vidal (ed.), Studies on War in the Ancient Near East. Collected Essays on Military History (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 372), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 117–152. Nadali, D. 2018. “The Phenomenology of the Copy in Assyria: On the Coexistence of Two Beings”, in: S. Di Paolo (ed.), Implementing Meaning: The Power of the Copy between Past, Present and Future. An Overview from the Ancient Near East (Altertumskunde des Vorderen Orients 19), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 195–208. Nadali, D. 2019. “Images of Assyrian Sieges: What They Show, What We Know, What Can We Say”, in: J. Armstrong / M. Trundle (eds), Brill’s Companion to Sieges in the Ancient Mediterranean, Leiden / Boston: Brill, 53–68. Nadali, D. 2020. “Numbers Matter. On the Nature and Function of Counting in Warfare in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, in: K. Ruffing / K. Droß-Krüpe / S. Fink / R. Rollinger (eds), Societies at War. Proceedings of the Tenth Symposium of the Melammu Project held in Kassel September 26–28 2016 and Proceedings of the Eighth Symposium of the Melammu Project held in Kiel November 11– 15 2014 (Melammu Symposia 10), Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 21–37. Nadali, D. / Verderame, L. 2019. “Neo-Assyrian Statues of Gods and Kings in Context”, Altorientalische Forschungen 46/2, 234–248. Parker, B. J. 2011. “The Construction and Performance of Kingship in the NeoAssyrian Empire”, Journal of Anthropological Research 67/3, 357–386. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Porter, B. N. 2003. Trees, Kings, and Politics. Studies in Assyrian Iconography (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 197), Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht.

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Porter, B. N. 2004. “A Question of Violence: Ashurnasirpal II’s Ninurta Temple Inscription as a Religious Polemic”, in: T. L. Hettema / A. van der Kooij (eds), Religious Polemic in Context. Papers Presented to the Second International Conference of the Leiden Institute for the Study of Religion (LISOR) held at Leiden, 27–28 April 2000, Assen: Royal Van Gorcum, 35–47. Porter, B. N. 2010. “Ancient Writers, Modern Readers, and King Ashurnasirpal’s Political Problems: An Exploration of the Possibility of Reading Ancient Texts”, in: H. Liss / M. Oeming (eds), Literary Construction of Identity in the Ancient World. Proceedings of the Conference Literary Fiction and the Construction of Identity in Ancient Literatures: Options and Limits of Modern Literary Approaches in the Exegesis of Ancient Texts, Heidelberg, July 10–13, 2006, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 103–120. Portuese, L. 2020. Life at Court: Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon. Postgate, J. N. 1992. “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur”, World Archaeology 23, 247–263. Radner, K. 2014. “The Neo-Assyrian Empire”, in: M. Gehler / R. Rollinger (eds), Imperien und Reiche in der Weltgeschichte. Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche. Teil 1: Imperien des Altertums, mittelalterliche und frühneuzeitliche Imperien, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 101–119. Reade, J. E. 1979. “Ideology and Propaganda in Assyrian Art”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 329–343. Rivaroli, M. / Verderame, L. 2005. “To Be a Non-Assyrian”, in: W. H. van Soldt (ed.), Ethnicity in Ancient Mesopotamia. Papers Read at the 48th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Leiden, 1–4 July 2002, Leiden: The Netherlands Institute for the Near East, 290–305. Russell, J. M. 1998. “The Program of the Palace of Assurnasirpal II at Nimrud: Issues in the Research and Presentation of Assyrian Art”, American Journal of Archaeology 102/4, 655–715. Said, E. W. 1979 [1978]. Orientalism, New York: Vintage Books. Sano, K. 2016. “Die Repräsentation der Königsherrschaft in neuassyrischer Zeit. Ideologie, Propaganda und Adressaten der Königsinschriften”, Studia Mesopotamica 3, 215–236. Siddall, L. R. 2013. The Reign of Adad-nīrārī III: An Historical and Ideological Study of an Assyrian King and His Times (Cuneiform Monographs 45), Leiden: Brill. Tadmor, H. 1997. “Propaganda, Literature, Historiography: Cracking the Code of the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in: S. Parpola / R. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 325–338.

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Winter, I. J. 1981. “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs”, Studies in Visual Communication 7/2, 2–38. Winter, I. J. 2009. “What/When is a Portrait? Royal Images in the Ancient Near East”, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 153/3, 254–270.

Visual Tools of Power Argumentation Models in Contrast? Silvana Di Paolo Institute of Heritage Science, CNR

Abstract: Propaganda studies have been highly utilised by sociologists and psychologists, particularly from the second half of 20th century with the technologydriven growth of mass media. Later, they developed in other branches of knowledge, including history. M. Liverani has keenly observed that the study of ancient propaganda is increasingly important because it allows us to preserve our intellectual freedom in our modern societies that, unfortunately, still experience forms of autocracy. Nevertheless, the term “propaganda”, intended as a deliberate and systematic attempt to shape perceptions in order to achieve the desired intent of the communicator, is a modern concept. Therefore, the application of propaganda mechanisms to ancient societies (including the notions of message and audience) requires further investigation and potentially other definitions. In the ancient Near East, propaganda studies (in the 1980s and some of the 1990s) focused on the Neo-Assyrian period and the nexus between (visual) message and audience, rather than on the initial intentions of the communicator: the characteristics and tools of reconstructed propaganda were borrowed (often unknowingly) from methods and concepts used to investigate these phenomena in social sciences. By providing a basis for evaluating research evidence, this paper offers some reflections on different visual tools of the power argumentations used for influencing beliefs and behaviours: the communicative process seems to be rather based on practices such as “persuasion” and “self-presentation”. Keywords: propaganda; mass media; ancient Near East; persuasion; self-presentation.

Introduction: Before and beyond the brainwashing In the Western world, propaganda is a very broad concept, although the most commonly accepted current definition is “a deliberate, systematic attempt to shape perception, manipulate cognitions, and direct behaviour to achieve a response that furthers the desired intent of the propagandist”.1 The editors of this stimulating volume invited us to reinvestigate this connoting aspect of the “Western-centrism”, that intellectual space that long inculcated, albeit not always in coherent way, cultural centring to rule and reshape what came to be called the “Third World”. Europe functioned for a long time as a universal signifier, in that it assumed the superiority of Western cultural values over those 1

Jowett and O’Donnell 2012, 1.

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of non-Western societies.2 In non-Western societies—corresponding to a very huge geographical area— the adoption and persistence of some social theories and concepts in different fields, including the historical knowledge, are the result of the fact that Europe also long worked as “silent referent”.3 Studies on ancient Near Eastern civilisations are not immune to this world-view, although, any effort to “escape” from European/Western paradigms had met with a lot of resistance, even unconscious or loosely defined. In this specific disciplinary field, critics and attempts to reject the inequality of knowledge have been developed largely in theory, but insufficiently in practice. Colonial and post-colonial discourses have long influenced the interpretative models, applying typical Western categories which are alien to Mesopotamian ontology. A well-known case is the thorough review of the Western discourse on theories of culture and civilisation. It emphasised the absence of a divide between representation and the real in ancient Mesopotamia,4 changing the traditional perspective that saw art as imitation of the real (Plato docet!) or, on the contrary, explored the ambiguity of the nexus of reality, art and language (epitomised by R. Magritte with the famous sentence Ceci n’est pas une pipe under the drawing of a pipe). The concept of propaganda began to be investigated in the Western world from the 17th century: it is, therefore, essentially a modern concept. The Latin verb prōpāgo rather carries the sense of multiplying, increasing, in reference to the plant world: propaganda is an ablative singular feminine of the gerundive form of prōpāgāre, which can be translated as “has to be extended, multiplied”.5 Because these meanings recall the rhetoric approach of the communication process (reiteration and diffusion of a message), the term propaganda was included, in the 17th century, in the modern Latin name of the Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, one of the curial departments founded in 1622 by Pope Gregory XV, responsible for promoting the spread of the Catholic faith in the mission lands not yet Christianised. From this specific semantic area where the term seems to maintain more or less the Classical Latin neutral meaning of “disseminate”, although with an explicit reference to the persuasion processes in the targeted territories, the word “propaganda” began to be used in the modern English-speaking world and was still in use at the beginning of the 18th century in a religious frame of reference among Protestant communities (conflicting with Catholic doctrine) with a distinctly negative connotation that perseveres to the present.6 Arising from its use in religion, the current definition of propaganda was later adopted by the field of 2

Said 1993, 8; Sayyid 2003, 128–129. Chakrabarty 1992, 2. 4 In primis by Bahrani 1993, 13–49. 5 Entry prōpāgo in Lewis & Short online Latin dictionary: https://alatius.com/ls/index. php?id=38858. 6 Fellows 1959, 182–183; Marlin 1989, 47; Walton 1997, 383–385. 3

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politics and social sciences, focused on deliberate attempts to manipulate cognitions and direct behaviours in order to achieve a desired response. Ubiquitous propaganda vs targeted audiences Although it was observed that propaganda as form of manipulation functions only in a technologically advanced world,7 nevertheless the interest in this issue in the ancient Near Eastern civilisations developed in the 1980s and 1990s with a focus on the relationship between form of the message and identity of audience rather than on the intention (aim to indoctrinate) of the “propagandist”. In the reconstruction of mechanisms that presided over the creation of an official art, the use of the Western term “propaganda” was considered appropriate to explain the genesis of the large sculptural programs commissioned by the Neo-Assyrian kings.8 Such aims and views also allowed researchers to bypass the a priori moral judgment towards the will to indoctrinate of the “communicator”. The underlying idea is that the palace wall reliefs were the privileged form of message used for the purpose of effectively arming policy and giving irresistible power to the king’s decisions. I add to this that this type of “propagandistic” message had to be effective, because an ineffective propaganda cannot be considered propaganda. Phenomena of management of public opinion through processes of persuasion, orientation and manipulation9 were reconstructed based on the identification of the intended audience of the message that the “communicator” wanted to impose in order to instil attitudes and behaviours: the recipient acted on the information and used it, thereby becoming part of the communication process.10 In this line of research developed from the late 1970s,11 two different positions have emerged that opposed a visible and real audience to a more immaterial one, although the first position largely prevailed in reference studies. In addition to this, the association of image-text on palace relief sculpture, supposed to convey “propaganda” messages, produced the need to consider a two-level message intended for both a literate public, and a more extended and less culturally prepared audience. The identification of a symbolic audience has been traced back to the religious foundations of the Assyrian royalty: the celebratory message consisting of text and image, was, therefore, directed to the divine world, but also to the scri7

Ellul 1973, XI–XIII. But theatres and stadiums were considered privileged tools for exercising political propaganda in antiquity: McQuail 2005, 397. 8 On this aspect, see also Cooley 2014, 8 and fn. 7. 9 Liverani emphasised the cause and effect relationship between the diffusion of mass media in contemporary society transformed in a potential large audience and the development of semiological and literary techniques to study the strategies of communication, including the ancient Near East (Liverani 1996, 288). 10 For these mechanisms in the sociology of mass media, see Katz et al. 1973; Rosengren 1974. 11 Larsen 1979.

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bes who shared the national ethos and ideological message.12 The possibility that a more extended audience could have been incorporated in a communication strategy was first proposed by A. Leo Oppenheim who, however, never used the term “propaganda”.13 If the minimum audience admitted to the palace was represented by the male element, elitist and internal to the state bureaucracy, this could include, for example, high-born male foreigners. The visual message was intended as a simplified translation by images of the annals, a synthesis of the most significant events.14 The recipients of the visual message could experience the emotional impact of the written message only15 because of language barriers or illiteracy16 or, conversely, could attain the precise narration of the events by reading of the standard text (for members of state bureaucracy).17 The audience admitted to the palace was restricted to the official areas, although persuaded with different tools: changing the type of message or scaling the complexity of the visual communication.18 However, research has also reconstructed a wider targeted audience based on the function of the various palace areas. Two different groups of visitors were assumed a priori, conceived as internal and external audiences. The latter was only permitted to reach the entrance courtyard (bābānu) and the throne room immediately beyond it: the friezes with tribute bearers along the walls of the outer courtyards were considered, in fact, an explicit message and sufficient evidence for the identification of the admitted public.19 These official areas were specifically characterised by scenes related to the effectiveness of the Assyrian military operations and the consequences that a rebellion would have entailed.20 The innermost palace areas (bītānu, residential quarters, and so on) would be more protected and only accessible to the internal bureaucracy and high-ranking military personnel, and so the themes of the reliefs should refer to the positive outcomes of the government, the sharing of certain values, but also the danger of dissent.21 According to this view, the message gains a polysemic value: it allows a different decoding based on the identity of the audience. If the perception of the 12

Tadmor 1997, 330–335; Holloway 2002, 72–76. Oppenheim 1979, 111–144. 14 Winter 1981; 1983; Porter 2000, 15; Lumsden 2004, 376. 15 Russell 1991, 238–239. 16 On the state ideology filtered through the documents of the royal chancellery in the annexed western territories, see Machinist 1983, 729–730. 17 The message is not specifically tailored but free and destined to distinct audiences: Matthiae 1988, 354–372. 18 Reade 1980, 71; Winter 1981, 29–30. 19 Reade 1979, 338–339. The geographical provenance postulated for tribute bearers suggests a wide participation on the Assyrian imperial project: Winter 1983, 26; Reade 1994, 274. 20 As for the South-West Palace of Sennacherib at Nineveh, see Russell 1991, 241–262. 21 Reade 1980, 82–83. 13

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message depends on the type of audience rather than on the initial will of the communicator, the meaning of the textual and pictorial narration is constructed by who receives and incorporates the message, not who produces it. Replicating objects, disseminating messages In the ancient Near East various techniques and methods are commonly employed to shape perception and persuade the people that the king’s activities are as good as possible. The royal inscriptions are characterised by a careful attention to form and detail, in accordance with tradition.22 Each is a specific message with a purpose and a code, but extremely simplistic in terms of political argumentation.23 They maintain, in fact, a more or less fixed phraseology, which does not take into account audience orientation, topic, or specific institutional spaces. Rhetoric and argumentation schemes are realised for a specific audience (members of the court and state bureaucracy) and remain salient for millennia, which explains how certain dominance models were reproduced and legitimised. However, the power exercise is made of various activities that require rhetorical and persuasive skills, often involving argumentative schemata. One of the simplest and most immediate forms of political communication is the production and dissemination of images (often associated to a verbal message), including serial production of the same motifs. The proliferation of this type of message can be interpreted as propaganda, based on the ancient Latin definition. In ancient Rome, from the end of the Republic onwards, the dissemination of communication is realised by increasing and changing the media, not the target audience, which remain restricted and socially exclusive. As showed by several cases including Cicero’s Philippicae, the gradual shift from the presentation of personal memories to political propaganda is suggested by the speed and coverage of dissemination of the political communication (the second of the Philippicae had never been delivered before an audience, but widely circulated).24 In the ancient Near East, the attitude of multiplying the same written and visual messages is well-known. Certain forms of communication are common, usual and characterised by an interactive process in which communicator and recipient (the latter as an individual or a group with shared interests) are linked by symbols, verbal and nonverbal, aimed at either changing perceptions, or influencing specific attitudes or behaviours. This process25 has not always pervaded the exercise of power in the ancient Near East. It is likely that in every period specific forms of political communication developed, each one based on type and scale of authority, contin22

They are defined as “ceremonial” by A. Leo Oppenheim (1979, 116 and 118). Liverani 1996, 288. 24 Steel and van der Blom 2013, 67, 81. 25 It is called “persuasion” in the communication studies. A persuasive message is a point of view that the recipient adopts in a voluntary or desired fashion: O’Donnell and Kable 1982, 9; Jowett and O’Donnell 2012, 32. 23

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gent situation, economic factors, social structure, and so on. They must adapt to several factors, including the changes in society and cultural differences. Nevertheless, complications arise when one tries to pinpoint specific political messages and ideology, propagandists and audience, because the sources at our disposal create an incomplete and one-sided picture, and are biased and opinionated rather than balanced and factual. What we could reconstruct are the material tools of communication processes. In 3rd millennium BCE Mesopotamia, the royal statues produced and distributed in the same city-state or among several cities within a standardisation program of the king’s image and inscriptions26 follow certain iconographic conventions and probably act in a more interactive way. It is known that the statues of Manishtushu, who reigned for 15 years between 2276–2262 BCE,27 and Gudea (c. 2130–2110 BCE), 28 were also dedicated in pairs (standing/seated), reinforcing distinct and specific messages, as well as working on a more personal level.29 With the Akkadian kings, the visual and textual homogeneity of the medium (each replica carries an essentially identical inscription) is probably intended to reiterate the idea of its legitimation in a delicate phase of transformation of kingship (the passage from the city-state to the territorial state),30 and to honour in a similar fashion (and, therefore, with the same degree of intention) each of the Mesopotamian gods at Nippur, Akkad, Eshnunna, Sippar, Uruk and Ur. Because the statues are not representations of the king but a multiple manifestation of the king himself, they allow him to maintain a real and widespread presence across the Mesopotamian territories.31 The ubiquitous and “physical” presence of Manishtushu within the sacred space also constitutes the focus of a message of “resonance” for a real audience, although the access to the temples is limited to authorised personnel only. This type of message probably motivates the community who recognises himself as such in the veneration of the divine patrons and is probably perceived as mutually beneficial. Through the replication and broad distribution of the royal image, in fact, Manishtushu wants to change his political strategy and promote a sharing of needs, and values among the citystates of Southern Mesopotamia, in contrast with the political instability, economic crises and depopulation connoting the immediately preceding period.32

26

Amiet 1976. Sallaberger and Schrakamp 2015b, 302 (Middle Chronology). On the order of succession of the Sargonic rulers and the duration of their reigns, see Sallaberger and Schrakamp 2015a, 105, with preceding bibliography. 28 Sallaberger and Schrakamp 2015b, 302 (Middle Chronology). 29 On this concept in the communications studies, see Gass and Seiter 2010, 33. 30 The presence of Akkadian kings beyond Babylonia starts with the sons of Sargon: Sallaberger 2007, 423–425. 31 Eppihimer 2010, 376–378. 32 Sallaberger 2007. 27

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Kenneth Lapatin has emphasised that artworks in antiquity were rarely valued exclusively for technical, stylistic and aesthetic reasons. They had the ability to fulfil political, cultural and religious agenda.33 For some peculiarities, specific groups of objects are able to convey political messages, although in several cases we can only talk of “propagandistic potential”, because we lack the ideological project and production context of many of such artefacts. As portable objects, cylinder seals travelled long distances, and were able to transmit messages across time and space through iconography, as well as through inscription and material (insofar as it was rare and not easily available). We can also assume that their users understood the iconography or were able to decode it to use seals consciously.34 Starting from these premises, we can identify at least two elementary mechanisms designed to gain what in modern social media would be “new followers” and spread positive information about the behaviour of the power elite. The first form of communication aims to popularise the image of the ruler and his political, religious and cultural agenda. It has an educational function, because it aspires to “mobilise” the community and warn the enemy, whose strength can easily be destroyed by physical as well as ritual means. It is pervasive and vertically widespread: the actions are aimed at reaching gradually wider circles of people.35 The cylinder seals potentially bearers of this type of message are numerous and spread over a long period of time. The Old Babylonian period, which sees, in Southern Mesopotamia, the level of confrontation rises for the presence of several political contenders (Isin, Larsa, Uruk, Babylonia, Eshnunna), is characterised by an increase of visual messages referring to institutionalised violence involving material and corporeal acts as well as ritual aspects. The presence of a human ranked figure (in several cases, a ruler judging by his tiara and dress) seems to convey the heroic image of a leader who performs a real punitive act against a victim, generally a seated, kneeling or lying down man who is threatened or about to be killed. Nevertheless, the replication of this schema on private seals impressed on legal documents (loans, contracts) might also be connected to the performative efficacy of a punitive action that, through the imprinting act (for validation), and along with gestures and speeches in honour of gods,36 symbolically reinforce the legal value of the document and assure the certainty of sanctions in case of non-compliance with the clauses. Acting as models of “truth”, these connoted seals, distributed at least in the Northern Babylonia and Diyala regions, carry the visualisation of a power ritual and enhance the abilities of the ruler with the divine support and

33

Lapatin 2010, 253. Gołyźniak 2020, 28. 35 The “agitation propaganda” theorised by Ellul (1973, 32 and fn. 5). See also Evans 1992, 1–2. 36 On rites performed during the validation of the acts, see Charpin 2010, 45. 34

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prompt an ethical and emotional (?) response in a potentially vast audience.37 In a communicative strategy, the need to create bonds between individuals in order to promote a total adherence to a society’s values and behavioural patterns is equally important. In a perfectly uniform and well-organised society, each member should be perfectly integrated organic and functional fragment.38 Investigating the possible relationship between portable artefacts and communication models, it can be observed that seals also function as authoritative signs used by persons and offices holders for identification and validation, although the idea that the seal equals the persona intended as individual in his corporeality and public self-inserted within an institutional framework regulated by a system of social relations39 is not sic et simpliciter applicable.40 In some periods of Mesopotamian history, seals were evidence of the personal relationship between a group of individuals and the king, and used as tangible manifestations of loyalty and support for his political patrons. Similarly, the distribution of “gift seals” was designed to make the individual an active participant in the economic, ethical, and political program. It is a horizontal form of communication which seeks to obtain stable behaviours from the individual, and rationalise the existing situation to transform the unconscious actions of some members of society into a conscious activity that has to be visible, laudable and justified. This process of “integration” aims to stabilise the social body, unifying and reinforcing it.41 In the 3rd and 2nd millennia BCE Mesopotamia, a strong social factor was the individual’s degree of integration in the collective life and the sharing of the “foci of interest” of the society in which he lived.42 Seals still represent the privileged material medium through which individuals were involved in the political agenda: this process could be identified with a self-reproducing communication strategy directly planned by the state. The psychological factor which includes integration into a group and participation in action, in addition to personal beliefs and aspirations, is equally important. This practice is, at least, known in the Sargonic, Ur III and early Old Babylonian period, characterised by the formation and development of the territorial state with consequent phenomena of administrative centralisation. The “Sargonic royal seals” are associated with individuals in position of authority and show contest scenes. The seal inscriptions also name the king attesting the existing bonds of loyalty within a two-level hierarchy.43 37

Di Paolo 2019, in particular 303–310 and 313–314. See the discussion of the “propaganda integration” model in Ellul 1973, 188–190. 39 Cassin 1987, 274. 40 Teissier 1998, 116–117; Di Paolo 2020, 170–171. 41 Ellul 1973, 70–71; Evans 1992, 1–2. On the use of this model in the study of ancient societies, see Gołyźniak 2020, 28–29. 42 Ellul 1973, 49. 43 Zettler 1977, 36. 38

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In the Ur IIII period, glyptic art is known above all from seal impressions on the administrative texts coming from the city archives of Girsu,44 Umma,45 Ur, and Nippur, the newly founded state establishment of Puzrish-Dagan, and, to a lesser extent, the “SI.A-a archive” and “Turam-ili archive”.46 Servant seals of the Sargonic type are also attested, although the iconography undergoes a major overhaul for as yet unexplained reasons. They are used at Umma by the highest officials. The seal inscriptions reveal that they are servants of the king, probably belonging to the royal administration. Progressively after the Shulgi’s reign this group of objects adopts more royal titles and a more codified iconography, with the image of the seated king as main figure instead of a god or a goddess. 47 The offering by the king of seals executed in the finest carving and bearing end caps presumably made of precious metal is, instead, directed to his highest administrators (this type is, however, absent at Umma), usually senior officials, such as city governors. These “gift seals” are only given to members of the royal family or to the king’s personal staff,48 perhaps symbolically extending family ties to the highest officials of the state in order to reinforce the social body responsible of the governance and life of the community through their activities. As for the design, these seals progressively acquire a certain uniformity, in contrast with the unique motifs adopted in the earlier part of the reign.49 At the beginning of the Old Babylonian period, the reduction process of the quantity of schemata and figures as well as the standardisation concerning the visual nexus seal’s owner-king produce a more homogeneous group of “servant” and “gift seals”,50 whereas the seal inscriptions are formed by two distinct cases, each reporting the information concerning the seal’s owner and the king.51 The progression in simplification of these objects is evident in the adoption of the audience scene with interceding goddess in central position and an inscription identifying the seal’s owner as “servant of the king”. from the 19th century BCE until the end of the First Dynasty of Babylon.52 The evolution of these categories of seals and their significance within the socio-political and economic development and transformation of the Mesopotamian monarchies between the 3rd and 2nd millennia BCE is still a salient issue re44

Fischer 1989; 1992; 1997. Mayr 2005. 46 Mayr 2002. 47 Mayr 2005, 30. 48 Mayr and Owen 2004. 49 Mayr 2005, 14. 50 Di Paolo 2010, 270–271 (Seals Group 1–6). Cf. the seal of Shu-Adad, shakkanakku of Uruk and Durum during the reign of Lipit-Ishtar of Isin, where the innaba/iqish and irzu formulas co-exist: Mayr 1992, 125–133, fig. 1. 51 This small group also includes some seals belonging to royal family members: Reichel 2001. 52 Di Paolo 2010, 272–274 (Seals Group A–Q). 45

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search. It can, however, be asserted that the personal relationship of loyalty between powerful individuals and the king is intended to obtain support and fidelity in exchange for power redistribution, public offices and protection. The concession or the possibility to use targeted objects, as well as their circulation and adoption in a series of legal and administrative practices is a tangible tool to disseminate political ideas, cultural values and religious beliefs. In the preceding pages, I tried to investigate the meaning of “propaganda” in Ancient Near East. Propaganda used to explain how people are manipulated and how consent is built is a modern phenomenon emerging from the evolution of politically active societies informed by mass media. Nevertheless, as a conceptual model emphasising the process of persuasion of an audience, propaganda also permeated the ancient history studies, with particular reference to the development of highly centralized power structures. The ancient Near Eastern studies have not escaped this trend: as I summarised in this article, especially in the decade 1980–1990, propaganda research focused on the Neo-Assyrian period and the nexus between visual messages (conveyed by palace bas-reliefs) and audience. The application of propaganda mechanisms to ancient societies requires further investigation and new definitions. In my opinion, in the ancient Near East at least two visual tools were mainly conveyed by portable objects such as cylinder seals. They were used to spread positive information about the behaviour of the power elite. In a communicative strategy, the need to create bonds between members of a community in order to promote a total adherence to the values established by the power structures produced the mechanisms I have called “persuasion” and “self-presentation”. It can be said that the first had probably an educational function and was aimed to galvanise energies to mobilise the community against the enemy. The “self-presentation” tool was used to give support to the political program of the king and obtain stable behaviours from the individuals. Both of them were probably processes of integration aimed to unify and reinforce the social body. Bibliography Amiet, P. 1976. L’art d’Agadé au Musée du Louvre, Paris: Éditions des Musées nationaux. Bahrani, Z. 1993. The Graven Image. Representation in Babylonia and Assyria, Philadelphia: University Press. Cassin, E. 1987. “Le sceau : un fait de civilisation dans la Mésopotamie ancienne”, in: E. Cassin, Le semblable et le différent. Symbolismes du pouvoir dans le Proche-Orient ancien, Paris: Éditions la Découverte, 267–279. Chakrabarty, D. 1992. “Postcoloniality and the Artifice of History: Who Speaks for ‘Indian’ Pasts?”, Representations 37, 1–26. Charpin, D. 2010. “Old Babylonian Law: Gesture, Speech, and Writing”, in: D. Charpin (ed.), Writing, Law, and Kingship in Old Babylonian Mesopotamia,

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translated by J. M. Todd, Chicago / London: The University of Chicago Press, 43–52. Cooley, J. L. 2014. “Propaganda, Prognostication, and Planets”, in: A. Lenzi / J. Stökl (eds), Divination, Politics, and Ancient Near Eastern Empires, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 7–31. Di Paolo, S. 2010. “Continuità e discontinuità tra Ur III e paleobabilonese iniziale: un contributo sulla cronologia dallo studio delle Udienze Reali sui sigilli dei ‘servi del re’”, in: R. Dolce (ed.), Quale Oriente? Omaggio a un Maestro. Studi di Arte e Archeologia del Vicino Oriente in memoria di Anton Moortgat a trenta anni dalla scomparsa, Palermo: Flaccovio, 263–290. Di Paolo, S. 2019. “Bodily Violence in Early Babylonian Glyptics: A Performative Act?”, in: M. D’Andrea / M. G. Micale / D. Nadali / S. Pizzimenti / A. Vacca (eds), Pearls of the Past. Studies on Near Eastern Art and Archaeology in Honour of Frances Pinnock, Münster: Zaphon, 299–319. Di Paolo, S. 2020. “Personhood, Senses, and Artefacts: Tactile and Visual Experience in Perceiving the Immaterial Materially”, in: D. Nadali / F. Pinnock (eds), Sensing the Past. Detecting the Use of the Five Senses in Ancient Near Eastern Contexts. Proceedings of the Conference Held in Rome, Sapienza University, June 4th, 2018, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 167–181. Ellul, J. 1973. Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes, New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Eppihimer, M. 2010. “King and State: The Statues of Manishtushu and the Consolidation of Akkadian Kingship”, American Journal of Archaeology 114/3, 365–380. Evans, J. D. 1992. The Art of Persuasion: Political Propaganda from Aeneas to Brutus, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Fellows, E. W. 1959. “‘Propaganda’: History of a Word”, American Speech 34/3, 182–189. Fischer, C. 1989. Ur III-zeitliche Siegelabrollungen auf Tontafeln aus der Provinz Lagaš im British Museum, unpublished Master Thesis, University of Heidelberg. Fischer, C. 1992. “Siegelabrollungen im British Museum auf neusumerischen Tontafeln aus der Provinz Lagaš: Untersuchungen zu den Tierkampfszenen”, Zeitschrift zür Assyriologie 82, 60–91. Fischer, C. 1997. “Siegelabrollungen im British Museum auf neusumerischen Tontafeln aus der Provinz Lagaš: Untersuchungen zu den Verehrungsszenen”, Baghdader Mitteilungen 28, 97–183. Gass, R. H. / Seiter, J. S. 2010. Persuasion, Social Influence, and Compliance Gaining, Fourth edition, Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Gołyźniak, P. 2020. Engraved Gems and Propaganda in the Roman Republic and under Augustus, Oxford: Archaeopress.

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Holloway, S. W. 2002. Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 10), Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill. Jowett, G. S. / O’Donnell, V. 2012. Propaganda and Persuasion, Fifth edition, Los Angeles / London / New York / New Delhi / Singapore / Washington: SAGE. Katz, G. / Gurevitch, M. / Haas, H. 1973. “On the Use of the Mass Media for Important Things”, American Sociological Review 38, 164–181. Lapatin, K. 2010. “The ‘Art’ of Politics”, Arethusa 43, 253–265. Larsen, M. T. (ed.) 1979. Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Liverani, M. 1996. “2084: Ancient Propaganda and Historical Criticism”, in: J. S. Cooper / G. M. Schwarz (eds), Study of the Ancient Near East in the 21st Century. The William Foxwell Albright Centennial Conference, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 283–290. Lumsden, S. 2004. “Narrative Art and Empire: The Throneroom of Aššurnasirpal II”, in: J. G. Dercksen (ed.), Assyria and Beyond. Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 100), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 359–385. Machinist, P. 1983. “Assyria and Its Image in the First Isaiah”, Journal of Ancient Oriental Society 103, 719–737. Marlin, R. R. A. 1989. “Propaganda and the Ethics of Persuasion”, International Journal of Moral and Social Studies 4, 37–72. Matthiae, P. 1988. “Realtà storica e livelli di lettura nei rilievi narrativi di Assurnasirpal II a Nimrud”, Scienze dell’Antichità 2, 354–372. Mayr, R. H. 1992. “An IN NA BA Seal Impression of Lipit-Ishtar”, Acta Sumerologica 14, 125–133. Mayr, R. H. 2002. “The Seals of the Turam-ili Archive”, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 54, 49–65. Mayr, R. H. 2005. Seal Impressions on Tablets from Umma. Unpublished Manuscript available at: https://www.academia.edu/45128929/Seal_Impressions _on_Tablets_from_Umma (last accessed 30 April, 2021). Mayr, R. H. / Owen, D. I. 2004. “The Royal Gift Seal in the Ur III Period”, in: H. Waetzoldt (ed.), Von Sumer nach Ebla und zurück. Festschrift für Giovanni Pettinatozum 27. September 1999 gewidmet von Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern (Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient 9), Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 145–174. McQuail, D. 2005. Mass Communication Theory, London / New Delhi: Sage. O’Donnell, V. / Kable, J. 1982. Persuasion: An Interactive Dependency Approach, New York: Random House.

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Oppenheim, A. L. 1979. “Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Empires”, in: H. Lasswell / D. Lerner / H. Speier(eds), Propaganda and Communication in World History, Volume 1, The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times, Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 111–144. Porter, B. N. 2000. “‘For the Astonishment of All Enemies’: Assyrian Propaganda and Its Audience in the Reign of Ashurnasirpal II and Esarhaddon”, Bulletin— The Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 35, 7–18. Reade, J. E. 1979. “Ideology and Propaganda in Assyrian Art”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 329–343. Reade, J. E. 1980. “The Architectural Context of Assyrian Sculpture”, Baghdader Mitteilungen 11, 75–87. Reade, J. E. 1994, “Revisiting the North-West Palace, Nimrud”, Orientalia 63, 273–278. Reichel, C. D. 2001. “Seals and Sealings at Tell Asmar: A New Look at an Ur III to Early Old Babylonian Palace”, in: W. H. Hallo / I. J. Winter (eds), Seals and Seal Impressions. Proceedings of the XLVe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Part II, Bethesda: CDL Press, 101–131. Rosengren, K. E. 1974. “Uses and Gratifications: A Paradigm Outlined”, in: J. G. Blumler / E. Katz (eds), The Uses of Mass Communications: Current perspectives on Gratifications Research, Beverly Hills: Sage, 269–286. Russell, J. M. 1991. Sennacherib’s Palace without Rival at Nineveh, Chicago / London: The University of Chicago Press. Said, E. W. 1993. Culture and Imperialism, New York: Knopf. Sallaberger, W. 2007. “From Urban Culture to Nomadism. A History of Upper Mesopotamia in the Late Third Millennium”, in: C. Kuzucuoğlu / C. Marro (eds), Societés humaines et changement climatique à la fin du troisième millénaire. Une crise a-t-elle eu lieu en Haute Mésopotamie ? Actes du Colloque de Lyon, 5–8 décembre 2005, Istanbul: Institut Français d’Études Anatoliennes – Georges Dumezil, 417–456. Sallaberger, W. / Schrakamp, I. 2015a. “Sargonic Rule in Mesopotamia”, in: W. Sallaberger / I. Schrakamp (eds), ARCANE III. History & Philology, Turnhout: Brepols, 105–112. Sallaberger, W. / Schrakamp, I. 2015b. “Conclusion”, in: W. Sallaberger and I. Schrakamp (eds), ARCANE III. History & Philology, Turnhout: Brepols, 297– 304. Sayyid, S. 2003. A Fundamental Fear: Eurocentrism and the Emergence of Islamism, Second edition, London: Zed. Steel, C. / van der Blom, H. 2013. Community and Communication: Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tadmor, H. 1997. “Propaganda, Literature, Historiography: Cracking the Code of the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in: S. Parpola / R. M. Whiting (eds), Assyria

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1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project, 325–338. Teissier, B. 1998. “Sealing and Seal-Impressions from the Reign of Hammurabi on Tablets from Sippar in the British Museum”, Iraq 60, 109–186. Walton, D. 1997. “What is Propaganda and What Exactly is Wrong with It?”, Public Affairs Quarterly 11/4, 383–413. Winter, I. J. 1981. “Royal Rethoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs”, Studies of Visual Communication 7/2, 2–38. Winter, I. J. 1983. “The Program of the Throne-Room of Assurnasirpal II”, in: P. O. Harper / H. Pittman (eds), Essays on Near Eastern Art and Archaeology in Honour of Charles Kyrle Wilkinson, New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 15–31. Zettler, R. L. 1977. “The Sargonic Royal Seal: A Consideration of Sealing in Mesopotamia”, in: M. Gibson / R. D. Biggs (eds), Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East, Malibu: Undena Publications, 33–39.

LUGAL KIŠ and Related Matters How Ideological are Royal Titles? Nikita Artemov University of Münster

Abstract: In my paper, I argue that the term “ideology” does not provide an adequate conceptual frame for understanding the use of Mesopotamian royal titles in their cultural and historical context and suggest that reflecting on the nexus between “cultural/historical/collective memory” or “cultural continuity” and “power legitimation” is more promising in that respect. The history of the title LUGAL KIŠ and (both philological and historical) analysis of its usage in the inscriptions of Old Akkadian kings, Shamshi-Adad I and at the beginning of the Middle Assyrian period (Adad-nirari I and his predecessors) serves to illustrate the point. In every single instance, the title’s revival is explainable as an attempt to legitimise a new political and historical situation by construing it as return of/to some glorious past. Taking it as an expression of “royal ideology” could be misleading, as the title was, in every instance, demonstrably (re-)introduced in the aftermath of important conquests. Thus, it served to legitimise a new state of affairs post eventum rather than propagating an ideological programme. Keywords: ideology; royal titles; legitimation of power; Assyria; universal dominion.

Preliminary notes: (Assyrian) ideology and Assyriology1 The history of terms and concepts can be as intriguing and complicated as life stories and histories of human communities, but only few of them can boast a career as spectacular as “ideology”. Born in the wake of the French revolution as the name of a new academic discipline whose task was to explore the genesis of ideas in human mind, it turned into a polemic and derogatory term in the wake of Napoleon’s polemics against “les idéologues” (mocked by him as unrealistic dreamers) and taken up as such by Karl Marx in the context of his polemics against German idealism. Later on, Russian Communists and German, French and American sociologists influenced by Marx(ism) contributed their share to promote it to one of key terms in historical and social science. It was not least due to their intellectual influence as well as to the vicissitudes of the political history of the twentieth century that it came to mean, in the definition of Oxford English Dictionary, “a systematic scheme of ideas […] forming the basis of action or policy” or “a set of beliefs governing conduct”. In the decades after the Second World 1

I wish to thank Prof. Hans Neumann for his feedback and valuable suggestions and stress that all ideas voiced or errors made in this article are entirely my own.

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War and especially in the 1970s, it continued its triumphal advance establishing itself in the realm of the conservative Altertumswissenschaften. Since then, the legitimacy of its right to occupy a prominent position in scholarly discourse(s) has rarely been (openly) challenged or questioned. There is a certain irony in the fact that the term ‘ideology’ often occurs in the context of historical analysis guided, essentially, by the same philosophical assumption Karl Marx used the word to fight against—namely, the view that (religious, political, economic etc.) ideas are one of the major forces directing and determining the course of history. In the field of Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Mario Liverani’s article published 1979 in the volume Power and Propaganda still remains both the most referenced text on the topic of Assyrian imperial/state ideology2 and (along with his recent monograph Assyria: The Imperial Mission)3 the only serious scholarly attempt at reconstructing and describing it. In line with a popular philosophical trend of the 1970s, Liverani combined a Marxist perspective (in the first, theoretical part of his essay) with a structuralist approach (in its second, descriptive part).4 However, the key element of his conceptual analysis is borrowed from cultural anthropology and especially from Mircea Eliade’s oeuvre: it is the familiar opposition of the (“sacred”) cosmic centre and (“profane”) chaotic periphery.5 Assyrian perception of space and geography, time and history, human communities and material goods as well as of their movement and circulation—as far as it is reflected in literary motifs found in royal inscriptions and in Assyrian military and political action narrated in them—is analysed along the lines of the cosmos/centre–chaos/periphery dichotomy. Figuratively speaking, this dichotomy functions as the seed from which the tree of Assyrian (and any subsequent!) “imperial ideology” with all its branches/aspects grew in Liverani’s interpretation. There is a lot to say about Liverani’s ingenious contribution. On the one hand, the unquestionable advantage of his scheme lies in its explicative force, for it presents diverse literary motifs and the corresponding aspects of Assyrian (imperial) policy and practice as parts of one and the same cultural and ideological system (or code, to put it semiotically) that are intrinsically connected to each other. On the other hand, it exhibits a number of flaws some of which are due to that very same systematic nature. Firstly, at least in Liverani’s article The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire, there is inconspicuous but important contradiction between the (Marxist) understanding of ideology as “presenting exploitation in a favourable light to the exploited” or, to use Althusser’s formula, securing “the reproduction of the relations of production” (which implies—if thoroughly thought through—

2

Liverani 1979. Liverani 2017. 4 Liverani 1979, 279–305, 305–314. 5 Cf. Liverani 1979, 306, 316 fn. 23 and passim 305–314. 3

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that ideology is something all-encompassing and permeating all aspect of life)6 and the fact that in the subsequent analysis he, basically, equates the Assyrian imperial ideology with the repertoire of literary motifs occurring in royal inscriptions (which are, as Liverani concedes, a written genre with specific functionality and very limited accessibility 7 for the majority of Assyrian population). 8 Secondly, it is doubtful whether all literary motifs and practices described by Liverani as part of the Assyrian ideology are in fact, as he suggests, intrinsically connected to each other and to the mental centre/periphery opposition. In an earlier study, I demonstrated that his interpretation of animal metaphors in Assyrian royal inscriptions as a verbal dehumanisation strategy towards the foreigners9 does not stand up to critical scrutiny; similarly, the few instances of literary demonisation of enemies in the inscriptions of the Sargonid kings cannot be meaningfully related to the idea of chaotic periphery in the context of the (reconstructed) “mental of map” of Mesopotamian cosmic geography.10 Thirdly and lastly, the imperial ideology associated with the idea of the home country as the “cosmic centre” whose mission is to dominate and civilise the barbaric periphery reconstructed by Liverani is—as he himself acknowledges—not specifically Assyrian but, to a certain extent, common to all later empires that succeeded the Assyrian one. It is telling that the cultural parallels to different aspects of “Assyrian imperial ideology” cited in his last book range from the Achaemenid, Chinese and Roman empires to Ancient Egypt, Islamic world and the Russian conquest of Siberia.11 The imperial ideology he reconstructs is thus (in accordance with what Althusser wrote on ideology)12 as ahistorical and “eternal” as Jungian archetypes.13 6

Cf. Althusser 2014, 171–207 and passim. Cf. Liverani 1979, 302 (“the very location of some texts […] poses some doubts as to their function as communication media”). 8 This contradiction is partially overcome in the monograph Assyria (Liverani 2017) where Liverani includes a wider range of textual genres in the discussion (e.g. letters, historical texts, some literary compositions etc.). However, its thematical and conceptual framework reproduces, basically, the model used in Liverani 1979. The tendency to equate Assyrian state ideology with the motifs and message of Assyrian royal inscriptions and reliefs found in royal palaces has become even more straightforward in recent scholarship (cf. Karlsson 2016). 9 Liverani 1979, 310 fn. 26, 312 (“sub-human, animal-like character of the enemy”). 10 Artemov 2018. 11 Liverani 2017 passim. 12 Althusser 2014, 174–176. 13 This is true for the imperial ideology outlined in Liverani 1979, 305–314 (“Provisional Framework”) and described in more detail in Liverani 2017. Theoretically, he assumes the existence of different ideologies (corresponding to the interests of different social and ethnic groups) in the Ancient Near East and in Assyria itself and points to “an ideological development within the neo-Assyrian period” (Liverani 1979, 299–300, 304). Indeed, if one defines royal ideology as “the condensed form of the royal perspective” (Pongratz7

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It is therefore legitimate to ask whether (and to what extent) the notion of “ideology” is suitable for scholarly analysis aiming at understanding representations of royal power (as well as the related notions, images and practices) in their historical and broader cultural context. In the following, the history of the royal title LUGAL KIŠ / šar kiššati(m) from the Old Akkadian to the early Middle Assyrian period shall be analysed from this point of view. Royal inscriptions are commonly associated with “royal ideology” in a more direct and immediate way than other text genres. Indeed, they are often considered the main literary source for our knowledge of it. Similarly, the royal titles and epithets are generally thought to be much more relevant to royal ideology than any other compositional part of royal inscriptions; in some sense, they are its quintessence. The “ideological priority” of both royal inscriptions and titles is easily explicable. In royal inscriptions, the king is both the speaker and the main (or only) protagonist; they serve to eternalise his memory. However, they usually targeted a rather limited audience (future kings and scribes). By contrast, royal titles14 (at least, the standard ones) must have been widely known across all strata of society; arguably, they were used on a number of ceremonial occasions and in various literary contexts outside commemorative inscriptions.15 The title šar kiššati(m) is commonly translated into English as “the king of the world” or “the king of the universe”. Its association with the ideology of universal dominion has been taken for granted since Seux’s influential article.16 The same association has been assumed for the Old Akkadian title LUGAL KIŠ which is generally believed to stand for šar kiššatim either literally or at least connotatively (i.e. by way of pun).17 A frequent inference from this view is that the use of the Leisten 2015, 21) and, on practical level, equates it with the (historically changing) representations of royal power in texts, iconography and ritual, one is forced to stress the malleability of ideology (cf. ibid., 1–40 passim). However, this does not apply to the “‘grammar’ of the Neo-Assyrian imperialistic ideology” treated in Liverani 1979, 305–314. The combination, form and the comparative weight of particular motifs related to the representation of kingship change in the course of time; the recurrent motifs/ideas/images/formulas essential to it are epoch-spanning; the underlying basic semantic oppositions constituting its matrix are “eternal” or “a/omni-historical”. 14 Here, I mean “titles” in the proper sense of the word (royal epithets, especially extended or/and rare ones, are not included). 15 Cf. Liverani 2017, 107. For šar kiššati(m) specifically, cf. e.g. M. 7660: 4 (Charpin 1984, 49; letter, Shamshi-Adad I); The Poor Man of Nippur 74 (Gurney 1956, 152; Babylonian folktale, early 1st or late 2nd millennium BC). 16 Seux 1965, 1–11, esp. 9–10. 17 Edzard 2004, 76; Van De Mieroop 2007, 68; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 5; Steinkeller 2017, 135; RIME 2 passim. The view goes back to Winckler who projected the later equation LUGAL KIŠ = šar kiššati backward onto the Sargonic period (Winckler 1897, 222–243 passim, esp. 222–223, 238–239; Hallo 1957, 23 fn. 1). Following Steinkeller, Pongratz-

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title LUGAL KIŠ / šar kiššati(m) was (already under the dynasty of Akkad and ever since) ideologically motivated and reveals the claim to universal domination (either real or declared in order to comply with traditional expectations). A further possible inference would be that the expansionist policy and military activities of the kings who bore the title were (at least partially) guided by the intention to realise that claim. However, a closer examination of the evidence shows that the supposed connection to the concept or ideological programme of universal control does not provide an interpretative frame sufficient to account for the re- and disappearance of the title at particular moments in history. Why did Naram-Sin, who could, for all we know, claim to exercise world domination with more right and legitimacy than his predecessors, drop the title LUGAL KIŠ and replace it through šar kibrātim abra՚im “the king of the four quarters”? Why is the title šar kiššatim attested for Ipiq-Adad II and Naram-Sin of Eshnunna and for Shamshi-Adad I but was never used by Hammurapi, Rim-Sin I of Larsa and Zimri-Lim of Mari? On the early history of the title(s) LUGAL KIŠ / šar kiššati(m) In my opinion, the history of the title’s usage can be understood much better if we interpret it as a successive “chain” of historical and literary allusions to the (reigns of) earlier kings (some of which are separated by intervals of several hundred years) rather than as a series of recurrent expressions of the same “ideology”. According to this interpretation, the significance of the title was largely determined by its previous history and less by its literal meaning (which was probably never specified as to the nature of the “totality” governed by the king but oscillated between “the king of the whole country” or “the king of all his subjects / parts of the country / the provinces and vassal kingdoms” and “the king of the world”). To put it in a simplified way, Sargon of Akkad adopted the title used by Mesilim and EnMEparagesi of Kish, the kings of Eshnunna and Shamshi-Adad I adopted the title used by Sargon, Rimush and Manishtusu, and Adad-nirari I adopted Shamshi-Adad I’s (and Sargon’s) title. Each time, the intention of the later king was not just to imitate his predecessors but to raise a claim to their “legacy” as it was preserved and imagined in the collective memory. In most cases the adoption of the ancient title followed an important military event: Sargon’s victory over Lugalzagesi and the Akkadian occupation of Sumerian city-states; the conquest of Qab(a)ra and Nurrugum (including the city of Nineveh) by Shamshi-Adad I’s forces; Adad-nirari I’s conquest of Taidu and Hanigalbat. Nothing suggests, however, that any of these events are to be seen as realisation of a definite ideological Leisten goes as far as to assume that already the late Early Dynastic title l u g a l k i š k i played “on the homophony of the city name Kīš and the Akkadian word for ‘totality’ (kiššatu)” and thus signified “universal control” (Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 149–150 [the reference to Westenholz, NIN 1 (2000) 77 in fn. 15 is misleading]; Steinkeller 2013, 146 fn. 50 and 51).

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programme; the introduction of the title LUGAL KIŠ / šar kiššati(m) and the conceptual work by the “ideologists” at the royal court preceding it was rather a response to the new (geo)political situation and an attempt to explain and legitimise it post eventum. The popular view that the Old Akkadian title LUGAL KIŠ either is to be read šar kiššatim or, while being formally identical with the Early Dynastic title šar Kiš, means šar kiššatim on the connotative plane18 is, in fact, neither provable nor plausible. The earliest attestations for kiššatum “totality” are Old Babylonian; the word occurs neither in Old Akkadian nor (what is more) in Old Assyrian sources. The main argument brought forward by P. Steinkeller in favour of the reading šar kiššatim for the Old Akkadian LUGAL KIŠ is the absence of the place determinative KI; at the end of the Early Dynastic period, the name of the city of Kish was always written Kiš k i in Sumerian.19 The absence of the determinative was, however, convincingly explained as a graphic archaism by William Hallo who pointed out that LUGAL KIŠ in the Old Akkadian royal inscriptions reproduced not only the ED II/IIIa writing of the title lugal kiš (without determinative) but also its sign forms; thus, the sign LUGAL used in the original inscriptions of Rimush resembles strikingly the sign form used in the royal inscriptions of Mesilim, “king of Kish”, and differs from its more modern version(s) occurring both in late Early Dynastic royal inscriptions since the time of Eanatum and in Old Akkadian documents outside the royal titulary.20 To be sure, the idea of “world dominion” exercised by the royal protagonist is conveyed, by different literary means, in both Lugalzagesi’s and Sargon’s inscriptions from Nippur. But before Naram-Sin started to name himself “the king of the four quarters”, it does not seem to be reflected by the royal titulary (in the narrow sense of the word). The fact that there is virtually no other evidence for the concept of šar(rūt) kiššatim “the king(dom) of totality” dating from the third millennium BC is just another reason not to equate the Sargonic title LUGAL KIŠ with the later LUGAL KIŠ = šar kiššati(m). By contrast, the revival of the title “king of Kish” and its adoption by Sargon and his immediate successors21 makes perfect sense in the political constellation

18

See the previous note. Steinkeller 2013, 146 fn. 51. 20 Hallo 1957, 22–25. The sign LUGAL in the title l u g a l k i š in (En)MEparagesi’s inscription (Edzard 1959, 9 fig. 1, 11 fig. 2; RIME 1, 57 [EN.ME-barage-si 2]) provides, perhaps, an even closer parallel to the sign LUGAL of the Old Akkadian title (Rimush and Manishtusu). 21 RIME 2, 7–83 (passim). The interpretation of the Sargonic title LUGAL KIŠ as śar Kiš(i) “king of Kish” is advocated, among others, by Hallo 1957, 23; Seux 1965, 2 with fn. 8. Cf. Schrakamp 2020, 620 fn. 27, who points to the unambiguous spelling l u g a l K i š k i in an administrative document from Adab (CUSAS 35, No. 107). 19

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created by the defeat of Lugalzagesi and the subjugation of the Sumerian city states by the king of Akkad. The memories of the mighty ancient kingdom of Kish that once enjoyed supremacy in Sumer and was the main rival of Uruk in Gilgameshʼs times survived well into the Old Babylonian period in Sumerian literature22 and must have been much more vivid in the Sargonid period.23 As we know from Eanatum’s reference to Mesilim (who called himself lugal kiš in his original inscriptions) acting as arbiter in the boundary conflict between Lagash and Umma, “the kings of Kish” still exerted hegemony of some kind over other Sumerian city-states in the ED IIIa period.24 Thus, the Sargonic title LUGAL KIŠ did not introduce any new concept but rather was aimed at representing the newly forming and expanding “empire” of Akkad as the revived kingdom of Kish familiar to its Sumerian and Semitic subjects from legends and other forms of (literary-) historical tradition. Staging Akkad as the new Kish helped both to legitimise its (recent and not uncontested) supremacy over Sumer and romanticise its military assaults against Uruk (recalling the legendary clashes between Enmeparagesi and Bilgamesh); the Sargonic wars against Elam fit well into the “Kish pattern”, too. As the repeated revolts of Sumerian cities against the dynasty of Akkad showed, the strategy did not work; this might be one of the reasons why Naram-Sin (who confronted and suppressed the greatest rebellion since Sargon’s conquests) abandoned the title. After Rimush and Manishtusu, the title disappears for more than four hundred years from written records (at least from those available to us today). The next Mesopotamian ruler for whom it is attested is Ipiq-Adad II of Eshnunna who, through his expansionist policy, turned the hitherto small city state into an important regional power stretching from Tell Shishin and Hit in the west to Arrapha in the north and Meturan in the east.25 As the writing with a phonetic indicator LUGAL KIŠ-im used in Ipiq-Adad’s label inscription on an eye-stone (allegedly coming from Luristan) shows, the logograms LUGAL KIŠ stand this time unequivocally for the Akkadian šar kiššatim “the king of totality”.26 Apparently, this new (!) title is to be linked to the Old Babylonian omen apodoses amūt Šarrukīn / Narām-Sîn ša kiššatam ibēlu “the omen of Sargon / Naram-Sin who ruled over the totality” (YOS 10 Nr. 59: 9; Nr. 13: 3; Nr. 56 iii 8b–9) and šar(ri) kiššati(m) ina māti(m) ibbašši / illiam “the king of totality will appear / turn up in the coun22

Gilgamesh and Akka (ETCSL t.1.8.1.1); Šulgi O 53–60 (ETCSL t.2.4.2.15) (Kish and Uruk); Sumerian King List 43–94, 83–85 (ETCSL t.2.1.1) (victory over Elam). 23 For the kingdom of Kish as a major political and cultural power in Mesopotamia in the ED I–IIIa period, see Steinkeller 2013 and Gelb 1977; 1981 (“Kish Civilization”). 24 E-anatum (E1.9.3) 2 i 6–8; 3 ii´ 6–7; Me-silim (E1.8.1) 1: 2–3; 2: 2; 3: 2 in RIME 1, 70– 71, 141, 143. Cf. Foster 2016, 58 with fn. 40. 25 Charpin 2004, 129–131. Ipiq-Adad II (E.4.5.14) 2002: 5 LUGAL KIŠ (votive cylinder of a royal servant; originally from Dur-Rimush); 2003: 5 in RIME 4, 549. 26 Ipiq-Adad II 4: 2 in RIME 4, 547.

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try” (YOS 10 Nr. 56 iii 33b–34; Nr. 61: 8; CUSAS 18 Nr. 12 § 29).27 The later variants of the same historical omen use the phrase ša māta (kalâša) ibēlu “who ruled over the (whole) country” suggesting that the word kiššatum in the Old Babylonian apodosis mentioning Sargon or Naram-Sin of Akkad did not—as commonly assumed—mean “the inhabited world” (οἰκυμένη)28 but rather referred either to Mesopotamia, Babylonia or, in a vaguer sense, to “the whole country”.29 Both the historical omen naming Sargon or Naram-Sin as sovereign over kiššatum and Ipiq-Adad II’s title šar kiššatim (which are probably of a roughly contemporaneous date) seem to present a reinterpretation of the Old Akkadian royal title LUGAL KIŠ inspired by the nostalgic reminiscences of times when “the whole country” was united under the rule of one royal dynasty. In the case of Eshnunna, the recourse to the image of the kings of Akkad was certainly stimulated by the fact that the Old Akkadian capital lay within the boundaries of Ipiq-Adad II’s kingdom. The very name of his successor Naram-Sin (called LUGAL KIŠ in some of his year names)30 reveals Eshnunna’s claim to be the heir to Akkad; judging by both its political and military expansion foreshadowing Shamshi-Adad I’s “kingdom of Upper Mesopotamia”31 and by the extension of its trade and diplomatic contacts reaching during Naram-Sin’s reign (as some inscription finds seem to suggest)32 Cyprus and the island of Cythera in the Aegean Sea, Naram-Sin of Eshnunna was, to a certain degree, justified in comparing himself with his famous namesake. In the case of Shamshi-Adad I (the first and only king of the Old Babylonian epoch who used the title LUGAL KIŠ [= šar kiššatim] in his commemorative inscriptions),33 the implicit reference to the Old Akkadian title, kings and territorial state is even more obvious. In his stone cylinder inscription from the Ishtar temple in Nineveh (Shamshi-Adad I A.0.39.2), Shamshi-Adad I identifies Manishtusu as the first builder of the temple and mentions his foundation inscriptions (narêšu u temmēnīšu) allegedly discovered during the (re)construction works.34 27

Glassner 2019, 306, 328–329 (Nos 96, 97, 155–157). On the political and social context of liver divination and extispical literature in Old Babylonian times, see Richardson 2010. 28 Cf. CAD K 457–458, s.v. kiššatu A 1 a. 29 Glassner 2019, 303–306, 327–328 (Nos 87–95, 151–154). This agrees, by the way, with the common scholarly interpretation of the term kiššatu(m) in the title šar kiššati(m) prior to the aforementioned article by Seux (see Seux 1965, 7–8). 29 RIME 4, 553; Simmons 1959, 76 (year names [l] and [o]). For the provenance of the tablets (probably Tell Ḥarmal/Shaddupum), see Simmons 1959, 72 with fn. 12–14. 31 Charpin 2004, 131–132. 32 Narām-Sîn (E4.5.15) 2 (votive inscription on stone) and Narām-Sîn 2001 (seal inscription) in RIME 4, 554–555. 33 Šamšī-Adad I (A.0.39) 1: 2; 2 i 3 (and Top 4); 8: 2 in RIMA 1, 48, 52, 60. 34 Šamšī-Adad I 2 i 7–13; ii 21 – iii 5; iii 19–22 in RIMA 1, 53f. J. G. Westenholz considers Shamshi-Adad I’s reference to Manishtusu as the founder of the Ishtar temple in Nineveh to be a piece of fiction and “pious forgery” pointing to the fact that archaeological evidence

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In the same inscription, the title LUGAL KIŠ is preceded by the Old Akkadian royal epithet (or title) da-núm “strong”, “mighty” formerly used by Naram-Sin and Shar-kali-sharri.35 In a votive inscription documenting the gift of a kettledrum to Ishtar-sharratum, Shamshi-Adad I is called LUGAL a-kà-dèKI “the king of Akkad”.36 However, the resort to Old Akkadian traditions and references establishing a sense of continuity with the legendary “age of Agade” are hardly to be seen as an expression of an ideological programme pursued by Shamshi-Adad I from the beginning of his reign. At least as far as the title LUGAL KIŠ is concerned, its adoption seems rather to be an intellectual response to the astonishing military and diplomatic successes Shamshi-Adad I and his son Ishme-Dagan achieved in 1780 BC (the conquest of Arrapha, Nineveh and Qabra, the annexation of Nurrugum and the subjugation of Ahazum). In his brick inscription from Assur, Shamshi-Adad I bears the traditional Old Assyrian title iššiak Aššur (ÉNSI da-šur4) “vice-regent of the god Ashur”.37 Similarly, the only titles attested in the seal inscriptions of the king and his officials found in Mari and Acemhöyük are šakin Enlil (“appointee of the god Enlil”) and iššiak Aššur (occasionally, the epithet narām Aššur “Ashur’s favourite” is added); once, šarrum dannum “mighty king” is used, too.38 The same titles appear in the dedicatory inscriptions found on clay tablets in the Old Babylonian palace at Mari and considered by Charpin to be school exercise texts.39 The foundation inscription from the Ishtar temple in Nineveh might be the earliest text of Shamshi-Adad I where the title LUGAL KIŠ is used. The capture for the Old Akkadian presence at Nineveh is very meagre (Westenholz 2004, 7–16). However, if she is right and Shamshi-Adad I’s mention of the Old Akkadian king has no historical value, it is all the more significant from cultural (and “ideological”) point of view. 35 Šamšī-Adad I 2 I 2–3 in RIMA 1, 52. On the royal epithet/title dannum (da-núm) and its use in Mesopotamian royal inscriptions prior to Shamshi-Adad I, see Seux 1967, 68– 69. Apart from Naram-Sin and Shar-kali-sharri, the title dannum is attested for the Elamite vassal ruler Epirmupi (in seal inscriptions of his servants), the Elamite king Puzur-Inshushinak (who became independent from Akkad late in the reign of Shar-kali-sharri) as well as for several Mesopotamian rulers who ruled after the fall of the Akkadian Empire (the Gutian kings Erridu-pizir and La-arab, the kings of Akkad Dudu and Shu-Turul, Apilkin of Mari). Besides, it occurs four times in Akkadian inscriptions of the Ur III kings Shulgi, Amar-Suena (the inscription of Zarriqum, the governor of Assur) and Shu-Sin as part of the formula da-núm/da-nim LUGAL URI5KI ù LUGAL ki-ib-ra-tim ar-ba-im (Šulgi 27: 2–6; 33: 3–6; Amar-Suena 2001: 5–9; Šū-Sîn 5 Ex. 1 Obv. viii 5–9 // Ex. 2 Obv. 4–7 in RIME 3/2, 136, 141, 278, 309) that was clearly inspired by Naram-Sin’s titulary. 36 Šamšī-Adad I 6: 7 in RIMA 1, 58. 37 Šamšī-Adad I 9: 2–3 in RIMA 1, 61. 38 Šamšī-Adad I 10 and Šamšī-Adad I 2003–2006 in RIMA 1, 61, 67f.; no. I–IV in Tunca 1989. 39 Šamšī-Adad I 4–7 in RIMA 1, 56–59.

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of Nineveh (1780) and the conquest of Nurrugum (1779) mentioned in ShamshiAdad I 2 i 17 [RIMA 1 A.0.39.2] are an obvious terminus post quem.40 More likely, it is to be dated to the last years of Shamshi-Adad I who died 1775 BC. The other two inscriptions in which Shamshi-Adad I is titled šar kiššatim (LUGAL KIŠ), the short inscription on a clay tablet from Terqa calling ShamshiAdad the builder of the Dagan temple Ekisiga and the Ashur/Enlil temple inscription from the city of Assur, seem to be roughly contemporaneous both to each other and to the Ishtar temple inscription.41 The final phase of the construction works on the Dagan temple in Terqa can be dated to the eponymy of Ashur-malik (year 1780/1779).42 The erection of an inscribed stela “in the land of Lebanon on the shore of the Great Sea”43 can only be associated with the military campaign to Anti-Lebanon and Lebanon led by the generals Sumu-Nihim and Samidahum in order to aid the king of Qatna to suppress a rebellion in that region. The Lebanon campaign began at approximately the same time as Shamshi-Adad I’s war against Qabra (1780/1779) with Sumu-Nihim’s troops staying in the region long after the fall of Qabra.44 Thus, like his younger contemporary Hammurapi, Shamshi-Adad I seems to have devoted the last years of his life to ambitious temple construction projects in the main religious centres of his realm. The fall of Qabra is commemorated in the stela of Dadusha, the king of Eshnunna who was Shamshi-Adad I’s ally in the war against Qabra.45 In the extended prologue of his stela inscription, Dadusha claims that he was called (by the gods) to exercise “the rule over the whole country” (bēlūt kiššat mātim) and that Anum and Enlil commissioned him to exercise “the kingship of entirety” (šarrūt kiššatim) administering all people.46 Although the poetic language of the inscription is ambiguous, the contextual and grammatical parallelism between the two formulations suggests that they are largely synonymous. Together with the omen apodosis amūt Šarrukīn / Narām-Sîn ša kiššatam ibēlu mentioned above, they provide a key to understanding the meaning of Shamshi-Adad I’s title šar kiššatim. If it is to be defined in concrete political and geographical terms, it signifies, as it seems, 40

Ziegler 2004; Charpin 2004, 167, 170. N. Ziegler notes that the conquest of Nineveh occurred only a few months after Shamshi-Adad I’s stay in ancient Akkad. In her opinion, “the annexation of Nineveh allowed Samsî-Addu to present himself once again as the successor to the kings of Agade” (Ziegler 2004, 26). It is probably in this context that the reintroduction of the title LUGAL KIŠ is to be situated. It stands to reason that ShamshiAdad I aligned himself not only with the legendary kings of Akkad but also with his older contemporary Naram-Sin of Eshnunna who reigned over Akkad, too (Charpin 2004, 191 with fn. 900; 178; 341 fn. 1781 et passim). 41 Šamšī-Adad I 1 and 8 (RIMA 1, 47–51, 59f). 42 Ziegler 2008, 635. 43 Šamšī-Adad I 1: 81–87 in RIMA 1, 50. 44 Charpin 2004, 169, 171–172, 176. 45 Ismaïl 2003; Charpin 2004, 168–169. 46 IM 95200 iii 4–6a; iv 13 – v 5 in Ismaïl 2003, 140–143.

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control over or supremacy in Upper Mesopotamia (including the regions situated east of the Tigris).47 As the substantive kiššatum (“whole”, “totality”) is occasionally used (combined with either šamê u erṣetim “heaven and earth” or nišī “people”) both in Shamshi-Adad I’s inscriptions and in the prologue of the Code of Hammurapi to describe the universal dominion of a deity,48 the title might (but does not have to!) suggest the idea of world hegemony on a connotative plane. At the same time, it is clearly associated with expansionist policy and military victories over mighty neighbour states that remained independent and hostile for centuries (Qabra and Nurrugum in Shamshi-Adad’s case). This is easily explained by the historical associations of the title emphasised by its orthography (LUGAL KIŠ) which evoked memories of the Old Akkadian kings and their legendary conquests. Its semantics is not identical with the sum of the lexical meanings of its components; as in the case of other royal titles, the meaning of the expression šar kiššatim was constituted by the history of its use. Creating or maintaining a sense of political, historical and cultural continuity is probably the most important function of Mesopotamian royal titles. After Shamshi-Adad I’s death, the title šar kiššati(m) disappears for more than four hundred years from Assyrian sources. Its earliest Middle Assyrian attestation is found in a private inscription belonging to the Babylonian scholar Marduknadin-ahhe who was the “royal scribe” (ṭupšar šarre) at the court of Ashur-uballiṭ in Assur. His inscription on a tablet of baked clay (BM 96947) is concerned with the construction of the family house “in the shadow of the temple of Marduk” and ends with short prayers on behalf of the scribe’s family and his royal patron Ashur-uballiṭ whom he calls šar kiššati (LUGAL KIŠ) “the king of totality” and bēlī “my lord”.49 In Middle Assyrian royal inscriptions, the title šar kiššati occurs for the first time under Adad-nirari I. Besides numerous label inscriptions of this king and an inscription on a stone object reporting the restauration of the quay wall at Assur, the title is used in the extended introduction to several building inscriptions from Assur recounting Adad-nirari I’s military campaign(s) against Hanigalbat and the conquest of its capital city Taidu (RIMA 1 A.0.76.3). When used at the beginning of Adad-nirari I’s commemorative inscriptions, šar kiššati is combined with the

47

Cf. Shamshi-Adad I’s epithet muštemki mātim birīt Idiglat u Puratti “pacifier of the land between the Tigris and Euphrates” (Šamšī-Adad I 1: 5–8; 7: 6–8 in RIMA 1, 48, 59). Note that in the concluding passages of the inscription on Dadusha’s victory stela, mātum “land” seems to refer to the regions where Akkadian was spoken (IM 95200 xiv 11, 13; xvi 14 in Ismaïl 2003, 150–153). 48 Šamšī-Adad I 6: 2–3 (ki-ša-at ša-me-e ù er-ṣé-tim) in RIMA 1, 58; Codex Hammurapi I 11–12 (dEN.LÍL-ut KIŠ ni-šì). 49 Wiggermann 2008, 219. On the historical and biographical context of the inscription, see ibid., 205–214.

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titles šarru dannu šar māt Aššur “mighty king, the king of Assyria”.50 In his label inscriptions, Adad-nirari I is either called šar kiššati (whereas his father and grandfather are titled šar māt Aššur) or is attributed (together with his predecessors) the traditional title aklu (PA) “steward” formerly used (as waklum) in Old Assyrian official correspondence or bears the title šar māt Aššur (either alone or together with his ancestors).51 The standard introduction to Adad-nirari I’s building inscriptions (RIMA 1 A.0.76.1)—also mentioning the conquest of Taidu and other cities of Hanigalbat—begins with another traditional title rubû (its older form rubāum was typically used as part of the oath formula nīš ālim u rubāim in legal contexts in Old Assyrian times); however, it uses it not alone but as part of the expression rubû ellu “sacred/noble prince” alluding to the prologue of the Code of Hammurapi (CH III 55).52 The traditional royal title of Old Assyrian building and votive inscriptions, iššiak Aššur “the vice-regent of Ashur”, is found in two short brick inscriptions of Adad-nirari I from the Ashur temple and in a building report telling the construction history of the “great wall of New City”.53 Finally, three building inscriptions, in which the standard introduction is lacking, contain the titulary šakni Enlil iššiak (SANGA) Aššur used, prior to Adad-nirari I, by Shamshi-Adad I, Eriba-Adad I (with the second title written ÉNSI Aššur) and Ashur-uballiṭ (written with the logogram SANGA).54 Several conclusions can be drawn from the usage of the title šar kiššati in Middle Assyrian inscriptions dating before the reigns of Shalmaneser I and Tukulti-Ninurta I. Firstly, one of the central elements of what is commonly considered to be “Assyrian imperial ideology” turns out to be a Babylonian import. Judging by its earliest attestation, it was a product of speculations (or ingenious flattery) of Babylonian scholars who worked at the Assyrian royal court. Secondly, its first occurrence in a commemorative royal inscription was preceded by decades of aggressive expansionist policy.55 The new political reality had already 50

Adad-nārārī I (A.0.76) 3: 1b–2a; 9: 1b–2 LUGAL KIŠ LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL KUR aš-šur (RIMA 1, 136, 142). 51 Adad-nārārī I 26–34; 36–41; 43–47 in RIMA 1, 160–177. On potsherds from Assur mentioning the tākultu ritual, the king is called aklu in connection with the tākultu at the beginning of his sovereignty but šar māt Aššur in connection with his third tākultu (Adadnārārī I 27 and 28 in RIMA 1, 161–162). It is unclear whether one can establish a relative chronology of label inscriptions based on this observation. 52 Adad-nārārī I 1: 1 in RIMA 1, 131. Borger 2006, 6. 53 Adad-nārārī I 13: 39 (ÉNSI da-[šur]); 35: 1; 42: 1 (SANGA aš-šur) in RIMA 1, 147, 167, 174. 54 Adad-nārārī I 14: 1; 15: 1–2; 17: 1 in RIMA 1, 148, 150, 153. 55 Cf., from this point of view, the common “historical” introduction to Adad-nirari I’s building inscriptions from Assur (RIMA 1 A.0.76.1 = Adad-nārārī I 1), especially its concluding passage Adad-nārārī I 1: 18b–32 and the recurrent royal epithet murappiš miṣrī u kudurrī “the extender of borders and boundaries” applying there not only to Adad-nirari I but also to his father Enlil-nirari and his grandfather Ashur-uballiṭ (Adad-nārārī I 1: 24,

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been gaining ground for a while before the royal titulary was changed to reflect it. Thirdly, the introduction of the new title and concept (or, to be more precise, the revival of an ancient one) did not render other titles with divergent conceptual or/and “ideological” background invalid. The traditional Old Assyrian titles and the “new” titles formerly used by Shamshi-Adad I and reintroduced in the 14th or 13th century BC (šakni Enlil and šar kiššati) continued to be used side by side. Although the royal titulary could certainly be subject to changes as a result of military successes and political expansion, the choice of the particular title(s) was also determined by contextual reasons, i.e. by the content of the inscription and its formal characteristics (“genre” or text type, writing material, function, size). Fourthly and lastly, the reintroduction of the title šar kiššati under Adad-nirari I was clearly connected to the annexation of Hanigalbat and the conquest of its capital Taidu. Together with the capture of Harran and Karkemish56, it lent the Assyrian king supremacy over the whole of Upper Mesopotamia. The only Akkadian speakers who could boast it before Adad-nirari I were Shamshi-Adad I and the kings of Akkad, i.e. the kings who either named themselves LUGAL KIŠ or (like Naram-Sin) were later associated with that title. Thus, the adoption of this title by Adad-nirari I was, first of all, an expression of profound historical consciousness. Additionally, it expressed a claim to the equal status with the Kassite kings of Babylonia where šar kiššati became a standard royal title (or even the standard royal title!) by the end of the fourteenth century (Kurigalzu II).57 Remarks on the later history of the title and its link to the idea of universal dominion Under Tukulti-Ninurta I and his successors, the title šar kiššati became a standard part of the Assyrian royal titulary. A detailed analysis of its usage in the late Middle Assyrian and Neo-Assyrian epoch does not fall within the scope of the present article, but a few remarks should be made. With the possible exception of Ashur-dan I’s reign (1168–1133 BC), the period between Adad-nirari III and Tiglath-pileser III (i.e. 782–745 BC) and the first regnal years of Sennacherib, it seems to have been used continuously up to the 27, 32 in RIMA 1, 132). 56 Adad-nārārī I 1: 13 in RIMA 1, 131. 57 Seux 1967, 311. The inscription of Kurigalzu I recording an incredibly generous land grant to the Ishtar temple that survived in two Neo-Babylonian copies BM 108982 and NBC 2503 (Ku I 2 in Paulus 2014, 308–313) can hardly be considered genuine (against Paulus 2014, 308–309) for a number of reasons (anachronistic titulary šarru rabû šarru dannu šar kiššati [I 1–2] first attested in Assyria under Shamshi-Adad IV in the 11th century BC, with the title šarru rabû not attested in Babylonia before the time of Nabonidus; the mention of Girsu [II 1] unparalleled in MB documents, cf. Nashef, RGTC 5 [1982] 109–110, s.v. Girsu; the suspiciously round figure of 60×3600 for the granted area [II 2]). Thus, there are no Babylonian attestations for the title šar kiššati that could safely be dated earlier than Burnaburiash II (Seux 1967, 310–311 with fn. 238).

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fall of the Assyrian empire. Assyrian kings bore it not only in times when the Assyrian state was at the height of its power, but also in less glorious times, e.g. in the “dark age” of Assyrian history in the 11th and 10th century BC. Starting already with Ninurta-apil-Ekur (1181–1169 BC), but especially with Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 BC) and Ashur-bel-kala (1073–1056 BC), the title šar kiššati is regularly combined with the title šar māt Aššur always preceding it. The sequence šar kiššati šar māt Aššur “king of the whole (world/country/empire?), king of Assyria” becomes the basis of the standard Assyrian royal titulary, and it is tempting to assume that the first title of this sequence, šar kiššati, acquired a meaning functionally close to the later imperial titles. Could “the whole” or “entirety” (kiššatu) be understood as the sum of all regions under the control of the Assyrian king (heartland, provinces and vassal states), so that the formula šar kiššati šar māt Aššur was, to some extent, semantically equivalent to the expression šar kiššat māt Aššur “the king of the whole of Assyria” (never used in Assyrian royal inscriptions or elsewhere)? Form the linguistic point of view, the problem with the conventional universalistic interpretation “the king of the world” is that the meaning “inhabited world” is hardly attested for kiššatu outside the royal title šar kiššati.58 Occasional phraseological and orthographic details point to the fact that the meaning of the title was not fixed but open to various interpretations. In a stone inscription from Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta, the name of the royal palace in the new capital, Egalmesharra, is followed by the expression bīt kiššati which seems to be meant as the Akkadian “translation” of the Sumerian name. Here, the “whole/totality/entirety” (kiššatu)—apparently alluding to Tukulti-Ninurta I’s favourite title šar kiššati— clearly refers to the sum of all divine powers (and to the sum of institutions associated with them) accumulated within the royal palace.59 The new orthography of the title using the logogram ŠÚ for kiššatu (instead of KIŠ or ŠÁR) which is, for the first time, attested for Ashurnasirpal I (1049–1031 BC) and becomes standard under Ashurnasirpal II involves a pun on kiššūtu “power/might/dominion/ violence” (written with the same logogram) and probably alludes, at least originally, to a passage in the epic poem about the exploits of Sargon of Akkad and his campaign against the Anatolian city Purushhanda.60 58

Cf. CAD K 457, s.v. kiššatu A 1. In the Old Babylonian apodoses cited above (and in CAD ibid.), the term kiššatu is, as we have seen, most probably synonymous to kiššat mātim “the whole country” (see fn. 28). The formulation muštēšir nūr kiššati (Šamaš attāma) in the Shamash Hymn 34 may simply mean “you provide the light for all / everything” or “you administer the entire light” (cf. Foster 2005, 629; Lambert 1960, 129). 59 Tukultī-Ninurta I 22: 51 é - g a l - m e - š á r - r a É kiš-šá-ti šu-bat MAN-ti-ia ab-ni “I built Egalmesharra (literally ‘Palace-Of-All-Divine-Powers’), the house of entirety, my royal residence” (RIMA 1, 270). 60 Šar tamḫāri 18 (LUGAL ŠÚ). Westenholz 1997, 114 (text 9B, Amarna version). In lines 17–18, there is a word play on kišši ‘(the city of) Kiš’, kiššatu ‘the whole’ and kiššūtu

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The only unequivocal evidence for the universalistic interpretation of the title šar kiššati is provided by the scholarly treatise found on two first millennium tablets and known as The Sargon Geography.61 Although the author of the treatise certainly used ancient sources, the text in its present form is commonly dated to the Sargonid period and should not be considerably older than the Neo-Assyrian exemplar VAT 8006 discovered in the “House of Exorcist” in Assur. The recent dating proposals range from the reign of Sargon II to the reigns of Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal.62 The ancient empire of Sargon of Akkad encompassing the whole world is to be seen as a historical construction by the Neo-Assyrian scholar whose purpose was arguably to “legitimise” the expansionist ambitions of the Sargonid kings striving for universal dominion by suggesting that they attempted to revive the Sargonic “empire”. This means that the concept of šar kiššati as the ruler over the whole inhabited world is probably a Sargonid innovation. In this particular case too, the “ideology” turns out to be an intellectual response to the new geopolitical situation and the new status of the Assyrian king created by the military conquests of Tiglath-pileser III, Shalmaneser V and Sargon II. By contrast, nothing suggests that the military activity and imperial policy of these kings were inspired by mainly ideological reasons. Concluding remarks To sum up, it seems that no fixed and “timeless” concept of universal dominion was ever attached to the Akkadian royal title LUGAL KIŠ / šar kiššati. Far from being an example of “the eternal return of the same”, the history of its use can be understood as a long chain of successive allusions to earlier kings and their titulary—allusions that were not arbitrary but (especially in cases when the title was reintroduced after a gap of several hundred years) implied a claim (substantiated by military achievements) to power and place in history comparable to that of the earlier kings who bore the same title. It is these successive references to the former holders of the title (starting with the legendary kings of Kish and Akkad) and not scholarly speculations on its possible meanings that determined its later usage in the first place. Wittgenstein’s famous formula “meaning is use” is especially and uniquely true for Mesopotamian royal titles.

‘violence’ (ibid., 115 [comm.]). 61 Horowitz 1998, 67–95. Cf. especially the Sargon Geography 1–5, 31, 41–44 (ibid., 68– 73; 78–80, 86–89). Seux 1965, 9–10. Another text cited by Seux in support of the universalistic interpretation of the title šar kiššati is the Sargon passage of the Weidner Chronicle (ibid., 10). However, although the idea of universal dominion (attributed to the kings of yore) is clearly present in the Weidner Chronicle, its association with the title šar kiššati is less obvious than in the Sargon Geography. 62 Grayson 1974–1977, 57; Potts 1982, 288; Van De Mieroop 1999, 332–333 (Sargon II); Horowitz 1998, 93 (Sargon II “or more likely” Sennacherib or Esarhaddon); Liverani 1999–2001, 81 (the end of Esarhaddon’s or the beginning of Ashurbanipal’s reign).

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As people whose lifelong and everyday activities are predominantly intellectual, scholars generally tend to overestimate the role of ideas in human life and history. It is perhaps understandable that, in the time of the Cold War and especially at its height in the 1960s and 1970s, one could see the motor of history in conflicting “ideologies”. We should ask ourselves whether this view is still valid today. The answer to the question whether economic, social or political changes or the “ideology” associated with them are primary may not always be simple (although changes in the “mode of production” do seem to be primary in many if not most cases, whereas new ideologies are always attempts to respond to and cope with new realities). In some instances, the question itself resembles the famous hen-or-egg problem. However, I guess that, for methodological reasons, it is safer to assume that (figuratively speaking) the hen existed before the egg thus accepting the point of view of materialistic philosophy of history once advocated by Marx (and the corresponding view on “ideology” as part of the “superstructure”)63. The real problem a historian of the Ancient Near East is faced with is that, contrary to material remains, events recorded or literary motifs used in written sources, the “ideology” (as something existing only in the minds of people) is not accessible to us in any direct way, because it was never explicitly formulated. It has to be reconstructed on the basis of texts whose interpretation is often far from clear, and I wonder whether, in many a case, the “ideology” we ascribe to them is not the fruit of our own imagination. The ideas of the ancients on many matters were far less systematic than we are generally inclined to think (as can be demonstrated, for example, with regard to Mesopotamian concepts of creation and afterlife), and their ideas about royal power are probably no exception. Bibliography Althusser, L. 2014. On the Reproduction of Capitalism. Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses, translated by G. M. Goshgarian, London / New York: Verso. Artemov, N. 2018. “Demonization of Enemies in Mesopotamian Literature. A Case Study in Verbal Imagery”, in: P. Attinger / A. Cavigneaux / C. Mittermayer / M. Novák (eds), Text and Image. Proceedings of the 61e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Geneva and Bern, 22–26 June 2015 (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis; Series Archaeologica 40), Leuven: Peeters, 33–42. Borger, R. 2006. Babylonisch-assyrische Lesestücke. 3., revidierte Auflage (Analecta Orientalia 54), Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. Charpin, D. 1984. “Inscriptions votives d’époque assyrienne”, Mari. Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires 3, 41–81. Charpin, D. 2004. “Histoire politique du Proche-Orient amorrite (2002–1595)”, in: D. Charpin / D. O. Edzard / M. Stol (eds), Mesopotamien. Die altbabyloni-

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Cf. Marx 1998, 29–102 (The German Ideology, Volume I, Part I).

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sche Zeit (Annäherungen 4; Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 160/4), Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 25–480. Edzard, D. O. 1959. “Enmebaragesi von Kiš”, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 53, 9–26. Edzard, D. O. 2004. Geschichte Mesopotamiens. Von den Sumerern bis zu Alexander dem Großen, Munich: C.H. Beck. Foster, B. R. 2005. Before the Muses. An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, Third edition, Bethesda: CDL Press. Foster, B. R. 2016. The Age of Agade. Inventing Empire in Ancient Mesopotamia, London / New York: Routledge. Gelb, I. J. 1977. “Thoughts about Ibla: A Preliminary Evaluation, March 1977”, Syro-Mesopotamian Studies 1/1, 3–30. Gelb, I. J. 1981. “Ebla and the Kish Civilization”, in: L. Cagni (ed.): La lingua di Ebla. Atti del convegno internazionale (Napoli, 21–23 aprile 1980) (Istituto Universitario Orientale, Seminario di Studi Asiatici Series Minor 14), Napoli: Istituto universitario orientale, 9–73. Glassner, J.-J. 2019. Le devin historien en Mésopotamie (Ancient Magic and Divination 16), Leiden: Brill. Grayson, A. K. 1974–1977. “The Empire of Sargon of Akkad”, Archiv für Orientforschung 25, 56–64. Gurney, O. R. 1956. “The Sultantepe Tablets V. The Tale of the Poor Man of Nippur”, Anatolian Studies 6, 145–164. Hallo, W. W. 1957. Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles. A Philologic and Historical Analysis (American Oriental Series 43), New Haven: American Oriental Society. Horowitz, W. 1998. Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography (Mesopotamian Civilizations 8), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Ismaïl, B. K. 2003. “Dādušas Siegesstele IM 95200 aus Ešnunna. Die Inschrift”, Baghdader Mitteilungen 34, 129–163. Karlsson, M. 2016. Relations of Power in Early Neo-Assyrian State Ideology (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 10), Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter. Lambert, W. G. 1960. Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Liverani, M. 1979. “The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 297–317. Liverani, M. 1999–2001. “The Sargon Geography and the Late Assyrian Mensuration of the Earth”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 13, 57–85. Liverani, M. 2017. Assyria. The Imperial Mission (Mesopotamian Civilizations 20), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

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Marx, K. (with Engels, F.) 1998. The German Ideology including Theses on Feuerbach and Introduction to the Critique of Political Economy, Amherst: Prometheus. Paulus, S. 2014. Die babylonischen Kudurru-Inschriften von der kassitischen bis zur frühneubabylonischen Zeit. Untersucht unter besonderer Berücksichtigung gesellschafts- und rechtshistorischer Fragestellungen (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 51), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Potts, D. 1982. “The Road to Meluhha”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 41, 279– 288. Richardson, S. F. C. 2010. “On Seeing and Believing: Liver Divination and the Era of Warring States (II)”, in: A. Annus (ed.), Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World (Oriental Institute Seminars 6), Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 225–266. Schrakamp, I. 2020. “The Kingdom of Akkad. A View from Within”, in: K. Radner / N. Moeller / D. T. Potts (eds), The Oxford History of the Ancient Near East. Volume I: From the Beginnings to Old Kingdom Egypt and the Dynasty of Akkad, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 612–685. Seux, M.-J. 1965. “Les titres royaux « šar kiššati » et « šar kibrāt abra՚i »”, Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie orientale 59, 1–18. Seux, M.-J. 1967. Épithètes royales akkadiennes et sumériennes, Paris: Letouzey et Ané. Simmons, S. D. 1959. “Early Old Babylonian Tablets from Ḥarmal and Elsewhere”, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 13, 71–93, 105–119. Steinkeller, P. 2013. “An Archaic ‘Prisoner Plaque’ from Kiš”, Revue d’assy-riologie et d’archéologie orientale 107, 131–157. Steinkeller, P. 2017. History, Text and Art in Early Babylonia. Three Essays (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 15), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Tunca, Ö. 1989. “Cylinder Seal Inscriptions of Šamši-Adad I and his Officials from Acemhöyük”, in: K. Emre / B. Hrouda / M. Mellink / N. Özgüç (eds), Anatolia and the Ancient Near East. Studies in Honor of Tahsin Özgüç, Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi, 481–483. Van De Mieroop, M. 1999. “Literature and Political Discourse in Ancient Mesopotamia. Sargon II of Assyria and Sargon of Agade”, in: B. Böck / E. CancikKirschbaum / T. Richter (eds), Munuscula Mesopotamica. Festschrift für Johannes Renger (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 267), Münster: UgaritVerlag, 327–339. Van De Mieroop, M. 2007. A History of the Ancient Near East ca. 3000–323 BC, Second edition, Oxford: Blackwell. Westenholz, J. G. 1997. Legends of the Kings of Akkade. The Texts (Mesopotamian Civilizations 7), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

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Westenholz, J. G. 2004. “The Old Akkadian Presence in Nineveh: Fact or Fiction”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 7–18. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 2008. “A Babylonian Scholar in Assur”, in: R. J. van der Spek (ed.), Studies in Ancient Near Eastern World View and Society. Presented to Marten Stol on the occasion of his 65th birthday, 10 November 2005, and his retirement from the Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam, Bethesda: CDL Press, 203–234. Winckler, H. 1897. Altorientalische Forschungen. Erste Reihe (I–VI. 1893– 1897), Leipzig: Verlag von Eduard Pfeiffer. Ziegler, N. 2004. “The Conquest of the Holy City of Nineveh and the Kingdom of Nurrugûm by Samsî-Addu”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 19– 26. Ziegler, N. 2008. “Šamšī-Adad I”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 11/7–8, 632–635.

Assyrian Royal Inscriptions between Royal Propaganda and Historical Positioning Hannes D. Galter University of Graz

Abstract: Since the legendary Copenhagen Symposium in 1979, the Assyrian royal inscriptions have been regarded as a means of royal propaganda, primarily for the self-representation of the rulers. Only rarely the question was asked, how they were able to achieve this objective. Walled up in public buildings, placed on inaccessible cliffs, in places with restricted access, or in foreign-language territories, they were conceivably unsuitable for propaganda purposes. A survey of the discussions on possible audiences of Assyrian royal inscriptions and a detailed analysis of the concluding formulae in these inscriptions provide the basis for a new approach. Not only the intended addressees were taken into account, but also those who could have read the texts independently of the intention of its author. Subsequently, an alternative interpretation is proposed, which sees the royal inscriptions as attempts to generate historical resonance and accounts for how they have fulfilled their historical task. Being part of a chain of tradition, they reacted to historical examples and tried to set standards for the future. In this way, written history became an important way to understand political events and to shape political actions. Finally, the question of the Assyrian elites and their influence on content and form of Assyrian royal inscriptions is raised. Keywords: Assyrian royal inscriptions; concluding formulae; audiences; historical resonance; Assyrian scribes.

Since the legendary Copenhagen Symposium in 1979,1 Assyrian royal inscriptions have been regarded as a means of royal propaganda that were primarily used for the self-representation of the rulers. In the following decades it was mainly agreed upon that the Assyrian state-ideology relied heavily on propaganda to spread the imperial message. 2 Texts—mainly royal inscriptions—and images were used in the first place to justify the rule of the monarch and the extension of the Assyrian empire by military campaigns.3 But what is propaganda and how could it have functioned in Assyria? One standard definition describes propaganda as “ideas, facts, or allegations spread 1

Larsen 1979. I would like to thank Johannes Bach for providing me with some valuable literature during the Corona lockdown. 2 Liverani 1979; Reade 1979; Garelli 1982; Sano 2016; Karlsson 2016, 18. 3 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 23; Sano 2016, 231–232. Cf. also William R. Gallagher (1994) for the use of the expression “Assyrian Deportation Propaganda.”

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deliberately to further one’s cause or to damage an opposing cause.”4 The term derived from the missionary activities of the Catholic church in the age of Counter-Reformation in Europe. Hayim Tadmor introduced a more scholarly definition to Assyriology: “A deliberative and systematic attempt to shape perceptions, manipulate conditions and direct behavior to achieve a response that furthers the desired intent of the propagandist.”5 Despite the arguments listed by Tadmor who denounced the arbitrary use of the term propaganda by Assyriologists6 and the calls of Jacob Finkelstein7 and Leo Oppenheim8 for not using it, the term is still lingering around. In 1995 Antti Laato tried to find devices of Assyrian propaganda in the royal inscriptions of Sennacherib that proof a falsification of history in his accounts of the campaign to Judah in 701 BCE9 and Katsuji Sano described Assyrian royal inscriptions without differentiation again as propaganda: “Angesichts dieser Tatsache schlage ich vor, solche Ausdrücke bzw. Techniken als Propaganda zu bezeichnen, die der Demonstration von Stärke bzw. der Rechtfertigung der Königsherrschaft (konkret dem Aspekt ‘Macht’) dienen, und diese aus praktischen Gründen zu kategorisieren.”10 Mario Liverani introduced the even stronger word “indoctrination” for the impact of the royal rhetoric on the Assyrian public and he argued for a considerable amount of text manipulation by the royal scribes.11 Recently Jessie De Grado focused on the construction of difference in Assyrian propaganda and argued that “Assyrian royal rhetoric goes beyond emphasizing simple difference, instead using depictions of cultural diversity to demonstrate the truly universal nature of the empire.”12 The article later refers to “rhetorical strategy” (p. 108) and “rhetorical levels” (p. 119) in the course of the argument. There are only a few scholars who still question the use of the term.13 The question of audiences When we ask how Assyrian royal inscriptions could function as propaganda or “rhetorical strategy,” we are automatically confronted with the question of audience. As means of communication royal inscriptions could not function without

4

Merriam-Webster’s unabridged Dictionary: https://www.merriam–webster.com/diction nary/propaganda (last accessed December 18, 2020). 5 Tadmor 1997, 332 quoting Jowett and O’Donnell 1986 (now 5th ed., 2012), 7. 6 Tadmor 1997. 7 Finkelstein 1979, 64. 8 Oppenheim 1979, 111–144. 9 Laato 1995; but cf. Hoskisson and Boswell 2004. 10 Sano 2016, 218 and 224–225. 11 Liverani 2017, 102. 12 De Grado 2019, 107. 13 Weeks 2007, 89; Bonatz 2011, 300–301; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 28, fn. 130. See now Portuese 2020, 261–267.

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an audience. Lacking a recipient, the content of the inscriptions still existed, but the message remained unreceived. Following Elisabeth Wagner-Durand we must refine the question further: Who perceived royal inscriptions? Who read the texts or who got them read aloud? And who determined the form, the selection, and the adjustment of the content? Did it depend on specific situations, traditions, or on personal preferences?14 The written message of the inscriptions reached only certain—mostly literate—persons at certain times and certain places.15 Therefore, other means of communication were used in addition: monumental architecture, palace reliefs and wall-paintings, sculpture, or public events.16 But even in this way, only the urban population living in the centers of the Assyrian Empire could be addressed. The majority of the rural population had to rely on narratives and oral reports concerning the exploits of Assyrian kings.17 Mario Liverani speaks about concentric belts: the palace elite, the urban population of the heartland, the rural population and foreigners, although he has to admit that the wider audiences have to be assumed and imagined. 18 Regarding these wider audiences, further questions arise: Who could be reached by which media? Which media were suited for which narratives? And who decided on the choice of the medium?19 Several audiences—or, more precisely, conceived audiences or target groups, since we do not know who actually read the inscriptions and can only hypothesize who should have read them—were considered so far. Leo Oppenheim discussed the matter of audience of Mesopotamian royal inscriptions in 1964 in his legendary book “Ancient Mesopotamia.”20 He argued that most of the inscription were not meant to be read by the people seeing them. Some of the texts might have proclaimed royal achievements to posteriority but even those did not reach the public. He justified his view by pointing out that inscriptions on display did have the same contents as building inscriptions buried in the foundations and therefore served identical purposes. Oppenheim was convinced that all royal inscriptions were ultimately addressed to the deities reporting the king’s actions and demanding blessings in return. For this reason, they were written in a highly stylized and often poetic language. As part of the literary tradition, they described historical events in a standardized vocabulary and in recognizable narrative forms that were known to the clergy who guarded the religious foundations of the Assyrian state. 14

Wagner-Durand 2020, 305–306. For literacy in Assyrian society see Porter 1995; Hoskisson and Boswell 2004, 66; Weeks 2007; and Siddall 2013, 134–149. 16 Holloway 2002, 82–83; Liverani 2014, 374–379 and 2017, 79–90. 17 Liverani 2017, 102. 18 Liverani 2014, 374–375. Ludovico Portuese (2020, 235–241) uses the terms “inner audience” and “outer audience.” 19 Wagner-Durand 2020, 305–306. 20 Oppenheim 1964, 147–148. 15

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Others opted for a wider audience for Assyrian royal inscriptions.21 In his letter to the god Ashur about his eighth campaign Sargon II mentioned the city of Ashur itself and its inhabitants (line 4: ālu nišēšu lu šulmu) beside the deities of the city.22 Leo Oppenheim dealt with this text twice and came to a different conclusion than the one above.23 Based on peculiarities in style and content he argued that the communicative situation differed fundamentally from that of other royal inscriptions. The letter was meant to be read to the assembly and the citizens of Ashur and replaced the traditional oral reports. The deities mentioned in the letter were only addressed for reasons of courtesy. Hayim Tadmor rejected the assumption of a public reading of royal narratives: “To be sure, a considerable proportion of the royal inscriptions reflect changes of policy or new policies, matters that were of deep concern to the governing elite in Assyria. Nevertheless, given the structure of the Assyrian monarchy and the absolute royal prerogative in all matters, the hypothesis of ‘public reading’ is far from certain.”24 He argued for a selected few of the elite or the priests as a possible audience. The same opinion was expressed by Bradley Parker25 who mentioned the inner elite, the provincial elites and external audiences and Barbara Porter who named Assyrian officials and local elites in Sam’al and Til Barsip as audiences for the messages on the Esarhaddon steles.26 She maintained that the texts were read out in front of these groups and she regarded the fact that the inscription Babylon A was written in Standard Babylonian as an indication for the priestly elite in Babylon as possible audience.27 Several scholars observed that visitors and foreign envoys were able to see the reliefs and inscriptions on display in the reception suites and courts of Assyrian palaces and “participated in the experience of empire by taking on the roles prescribed within a carefully orchestrated interaction.”28 Since many royal inscriptions were walled up in Assyrian temples or palaces, buried in their foundations, or placed in areas with physical or social access restrictions, others, including myself, have opted for future kings as main target group.29 21

Machinist 1993, 99–102; Russell 1991, 223–240; Van De Mieroop 1999, 57; Parpola 2010, 37. 22 Mayer 1983, 68–69, 96–97. 23 Oppenheim 1960, 143–144; 1979, 124–135. 24 Tadmor 1997, 332. 25 Parker 2011, 371, see also Galter 1988a, 76. 26 Porter 1995; 2000a; 2000b. 27 Porter 1995, 62–66. 28 De Grado 2019, 116; see also Russell 1991, 238; 1999, 1; Fales 2009, 282; Portuese 2020, 127–143. 29 Galter 1988a, 75–76; 2018, 139–140; Frahm 2019, 142; Portuese 2020, 221–222.

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It was finally argued that the sense of national identity and pride of the Assyrian public was addressed by various means of transmission.30 Some of these groups have recently been challenged. Seth Richardson doubted the legitimizing function of royal inscriptions.31 Others questioned the function of palace reliefs and inscriptions as major corpus of royal propaganda and the idea of foreign embassies having to wait in throne rooms for extended periods.32 Alexander Pruß argued that the Assyrian reception ceremonies were highly formalized events and that the texts lack descriptive passages and even a consistent terminology for them. He doubted the political message of the inscriptions: “These texts were, however, not written for a distant or uninformed reader, but for the peers of the authors or scribes. Administrative documents were written for bookkeeping, royal inscriptions were written for other kings and members of the court, as well as the gods, and letters for the addressees.”33 In recent times Katsuji Sano has again argued for a reading out of the royal inscriptions as a decisive means to strengthen the power of the Assyrian monarchy in a multiethnic and largely illiterate environment.34 The inscriptions had to be addressed not only to the Assyrian elites and foreign ambassadors but also to all the inhabitants including locals and deportees. But the fact remains that we still have no reference to a public reading of royal inscriptions and that the texts themselves never address a broader public.35 Assyrian royal inscriptions as text and message Assyrian royal inscriptions form a large and heterogeneous corpus within the Akkadian literature. They include many different text types and display a wealth of themes and various degrees of complexity. In addition to short identification inscriptions on bricks, vessels, or precious objects, which often bear no more than the ruler’s name and titles, there are long historical narratives on steles, tablets, barrel cylinders, or prisms. We have long and short votive inscriptions on objects offered to deities, building inscriptions that were buried in the foundations or the walls of buildings and annalistic records written across palace walls.36 Despite this range of text types and despite obvious variations in the narratives, there was a fixed repertoire of basic structural elements that governed the text production.37

30

Postgate 1992, 259; Liverani 1995, 2354–2355; Heinz 2008, 53–57; Karlsson 2016, 8– 18; Liverani 2017, 100. 31 Richardson 2020; cf. Wagner-Durand 2020, 305–306. 32 Parker 2011, 368; see also Kertai 2014 and Portuese 2020, 271–272. 33 Pruß 2019, 21–22. 34 Sano 2016, 230. 35 See Liverani 2017, 80–81 and Siddall 2017, 60. 36 For details see Grayson 1980; Renger 1981; and Galter 1997. 37 Grayson 1981.

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At the beginning of the 1980s new perspectives were given to the study of the Assyrian royal inscriptions. In the wake of the linguistic turn and the rise of narratological analysis the focus shifted from the reported events to the reports themselves. The “historical inscription” became first a “narrative” and later a “message.”38 This shift was based on Michel Foucault’s conclusion that a historical text is not a “document” that refers to something in the past, but a “monument” that refers to itself and therefore is part of this very past.39 Mario Liverani formulated this insight for Assyriology as follows: “The thing to do should be to view the document not as a ‘source of information,’ but as information in itself; not as an opening on a reality laying beyond, but as an element which makes up that reality.”40 A historical text was thus primarily regarded as information about itself, its author, its function, its origin and only secondarily about its content. In June 1980, a small group of researchers interested in Assyrian royal inscriptions gathered in Cetona, Italy, for an exchange of ideas on the analysis of this text group.41 In the same year Kirk Grayson published a first attempt to classify the corpus. 42 Based on the function of the inscriptions, he distinguished four major sub-groups: commemorative inscriptions, dedicatory inscriptions, labels, and letters to the god. Only one year later the article on the Akkadian royal inscriptions by Johannes Renger in the RlA appeared.43 Based on preliminary work by JeanRobert Kupper and Goot van Driel, 44 he traced all royal inscriptions back to two basic types: votive inscriptions and labels, and thus introduced a dynamic approach to the analysis. John Russell focused on the architectural context of the inscriptions45 and I examined them under the aspect of text formation and regarded them as reactions to standardized target groups.46 But the postmodern skepticism that governed these studies did not lead to a greater understanding of the historical content of the inscriptions.47 The analysis how this content was “produced,” exposed tradition, politics, and rulership as major forces behind that production, but at the same time questioned the whole concept of historical reality. If there was no way to distinguish a historical from a fictional narrative, why should we study them at all from a historical perspective?

38

Galter 2004a; Liverani 2017, 103–105; 2019, 125–128; Portuese 2020, 219–221. Foucault 1988, 13–15 and 198–199. 40 Liverani 1973, 179. 41 Fales 1981. 42 Grayson 1980, 150–159. 43 Renger 1981, 71–77. 44 Kupper 1971; van Driel 1973. 45 Russell 1999; see now Portuese 2020, 222–235. 46 Galter 1988; 2004a. For an almost complete listing of the literature on Assyrian royal inscriptions between 1988 and 2000 see Fales 1999–2001. 47 Frahm 2019, 150–152; Liverani 2019, 123–125 and cf. his “further perspectives” 128– 136. 39

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It was the Italian historian Carlo Ginzburg who denounced the reduction of history to its narrative dimension. 48 He started from the age-old question that every historian must deal with, especially when he is working on Assyrian royal inscriptions: What is the reality behind a narrative that is told, passed on, or written down? What is “history” and what is “his story”? Ginzburg argued that the distinction between subjectivity and objectivity—he used the words “rhetoric” and “truth”—can be made by means of philology.49 To distinguish between fact and fiction when studying a historical document, one must use the tools of philology. An accurate philological analysis considering every aspect of the text will enable the historian to look behind the “screen” of a given text. Let us approach the Assyrian royal inscriptions in this way to see what they tell us about their audience. The concluding formulae of Assyrian royal inscriptions The natural starting point for such a survey is the concluding formulae of the texts. This section follows the narrative of the royal achievements and focusses on the present and future consequences of these achievements. The semantics of this part of the text is rather stereotypical. It contains one or more of the following elements: an address to future rulers, an instruction how to treat the inscription and/or the inscribed object, blessings for proper actions, curses for mistreatment, prayers, a date. Studies of these elements are rare.50 The extremely useful dissertation of Cheryl (Tova) Meltzer on the Assyrian material, written under the supervision of Kirk Grayson in 1983, unfortunately was never published. Her approach was guided by the discourse analysis of Zellig Harris and the German School of “Textlinguistik.”51 She tried to analyze the elements of the concluding formulae and their compositions in order to discover the “code” of this section. Mario Liverani’s “Critique of Variants”52 naturally played an important part in her analysis. By accepting the fact, that variations, omissions, and additions are interconnected and significant elements of a text history, she added the diachronic and dynamic aspect to the study of the concluding formulae. The existence as well as the absence of this section became meaningful. Meltzer recognized the concluding formulae as literary compositions and as genuine and independent text patterns with an astounding degree of conservatism and little parallels in other text genres.53 The concluding formulae were closely connected to the royal building accounts from which they developed. In the Old Assyrian royal inscriptions, we

48

Ginzburg 2001. Parts of it were published in English as Ginzburg 1999. Ginzburg 2001, 30–32; cf. Liverani 2017, 103–105; 2019, 129. 50 Gevirtz 1959; Leick 1976; Meltzer 1983; Watanabe 1984; Galter 1998, 26–29. 51 Meltzer 1983, 6. 52 Liverani 1981. 53 Meltzer 1983, 281–290. 49

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hardly find any statements about the addressees of the texts.54 Only Erishum I asked a future king (šarrum šumšu ša kīma jāti) not to “disturb” (lā urāb) his inscription but to leave it at its place.55 This might have to do with the fragmentary state of many inscriptions and with the adoption of text patterns from the 3rd millennium BCE.56 Shamshi-Adad I expanded the section by describing the mistreatment of the inscription in more detail: “Whoever does not anoint my foundation inscriptions (temmēnija) and my monumental inscriptions (narêja) with oil, does not make a sacrifice, does not return them to their places, but alters my monumental inscriptions, removes my name and writes his name, buries (them) in the earth, (or) throws (them) into the water.”57 In another inscription the king assures that he did not remove the inscribed objects of Manishtushu but restored them to their original place together with his own inscriptions.58 His main concern were not the building inscriptions buried in the foundations but the monumental inscriptions on display. On the one hand this shows that the regard for Old Akkadian royal inscriptions lead to a growing importance of monuments that were displayed in public.59 On the other hand it is a clear statement of an early use of display inscriptions for the immortal fame of the ruler. In following centuries, the formula returned to the pre-Shamshi-Adad patterns.60 After a hiatus of almost 500 years this situation changed with the consolidation of the Middle Assyrian Empire. The inscriptions of Adadnarari I again describe in detail the possible mistreatment of the inscriptions and add a lengthy curse section to this description.61 It is interesting to note the mentioning of foreigners who do not understand Akkadian and who are incited to malignant acts by persons afraid of the curses. This might be an indication that the written curses were read or at least known by the people concerned. In the following centuries curses became a regular feature of the concluding sections. 54

See Galter 1997, 54–56; 1998. RIMA 1, A.0.33.1: 20–23; see also A.0.33.2: 45–50; A.0.33.10: iii 1–13; A.0.33.14: 27– 31. 56 See Leick 1978, 45–60; Galter 1998, 30–38. 57 RIMA 1, A.0.39.1: 99–112; A.0.39.2: iii 11–iv 25; A.0. 39: rev. 13’–15’; cf. Meltzer 1983, 267. 58 RIMA 1, A.0.39.2: ii 21–iii 10. 59 Galter 1997, 55–56; and 2004b: 119–121. 60 RIMA 1: A.0.40.1001: 36–46; A.0.61.1: 11–15; A.0. 62.1002: 2’–7’; A.0.69.1: 11–15; A.0.70.1: 12–17; A.0.72.1: rev. 2’–11’; A.0.73.1: 24–29; A.0.73.2: 23–27; A.0.73.4: rev. 9–14; A.0.74.1: 7–11; A.0.75.1:49–77. 61 RIMA 1: A.0.76.2; see also A.0.76.4: 42–53; A.0.76.6: 20’–31’; A.0.76.8: 32–36; A.0.76.9.: 23–33 and passim. Cf. Meltzer 1983, 267–271. 55

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In the long inscription about the rebuilding of the Ashur-temple the scribes of Shalmaneser I clearly address future rulers: “For the future: when this temple becomes old and dilapidated, a later ruler shall hear of my heroic deeds (and) proclaim the glory of my achievements (tanatti lē’ûtija). As I returned the monumental inscriptions of former kings to their places, may he anoint my monumental inscriptions with oil, make sacrifices, (and) return them to their places. (Then) the god Ashur and the goddess Ninlil will listen to his prayers.”62 In this passage all relevant elements of the standard concluding formulae of later periods are already present: the temporal element (ana arkât ūmē), the address to a later ruler (rubû arkû),63 the own example (kīma anākuma), the instructions and the blessings.64 The reverent treatment of older royal inscriptions is presented as a model to be followed by future rulers. The text continues with the curses65 and the dates. The above passage from the Shalmaneser inscription included the statement, that the king anointed the monumental inscriptions of former kings with oil, made sacrifices, and returned them to their original places.66 This parallels the passage in the inscription of Shamshi-Adad I mentioned above. In the inscription’s list of former kings who (re)built the Ashur-temple Shamshi-Adad is also named. Although the passage concerning the treatment of older royal inscriptions is missing in Shamshi-Adad’s stone tablets from the Ashur-temple and only occurs in his cylinders from the Emashmash in Nineveh, it is nevertheless possible that it was part of another text from Ashur that did not survive. Shalmaneser clearly connects the reverence of older royal inscriptions with the perpetuation of royal fame. A future king should pay attention to Shalmaneser’s achievements and praise his glory. Similar statements can be found in the inscriptions of most Assyrian rulers during the following centuries.67 Shalmaneser III even used the same wording: “[a later ruler] shall hear [of my heroic deeds] (and) proclaim the glory of my achievements (tanatti lē’ûtija).”68 This indicates that not only the content but also the phraseology of earlier inscriptions was known. 62

RIMA 1: A.0.77.1: 158–162. Cf. Meltzer 1983, 271–272. Cf. Meltzer 1983, 141–185 and 291–293. 64 Cf. Meltzer 1983, 186–206. 65 Cf. Meltzer 1983, 207–265. 66 RIMA 1, A.0.77.1: 156–157. 67 E.g., RIMA 1, A.0.77.3: 39–40; A.0.77.5: 28–35; A.0.78.1: iv 62–v 4; A.0.78.5: 84–93; A.0.79.1: 33–36; RIMA 2, A.0.87.10: 89–93, A.0.87.3: 45–49 and passim; A.0.100.5:142– 146; RIMA 3, A.0.102.10: lower edge 3–left edge 1; A.0.102.13: left edge 1’–10’; A.0.104.6: 26–33; A.0.104.9: rev. 21–33; A.0.105: ix21–36; A.0.105.2: 15–30. RINAP 1, 35: iii 31–10’, 37: 45–54; RINAP 2, 2: 506–509; 8: 82–85; 45: 44–48; 47: 22– 25 and passim; RINAP 3/1, 8: 17’–20’; 10: 23–29; 16: viii 64–73; 22: vi 71–83; RINAP 3/2, 136: 17’–24’; 168: 60–65; 230: 122–125 and passim; RINAP 5/1, 5: v 13–26; 10: vi 28–43; 12: viii 1’–6’ and passim. 68 RIMA 3, A.0.102.13: left edge 1’–10’. 63

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Several texts describe how the inscriptions of former kings were treated.69 The older texts should be read, anointed with oil, and returned to the place where they had been found. 70 An inscription of Esarhaddon on the pedestal of a statue of the god Marduk explicitly links the attention paid to the text with a positive fate: “Who respects my inscriptions (and) is attentive to (my) deeds, Marduk will decree a favorable fate.”71 The text was copied on a clay tablet and archived in Nineveh (K 2388) which can be seen as clear evidence for the attention required. Not surprisingly many Assyrian royal inscriptions were found together with earlier and later ones such as the building inscriptions of Adadnarari I and TukultiNinurta I at the Ishtar-temple in Ashur.72 Tiglatpileser I added another interesting detail: “His name let him write with mine. (Then) like me may the gods Anu and Adad, the great gods, my lords, guide him well in joy and success.”73 This passage reminds the future king that not only his well-being but also his own memory will depend on his reverence of older royal inscriptions. In other words, the historical continuity of the Assyrian monarchy is ensured by his acts. The attentive treatment of older royal inscriptions was not only an act of piety and remembrance; it was also a means of preserving the contents of the inscriptions for posterity, and to save the royal name and in this way the king himself from oblivion. The use of phrases like “for future days” (ana arkât ūmē / ana ūm ṣâti)74 or “a future ruler” (rubā’u / rubû arkû)75 demonstrate the clear hope for a future recognition too. Curses were written down for removing the inscription, erasing the inscribed royal name or any other act of mistreatment of the monument.76 The inscription should not be altered, erased and the object carrying it 69

RIMA 3, A.0.102.25: 29–31; RINAP 4, 57: iii16–41. RIMA 2, A.0.100.2: 7’, A.0.101.50: 44–49; RINAP 1, 35: iii 6’–10’; 37: 51–54; RINAP 2, 8: 83–85; RINAP 3/1, 1: 93; 2: 70–71 and passim. 71 RINAP 4, 44: rev. 8; cf. 77: 56–62. 72 Andrae 1935, 42–46. 73 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1: viii 50–62; see also A.0.87.2: 5”–9”. 74 RIMA 2, A.0.86.1: 11; A.0.86.2: 8; A.0.89.3: 12’–13’, A.0.98.3: 14–19; RIMA 3, A.0.102.46: 11–16; RINAP 2, 2: 506; 8: 82–83; 103: iv 58 and passim; RINAP 3/1, 1: 93; 3: 62; RINAP 3/2, 213: 69; 223: 57 and passim; RINAP 5/1, 9: vi 62–69; 11: x 108–115; 24: 177–179 and passim. 75 RIMA 2, A.0.98.1: 81–83; A.0.99.1: rev 16’–18’, A.0.99.2:131–132; A.0.100.2: 7’; A.0.100.5: 142–145; A.0.101.40: 38–41; 50: 44–49; RIMA 3, A.0.102.25: 34–36, A.0.102.27: 13–15; 39: 11–14; and passim; A.0.104.6: 26–28; RINAP 1, 35: iii 6–10 and 37: 51–54; RINAP 2, 2: 506; 8: 83; 103: iv 58 and passim; RINAP 3/1, 10: 23; RINAP 3/2, 146: rev. 3’–4’; 213: 69;223: 57 and passim; RINAP 4, 10: 2‘–6‘; 11: 7‘–11‘; 12: 32– 37; 57: viii 4–15; 78: 42–44, RINAP 5/1, 24: 177–179 and passim. 76 E.g., RIMA 1, A.0.77.2:22; A.0.78.1: v 5–33 and A.0.78.5: 94–126; A.0.79.1:37; A.0.86.1:13; RIMA 2, A.0.87: viii 63–88; A.0.91.1: 6; A.0.100.5:145–146; A.0.101.17: v 45–103; A.0.101.50: 34–44 and passim; RIMA 3, A.0.104.6: 26–33; A.0.104.9: rev. 21– 70

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should not be displaced, discarded, or put in a place where it could not be seen. This is a further indication that the monuments are meant to be seen and read. Correspondingly, curses also appear on votive objects77 or on jars,78 beads,79 and cylinder seals which were received as booty, tribute, or presents. A special case are the inscriptions on the seal of Shagarakti-shuriash, that was taken as booty from Babylon to Ashur by Tukulti-Ninurta I, found its way back to Babylon, and was again brought to Assyria by Sennacherib. An archival tablet (K 2673) records all three royal inscriptions on the now lost seal.80 With Ashurnasirpal II the concluding formulae show a greater variety than in the centuries before.81 The address to a future ruler uses second person singular forms and imperatives.82 The royal successors are asked to act according to the text of the inscriptions (kī pī mušarēja annê)83 and even the disbelief in the text is cursed: “As for the one, who sees my monumental inscriptions and says, ‘What is this?’ (annā mīna): may the goddess Ishtar, mistress of battle and conflict, smash his weapons (and) take away from him his throne.”84 Under Sargon II occurred a “creative revival”85 that lead to even more variations of compositional techniques and to a more personalized approach. This development culminated in the inscriptions of Ashurbanipal. Tova Meltzer writes: “Inclusions of such items as reference to other family members (…), omens and portents, rights of citizens, and detailed specifics of the health and well-being of the royal person supports this impression. In addition, the frequent benedictions indicate a greater concern with the will and approval of the gods. With this personalization of the concluding formulae, it is tempting to suggest the greater personal involvement of the king himself in their composition or dictation.”86

26; A.0.105.2: 23–28; RINAP 2, 2: 509–510; 8: 86–87; 44: 57–60; 103: iv 63–74 and passim; RINAP 3/2, 147: rev. 1’–4’; 168: 66–72; 222: 51–52; 223: 57–60 and passim; RINAP 4, 57: viii 16; 98: rev 50–57; RINAP 5/1, 4: viii 88–93; 10: vi 44–51; 12: viii 6’– 13’ and passim. 77 RIMA 2, A.0.91.4: 8–12; RINAP 5/1, 23: 177–179. 78 RINAP 3/2, 133 and 134. 79 RIMA 1, A.0.82.2; RINAP 3/2, 103–131 and 157. 80 RIMA 1: A.0.78.28; RINAP 3/2, 156. 81 Meltzer 1983, 274–276. 82 RIMA 2, A.0.101.28: v 13–16; A.0.101.29: 18’–23’, A.0.101.32: 15–18; A.0.101.33: 27’–30’, A.0.101.38: 28–38; A.0.101.70:10–12. 83 RIMA 2, A.0.101.17: v 45–46 and v 54–55. 84 RIMA 2, A.0.101.50: 41–44. 85 Meltzer 1983, 299. 86 Meltzer 1983, 300.

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Sargon’s inscriptions use also the address “a future ruler among the kings, my sons” (rubû arkû ina šarrāni mārēja).87 This phrase occurs again in the inscriptions of Sennacherib, Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal.88 The Larnaka stele asks the royal successor to look at the text and read it89 and the Hamath stele requests that a future ruler should praise the good deeds of the god Ashur and have later generations learn to revere Ashur for ever after (ahrâtaš).90 In the inscriptions of Sennacherib this personal approach is evident too. He calls the future rulers “my future sons” (mārēja arkūti)91 and he deposited his inscriptions for “the kings, my sons, for ever after (ṣâtiš).”92 The Bavian inscription again touches on the disbelief of future generations: “(To) a later ruler among the kings, my sons, who ponders (it) in (his) heart but is not able to believe (it) (and) says: ‘How did he have this canal dug out with these few men?’: [I swear] by the god Ashur, my great god, that I dug out this canal with these [men].”93 In Sennacherib’s texts we also find an address to deities. Most of the inscriptions on his bull and lion colossi end with the wish: “May the good Shedu and the good Lamassu last forever and ever in that palace. May they never leave it.”94 In three building inscriptions from Ashur the inscription itself (temmēnu) is asked to speak favorable things to the god Ashur about the king Sennacherib.95 The message that the inscription should convey was his care for the gods, his love for correct behavior (rā’im kināti) and the endurance of his dynasty. Esarhaddon again uses the second person singular in addressing a future king: “Just as I placed an inscription (with) the written name of the king, the father, who engendered me, beside an inscription (with) my written name, so you (atta) should like me read the inscription (with) my written name, anoint (it) with oil, make an offering, and place (it) beside the inscription (with) your written name.”96 He also insists that his inscriptions should be read. Ashurbanipal summarizes all the different approaches of his predecessors in one large concluding section. 97 He mentions the earlier king, Sennacherib, by 87

RINAP 2, 2: 507; 8: 83. E.g., RINAP 3/1, 1: 93; RINAP 4, 1: vi 65; RINAP 5/1, 7: x 73’. 89 RINAP 2, 103: 59. 90 RINAP 2, 105: ii’ 13–16; see also 106: iii 10’–13’ and 117: ii 72–73. 91 RINAP 3/2, 136: rev. i’ 17’. 92 RINAP 3/2, 223: 57; and cf. 222: 50–51. 93 RINAP 3/2, 223: 23–25. 94 RINAP 3/2, 41: 12’’–13’’; cf. RINAP 3/2, 40, 42, 43, 44, 46 and 49. 95 RINAP 3/2, 166: 30–33; 168: 55–60 and RINAP 3/1, 10: 20–22. 96 RINAP 4, 1: vi 69–73; cf. RINAP 4, 3: vi 23’–36’; 93: 35–39; 104: vii 19–29; 105: ix 37– x 15. 97 RINAP 5/1, 3: viii 56–92; see also 1: vii 16–25; 4: viii 75–80; 7: x 65’–82’; 8: x 1’–3’ and 10: vi 28–51. 88

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name (viii 57), indicates that he, Ashurbanipal, had an inscription written with the praise of his heroism (viii 65) and deposited it for future days (viii 69 ana ahrât ūmē). He calls the future rulers “the sons, grandsons, (their) sons and sons” (viii 70–71) and addressed them in the second person (viii 82 atta). They should follow his example (viii 78 kī ša anāku), treat his inscriptions respectfully and rebury them. Summing up, the statements in the concluding sections of the Assyrian royal inscriptions clearly name future rulers as the main addressees of the texts. From the Old Assyrian period to the end of the Neo-Assyrian empire the memory and the fame of a king was closely connected with the writing of royal inscriptions and the reverence of older ones. In this way a chain of memory was created, that kept the concept of Assyrian kingship alive for centuries.98 Assyrian royal inscriptions as means of “historical resonance” On this basis I will propose an interpretation, which sees the royal inscriptions as attempts to generate historical resonance and to account for how monarchs have fulfilled their historical task. The University of Graz has an ongoing and promising cooperation with the Max Weber-Kolleg for cultural and social studies at the University of Erfurt99 and with Hartmut Rosa, who is widely known for his theory of resonance.100 He took the term “resonance” from physics where it describes a subject-object relationship as a vibrating system in which both sides mutually stimulate each other. He argues that the ways in which we establish a relationship to the world, from mere breathing to culturally differentiated worldviews, are defined by the experience of resonance or by the absence of such an experience. Rosa describes the reference points of resonance in three basic axes: Horizontal resonance takes place between people, diagonal resonance axes are relationships to things and activities, and finally vertical resonance axes are relationships to the “great collective singularities” like art, history or religion. In this case it is the world itself that speaks to the individual: “In vertikalen Resonanzerfahrungen erhält gewissermaßen die Welt selbst eine Stimme.”101 Despite Hartmut Rosa’s arguments for the impossibility of vertical experiences of resonance in pre-modern cultures,102 the experience of history and the relationship to history was a major part of the Mesopotamian view of the world. One constitutive feature of vertical resonances is the conviction that the counterpart—in our case history—represents a distinctive entity and that it speaks with

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Liverani 2014, 373; Galter 2018. https://dk–resonance.uni–graz.at/en/doctoral–program/ (last accessed December 18, 2020). 100 See Rosa 2016 and Galter forthcoming. 101 Rosa 2016, 331. 102 Rosa 2016, 501. 99

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its own distinctive voice.103 This voice of history is perceptible even today in the Mesopotamian historical literature, in epics, omens, prophecies, and especially in royal inscriptions. History spoke to the Assyrian rulers through older royal inscriptions. The past was something the mattered for them and their present time.104 And by their own inscriptions, history spoke to their future successors.105 This widening of the historical horizon was necessary for the emergence of the experience of resonance. Together, past and future became part of a single resonating present. History provided the resonance chamber, where past and future were participating in an ongoing dialogue. This is exactly the way Assyrian rulers experienced the stream of history. They regarded themselves as part of a divine global plan, in which the gods had established the rules and kings and humans had to play their role to the better or the worse. History told them which actions had been heavenly approved and which not. The plenitude of Mesopotamian historical narratives and historical omens bear witness to the effort that was made to collect these references. And the “Cuthean legend of Naram-Sin” describes vividly what happened when historical references were neglected. History became the authority to decide what was right and what was wrong, which actions were glorified, and which were condemned, which kings were remembered, and which were forgotten.106 Therefore, honor and fame of a monarch were closely connected to his image as a historically successful and divinely blessed ruler. Assyrian kings regarded themselves as links in a chain of tradition and interacted—even competed—with each other. They were evaluators and evaluated objects at the same time. The actions of former kings became the benchmarks for their own deeds which in return served as a model for the future.107 Shalmaneser I is quite clear about this towards the end of his large inscription regarding work on the Ashur-temple mentioned above: “A later ruler shall hear of my heroic deeds (and) proclaim the glory of my achievements.”108 His son Tukulti-Ninurta responded to this statement and compared his own royal actions with that of his father. 109 Commemorated history formed a major way of understanding political events and shaping political actions. Mario Liverani mentioned two aspects of this historical interaction: a didactic one and a competitive one.110 On the one hand Assyrian kings wanted to pass on their understanding of a right royal conduct to their successors. At the same time, 103

Rosa 2016, 473. Cf. Rosa 2016, 505. 105 Galter 2018, 139–140. 106 Westenholz 1993; cf. Rosa 2016, 502. 107 Galter 2004b, 118–119. 108 RIMA 1, A.0.77.1: 158–161; Galter 2004b, 120. 109 Galter 1988b. 110 Liverani 2017, 94. 104

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the kings were competing in eternal fame. Both aspects can be found several times in Mesopotamian epic literature. The idea of achieving immortality through building projects was widespread in the Ancient Near East and found its most impressive manifestation in the Ninevite version of the Gilgamesh epic. And the legends of Sargon of Agade were the prototypes for narratives of “heroic firsts” in Assyrian texts.111 Royal inscriptions turned out to be the ideal medium for self-representation as rulers who were successful in historical comparison. They were noticed by contemporaries, even without being read, they were talked about and ideally, they outlasted the centuries and could serve as historical benchmarks in the future. But Hartmut Rosa also remarks that it needs historically charged moments, places, or objects to experience the force of world history. He mentions temples, museums, mountains, or memorials. They are the points of contact with history— in a positive or negative way.112 In the case of Assyrian royal inscriptions, we can name some of these places, moments, or objects. The scribal schools were major places where the voice of history was heard.113 By copying ancient royal inscriptions and other historical or literary texts the future scribes were confronted with the achievements of former kings and with the consequences of those actions. Other historically charged places were the mountain passes, seashores or river sources where Assyrian kings set up royal monuments.114 These “ends of the world” represented the ideal stage for rulers to prove their “heroic first” to later kings. The main temple of the god Ashur played an important role in the cultural memory of Assyria, as I have tried to show in another context.115 The religious and historical dimensions of Assyrian kingship formed an indivisible unity, and the Ashur-temple was the focal point of this unity. It existed form the earliest periods until the end of the Assyrian empire. Being regularly rebuilt and enlarged it served as a strong link between all important monarchs in Assyrian history. The numerous original royal inscriptions from all centuries found within the temple compound allowed a detailed reconstruction of Assyrian history at any time, and there are numerous examples for parallelisms between older and later royal inscriptions.116 The specific mistreatment of putting inscriptions in a place where they could not be seen mentioned in several inscriptions, even in texts meant to be buried in the foundations of a building, points clearly to the fact that copies of theses texts were on display and could be seen and read. 111

Galter 2006. Rosa 2016, 504–505. 113 Wilcke 1982, 41. 114 Lang and Rollinger 2010; Galter 2014; Liverani 2017, 91–98; Galter forthcoming. 115 Galter 2004b. 116 E.g., Galter 2018 and the parallel between the concluding formulae of Shalmaneser I and Shalmaneser III mentioned above. 112

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For Hartmut Rosa the third point of contact between the individual and history are historically charged moments. In Assyria, such moments certainly were the coronations, the periodic festivals, or the triumphal ceremonies at the beginning and at the end of campaigns.117 At least during the 9th to 7th centuries, kings rendered accounts of certain campaigns in the form of letters to the god Ashur.118 The historical resonance is especially powerful, when the individual biography touches on global history.119 Everyone still remembers, what he or she did when the news about 9/11 spread. In their 1989 song “The Winds of Change” the Scorpions sang about the “magic of the moment” that remains in our memory. Such “magic moments” in Assyria royal memory could have been the conquest of Syria by Adadnarari I,120 the reaching of the Mediterranean by Tiglatpileser I,121 the death of Sargon II in Cappadocia122 or the destruction of Babylon in 689 BCE.123 Sennacherib had to deal with the traumatic experience of his father’s death on the battlefield and the bad auspicious message it carried. He tried to cut every connection with Sargon and tried to reverse his politics.124 This finally led to the total destruction of Babylon by the Assyrian army. In Mesopotamia, the memory of historically charged moments was passed down over the centuries through narratives. Examples are the “Curse over Agade,” the Tukulti-Ninurta-Epic or “Ishum and Erra,” and we know of several literary or semi-literary texts that tried to come to terms with the events mentioned above, such as the “Sin of Sargon,”125 the 12th tablet of the Standard version of the Gilgamesh-epic126 or the Bavian inscription.127 Assyrian kings were brought up with tales about legendary kings like Gilgamesh or Sargon, they were surrounded by narratives documenting the exploits of former rulers, they used quotes from such tales and narratives in their inscriptions, and they were aware of the royal duty to share their own experience with future rulers, as we are told in the “Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin” that was still recopied in Neo-Assyrian times.128 The examples of Tukulti-Ninurta I and Sennacherib show that monarchs reacted in a very personal way to the experience of historical resonance.

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Van De Mieroop 1999, 25–27. See above and Pongratz-Leisten 1999, 210–265. 119 Rosa 2016, 507–510. 120 See Galter 2018. 121 Lang and Rollinger 2010, 221–222. 122 Frahm 1999, 74–76; Elayi 2017, 210–217. 123 Galter 1984. 124 Elayi 2018, 40–44; 153–171. 125 Tadmor et al. 1989. 126 Frahm 1999; 2005. 127 Galter 1984. 128 Westenholz 1993. 118

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This experience is especially powerful, when the individual biography touches on global history, or when an individual narrative and a “metanarrative” merge.129 Such “metanarratives” of Assyria could have been the eternal battle between order and chaos, the manifestation of mythology in history, or the quest for immortal fame, as described in the Enuma elish or the tales about Ninurta, Gilgamesh and Sargon.130 Several well documented examples show how elements of these narratives were incorporated into individual royal accounts—the Tukulti-Ninurta-Epic, Sargon’s 8th campaign, Sennacherib’s Bavian-Inscription to name just a few— and how individual and universal history have merged. From this point of view, Assyrian royal inscriptions could be regarded as attempts to stand the test of history or to affect it positively. Reading Assyrian royal inscriptions against the grain Coming back to the question of the audiences for Assyrian royal inscriptions, the concluding formulae seem to indicate clearly that the group of future rulers were the most important audience for royal inscriptions. But according to Carlo Ginzburg, one should neither deny the truthfulness of a text, nor should one consider it as a clear representation of truth. A text is not an open window but a windowpane that distort all things behind. In order to correct this distortion, the historian must read a text “against the grain,” i.e., against the intentions of those who wrote it.131 Tony Brinkman exemplified this method in his analysis of the accounts of the destruction of Babylon in 689 BCE.132 Although commemorative inscriptions related to building activities clearly address later kings, other inscriptions were undisputedly meant for public display. Those on wall panels in palaces and temples, on royal statues, on votive gifts, and on objects of worship like the bronze lightning bolts dedicated by Tiglatpileser I133 or the iron arrow of the god Ashur with an inscription by Tiglatpileser III134 were on limited display for those permitted access to these buildings. Inscribed steles and rock-reliefs set up in conquered areas in the periphery—for example the Esarhaddon steles from Sam’al and Til Barsip135—or at certain places that marked the “end of the world,” such as the Nahr el-Kelb, the shore of the Mediterranean or the “source of the Tigris,” were also visible only to a limited group of persons, namely to later rulers and their entourage, who had reached the same destinations. It is no coincidence that these texts were regularly found in the com129

Rosa 2016, 506–507; cf. Lyotard 2012; Meuter 2014, 450; Wagner-Durand 2020, 306. Renger 1986, 121–127; Chamaza 1992; Weissert 1997, 191–202; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 290–321; Frahm 1997, 279–280; 2019, 152–155. 131 Ginzburg 2001, 32. 132 Brinkman 1983. 133 RIMA 1, A.0. 87.1: vi 15–21 134 RINAP 1, 16: 8–10 and 28: 6–7. 135 Porter 2000b. Luis Siddall (2013, 46–56) viewed the steles as a separate genre. 130

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pany of earlier and later inscriptions. Mario Liverani even argued that these inscriptions were set up as a challenge for future kings.136 But inscribed monuments were also on display for a wider audience in the capitals of the Assyrian empire, such as the Banquet Stele of Ashurnasirpal II, the Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III, or Sennacherib’s Royal Road Steles from Nineveh. Luis Siddall has drawn our attention to the fact that the inscriptions on Sennacherib’s steles and rock-reliefs show a rather different image of the king than his annals.137 Instead of giving an overall account of the royal achievements, they focus primarily on topics directly related to the location of the inscribed object and therefore addressed a different audience. The same holds true for the differences in content between inscriptions from Nineveh and from Ashur. While the former stress the military accomplishments, the later focus on cultic and building activities. 138 An even more telling example is the bilingual inscription on the statue of Hadad-yisʽi from Tell Fekheriye.139 In its bilingual Assyrian-Aramaic form it clearly aims at different audiences. In language and content, the inscription is a combination of a traditional Assyrian dedicatory inscription (ll. 1–18) and a local commemorative inscription (ll. 19–38). The differences in phraseology and style indicate a diglossic Aramaic-Assyrian audience in Guzana and Sikani and the titulary variants for Hadad-yisʽi, šākin māti “governor” in the cuneiform text and mlk “king” in the Aramaic version, show that readers were rarely versed in both languages and scripts.140 As for the god Ashur and other deities as possible audience, we can only ascertain that texts like the letters to the gods were explicitly addresses to deities,141 although I am not sure that these letters should be counted among the royal inscriptions at all. For votive inscriptions we have the dedicatory act as an indirect evidence for a divine audience. Some of these texts are partly phrased as prayers.142 But some commemorative inscriptions also include prayers as part of the concluding section.143 Therefore the Assyrian gods were always on the mind of the scribes who composed the texts. This means that we have only the idealized image of individual target groups—future rulers, Assyrian deities, various elites—indicated in the texts. Since many royal inscriptions, especially after Ashurnasirpal II, do not mention any audience at all, we have to rely on different external aspects for possible target

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Liverani 2014, 379. Siddall 2017. 138 Garelli 1982, 17, Galter 1988, 76–77; and Weeks 2007, 88. 139 RIMA 2, A.0.101.2004. 140 See Galter 1995 with literature. 141 Grayson 1980, 157–159; Pongratz-Leisten 1999, 210–265. 142 E.g., RINAP 5/1, 59; 60; 62. 143 E.g., RINAP 2, 2: 495–506; 7: 186–194; 9: 101–102; 14: 131–150. 137

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groups. Ludovico Portuese argued for context, accessibility, and subject as parameter for the distinction between target audiences and temporal audiences.144 Since the image of these target groups influenced the creation of a text, the question must be raised how the contents of royal inscriptions were received by the leading elites. They formed the innermost belt in Liverani’s picture of audiences and the only one that could be reached by the written messages.145 The Assyrian monarch relied heavily on the “magnates” (rabûtu) who acted as advisers and as administrators of royal authority.146 With their family background they represented the highest elite of the Assyrian state and they had a strong influence of state affairs. On the other hand, their own position and power relied on the stability of the Assyrian monarchy and they had a strong interest in the royal actions and their impact on divine favor and economic prosperity. But the elites also provided the royal scribes, who were responsible for the written communication of the monarch in general and for the royal inscriptions in particular.147 They also had access to relevant archive copies and draft texts. Mario Liverani has pointed at the distinction between ana tāmarti “for consultation” by the intellectual elite and ana tabrâti “for display” in public.148 This situation put enormous power and influence in the hands of the intellectuals. Their mutual knowledge of cuneiform script formed a strong sense of community that was expressed by the self-designation ṭupšarru (“scribe”). This not only reflects the concept of a common intellectual tradition in Mesopotamia, but also testifies to a real corporate feeling. Regardless of professional differences and personal envy, this bond enabled the intellectual elite to maintain its influence across territorial, ideological, and political boundaries. By writing, preserving, and reproducing only contents that they accepted, they were the main guardians of ideas, concepts, and worldviews. Their works reflect the respective political, religious, and ideological climate at the royal court or in the temples.149 We still look at Assyria through the eyes of the Assyrian scribes. They produced the royal inscriptions in several stages of modifications and rewritings to meet special situations or forms of communication.150 In their final form these inscriptions documented the correct and proper royal conduct that was fundamental for the wellbeing of the state and their own fortune.151 And they did so for contemporary and future persons who read them.

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Parker 2011, 367–374; Portuese 2020, 259–261. Liverani 2014, 374; cf. Parker 2011, 364. 146 Mattila 2000, 161–168; Parker 2011, 368–370. 147 Luukko 2007, 227–235; Parker 2011, 366; Liverani 2014, 375–376. 148 Liverani 2017, 79; see already Liebermann 1990, 318–319 and Liverani 2014, 376–379. 149 Parker 2011, 366–367; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 448–467; cf. Novotny 2019. 150 Liverani 1981; 2017, 99. 151 Luuko 2007, 246–248. 145

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Lyotard, J.-F. 2012. Das postmoderne Wissen. Ein Bericht, Seventh edition, translated by O. Pfersmann, Vienna: Passagen. Machinist, P. 1993. “Assyrians on Assyria in the First Millennium B.C.”, in: K. Raaflaub (ed.), Anfänge politischen Denkens in der Antike. Die nahöstlichen Kulturen und die Griechen (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs. Kolloquien 24), München: Oldenbourg, 77–104. Mattila, R. 2000. The King’s Magnates: A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (State Archives of Assyria Studies 11), Helsinki: NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project. Mayer, W. 1983. “Sargons Feldzug gegen Urartu – 714 v. Chr. Text und Übersetzung”, Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 115, 65–132. Mayer, W. 2013. Assyrien und Urarṭu. Bd. I: Der Achte Feldzug Sargons II. im Jahr 714 v. Chr. (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 395/1), Münster: UgaritVerlag. Meltzer, C. D. 1983. Concluding Formulae in the Ancient Mesopotamian Royal Inscriptions: The Assyrian Sources, PhD Thesis, University of Toronto. Meuter, N. 2014. “Narration in Various Disciplines”, in: P. Hühn / J. Pier / W. Schmid / J. Schönert (eds), Handbook of Narratology, Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter, 242–262. Novotny, J. 2019. “Texts, Scribes and Literary Traditions: A General Introduction”, in: G.-B. Lanfranchi / R. Mattila / R. Rollinger (eds), Writing NeoAssyrian History. Sources, Problems, and Approaches (State Archives of Assyria Studies 29), Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project 109–121. Oppenheim, A. L. 1960. “The City of Assur in 714 B.C.”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 19/2, 133–147. Oppenheim, A. L. 1964. Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Oppenheim, A. L. 1979. “Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Empire”, in: H. D. Lasswell / D. Lerner / H. Speiser (eds), Propaganda and Communication in World History. Band 1: The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 111–144. Parker, B. J. 2011. “The Construction and Performance of Kingship in the NeoAssyrian Empire”, Journal of Anthropological Research 67, 357–386. Parpola, S. 2010. “Neo-Assyrian Concepts of Kingship and their Heritage in Mediterranean Antiquity”, in: G.-B. Lanfranchi / R. Rollinger (eds), Conceptions of Kingship in Antiquity. Proceedings of the European Science Foundation Exploratory Workshop; held in Padova, November 28th – December 1st, 2007, Padua: Sargon, 35–44. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 1999. Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien. Formen der Kommunikation zwischen Gott und König im 2. und 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (State Archives of Assyria Studies 10), Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project.

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Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Porter, B. N. 1995. “Language, Audience and Impact in Imperial Assyria”, in: S. Izre’el / R. Drory (eds), Language and Culture in the Near East (Israel Oriental Studies 15), Leiden / New York / Köln: Brill, 51–72. Porter, B. N. 2000a. “For the Astonishment of All Enemies. Assyrian Propaganda and its Audiences in the Reigns of Ashurnasirpal II and Esarhaddon”, Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 35, 7–18. Porter, B. N. 2000b. “Assyrian Propaganda for the West. Esarhaddon’s Stelae for Til Barsip and Sam’al”, in: G. Bunnes (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 7), Louvain: Peeters, 143– 176. Portuese, L. 2020. Life at Court. Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon. Postgate, N. 1992. “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur”, World Archaeology 23, 248–263. Pruß, A. 2019. “Robes of honor and blindfolded petitioners. Audiences in the Ancient Near East”, in: E. Orthmann / A. Kollatz (eds), The Ceremonial of Audience. Transcultural Approaches (Macht und Herrschaft 2), Göttingen: V&R Unipress, 19–36. Reade, J. E. 1979. “Ideology and propaganda in Assyrian art”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda. A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 329–343. Renger, J. 1981. “Königsinschriften. B. Akkadisch”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 6/1–2, 65–77. Renger, J. 1986. “Neuassyrische Königsinschriften als Genre der Keilschriftliteratur – Zum Stil und zur Kompositionstechnik der Inschriften Sargons II. von Assyrien”, in: K. Hecker / W. Sommerfeld (eds), Keilschriftliche Literaturen. Ausgewählte Vorträge der 32. R.A.I. (Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient 6), Berlin: Reimer, 109–128. Richardson, S. 2020. “Down with ‘Legitimacy’: On ‘Validity’ and Narrative in Royal Tales”, in: E. Wagner-Durand / J. Linke (eds), Tales of Royalty: Notions of Kingship in Visual and Textual Narration in the Ancient Near East, Berlin: de Gruyter, 243–260. Rosa, H. 2016. Resonanz. Eine Soziologie der Weltbeziehung, Berlin: Suhrkamp. Russell, J. M. 1991. Sennacherib’s Palace without Rival at Nineveh, Chicago / London: The University of Chicago Press. Russell, J. M. 1999. The Writing on the Wall. Studies in the Architectural Context of Late Assyrian Palace Inscriptions (Mesopotamian Civilizations 9), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

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Sano, K. 2016. “Die Repräsentation der Königsherrschaft in neuassyrischer Zeit. Ideologie, Propaganda und Adressaten der Königsinschriften”, Studia Mesopotamica. Jahrbuch für altorientalische Geschichte und Kultur 3, 215–236. Siddall, L. R. 2013. The Reign of Adad-nīrārī III: An Historical and Ideological Analysis of an Assyrian King and His Times (Cuneiform Monographs 45) Leiden: Brill. Siddall, L. R. 2017. “Text and Context. The question of audience for Sennacherib’s ‘public’ inscriptions”, in: K. H. Keimer / G. Davis (eds), Registers and Modes of Communication in the Ancient Near East. Getting the Message Across, London: Routledge, 59–68. Tadmor, H. 1997. “Propaganda, Literature, Historiography. Cracking the Code of the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in: S. Parpola / R. M. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project, 325–338. Tadmor, H. / Landsberger, B. / Parpola, S. 1989. “The Sin of Sargon and Sennacherib’s Last Will”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 3, 3–51. Van De Mieroop, M. 1999. Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History, London: Routledge. van Driel, G. 1973. “On ‘Standard’ and ‘Triumphal’ Inscriptions”, in: M. A. Beek, / A. A. Kampman / C. Nijland / J. Ryckmans (eds), Symbolae biblicae et Mesopotamicae Francisco Mario Theodoro de Liagre Böhl dedicatae, Leiden: Brill, 99–106. Wagner-Durand, E. 2020. “Narratology: Selected Terms and Concepts with a Focus on the Ancient Near East”, in: E. Wagner-Durand / J. Linke (eds), Tales of Royalty: Notions of Kingship in Visual and Textual Narration in the Ancient Near East, Berlin: de Gruyter, 162–286. Watanabe, K. 1984. “Die literarische Überlieferung eines babylonisch-assyrischen Fluchthemas mit Anrufung des Mondgottes Sin”, Acta Sumerologica 6, 99–119. Weeks, N. 2007. “Assyrian imperialism and the walls of Uruk”, in: J. Azize / N. Weeks (eds), Gilgames̆ and the World of Assyria: Proceedings of the Conference Held at Mandelbaum House, the University of Sydney, 21–23 July 2004 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement Series 21), Leuven: Peeters, 79–90. Weissert, E. 1997. “Creating a Political Climate: Literary Allusions to Enūma Eliš in Sennacherib’s Account of the Battle of Halule”, in: H. Waetzoldt / H. Hauptmann (eds), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten. XXXIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6.–10. Juli 1992 (Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient 6), Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 191–202.

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Westenholz, J. G. 1993. “Writing for Posteriority. Naram-Sin and Enmerkar”, in: A. F. Rainey (ed.), kinattūtu ša dārâti. Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume, Tel Aviv: Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University, 205–218. Wilcke, C. 1982. “Zum Geschichtsbewußtsein im Alten Mesopotamien”, in: H. Müller-Karpe (ed.), Archäologie und Geschichtsbewußtsein (Kolloquien zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Archäologie 3), München: Beck, 31–52.

Revisiting the Representation of the “Other” in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” Johannes Bach University of Helsinki

Abstract: This study revisits the description of the “Other” in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” and explores if their partial unusualness is due to sophisticated ideological constructions ultimately guided by the notion of Assyrian supremacy, or if—in addition to or even instead of—other factors played a generic role. The discussion utilizes a recent model of types of othering and is historically embedded by a summary overview of the low number of instances of non-malevolent othering, whether in regard of culture, land, or people, in Assyrian royal narrative texts. The treatment of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” mainly focusses on three extended descriptive passages that address elements of Mannaean and especially Urartian culture in an unusual manner hitherto unknow to the corpus. This study pursues the question of why these three episodes were conceptualized in a seemingly benign, perhaps even benevolent way contrary to the standard model of royal inscriptions, evaluates possible reasons for it, and discusses the extent scholarly opinions on the matter. It closes with a historical evaluation of the cultural embeddedness of the text and the suggestion of a contextual, reception-orientated model of its genesis that could explain the unusual poetics of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign.” Keywords: Assyrian royal narrative texts; Sargon’s Eighth Campaign; Neo-Assyrian empire; Urartu; othering.

Introduction: The polar construction of the Assyrian king and his enemies It is commonly accepted that the textual representation of enemies, and generally, the “Other” in Assyrian royal narrative texts1 is ideologically determined to a high degree.2 The foundational opposition between the Assyrian king and his opponents was analyzed by F. Mario Fales in 1982: enemies either do what they are not supposed to do, meaning that they, amongst other recalcitrant acts, rebel or conspire against Assyria, or block the advance of the Assyrian army. Or they do not what they are supposed to do, that is: they withhold tribute, do not reciprocate granted benevolence and/or submit to Assyria because of it, fail to uphold treaties, 1

Assyrian royal narrative texts are quoted in Akkadian and translation following the RIMA (up to Tiglath-pileser III) and RINAP editions (from Tiglath-pileser III); see list of abbreviations at the beginning of the volume. Text designations are given as assigned in these editions. Modifications to existing translations as well as translations made by the author of this study are marked accordingly. I thank my colleagues Ana Arroyo Cambronero, Julia Giessler, and Shana Zaia for comments on the draft version of this study. 2 Most recently, see Rivaroli and Verderame 2005; Karlsson 2017 and Nowicki 2018.

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and do not honor the Assyrian king accordingly. The ruler of Assyria, on the other hand, always occupies the positively connoted counter-position: he is lawful and just, honors his agreements, and rightfully avenges any misdeeds of enemy perpetrators. This pattern is quite stable and consistent throughout the centuries from Adad-nirari I to Ashurbanipal.3 Carlo Zaccagnini points out that such a narrative scheme of strict functionality deliberately de-individualizes opponents.4 The dichotomy just described also characterizes the literary representation of non-Assyrian territory. Enemy lands are described in analogy to their inhabitants.5 They are regularly stylized as counterparts to Assyria and pose difficult obstacles to be mastered. The trope of the Assyrian king overcoming the strange nature of nonAssyrian territory and the religiously significant dichotomy of chaotic outside and well-ordered inside has been discussed before,6 also in the context of “heroic priority”.7 Enemies are living in inaccessible terrains like mountains, steppe deserts, marshes, or in the seas. Their traversal is usually described as harsh and burdensome to the Assyrian king and his army. This becomes most apparent in reports on campaigns that lead into the mountains. Mountains are often said to lack proper pathways, which first must be created to accommodate the needs of the Assyrian army. Enemy strongholds encountered in mountainous terrain are standardly portrayed as numerous, big, and strongly walled.8 Other terrain like marshes or the seacoast is described as structurally similar. Although developed on a non-fictional, historical-geographical basis, landscape descriptions of Assyrian royal narrative texts always carry an only mildly varying degree of ideological significance. They are literary devices employed to enable a portrayal of the Assyrian king and his army as successful overcomers of obstacles. Especially inscriptional episodes of alpine campaigns can be considered as hypertextual re-actualizations of elements of the Ninurta (or broadly: warrior) mythology in which the Assyrian king reproduces the latter’s role as conqueror of the mountains.9 Descriptiveness and types of othering Within such ideological rigidity, textual representations of foreign territories and regional specifics with a mainly descriptive function as well as non-denigrating descriptions of “Others” are rare, especially prior to the Sargonid dynasty. In this 3

Cf. the pertinent chapters in Karlsson 2016 and Liverani 2017. Zaccagnini 1987, 411. 5 Zaccagnini 1987, 413. 6 Most recently, see Karlsson 2016, 125–140. 7 Tadmor 1999; Liverani 1979; Van De Mieroop 2010, 423; Liverani 2017, 41–65; cf. Karlsson 2016, 132 and 218. “Heroic priority” means that the monarch is the first to do a certain feat, whether it be related to exploration, conquest, or building activities. 8 On historical mountain routes and their inscriptional representation, see Ponchia 2004 and 2006. On mountains as literary heroic space, see Barbato 2019. 9 Cf. Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 219–270. 4

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study, the designation “mainly descriptive function” is broadly understood as the application of preferably non-hyperbolic, non-ideologizing, and non-mythologizing terminology employed to convey ideally authentic historical, geographical, technological, and other cultural information.10 The literary construction of the living “Other” is almost always overtly directed by ideology. Regarding the description of enemies and opponents, this article makes pragmatic use of the latter two out of three types of othering discussed in a recent study: 1) crude othering, which non-sophisticatedly, that is: without complex intellectual framing notes differences but does not construct further persisting implications, 2) sophisticated othering, which elaborately constructs the other’s qualities as the very reason for their (persistent) devaluation, and 3) quasi-othering, a non-malevolent cognate to sophisticated othering without the former’s devaluating effects and potentially advantageous for mutual identity building.11 The common attitude displayed in Assyrian royal narrative texts towards the “Other” can be considered as “sophisticated othering”, constructing difference as reason for devaluation and even dehumanization of the othered party, and ultimately validating and justifying the wars waged against them by Assyria.12 The most extreme cases of such sophisticated othering are the literary castings of enemies as (having the appearance of) “evil gallû-demons” under Sargon II, Sennacherib, and Ashurbanipal.13 Chronological overview of instances of (low-ideological) descriptiveness in Assyrian royal narrative texts The total number of instances of a mainly descriptive style and of quasi-othering throughout the corpus of Assyrian royal narrative texts is low. The most exceptional case in this regard is that of Sargon II’s royal report to the god Ashur about his circum-Urmia campaign of 714 BCE, a highly elaborate literary piece commonly known today as “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. In this text a handful of unusually extended descriptions of Sargon’s opponent Rusa of Urarṭu and his achievements as well as of elements of Mannaean and Urartian culture strike a significantly different, seemingly almost benevolent tone. These descriptions, unlike other parts of Sargon’s report, perhaps could be considered as instances of true quasi-othering. After giving a (non-exhaustive) bird’s eye view of the limited occurrences of mainly descriptive passages as well as of quasi-othering in Assyr10

Passages with a mainly descriptive function relate mostly to foreign landscapes and resources, and only rarely to regional customs. Yet, such instances still may be ideologically framed and conditioned by genre conventions; cf. Zaccagnini 1987, 412 and 417; Rivaroli and Verderame 2005, 299–300. 11 Brons 2015. The two categories “sophisticated othering” and “quasi-othering” will be used as handy designations, but their further theoretical discussion or deepening is not pursued in this study. 12 Cf. Liverani 2017, 116–124. 13 E.g., Sargon II 7, 122; Sen 22, v 18; Asb 3, iv 68.

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ian royal narrative texts, this study explores if “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, besides a general will for their destruction, indeed communicates, at least sublimely, some curiosity about, fascination with, and maybe even admiration of an enemy’s feats and culture. In passages with a mainly descriptive function, information on non-Assyrian lands and their regional and cultural specifics usually is given without further elucidation on the pertinent items. Oftentimes, such less ideologically driven descriptions of foreign lands are economically framed, as they usually inform about regional natural resources and their extraction. Inscriptions variously mention special types of vegetation (e.g., urumu-trees in the mountains of the Nairi-lands;14 cedars in Lebanon15) or animal life (e.g., a being called nāḫiru as an aquatic animal of the Mediterranean Sea;16 elephants hunted in the vicinity of Harran and near the Habur river;17 horses from the Zagros18), but otherwise do not offer many details. Some form of exotism surely existed already in the Middle Assyrian period, as exemplified by the creation of gardens with foreign plants and the forming and public display of herds of exotic animals.19 The vegetational diversity in Syria has left an impression with Assyrian kings. The Sargonids sometimes call their newly created botanical gardens “replicas of Mt Amanus”,20 which is in other contexts further described as being covered with diverse aromatic plants.21 Especially interesting foreign creatures were also sculpted and installed at gates and palace entrances.22 Occasionally, kings qualified their acquisitions and creations as “rare”, “precious”, or otherwise valuable.23 Sargonid inscriptions show an increased tendency to more detailed descriptions of landscape and regional specifics 14

Tiglath-pileser I: A.0.87.1, iv 69–71: ú-ru-mi GIŠMEŠ KUR-i lu ak-ki-is ti-tur-ra-a-teMEŠ a-na me-ti-iq GIŠGIGIRMEŠ-ia ù um-ma-na-te-ia lu ú-ṭí-ib “I cut down urumu-trees which grow in the mountains (of Naʾiri). I (thereby) constructed good bridges for the passage of my chariots and army, (and) crossed the Euphrates.” (with minor modifications). 15 Numerous examples since Tiglath-pileser I. 16 Middle Assyrian under Tiglath-pileser I and Ashur-bel-kala, cf. Lundström 2012. 17 Tiglath-pileser I: A.0.87.1, vi 70–75. Although Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions regularly feature elephant ivory and hides as booty, tribute, or crafting material, no episodes of elephant hunts are attested after Shalmaneser III (only once, cf. A.0.102.6, iv 40–44). 18 E.g., Tiglath-pileser III 35, i 15’–20’. Note the designation “land of roosters” for the country of Ariarme in Tiglath-pileser III 47, 37. 19 Liverani 2017, 66–78 (66–71 on gardens and herd-forming); on gardens in Assyria, also see Kühne 2006 and Albenda 2018. On the Assyrians as collectors, also cf. Reade 2004. 20 E.g., Sargon II 9, 41–42; Sen. 1, 87. 21 E.g., Sargon II 7, 143. 22 Liverani 2017,71–73; Lundström 2012. 23 aqru “rare, precious”, since Tiglath-pileser I, e.g., A.0.87.1, vii 24–26; šūquru “very valuable”, early Neo-Assyrian since Adad-nirari II, e.g., A.0.99.2, 58 and 69. Under the Sargonids, šūquru is used as royal or divine epithet only, and preciousness is (again) indicated by aqru.

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like the naval force of the rulers who “live in the (Mediterranean) sea”.24 Especially in the Sargonid period sources of metals and minerals are of key interest.25 Finally, a peculiar mention of two-headed and winged yellow snakes encountered during Esarhaddon’s trek through the Negev is brought into connection with the rich and partially open fossil beds of Makhtesh Ramon by Karen Radner.26 Prior to the Sargonids, one can only rarely find hints at foreign customs and traditions that exceed stereotypical patterns. And likewise, under the Sargonids, the dynasty that has yielded the biggest corpus of royal inscriptions, the patterns of textual representation outlined above persist despite a general increase in relaying more detailed information on non-Assyrian items. Generally, royal inscriptions do not display a pronounced non-ideological interest in the “other”, their customs, techniques, and traditions. Corresponding information often must be painstakingly extracted from enumerations of tribute and booty which might contain some information on the life habits of those conquered. For example, prior to the Sargonid period bronze bathtubs appear altogether only five times as tribute or booty, indicating their rarity and value. They are attested twice in the annals of Tiglath-pileser I as coming from Katmuḫian kings with Hurrian names (KiliTešob, Šadi-Tešob).27 One of these bronze bathtubs was donated to the god Aššur after the corresponding campaign, underlining its special status. 28 In early NeoAssyrian times, bronze bathtubs are given to Tukultī-Ninurta II by Ilī-ibni, governor of Suḫu,29 and to Ashurnasirpal II by the Carchemishian ruler Sangara (“of Ḫatti”) and as tribute from western Ḫabḫu-lands, i.e., the area of ancient Matiati (modern Midyat).30 This rarely mentioned item might hint at a specific hygiene culture associated with the West,31 but no further elucidation is provided by the inscriptions. Likewise, instances which provide information on the history of a region are sparsely distributed, and usually offer only little context. The most prominent example originates from the early Neo-Assyrian period. In a few of his inscriptions Shalmaneser III deems it worth mentioning that he encountered a rock-cut image of Anum-ḫirbe at Mt Atalur, but no concrete information on the

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Esh. 1, iv 82–84. Various ores, e.g., Sargon II 1, 222–234 (and parallels); Mt Bikni as origin of lapis lazuli: Esh. 1, iv 47; references to the Iranian salt desert under Tiglath-pileser III and Esarhaddon. 26 Radner 2007; cf. Rollinger 2005 who proposes a literary genesis of the episode. 27 A.0.87.1, ii 25–32 and ii 44–53. 28 A.0.87.1, ii 58–60. 29 A.0.100.5, 69–72. Since Ilī-ibni of Suḫu only gives a single bronze bathtub, one can speculate if that one was item imported or otherwise acquired as a rare luxury earlier from the West by the governor himself. 30 A.0.101.1, iii 65–68 (Sangara); A.0.101.19, 55–56 (Ḫabḫu). On the location of various Ḫabḫu lands, see Fuchs 2000. 31 On the significance of Middle Assyrian hygiene practices cf. Düring 2020, 119–121. 25

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latter and his reign is offered.32 Finally, inscriptional glosses are attested since the early Neo-Assyrian period, yet again comparatively rare. Oftentimes, they are not more informative than giving the local name corresponding to the Assyrian designation.33 Explicit inscriptional mentions of cultural specifics of non-Assyrians are generally rare. While they occasionally crop up, they are usually short and do not provide much context. An oft-quoted instance of descriptive reference hails from the reign of Ashurnasirpal II. In two inscriptions, the people of Sipirmena (also: Sipiamena) are described as “being adorned like women”.34 Notably, despite this unique description the political treatment of the Sipirmenaeans, who appear as tribute bringers at the Assyrian court, does not differ from that of other foreign groups. A slightly more extended example concerning the strangeness of the Lydian tongue can be found in the inscriptions of Ashurbanipal.35 When an emissary sent by Gugu (Gyges) of Lydia arrives in Assyria, people are unable to understand him since, as the text claims in Ashurbanipal’s voice, “(among all) languages (from) sunrise (to) sunset, there was no master of his language (at my court). His language was different, and his speech could not be understood.” However, in the next few lines the emissary is indeed able to deliver his message, revealing the preceding passage as a somewhat exotic hyperbole. Only a single manuscript containing this episode has survived, giving room to the speculation that it was elided in other recensions of the Gyges story since it could be understood as implying some form of imperfection on Ashurbanipal’s side. Such and similar episodes might be remembered more vividly by the modern reader since they break with the usual stereotypical monotony of Assyrian enemy descriptions. In these instances, the strangeness of the “Other” neither elicits their maltreatment nor their 32

E.g., A.0.102.2, ii 9–10. Anum-ḫirbe was a king of the Hurrian kingdom of Maʾama, who ruled roughly at the beginning of the 18th century BCE, about 900 years before Shalmaneser III. Posthumously, his reign rose to the rank of legend. On Anum-ḫirbe, see Miller 2001 (esp. 84–93 on the inscriptions of Shalmaneser III and the location of Mt Atalur). 33 E.g., Ashurnaṣirpal II records that Mt Niṣir is called Mt Kiniba and the city of TukultīAššur-aṣbat is called Arrakdu in the tongue of the Lullu (A.0.101.1, ii 34 and 77). Shalmaneser III mentions that the (renamed) city of Ana-Aššur-utēr-aṣbat was (originally) called Pitru in the tongue of the inhabitants of Ḫatti (= Syria, A.0.102.2, ii 36). On Assyrian practices of (re-)naming places, see Pongratz-Leisten 1997 and Luukko 2018. Well-known are instances from Sargonid inscriptions which inform that the Assyrian building designation bīt appāti correspond to Amurrean bīt ḫilāni (e.g., Sargon II 7, 161–162). On the bīt appāti, see most recently Tudeau 2019, 100–102 with further readings. 34 A.0.101.1, ii 75; A.0.101.17, iii 97. Differing from RIMA 2, the plural stative ṣaprū is here translated with “adorned” rather than with “doing one’s hair”. While this description communicates aspects of feminization of the “Other” (Karlsson 2016, 241), its rarity and specificity might also indicate a historical-cultural background. 35 Asb. 1, vi 1’–31’. Note that Lydia is described as a place unknown to Ashurbanipal’s predecessors (Asb. 2, ii 86–88 and parallels). On Ashurbanipal and Gyges, see Fuchs 2010.

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disregard due to moral judgment. Here, sophisticated othering gives way to quasiothering: “otherness” is not represented as something that either directly or implicitly leads to the devaluation or even dehumanization of those who are textually constructed as different. Yet, such cases are exceptional and not representative of the general attitude towards the “Other” displayed in the major bulk of Assyrian royal narrative texts. Lastly, a bit of a curious case occurs under Sargon II’s successor. Sennacherib makes a handful of cryptic references to Arameans, but also to 10 Elamite army commanders as “not knowing death”.36 While further meanings cannot be excluded, there is a possibility that the formulation is elliptic for “not knowing (fear of) death”, thus perhaps (and if so, quite exceptionally) recognizing the valor and bravery of enemies. An outlier to the pattern: the descriptive mode of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” As already mentioned, only one remarkable deviation from the standard patterns of describing the “Other” outlined in the introductory paragraphs above is known today: Sargon II’s royal report to the god Assur about his military campaign in 714 BCE, often called by its modern title “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” (Sargon II 65).37 This text is not a royal inscription, but a representative of a different historiographic genre, namely that of “king’s reports”. 38 In 430 lines, “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” describes a single military campaign against Assyria’s northern neighbor Urarṭu.39 In the course of this campaign, the Assyrian army circles around Lake Urmia from East to West, crossing from Mannaean into Urartian territory and then back into Mannâ again.40 The campaign closes with the destruction of the city of Muṣaṣir and the plunder of its temple of Ḫaldi, Urarṭu’s most important deity.41 Some of the areas around Lake Urmia described in Sargon’s 36

Arameans: Sen. 1, 14 and Sen. 213, 14; Elamite commanders: Sen. 1, 17 and Sen. 213, 17. In the case of the Elamite commanders, one is remotely reminded of Herodotus’ 10.000 Persian “immortals”. Yet, such a military unit is not attested in Persian sources. On Persian “immortals”, see Schmitt 2006. 37 The newest edition of the text was made by Grant Frame in RINAP 2 (Sargon II 65). For a concise bibliography regarding “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, cf. RINAP 2, 274– 275. 38 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 323–334. 39 On the legitimacy of considering Urartu an empire, see Zimansky 2012. On Urartu and Assyria, see Radner 2011 and Fuchs 2012. Urarṭu was a close neighbor to Assyria, and thus probably less prone to be mythized, cf. Oppenheim 1960, 135 and Kravitz 2003, 91. 40 The assumed route given in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” has been subject to numerous studies. This paper follows the circum-Urmia reconstruction by Zimansky 1990; cf. Kroll 2012; Muscarella 2012, 6–8. For a different reconstruction of Sargon’s route, see Maniori 2014, 207–263 with plates 7 and 7a. On the ethno-linguistic character of Mannâ and adjacent regions, see Zadok 2002, 92–99. 41 Çifçi 2017, 276–278. On Muṣaṣir, see Radner 2012, 245–254. See most recently Marf

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report are also mentioned in Urartian inscriptions,42 yet these do not yield more than some basic geographical and limited cultural and political information on the pertaining regions. Archaeologically, Urartian presence is attested along the Western shore of Lake Urmia, without any known major settlements on the Eastern shore.43 A unique feature of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” are three instances of unusually detailed descriptions of Urartian (and Mannaean) cultural techniques and customs, including architectural and hydrological feats. Carlo Zaccagnini understands the descriptions of enemy (specifically: Urartian) cultural and domestic achievements in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” primarily as literary devices, as they are given as a prelude to the extolment of an ensuing Assyrian destruction of the corresponding items and sites.44 Undoubtedly, this pattern of ‘first description, then destruction’ is generally valid. Yet, there is also a sublime, but still recognizable second voice of a subtly different tune,45 underpinnings of quasi-othering within a genre-imposed framework of sophisticated othering. These unusual descriptions start only after the Assyrian victory at Mt Wauš and relate majorly to Rusâ and Urarṭu.46 Before discussing the three more detailed episodes just mentioned, a survey of the general descriptiveness of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” will provide a useful frame of reference,47 since the “Other” and some of their domestic and cultural achievements are oftentimes described differently than in most other royal narrative texts. Consistent with inscriptional style the word “evil”, as either adjective or part of a compound (lemnu, ēpiš lemnūti), appears in some relation to enemies altogether four times.48 But unlike to royal inscriptions, the adjective “good (or: sweet)” (ṭâbu) is also used four times to describe foreign features, namely the smell of a mountain’s vegetation,49 the worker’s song (alālu) of the inhabitants of the city of Ulḫu,50 the quality of wine looted by the Assyrians in the same city,51

2016 for the identification of Muṣaṣir with modern day Mdjêser. 42 Cf. Diakonoff and Kashkai 1981; Salvini 1995a; Reade 1995. For the most recent editions of Urartian inscriptions, see Salvini 2008–2018. Due to the substantially higher number of Assyrian sources a corresponding bias is almost unavoidable, cf. Radner 2011, 735. 43 Cf. Çifçi 2017, 14–15 (Fig. 1) and 23–24. 44 Zaccagnini 1987, 414 and 417–418. 45 Cf. Van De Mieroop 2010, 425–427 and 430. 46 Kravitz 2003, 92–93. 47 Episodes of Assyrian destruction will not be discussed at length in this paper. Suffice it to say that these are largely conditioned by genre conventions. 48 Sargon II 65, 56 (nakru lemnu, “evil enemy”, relates to Rūsa), 118 (ēpiš lemnūti, an unspecified evildoer), 142 (lemnu, “evil”, relates to the land of Urartu as a whole), 155 (nakru lemnu, “evil enemy”, relates to Rūsa/Urartu). 49 Sargon II 65, 28 (vegetation on Mt Sinaḫulzi and on Mt Biruatti). 50 Sargon II 65, 207. 51 Sargon II 65, 220.

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and the scent of Urartian palaces in the district of Sangibutu. 52 Non-Assyrian lands are presented as much more akin to Assyrian landscapes: although situated in a different, mountainous terrain, notions of urbanity as well as of agricultural and horticultural prosperity are stressed. The territories of Mannâ and Urarṭu around Lake Urmia are quite developed: at least 668 settlement structures are mentioned,53 among them 18 fortress cities, and 85 urban centers with their adjacent towns and villages. Place names are usually only given for metropolises, while smaller, adjacent settlements are mentioned only by their number. The descriptions of these mainly Urartian sites contain benevolent details: gardens and a meadow in Ulḫu are each called “fitting, beautiful; well-kept” (asmu).54 Other gardens in the district of Sangibutu are described as “lush, delightful, flourishing” (lalânû) and “(very) big” (rabbû).55 The houses of the people of Ulḫu and the fortification city Uayis are qualified as naklu “skillfully executed/built”.56 Under Sargon II and his successors, nukkulu (nakālu D) “to skillfully conduct”, naklu “artful, ingenious, sophisticated”, and nakliš “artistically, skillfully” regularly occur in the building reports of royal inscriptions and denote actions of the Assyrian king.57 Other notable architectural features are mentioned sometimes, for example doubly walled cities58 or drawbridges.59 The spatial alignment of 30 named settlements in Ayādi, a district on the Western shore of Lake Urmia, as “set up in a straight line in a row” along the seashore is explicitly noted.60 Infrastructure is not 52

Sargon II 65, 246. This takes only preserved numbers given in the text into account, with the total number being even higher. Hurowitz 2008, 107–108 proposed that the 430 lines of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” correspond to a statement made in line 422 which alleges that (only) 430 settlements were conquered in total. The ideological character of this construction is apparent: each line literarily renews the conquest of each settlement and presents a literary tribute from each of these settlement to Aššur. Yet, this disregards the numbers given in the text. Even when counting only named cities or all cities not qualified as minor towns or villages a quantity of 430 settlements is impossible to establish. 54 Sargon II 65, 223 (kirâtu, “gardens”) and 229 (ugāru, “meadow”). 55 Sargon II 65, 265–266 (kirâtu, “gardens”). 56 Sargon II 65, 261(houses in Ulḫu) and 299 (Uayis; here, the pertinent expression is nukkulat epšessa “skillfully made was its ‘construction’”). 57 CAD N/1, 155–156 (nakālu/nukkulu) and 187–188 (nakliš and naklu). Only a single attestation of nakliš “skillfully” prior to Sargon II is known. It occurs in an inscription of Tiglath-pileser III (T-p III 47, rev. 20’, also note nikiltu “cleverness” in rev. 17’). 58 Sargon II 65, 189–190 (the fortresses Tarui and Tamarkisa in Dalāya, a district (?) in the land of Sangibutu) and 270 (the city of Ḫundur in the district of Armariyalî). 59 Sargon II 65, 270 (Ḫundur); cf. the commentary by Frame in RINAP 2, 296. 60 Sargon II 65, 280–286. Frame, RINAP 2, 296 notes that only 29 names are recorded. The last given name is Uayis labīru “Old Uayis”, while no reference to a successor city is made. It seems possible that the scribe inadvertently omitted a probable GN *Uayis eššu “New Uayis” (or similar). This city, just as Old Uayis, should then be differentiated from another city of the same name, Uayis at the border between Urartu and the land Naʾiri. The 53

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much discussed, and the non-application of the way building trope in the areas around Lake Urmia might indicate a general good condition of roads and mountain ways.61 Furthermore, it was noted that in Sangibutu a system of signal pyres was used to quickly relay information between places.62 The agricultural production of Mannaean and Urartian lands is consistently portrayed as high. This was hyperbolically expressed, for example, by stating that in these regions (countless) granaries and storehouse contain cereals in “unlimited quantity”.63 Yet, Urartian sources also record high numbers of stored grain.64 The economic and strategic functionality of cities is observed, e.g., Tarui and Tamarkisa are described as provision cities with great harvest yields. Each also housed royal reserve stables, possibly with a special superb horse breed.65 The cities Aniaštania and Bāri are mentioned as centers of animal husbandry.66 Occasionally some historical information is provided: the district of Sangibutu near the northwestern shore of Lake Urmia left a deep impression with the Assyrians. According to “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, it was integrated into the Urartian kingdom already early on.67 Another example concerns dynastic origins. Both located in the district of Armarīalî on Urmia’s Western shore, the city of Arbu is named as “seat of the house of Rusâ’s father”, while the city of Riyar is called the “city of Sardūri”. 68 No Urartian sources on such matters are known. Even a short summary of the accession of Rusâ to the Urartian throne is offered.69 That account claims to be a (faithful) quotation of an inscription on an equestrian statue of Rusâ looted by the Assyrians from the temple of Ḫaldi in Muṣaṣir, but there are hints at this story being an

latter was identified by Zimansky 1990, 17 with Qalatgah. 61 A single application of the way building trope occurs in Sargon II 65, 22–24. It concerns the landscape of Mt Simirria which was located en route from Mazamua to Parsua. 62 Sargon II 65, 248–250. On Uratian signal pyres, see Earley-Spadoni 2015. 63 Numerous attestations, e.g., Sargon II 65, 166, 186, 197 etc. Likewise, garden fruits can be of a “countless amount” (Sargon II 65, 225), and crops can be as “countless as reeds in a canebrake” (Sargon II 65, 228); cf. Marriot and Radner 2015, 133. 64 Cf. Çifçi 2017, 28–91. 65 Sargon II 65, 188–191. Cf. Çifçi 2017, 100. 66 On animal husbandry in Urartu, see Çifçi 2017, 91–119. 67 Sargon II 65, 234: na-gu-ú áš-bu ṣi-bit KUR-šu ša ⸢ul⸣-tu ul-la-a a-na ru-up-pu-uš KUR-šu-nu is-ki-lu LUGAL pa-ni a-li-kut maḫ-re-e-šu “(Sangibutu is) an inhabited district seized by his (= Rusâ’s) land, which long ago earlier king(s), his predecessors, had annexed in order to expand their country.” Note the motif of border expansion, usually an ideological hallmark of Assyrian imperialism. On the history of Urartian presence in the Lake Urmia region, cf. Kroll 2018. 68 Sargon II 65, 277. On the identity of Sargon II’s opponent, whether he be Rusâ (I), son of Sarduri (II), or Rusâ (son of) Erimēna, see Roaf 2012a, Roaf 2012b, Melville 2016, 220–223 and Çifçi 2017, 305–309, also cf. Fuchs 2012, 145–149 and Salvini 2012, 127– 133. 69 Sargon II 65, 403–404.

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ideologically driven literary creation or at least a reshaping of historical textual material.70 The first of the three more descriptive episodes in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” concerns the art of horse training as practiced in and around the fortress city of Ušqaya and on the Sūbi plain, located south of Ušqaya and labelled as a “land of Mannâ” by the Urartians.71 The people of Sūbi are said to be top unrivaled experts for horse training, without anyone in “all of Urarṭu” being as able as them in this profession. 72 According to lines 170–173 of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, every year young foals (presumably colts) are caught throughout the entire territory of Urarṭu to be trained for the royal cavalry corps. They are then brought via Ušqaya to Sūbi, not yet broken in and still unridden and unsaddled. In Sūbi, the foals are evaluated for their suitability for army purposes, and then

70 See Hurowitz 2008, 117–118. Besides Hurowitz’ observations note that the description of Rusâ’s accession, who claims to have won kingship over Urartu with only two horses and a single supporter at his side, intratextually links back to the story of Rusâ’s flight on a lone mare from Mt Wauš (line 140, cf. Bach 2020, 262–265; on the composition and structure of the Rusâ story strand, further see Kravitz 2003 and Van De Mieroop 2010, 421). Whether Rusâ was Rusâ, son of Erimēna or not, if his accession story in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” indeed goes back to a historical textual foundation in form of a corresponding inscribed statue, then there is good reason to believe that any (especially textbearing) monument issued by Rusâ would have been ideologically influenced in the first place. 71 Sargon II 65, 167–177. This study locates Sūbi on the Shabestar plain, similar to Wright 1943, 176 and 184 with fn. 53, but for other reasons than Maniori 2014, 233–234 with plates 7 and 7a. 72 Sargon II 65, 170: UNMEŠ a-ši-bu-ut na-gi-i šu-a-tu i-na KURur-ar-ṭi mal ba-šu-ú le-ʾuut ANŠE.KUR.RAMEŠ pet-ḫal-lì la TUKU-ú tam-šil-šu-un “The people who dwell in that district have no equal in the whole land Urarṭu with respect to (their) skill with riding horses.” Different to Zimansky 1990, 15 fn. 50, this study assumes that the district described in these lines is Sūbi, not Zaranda, and that it is the population of Sūbi that is renowned for its exceptional horse training techniques. While the formulation nišē šibūt nagî šuāti seems ambiguous and could relate to either Zaranda or Sūbi, lines 172–173 leave no doubt that the location where the horse training takes place indeed is Sūbi (172adi a-na KURsu-ú-bi na-gi-i ša UNMEŠ KURur-ar-ṭi KURman-na-a-a i-qab-bu-šu-ni la il-leqqu-ma la in-nam-ma-ru li-ti-ik-šú-un 173ṣe-ru-uš-šu-un ḫal-la la ip-tu-ma a-ṣu-ú se-eḫ-ru ù ta-a-ru si-mat ta-ḫa-zi la kul-lu-mu šup-ṭu-⸢ur⸣ ṣi-mit-tu “172Until they (the young horses) are taken to the district Sūbi—which the people of the land Urarṭu call the land Mannea—and (until) it is observed how they perform, 173no one attempts to ride them (lit.: “opened the thigh(s) on back of them”), nor are they (the young horses) taught how to advance, turn about, and turn back again—(skills) necessary in battle—(thus) the harness(es) (for them) remain as yet unfastened”). Consequentially, line 170 must also relate to the people of Sūbi, not of Zaranda. A short hint at Urartian horse keeping (mention of stables/folds) can be found in the account on Ulḫu (Sargon II 65, 210).

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trained in techniques of attack, turning about, and retreat.73 Besides providing (limited) insight into the training of Urartian war horses, this short three-lines account also hints at some form of collaboration between Urarṭu and the, as the Urartians saw it, Mannaean inhabitants of Sūbi, whether it be forced by the former or due to geopolitical pragmatics. The Urartians understood that the Sūbi plain would provide excellent training grounds for horses and acknowledged the competences of the Mannaean inhabitants of Sūbi well enough to outsource their cavalry training to them.74 It is possible that an indirect form of rule was considered advantageous by Urarṭu for ensuring a smooth collaboration with the Sūbians. As an element of influence or control, one could hypothesize that the procedure was supervised by Urartian stable clerks and horse grooms.75 Zaccagnini observed that the Sūbi episode is less functionally embedded into the scheme of description and destruction than the other two longer descriptive instances (see below) and proposed a “genuine interest for a detailed account” from the Assyrian side. 76 Indeed, the Assyrians did not have to conquer Sūbi upon their arrival. Rather, when survivors of the battle at Mt Wauš returned to Sūbi and Ušqaya with news about Rusâ’s defeat, the inhabitants of both district and fortress practice scorched earth tactics, turning the area into a “wasteland” before fleeing out of reach.77 When arriving at Ušqaya, the Assyrians plunder the fortress and tear down its walls, yet seemingly so without a preceding siege.78 Ušqaya and its surroundings (presumably including Sūbi) as well as Zaranda (represented only in synecdoche by the city of Aniaštania) were devastated by the Assyrians, but Sūbi itself is not explicitly mentioned again. The marvels of Ulḫu, Rusa’s royal leisure city The second of the three more descriptive passages in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” is the longest and most detailed of these accounts. It concerns mainly the construction of the Urartian royal city of Ulḫu and its hydrological design,79 but also

73

On horses and horse breeding in Urarṭu, see Gökce and Işik 2014; cf. Çifçi 2017, 98– 105. 74 On Mannâ and its horses, see Gökce and Işik 2014, 19–20. On Assyrian military horses, see Maul 2007. 75 On the scanty Urartian data concerning horse grooms, see Gökce and Işik 2014, 21. 76 Zaccagnini 1987, 417. 77 Sargon II 65, 174–177. As noted by Kravitz 2003, 92–94 and Van De Mieroop 2010, 425, the fundamental failure of the enemies consists of cowardly fleeing instead of facing the Assyrians in battle. 78 Sargon II 65, 178–187. While the text says the king “goes up to Ušqāya” under weapons, no mention of combat is made. The verb kašādu “to conquer” is not used and plundering ensues immediately after arrival. 79 Sargon II 64, 199–232; Zaccagnini 1981; Zaccagnini 1987, 417; Albenda 2018, 109– 110.

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touches upon the wider area of Sangibutu.80 Ulḫu was situated at the foot of Mt Kišpal in the district of Sangibutu (called Bāru in Urartian),81 which is commonly associated with the plain of Khoy.82 Built on initiative of a king named Rusâ,83 a formerly barren site was transformed into a lush palace city after the discovery of a nearby water source which ensured the supply necessary for agriculture. Irrigation canals and efferent ditches were built to innundate newly created fields, pastures, gardens, and vineyards.84 Rusâ is described as a hydro-technological innovator who had taught the population of Sangibutu how to use camels for constructing weirs.85 Barren areas were transformed into meadows that could be used all year round, and paddocks for horses and cattle herds were built.86 300 donkey loads of grain were used to kickstart the regional agricultural production.87 The fields are said to be “well-kept” and at least one is described as “spotted with colored flecks like polished lapis lazuli”.88 Gardens were created and groves of duldu and šurathu trees were formed.89 Ulḫu is characterized as a center of wine production,90 and one may assume that this extends to the district of Sangibutu as well. Viticulture was widespread in the area around Lake Urmia and generally in Urarṭu. Grape seeds were unearthed at some sites, including at Yoncatepe near the eastern shore of Lake Van and at Bastam (about 50 km north of Khoy/Sangibutu), and facilities for grape processing were discovered at Kamir-Blur (just north of Jerewan).91 Sacrifical celebrations when planting new vineyards and during grape harvests are regularly mentioned in Urartian sources.92 The population 80

Sargon II 65, 233–252. Sargon II 65, 199–201. 82 On the location of Sangibutu and Ulḫu, see Zimansky 1985, 42–43, 66, 69; Muscarella 1986 (identification of Ulḫu with Qalatgah); Zimansky 1990, 15–16, 19 (identification of Ulḫu with Qotur—note, however, that Ulḫu appears as first station in Sangibutu, which points to a location in its Eastern regions, not in the Western ones); Çifçi 2017, 71–73, 77, 99, 202 fn. 67 (with further readings). 83 It remains unclear whether this Rusâ was indeed Sargon’s opponent, as the literary context clearly implies, or a different historical ruler of the same name. 84 Sargon II 65, 201–204. On Urartian gardens, see Sevin 2000. 85 Sargon II 65, 210. On camels in the Ancient Near East, see Potts 2004. On Urartian hydro-technology, see Çifçi 2017, 34–47. Zaccagnini 1981, 266 notes that Sargon II 65 uses many water-related terms and expressions that make the Urartian landscape appear “fluid”. 86 Sargon II 65, 209–210. 87 Sargon II 65, 208. 88 Sargon II 65, 229. 89 Sargon II 65, 206 (trees), 223 (mentions “well-kept gardens, the general impression of his city”). 90 Sargon II 65, 205, 220, 223. 91 Cf. Çifçi 2017, 62–73, 84–85. On the storage capacities of the wine cellars at Ulḫu, also see Marriot / Radner 2015, 134. 92 E.g., A 03–01, 29–30. Only a single inscription of Sargon II mentions Assyrian grape 81

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of Sangibutu is described as wealthy, which might be connected to such a specialization.93 The Sangibutueans also sing araḫḫu and “good” alālu work songs, the cause of which the text attributes to Rusâ.94 Notably, in the long version of his Khorsabad cylinder inscription (written after 714 BCE) Sargon II uses this topos in relation to himself.95 Rusâ also constructed a royal leisure palace in Ulḫu and a protective fortress named Sardūriḫurda nearby.96 This and other palaces of Sangibutu are described as (very) big, outfitted with choice furniture, and smelling pleasantly of cypress wood.97 The account on Ulḫu is rich in terminology that can be considered as benevolently descriptive. The entire passage appears almost admiring in its specificity and its usage of positive epithets applied to the feats of Rusâ and the features of his city of pride Ulḫu. Yet, this section of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” exhibits a more pronounced “standard” narrative functionality than the account on UrartoSūbian horse training techniques, since the accomplishments of Rusâ in Ulḫu are all negated by the destructions caused by Sargon.98 But still, in the description of Rusâ not a single element relating to him, or his construction and irrigation feats, has attached negative qualifiers. Rather, Rusâ here is subjected to quasi-othering instead of sophisticated othering since the description of him implies sameness.99 Unlike the qualifications of Rusâ in the first third and at the end of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, this passage, although embedded in the wider context of Rusâ’s unjustness as opposed to the validity of the Assyrians’ destructive line of action, neither outright condemns Sargon’s opponent, nor does it offer anything

cultivation (Sargon II 43, 39; post-714 BCE). Yet, viticulture was well-known in Assyria, as shown by the “Ḫarran census” (main tablet K.2017) and the Nimrud Wine lists (cf. Badler 2008, 2285). 93 Sargon II 65, 244. Wealth topoi appear only infrequently in Assyrian royal inscriptions before the early Neo-Assyrian period. Under Ashurnaṣirpal II and Shalmaneser III, the standard motif is that of the “many possessions” of the enemy king, which majorly appear in western and north-western geographic contexts, including Urartu (for the latter, see Shalmaneser III: A.0.102.2, 47–51). Under the Sargonids, only Sargon II uses wealth topoi relating to his opponents. Amongst the prosperity topoi relating to the population of Assyria, one of material wealth occurs only once under Ashurbanipal (Asb. Babylon 15, 12). 94 Sargon II 65, 207. 95 Sargon II 43, 36. The sections of this inscription, which was written in 710 BCE or later, that deal with the Sargon’s agricultural projects resemble the description of Ulḫu to some degree (cf. Zaccagnini 1981, 289–290). The “good” alālu-song is not attested in royal narrative texts prior to Sargon II, and only reoccurs in Ashurbanipal’s inscriptions. 96 Sargon II 65, 211–212. Albenda 2018, 109 argues convincingly that slab 3 from room III in Sargon’s palace in Khorsabad represents Ulḫu and Sardūriḫurda (cf. Botta and Flandin 1849, pl. 78). 97 Sargon II 65, 211–212 and 245–246. 98 Zaccagnini 1981, 269–270; Fales 1991, 131 and 142; cf. Kravitz 2003, 92. 99 Van De Mieroop 2010, 426–427.

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presented as acutely justifying the devastation of Ulḫu and Sangibutu.100 At Ulḫu, the Assyrians must have been exposed to Urartian royal inscriptions. No Urartian royal inscriptions have been found in the area between Bastam in the north and Movana in the south,101 yet we should assume that during Sargon II’s reign they were present there as well. Carlo Zaccagnini has argued for the likelihood of an intertextual utilization of one or more Urartian royal inscription(s) by the author of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. Virtually all motifs from the Ulḫu/Sangibutu episode can be found in various Urartian royal inscriptions, e.g., in A 14–1 Ro. It remains undeterminable if Assyrian scribes were capable of reading and translating the Urartian texts, or (more likely) if local informers served as translators. Furthermore, Zaccagnini showed that the literary topos “from aridity … to fertility” which is so present both in Sargon II’s description of Ulḫu and in Urartian royal inscriptions ultimately derives from an Assyrian background.102 Transmitted to Urarṭu presumably in the early Neo-Assyrian period, the topos was quickly developed into its standard form which remained remarkably stable. In Assyrian sources the topos is not attested between Ashurnaṣirpal II and any preserved text of Sargon II written before 714 BCE.103 Its revival might just be the description of Ulḫu in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. While it cannot be excluded that it was lifted from Middle or early Neo-Assyrian inscriptions by Nabû-šallim-šunu, the primary author of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”,104 it likewise cannot be excluded that the topos’ resurgence was due to the Assyrian reception of Urartian royal inscriptions containing it. But besides inspiring creativity, the intertextual utilization of an opponent’s royal inscription most likely served ideological needs as well. Importing Rusâ’s inscriptions into the text that describes the Assyrian victory over him adds another layer of defeat: not only tells “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” about the destruction of Urartian marvels, it also has annexed an integral item celebrating the sovereignty of Sargon’s opponent and literally perverted it by using it now to craft the narrative of his defeat.

100

Cf. Van De Mieroop 2010, 427. On the concept of “validity” versus that of “legitimacy”, see Richardson 2020. 101 Cf. Salvini 2014, 304 fig 14.7. 102 Zaccagnini 1981, 269–270 and 282–294; on A 14-1 Ro also cf. Çifçi 2017, 38. Regarding Assyrian parallels, note Ashurnasirpal II’s garden description in A.101.30, 36–52. At least one similar case of re-using an opponent’s inscription is known from the reign of Sargon II, the intertextual utilization of a cylinder inscription of Marduk-apla-iddina II (cf. Tadmor 1997, 334). 103 Considering all texts with a date of composition given as before 714 BCE, respectively: any episode concerning events up to 714 BCE; cf. Zaccagnini 1981, 289. 104 Cf. Zaccagnini 1987, 291–292; on Nabû-šallim-šunu, cf. Baker 2001.

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Urartian coronation practices at Muṣaṣir and their disruption by the Assyrians The third and final one of the more informative-descriptive passages in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” concerns an important Urartian princely coronation ritual held in Muṣaṣir (Ardini in Urartian sources).105 Muṣaṣir was located southwest of Lake Urmia in Mannaean territory. It was the holy city of Ḫaldi, Urarṭu’s highest god. Ḫaldi’s legitimation was necessary for exercising kingship in Urarṭu.106 According to Sargon’s report, the king arrives with the designated crown prince, bringing many treasures from the royal palace. He together with the crown prince (or the prince alone) is made to enter before Ḫaldi. Someone (either Ḫaldi or the prince) is presented with gifts. “Strong cattle and sheep without number” are sacrificed, and a banquet for the entire city is held. The prince is crowned before Ḫaldi and grasps the scepter of the kingship of Urartu.107 Urartian royal inscriptions provide basic information on coronation rituals, but no account of a coronation held in Muṣaṣir.108 Yet, celebrated journeys of the kings to Muṣaṣir are known. Not always so peaceful visits by Rusa, son of Sarduri (?), to Muṣaṣir during the reign of Urzana are recorded in the Mergeh Karvan109 and the Topzawa110 steles. When about one century earlier Ishpuini visited Muṣaṣir together with his son Minua they brought along with them various bronze items, 1,112 cattle, and herds of in total 21,600 sheep and goats, as recounted in the Kel-i-Shin stela.111 The description given in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” resembles in part the Kel-i-Shin stela’s report on Ishpuini’s and Minua’s journey to Muṣaṣir. There is a chance that Assyrian scribes indeed read the Kel-i-Shin stela,112 which was still visible in situ until 1981 CE, either on their way to or back from Muṣaṣir, and that its content was, just as in the case of Ulḫu, integrated into the text of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign,” again functionally reversing an item celebrating an opponent’s sovereignty into a tool for illustrating the destruction of exactly that by the Assyrians.

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Kravitz 2003, 86–87. Following Kravitz 2003, 94 fn. 54 and Salvini 1982, 226–227 and fn. 40, this study assumes the coronation of a crown prince, and not that of a king taking place in Muṣaṣir. 106 Çifçi 2017, 276–283; Radner 2012, 253–254; Zimansky 1985, 5 and 104 fn. 21. On the rise of the Ḫaldi theology under Išpuini, see Salvini 2014, 311–313; cf. Salvini 1995b. 107 Sargon II 65, 336–342. 108 E.g., Sarduri II: A 09–03, vii 1–2; Argishti II: A 11–01, obv. 18–24. 109 A 10–03. 110 A 10–04. 111 A 03–11, rev. 1–13. On Urartian royal herds and the Kel-i-Shin stela, see Çifçi 2017, 115. 112 On this notion in general (no specific mention of the Kel-i-Shin stele), see Zaccagnini 1981 and Zaccagnini 1987, 293.

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The non-Assyrian sources of the information provided by “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” There are indicators that such detailed information as just discussed was actively sought for. The description of the construction of the royal city of Ulḫu and its hydrological system is, for Assyrian narrative customs, extremely detailed. Likewise, the accounts of the horse training techniques in Sūbi and of the coronation ritual held in Muṣaṣir are rich in specific information. At least these three longer accounts almost have something of an Herodotean character. There must have been an interest in the described achievements, likewise an interest in recording them, and consequentially an interest in enquiring about them. What the Assyrians saw in Mannâ and Urarṭu partially even seems to have inspired the literary style of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. For example, the text uses a singular simile of destruction, namely, “to set (villages, fortresses, and cities) ablaze like tree stumps”.113 This image, otherwise not attested in royal narrative texts, could have been inspired by the Urartian technique of relaying information via signal pyres: now, the burning cities are the signal pyres of the Assyrian advance.114 Furthermore, the reintroduction of the topos “from aridity … to fertility” under Sargon II after an absence of more than one century could have been inspired by contemporary Urartian inscriptions containing it. Detailed knowledge on Urartian and Mannaean matters, besides being derived from Urartian inscriptions, also must have been provided by people familiar with them. In the long booty list at the end of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, the specific cultic functions of a handful of items are given, e.g., that a golden harpsichord was used in the cult of Bagbartu, and that the Urartian kings used a bronze ḫarû-vessel holding 80 measurement units of wine for libation offerings to Ḫaldi.115 In one case the scribe drafting the historical booty list integrated into “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” did not write down the name(s) of 120 bronze items, presumably because he was unable to render the native term(s) in cuneiform.116 The people who had provided the Assyrians with such information were themselves considered valuable booty. They were taken to Assyria, where they presumably had to continue to serve as intelligence sources. This is confirmed by “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” itself, as its very last section of mentions that the “chief (enemy) informers” (LÚEME.SAGMEŠ) were “sent to Aššur” by Sargon’s chief treasurer Ṭāb-šār-āššur.117 113

Sargon II 65, 182, 198 [emended], 268. Although being adjacent to the amāru / šemû rūqu-paradigm (Richardson 2018), this specific simile is unique amongst the literary tropes of aural or visual indications of the Assyrian army’s advance. Note that it appears for the first time in the Sangibutu episode which also mentions the Urartian usage of signal pyres. 115 Sargon II 65, 385 and 397. 116 Sargon II 65, 364; cf. Zaccagnini 1981, 415. 117 Sargon II 65, 427; cf. Levine 2003, 114* with fn. 18, who is followed here. On the various interpretations of this line see the commentary by Frame in RINAP 2, 307. 114

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Persistency of the descriptive mode? One must ask for the diachronic persistency of such a mode of more detailed portrayals of the “Other” in Sargonid royal narrative texts—regardless of whether one considers this model as benevolent or as ultimately in the service of ideology. A survey of Sargonid royal inscription reveals that such detailed information as in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” is not offered again. Other inscriptions of Sargon II do not exceed occasional short descriptions of foreign building activities, and these only extent to the construction of fortifications. When royal inscriptions and related texts provide some bit of additional information, then usually only in passing. While Sargonid texts offer more, yet often also quite generic information on regional specifics than Middle and early Neo-Assyrian inscriptions, this never reaches an extent as in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign.” Similarly, short remarks on a region’s specialties (which are not many) are largely driven by economic, military, or political interests. Although the style of royal inscriptions changes towards a new mode of more individual and elaborate story telling with each succeeding Sargonid king, this assessment rings true for all of them. Only a single instance resembles the description of cultural techniques in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. In Esarhaddon’s royal report to Aššur about his Šubrian campaign (Esh. 33), a detailed account on a magical substitution rite performed by the king of Uppume is given.118 That description, however, is not delivered in a benevolent tone, but rather recounts the desperate attempts of the ruler of Uppume to avert the impending Assyrian storming of his city. Still, this indicates that under the Sargonids the historiographic genre which allowed for giving more detailed observations of foreign cultural techniques some expanded textual room probably was that of royal reports to Aššur. Scholarly opinions on the descriptive mode of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” In current research, most scholarly opinions on “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” follow the structuralist trails of the “Italian school” and its notion of fundamental oppositions: all instances seemingly benevolent or even admiring are devoid of any true recognition of Rusâ as an equal to Sargon II. With Zaccagnini and Fales all these rather benevolent descriptions are given under the narrative regime of ultimate Assyrian dominance, which was extolled by what was conquered—the more grandiose the enemy, the more grandiose the victory.119 The descriptive passages thus literally de-feat Rusâ. Each of the three detailed episodes stands in metonymically for a vital discourse of the Urartian Empire (economy/military; urbanity/built landscape; dynastic succession/kingship) which is severely disrupted by the Assyrians: the destruction of Ušqaya and its vicinity presumably 118

Esh. 33 also exemplarily shows how royal reports allowed for further poetic individuality, since it is one of the rare pieces of royal narrative literature that (unlike royal inscriptions) makes extensive use of dialogue and the quotation of exchanged messages. 119 Zaccagnini 1981; Zaccagnini 1987; Fales 1991.

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ended or at least severely curtailed the Sūbian horse training program, the long description of Ulḫu is followed by a detailed account of its destruction, and the plunder of Muṣaṣir including the abduction of the statues of Ḫaldi and Bagbartu presumably impacted locally held Urartian coronation rites and further regional religious practices significantly. In the wake of Liverani’s notion of a “narrative remedy”, Kathryn Kravitz argued that since the Assyrian circum-Urmia trek of 714 BCE was low in bloodshed and battles fought,120 Urartian culture was made to stand in as the enemy: in the absence of fighting, which was deemed as the compulsory cultural model for conducting a campaign, the devastation wrought by the Assyrians needed to be elevated by correspondingly detailed descriptions of that what was destroyed.121 Kravitz suggested that the necessity to adhere to this scheme was so strong that for further alleviation of a lack of combats and battle victories a narrative “Urartian strand” woven around Rusâ’s rise and fall was implemented into the text.122 However, one should note that a lack of battle is not an unknown feature of Assyrian campaigning, with Tukultī-Ninurta II’s “grand tour” or Ashurnasirpal II’s 9th campaign as prominent examples. There is even a mechanism of narrative compensation, the amāru/šemû-rūqu paradigm,123 according to which the visual or aural signals of the advancing Assyrian army cause the defenders and inhabitants of an invaded region to flee. In all inscriptional cases where this trope is applied culture never stands in as substitute for absent physical enemies. Generally, no case is known where after an Assyrian victory the opponents were narratively resurrected via referencing their cultural achievements to be destroyed in order to defeat them once more. Then again, a king’s report is not a royal inscription, and while the latter usually recount more than one campaign in a comparatively concise manner, the former might have had more narrative freedom in its specificity. While not entirely denying the formative power of the structuralist model, Mark Van De Mieroop has voiced concerns with it. A rigidly structuralist view might underestimate the creativity behind the text’s composition, and the instances of sameness between Rusâ and Sargon discussed above escape the macrolevel of fundamental opposition.124 These instances of sameness also ensue only after Rusâ, who had been heavily stereotyped up to this point, flees from the defeat 120

After Mt Wauš the next major battle takes place only when the Assyrians reach Uayis near the south-western shore of Lake Urmia, cf. Sargon II 65, 297–305. 121 Follows Kravitz 2003, 93; on narrative remedies cf. Liverani 1990, 293. 122 Kravitz 2003. Kravitz proposed the introduction of this “Urartian strand” to be a “lastminute revision” amending an up to then lacklustre narrative, possibly done by other authors or editor besides Nabû-šallim-šunu This study follows Van De Mieroop 2010, 430 in assuming that no additional authors or last-minute revisions were necessary. The poetic realization of the structuralist scheme was further discussed in depth by Hurowitz 2008. 123 Richardson 2017. 124 Van De Mieroop 2010, 425–430.

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at Mt Wauš—almost as if now that Rusâ had already fulfilled his traditional determined narrative function there was suddenly room for acknowledgement. But ultimately, any sameness ends with the literary de-coronation of Rusâ by his very own hands towards the end of the text.125 As pointed out by Van De Mieroop, the question then shifts towards audience and authorship of the text.126 Who would create such an unusual account with what audience in mind? Generally, one could argue that the strict genre norms of royal narrative texts did not allow for a military story not ending in a conquest,127 and that such benign and detailed descriptions as discussed in this study were employed despite these norms to indeed express, at least very subtly, some form of recognition and respect of the foreign. In the discussed cases, the “Other” is presented as more than just an object of conquest, but as belonging to a culture capable of producing works akin to those of the Assyrian king. Of course, the unique applications of benevolent adjectives and expressions to opponents and their creations can instead, or: also serve the ideological needs as outlined in the preceding paragraph. And yet, they then do so by breaking with century-old precedent, as they introduce moments of quasi-othering into a framework of sophisticated othering enforced by poetic tradition. Such narrative maneuvers must have been a deliberate choice. Audience and authorship of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” Who would be the addressees of such new poetics? Beate Pongratz-Leisten has pointed out the presence of Nabû-šallim-šunu in the Aššur temple on the 11th of Ṭebetu 714 BCE during the preparatory rites for a re-entry ritual for Sargon II taking place later in the month of Šabaṭu. It is likely that this re-entry ritual was connected to the delivery of Sargon’s report to Aššur.128 We should therefore assume the personnel of the Aššur temple to be the primary audience of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. The Aššur temple is the potential contact zone of Nabû-šallim-šunu and Bābu-šuma-ibni, the zabbardabbu-priest of Aššur at that time and owner of the private library N4 that yielded the only extent manuscript of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”.129 While we cannot estimate the impact on all members of the audience, the copying of the text for Bābu-šuma-ibni’s library heavily hints at the impression it made at least on some. “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” also is the starting point of a reforging of royal identity along the heroic lines of Gilgameš. The promotion of this new royal image has proven receptive not only to the audience in the Aššur temple, but also in general, as one can deduct from the

125

Rusâ most likely survived the year 714 BCE, but presumably died shortly after, cf. Van de Mieroop 2010, 429–430; Roaf 2012b. 126 Van de Mieroop 2010, 430–431. 127 Cf. Liverani 1990, 293 who also notes that conquest does not necessarily entail combat. 128 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 328–334; cf. SAA 20, 55. 129 On Bābu-šuma-ibni, cf. Radner 1999.

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continued Gilgameš affinity of later Sargonids.130 It does not need to be coincidental that such unusual descriptions of enemies happen to be found in the same text that stands at the beginning of a new program of royal identity. Was it perhaps rather the scholar who authored the text than the ruling king who found a way to express himself? This seems unlikely, since one should assume that the king was not only peripherally involved in the production and editing process of such an important text, including the approval of its content.131 We are not used to think about Assyrian kings in such a way because our view is heavily informed by literary texts and acutely political documents, but we cannot rule out that it was Sargon II himself who had, or at least shared, an inquisitive interest in the other. Originally Sargon was not the designated heir to the throne,132 but as a royal scion he certainly enjoyed a highly sophisticated education.133 One can imagine a positive scenario in which a personal curiosity of Sargon about the “Other” evolved within an intellectual environment packed with knowledge and learned scholars. Perhaps, Sargon then later facilitated the literary acknowledgement (or even respect) of Rusâ and his achievements by overseeing and maybe even directing the employment of such unusual poetics for his letter to Aššur. In his inscriptions, Sargon II usually appears as the archetypical Assyrian conqueror king with little empathy for his victims. Yet, in one passage of “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, he seemingly concedes that he is committing (šupruku) an amāt marušti, literally “a word of ill, evil” against Rusâ.134 maruštu is a noun only rarely used in royal inscriptions, and generally of a negative connotation. The compound expression amāt marušti occurs only once prior to Sargon II in an inscription of Ashurnaṣirpal II.135 There, the exact same formulation as employed in Sargon’s Eighth Campaign (amāt marušti šupruku) was used in a curse formula where it describes the potential actions of an evildoer who might damage a newly built temple. Would it be too much to assume that the deliberate employment of this phrase amāt marušti šupruku in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” hints at some form of regret about the destruction wrought? Caution is advised here, since the positively connoted expression epšēt marušti epēšu “to accomplish harsh deeds” also occurs once in Sargon II’s inscriptions.136 However, since the latter attesta-

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Bach 2020b. Frahm 2011, 520–524. 132 The discussion is summarized by Elayi 2017, 25–32 and Melville 2016, 56–76. 133 On the education of Neo-Assyrian princes, see most recently Zamazalová 2011. 134 Sargon II 65, 213: UNMEŠ na-gi-i šu-a-ti a-mat ma-ru-uš-ti ša i-na pa-an Iur-sa-[a LUGAL?-šú?-nu?] ⸢ú⸣-šap-ri-ku iš-mu-ma u8-a iq-bu-ú im-ḫa-ṣu šá-pár-šu-un “(When) the people of this district heard a report about the trouble that I had caused to befall [their king] Ursâ (Rusâ), they then cried “Woe!” (and) smote their thigh(s) (in distress).” 135 A.0.101.32, 19: (…) ù mim-ma INIM NÍG.GIG pa-an É.KUR šú-a-tú ú-šap-ra-ku (…) “(…) or commits any atrocity against this temple (…)”. 136 Sargon II 82, v 34'. 131

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tion is post 714 BCE, and does use a different compound as well as a different verb, it does not rule out an original negative connotation of amāt marušti šupruku in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. 137 But can we really assume an attempt at communicating some sort of regret or remorse beneath the veneer of ideology? The indications of an ideologically driven function of the three discussed detailed accounts are undeniable, given the framework of Assyrian supremacy guiding the narrative of the entire piece. Still, “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” is the only Assyrian royal narrative text that breaks with the simplistic good-evil binary that is poetic custom within that framework.138 One must pay respect to the extraordinary detailedness of relayed information, and some form of interest and acknowledgement, however subtle, ultimately cannot be excluded. But until we have convincing evidence that Sargon II was of such an inquisitive and tendentially respectful nature as the very benign scenario given here suggests, it might be wiser to not necessarily entertain such a notion. Conclusion: No king like the Assyrian king! The reasons for introducing this unusual model of representing the “Other” remain subject to speculation and interpretation—whether it be an attempt to entertain and inform,139 Kravitz’ suggestion of a “narrative remedy” for a lack of battle, or a genuine display of interest in and acknowledgement of the “Other” hampered in by ideological and genre conventions. The core problem remains the quasi-othering of Rusâ. Why was there even a need to elevate him to the level of an Assyrian king when a description of, e.g., the marvels of Ulḫu alone would have sufficed? Beate Pongratz-Leisten has argued that the destruction of Muṣaṣir and the abduction of the Ḫaldi statue probably were the main cause necessitating the creation and delivery of a king’s report.140 Indeed, “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” is the only text known that gives an explicit reason for why divine statues are abducted: Marduk gave Aššur the power to make other deities enter Aššur’s temple Eḫursaggalkurkurra with all their treasures to praise him eternally.141 This extraordinary claim spares Aššur from direct blame by ultimately constructing the will of Marduk (via Aššur) as the cause for the king’s doings, which makes good sense regarding the socio-cultural framework in which “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign” was delivered. Maybe this construction was devised to divert attention away from very 137

Note that in Ashurbanipal’s inscriptions a similar usage of the expression amāt marušti šupruku can be found (Asb 74 = Ass tablet 3, obv. 8'). Here, it is positively applied in regard of Assyrian royal activities. While this seems to indicate that under Ashurbanipal the phrase could also be positively connoted, it does not exclude a negative connotation in “Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”. 138 Follows Van de Mieroop 2010, 430. 139 Oppenheim 1960, 143. 140 Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 324. 141 Sargon II 65, 314–316. On the abduction of divine statues, see Zaia 2015.

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political reasons resulting in sacrilegious actions and let Sargon appear as a pious doer of the gods’ biddings instead of a coldly calculating strategist with little scruples. It is not unconceivable that Sargon estimated the immediate and very real threat emanating from Urarṭu as high enough to command a campaign of shock, plunder, and glory deep into Urartian territory, and to ensure a disruption of the functioning of the entire state by devastating their precious sites and their main sanctuary in Muṣaṣir. Perhaps Rusâ was depicted in such quasi-othering manners precisely because a sameness to Sargon II was intended to be evoked—and thus add another layer of validation to the destruction of Muṣaṣir brought about, because none may equal the king of Assyria. Bibliography Albenda, P. 2018. “Royal Gardens, Parks, and the Architecture Within: Assyrian Views”, Journal of the American Oriental Society 128/1, 105–120. Bach, J. 2020a. Untersuchungen zur transtextuellen Poetik assyrischer herrschaftlich-narrativer Texte, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Bach, J. 2020b. “Royal literary identity under the Sargonids and the Epic of Gilgameš”, Welt des Orients 50/2, 318–338. Baker, H. 2001. “Nabû-šallimšunu”, in: H. Baker (ed.), The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, Volume 2/II, L–N, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 870–871. Badler, V. 2008. “Winemaking and Viticulture in the Ancient Near East and Egypt”, in: H. Selin (ed.), Encyclopaedia of the History of Science, Technology, and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures, Dordrecht: Springer, 2283–2286. Botta, P. / Flandin, E. 1849. Monument de Ninive, Tome I, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale. Brons, L. 2015. “Othering, an Analysis”, Transcience 6/1, 69–90. Çifçi, A. 2017. The Socio-Economic Organization of the Urartian Kingdom (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 89), Leiden / Boston: Brill. Diakonoff, I. / Kashkai, S. 1981. Geographical Names according to Urartian Texts (Répertoire Géographique des Textes Cunéiformes 9), Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert. Düring, B. S. 2020. The Imperialisation of Assyria: An Archaeological Approach, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Earley-Spadoni, T. 2015. “Landscapes of Warfare: Intervisibility Analysis of Early Iron and Urartian Fire Beacon Stations (Armenia)”, Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 3, 22–30. Elayi, J. 2017. Sargon II, King of Assyria (Archaeology and Biblical Studies 22), Atlanta: SBL Press. Fales, F. M. 1982. “The Enemy in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions. The ‘Moral Judgement’”, in: H.-J. Nissen / J. Renger (eds), Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn, Volume I, Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 425–35.

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lū allik (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 247), Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 325–343. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Potts, D. 2004. “Camel hybridization and the role of Camelus bactrianus in the Ancient Near East”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 47/2, 143–165. Radner, K. 1999. “Bābu-šumu-ibni”, in: K. Radner (ed.), The Prosopography of the Assyrian Empire, Volume I/2, B–G, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 428–429. Radner, K. 2007. “The Winged Snakes of Arabia and the Fossil Site of Makhtesh Ramon in the Negev”, in: M. Köhbach / S. Procházka / G. Selz / R. Lohlker (eds), Festschrift für Hermann Hunger zum 65. Geburtstag gewidmet von seinen Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern (Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 97), Vienna: Institut für Orientalistik, 353–365. Radner, K. 2011. “Assyrians and Urartians”, in: S. Steadman / G. MacMahon (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Anatolia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 734–751. Radner, K. 2012. “Between a Rock and a Hard Place”, in: S. Kroll / C. Gruber / U. Hellwag / M. Roaf / P. Zimansky (eds), Biainili – Urartu (Acta Iranica 51), Leuven: Peeters, 243–264. Reade, J. E. 1995. “Iran in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, in: M. Liverani (ed.), NeoAssyrian Geography (Quaderni di Geografia Storica 5), Rome: Università di Roma “La Sapienza”, 31–42. Reade, J. E. 2004. “The Assyrians as collectors: from accumulation to synthesis”, in: G. Frame / L. Wilding (eds), From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea. Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A. K. Grayson (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 101), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 255–268. Richardson, S. 2017. “‘They Heard from a Distance’: The semû-rūqu Paradigm in the Late Neo-Assyrian Empire”, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History 4/1–2, 95–127. Richardson, S. 2020. “Down with ‘Legitimacy’: On ‘Validity’ and Narrative in Royal Tales”, in: E. Wagner-Durand / J. Linke (eds), Tales of Royalty: Notions of Kingship in Visual and Textual Narration in the Ancient Near East, Berlin: de Gruyter, 243–260. Roaf, M. 2012a. “Could Rusa son of Erimena have been king of Urartu during Sargon’s Eighth Campaign?”, in: S. Kroll / C. Gruber / U. Hellwag / M. Roaf / P. Zimansky (eds), Biainili – Urartu (Acta Iranica 51), Leuven: Peeters, 187– 216.

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Roaf, M. 2012b. “Did Rusa Commit Suicide?”, in: G. Wilhelm (ed.), Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 771–780. Rollinger, R. 2005. “Herodot (II 75f, III 107–109), Asarhaddon, Jesaja und die fliegenden Schlangen Arabiens”, in: H. Heftner / K. Tomaschitz (eds), Ad Fontes!, Vienna: Eigenverlag, 927–946. Salvini, M. 1982. “Bemerkungen über die Thronfolge in Urartu”, in: H. Klengel (ed.), Gesellschaft und Kultur im alten Vorderasien (Schriften zur Geschichte und Kultur des alten Orients 15), Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 219–227. Salvini, M. 1995a. “Some Historic-Geographical Problems Concerning Assyria and Urartu”, in: M. Liverani (ed.), Neo-Assyrian Geography (Quaderni di Geografia Storica 5), Rome: Università di Roma “La Sapienza”, 43–53. Salvini, M. 1995b. “Musasir. A. Historisch”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 8, 444–446. Salvini, M. 2008–2018. Corpus dei testi urartei I–V, Rome: CNR/Istituto di studi sulle civiltà dell’Egeo e del Vicino Oriente – Paris: Éditions de Boccard. Salvini, M. 2012. “Das Corpus der urartäischen Inschriften”, in: S. Kroll / C. Gruber / U. Hellwag / M. Roaf / P. Zimansky (eds), Biainili – Urartu (Acta Iranica 51), Leuven: Peeters, 111–134. Salvini, M. 2014. “The Spread of the Cuneiform Culture to the Urartian North”, in: M. Geller (ed.), Melammu: The Ancient World in an Age of Globalization (Proceedings 7), Berlin: Max Planck Research Library for the History and Development of Knowledge, 299–328. Schmitt, R. 2006. “Immortals”, Encyclopædia Iranica XIII/1, London / New York: Routledge, 2–3. Sevin, V. 2000. “Urartian Gardens”, Belleten 64, 407–417. Tadmor, H. 1997. “Propaganda, Literature, Historiography: Cracking the Code of the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in: S. Parpola / R. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 325–338. Tadmor, H. 1999. “World Dominion: The Expanding Horizon of the Assyrian Empire”, in: L. Milano / S. De Martino / F. M. Fales (eds), Landscapes: Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Venezia 7–11 July 1997, Padua: Sargon, 55–62. Tudeau, J. 2019. Building in Assyria. A Philological Perspective (Schriften zur Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 14), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Van De Mieroop, M. 2010. “A Study in Contrast: Sargon of Assyria and Rusa of Urartu”, in: S. Melville / A. Slotsky (eds), Opening the Tablet Box. Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Benjamin R. Foster (Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 42), Leiden / Boston: Brill, 417–434.

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Wright, E. 1943. “The Eighth Campaign of Sargon II of Assyria (714 B.C.)”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 2, 173–186. Zaccagnini, C. 1981. “An Urartean Royal Inscription in the Report of Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, in: F. M. Fales (ed.), Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons (Orientis Antiqui Collectio 12), Rome: Istituto per l’Oriente, 259– 295. Zaccagnini, C. 1987. “The Enemy in the Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: The ‘Ethnographic’ Description”, in: H.-J. Nissen / J. Renger (eds), Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn, Volume I, Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 409–424. Zadok, R. 2002. “The Ethno-Linguistic Character of Northwest Iran and Kurdistan in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, Iran 40, 89–151. Zaia, Sh. 2015. “State-Sponsored Sacrilege: ‘Godnapping’ and Omission in NeoAssyrian Inscriptions”, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History 2, 19–54. Zamazalová, S. 2011. “The Education of Neo-Assyrian Princes”, in: K. Radner / E. Robson (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 313–330. Zamazalová, S. 2019. “Mountains as Heroic Space in the Reign of Sargon II”, in: Yamada, Sh. (ed.): Neo-Assyrian Sources in Context. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 185–214. Zimansky, P. 1985. Ecology and Empire (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations 41), Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Zimansky, P. 1990. “Urartian Geography and Sargon’s Eighth Campaign”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 49/1, 1–21. Zimansky, P. 2012. “Urartu as Empire: Cultural Integration in the Kingdom of Van”, in: S. Kroll / C. Gruber / U. Hellwag / M. Roaf / P. Zimansky (eds), Biainili – Urartu (Acta Iranica 51), Leuven: Peeters, 101–110.

Are Monsters Propagandistic? Thoughts on the Imagery of Hyperreality in Ancient Assyria Dominik Bonatz Freie Universität, Berlin

Abstract: In ancient Mesopotamia, creatures that combine human and animal or different animal features were depicted through the ages. Most of them were perceived as primordial or antediluvian beings that, through a complex progress of mythological transformation and ritual incantation, became apotropaic and benevolent for human beings. The actual invisibility of these monsters was overcome by a fantastic imagery that covered all categories of visual art. This essay focuses on depictions of monsters in Middle Assyrian seal art and Neo-Assyrian palace art, two spheres of imagery that have yielded the largest variety of depictions of monsters in the history of Mesopotamia. To what degree were the depictions of these monsters related to propagandistic and ideological issues? Other subjects that are visually addressed in the Assyrian palaces, such as war and the royal lion hunt, will be linked to the presence of monsters in the same spatialpictorial context. From this confrontation results the main argument that depictions of monsters in Assyria reflect the increasing intellectual desire for hyperreality that transcended both ideological and propagandistic claims. Keywords: Assyria; monster; propaganda; visual art; hyperreality.

Prologue In the visual narratives of Assyrian military conquests, the king and his soldiers are depicted as a mighty force equipped with elaborated instruments of the war machine, ruthlessly terrorizing their enemies with executions and torture. There is no mercy and no doubt about the sovereignty of the Assyrian army and the inferiority of its opponents. The reality of war is colored with detailed scenes of violence, terror, and fear. But does an Assyrian relief depict a real war scene? Or is it a fabrication of a false reality that is to be perceived as real? In Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece A Clockwork Orange, the protagonist, Alex DeLarge, undergoes a therapeutic experiment intended to heal his violent obsessions. At the beginning of the experiment, when Alex is fixed to a chair and his eyes are clamped open, forcing him to watch a series of movies with very brutal and bloody content, he says: “It’s funny how the colors [meant are the colors of blood] of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen.” This remarkable line triggers me because, if we compare it with the visuality of Neo-Assyrian palace art, one could also state that it is striking how the violence

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of historical war realities only becomes really real to us through its display on Assyrian reliefs. The connection between Assyrian war reliefs and A Clockwork Orange can be made with the term “ultra-violence,” which is used in Anthony Burgess’s novel on which Kubrick’s film is based. Burgess’s term “ultra-violence” suggests an escalation of violence into a form “more violent than violent,” and it is clear how this aspect is used for the highly artistic aestheticization of violence in the film.1 In the decidedly aggressive construction of the cinematic settings in A Clockwork Orange lies a powerful aesthetic means that imaginatively confuses the audience’s perceptions of the real and fiction.2 Obviously, also in the visual narratives of the Assyrian reliefs, formal art aesthetics and violence collapse to form a reality that is more than real because they become hyperreal. “Hyperreality” is, indeed, the key issue here; and as much as it stands for the aesthetic power of A Clockwork Orange,3 it can be used as a critical term to investigate the modes and conditions of visual communication in the context of Assyrian imperial ideology and propaganda. First, what does hyperreality mean for the main topic of this paper, what does it mean in regard to monsters depicted in Assyrian visual arts? Second, what does it mean for the issues of ideology and propaganda? Is the depiction of monsters propagandistic or ideological in the same vein as Assyrian visual (and textual) narratives are thought to be, or do they represent a form of hyperreality that contradicts the notions of ideology and propaganda in Assyrian art? To answer this question, a short definition of hyperreality followed by a discourse on the imagery of monsters in Assyrian history will be presented. The invisible, the real, and the hyperreal In the technological sciences, hyperreality is simply the capability to mix virtual reality with physical reality and artificial intelligence with human intelligence in a way that appears seamless and allows interaction.4 In a broader semiotic and philological sense, hyperreality emerges from the fusion of the real and the fictional in a way that gives no indication where the former ends and the latter begins. Following Jean Baudrillard’s most influential postmodern theory of hyperreality, the concept is linked with the terms “simulation” and “simulacra.”5 The desire to achieve reality leads to simulations that depict a virtual reality different from its origin. Baudrillard goes further, saying, “It is a real without origin and reality.”6 In addition, “simulacrum” defines the state of depiction from the fictional side. As Gilles Deleuze says: “The copy is an image 1

Lien 2019, 24. Fischer 2013, 128–130. 3 Bat 2011; Lien 2019. 4 Terashima in Terashima and Tiffin 2001, chapter 1. 5 Baudrillard 1994 [1981]. 6 Baudrillard 1994 [1981], 1. 2

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that endows resemblance, the simulacrum is an image without resemblance.” 7 Therefore, a simulacrum is not a copy of the real, but the constitution of the hyperreal, an image that becomes truth in its own right.8 Or, as Umberto Eco describes, it is the “authentic fake.”9 To give two popular examples, Pinocchio and Frankenstein are truths in their own right or authentic fakes without resemblance. The argument that the puppet Pinocchio bears resemblance because it has a humanoid shape is an illusion, because humans are made of flesh and blood and not of wood. The concept of hyperreality, coined by postmodern and semiotic approaches, matches in many respects the simulation of reality and the existence of simulacra in Assyrian times. The Assyrian king is already his own pure simulacrum and, in Baudrillard’s words, “only that gives him the power and the quality to govern.”10 Even more fundamental for understanding how hyperreality underpins the constitution of Assyrian society are monsters.11 They have a long history in Mesopotamia, going back to their first depictions in the Chalcolithic period and with strong manifestations in the 3rd millennium B.C. that developed down to the end of the 1st millennium B.C. For example, the Anzu—the lion-headed bird—figured as a prominent iconographic theme in Early Dynastic times. Its use in visual arts often appears to be emblematic, as it attributes divine power to the war god Ningirsu or, in general, is a symbol of power. Its mythological background already points to the ontological qualities of later depictions of monsters. Originally being a primordial negative force, the submission of the god Ningirsu, reflected in the Anzu mythos, marks the transfer into a positive force, a weapon-like companion of the war god and a protective spirit of those human beings who lived in the realm of this god. The Babylonian Enuma Elish, the myth of creation, later added a series of other striking monsters, the defeated army of Tiamat, who became one of the two most popular groups of protective spirits in the 1st millennium B.C. (see below). Many other invisible supernatural beings came to life and formed part of an imagined reality that was apprehended and experienced as real. Apart from having been a fundamental condition for the “public secret” in greater Mesopotamia in general,12 it is especially within Assyria during the Middle Assyrian and Neo-

7

Deleuze 1990 [1969], 257. Baudrillard 1981 [1994], 6. 9 Eco 1986, 1–85. 10 Baudrillard 1994 [1981], 26; see also Bonatz and Heinz 2019, 241–242. 11 The term “monster” for mostly hybrid creatures combining zoomorphic and anthropomorphic elements (with the exception of the human-like laḫmu, see below) corresponds to the German term “Mischwesen”. It is used rather than the term “demon”, because the latter could be confused with evil spirits or demons of disease. In the RlA, Frans Wiggermann also provides a theological definition of Mesopotamian monsters (Wiggermann 1993– 1997, 231). 12 Nakamura 2004, 12–13. 8

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Assyrian periods that the greatest number of archaeologically, iconographically, and textually traceable monsters can be observed interacting in various spheres of social and political life. In an article on Neo-Assyrian apotropaic figurines (i.e., figurines of monsters) buried under the house of a high priest in Assur, Carolyn Nakamura describes their images as mimetic expressions of myth and dedication and connects their magical capacity with the process of public secrecy.13 Hence her use of the term “public secret” borrowed from Michael Taussig,14 meaning something that is generally known but cannot be articulated. The apotropaic figurines are magical objects that, by themselves, present an imagined reality. Yet, if their efficacy indeed was subjected to the power of the public secret, there still was the possibility to control and evoke their efficacy by means of ritual, mainly because they were magical objects. The images of monsters in other media, such as sculptures, and as depictions on reliefs and seals, have another or at least additional quality. They instill belief in the power of the invisible supernatural to a sphere in which the public secret is blended with ideological and, perhaps, also propagandistic issues. Middle Assyrian seals This argument can already be followed in the Middle Assyrian period (c. 1300– 1050 B.C.), when a fantastic variety of monsters figure among the most prominent motifs in seal art. They are an essential element in the so-called contest scenes, which are the key theme in the seal art of this period. Human-headed winged bulls, winged lions, winged horses, winged griffins with a human body, centaurs, and laḫmu figures fight against each other or against animals like lions, bulls, horses, and completely human-bodied “heroes” (Figs 1–4). The identification of most of these hybrid creatures is unclear, apart from laḫmu, the “hairy one,” who is one of Tiamat’s monsters, but also mixed with other mythological characteristics.15 There seems to have been a dynamic process by that time to fashion new images of monsters, some of them based on Akkadian and Syro-Mittani iconographic prototypes, but also some completely new (e.g. centaurs and winged horses).16 This process, which becomes visible in the development of the very distinct Middle Assyrian seal art, is understandable only in the context of the Assyrian territorial expansion that started under Adadnirari I at the beginning of the 13th century B.C. and culminated in the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I at the end of the same century.17 The contest scenes with monsters as protagonists of dynamically composed struggles fit the aggressive nature of this political expansion. In several of the contest scenes, it is clear that one figure takes the dominant part and is going 13

Nakamura 2004. Taussig 1999, 5. 15 Wiggermann 1981–1982; Bonatz 2019. 16 See Matthews 1992; Bonatz 2015. 17 Bonatz 2021, 109–116 14

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to subdue its opponent. Usually, human-figured “heroes,” laḫmus,18 winged human-headed bulls, or winged griffins with human bodies are in this dominant position (Figs 1–4), yet there are also instances in which laḫmus fight each other. Hence, the ambivalent nature of these supernatural beings seems to be partly reflected in the scenery of these images.

Figure 1: Middle Assyrian seal impression from Tell Fekheriye (Syria). Contest between human-headed winged lion and winged bull (courtesy of Tell Fekheriye Excavation Project; drawing F. Wolter, not to scale).

Figure 2: Middle Assyrian seal impression from Tell Fekheriye (Syria). Contest between winged human-bodied figure with bird-head and lion (courtesy of Tell Fekheriye Excavation Project; drawing F. Wolter, not to scale).

Strikingly, real humans never figure in contest scenes or other scenes of triumph. Their presence is bound to ritual scenes, which locate the action in a temporal sphere.19 Instead, the contest and triumph over significant opponents is mirrored in a semi-mythological sphere. I call it semi-mythological because the real animals—bulls, lions, horses, and ostriches—and sometimes also plants and trees allude to a naturalistic setting, especially the steppes as landscapes of contest and conquest. Gods are strikingly completely absent from this imagery. Monsters,

18

The English plural “s” is italicized in order to avoid the ugly mixing of italic and upright writing in one word. 19 Bonatz 2021, 113.

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“heroes,” and animals are evoked as independent forces that, without any divine command, are aggressively interacting in a metaphysical space that is combined with elements of the real. How can such a fantastic mindscape, which obviously represents a metaphorical image of the Assyrian conquest, be evaluated in the context of the medium that a seal presents?

Figure 3: Middle Assyrian seal impression from Tell Fekheriye (Syria). Contest between laḫmu and lion-griffin (courtesy of Tell Fekheriye Excavation Project; drawing F. Wolter, not to scale).

Figure 4: Middle Assyrian seal impression from Tell Fekheriye (Syria). Contest between centaur and laḫmu (courtesy of Tell Fekheriye Excavation Project; drawing F. Wolter, not to scale).

The seals were owned by officials of the Assyrian state apparatus. Many of these men served in the administration of the conquered territories, such as the archaeologically quite well documented regions along the Khabur and Balikh Rivers in northeastern Syria, the core area of the subdued Mittani state.20 Thus, owning and using a seal with a contest scene always mirrored the control of a contested environment. This also applies to the seals produced and used in the capital Assur, because this was the place from which the territorial expansion started and from which it remained controlled by the demand of the Assyrian king. There probably would have been a magic aspect when seals depicting contests with monsters were 20

On the Middle Assyrian western provinces see, for example, Cancik-Kirschbaum 2000 and Tenu 2015.

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owned and used. The seal was a magic object that conveyed the power of its image and that protected its owner and legitimized any case of administrative and private use. However, this magic quality, based on the secret belief in the power and existence of supernatural beings, was significantly blended with ideological issues. The depictions on the seals must be considered primarily political manifestations. Various sealing practices in the context of political, legal, and economic affairs mediated the presence and sovereignty of the state in wide areas of political governance. They continuously reproduced a hyperreal image of aggression, dominance, and power that was linked to the authority of the Assyrian state and its actors. The ideological background of this process can be easily deduced from Assyria’s expansive politics in the 13th century B.C. In contrast, the argument that the increasing focus on monsters in this context was propagandistic is more difficult to defend. First, it depends on the propagandistic function of seals in general. For the Middle Assyrian state, it is quite clear that the creation of a very distinct stylistic and iconographic repertory in glyptic art belonged to the cultural prerequisites for the making of the empire.21 In this respect, Middle Assyrian seals can be interpreted as propagandistic instruments to mark a new hegemonial ideology and make it visible for insiders and outsiders. However, the imagery of the seals, mainly the contest scenes including monsters, cannot be evaluated as fake information for the manipulation of human perceptions, because they are based on the public secret of knowing and not knowing what is behind the visible and physical world. Therefore, the monsters frame what Umberto Eco terms the “authentic fake,” a fictional reality that is to be perceived as real. If such a framing was in fact used to convince and to persuade, then monsters in the context of sealmedia mass communication would indeed have had a propagandistic function. I tend to argue in this direction, although in the end it will remain impossible to decide on modes of persuasion and conviction from our very distant modern perspective. Neo-Assyrian monumental art A couple of monsters depicted on Middle Assyrian seals reappear as monumental sculptures in Neo-Assyrian palaces, where they now can be identified on the base of textual evidence. The human-headed winged bull or lion, occasionally named lamassu, šēdu, or adadlammu, became the omnipresent gate guardian figure in the palaces in Kalhu, Dur-Sharrukin, and Nineveh.22 The human-bodied griffin appears as one of the purifying apkallu depictions that figure numerously in the palace of Assurnasirpal II in Kalhu, but also in Sargon’s II palace in Dur-Sharrukin and Sennacherib’s “palace without rival” in Nineveh.23 A shift of interest to the depiction of monsters mythologically known as the creatures or army of 21

E.g., Feldman 2006. Danrey 2004; Kertai 2015; Portuese 2020, 37–40. 23 Kolbe 1981, 55–63; Kertai 2015, 328, fig 3. 22

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Tiamat can be observed during the period of the Sargonid dynasty.24 Monumental laḫmu images and the very popular ugallu, the lion-headed “demon” with raptor claws, embellish the palaces of Sargon II, Sennacherib, and Ashurbanipal. The function of these and other images of monsters (see Fig. 5), such as urmaḫlullu (lion-centaur), kusarikku (bull-man), uridimmu (dog-humanoid), girtablullu (scorpion-man), mušḫuššu (snake-dragon), and laḫmu, is generally assumed to be apotropaic. 25 This certainly holds true, but, as Mehmet-Ali Ataç has correctly stressed, it is necessary to consider also their cosmological context, which points to a more complex semiotic role.26

Figure 5: Types of monsters depicted in the Southwest Palace at Nineveh (reproduction with kind permission of D. Kertai, from Kertai 2015, fig. 1).

The antediluvian monsters belong to the Netherworld, although some of them have astral aspects.27 The human encounter with these creatures leads to a spiritual experience and a stage of enlightment as described in the Gilgamesh Epic and “The Underworld Vision of an Assyrian Prince.”28 They function as examiners of 24

Wiggermann 1992, 163–164; Ataç 2010, 172–183. Green 1984, 82, 86; Russell 1998, 674; Ornan 2004, 89; Kertai 2015, 326, 329. 26 Ataç 2004, 74. 27 Ataç 2004, 71. 28 Ataç 2004, 67–70. 25

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the adept’s path. The gesture of certain monsters like ugallu emphasizes the serious character of the examination, as they menace with a dagger in a raised hand. If the adept fails, the evil side of these monsters turns on him or her. If he or she succeeds, they guide on the path of initiation. Ataç assigns this complex concept of spiritual transformation to the intellectual milieu in the palaces in Nineveh, mainly to the scribal-sacerdotal elite as initiators and the court elite as addressees and privileged participants. The visual depiction of the monsters in relief and sculpture thus confirms their essential role as guardians of the “act of passage,” which formed an essential element in the spiritual perception of the Neo-Assyrian palace spaces.29 For example, referring to the bull and lion colossi in his (unexcavated) palace, King Esarhaddon demands: “Let the good šēdu (and) the good lamassu who guard my royal path (and) who make me happy last forever and ever in that palace. May they never leave it.”30 Thus, the šēdu and lamassu were imagined as benevolent characters, or simulacra in the terminology of this paper, who not only guarded the path of the king, but also caused in him a state of happiness that he wished to last forever. Moreover, there is Ataç’s interesting argument that the scribal-sacerdotal elite communicated their presence at the Assyrian court by giving visual expression to the guardians of the “act of passage,”31 meaning that they had a strong impact on the pictorial and ideological design in Ninevite palaces. Before I turn back to this argument, which is important also for the question of propaganda, another category of monsters that played an essential role in the realm of Assyrian palace art has to be considered. The apkallus, known as the antediluvian “sages” or as the “seven apkallus of the apsû,” are originally related to Eridu and other southern Mesopotamian cities.32 They played an essential role in the transmission of esoteric knowledge from human proto-history to the ummānus, the living masters or experts of knowledge and arts. As Ataç has explained in detail, the Assyrian ummānus, i.e., the scribalsacerdotal elite at the Assyrian court, must have been the group most influential and responsible for integrating the apkallus and the aforementioned monsters of the Netherworld in the figurative program of the Neo-Assyrian palaces.33 After their first monumental depictions in the relief program of Assurnasirpal’s II palace in Kalhu, images of apkallus continued to be present in the later palaces. Especially in the palace of Sennacherib in Nineveh, they still form an important part of the “apotropaic landscape.”34

29

Ataç 2004, 73. RINAP 4, 1, vi 62 – vi 64. 31 Ataç 2004, 71. 32 Greenfield 1999. 33 Ataç 2010, 150–158. 34 Kertai 2015, 328–329. 30

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Figure 6: Human-apkallu in the Northwest Palace at Nimrud (courtesy of the British Museum London, WA 118809, photo S. Haack).

Iconographically, three types of apkallus can be distinguished: the anthropomorphic umu apkallu, the bird-apkallu and the fish-apkallu.35 According to their first representations in Assurnasirpal’s II palace (Fig. 6), which show them holding a bucket (banduddu) and a cone (mulillu), they are associated with purification rituals. Other instruments used by the apkallus, like the e’ru cornel stick, the libbi gišimmari (“offshoot of date palm”), and the ara gišimmari (“frond of the date palm”), also represent purification instruments36 used in exorcist rituals not only

35 36

Wiggermann 1992, 65–79; Ataç 2010, 150; Kvanvig 2011, 130–131. Wiggermann 1992, 67–70.

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by the apkallus, but also by gods and human priests (the āšipū).37 In the spatial context of the Assyrian palaces, it is clear that the images of the apkallus placed at the doorways were meant to have had a purifying and exorcising effect on those passing through the gates. Even more important, apkallus stand with their purification instruments behind the king, and the “sacred tree” also benefits from the probably fertilizing action of the apkallus.38 But their presence in the Assyrian palaces must also have had a deeper semiotic meaning concerning the essential qualities of the apkallus as guardians of wisdom and world order. In the contemporary Assyrian incantation series bīt mēseri (“protected house”), several apkallus are listed, for example Uanna, who “completed the plans of heaven and earth,” and Uannedugga, who “is given broad understanding,” and at the end of the list, the seven apkallus “born in the river” (i.e., the fish-apkallus depicted in Neo-Assyrian art), who “keep in order the plans of heaven and earth.”39 The cosmic function of the apkallus as follows from the bīt mēseri and other textual references is clearly outlined in Helge Kvanvig’s study: they are responsible for the “plans of heaven and earth,” which the first apkallu initially had “completed” or “made perfectly,” while the seven apkallus as a group were thereafter in charge of maintaining this world order forever.40 The cosmological background of the apkallus was clearly associated with the role of the Assyrian king, mainly by granting his initiation to the state of the “perfect man.”41 Sargon II claims to be “a wise king, skilled in all learning, the equal of the apkallu, who grew up in wise counsel and attained full stature in good judgment.” Sennacherib declares that he has been granted profound wisdom equal to the apkallu Adapa, and Ashurbanipal boasts of mastering the craftsmanship of the apkallu Adapa und the secret knowledge of all scribal traditions.42 Hence, the graven images of apkallus in the Assyrian palaces also marked an auratic space of wisdom and world order transmitted to the king. By means of this virtual contact with the power of the apkallus, the Assyrian king was privileged to be directly touched by the primordial aura of wisdom and was confirmed in his role as the keeper of the world order. Certainly, other members of the court elite also profited from the virtual presence of the apkallus. Passing through the gates flanked by the apkallus would not only have led to the metaphysical act of purification, but also to initiation to the highest levels of knowledge and consciousness. Such complex imaginings must first be ascribed to the intellectual milieu at the Assyrian court,43 37

A detailed analysis of how the images of various apkallus and their various instruments allude to specific apotropaic rituals and incantations is given in Portuese 2020, 40–50. 38 Ataç 2010, 159–166. 39 Kvanvig 2011, 108. 40 Kvanvig 2011, 116–117. 41 Ataç 2010, 170–171. 42 Kvaving 2011, 139 and Greenfield 1999, 72–73 with references to the textual sources. 43 Ataç 2004; Kvanvig 2011, 142–144, 158; Kertai 2015, 349.

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those who formed the inner circle of the palace elite.44 They seem to be ideological because they are based on a persuasive and scholarly belief system shaped by the sacerdotal elite in Assyria and transmitted through the authority of the king. Moreover, these imaginings can be considered self-propagandistic, because they affirm a stage of superiority that is the power of knowledge gained from antediluvian beings, something that in reality was to be achieved only by disciplined education and training. However, behind all scholarly influences and ideological concepts, there is the power of the invisible, the belief in something that in reality is absent, i.e., the “public secret,” which becomes present and truth only by means of simulation. The condition by which the belief in the beneficial power of the apkallus and other monsters becomes real is best described as hyperreality. The monsters are prototypical examples of simulacra that match the contemporary concept of ṣalmu, the “thing in its own right,” in Mesopotamian and especially Assyrian thought.45 The way these simulacra visually act in the context of the palace’s pictorial program presents a continuous stage of simulation. They simulate examination, purification, and the transfer of knowledge. In fact, they constitute a hyperreal space in which reality and fiction are completely fused. The interesting point is that this hyperreality is also connected to the hyperreality of war and the royal lion hunt in the same spatial context. Although the action of the monsters and their placements at the doorways are not directly linked to scenes of war and the lion hunt, they still catch the eyes of everyone who viewed these scenes, who perhaps was involved in military activities or otherwise knew about the reality of war. There is no reason to think that war in general was perceived as a desirable and positive event. For example, the myth of Erra delivers a drastic picture of the irrationality of war, an event that destroys the lives of the good as well as the bad and that disrupts the cosmic world order.46 Furthermore, there was real anxiety about the negative consequences of war. The late Neo-Assyrian kings’ oracle inquiries to the sun god display a serious fear of defeat in war and of losing one’s life, even that of the Assyrian king.47 In this respect, the Neo-Assyrian war scenes present a very distorted picture that, from the Assyrian point of view, hides every critical aspect of the real reality of war. The very aggressive pictorial construction of the war scenes produces a powerful aesthetic that, like the scenes in A Clockwork Orange, captivates and deters. This aesthetic can even be described as subjunctive, because it implies an “if ”—if you fail, all this horror happens to you. It is highly improbable that the king and the Assyrian elite, as authors of the war narratives, would have completely ignored the possibility that they themselves could become victims of war realities. The aforementioned queries to the sun god 44

Parpola 1983, XIV–XVI. Bahrani 2003, 121–148; Bonatz and Heinz 2019, 240–248. 46 Kvanvig 2011, 159–176. 47 Starr 1990, XX, text nos 9, 32, 34, 61, 62, 64, 65, 79, 81, 84; Bahrani 2008, 183–189. 45

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underline this because they speak a different language, one that reveals the enquirer’s own anxiousness. Hence, the overloaded violence in the war narratives aesthetically functioned to hide and to reveal fearful emotions.48

Figure 7: Relief from the North Palace at Nineveh, “Ashurbanipal killing a lion” (courtesy of the British Museum London, WA 124874-7, photo S. Haack).

In connection to the monsters that guarded the rooms with depictions of military activities, the distorted reality of war is augmented to hyperreality. The king and other leading figures of military activities, including the priests who consulted the war oracles and accompanied the army on its campaigns, and other non-military actors, were all purified of any evils that war evokes. Furthermore, they were guided to the knowledge of how to conduct a successful military campaign. Knowledge is a power that obviously must be used with the objective of conquest and subjugation. This aspect is probably mirrored by a very significant detail in a striking scene of Ashurbanipal’s lion hunt in the North Palace of Nineveh (Fig. 7). Here, Ashurbanipal is represented as the fearless hero who kills an attacking lion, face-to-face, with his sword. The king is perfectly dressed in his luxurious long robe, which in reality would have been a serious hindrance in such a liferisking fight. Attached to this fashionable robe, held by the scarf in which the king’s dagger is normally fixed, appear now and exceptionally two styluses, the scribal instruments of the literate king. This attribute may underline the self-image of the scholarly ruler, but it also significantly alludes to the secret of knowledge 48

Bonatz forthcoming.

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that Ashurbanipal holds in the tradition of the apkallu Apada. This knowledge in the context of the royal lion hunt, which all in all was artificially performed as a metaphor for the royal triumph in war,49 means that the king also possessed the knowledge to pursue a victorious fight against his enemies. Hence, wisdom and knowledge are ultimately linked to triumph over enemies and the maintenance of the world order. This highly intellectual concept produced a hyperreality in which real actions and events are blended together with completely unrealistic representations, whether in the ultra-stylized scenes in the lion hunt or in the ultra-violent battles against human enemies. These faked realities might have been perceived as real, because they were spiritually embedded in the belief in supernatural beings who helped to purify from the evils of war and to transfer knowledge that helped to control war and banish any fear of violence to the part of the enemies. Linking the virtual realities of monster images, war scenes, and scenes of the royal lion hunt with the concept of hyperreality makes it difficult to understand them as propagandistic. Instead, the hyperreal landscape of the Assyrian palaces must rather be ascribed to the desire to attain something, i.e., power, control, wisdom, and purity. This is a semiotic process different from propaganda, as it is very much self-involved. One may argue against this viewpoint that there were also other audiences, the palace outsiders and foreigners invited or forced to see the images, and that these were the “target” audience of the visual propaganda.50 However, this purpose would have pertained mainly to the throne room and the throne room façade as places of “temporal” audiences. Many other rooms with similar depictions were apparently not accessible for palace outsiders. Look, for instance, at Room 36 in the Southwest Palace in Nineveh, which contained the famous relief cycle depicting the siege of Lachish in Judah. This room is located at the end of a long central axis that leads from the large courtyard through two broad rooms until it reaches the small room with the Lachish cycle (Fig. 8). Three gates flanked by monumental apotropaic figures (human-headed winged bulls) and the first one additionally by a pair of human-apkallus would have had to be passed through before entering the Lachish room. This is an extremely meaningful spatial arrangement51 that mirrors mainly the aforementioned stages of initiation in the virtual experience of the palace design. Passing through the three gates guarded by apkallus and bull colossi implied a gradual process of examination and initiation before entering the Lachish room. It is highly improbable that larger and foreign audiences were invited to share this experience and to view the scenes of conquest in Room 36. In its vicinity are several rooms for ablution with entrances flanked by other protective figures, the ugallu (lion demon) and lulal (smiting god), and Room 41 containing Ashurbanipal’s library, which, at its doorway to the ablution Room 40, had the same pair of protective figures 49

Weissert 1997. Portuese 2020, 259–260. 51 Kertai 2015, 341. 50

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and in addition a fish-apkallu at its main entrance (Fig. 8). All these rooms form part of the Lachish Suite, the largest suite in the Southwest Palace, which contained many more apotropaic figures and evidently was an exclusive space for the court elite.

Figure 8: Floorplan of the Southwest Palace at Nineveh with location of apotropaic figures (reproduction with kind permission of D. Kertai, from Kertai 2015, fig. 2).

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The example of the Lachish Suite should be evident enough to demonstrate that visual propaganda is the wrong explanation of the function of the imagery in Neo-Assyrian palaces. The imagery rather produces hyperreality in which realities of war and scholarship (Ashurbanipal’s library) are blended with artificial simulations of power imaginings, initiations, wisdom, and purity. It is not the interaction with any “real” reality that took place in these palace spaces, but the perpetual simulation and imitation of a transient simulacrum of reality. As Baudrillard would say, this process constitutes the condition of “happiness” or, as Alex in Clockwork Orange says, it makes “the colors of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen.” On the Assyrian screen, the “public secret” of invisible monster realities is displayed to produce a hyperreality that was intellectually accessible for an elite minority of Assyrian society. It remains an open question but still a possibility if this ruling minority in the end became lost in hyperreality. Epilogue and Conclusion I admit that the perspective applied in this paper essentially follows a post-modern approach. Yet, I strongly believe that post-modern realities or hyperrealities are not so far removed from what ancient Mesopotamian thoughts had already produced thousands of years ago. Nevertheless, without further challenging this approach, I conclude simply: monster depictions in the context of Middle Assyrian seal art can be considered propagandistic; in the context of Neo-Assyrian palaces, they are definitely not. Bibliography Ataç, M.-A. 2004. “The ‘Underworld Vision’ of the Ninevite Intellectual Milieu”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 67–76. Ataç, M.-A. 2010. The Mythology of Kingship in Neo-Assyrian Art, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bahrani, Z. 2003. The Graven Image: Representation in Babylonia and Assyria, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Bahrani, Z. 2008. Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia, New York: Zone Books. Bat, A. 2011. “Hegemonic Readjustment of Preference and Desire—a Clockwork Orange”, Hope Lies at 24 Frames Per Second. https://medium.com/hope-liesat-24-frames-per-second/hegemonic-readjustment-of-preference-and-desirea-clockwork-orange-45a7c0f199f0 (last accessed February 24, 2021). Baudrillard, J. 1994 [1981]. Simulacra and Simulation, translated by S. F Glaser, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bonatz, D. 2015. “A Middle Assyrian Centaur from Tell Fekheriye”, in: P. Ciafardoni / D. Giannessi (eds), From the Treasures of Syria. Essays on Art and

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Archaeology in Honour of Stefania Mazzoni (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 126), Leuven: Peeters, 153– 162. Bonatz, D. 2019. “Laḫmu, the ‘Hairy One’, and the Puzzling Issue of Mythology in Middle Assyrian Glyptik Art”, in: P. S. Avetisyan / R. Dan / Y. H. Grekyan (eds), Over the Mountains and Far Away. Studies in Near Eastern history and archaeology presented to Mirjo Salvini on the occasion of his 80th birthday, Oxford: Archaeopress, 106–113. Bonatz, D. 2021. Middle Assyrian Seal Motifs from Tell Fekheriye (Syria) (Tell Fekheriye Excavation Reports I), Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter. Bonatz, D. forthcoming. “Fear and Terror in Assyrian Palace Reliefs”, in: K. Sonik / U. Steinert (eds), Handbook of Emotions in the Ancient Near East, New York: Routledge. Bonatz, D. / Heinz, M. 2019. “Representation”, in: A. C. Gunter (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Near Eastern Art, Hoboken: Wiley Blackwell, 233–260. Cancik-Kirschbaum, E. 2000. “Organisation und Verwaltung von Grenzgebieten in Mittelassyrischer Zeit: Die Westgrenze”, in: L. Milano / S. de Martino / F. M. Fales / G.-B. Lanfranchi (eds), Landscapes. Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. Papers presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Venezia, 7–11 July 1997, Padua: Sargon, 5–8. Danrey, V. 2004. “Winged Human-Headed Bulls of Nineveh: Genesis of an Iconographic Motif”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 133–139. Deleuze, G. 1969 [1990]. The Logic of Sense, translated by M. Lester, edited by C. V. Boundas, New York: Columbia University Press. Eco, U. 1986. Travels in Hyperreality. Essays, San Diego / New York / London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Publishers. Feldman, M. H. 2006. “Assur Tomb 45 and the Birth of the Assyrian Empire”, Bulletin of the American School of Oriental Research 343, 21–43. Fischer, R. M. 2013. “Ästhetik der Gewalt und Gewalt der Ästhetik in Stanley Kubricks ‘A Clockwork Orange’ (GB 1971)”, in: A. Pawlak / K. Schankweiler (eds), Ästhetik der Gewalt – Gewalt der Ästhetik (Schriften der GuernicaGesellschaft Band 19), Weimar: Verlag und Datenbank für Geisteswissenschaft, 125–148. Green, A. 1984. “Beneficent Spirits and Malevolent Demons: The Iconography of Good and Evil in Ancient Assyria and Babylonia”, in: H. G. Kippenberg / L. P. van den Bosch / L. Leertouwer / H. A. Witte (eds), Visible Religion, Annual for Religious Iconography, Volume III: Popular Religion, Leiden: Brill, 80–105. Greenfield, J. C. 1999. “Apkallu”, in: K. van der Toorn / B. Becking / P. van der Horst (eds), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, Leiden: Brill, 72– 74.

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Kertai, D. 2015. “The Guardians at the Doors: Entering the Southwest Palace in Nineveh”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 74/2, 325–349. Kolbe, D. 1981. Die Reliefprogramme religiös-mythologischen Charakters in neuassyrischen Palästen. Die Figurentypen, ihre Benennung und Bedeutung (Europäische Hochschulschriften, Reihe 38, Archäologie Band 3), Frankfurt am Main / Bern: Peter D. Lang. Kvanvig, H. J. 2011. Primeval History. Babylonian, Biblical, and Enochic, Leiden / Boston: Brill. Lien, J. 2019. “Violence and Art in A Clockwork Orange”, in: NYU English and Drama Review, New York, November 22, 2020, 25–32. https://englishdrama review.com/2020/11/22/violence-and-art-in-a-clockwork-orange/ (last accessed 23 April, 2021). Matthews, D. 1992. “The Random Pegasus: Loss of Meaning in Middle Assyrian Seals”, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 2/2, 191–210. Nakamura, C. 2004. “Dedicating Magic: Neo-Assyrian Apotropaic Figurines and the Protection of Assur”, World Archaeology 36/1, 11–25. Ornan, T. 2004. “Expelling Demons at Nineveh: The Visibility of Benevolent Demons in the Palaces of Nineveh”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 83– 92. Parpola, S. 1983. Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal. Part II: Commentary and Appendices (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 5/2), Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon und Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Portuese, L. 2020. Life at Court: Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon. Russell, J. M. 1998. “The Program of the Palace of Assurnasirpal II at Nimrud: Issues in the Research and Presentation of Assyrian Art”, American Journal of Archaeology 102, 655–715. Starr, I. (ed.). 1990. Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria, Helsinki: University of Helsinki Press. Taussig, M. 1999. Defacement. Public Secrecy and the Labor of the Negative, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Tenu, A. 2015. “Building the Empire. Settlement Patterns in the Middle Assyrian Empire”, in: B. S. Düring (ed.), Understanding Hegemonic Practices of the Early Assyrian Empire. Essays dedicated to Frans Wiggermann (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 125), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 75–87. Terashima, N. / Tiffin, J. (eds). 2001. Hyperreality. Paradigm for the Third Millennium, London / New York: Routledge. Weissert, E. 1997. “Royal Hunt and Royal Triumph in a Prism Fragment of Ashurbanipal (82-5-22,2)”, in: S. Parpola / R. M. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995:

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Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 339–358. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 1981–1982. “Exit Talim! Studies in Babylonian Demonology, I.”, Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap Ex Orient Lux 27, 90–105. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 1992. Mesopotamian Protective Spirits. The Ritual Texts (Cuneiform Monographs 1), Groningen: Styx & PP. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 1993–1997. “Mischwesen”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 8, 222–244.

Doorway Creatures Crises, Ideologies and Persuasion in the Neo-Assyrian Palace Ludovico Portuese École pratique des hautes études – PSL Université Paris

Abstract: The doors of the Neo-Assyrian palaces were highly guarded by a great variety of protective creatures, whose aspects and characteristics change with time, from the palace of Ashurnasirpal II at Kalhu to the palace of Ashurbanipal at Nineveh. In fact, in each royal palace, doorways receive a different protective treatment and both old and new solutions are introduced in the apotropaic repertoire. This paper focuses on the introduction of new doorway creatures in the royal palaces of Sargon II and Sennacherib and proposes that these new figures were conceived as less direct ways through which an Assyrian king built his self-representation and laid claim to present a new ideology. It is concluded that doorway creatures were used to persuade king’s supporters, such as aristocrats and scholars, to accept the new king. Keywords: doorway creatures; crisis; ideology; audience; persuasion.

Introduction This paper explores one of the means through which visual communication with an internal audience must have taken place in two Neo-Assyrian royal palaces. The examination will focus on the monumental creatures that protected doorways and entrances in the palaces; and on two kings whose particular, and differing ideological stances are manifested in these doorway creatures. It is argued that both cases show an evolution in ideology as the result of a “crisis” which imposed a “decision”, or choice between “tradition” and “innovation”. The two kings are Sargon II (721–705 BCE), who lived in Ashurnasirpal II’s royal palace (883–859 BCE) for some time and patterned his new palace on that of his predecessor, and Sennacherib (704–681 BCE), who distanced himself from his father Sargon II, a position with significant political and religious repercussions. These two kings of the so-called Sargonid group will be analysed in order to: 1) highlight reactions and reforms after a “crisis” that may even have shaped new ways to express the prevailing ideology, and 2) outline specific ideological choices that are remarkable in Assyrian history.1 1

Here the term “crisis” is conceived according to the Greek term used in policy as “decision”, in the sense of decision of reaching a verdict or judgment (Koselleck 2006). In this specific context, it is believed that the new Assyrian king consciously took a “decision”

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As background, it should be noted that modern 20th century scholarship has made use of the notion of ideology and the associated concept of propaganda to understand and explain the politics of an empire. It is clear that both terms mostly have a Eurocentric or Western-centric habitus, according to Bourdieu’s concept, because that is the scholarly tradition which has produced them.2 The application of these notions to Neo-Assyrian reliefs and inscriptions has also been questioned, pointing out the limited accessibility to the royal palaces, and therefore to the palace reliefs and inscriptions, by a contemporary audience.3 Also, it must be admitted that ideology and propaganda defy easy definition and clear understanding and, defining them positively or negatively itself has ideological overtones.4 This implies that these terms should always be used cautiously and with critical reflection. There is no intention in this paper to argue against the application of modern western notions as aids to explain and understand past cultures, but rather to take a considered and balanced approach to their use. Specifically, the view taken here is that the ways through which ideology was communicated in the historic past have the ability to shift and change, from ruler to ruler, especially after a “crisis”.5 The argument is that the politics of the Neo-Assyrian kings can be seen as a succession of pragmatic responses to changing challenges and threats. This is manifest in the visual programs that have been preserved in the Neo-Assyrian royal palaces. Although the apparent traditional character may have been maintained, there were ad hoc changes depending on the personal preferences of the ruling king and his audience.6 Accordingly, the details of the visual program itself, its code, subject and rendering, may have depended on a new ideology or, better to say, a new period, that the new king claimed to create. The palaces themselves and their respective visual programs are not described here as an ideological means of propaganda. Rather, the nuanced notion of propaganda, supported by persuasion, will be evaluated as one of the tools used by Neo-Assyrian kings to communicate with a specific audience. In practical terms, different audiences required different messages that must have been presented in a flexible way, by means of propaganda and persuasion. about following the tradition or introducing innovations after the death of a king (in this respect, see also Russell 1991, 175–190). 2 Bourdieu 2020. 3 Oppenheim 1977, 147–148; Garelli 1982; Tadmor et al. 1989, 41; Porter 2000; 2003; Bahrani 2008, 241–242 fn. 17; Bonatz 2011, 300; 2012; Gillmann 2011–2012; Siddal 2013, 149; Collins 2014, 621; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, esp. 28 fn. 130; Bagg 2016; Nadali 2017; Artemov 2018; Portuese 2020a, esp. 261–267. 4 Bernbeck and McGuire 2011, 2. 5 Personal choices of each ruling king do not seem to “scratch” the underlying ideology, thus even though a new ideology seems to be claimed in some periods, central themes remain constant throughout time. In this respect, see Pongratz-Leisten 2015; 2019. 6 A similar position was already taken by Röllig 1993.

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Sargon II It is commonly assumed that Sargon II became king in somewhat unorthodox circumstances. In fact, he has gone down in the secondary literature as “usurper” and, although the question of Sargon II’s name and his image as usurper is still debated, it is likely that Sargon II could have been a son of Tiglath-pileser III (744–727 BCE) and brother of Shalmaneser V (726–722 BC).7 Either way, the reign of Sargon can be seen as the turning point between two very different patterns of royal name giving. In fact, of the twenty kings who preceded Sargon, nineteen had names that had already been carried by rulers from the Middle Assyrian Period. A very different pattern of royal name-giving is detectable in the names of the successors of Sargon II: of the eight kings who followed him, all carried new royal names. As observed by Frahm this change “may reflect an awareness on the part of the Late Assyrian rulers that they had entered a new political age”. 8 This was supported by the reinstatement of privileges for the clergy and the nobility of the city of Ashur and Harran—by stating that Shalmaneser V had wickedly abolished certain privileges claimed by the city of Ashur—and the remission of debts and the exemption of the taxes in Babylon and other cities in southern Mesopotamia.9 Further, in his inscriptions he shows himself as “protector of repentant enemies, rewarder of faithful vassals, defender of legitimate kings, promoter of good allies”.10 Therefore, in general, the peculiar silence on his father could be a sign that Sargon wanted to begin a new period, with a new political program. During most of his reign, Sargon lived in the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal II. In fact, Sargon restored the palace and his interventions are described in a 22-line text that was inscribed above Ashurnasirpal’s Standard Inscription. After finishing the restoration of the palace, Sargon invited the gods of Kalhu and celebrated the palace’s re-dedication with festivities.11 The visual program of Ashurnasirpal’s palace would therefore have still been exposed at later times and Sargon’s scribes and sculptors drew inspiration from the predecessor’s building when it came to the building of the new royal palace at Dur-Sharrukin. Although similarities between the two buildings can be confidently identified, they do differ greatly and the differences emphasize the different and new ideological and propagandistic needs.12 7

In this respect, see Chamaza 1992; Frahm 1999; 2005a; PNA 3/II, 1239–1240; Elayi 2018, 12–16, 27–28. 8 Frahm 2005a, 47. 9 RINAP 2 8, 3–5; Lanfranchi 1997, 84; May 2015, 87–89; Matthiae 2015, 1054; Elayi 2017, 253. 10 Lanfranchi 1997, 83. 11 The inscription is carved into the doorway of Room U. For the text, RINAP 2 73. 12 Matthiae (2018) has particularly paid attention on this peculiar aspect with reference to the relationship between images and texts, highlighting the originality of Sargon’s archi-

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Focusing on entrances and doorways, in the Northwest Palace these were highly protected by a great variety of apotropaic figures (esp. apkallu), which probably implied the performance of rituals on visitors crossing an important thresholds.13 In the royal palace of Dur-Sharrukin there seems to have been a drastic reduction in the number and variety of protective figures.14 The profusion of protection in the palace of Ashurnasirpal may have been the effect of the relocation of the royal court from Ashur to Kalhu or, more likely, a general change and a significant increase of the apotropaic practices for political reasons.15 Either way, genies (apkallus), lion and bull colossi protected the building and the doorways of the new site from potential evil forces. However, one wonders why Sargon, who resided in Ashurnasirpal’s palace for long time, did not provide his own palace with such protective countermeasures. Can be this aspect considered as a lesser need for protection? Signs of a possible emulation can be seen in the various genies and creatures protecting the monumental entrances and doorways of his new palace, but this repertoire is far from being akin to the diverse and assorted repertoire of the Northwest Palace.16 One possibility is that at the time of Sargon apotropaic figures and the objects they hold may have been deprived of their various tasks and left mainly with a symbolic role. Alternatively, since some figures are maintained, there seems to have been a well-thought-out selection of the subjects by the group of court scholars. Following this thought, it is likely that there may have been a change in the religious substrate of Sargon’s reign, perhaps through the intense Babylonian policy of the Sargonids, and specific apotropaic figures were rejected by new theologies.17 This may be demonstrated by the influence that court scholars exerted on Sargon: a mass production of scholarly texts tects—chiefly Tab-shar-Ashur (see Parpola 1995)—and the consequent creation of a new ideological and political program. 13 Portuese 2020b. 14 The mythical-symbolic subject matter is, in general, drastically reduced in the royal palace of Sargon (Matthiae 2018, 248). 15 Portuese 2020b, 271. 16 Portuese 2020a, 37–40. 17 In this respect, Ataç (2004, 71, fn. 39) notes that “Whereas the art of Ashurnasirpal II features apkallus alone, the palaces of the Sargonids display an exclusive interest in Tiamat’s Mischwesen, especially the lion-demon ugallu. The art of Sargon II in a way stands in the middle where these two lines of visual tradition converge, displaying both the apkallus and a limited entrance into Neo-Assyrian iconography of Tiamat’s creatures, such as the six-curled ‘hero’ figure, Lahmu”. In this environment, Ornan (2004, 87–88) also notes that the location of protective figures changes, shifting from entire slabs throughout the Northwest Palace to their later restriction to doorways. In other words, apotropaic figures disappear from the very body of the king. This may indicate a reduced need for the supernatural protection of royal activities in general and of the royal residence in particular, but it is more likely that this represents the turning point towards a more complex religious and ideological change which will be manifested with the later Sargonid kings.

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starts under his reign, consisting of royal rituals and epics, like the Assyrian Enūma eliš, Šummā ālu, Enūma Anu Enlil, and the twelfth tablet of the Epic of Gilgamesh, are composed, copied or translated.18 The scholars’ influence at court is also evidenced by the fact that the astronomer and astrologer Nabu-zuqup-kenu calls Sargon arkû (“the Second”), a clear allusion to the legendary king and hero Sargon I of Agade.19 The association is highly meaningful: Sargon II begins a new era by founding a new dynasty and a new city as much as Sargon I was builder of Agade as well as a world-emperor.20 This mutual symbiosis is further emphasised by the importance Gilgamesh acquired in Sargon II’s reign: Gilgamesh built the walls of Uruk at the dawn of history and learnt from Utnapishtim the story of the Flood, an event that signals the end of one cosmic era and the beginning of another.21 It is not by chance then that the apotropaic repertoire of the new palace includes two bearded figures grasping a lion known as hero, which may have represented Gilgamesh (AO 19862) and Enkidu (AO 19861) in order to highlight the king’s special relationship with this epic (Fig. 1).22

Figure 1: Dur-Sharrukin, Royal Palace: drawing of reliefs lining the southwest wall of façade n (Botta and Flandin 1849, pl. 30)

This interpretation seems supported also by the height of the sculpted figures and its exact correspondence to the information given about the height of Gilgamesh and Enkidu in the epic.23 In fact, compared to other figures which mostly have their origin or inspiration in the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal, it is properly the introduction of this new type of figure that marks the beginning of an innovative aspect in the apotropaic repertoire of Sargon’s royal palace. The alleged Gilgamesh and Enkidu have also been identified with the laḫmu “the hairy one”, which occurs in inscriptions and rituals as protective spirit and apotropaic figure at gates.24 Nevertheless, compared to the clay figurine buried in the palace of Sargon and the one depicted on the palace reliefs of Sennacherib and Ashurba-

18

May 2015, 91–106. Van de Mieroop 1999; Galter 2006; May 2015, 103–105. 20 Finkel and Reade 1996, 263; Galter 2006, 291–294. 21 Similar allusions to Gilgamesh, through intertextual and structural correspondences, can be seen in Sargon II’s Eighth Campaign (Bach 2020). 22 See bibliography in Kolbe 1981, 92–93. 23 Annus 2012. 24 Wiggermann 1983, 99–100; Kertai 2015, 338. 19

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nipal at Nineveh,25 the figure depicted on the facades M and the southeast wall of façade n of the royal palace at Dur-Sharrukin diverges in a number of features: it is depicted not in profile; he does not hold a pole but a curved staff and a lion. Thus, whether this figure is the laḫmu actually remains an open question and a few details suggest alternative interpretations which support its primary identification with Gilgamesh. The curved staff, identified with the gamlu, is associated with the exorcist and used as a weapon against supernatural enemies. This staff is particularly held by the il bīti, the “god of the house”, which appears among the monsters of clay deities buried under the pavement of buildings. The gamlu seems to be used by this god to guard his house.26 However, this staff occurs also in the context of rituals which involve the king in defending himself against evil demons.27 In particular, the king holds the gamlu in the ritual “House of sprinkling water” (bīt salā’ mê), a ritual of investiture for the Babylonian king for the yearly confirmation of his office, in order to prepare him for his presence at the New Year’s festival during the autumn equinox. The ritual dictates that the king spends the night of the eight of Tashritu in a reed prison, that is to say the “House of sprinkling water”. In front of the rising sun, the king and his royal insignia—crown, bow, mace, sceptre (ḫaṭṭu), and staff (šibirru)—undergo investiture and purification through sprinkled water.28 The king then goes back to his palace and, in the final sequence of the ritual, some exorcistic rituals take place which should remove every impurity from the body of the king. At this stage, the king turns his face to the northwest and receives the gamlu from the exorcist, which serves to free himself from impurity, and recites the incantation. This section reads as follows: “Er wirft sich nieder, tritt in den Palast ein und richtet sein Antlitz nach Nordwesten. Das Krummholz (gamlu) gibst du (ihm) und die Beschwörung ,Hiermit erhebe ich mein Krummholz‘ rezitierst du. Er legt seine Hand auf den Maischbottich und ‚Siris, Löser von Gott und Mensch‘ läßt du ihn dreimal sprechen. Nachdem er es rezitiert hat, reißt er den Spund des Maischbottiches ab und … er wird gedeihen / in Ordnung kommen”.29 Finally, on the same day the king goes to the assembly of the gods to determine his fate and then takes part in the great procession of the gods to the akītu house outside the city.

25

Russell 1991, figs 94, 98. Wiggermann 1992, 61. For an examination of the curved staff in the ancient Near East, see Ambos and Krauskopf 2010. 27 The Assyrian king may hold the curved staff in statuary of first millennium BCE (see Magen 1986, 69–73). 28 Ambos 2013, 109–110. 29 Ambos 2013, 171: y+30´–34´. 26

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The whole ritual serves both as royal investiture and to protect the king, but especially to restore the lost or at least endangered good relationships between the king and his gods, which otherwise disables the king to exercise his kingship. The final investiture of the king accordingly implies that the ritual was successful along with the reconciliation with the gods.30 Although built on ideological concepts of second and third millennium BCE, this ritual is preserved in texts of first millennium BCE coming from Babylon and Sippar, as well as the library of Ashurbanipal from Nineveh.31 It is moreover attested as performed by the king Esarhaddon.32 At the beginning of the reign of Sargon II, the Babylonian king Marduk-aplu-iddina II, rebelled, but when in 710 BCE Sargon regained control he did not punish the Babylonians but assumed the traditional titles of the Babylonian king and spent a significant time in Babylon, endorsing and promoting its religion and culture.33 It is therefore expected that this ritual was performed by Sargon during his stay in Babylon as well, as his inscriptions suggest.34 What is then the relationship of this autumnal ritual with Gilgamesh? As it was already observed, the establishment itself of the two akītu festivals in Uruk performed twice a year in the months Nisannu and Tashritu is attributed to Gilgamesh himself, who promises to perform akītu festival twice on his return from the Cedar Forest: “I will return and [perform] the akītu festival [twice] in the year, the akītu I will perform [twice] in the year”.35 But what is more noteworthy in the context of this discussion is that, as Ambos noted, there is a similarity between the king’s investiture and purification in the outside world and his return with all his regalia to the civilised world, namely his city, and the Gilgamesh epic.36 In fact, to dissolve all traces of the marks left on Gilgamesh by his long and arduous quest for eternal life, Utnapishtim instructs Urshanabi to take Gilgamesh to the washingplace so the hero can purify himself of the dirt from his hair and the grime from his skin. Although the washing-place is not described and it can only be supposed that it must have had some connection with the Apsû of Ea, Gilgamesh emerges with body beautiful and new attire for head and body and, having cast his lion’s skin into the sea, he is clad in a new garment which will stay magically clean for 30

Ambos 2013, 3–4. Ambos 2008, 1–2. 32 SAA 10 253; PNA 2/II, 723. 33 “governor of Babylon, king of the land of Sumer and Ak[k]ad, favorite of the great gods. The gods Aššur, Nabû (and) Marduk granted me a reign without equal and exalted my good reputation to the heights” (RINAP 2 7, 2–5a). On the relationships between Sargon II and Babylonia, see Melville 2016, 61–65, 168–172; Elayi 2017, 182–190. 34 “Happily, with a joyful heart (and) a radiant face, I entered Babylon, the cult center of the Enlil of the gods (Marduk); I grasped hold of the hands of the great lord, the god Marduk, and brought (him) safely along the road to the akītu-house.” (RINAP 2 7, 140b–141). 35 George 2003, 457–458, 569 lines 268–269. See also Ambos 2008, 7; 2013, 22. 36 Ambos 2013, 117–118. 31

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the entire duration of his journey to Uruk.37 This passage deserves to be mentioned: “Ūta-napišti spoke to [him,] to the boatman Ur-šanabi: ‘Ur-šanabi, may the quay reject you, may the ferry scorn you! You who used to walk on its shore, suffer absence from it! The man that you led here, whose body is tousled with matted hair, the beauty of whose flesh the hides have ruined, take him, Ur-šanabi, get him to the washtub, let him wash his matted hair as clean as can be! Let him cast off his hides and the sea carry (them away)! Soak his body so fair! Let the kerchief of his head be renewed! Let him be clad in a royal robe, the attire befitting his dignity! Until he goes (home) to his city, until he arrives at (the end of) his road, let the robe show no stain but stay brand new!’”38 Now, summing up all these connections, one may readily surmise that the hairy figures depicted in the new palace of Sargon II at Dur-Sharrukin embody every aspect so far described and further support the already suggested identification with Gilgamesh and Enkidu: 1) the gamlu was used in a cultic ritual connected with the akītu festival established by Gilgamesh; 2) the lion held by the figures may be a reference to the lion’s skin worn by the hero,39 or to the battles of Gilgamesh and Enkidu against lions.40 Taken altogether, this type of figure may have not stood for the apparently similar apotropaic clay figurine but rather for a well-thought-out hybrid figure representing Sargon II’s kingship and his claim to begin a new age. Since, according to the bīt salā’ mê ritual, the curved staff (gamlu) was given to the king only after spending the night in the reed prison, it accordingly meant that the king had already undergone investiture and purification. The resulting figure, in short, represented the new king who, after being reconciled with the divine world, received the insignia to exercise his kingship and was eventually purified. It is not perhaps by chance that the bearded figure depicted on the façade n of the main throneroom of the palace faces northwest as did the king at the end of the ritual. Finally, it is relevant to note that the visual message of the new royal investiture is further reinforced by the strict relationship between the bearded figure depicted on façade n and the royal portrait depicted on the same façade showing Sargon holding the long staff (šibirru) (Fig. 1).41 In fact, together with other royal insignia, the šibirru occurs as the last royal emblem bestowed on the king at the end of the bīt salā’ mê ritual just before going to the palace and receiving the curved staff (gamlu). If so, there might be a further visual transference of the bīt 37

George 2003, 522. George 2003, 719–721 lines 247–261. 39 George 2003, 643 lines146–147. 40 George 2003, 177 lines 110–115; 681 lines 34–39. 41 On the identification of the long staff with the šibirru, see Portuese 2017. 38

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salā’ mê ritual on palace reliefs, with the result that the whole façade n is the manifestation of Sargon II’s right to rule over his people: 1) the king reconciled with his gods, and 2) received the crown and the šibirru to shepherd his flock; 3) afterwards, he is purified—whose proof is given by the representation of the gamlu—and this purification allows him to perform the proper akītu festival which establishes Sargon’s connection with a tradition started by Gilgamesh. Through mythologising the main two entrances of the palace, scribes and sculptors presented the following final message: Sargon is the rightful king, who follows the tradition but begins a new era. To close, we can state that although Sargon’s scribes and sculptors used the Northwest Palace of Ashurnasirpal II as a model for the new royal palace at DurSharrukin, nevertheless the crisis that accompanied Sargon’s ascent to the throne must have sparked ferment among his contemporaries, with the consequence that king’s supporters struggled to create new visual messages able to persuade viewers. These had basically to be lured into accepting the new world-order ratified and blessed by the divine world: one of the visual tools adopted was the reduction in the number of apotropaic figures and the introduction of new royal emblems taken from the Epic of Gilgamesh and the bīt salā’ mê ritual and conflated into one single figure. Sennacherib As the eldest son of Sargon II, Sennacherib was probably born and spent his childhood and youth at Kalhu, enjoying access to the palace of his grandfather Tiglathpileser III, but also of Ashurnasirpal II when Sargon acceded to the throne and lived there for some time. After Dur-Sharrukin’s inauguration, Sennacherib probably had his own residence there as crown prince.42 Although possible influences from his predecessors’ palaces could be expected, it seems that Sennacherib did everything to distinguish himself by building a new grandiose and unique residence at Nineveh, the Egalzagdunutukua (“Palace Without Rival”), known as Southwest Palace, whose interior decoration stands out for its outstanding originality. This implies that if, in the case of Sargon II, emulation and/or manipulation of past examples are symptomatic of admiration, exclusion of past examples may be symptomatic of innovation as well as of intentional rejection. Sennacherib’s initiatives mark a major break with the past. Written documents do not account for specific reasons for a negative reaction towards the past: all the letters written by Sennacherib, as crown prince, to his father seem to be respectful and friendly, and adapt to the formal “etiquette” for a subject to address his king “[To] the king, 42

After Sennacherib was chosen as crown prince, he was probably also obliged to reside in Nineveh in the palace (bīt rēdûte) designated to crown princes (Frahm 1997, 3; Elayi 2018, 18, 30). Winter (2008, 335) also suspects that Sennacherib’s experience which later applied on the building of his palace at Nineveh was probably acquired while he supervised the building of Dur-Sharrukin, when his father was away on campaign.

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my lord: [your servant] Sin-ahhe-riba. Good health to the king, my lord!”43 He omits his genealogy from his inscriptions, as if to show his antagonism to the political-religious orientation of his father, but no explanation in this respect is offered.44 He presents himself with the new title of “guardian of truth who loves justice, renders assistance, goes to the aid of the weak, (and) strives after good deeds”.45 Therefore, as seen for Sargon II, the peculiar silence on the past could be a sign that also Sennacherib wanted to begin a new period, with a new political program.46 Entrances and doorways receive a different protective treatment and both old and new solutions are introduced in the apotropaic repertoire of the Southwest Palace.47 Human-apkallu, bull and lion colossi are still used as means of protecting the palace.48 Apparently, the figure representing Gilgamesh appears again in the new palace.49 However, a departure from tradition is ratified by the introduction of unprecedented apotropaic figures on palace reliefs, which are patterned on the clay protective figurines which were buried at strategic points under the pavement of a room to ward off evil forces and described in ritual texts as means to protect the house.50 The innovation therefore lies 1) on the transference of these entities from the invisible clay figurines to the visible palace reliefs, 2) on pairing some figures anew, 3) on spreading all the apotropaic figures throughout the entire palace as to create a “landscape of protection”.51 In detail, the uridimmu, the human genie with the legs and feet of a dog or lion,52 the kusarikku, the bull-man which combines the hind legs of a bull with a human upper body, the ugallu, the lion-headed eagle-footed human, and possibly the laḫmu, “the hairy one”,53 were among the eleven beings described in the Enūma eliš and created by the archaic female divinity Tiamat in her struggle with the god Marduk for cosmic suprem43

SAA 1 29, 1–3; Elayi 2018, 40. Sargon’s name is mentioned only in one of Sennacherib’s inscriptions (see Frahm 2014, 175). 45 RINAP 3/1 1, 2. 46 On this aspect, see Galter 2006, 294–296; Frahm 2014. 47 For the distribution of apotropaic figures in the palace, see Kertai 2015. 48 An innovation can be seen in the colossi, which now possess four legs. Since only one five-legged example survives in a drawing made at the time of the excavation, it seems that a change took place in the midst of building the palace (Kertai 2015, 333). 49 Kertai 2015, 338 fig. 11. 50 Green 1983. 51 Kertai 2015, 326. 52 The uridimmu is described in texts as symbol of the well-being and prosperity of the house (Russell 1991, 185; Wiggermann 1992, 50–51, 172–174). 53 The laḫmu, as seen in the palace of Sargon II. However, in the Southwest Palace this is represented also in profile and holds a spade (marru), which Wiggermann identifies as symbol of Marduk and able to deter evil (Wiggermann 1992, 86. See also Russell 1991, 184). 44

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acy.54 Such a shift in the apotropaic figurative program has been explained with the above-mentioned intense Babylonian politics of the Sargonids, the introduction of the Babylonian poem of cosmogony Enūma eliš, as well as through the replacement of Marduk with Ashur.55 The Assyro-Babylonian relationship during these times might therefore explain the introduction and proliferation of new protective figures within the royal palace. However, it should not go unnoticed that, as observed for Sargon’s apotropaic imagery, some figures may also carry or conceal new ideological attitudes of the reigning patron and his scribal group. In fact, although the new beings are introduced for the first time on palace reliefs in the time of Sennacherib, they already existed as clay protective figurines before the construction of Sennacherib’s palace, and they date specifically to the reign of Shalmaneser III (858–824 BC), Adad-nirari III (810–783 BC) and Sargon II.56 The question therefore is what actually led Sennacherib and the scribal group to select and turn clay figurines into large palace reliefs. In this respect, again, literary references are essential to understand, at least partly, some of the hidden reasons that led to such a change. In the Enūma eliš, some of the beings that are depicted in the Southwest Palace are often placed at cosmic gateways. In fact, after Marduk defeats Tiamat’s creatures, he sets up their images on the gates of the Apsû as a monument of his victory.57 Thus, as noted by Ataç, most of these figures are associated with peripheral or liminal zones such as the Apsû, or the netherworld, since “the Apsû was a component of the greater Mesopotamian Netherworld, and was sometimes equated or even confused with the Netherworld proper”.58 This aspect is further supported by the fact that the description of some residents of the netherworld encountered by the Assyrian prince in the Underworld Vision of an Assyrian Prince matches the representation of some guarding figures, such as the ugallu.59 The latter, in particular, is commonly paired in the Southwest Palace with the Lulal, an emptyhanded genie with the horned cap raising his right fist: this figure performs the role of protecting against evil, but it has also some connection with the Sumerian poem Ishtar’s Descent to the Netherworld.60 It seems therefore reasonable to believe that the monstrous and evil offspring of Tiamat, upon their defeat, were turned into beneficent and protective sprits and, given their malevolent background, they were more effective.61 Perhaps, to further understand why creatures 54

Talon 2005, 87 lines 23–35, 3–6, 3–9. Ataç 2004, 71 fn. 39; 2010, 180. 56 Russell 1991, 184. 57 Talon 2005, 96, line 75, 5–19. 58 Ataç 2004, 68. 59 Green 1984, 86; Ataç 2004; 2010, 182–183, 190–200. For the text of the Underworld Vision of an Assyrian Prince, see SAA 3 32. 60 Black and Green 1992, 116. See image in Kertai 2015, fig. 13. 61 Green 1984, 86. 55

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from the netherworld were taken as protective figures of the new palace of Sennacherib, two additional aspects should be considered. First, just before Sennacherib ascended to the throne, the twelfth tablet of the Epic of Gilgamesh was copied by Nabu-zuqup-kenu, as part of the mass production of scholarly texts already noted above, with the clear purpose of making a parallelism between the death of Sargon II in an enemy country and the fact that “he was not interred in his house”,62 and the condition in the underworld of those who die in battle and are unburied as described by Enkidu to Gilgamesh after his journey in the netherworld.63 In detail, quoting the text, Gilgamesh asks for information on the netherworld: “Tell me, my friend! Tell me, my friend! Tell me the rules of the Netherworld that you saw!”.64 Enkidu then gives a detailed description of each category of dead men and describes those who were killed in battle and whose bodies are unburied as follows: “‘Did you see the one who was killed in battle?’ ‘I [saw (him).] His father and mother honour his memory and his wife [weeps] over [(him).]’ (lines 148–149). ‘Did you see the one whose corpse was left lying in the open countryside?’ I saw (him). His ghost does not lie at rest in the Netherworld.’ ‘Did you see the one whose ghost has no provider of funerary offerings?’ ‘I saw (him). He eats the scrapings from the pot (and) crusts of bread that are thrown away in the street’” (lines 150–153).65 As pointed out by Frahm, Nabu-zuqup-kenu used an innovative intertextual utilisation of this tablet as a literary strategy to accept the death of the king but also to explain his destiny in the netherworld.66 Second, Nabu-zuqup-kenu was still active as a scholar under Sennacherib (716–684).67 If Nabu-zuqup-kenu actually adopted such an intertextual technique to explain Sargon’s death, he was convinced that the dead Sargon would have henceforth been seen as a restless, waste-consuming and probably harmful spirit for living people and for the new king himself. In other words, Sargon would have been a roving evil spirit that could threaten his son. At this point, then an actual crisis took place before Sennacherib ascended to the throne: according to lines 148–149, Sargon’s memory had to be respected and remembered, through appropriate ritual care, such as the kispu-offering.68 However, according to lines 150– 62

Tadmor et al. 1989, 11, lines 8–9. Frahm 1999. 64 George 2003, 733, lines 90–91. 65 George 2003, 735. 66 Frahm 1999, 79–80. 67 May 2018. However, Frahm (2014, 170) suggests that Nabu-zuqup-kenu may later have fallen into disgrace, since he stayed in Kalḫu instead of moving to Nineveh. 68 The ritual care consisted of food offerings, water libations and calling out the name of the deceased (Tsukimoto 1985). 63

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153, it is implicit that unburied corpses became a threat and accordingly some countermeasures had to be taken to counter the wandering ghost. In fact, ghosts that did not receive care or whose name or memory was intentionally forgotten, harboured anger and resentment and could become a vicious demon, “an evil ghost” or a “ghost who did evil things”, or even a “murderous ghost”.69 Moreover, magical and medical texts, the majority of which were found at Nineveh, show that ghosts were blamed for producing illness.70 If so, taken altogether, we may envisage that Sargon’s death led to a crisis, which was dealt with by the adoption of appropriate countermeasures to ward off potential evil coming from the netherworld. This was solved by turning the Southwest Palace into an apotropaic landscape and by adopting a new apotropaic repertoire selected from among the beings that populate and serve the terrible netherworld itself. In fact, door keepers in the Netherworld were believed to be able to prevent ghosts leaving the netherworld: “[May] Nedu, great door keeper of the Netherworld [lock] (the gate) in their faces. Seize it and take it down to the ‘land of no return’”.71 It is by no chance, moreover, that the inscription on the clay figurine representing the kusarikku contains an order which explicitly repels death: “Go out death, come in life”.72 This scenario of fear, with all due caution, could very well have been the starting point for a change in the protective palace countermeasures by turning extant clay figurines into visible palace reliefs. 73 Fear, therefore, may have been the practical reason why Nabu-zuqup-kenu copied the twelfth tablet of Gilgamesh, and his fear may have led Sennacherib to take precautions to repel and send back down into the netherworld any wandering ghost, especially that of a mighty and powerful king like Sargon. This hypothesis might be further supported by the suspicion raised by George and later expanded by Frahm that the twelfth tablet of Gilgamesh was copied by Nabu-zuqup-kenu on the 27th of the month Du’uzu in connection with a ritual involving the dead.74 In fact, the date of Nabu-zuqup-kenu’s copy falls into the period during which an annual ritual of mourning for the god Dumuzi/Tammuz invoked in the last lines of the already mentioned Akkadian myth Ishtar’s Descent to the Netherworld was performed. Moreover, a letter from Nineveh shows that the 27th was the day in which Dumuzi left the netherworld and walks again upon the earth.75 69

Scurlock 1997, 92. Scurlock 2006. 71 Scurlock 1997, 80, 92. 72 Green 1983, 92; Wiggermann 1992, 51. 73 It is remarkable that before starting any building activity, Sennacherib rebuilt the temple of the god Nergal of Tarbiṣu, the god associated with death (RINAP 3/2 214; Frahm 2014, 202–203). 74 George 2003, 54; Frahm 2005b. 75 SAA 10 19. Frahm (2005b, 5) asks a number of unanswered questions that may support the interpretations suggested in this paper, such as: “Did he (Nabû-zuqup-kēnu) expect to 70

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In conclusion, the choice of selecting specific figures to protect the new palace relied on a thoughtful examination and evaluation of the possible risks to which Sennacherib was exposed after his father’s death. The “crisis” basically required the scribal group to analyse and explain an unacceptable death and find a way to prevent it causing harm in the future. In doing so, however, an implicit ideological message may have been also conceived and conveyed: the apotropaic landscape in the Southwest Palace must have been perceived by an internal audience as a tool to further distance Sennacherib from Sargon, with the consequence that the new visual repertoire created something that was perceived by Sennacherib’s contemporaries as the beginning of a new period. Concluding remarks Although they may appear as subordinate or peripheral visual means of communication, the figures that adorned or protected entrances and doorways in the Assyrian royal palaces embodied a multi-layered and multifaceted meaning, which reveals indirect ways through which an Assyrian king built his self-representation and laid claim to present a new ideology. First, they show the different attitudes each king had towards the past. There is in both Sargon II and Sennacherib an orientation that produces a different form of reaction to a crisis. The troubled political background of Sargon led him into a struggle to impose his kingship. The consequence was that Sargon celebrated the past in his palace, adopting a backwards-facing outlook on the present, but also showing himself as the founder of a new era. This is well reflected in the bearded figures identified with Gilgamesh and Enkidu and all the allusions and implications the symbols they hold evoke. By contrast, Sennacherib, with his apotropaic figures, may not have wanted to return to the past, but deployed memories and ideas from the past to articulate a particular kind of present and vision for the present and the future. Both orientations advocate uprooting and a break from the status quo; they do, however do so in opposing directions. Second, they represent the voice of Neo-Assyrian scholars. The example of Sargon’s scribe Nabu-zuqup-kenu shows the extent to which the members of the intellectual and scribal group were inculcated with a certain type of ideology that moulded their impressions of the ideal king in order to create the image a given king wished to be and show. The copying of a literary cuneiform text, such as Gilgamesh, and its visual representation combined with a Babylonian ritual, prove that the Mesopotamian scribes, even if they had a well-developed sense of the “longue durée” of their culture, made an effort not only to preserve and make eternal the stream of tradition, but also responded to the very specific needs of the

be able, in a kind of ad hoc ritual connected with the Dumuzi festivities, to bring Enkidu up to earth in order to send back down with him the evil associated with the catastrophic death of king Sargon, or maybe even the ghost of the unburied king himself?”

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moment and of the reigning king.76 In other words, the scribal group supported the new king, his personality and political needs to create, or claim to create, a new ideology or a new way to communicate his own personal choices. Third, they are means to communicate with an internal group. The apotropaic and non-apotropaic figures guarding entrances and doorways examined so far not only claimed to shape an apparent new ideology bound to the new ruler but also may have been conceived as one of the tools used to present the new king to his supporters. All the implications and ideas associated with the bearded figures (Gilgamesh and Enkidu), along with the royal portrait showing Sargon in his role of shepherd, could be grasped by an erudite audience and were visual messages expressly addressed to Sargon’s supporters, namely aristocrats, scholars, and Babylonians. Similarly, the reduction of apotropaic figures from the palace of Sennacherib and the introduction of visual protective measures to counteract Sargon’s memory was a message expressly addressed to a similar group of recipients: they indicate that Sennacherib would have begun a new era markedly different from that of his father. This way of communicating, without using violent or fearful means of communication, can be labelled as persuasion. The recipients of these messages already had positive attitudes towards the empire, and the king (persuader) reinforced and stimulated their positive attitudes through specific forms of behaviour. In fact, persuasion is interactive and attempts to satisfy the needs of both persuader and persuaded. In the words of Jowett and O’Donnell, persuasion has the consequence “of resulting in a reaction such as ‘I never saw it that way before’”.77 What happens is that the recipient of the persuasive interaction relates to, or contrasts the message with, his or her existing repertoire of information, beliefs, attitudes, and experiences. The process of persuasion is an interactive one in which the recipient foresees the fulfilment of a personal or societal need or desire if the persuasive purpose is adopted. Persuasion, in the context of Sargon II and Sennacherib’s reigns, was used by each king to reinforce his new reign by motivating his supporters to support his apparent new ideology.78 Bibliography Ambos, C. 2008. “Das ,Neujahrs‘-Fest zur Jahresmitte und die Investitur des Königs im Gefangnis”, in: D. Prechel (ed.), Fest und Eid: Instrument der Herrschaftssicherung im Alten Orient (Kulturelle und Sprachliche Kontakte 3), Würzburg: Ergon, 1–12. Ambos, C. 2013. Der König im Gefängnis und das Neujahrsfest im Herbst: Mechanismen der Legitimation des babylonischen Herrschers im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. und ihre Geschichte, Dresden: ISLET. 76

Frahm (1999, 73) also highlights this aspect. Jowett and O’Donnell 2012, 32–33. 78 Portuese 2020a, 265–266. 77

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Ambos, C. / Krauskopf, I. 2010. “The curved staff in the Ancient Near East as a predecessor of the Etruscan lituus”, in: L. B. van der Meer (ed.), Material Aspects of Etruscan Religion. Proceedings of the International Colloquium Leiden, May 29 and 30, 2008 (BABesch Supplement 16), Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 127–153. Annus, A. 2012. “Louvre Gilgamesh (AO 19862) is depicted in life size”, Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires 2, 44–45. Artemov, N. 2018. “Ideology and Propaganda. Some Reflections on Two Problematic Terms”, in: K. Kleber / G. Neumann / S. Paulus (eds), Grenzüberschreitungen. Studien zur Kulturgeschichte des Alten Orients. Festschrift für Hans Neumann zum 65. Geburtstag am 9. Mai 2018 (dubsar 5), Münster: Zaphon, 43–57. Ataç, M.-A. 2004. “The “Underworld Vision” of the Ninevite Intellectual Milieu”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 67–76. Ataç, M-A. 2010. The Mythology of Kingship in Neo-Assyrian Art, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bach, J. 2020. “Royal literary identity under the Sargonids and the Epic of Gilgameš”, Die Welt des Orients 50/2, 318–338. Bagg, A. 2016. “Where is the Public? A New Look at the Brutality Scenes in NeoAssyrian Royal Inscriptions and Art”, in: L. Battini (ed.), Making Pictures of War: Realia et Imaginaria in the Iconology of the Ancient Near East (Archaeopress Ancient Near Eastern Archaeology 1), Oxford: Archaeopress, 57–82. Bahrani, Z. 2008. Rituals of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia, New York: Zone Books. Bernbeck, R. / McGuire, R. 2011. “Ideology and Archaeology: Between Imagination and Relational Practice”, in: R. Bernbeck / R. McGuire (eds), Ideologies in Archaeology, Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1–12. Black, J. / Green, A. 1992. Gods, Demons and Symbols of Ancient Mesopotamia, An Illustrated Dictionary, London: The British Museum Press. Bonatz, D. 2011. “Funktionen des Bildes in Altvorderasien”, in: A. Verbovsek / B. Backes / C. Jones (eds), Methodik und Didaktik in der Ägyptologie Herausforderungen eines kulturwissenschaftlichen Paradigmenwechsels in den Altertumswissenschaften (Ägyptologie und Kulturwissenschaft IV), Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 287–307. Bonatz, D. 2012. “Bild, Macht und Raum im neuassyrischen Reich”, in: G. Wilhelm (ed.), Organization, Representation and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg 20–25 July 2008, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 51–71. Botta, P. E. / Flandin, M. E. 1849. Monument de Ninive I. Architecture et sculpture, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale.

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Bourdieu, P. 2020. Habitus and Field: General Sociology, Volume 2. Lectures at the College de France (1982–1983), Cambridge: Polity Press. Chamaza, V. G. W. 1992. “Sargon II’s Ascent to the Throne: the Political Situation”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin VI, 21–33. Collins, P. 2014. “Gods, Heroes, Rituals, and Violence: Warfare in Neo-Assyrian Art”, in: B. A. Brown / M. H. Feldman (eds), Critical Approaches to Ancient Near Eastern Art, Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter, 619–644. Elayi, J. 2017. Sargon II, King of Assyria (Archaeology and Biblical Studies 22), Atlanta: SBL Press. Elayi, J. 2018. Sennacherib, King of Assyria (Archaeology and Biblical Studies 24), Atlanta: SBL Press. Finkel, I. L. / Reade, J. E. 1996. “Assyrian Hieroglyphs”, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 86, 244–268. Frahm, E. 1997. Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (Archiv für Orientforschung Beiheft 26), Vienna: Institut für Orientalistik der Universität Wien. Frahm, E. 1999. “Nabû-zuqup-kēnu, das Gilgamesch-Epos und der Tod Sargons II”, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 51, 73–90. Frahm, E. 2005a. “Observations on the Name and Age of Sargon II, and on Some Patterns of Assyrian Royal Onomastics”, Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires 2, 46–50. Frahm, E. 2005b. “Nabū-zuqup-kenu, Gilgamesh XII, and the Rites of Du’uzu”, Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires 1, 4–5. Frahm, E. 2014. “Family Matters: Psychohistorical Reflections on Sennacherib and His Times”, in: I. Kalimi / S. Richardson (eds), Sennacherib at the Gates of Jerusalem: Story, History and Historiography, Leiden / Boston: Brill, 163– 222. Galter, H. 2006. “Sargon der Zweite. Über die Wiederinszenierung von Geschichte”, in: R. Rollinger / B. Truschnegg (eds), Altertum und Mittelmeerrat1m: Die antike Welt diesseits und jenseits der Levante, Festschrift für Peter W. Haider zum 60. Geburtstag (Oriens et Occidens Band 12), Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 279–302. Garelli, P. 1982. “La propagande royale Assyrienne”, Akkadica 27, 16–29. George, A. R. 2003. The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Text, Volume I, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gillmann, N. 2011–2012. “Les bas-reliefs Neo-Assyriens : une nouvelle tentative d’interprétation”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin XIX, 203–237. Green, A. 1983. “Neo-Assyrian Apotropaic Figures: Figurines, Rituals and Monumental Art, with Special Reference to the Figurines from the Excavations of the British School of Archaeology in Iraq at Nimrud”, Iraq 45/1, 87–96. Green, A. 1984. “Beneficent Spirits and Malevolent Demons: The Iconography of Good and Evil in Ancient Assyria and Babylonia”, in: H. G. Kippenberg / L. P. van den Bosch / L. Leertouwer / H. A. Witte (eds), Visible Religion, An-

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nual for Religious Iconography, Volume III: Popular Religion, Leiden: Brill, 80–105. Kertai, D. 2015. “The Guardians at the Doors: Entering the Southwest Palace in Nineveh”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 74/2, 325–349. Kolbe, D. 1981. Die Reliefprogramme religiös-mythologischen Charakters in neuassyrischen Palästen. Die Figurentypen, ihre Benennung und Bedeutung (Europäische Hochschulschriften, Reihe 38, Archäologie Band 3), Frankfurt am Main / Bern: Peter D. Lang. Koselleck, R. 2006. “Crisis”, Journal of the History of Ideas 67/2, 357–400. Lanfranchi, G.-B. 1997. “Consensus to Empire: Some Aspects of Sargon II’s Foreign Policy”, in: H. Waetzoldt / H. Hauptmann (eds), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten, XXXIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6.–10. Juli 1992 (Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient 6), Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 81–87. Magen, U. 1986. Assyrische Königsdarstellungen: Aspekte der Herrschaft, eine Typologie (Baghdader Forschungen 9), Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Matthiae, P. 2015. “Les nobles dans l’art de Khorsabad : images et conception politique de Sargon d’Assyrie”, Comptes rendus de l’Académie II, 1047–1074. Matthiae, P. 2018. “Le rapport entre texte et image dans les reliefs de Ḫorsābād. Tradition et innovation un siècle et demi après Assurnaṣirpal II”, in: P. Attinger / A. Cavigneaux / C. Mittermayer / M. Novák (eds), Text and Image. Proceedings of the 61e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Geneva and Bern, 22–26 June 2015 (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 40, Series Archaeologica), Leuven / Paris / Bristol: Peeters, 245–254. May, N. N. 2015. “Administrative and Other Reforms of Sargon II and Tiglathpileser III”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin XXI, 79–116. May, N. N. 2018. “The Scholar and Politics: Nabû-zuqup-kēnu, His Colophons and the Ideology of Sargon II”, Transactions of the State Hermitage Museum XCV, 110–164. Melville, S. C. 2016. The Campaigns of Sargon II, King of Assyria, 721–705 B.C. (Campaigns and Commanders 55), Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Nadali, D. 2017. “Warfare of History. How Warfare Shapes Ancient Mesopotamian Societies”, in: B. Antela / J. Vidal / C. Sierra (eds), Memoria del conflicto en la Antigüedad. Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 1–17. Oppenheim, A. L. (ed.). 1977. Ancient Mesopotamia. Portrait of a Dead Civilization, Revised Edition Completed by Erica Reiner, Chicago / London: The University of Chicago Press. Ornan, T. 2004. “Expelling Demons at Nineveh: On the Visibility of Benevolent Demons in the Palaces of Nineveh”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 83–92.

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Parpola, S. 1995. “The Construction of Dur-Šarrukin in the Assyrian Royal Correspondence”, in: A. Caubet (ed.), Khorsabad, le palais de Sargon II, roi d’Assyrie : actes du colloque organisé au musée du Louvre par le Services culturel les 21 et 22 janvier 1994 (Musée National du Louvre Paris : conférences et colloques), Paris: La documentation Française, 47–77. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2019. “Ideology”, in: A. C. Gunter (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Near Eastern Art, Hoboken: Wiley Blackwell, 283–308. Porter, B. N. 2000. “‘For the Astonishment of All Enemies’: Assyrian Propaganda and Its Audience in the Reign of Ashurnasirpal II and Esarhaddon”, Bulletin – The Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 35, 7–18. Porter, B. N. 2003. “Intimidation and Friendly Persuasion: Re-Evaluating the Propaganda of Ashurnasirpal II”, Eretz-Israel 27, 180–191. Portuese, L. 2017. “Concealed Paternalism of the Assyrian King: Which Audience?”, Mesopotamia LII, 111–128. Portuese, L. 2020a. Life at Court: Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon. Portuese, L. 2020b. “The Genies of the Northwest Palace of Assurnasirpal II”, Ash-Sharq 4, 253–291. Röllig, W. 1993. “Aktion oder Reaktion? Politisches Handeln assyrischer Könige”, in: K. Raaflaub (ed.), Anfänge politischen Denkens in der Antike. Die nahöstlichen Kulturen und die Griechen (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs. Kolloquien 24), Munich: R. Oldenbourg, 105–113. Russell, J. M. 1991. Sennacherib’s Palace without Rival at Nineveh, Chicago / London: The University of Chicago Press. Scurlock, J. A. 1997. “Ghost in the Ancient Near East: Weak or Powerful?”, Hebrew Union College Annual 68, 77–96. Scurlock, J. A. 2006. Magico-Medical Means of Treating Ghost-induced Illnesses in Ancient Mesopotamia (Ancient Magic and Divination III), Leiden: Brill / Boston: Styx & PP. Siddall, L. R. 2013. The Reign of Adad-nīrārī III: An Historical and Ideological Study of an Assyrian King and His Times (Cuneiform Monographs 45), Leiden: Brill. Tadmor, H. / Landsberger, B. / Parpola, S. 1989. “The Sin of Sargon and Sennacherib’s Last Will”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 3, 3–51. Talon, P. 2005. The Standard Babylonian Creation Myth Enūma Eliš, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Tsukimoto, A. 1985. Untersuchungen zur Totenpflege (kispum) im alten Mesopotamien (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 216), Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener.

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Van De Mieroop, M. 1999. “Literature and Political Discourse in Ancient Mesopotamia. Sargon II of Assyria and Sargon of Agade”, in: B. Böck / E. CancikKirschbaum / T. Richter (eds), Munuscula Mesopotamica, Festschrift für Johannes Renger (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 267), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 327–339. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 1983. “Exit Talim! Studies in Babylonian Demonology, I”, Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap Leiden 27, 90– 105. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 1992. Mesopotamian Protective Spirits. The Ritual Texts (Cuneiform Monographs I), Groningen: STYX. Winter, I. J. 2008. “Sennacherib’s Expert Knowledge: Skill and Mastery as Components of Royal Display”, in: R. D. Biggs / J. Myers / M. T. Roth (eds), Proceedings of the 51st Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Held at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, July 18–22, 2005, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 333–338.

Kingship in Space and Time at the Northwest Palace, Nimrud Paul Collins Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford

Abstract: The wall reliefs of Neo-Assyrian palaces have been investigated for relationships between text and image, their historiographical significance and affective properties. The sculptured images and associated inscriptions projected the power and authority of Assyrian kingship through representations of the achievements of individual rulers and their connections with royal ancestors and the gods who promoted and sustained them. This was part of a body of values, traditions and knowledge shared within the Assyrian courtly and imperial community, a unifying ideology which challenged those who would defy it with consequences in the form of conquest and incorporation. These monuments were experienced as part of the theatre of kingship in architectural spaces where the business of empire took place. They also participated, however, within the rituals of kingship that evoked the agency of the gods. Here I argue that the text and images worked together to establish an active relationship between the king and a mythical past and a perfect future, thereby ensuring Assyrian kingship was timeless. Keywords: Assyrian reliefs; kingship; time; myth; ritual.

The orthostat reliefs that lined the walls of Neo-Assyrian palaces of the ninth to seventh centuries BC in northern Iraq have long been investigated for their political and cultural messages, not least as vehicles for expressing and propagating royal ideology.1 It is recognised that they depict a repertoire of royal deeds that were part of a body of values, traditions and knowledge shared by the Assyrian elite—the monarch, his family, and senior members of the courtly community— a unifying ideology which challenged those who would defy it with consequences in the form of conquest and incorporation.2 This is also true for the royal inscriptions that accompany the carved scenes since, as Irene Winter has emphasised, the words and images are “embedded and mutually related sign systems”.3 Primarily addressed to the king himself, the inscriptions reinforced among the leading members of the political and religious establishment “the aggressive ideology

1

Reade 1979, 338–339; Bachelot 1991, 116–120; Winter 1993, 36–37. For a review and analysis of the modern understanding of propaganda and its role in relation to the Assyrian reliefs, see Portuese 2020, 261–272. 2 Ataç 2010a, 201; Gansell 2016, 87; Nadali 2019, 71. 3 Winter 2016, 217.

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on which the Assyrian state was founded”.4 While these powerful statements were part of the lived experiences of a privileged audience—whose identity they informed and supported—the very same texts and visual images also expressed the ideology at a sacred level, transforming historical reality into eternal myth. Achievements of individual rulers were recorded in paint and stone though a traditional rhetoric of words and images: palace and temple construction, animal hunts, battles against enemies, and celebratory processions and banquets. Given that these descriptions directly and consistently acknowledge the gods as the source of the king’s power, the royal acts can be understood as rituals intended to restore the cosmic order established by the gods, satisfying them in order to ensure the well-being of the ruler and his kingdom.5 Amy Gansell has argued convincingly that these formulaic concepts were sustained and conveyed across generations within the Assyrian courtly circles (and therefore also across a succession of royal palaces) through an “elite ideological memory”. This communicated “infinite realities of the past and future”6 in which the essence of kingship transcended mortal time.7 Using the Northwest Palace at Nimrud as a case study, I venture a hypothesis that the content of the sculpted relief panels ensured this timeless quality through their active participation in the rituals of kingship that were conducted across a sequence of ritualised spaces. To do so, it is useful to first consider how the Assyrian court and scholarly community understood notions of time. Neo-Assyrian time Assyrians understood the past, present and future to be part of a divine blueprint. This was not fixed and the fate (šīmtu) of individuals could be changed through their own unintended actions or the work of evil agents.8 It was, however, possible to discover these past events through the skill of diviners who interpreted signs sent by the gods. Such divinely inspired omens were delivered as judgements, but through sacrifice, prayers and rituals, individuals could appeal to the gods to change their decisions, just as if they were in a law court or had sent a petition to the king as the source of justice.9 In this way, the effects of events that happened in the past could be corrected to ensure a negative future was turned into a positive one.

4

Frahm 2019, 142. Reade 2005. 6 Gansell 2016, 86. 7 Bahrani 2003, 182; Gansell 2016, 87–90. 8 Koch 2013, 140. 9 Van De Mieroop 2016, 136. 5

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In the Neo-Assyrian period, diviners (bārû) were among a range of scholars and skilled craftsmen (ummânu) who were masters of a vast field of knowledge extending across religion and science.10 Although this wisdom was believed to have been shared by the gods with a number of privileged humans in a mythical, antediluvian period, it needed to be continuously updated based on the latest thinking.11 The elite scholars who were responsible for this task seem to have depended largely on royal patronage, which created a highly competitive atmosphere that helped to drive intellectual innovation.12 While the practice of divination drew on observations and interpretations compiled or situated in a deeper historical past, its focus was on more recent events as well as the present and future. If the past was a source of knowledge, how was it understood? It is regularly stated that the people of Mesopotamia were fixated on the past because, in an often-repeated theory, they turned their back to the future so as to have their past in front of them.13 Gonzalo Rubio has, however, argued that this idea is based on a misunderstanding and that in fact the future was very much in their sights.14 While it was recognised that in everyday life the present moved into the future “as an arrow”, time could also be understood in a more abstract fashion, where past, present and future events were arranged not in a linear or even circular fashion but, as Ulla Koch has articulated, like currents in a three dimensional piece of cake, “all suspended in time simultaneously”.15 Separated from this mundane constellation of real time (with its past, present and future) was a cosmic, mythological time.16 This was the moment when divine agency created order from cosmic chaos.17 Kingship was among the mes, the fundamental components of this ordered life and culture, established in this time by the gods.18 The great Epic of Creation Enūma Eliš (“When Above”) that described the building of the supreme god’s temple (Marduk in the Babylonian version or Ashur in the Assyrian account) represented an “interruption of primordial—and hence dangerous or sacred—time in to mundane time”.19 10

For the ummânus see Lenzi 2008; Radner 2011; Robson 2011. The first royal ummânu was appointed in the tenth century BC (Robson 2019, table 3a, 64). 11 Annus 2010, 3. 12 Robson 2019. 13 See, for example, Maul 2008. 14 Rubio 2013, 12. 15 Koch 2013, 141. 16 Robson 2004, 49; Ataç 2010a; 2010b. 17 Rubio 2013, 7. 18 Kingship is among the divine mes named in the early second millennium BC Sumerian poem Inana and Enki (ETCSL: lines F6 and J10), while the god Enki is said to have provided it to humans in The debate between Bird and Fish (ETCSL: lines 11–12). 19 Sommer 2000, 82. In the early second millennium BC the concept of a Flood dividing a prediluvian age and historical time was formulated (see Chen 2014).

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Time and ritual in the Northwest Palace The 1951 excavations at Nimrud (ancient Kalhu) revealed a stele in a recess (EA) at the eastern end of the throne room façade in the Northwest Palace (Fig. 1).20 Usually referred to as the Banquet Stele, it is carved with an image of King Ashurnasirpal II (r. 883–859 BC) at the top centre. The king, holding a staff and sceptre, is flanked by divine symbols (he wears a necklace with the same sequence of six symbols). A cuneiform text carved across the rest of the face of the stele is an account of the king’s creation of Kalhu as his royal centre.21 It describes its transformation with the building of a temple complex and new royal palace (the Northwest Palace) and the celebrations marking its inauguration. Guy Bunnens has proposed that a deliberate analogy was established between the content of this inscription and Enūma Eliš.22 Thus Ashurnasirpal had the ruins of the already ancient city of Kalhu rebuilt, just as in myth Babylon was created following the defeat of the forces of chaos. In this way, cosmic order was reflected in the building and layout of the Northwest Palace; myth and history became intertwined. The divine-like creation of the palace is presented as a royal task that was in itself highly ritualised. It is very likely that aspects of the layout and decoration of the building was guided by the ummânu to ensure it was propitious and magically secure.23 The plan of the palace as well as its decoration was closely tied to courtly life and the layout of rooms allowed for prescribed, choreographed ritual movements and actions of the king and his court within and between spaces, some of which are recounted in texts and images.24 These include ceremonies such as banquets, tribute and victory processions that involved furniture and equipment as well as personnel. It is very possible, as Ann Shafer has argued, that the carved and painted textual and visual images served to not only celebrate the king’s actions in restoring cosmic balance, but were a required component to complete it.25 They actively participated in the rituals as a means to “assure divine answers to the king’s prayers and to lengthen his life and reign […] ultimately functioning as a kind of conduit to the divine”.26 The imagery lining the walls effectively acted to seal the relationship between king and gods and between cosmic and historical

20

Oates and Oates 2001, 40–41, fig. 18. RIMA 2, 288–293. 22 Bunnens 2006. 23 Ataç 2010b, 160. 24 Groß and Kertai 2019; Kertai 2019; Portuese 2019; 2020. For the palace as a ritualised space see Reade 2005; Shafer 2014; Portuese 2020, 86–94. 25 Shafer 2014. She notes that we have no direct textual confirmation of the ritualisation of the actual reliefs (Shafter 2014, 724), but the images were understood as original realities, embodying kingship and divinity (Bahrani 2003, 121–148). 26 Shafer 2014, 723. 21

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time; indeed, each room might be imagined as having had a giant cylinder seal rolled across its walls, thereby evoking divine agency.27

Figure 1: Northwest Palace at Nimrud (Kalhu) showing the throne room (B), East Suite (rooms G–O and R) and West Suite (rooms WG–WK, WM and A). CDLI http://cdli.ucla.edu.

27

The agency of the gods was evoked and mediated through the seal imagery and divine authority made effective through the act of sealing, see Winter 2007, 49–50.

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The present A number of scholars have identified the throne room (Fig. 1, room B) as the most significant space in the Northwest Palace. 28 The relatively well preserved sequence of relief panels that lined the south wall have been understood as narratives that might allude to specific historical events described in Ashurnasirpal’s inscriptions, not least those carved on the stone sculptures themselves (the so-called Standard Inscription).29 Winter’s fundamental study of these reliefs revealed how they represent an “articulation of the boundaries of the empire […] and at the same time make the throneroom itself the symbolic “center,” creating a physical microcosm of the state.”30 There is no agreement among researchers about which historical events are referenced by the carved scenes, but such uncertainty may have been intended by their designers. Using descriptions of real events through nonspecific visual details (or by clues known only to a privileged few), timeless notions of royal heroism and triumph are foregrounded.

Figure 2: Drawings of reliefs lining the south wall of the throne room in the Northwest Palace, Nimrud (Kalhu). (source: CDLI – http://cdli.ucla.edu).

28

See Portuese 2019, 66, fn. 2 for a full list of studies. Although their conclusions differ, both Winter (1983) and Reade (1985, 212–213) have suggested parallels between battle scene specific campaigns mentioned in these texts. Portuese offers convincing parallels between the textual and visual descriptions, concluding that they represent the king’s most important strategic and ideological achievements (2020, 164–169). 30 Winter 1981, 20; 1983, 24. 29

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The nine slabs at the western end of the throne room are of direct interest here (Fig. 2). They can be understood as a connected historical sequence, interrupted by the central panels (B-8 to B-5). The scenes are also statements of royal triumph in which the upper and lower registers are related thematically or conceptually. Thus, the king effortlessly overcomes obstacles in the shape of enemy chariotry and a major river (B-11 to B-8); and leads the assault of a city and a siege (B-5 to B-3). Recent history and timeless statements of kingship become fused. The inscribed words are important here as in describing the king’s achievements as moments in real time they link the eternal myth of kingship with a historical reality.31 The connection between myth and history is made possible through the relationship between the ruler and divine authority. The throne room reliefs emphasize this unambiguously since the king is not only accompanied by a god in a winged disk but the deity and ruler adopt an identical pose, so that Ashurnasirpal is a mirror of the divine.32 In addition, the narrative reliefs around the room are punctuated with symbolic scenes of the king in association with “sacred trees” and supernatural spirits emphasizing the mythological and ritual nature of the king’s activities. These spirits are understood to be representations of apkallus, the antediluvian sages, who are the mythological predecessors of the ummânus and the source of divine knowledge.33 They make the throne room an “other” space and offer multiple, entangled interpretations of the king’s roles as warrior and priest that are “distinctively timeless and ‘ideal’”.34 The reliefs at the centre of the south and the east walls (B-13 and B-23 respectively) that show a sacred tree flanked by standing monarchs and spirits have been the focus of much analysis.35 The royal figures have been interpreted as either portraits of Ashurnasirpal, perhaps reflecting distinct roles, or as images of his predecessors who are named in the Standard Inscription: his father Tukulti-Ninurta II (r. 890–884 BC) and grandfather Adad-nirari II (r. 911–891 BC).36 As with the scenes of battle, this

31

Winter (2016a, 110) stresses the importance of the inscriptions on the palace reliefs for providing historical specificity. 32 The deity in the winged disk may be identified as the Assyrian national god Assur or Shamash, the sun god of justice (Collon 2001, 79–81; Portuese 2020, 192). A very close association between the king and the sun god is indicated by royal inscriptions (Rubio 2013, 102). 33 For the relationship between apkallu and ummânus, see Lenzi 2008, 106–120; Ataç 2010b; Collins 2010. On the ummânus, see Radner 2011; Robson 2011. 34 Ataç 2010a, 85. The images have been understood to represent distinct aspects of kingship. According to Ataç (2010a) these are military-political (regnum) and priestly (sacerdotium), as well as a “mixta persona”; Portuese (2020, 192) identifies dual qualities of benevolence and mercilessness. 35 For sacred trees see Giovino 2007; Ataç 2010b. 36 That the two kings represent ancestors of Ashurnasirpal was first proposed by Brentjes (1994) and developed further by Brown (2010).

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lack of agreement about the meaning of the scene may reflect an ambiguity intended by their designers in which transient time is fused with the eternal. Although presented visually as expressions of timeless kingship, most of the images and certainly the inscriptions that accompany them, describe a contemporary world, one in which the king and his courtiers address the events and concerns of the recent past. This is done, however, very much with an eye on the future: “a present state, but one that endures”.37 That the throne room was a liminal space linking past, present and a time yet to come is encapsulated in the imagery across four of the nine carved slabs at its western end (B-8 lower register, B-7, B-6 and B-5 upper and half of the lower register). These show the victorious king and some of his army converging from both directions towards scenes of celebration and ritual (figures in lion masks with whips and soldiers playing catch with the severed heads of enemies38) that signal the restoration of order through the support of the gods; that balance has been restored to the cosmos is made evident by the placement of these images at the centre of the narrative scheme rather than at its end.39

Figure 3: The upper register of relief B-7 (BM124548). © Trustees of the British Museum.

At the heart of this group is panel B-7 which acts as the axis for the entire sequence. The top register shows the outline of a circular enclosure with crenelated towers spaced around its walls (Fig. 3). This has been understood as the schematic view of a fortified military camp, part of the landscape in which the scenes of battle and siege are taking place, as well by analogy with depictions of military 37

Frame 2019, 147–148. This future is found throughout the structure of the palace in foundation texts that often contain a section that speaks directly to the later Assyrian ruler who might discover them when refurbishing the building. 38 See Portuese 2020, 155–156 for interpretations and bibliography. 39 Lumsden 2004.

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camps on reliefs from later palaces.40 It is also possible, however, that this is intended as a representation of Kalhu—the symbolic centre of the kingdom—and may relate to the scene in the lower register of panels B-8 to B-7 in which the chariots of the king and a divine standard are acknowledged by clapping females standing on the city or palace walls. The division of the schematic plan suggests crossroads within the city, but they also form the spokes of a wheel around which the entire action of the nine panels pivot. In each of the four divisions are figures preparing a banquet and undertaking purification rituals using fans and aspergilla.41 Significantly, at bottom left is a bārû who wears a distinctive fez-like hat and inspects the entrails of a sacrificial ram.42 The relationship of these actors with the divine source of knowledge and royal assistance is represented by the structure to the right of the circular city-camp, and perhaps imagined as part of it, albeit at a different scale. It is constructed with columns that support a roof or awning with a hanging fringe of alternating lotus blossoms and buds.43 At least two of the columns are surmounted by a standing goat, symbol of the god Ashur.44 This building, which may be a temporary structure erected as part of the victory rituals, is associated with a senior Assyrian official who receives a line of bound enemies alongside the grooming and feeding of four horses (perhaps the animals that pulled chariots of the king and divine standard). These rituals of victory mark a moment in time when divine order has been restored by Ashurnasirpal who is able to present himself as a perfect image of kingship. This is accomplished visually in the bottom register of panel B-7 where the warrior king, protected by a parasol, lowers his bow and holds aloft arrows towards a man identified by his tasselled headband as the crown prince (Fig. 4).45 Both the king and the prince wear fringed robes perhaps highlighting the ritual aspect of the encounter.46 Notably, the god in a wing disk, who otherwise mirrors the action of the king in this sequence of reliefs, is shown here not with weapons but holding the ring of kingship. The scene can be compared with a similar image on the relief (B-23) behind the royal throne in which the god in a winged disc holds the ring aloft as if presenting it to the king. In this version, however, the ring is lowered and it is unclear if this is intended to represent the transfer of kingship to the crown prince or, as seems more likely, an acknowledgement that this will take place in the future. Mehmet-Ali Ataç suggests that the crown prince shown here may not be a textually identifiable individual but rather a figure of emblem40

Reade 2005, 15. For the ritual use of aspergillum see Collins 2010, 185–186. 42 Robson 2004, 64, fig. 3.4; Reade 2005, fig. 10. 43 The significant of such repetitive ornament as reflective of divine order are discussed by Irene Winter (2003). 44 Unger 1965. 45 For a comprehensive bibliography on the crown prince see Kertai 2017. 46 Chow 2020, 86–89. 41

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atic or conceptual character.47 The man can, however, stand for both the living crown prince and as a portrait of that office, and as such forms “a genealogical link in history, time and eternal memory”.48

Figure 4: Detail of the lower register of relief B-7 (BM124549). © Trustees of the British Museum.

The throne room is therefore a space in which the living king engages in the present with officials and visitors while surrounded by images and texts that describe his participation in the timeless narratives of kingship. It is also, I suggest, a liminal space that connects the past, present and future through the text and

47 48

Ataç 2010a, 131–132. Gansell 2016, 92.

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images of adjacent physical spaces. A doorway situated close to the throne led to Room F, the sacred nature of which is indicated by the carved sacred trees and bird-headed spirits that lined its walls. This in turn gives access to two groups of rooms that flank courtyard Y, the so-called East and West suites. The primordial past in the East Suite While investigators are generally agreed that the East Suite was a place of rituals involving liquids, there are differences of opinion about their intended use. The wall reliefs have a common theme involving the purification of the king. Each room depicts this with different actors and attributes but nevertheless suggest a sequence of spaces in which the king moved between a temporal domain, where he is shown purified by courtiers closest to the throne room, and a spiritual realm, where purification is accomplished by apkallus. At the innermost, and presumably most sacred rooms (I and L) there are no depictions of the king but only images of apkallus and sacred trees. One school of thought interprets these visual images and associated architectural elements as evidence for libations and ablutions, perhaps connected with bathing rituals.49 This was a means by which the king’s body and weapons were cleansed and purified to perfect his appearance, ensuring that he was “touched by the divine”, perhaps before he entered the throne room.50 Another approach sees the libations and ceremonies taking place in these interconnected rooms as aimed at the care of Ashurnasirpal’s royal ancestors.51 In Brian Brown’s formulation, Rooms L and I were places for the kispa kasapu, food offerings for the dead, made before coffins containing or symbolizing the physical remains of the king’s ancestors. Associated niches may have been for holding items related to these rituals.52 This, he suggests, was a means to establish a link with kingship reaching into a remote past, but one informed by an historical reality represented in the socalled Assyrian King List which records rulers of Ashur reaching back to the early second millennium BC.53 Both interpretations rely on an understanding that the East Suite was a ritualised area of the palace, one that established a connection between the king and apkallu. It was a means by which the king could move—perhaps via a chain of earlier rulers—from the temporal world of the throne room to the source of divine

49

Brandes 1970, 153–154; Russell 1998, 671–697; Portuese 2019, 82. Kertai (2015, 38– 40), accepts this interpretation and highlights the importance of bathrooms throughout the palace to suggest that cleanliness (physical and cultic) was important at the Assyrian court. 50 Portuese 2020, 163. 51 Richardson 1999–2001; Brown 2010. While Richardson focuses on the inner-most chambers, Brown links the spaces of the entire East Suite with the throne room. 52 Brown 2010, 16, fn. 19. 53 Grayson 1980.

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knowledge in the primordial, mythical time where kingship was established and through which he was transformed into its perfect form. The future in the West Suite The West Suite, accessed from Room F through gate c, has generally been interpreted as intended for gatherings and banquets.54 David Kertai categorises it as a “double-sided reception room” that functioned as a secondary throne room leading onto a terrace courtyard; he suggests it allowed for hierarchies of distance between the king and others to be managed.55 The fragmentary nature of the surviving wall reliefs assigned by researchers to these spaces makes it difficult to offer more than tentative suggestions for the ways in which they were intended to operate in the ritualised palace, but the visual themes appear to be largely the same as those in the principal throne room: royal hunts, battles, sieges and celebrations, all presented in two registers divided by the Standard Inscription.56 The Suite can therefore be understood as an extension of that space, a means for accommodating larger gatherings in the specific context of celebratory banquets following a successful military campaign or hunt.57 Although some of the military scenes appear to be situated in landscapes different to those suggested by the throne room reliefs, and so perhaps alluding to historical battles in other regions of the Middle East, they are otherwise broadly comparable in content.58 It is, however, with images of hunting that we find a significant and intriguing disparity between the visual content of the two areas of the palace. The surviving lower registers of two panels (WFL-13 and WFL-14) appear to depict the crown prince killing lions from a chariot (Fig. 5).59 Ataç has interpreted these figures as representations of the king in a “princely” aspect.60 Others have agreed that this may indeed be the king since they resemble scenes of lion hunts from the North Palace at Nineveh of the seventh century BC in which a figure wearing a headband is considered to be Ashurbanipal (r. 668–c.630 BC) 54

Russell 1998, 670. Kertai 2015, 34–38; 219–222; 242–245. 56 Russell (1988, 665–671) describes the find spots of these reliefs. Many of the panels in these rooms appear to have been plundered for the construction of Esarhaddon’s palace at Nimrud. 57 For the significance of banquets in Assyrian palaces see Winter 2016b. Although there are no depictions of feasting on the surviving reliefs from the Northwest Palace, a carved ivory plaque fragment from Fort Shalmaneser is incised with a scene of a royal banquet (Mallowan and Davies 1970, plate V.7). The king is shown seated apart from other banqueters that include the crown prince. There is nothing demonstrably ritualistic about the event. 58 Kertai 2017, 112. 59 Their relationship to each other is unknown as the slabs were not found in situ, see Kertai 2015, 36, nos 105 and 106. 60 Ataç 2010, 131–133. 55

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in a ritual or cultic context (see below).61 If we accept, however, that the man represented in these West Suite reliefs is intended as the crown prince, it might suggest these rooms were spaces with a focus on the future. The images show the king’s successor as accomplished in attributes necessary for him to take on the mantel of the perfect future ruler.62

Figure 5: Relief WFL-13 from the West Suite at Nimrud (BM 124579). © Trustees of the British Museum.

The Standard Inscription63 A relationship between the carved images and the Standard Inscription that occurs across the middle of virtually every relief slab at Nimrud has long been recognised. As indicated above, this is apparent in parallel and complimentary statements of royal ideology and history represented in both the text and carved images.64 I have suggested elsewhere that these verbal descriptions also participated with the visual images in the rituals that ensured and maintained Assyrian kingship into the future.65 This is on an understanding that Mesopotamian narrative art originated as a way of representing, and thus making real, the ritual activities 61

Kertai 2015, 37; Kertai 2017, 112. The association between kingship and lion hunts in Mesopotamia reached back into prehistory and could combine ritual and symbolism (Reade 2018). 63 RIMA 2, 275. 64 Above, fn. 29. 65 Collins 2019. 62

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through which obligatory relationships between humans and the gods were maintained. These rituals were essentially timeless, intended to be repeated by both actual practice and visual depictions. Through the impressions of seals on clay and the carvings of images on stone, such images could serve to validate and authenticate contractual arrangements as described in associated written texts. When visual narratives depict the actions of historic rulers, these can also be understood as ritual acts intended to restore a divinely ordered world. In the contract between the gods and king, historical texts now served to establish the actions and logical basis for the resolution of the event, while the related narrative art transformed this linear history into eternal ritual time. In this way, the Standard Inscription and related carved images acted together to transform a historically specific king (named in the text) into a timeless perfect ruler (described in the carved images). The Standard Inscription describes a version of historic reality—the king’s genealogy, his official titles, a narrative account of his military victories and the construction of the palace—, but later Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions also express a timeless quality by being composed in the Standard Babylonian dialect of Akkadian, a language that was “otherwise used to celebrate gods and ancient heroes, it enabled Assyrian kings to stylize themselves as individuals who bridged the divide between the human and the divine sphere.”66 As a literary language, the text conveyed notions of the “eternal” and offered a guarantee to the Assyrian literate elite that it would be understood by their successors for all time.67 Time and space after Ashurnasirpal The Northwest Palace remained the primary residence of Ashurnasirpal’s successors for a century and a half until Sargon II (r. 721–705 BC) constructed DurSharrukin (Khorsabad) to replace Kalhu.68 We cannot know if the rituals of kingship that took place in the throne room and associated areas of the palace were maintained largely unchanged across this time, but it is certainly possible. They would have formed part of the stream of tradition of kingship, one in which the Assyrian king “perceived the traces of his predecessors as contingent and part of his own present”.69 Yet it is also possible that there were modifications in their practice in response to the military expansion of the Assyrian kingdom and the establishment of an empire that resulted in changes in the ideology of kingship. Although the formulaic concepts represented in the Northwest Palace were maintained in the visual and verbal schemes of the later Assyrian palaces, first at 66

Frahm 2019, 145. Frahm 2019, 145; Howard 2017, 114. 68 For the notion of primary Assyrian palaces see Kertai 2013. 69 Nadali 2020, 224. It is important to note that most kings used palaces constructed by a predecessor, and would have been surrounded by the decoration and inscriptions that celebrated the latter’s successes (Nadali 2019, 72). Kertai (2015, 248) suggests there was a taboo on changing these. 67

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Khorsabad and then in the Southwest Palace at Nineveh, there are significant changes in their style and content with an increasing emphasis on the divine-like properties of the monarch.70 This occurred despite a continuity in the general architectural plan of the buildings, all of which included a series of monumental suites behind the throne room.71 Judging from the content of the wall reliefs, however, these spaces no longer offered obvious links between a mythical and future kingship through their physical connections. This suggests that the choreography of royal ritual had altered, perhaps because it was no longer limited to specific areas of the palace as a result of an “itinerant court” that moved with the king through the building.72 Yet the relationship of mythical and historic time continued to be important but was now made present throughout much of the palace by merging them within the design and content of the wall reliefs. The contemporary past was visible in nearly every room since their walls were lined with reliefs depicting narratives of either single military campaigns or the construction of the palace itself; there is a focus on creating “real” events to underline the success of the living monarch rather than more general statements of kingship. Paolo Matthiae suggests such visual accounts find a parallel in the socalled “Letters to the god Assur”, the most famous being a detailed literary account of Sargon’s campaign against Urartu.73 Such texts highlight the close relationship between the king and the divine world, but connections to primordial time, made possible at Nimrud through sacred trees and apkallus, are much less evident in the carved images at Khorsabad and Nineveh. Crucially, the connection between the king and sacred time is made present in these palaces through allusions in the images of battles and building to myths such as the Epic of Gilgamesh and Enūma Eliš.74 Similarly, royal inscriptions include quotations from and allusions to myths, epics, as well as omen texts.75 An interest in a deeper historic past is also evident under the Sargonid dynasty with royal inscriptions drawing on historical-literary texts about earlier kings reaching back to the third millennium BC.76 Ashurbanipal (r. 668–about 630 BC), for example, modelled himself on King Shulgi of the Third Dynasty of Ur, presenting himself, as the earlier monarch had done, as the perfect ruler and scribe, and famously able to reach deep into the primordial past by reading texts from

70

Nadali 2020, 220. For the god-like aspects of Neo-Assyrian kingship see Holloway 2002; Machinist 2006; Ornan 2007; Winter 2008; Radner 2010, 16; Rubio 2013. 71 Groß and Kertai 2019, 27. 72 Groß and Kertai 2019, 26–28. 73 Matthiae 2012, 481–482. 74 Bonatz 2004, 100; Noegel 2007; Weissert, 1997; Frahm 2019, 153. 75 Goldstein and Weissert 2018; Frahm 2019, 155. 76 Frahm 2019, 154.

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before the Flood.77 This took a physical form in the curation of ancient monuments and even the revival of ritual practices: Esarhaddon (r. 680–669 BC) describes how he “carried the basket” of soil for the first brick when undertaking the restoration of temples in Babylon and Ashur, while under his sons Ashurbanipal (668–c. 631 BC) and Shamash-shum-ukin (667–648 BC) this ritual was translated into stone sculptures modelled on foundation figures of the late third and early second millennium BC, presumably excavated from building levels of that date.78 The eternal nature of Assyrian kingship is carried into the future very evidently in the form of the crown prince who “seems to have been omnipresent throughout the palace”79 at Khorsabad where he is always shown facing the king at the head of long processions of officials. The crown prince may also appear in a painting in Residence K at Khorsabad where he is shown standing with Sargon before Ashur’s cult statue, effectively being introduced to the god as the king’s heir.80 In the Southwest Palace at Nineveh, the crown prince introduces prisoners to the king and appears in ritual processions.81 These images would then stand as generic statements of future kingship for the last kings of Assyria. The final references to a timeless monarch occur in the North Palace of Ashurbanipal. This is the only royal building designated as a bēt redûti “Succession House”, suggesting a place for the household of the crown prince but apparently intended for use by the king himself.82 As the term can refer to any palace which saw the king move from junior to senior role the designation here would help to explain the famous scenes of lion hunts that decorated its walls. In these the monarch wears either the royal fez of kingship or the diadem of the crown prince. Julian Reade suggests that these are “possible allusions to his lifelong legitimacy”.83 They also express the eternal nature of kingship itself. A notion encapsulated in the garden party relief, “a complex pictorial landscape dense with allusions to divination, oracles, and prophecies”,84 and where the military successes of the living monarch are celebrated in a cultic setting in which he wears the headband of kingship yet to come. Conclusion In accord with recent scholarship, I have proposed that Assyrian palace reliefs were not just declarations of royal ideology intended for contemporary and future 77

May 2013. Porter 2004; Roaf 2000. 79 Kertai 2015, 116. 80 Matthiae 2012, 490, fn. 24. See Kertai (2017, 125–126) for problems of reconstruction of this image. 81 Kertai 2017, 122–123. 82 Kertai 2013, 21–22. 83 Reade 2018, 73. 84 Gilibert 2018, 298. 78

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audiences but that they actively participated in royal rituals, transforming the mundane realities of historic kingship, albeit filtered through that ideology, into timeless myth.85 In the Northwest Palace at Nimrud this was achieved through a sequence of ritualised connected spaces that linked past, present, and future, and in which the ultimate witness would have been the gods. Products of the Assyrian scholarly community, the carved images and texts were designed to evoke notions of time and timelessness through a complex intertwining of history, myth and ritual.86 These concepts were combined in the visual content of wall reliefs throughout later palaces at Khorsabad and Nineveh, transforming these buildings into time capsules to ensure that perfect kingship, established in cosmic time, would be eternally present. Bibliography Annus, A. 2010. “On the beginnings and continuities of omen sciences in the ancient world”, in: A. Annus (ed.), Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World (Oriental Institute Seminars 6), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1–18. Ataç, M-A. 2010a. The Mythology of Kingship in Neo-Assyrian Art, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ataç M-A. 2010b. “‘Time and Eternity’ in the Northwest palace of Ashurnasirpal II at Nimrud”, in: A. Cohen / S. E. Kangas (eds), Assyrian Reliefs from the Palace of Ashurnasirpal II: A Cultural Biography, Hanover: The Hood Museum of Art / London: University Press of New England, 159–180. Bahrani, Z. 2003. The Graven Image: Representation in Babylonia and Assyria, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Bachelot, L. 1991. “La function politique des reliefs néo-assyriens”, in: D. Charpin / F. Joannès (eds), Marchands, diplomates et empereurs : études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli, Paris: Recherche sur les Civilisations, 109–128. Bonatz, D. 2004. “Ashurbanipal”s Headhunt: An Anthropological Perspective”, Iraq 66 (Nineveh. Papers of the XLIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale London, 7–11 July 2003. Part One), 93–101. Brandes, M. C. 1970. “La sale dite ‘G’ du palais d’Assurnasirpal II à Kalakh, lieu de cérémonie rituelle”, in: A. Finet (ed.), Actes de la XVIIe Rencontre assyriologique internationale, Ham-sur-Heure: Comité belge de recherches en Mésopotamie, 147–154. Brentjes, B. 1994. “Selbstverherrlichung oder Legitimitätsanspruch? Gedanken zu dem Thronrelief von Nimrud-Kalah”, Altorientalische Forschungen 21, 50–64. 85

Gebhard Selz (2014, 444) has concluded that such visual and written forms of narrative were understood as a realisation of an all-embracing story based in myths. 86 Rubio 2013, 12; Pongrtz-Leisten 2015, 30–31; Gilbert 2018.

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Brown, B. 2010. “Kingship and Ancestral Cult in the Northwest Palace at Nimrud”, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religion 10/1, 1–53. Bunnens, G. 2006. “When Ashurnasirpal Created Kalḫu”, in: P. Butterlin / M. Lebeau / J.-Y. Monchambert / J. L. Montero Fenollós / B. Muller (eds), Les espaces syro-mésopotamiens. Dimensions de l’expérience au Proche-Orient ancient. Volume d’hommage offert à Jean-Claude Margueron (Subartu 17), Turnhout: Brepols, 253–256. Chen, Y. S. 2014. The Primeval Flood Catastrophe: Origins and Early Development in Mesopotamian Traditions, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chow, C. T. 2020. “Sword Carry in the art of Ashurnasirpal II”, Iraq 82, 73–93. Collins, P. 2010. “Attending the King in the Assyrian Reliefs”, in: A. Cohen / S. E. Kangas (eds), Assyrian Reliefs from the Palace of Ashurnasirpal II: A Cultural Biography, Hanover: The Hood Museum of Art / London: University Press of New England, 181–197. Collins, P. 2019. “‘He who saw the Deep’: History as ritual in the material world of Mesopotamia”, in: J. Baines / H. van der Blom / S. Chen / T. Rood (eds), Historical Consciousness and the Use of the Past in the Ancient World, Sheffield: Equinox, 39–54. Collon, D. 2001. Catalogue of the Western Asiatic Seals in the British Museum. Cylinder Seals V. Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Periods, London: British Museum Press. Frahm, E. 2013. “Rising Suns and Falling Stars: Assyrian Kings and the Cosmos”, in: J. A. Hill / P. Jones / A. J. Morales. (eds), Experiencing Power, Generating Authority: Cosmos, Politics, and the Ideology of Kingship in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, Philadelphia: Penn Press, 97–120. Frahm, E. 2019. “The Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions as Text: History, Ideology, and Intertextuality”, in: G.-B. Lanfranchi / R. Mattila / R. Rollinger (eds), Writing Neo-Assyrian History. Sources, Problems, and Approaches (State Archives of Assyria Studies 29), Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 139–159. Gansell, A. 2016. “Prioritized Presence: Rulers’ Images in the Neo-Assyrian Palace as Devices of Elite Ideological Memory”, in: D. Nadali (ed.), Envisioning the Past through Memories: How Memory Shaped Ancient Near Eastern Societies, London: Bloomsbury, 85–100. Gilibert, A. 2018. “Te’umman’s Last Supper: Literary Motifs in Ashurbanipal’s Garden Party and the Scholarly Origin of Assyrian Narrative Art”, in: K. Kaniuth / D. Lau / D. Wicke (eds), Übergangszeiten. Altorientalische Studien für Reinhard Dittmann anlässlich seines 65. Geburtstags (marru 1), Münster: Zaphon, 289–308. Giovino, M. 2007. The Assyrian Sacred Tree: A History of Interpretations (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 230), Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

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Portuese, L. 2020. Life at Court: Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon. Radner, K. 2010. “Assyrian and non-Assyrian kingship in the first millennium BC”, in: G.-B. Lanfranchi / R. Rollinger (eds), Concepts of kingship in antiquity (History of the Ancient Near East Monographs 11), Padua: Sargon, 15– 24. Radner, K. 2011. “Royal Decision-Making: Kings, Magnates, and Scholars”, in: K. Radner / E. Robson (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture, Oxford / New York: Oxford University Press, 358–379. Reade, J. E. 1979. “Ideology and Propaganda in Assyrian Art”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 329–343. Reade, J. E. 1985. “Texts and Sculptures from the North-West Palace, Nimrud”, Iraq 47, 203–214. Reade, J. E. 2005. “Religious Ritual in Assyrian Sculpture”, in: B. N. Porter (ed.), Ritual and Politics in Ancient Mesopotamia (American Oriental Series 88), New Haven: American Oriental Society, 7–61. Reade, J. E. 2018. “The Assyrian Royal Hunt”, in: G. Brereton (ed.) in collaboration with the British Museum, I am Ashurbanipal, king of the world, king of Assyria, London: Thames & Hudson, 52–79. Richardson, S. 1999–2001. “An Assyrian Garden of Ancestors, Room I, Northwest Palace, Kalḫu”, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin XIII, 145–216. Roaf, M. 2000. “Survivals and Revivals in the Art of Ancient Mesopotamia”, in: P. Matthiae (ed.), Proceedings of the First International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, Rome: Università degli Studi di Roma “La Sapienza”, 1447–1462. Robson, E. 2004. “Scholarly Conceptions and Quantifications of Time in Assyria and Babylonia, c.750– 250 BCE”, in: R. M. Rosen (ed.), Time and Temporality in the Ancient World, Philadelphia: University Museum, 45–90 Robson, E. 2011. “The Production and Dissemination of Scholarly Knowledge”, in: K. Radner / E. Robson (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture, Oxford / New York: Oxford University Press, 557–576. Robson, E. 2019. Ancient Knowledge Networks: A Social Geography of Cuneiform Scholarship in First-Millennium Assyria and Babylonia, London: UCL Press. Rubio, G. 2013. “Time before Time: Primeval Narratives in Early Mesopotamian Literature”, in: L. Feliu / J. Llop / A. Millet Albà / J. Sanmartín (eds), Time and History in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 56th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Barcelona 26–30 July 2010, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 3–17. Selz, G. J. 2014. “Considerations on narration in Early Mesopotamia”, in: N. Koslova / E. Vizirova / G. Zólyomi (eds), Studies in Sumerian Language and

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Literature: Festschrift für Joachim Krecher, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 437– 454. Shafer, A. 2014. “The Assyrian Landscape as Ritual”, in: B. Brown / M. H. Feldman (eds), Critical Approaches to Ancient Near Eastern Art, Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter, 713–739. Sommer, B. D. 2000. “The Babylonian Akitu festival: Rectifying the King or Renewing the Cosmos?”, Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 27, 81–95. Unger, E. 1965. “Die Symbole des Gottes Assur”, Belleten 29, 423–483. Van De Mieroop, M. 2016. Philosophy before the Greeks: The Pursuit of Truth in Ancient Babylonia, Princeton / Oxford: Princeton University Press. Weissert, E. 1997. “Royal Hunt and Royal Triumph in a Prism Fragment of Ashurbanipal (82-5-22,2)”, in: S. Parpola / R. M. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 339–358. Winter, I. J. 1981. “Royal Rhetoric and the Development of Historical Narrative in Neo-Assyrian Reliefs”, Studies in Visual Communication 7/2, 2–38. Winter, I. J. 1983. “The Program of the Throne-Room of Assurnasirpal II”, in: P. O Harper / H. Pittman (eds), Essays on Near Eastern Art and Archaeology in Honour of Charles Kyrle Wilkinson, New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 15–31. Winter, I. J. 1993. “‘Seat of Kingship’ / ‘A Wonder to Behold’: The Palace as Construct in the Ancient Near East”, Ars Orientalis 23, 27–55. Winter, I. J. 2003. “Ornament and the ‘Rhetoric of Abundance’ in Assyria”, EretzIsrael: Archaeological and Historical Studies 27, 252–264. Winter, I. J. 2007. “Agency Marked / Agency Ascribed: The Affective Object in Ancient Mesopotamia”, in: R. Osborne / J. Tanner (eds), Art’s Agency and Art History, Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 42–69. Winter, I. J. 2008. “Touched by the Gods: Visual Evidence for the Divine Status of Rulers in the Ancient Near East”, in: N. Brisch (ed.), Religion and Power: Divine Kingship in the Ancient World and Beyond (Oriental Institute Seminars 4), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 73–98. Winter, I. J. 2016a. “Text on/in Monuments: ‘Lapidary Style’ in the Ancient Near East”, in: B. M. Bedos-Rezak / J. F. Hamburger (eds), Sign and Design: Script as Image in a Cross-Cultural Perspective (300–1600 CE), Washington: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 197–218. Winter, I. J. 2016b. “The Court Banquets of Sargon II of Assyria: Commensality as a Positive Affirmation of the (Successful) Hunt and Battle”, in: G. Bartoloni / M. G. Biga (eds), Not Only History: Proceedings of the Conference in Honor of Mario Liverani, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 35–52.

Bodies of Propaganda? The Visual Embodiment of Kingship in the Neo-Assyrian Empire 1 Elisabeth Wagner-Durand University of Freiburg (Germany)

Abstract: This paper seeks to gain a deeper understanding of the ontological status of the king’s body in the (visual) world of Assyria. Thus, instead of dismissing the visualization of king and kingship as results of and tools of propaganda, the paper focuses on how visual media were used to visualize the otherwise invisible characteristics of the king (and kingship) and to materialize a reality beyond of what can be perceived by the human eye. Concepts developed by Philippe Descola and Ernst Kantorowicz help to explain how the tension between the natural conditions of the individual king’s body and the divine body could have been bridged. The visual media showing the Assyrian king represent manifestations of kingship, manifest the body politic, and make visible what the body natural can’t show. The powers these images emanate cannot be explained by mere propaganda, but only by taking the complex ontological system in which these images were embedded into account. Indeed, these images might have taken effects that are alike those of propaganda. These effects, however, can only take place, because of the ontological status of king and image in the Neo-Assyrian world. Keywords: ontology; Descola; Kantorowicz; royal body.

Introduction The large-scale visual media of the Neo-Assyrian empire often cluster around the king. They do so in contexts designed especially for the king and his visual reception, both in persona as in images alike. These images convey the very specific aesthetics of the royal body as the physical manifestation of kingship in Assyria. Images’ ontological status went beyond the mere re-presentation, they made both king and kingship physically present in the world.2 Therefore, this paper seeks to gain a deeper understanding of the ontological status of the king’s body in the (visual) world of Assyria. Besides the conceptual understanding of the image as 1

I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to Marta Pallavidini and Ludovico Portuese for organizing this volume, for being of such outmost patience and for pursuing this endeavor during these challenging times of a global pandemic. These times are challenging indeed, and thus I want to thank my daughters for being patient and loving, for being more understanding and forgiving than any parent can expect and deserves. All faults made in this paper, and that may not be few, are entirely mine. 2 Winter 1997; cf. Bahrani 2003; Bonatz 2002a; 2002b; Wagner-Durand 2014.

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having a very distinct Sitz im Leben, two major theoretical concepts represent the framework in which the study is embedded to gain an understanding of how the royal body was conceptualized, adapted, and visualized in the Neo-Assyrian Empire. These concepts go back to two scholars: namely the late Ernst Kantorowicz,3 a historian of medieval Europe, and anthropologist Philippe Descola.4 Kantorowicz’s concept of the king’s two bodies has recently been adopted by several scholars of the Ancient Near East5 to illustrate how the contradicting notions of the physical and the political body of the king were dealt with in the societies of the Ancient Near East. At the same time, Descola’s view on how images come into being (fabrique des images) based on his four ontologies opens new perspectives on the Sitz im Leben of images in Mesopotamia.6 Within these conceptual frameworks, the body (and the dress that covers it) as well as their images function as means of communication and as a mirror of a distinct world view. Thus, instead of dismissing the visualization of king and kingship as a result and as a tool of propaganda, the paper focuses on how visual media were used to visualize the otherwise invisible characteristics of the king (and kingship) and to materialize of a reality beyond of what can be perceived by the human eye. In 1874, Swiss novelist Gottfried Keller published his novella Kleider machen Leute7 (Clothes make men), adopting the phrase vestis virum facit (clothes make the man) once coined by Erasmus of Rotterdam.8 In this narrative, a young tailor involuntarily becomes an impostor by being endowed with the fine clothes of a noble’s man. Yet, the mistaking of his identity was only possible because the Gestalt of the young man was already fitting for it. It was his entire being—body and character—that made it possible for him to pass as an allegedly noble individual. The idea that body and dress are separable concepts misjudges their intrinsic entanglement. Corresponding to the notion of Gestalt, the Assyrian perception of a person in his or her defining role(s) encompasses body (including the mind), dress and adornment. Dress and body merges to a representative unit which communicates data about status, office, and suitability of character. Thus, I consider at last parts of dress as parts of the body, an inseparable unit in the understanding of the Neo-Assyrian royal self-conception and self-presentation.

3

Kantorowicz 1957. Descola 2005; 2010; 2013; 2015. 5 Esp. Linke 2015; Kühn 2018. Further e.g., Otto 2017, 21; Richardson 2007; PongratzLeisten 2015, 224. 6 Cf. Wagner-Durand 2020. 7 Keller 2001. 8 “Cf. Gk. εἴματα ἀνήρ, the man is his clothing; Erasmus Adages ‘Divitiae’ vestis virum facit; 1626 Jonson Staple of Newes I. ii. 3 Taylor makes the man.” Speake 2015. 4

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To illustrate how these messages of status, office and royal suitability were conveyed, several steps will be taken. First, the theoretical framework already touched upon will be further established. Besides the general framework of body, dress and meaning this also includes the issue of how Kantorowicz’s concept of the king’s two bodies fits into a discussion of body and dress in Mesopotamia.9 The paper will also deal with the question of how Descola’s10 concept of physicality and interiority can add to our understanding of the king’s two bodies. Second, the paper explores the written sources concerning the perception of the royal body and dress. And third, it will address the archaeological record, more precisely the visual sources by which it will be analyzed how the royal body and its perception was medially transcended into images. Body, dress, meaning Dress, body, and adornment represent social and conventionalized forms of communication: Leaving an essentialist biological perspective on corporal signs of fertility and potency behind,11 we witness bodies as culturally shaped: this shaping occurs on two levels: in the mind and on the body. This is not to proliferate a non-applicable dichotomy between body and mind in Mesopotamia but to emphasize that the body as a cultural construct is not only a physical being but also a matter of perception. As the saying goes: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That is to say, the way a body is perceived is highly due to learned standards and conventions that have been planted and grown in the mind from early childhood on. Thus, whatever a social being perceives as appropriate, as beautiful, or ugly, as human, or divine, in respect to the body, it depends on the mindset and on what Angelika Berlejung names kulturelle Leitfäden / cultural guidelines.12 The body becomes the embodiment of social norms and values. Thus, the shaping of the body is also, yet not solely, the outcome of an urge to embody that mindset, or to intentionally deviate from it. These cultural guidelines also encompass or base on the functional most diverse reasons for shaping the body which can be of ritual relevance, of magic purpose, due of communicative functions or due to medical issues. On a long-term level, these body (trans)formations involve tattoos,13 scars,

9

Kantorowicz 1957. Descola 2005; 2010; 2013; 2015. 11 Which are not denied here, see e.g., Power (2010, 2): “Culturally specific forms of body ornament are read as signals advertising individual quality to prospective mates: endurance of wounds demonstrates pathogen resistance (Singh and Bronstad, 1997); valuable ornaments display wealth (Low, 1979); ritual scars demonstrate commitment among warriors (Sosis et al., 2007).” 12 Berlejung 2012, 368. 13 On tattoos, also as markers of identity and a matter of communication, see Della Casa 2013. Yet, one should note that branding and tattooing seem to be nonvoluntary forms of marking in Mesopotamia, see Ditchey 2017, 3. 10

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brandings, 14 piercings, modifications, 15 mutilations, 16 trepanations, 17 amputations, teeth manipulations,18 and so on. These changes of the body go beyond medical rationales19 or aesthetics, they serve purposes of communication with the divine or non-human beings, they block magic wrongdoings, and they protect from evil, they disclose social or religious affiliations, they display ownership20 or misconduct.21 These transformations are of permanent nature which only take up a small percentage of what can be done to transform the body. The non-permanent practices can have a wide multisensory impact without necessarily altering the body beyond reversibility. They have a different life span concerning their bodily impact, some are semi-permanent but, in a way, reversible including body toning, excessive feeding or pathologies like bulimia and binge-eating. More short-lived are practices involving washing, cleaning, shaving, hair dressing, hair growth, nail cutting, trimming or growth, perfuming, cosmetics22 and body painting. With these measures, bodies’ communicative possibilities extend further into quite different multimodal dimensions concerning shape, texture, smell as well as sound. These possibilities multiply when we include dress as a way of altering, shaping, and disclosing the body.23 How humans can dress is beyond ascertainability, and like the body itself, the dress is a social construct and embodiment of cultural norms and meanings. Thus, dress communicates: it does so, as already shown by several scholars24, by the shapes it takes, it makes, and it covers, by textures and

14

On the issue of tattoos and brandings in Mesopotamia, Ditchey 2017. See for example the skull modification during the Ubaid period and its possible result as impact on body and identity: Croucher 2010; Lorentz 2010; see also other example, e.g. Sharapova 2013. 16 See e.g., female genital cutting from different perspectives: Shell-Duncan and Hernlund 2000. 17 For the differential diagnosis of trepanation, see Verano 2016; on the symbolic and magical as well as medical function of trepanations and pseudo-trepanations, see Simalcsik 2018, e.g., esp. fn. 2, 3 and 7. 18 See e.g., Burnett and Irish 2017. 19 See e.g., tattoos as a medical therapy: see Krutak 2013, amputation as therapy: Dupras et al. 2009, trepanation as medical therapy: Petrone et al. 2015. 20 Ferreira and La Rosa 2015 (on Cuban slave branding), or in respect to the ancient Near East, see Hurowitz 1992. 21 Most famous is the context of the Ancient Near East and Classical Antiquity is the phrase Akkadian ḥalaq ṣabat ina pānišu iqqur / ‘Runaway! Seize (me)!’ he engraved on his face; Greek kátekhé me, pheúô / ‘Seize me, I am a runaway!’; Latin fugi tene me / ‘Runaway, seize me!’ All acc. to Ditchey 2017, 7. 22 See e.g., Orizaga 2013. 23 Della Casa 2013, 10. See also Roach-Higgins and Eicher 1992: they include cosmetics and body alterations in dress, too. 24 See e.g., Roach-Higgins and Eicher 1992. 15

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haptic qualities, by colors, patterns and by the sounds it makes, by its materials and the materiality linked to them. Although these measures were not taken purely for aesthetic (or medical) reasons, they reciprocally shape existing aesthetics. To cut a long story short, body and even more so dress, give an infinite range of possibilities to embody and to communicate. Berlejung states in respect to Mesopotamia that the body incorporates and symbolizes the prevailing world view as well as the social organization of all agents within this world.25 Thus, the king’s body and its adornment embodied a world view, and the place of the king in this world. The second theoretical stance I take up on is the notion of the king’s two bodies developed by Ernst Kantorowicz.26 This concept has more and more been adopted by scholars of ancient Near Eastern cultures.27 In short, the theory explains how the king as human can also be perceived as physically perfect because of his office. This is due to the concept of the two royal bodies. The two bodies are the body politic: 28 a supernatural perfect body that belongs to the office of kingship and the body natural that gets sick, ages, and dies. The body natural of the person becoming king is covered up by the body politic that is shaped by the charisma and the supernatural power of kingship. The concept of a divided perception of the king, as the individual with a body aging, failing, and dying, and as the perfect ruler that becomes equipped with the body politic by enthronement clarifies that the medial presentation of the king goes beyond propaganda, beyond mere faking or deceiving but that it is a form of visualizing what otherwise might be invisible to the human eye. Here is where the third theoretical notion comes into play. Philippe Descola’s structuralist thoughts on the human perception of all beings.29 Following his concept, societies tend to ontologically structure their world via the relationship of these beings to each other.30 In his notion, all beings dispose of an interiority and a physicality: interiority refers to those parts not visually experiential and not object to direct physical evidence, like consciousness, self or intentionality31. The interiority finds its dualistic counterpart in the physicality, its physically and visually perceivable “other half.” The physicalities describe the outer forms, substances, and shapes.32 Descola further proposes that these exert massive influence 25

Berlejung 2012, esp. 339. Kantorowicz 1957. 27 See fn. 4. 28 Kantorowicz 1957, esp. 3–6 and 7–23. 29 Descola 2013. 30 The four ontologies proposed by Descola are: naturalism, animism, analogism and totemism (Descola 2005). According to Tim Ingold (2016, 303) these aren’t “world views”, “rather the more fundamental generative principles that give rise to them.” 31 Descola 2013, 181. 32 Descola 2013, 182. 26

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on the visual expression of cultures: the figuration. 33 According to Descola, communication between entities of different physicalities can be enabled by adapting the physicality of the other, for example by masks or costumes. Figurations34, are thus, bridges and physical links between entities. It can both visualize what otherwise would be invisible and open communicative exchanges between entities of different physicalities. Supporting the concept of communicative bridges or the taking of other’s physicality are the propositions put forward by Takayoshi Oshima.35 He bases his assumptions on the observation that “a person’s appearance was seen as the embodiment of the divine will and plan for his or her life.”36 He proposes the existence of an unwritten taboo in wearing mask to imitate others and that likeness gave way to assume their qualities and powers.37 I suggest that body transformations and manipulations of any kind as well as clothes are figurations just like the image of the body in the visual arts. So, the body politic becomes materialized with the help of several measures amongst which clothes and ornaments are also of importance. These possibilities of adjusting the king’s body to his inner physicality are extended with the image of the king which embodies the ideal body politic. Having set this theoretical frame, we turn to the media which reveal us insights into the royal body including dress. First, we will focus on the written sources before moving on to the visual world of images. Body, dress and propaganda As shown for the term legitimation by Seth Richardson,38 the term propaganda so often used in the context of Mesopotamian empires and their visual culture might also not be perfectly suited for these times and systems. Pope Gregory XV used the term first in 622 when he conceptualized the ecclesial congregation Sancta congregatio de propaganda fide.39 This mission of the Catholic Church to convert those whom she understood as pagans was the first concept of propaganda. Only later in the 17th and 18th century propaganda gained its political notion.40 Its deeply negative connotation developed mainly during the first decades of the 20th cen33

Descola 2010; 2015. Descola’s later study of the fabrication of images leads him to the observation of distinct representational features that are related to certain ontologies. Consequently, the prevailing ontology influences the figuration up to a high degree. Cf. Wagner-Durand 2020. 34 Figurations refer to the operational act (by which any material object is or can be equipped with a visible social agency. E.g., Descola 2015, 134; 2010, 11–18). Cf. WagnerDurand 2020. 35 Oshima 2018. 36 Oshima 2018, 234. 37 Oshima 2018, 234. 38 Richardson 2020. 39 Gómez 2011, 139; Schwendinger 2007. 40 Schwendinger 2007.

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tury.41 Thus, it seems appropriate to disconnect the term propaganda from any fascist, Stalinist or related implications and impressions, but to understand it as a communicative concept that uses different media to install new or to consolidate established political systems and the world views, they are entangled in.42 I do not argue that there are no tools or aspects of the written and visual communication in Assyria that can be understood as propaganda or that had the same effects. Yet, if propaganda is the influence taken on the masses the use of orthostats in the palaces can merely be termed as propaganda. And when Julian E. Reade states that “The palace was a massive corpus of personal propaganda.”43, one has to ask to whom this propaganda was directed. And thus, Reade himself rightly states, “This was preaching to the converted rather than propaganda.”44 As such, I would argue that the function of the orthostat reliefs in particular and the royal image in general cannot solely or primarily be found in being a tool of propaganda, but is (also) deeply rooted in its function as a ṣalmu,45 as embodying the physicality of kingship, as the essence of the body politic and making it present in the world. Media: The texts General remarks to the body in Mesopotamia The body, according to Julia Asher-Greve is the “agent of thinking, feeling, experiencing and knowing” and “the essential ego/being.”46 The Sumerian language reveals several terms for the body. Amongst them su and su.b ar (Akk. zumru)47 which seem to be generic for what Asher-Greve calls the “external body”, used in phrases like the “body of a deity,” “body of the king,” “body of a city,” “body of Sumer” or “body of the land.” 48 Other terms identified by Asher-Greve are (me-)dím (Akk. binâtu/binûtu, meaning limbs, creation, creature) which refers to a physical yet also creational meaning49 and šà (Akk. karšu/libbu, the heart, the inner, the body50) that resolves the Cartesian dichotomy between body and 41

Schwendinger 2007. Manipulation and propaganda are sisters in so far as manipulation is a one tool of propaganda and any separation cannot be made easily. Schwendinger 2007. 43 Reade 1979a, 331. 44 Reade 1979a, 339. 45 The notion of the ṣalmu, is that of a presence and therefore different from the understanding of an Abbild. Cf. discussions in Asher-Greve 1997, 452; Bahrani 2003, WagnerDurand 2014, Bonatz 2002a. 46 Asher-Greve 1997, 447 47 Also named by Zsolnay 2014, 280. 48 Asher-Greve 1997, 433 49 Asher-Greve 1997, 433. 50 Asher-Greve (1997, 433) explicitly states that it “came to mean the total body—not only individual organs such as heart, stomach, belly, womb but also mind, thought, plan, de42

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mind showing that this dualistic notion is not applicable for Mesopotamia51 since the libbu includes the mind.52 Yet, the libbu in Akkadian much more refers to the interiority of a being as the seat of thinking and desire53 than to the body as a whole.54 The body and its visible characteristics were thought to visualize the inner characteristics (the interiority in the words of Descola), the person’s fate55 and social position.56 In Mesopotamian thinking the experienceable physicality reveals (at least in parts) the invisible interiority of the being. The king, however, is a more complex being than humans in general. The king disposes of a body politic and a body natural thus he takes up two physicalities which help resolve the tension between king / kingship / divine flesh and the human body the king was born in. The King’s body in Assyria Body politic—body divine First, the king is or becomes physically different from humans in general when ascending the throne. Takayashi Oshima refers to a text (VS 24, no. 92 = VAT 17019) dated by Eva Cancik-Kirschbaum into the period of Ashurbanipal. 57 Herein it is said, that after Belet-ili (31’) created humankind (lullû amēlu/ LÚ.ULÚ-lu-a a-me-lu) (32’), she also should create the king, the māliku amēlu (LUGAL ma-li-ku a-me-lu (33’)) whose body she should make beautiful (ṣu-ubbi-i zi-i-mi-šú bu-un-ni-i zu-mur-šú (35’)) and whose entire shape/form she shall cover with goodness (ṭa-a-bi ub-bi-ḫi gi-mir la-a-ni-šú (34’)). 58 This passage hints to the understanding of the zīmu as what makes the interiority and the zumru as what makes the physicality. As Oshima states, the king, respectively, his zīmu and zumru are different from and more elevated than that of ordinary mankind. 59 That relates to the idea that the king’s body is made of divine flesh šīr ili, recently sire—indicates that the heart was perceived as the central core of the self.” 51 Asher-Greve 1997, 334. 52 Asher-Greve 1997, 433. Yet, it seems that libbu is used very diverse and that it can be very specific for a state of the mind as a state of the body. 53 “Das ‚Innere‘ – des Leibes, des Menschen, der Person, akkadisch libbu (Synonyme: kabattu, karšu, qerbu, surrū) – ist der Sitz des Denkens und Überlegens, des Wollens, Begehrens und Planens, der verschiedenen Gefühlsregungen (Freude, Heiterkeit, Jubel; Trauer, Aufregung, Zorn und dessen Beruhigung).” Mayer 2010, 332. 54 See e.g., Mayer 2010; cf. CAD L s.v. libbu. 55 Oshima 2012, 234. Oshima refers to omina. Another very illuminating example is the description of the Elamite king Te-Umman (cf. Wagner-Durand 2020, 303) who is said to be the likeness of a gallû demon. See also here below. 56 Asher-Greve 1997, 434. 57 Cancik-Kirschbaum 1995, 20. 58 For the edition of the text, see Mayer 1987, esp. 56. See also Cancik-Kirschbaum 1995, esp. 7 for transcription and translation. 59 Oshima 2018, 235.

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also discussed by Oshima.60 Yet, Oshima rejects that the divine flesh denotes the physically perfect body. It only “refers to some sort of godly physique of the king.”61 In respect to the common term šīr Ashurbanipal uses the phrase quite often in respect to the killing of the enemy62 and vividly shows that the šīr is what can be hurt, mutilated and killed. However, the Assyrian kings of the 7th century also use the term in the phrase “in good health”63 (ina ṭūb šīru / ina ṭūb URU-šú) often connected with happiness. In a rare and unusual instance, namely Ashurbanipal Tablet 00164, an early inscription of his reign, the king reveals his bad health. Because of his unusual content and form, the inscription is compared to texts like Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and “The Assyrian Elegy.”65 In the style of the righteous suffer, the king speaks of his selfless deeds and explains his suffering, amongst which are his besetting by disorder and evil matters. In a rhetorical twist, he gives the more common phrase ina ṭūb šīru a negative turn and states: “Disorder (and) evil matter(s) constantly beset me. Unhappiness (and) bad physical health have bent my body.”66 By this statement, we witness a late Assyrian phenomenon that—out of most likely personal reasons—the kings start to address their unfittingness and unfitness to the outer world, speaking about their failing body natural, an issue we will return to. Turning back to the king’s physical difference from the rest of humankind and to his body politic as different from the body he was born in, there are several famous instances, often quoted when discussing the king’s body, his physical appearance and kingship in general.67 Adad-nirari II claims that the gods made his stature lordly and fit for rule when ascending the throne. In this text-book passage of the king’s two bodies, we learn that the king’s body becomes the physical seat of Ashur’s deputy on earth. 68 Thus, Irene J. Winter brilliantly argues that the 60

Oshima 2018. Oshima 2018, 239. 62 See e.g., RINAP 5/1: 3 VI 77; 6 VII 37’; 4 VI 85, see further one instance of Ashurnasirpal II: RIMA 2: A.101.1 I 92. Sennacherib uses the term in context of exorcist activities: RINAP 3: 15 VII 4’; 16 VII 48; 17 VII 80; 18 VII 20’b. 63 See e.g., RINAP 4: 1 VI 55; 134 18; RINAP 5/1: 62, rev. 2. 64 RINAP 5/2: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/rinap/rinap5/rinap52/ashurbanipal/tablets/ index.html, last time accessed 29.1.2021. 65 RINAP 5/2 for mentioning of the divine flesh in Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi line 55, see Oshima 2018, esp. 238. 66 RINAP 5/2: 001: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/rinap/rinap5/pager: r5-r6, last time accessed 29.1.2021. 67 Winter 1997, 372; Laato 1997, 15; Niehaus 2008, 48; Wagner-Durand 2014, 74, fn. 342; Pongratz-Leisten 2015, 220; Oshima 2018. 68 RIMA 2: A.0.99.2: 5 ff.: “Great gods, who take firm decisions, who decree destinies; they properly created me, Adad-nārārī, attentive prince, […], they altered my stature to lordly stature, they rightly made perfect my features and filled my lordly body with wisdom. After the great gods had decreed (my destiny, after) they had entrusted to me the 61

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king’s image is not an image of the private body but of the incorporated, embodied kingship69. Ashurbanipal reveals that the gods endowed him with power, virility, and strength.70 Accordingly, the body politic is a divine gift, perfect for the tasks that lies ahead.71 Therefore, it is due to the king’s body natural and the king’s individual interiority if he fails. Yet, the king’s body politic is not only made of divine flesh, but he, the king, is also a ṣalmu of the divine. Thus, it probably would even be more accurate to speak of the body divine. As I have argued elsewhere, I consider the ṣalmu to be understood less than an image in the sense of a depiction or Abbild, but as a physical presence endowed with agency.72 Thus, the body politic constitutes the divine physicality of the king that enables the god(s) to be present in him. Several letters73 reveal a perception of the king as the presence of Marduk. SAA 13, no. 46 states that what looks like a god, i.e., has the presence of a god, namely Marduk (ṣalam dAMAR.UTU), what talks like the gods (abatsu kī ša DINGIR.MEŠ), what feels like a god, i.e., has the same flesh (UZU.MEŠ DINGIR.MEŠ), is the king. The same way of approaching the king in a divine like manner is found in SAA 8, no. 333 in which the king is also compared to the ṣalmu of Marduk (salam d AMAR.UTU). The issue whether those letters reflect a highly educated and therefore selected thinking of the relationship of god, kings, and humans or whether it is a widely shared or even communicated notion of the king and kingship, remains unsolved. Either way, these letters illustrate that the royal appearance deals with issues of interiority/physicality, and with the body politic or even a body divine, but surely not with matters of propaganda. The body politic—strong and alluring In terms of its characteristics, the royal body has been subject to more descriptive terms than being perfect and divine. Since the very beginnings of Mesopotamian kingship, the king’s body had to be strong, which in the third millennium is con-

scepter for the shepherding of the people, (after) they had raised me above crowned kings (and) placed on my head the royal splendor; they made my almighty name greater than (that of) all lords, the important name Adad-nārārī, king of Assyria, they called me. Strong king, king of Assyria, king of the four quarters, sun(god) of all people …” 69 Winter 1997. 70 RINAP 5/1: no. 3: i 6–13; No. 4: i 6–12a; no. 5: iii 24'–30'; no. 7: i 90'–101'; no. 10: iv 12–35; no. 15: i 1'–9'. 71 Oshima (2018, 243) argues somehow differently, by stating: “according to the ancient Mesopotamian thinkers, in order to assume the divine kingship, being divine did not suffice; even the gods needed to play by the rules of a ‘body politic’.” 72 Wagner-Durand 2014, esp. 54, 61; 2015; 2016. 73 SAA 13, no. 46 and SAA 8, no. 333: For a discussion of these letters in respect to the king as a ṣalmu of Marduk, see also Oshima 2018, 240.

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nected to bodily characteristics like a strong arm74 or a strong chest75 which is also transferred to the image of the king.76 Strength remains a constant epithet throughout the second millennium and easily survives into the first millennium either written with the logogram KAL or syllabic dannu. In an inscription of Ashurnasirpal II77 for example the king draws upon his manhood by explicitly naming himself as NÍTA (zikaru) dannu phrase78 surround by all kinds of epithets that describe his strength mainly in battle.79 He also refers to himself as a lion and virile (manly), labāku u zikarāku.80 and takes up the lion metaphor already known from the late third millennium.81 Ellie Bennett criticizes the translation virile lion as misleading, as it should be “I am a lion and I am a man.”82 The translation quoted by her is indeed misleading, yet in RIMA it actually translates as “I am a lion and virile” which takes up the notion of zikaru (or NÍTA) as being masculine in opposition of being a woman.83 All in all, the phrase denotes the king as strong, as virile, as endowed with all capacities connected to the lion. I. Cornelius84 and Bent Strawn85 observe that whilst the Assyrian kings either state that they are lions or that they act like lions86 their visual relationship is mostly confined to hunter and bounty.87 Irene J. Winter highlights four characteristics Akkadian texts give in respect to kings, that are damqu, banû, baštu and kuzbu.88 Not of all these terms are used in Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions to describe the king. Kuzbu, sum. ḥili means 74

For the third millennium, see Suter 2012. Suter 2012, 436. 76 Winter 1989. 77 Ashurnasirpal II also says of himself to be crowned with splendor, apir šalummate a state that most likely is visualized by the royal tiara but also refers to his overall appearance: RIMA 2: A.0.101.1 i 18–19. A.0.101.23: 13. Irene Winter refers to a halo or alike in this context, Winter 1997, 373 and fn. 52. 78 This phrase is particularly often found in the inscriptions of Ashurnasipal II (e.g., RIMA 2: A.0.101.1 I 14), Shalmaneser III (e.g., RIMA 2: A.0.102.2 I 9) and Tulkulti-Ninurta I (RIMA 1: A.0.78.23 19.) 79 Cf. Bennett 2019, 379. 80 RIMA 2: A.0.101.1 I 31. The same phrase already used by Adad-Nirari II (RIMA 2: A.0.99.2 15), cf. Bennett 2019, 379. 81 Suter 2012, 436. For the lion metaphor in general, see Strawn 2005. 82 Bennett 2019, 377, fn. 40. 83 For the opposition in Neo-Assyrian times, see SAA 2, no. 2 rv. 12. 84 Cornelius 1989, 59. 85 Strawn 2005, 179–180. 86 Examples: Sargon II (labbiš annadir RINAP 2: no. 7 40, http://oracc.museum.upenn. edu/rinap/corpus/), last time accessed 29.1.2021; Sennacherib: (labbiš annadir RINAP 3/1: no. 1: 16), Esarhaddon (labbiš annadir /RINAP 4: no. 1 57). 87 Another creature Ashurnasirpal compares himself to is the ferocious dragon, the ušumgallu ekdu RIMA 2: A.0.101.1 i 19; for the ušumgallu, see Wiggermann 1992, 167. 88 Winter 1996, 11–14. 75

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according to Zsolnay charm/seductiveness,89 yet, looking at instances from the Assyrian sources, the sexual connotation is not always present since objects and space (garden) can have kuzbu90. In SAA 3, no. 8 r 21 the kuzbu refers to the É.KUR and in SAA 3 no. 10 it is used for the city of Assur and its blessing with abundance and beauty (ḪÉ.NUN.ḪI.LI). Yet, a sexual connotation is also possible for things and space like in the case of an inscription of Ashurbanipal91 where it refers to a bed chamber. Damqu is used in the text but does surely not refer to the king’s outer appearance, but much more to things said or done or the fama of a person like MU-ia damqu (the good name)92 Also not referring to the king’s body are the terms banû and baštu, although they are widely used in the texts. The body politic—the body of the warrior93 The alluring and strong body of the king comes along with the capability to fight, of being fearless in battle, supreme and without mercy, being a warrior, who brings fear in battle.94 The kings’ abilities to fight finds so many expressions in the texts that this broader area withdraws from a study of both terms and their likely visualizations in the royal inscriptions. However, in terms of visualization, it seems appropriate to at least mention that some kings refer to their splendor, radiance, terror, and fear that they emanate.95 Yet, this radiance’s visualization is hard to determine, although it seems likely that the overall appearance of the king, including his dress, hairdo, ornaments were part of this phenomenon. The body politic—the body of the wise shepherd The notion of the wise, pious, and faithful shepherd, the caretaker of his people and venerator of the gods and the service to them seems less obvious in respect to physical means. Yet, assuming that the dress and any paraphernalia are prosthetics of the body (politic) of the king, visual expressions are debatable. Ursula Magen

89

Zsolnay 2014, 281. See e.g., RINAP 3/1: no. 17 vi 34. 91 See e.g., RINAP 5/1: no. 5 ii 1: I [skill]fully m[ade a bed of musukkannu-wood … as a] pleasure [b]ed for the god [Bēl (Marduk) (and) the goddess Bēltīya (Zarpanītu) to carry out the we]dding (and) to make [love. I placed (it) in Kaḫ]ilisu, the bed cha[mber of the goddess Zarpanītu, which] is la[den with sexu]al (kuzbu) charm . (cf. RINAP 5/1: no. 7 i 13, no. 10 i 53, no. 13 ii 7); Ashurbanipal also uses the phrase in respect to Ishtar: RINAP 5/1: no. 23 2 and Esarhaddon in case of Nanaya: RINAP 4: no. 135 1. 92 RINAP 2: no. 7: 4–5 (http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/rinap/corpus/, last time accessed 29.1.2021). 93 For the Neo-Assyrian king as a warrior, see Collins 2014. 94 RIMA 2: A.0.101.1 I 20. 95 See e.g., clad in awe inspiring radiance: RINAP 2: no. 1: 5b (http://oracc.museum. upenn.edu/rinap/corpus/) or RINAP 4: no. 1 ii 36–37: (the god Nergal) gave me fierceness, splendor, and terror as a gift. 90

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identifies the king endowed with the staff as the shepherd king.96 More subtle bodily characteristics that might refer to wisdom, as he is the LUGAL itpēšu, the expert king 97 or the rēʾû itpēšu, the wise shepherd,98 who is engaged in good things99 are much more difficult to address in the iconography. Irene Winter’s analysis of Gudea has no counterpart in the Assyrian imagery yet.100 The priest—the body religious The faithful king comes along with the king as a priest / cultic agent and the king in front of the gods. The king acted as priest and provided priestly services. Ursula Magen has proposed several iconographic modes which she equals with the priestly offices of the king.101 Besides Magen’s meticulous observations, some further textual references cover the religious body of the king. This concerns adjectives like attentive (na’du), alongside the terms reverent (e.g., šaḫtu) and pious (e.g., mutnennû). However, and in contrast to Winter’s analysis of Gudea of Lagash, the Neo-Assyrian iconography of the king is much harder to read in respect to these aspects. Winter herself states that both rulers, Gudea and Ashurnasirpal share a wider area of attributes, yet she also observes that “the latter king chose to illustrate those attributes through narrative, while Gudea portrayed them as personal.”102 Karlsson in contrast argues that “unproportionally large eyes” in yet very rare cases and confined to Ashurnasirpal and Shalmaneser III “illustrate the king as priest and servant, both in status and function, in relation to Ashur and the great gods.”103 As tempting as the latter observations of Karlsson are, they are lacking an ample basis and the proof of well-known and widely spread semiotic codes that are needed to use the office of priesthood and the characteristics of piety and attentiveness as propaganda as Karlsson states.104 Another area in respect to the religious body covers the dress in its ritual contexts which will be addressed in context of the dress in the written media.

96

Magen 1986, table 30. RINAP 2: no. 9. 98 RINAP 3: no. 4: I 4. 99 For further variations of the topos, see e.g., LÚ.SIPA tab-ra-te (RIMA 2: A.0.101.2: 3), re-⸢ʾu-ú⸣ áš-ra-a-ti na-ši (RIMA 3: A.0.103.1: i 27), SIPA ba-ʾu-la-a-⸢tim⸣ (RINAP 1: TP III no. 25 i 37), RE.É.UM mut-nen-nu-ú (Sargon 2: 1: http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/ rinap/corpus/, last time accessed 29.1.2021); RE.É.UM ke-e-nu (RINAP 3/2: no. 213: 1); SIPA ke-e-nu (RINAP 5/1: no. 2: i 10) and many more. 100 Winter 1989. 101 Magen 1986. 102 Winter 1989, 582, fn. 24. 103 Karlsson 2016, 94. 104 Karlsson 2016, 94. 97

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By the beard of the king One bodily characteristic in respect to the kings, especially the Neo-Assyrian kings, has been debated ever since: the beard and hairdo. Yet, the written sources are not as explicit as one would wish in this respect. As a matter of fact, the beard is nearly never an issue mentioned regarding the king. Whereat the visual media leave no doubt that beard and hair represent important bodily features of the king, royal inscriptions do not touch upon this matter or describe the king’s facial hair. On rare exception is a letter dealing with the king’s image in which Nabû-asharēd doubts whether the king would approve of his hair’s visualization. He directs the attention of the king also to other features, namely the hands and the chin.105 It is confusing that he mentions the chin since it is never visible, which might lead us to rethink the translation. Yet, he also mentions the hands, which seem to be important, yet rarely get our attention when studying visual culture. Claudia Suter also draws upon the facial hair and how facial hair denotes signs of virility and manhood. She also rightly states that the intentional lack of such hair does not abnegate masculinity and that the abundance of hair as in the case of Enkidu does not equal abundance of masculinity but also wilderness.106 Omar N’Shea argues that the hair of Enkidu in its wilderness is nothing to be drawn to and that when Gilgamesh mourns his friend, he lets himself go and let’s grow the hairs in a fashion that is seen as negative.107 However, the beard is a distinctive feature of officials in the treaties of the seventh century where they are distinguished between those with beard and the so-called eunuchs108. Furthermore, the act of emasculation is known when the beards of soldiers were cut off109 or when they were dragged by their beard to be humiliated. It clearly seems to be an act of humiliation and emasculation. And SAA 19 no. 152 26 reports the subdued kings that should wipe the king’s sandals with their beards.110 Thus, we can be more than positive that the beard in Assyria is a sign of virility and its abundance a denotation of the king’s radiance and splendor. All in all, the king is strong, well-built, sexually alluring, a warrior with no mercy in battle, yet he is also wise and faithful, a caretaker of his people; he is, as scholars have already pointed out, the “ideal man,”111 he is perfection. The remaining issue now evolves around the question whether this falls under the umbrella term propaganda or not. It seems kind of naïve to believe that the king actually became perfect when assuming his divine body politic. However, ancient 105

SAA 13, no. 34, 11ff. Suter 2012, 442–444. 107 N’Shea oral communication (Talk: Masculinity and beauty in Mesopotamia). 108 LÚ.šá-ziq-ni / ša-ziqni and LÚ.SAG-MEŠ / ša-rēši: see e.g., Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty § 6. SAA 2, no. 6. 109 Chapman 2004, 20–59; N’Shea 2018, 317. 110 Also cited in Chapman 2004, 39. 111 Bennett 2019, 377; N’Shea 2018, 330. 106

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propaganda is not about modern perception. If we assume that the king was understood as taking up a divine body proclaiming his divine-like interiority by means of verbalization and visualization (either by the help of prosthetics or by images), then the term of propaganda seems to be ill-fitting. Yet, it will remain unsolved how deeply the reception of the king’s body politic was embedded in Neo-Assyrian society. Furthermore, it is to assume that most people, even in the homeland of Assyria, never actually saw either the king or an image of the king. Thus, the strong tool of fama might have exceeded what images never could achieve. Failing, getting thick and dying: The body natural Despite this alleged perfection, the king’s body can fail since the king eventually dies. Even if there were no direct textual data about the sickness of some kings, (introductory) formulae wishing well-being reveal the probability that the king could get sick.112 But the sources actually treat the illness of kings and of the heirs to the throne. In a medical inquiry in respect to Esarhaddon’s health issues (SAA 4, no. 18)113 Shamash is questioned about the king himself “who is now [ill] and on whom [the ‘hand’ of god …] is being ‘placed’ in exticipy.” Other medical inquiries are made in respect to Ashurbanipal (e.g., SAA 4, no. 276) of whom one wishes to know whether he will “recover, get well, be saved, [rescued, extricated from his illness].”114 Additionally, letter SAA 10, no. 196 o 14–r 14 states that the king as the image of Shamash should be healthy in no time and that he should just eat and drink and frankly pull himself together.115 The body of the other The king’s body gains even more radiance if it is compared with the body of the other. As I have argued elsewhere, there is rarely such a programmatic yet excep112

SAA 10, no. 196 o 1–9: “To the king, my lord: your servant Adad-šumu-uṣur. Good health to the king, my lord! May Nabû and Marduk, and the great gods of heaven and earth bless the king, my lord, and give happiness and physical well-being to the king, my lord.” 113 SAA 4, no. 184, 2. 114 SAA 4, no. 276: 2ff.: “(2) Assurbanipal, king of [Assyria, who is now] again afflicted with […, and (whom) your great] divinity [knows] (shortened) will Assurbanipal, king of [Assyria], recover, get well, be saved, [rescued, extricated from his illness]?” See also: SAA 4 no. 188: 1 ff. (epigastrium) and SAA 4, no. 277. 115 SAA 10, 196 o 14–r 14: “Why, today already for the second day, is the table not brought to the king, my lord? Who (now) stays in the dark much longer than Šamaš, the king of the gods; stays in the dark a whole day and night, and again two days? The king, the lord of the world, is the very image of Šamaš. He (should) keep in the dark for half a day only! (r 7) [Exaggerat]ion is not good; (r 8) [… the wel]fare of the country […]… (r 10) [Eating of b]read and [drinking of w]ine [will soon re]move [the illness of the king]. (r 14) G[ood ad]vice is to be heeded: restlessness, not eating and not drinking disturbs the mind and adds to illness. In this matter the king should listen to [his se]rvant.”

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tional example as the body of Te-Umman, king of Elam. According to the royal prisms, Te-Umman is the tamšīlu, the likeness of a gallû-demon.116 In the Assyrian perception, the Elamite king’s body reveals his poor interior characteristics by his outer appearance of a demon. His interiority literally becomes figurated on the outside. Yet, Te-Umman was not the first to be called the image of an evil gallûdemon because both Sargon and Sennacherib describe Marduk-apla-iddina II in the very same way.117 Only, that the example of Te-Umman is much more vibrant since we actually know visual representations of Te-Umman which seem to tackle his unpleasant features. Whilst it is tempting to interpret all these data in the light of propaganda as a heuristic category, it also seems to fall short in understanding the entanglement of the body as a carrier of Assyrian identity, as a channel to the interiority, and as a means of communication between different entities. However, it is also blindsided to ignore that the body transmitted a message of superiority of the Assyrian gods, king, army and officials. Meta-texts about dressing the body The power of dress Garments, paraphernalia and ornaments act as prosthetics of the body. That concerns every person and the king himself.118 The transformative power of dress and ornament bases on the fact that they belong to the divine ME. The much earlier myth of Inanna and Enki, in which she steals the divine powers from her drunken father, states that: the noble scepter, the noble dress, alongside shepherd-ship and kingship, are divine civilizing powers.119 The power that comes along with ornaments and dress becomes vividly clear when looking at the Inanna’s descent to the netherworld in which she takes the divine powers and puts them on, including the turban, the wig, a necklace of Lapis lazuli and another jewelry (twin egg shaped beads), a dress, mascara, a pectoral, a ring, as well as she takes up rod and line.120 As she enters the netherworld and passes the gates, she has to hand over each item, first the turban, second the necklace, third the next jewelry, fourth the pectoral, fifth the golden ring, sixth (again the rod and the line), seventh the

116

See e.g., RINAP 5/1: no. 3 v 94 f or no. 6: v 10 ff. RINAP 2: no. 2: 370 (http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/rinap/corpus/); RINAP 3/1: no. 1: 17; RINAP 3/2 no. 213: 17. As a result to the very wrecked relation of Sennacherib with Babylonia, he also calls the people of Babylon gallû-demons: see e.g., RINAP 3/1 no. 2, v 17 ff. 118 N’Shea 2019, 178. 119 Segment F 19: https://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.1.3.1#, last time accessed 29.1.2021; see also Taf. I VI 19: Farber-Flügge 1973, 29. 120 Inanna and Enki: 102–113: https://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section1/tr141.htm, last accessed January 29, 2021. 117

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dress.121 Yet, she seems to keep wig and mascara. Whether these are not seen as powerful or whether they are simply not mentioned to keep the number seven, is unclear to me. However, she loses all her powers which brings her death and there is no way for her to free herself due to her lack of power. Alongside the text Inanna and Enki, the myth gives way to the interpretation of dress, adornment, and paraphernalia as extremely powerful.122 The king’s clothes Textiles and garments of the Neo-Assyrian Period have been extensively dealt with by Salvatore Gaspa.123 Gaspa states, “that an agentive role was attributed to royal clothes, presumably because they were perceived as an extension of the king’s person and functions.”124 Sennacherib, still as crown prince, writes his father that he dresses the Mannaean messenger (in purple) and that he gave him a silver bracelet. 125 Ashurbanipal makes the man with the help of clothes: ‘I had mercy on Necho […] (ii 10) I clothed him in garment(s) with multi-colored trim, placed on him a golden hoe, an insignia of his kingship, (and) fastened gold bracelets around his wrists.”126 This passage leaves no doubt that clothes are a defining feature of the other, and that the other gains and loses by virtue of them. This is also made clear by a passage of Sennacherib stating that: “Marduk-apla-iddina became frightened and shred his lordly garments taking flight from Babylon.”127 Clothes thus define the person in his role. Beyond that, there are also functionally specific. In this respect Gaspa has very recently commented on the ritual dimension of royal textiles in the first millennium, and it is beyond doubt that certain clothes and textiles were reserved for certain occasions.128 Gaspa also states that the king actually gains his dignity via the garments he wears during certain rituals.129 Thus, dress is a major part of forming the entity’s physicality.130 121

Inanna and Enki: 129–162: https://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section1/tr141.htm, last accessed January 29, 2021. 122 Cf. Gaspa 2018, 47, fn. 15. 123 Gaspa 2018; 2017; Gaspa et al. 2014. 124 Gaspa 2018, 146–147. 125 SAA 9: no. 1 r 18, cf. also SAA 1: no. 134: 10 ff. “O king, my lord, may you be the temple of kings! Each and everyone who lays down his life under [your feet] and keeps your treaty, will be pardoned in your presence by your gods, and you will dress him (in purple) and bl[ess him] as today.” 126 RINAP 5: no. 11 II 8ff. 127 RINAP 3: no. 149, 11–13. 128 See e.g., SAA 10: no. 275 b.e. 14–r 5:(14) “Concerning the injunctions about which the king wrote to me, the king should observe the injunctions carefully. The king does not eat anything cooked; the king wears the clothes of a nurse.” Or, e.g., SAA 3: no.7 o 13: “The king is clothed in clean garments, has put on a magnificent robe.” See Gaspa 2019, 213. 129 Gaspa 2019, 213–214, cf. Ambos 2013. 130 This finds further strengthening when seeing clothes treated as substitutes in certain

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Media: The iconographic evidence: The aesthetics of the royal body Irene J. Winter has already shown that the king’s appearance, mostly in reliefs but also in the round, is not a portrait in the sense of the individual but of the office of kingship itself.131 In the terminology of Kantorowicz the royal portrait refers to the body politic and its divine characteristics in respect to both its form and substance (s.a.). Due to the overall assumption that some observations can only be drawn from making parallels, the focus of the following analyses bases on the comparison of the royal body to those of others, divine, numinous, high ranking, low ranking or antagonistic. Alongside this comparative view, we restrict ourselves to sub-topics and examples considered as especially significant and making sure to remain in the parameters of a single contribution. Hypermasculinity Recently, the issue of masculinity as a form of identity, segregation, and aesthetic expression has been reevaluated in respect to the Assyrian king.132 The Assyrian reliefs and statues portray what in today’s contexts would be understood as a form of hypermasculinity.133 Donald L. Mosher stated in 1991 that hypermasculinity “is realized by enacting manhood as physicality, by embodying manly dispositions in scenes evoking a gender script. When enacted, hypermasculinity consists of manly actions in gender-relevant scenes that embody dispositions toward toughness, daring, virility, and violence.”134 However, hypermasculinity has been coined as a term for counter-behavior especially of young men who feel the need to express themselves, even protect themselves by exaggerating the male stereotypes enacted in their subculture. In this regard, the phenomenon of the Assyrian king’s masculinity is better termed as supermasculinity, it is the high-end of what the Assyrian (elite) society thought of being a perfect man. The king is shown as physically masculine, virile, strong, flawless, in his prime age suited up in a perfect garment. One sign of virility of the grown man in Assyria and beyond, discussed many times, is the beard which very rightly has been suspected to be a prosthetic piece.135 As Winter and N’Shea state, the full and highly fashioned beard of the king is a sign of his manhood136 and gains heightened visibility and perception when contrasted with the beardless officials, most likely

rituals, as Lorenzo Verderame has also recently discussed (Verderame 2019). Cf. Gaspa 2019, 214. The distinct aesthetics of the royal dress as portrayed in the written sources will not be discussed here. For this, please consult esp. Gaspa 2014; 2017; 2018. 131 Winter 1997. 132 See e.g., N’Shea 2018; 2019. 133 Mosher 1991. The term hyper-masculinity is also used by O. N’Shea for the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal: N’Shea 2019, 179. 134 Mosher 1991, 200. 135 N’Shea 2019, 177. 136 Winter 1997, 370–371; N’Shea 2018, 317 (for Assurnasirpal II), 324 (for Sennacherib).

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eunuchs, ergo men without virility in the strict biologic sense of being fertile.137 Looking at selected visual media, the elaborate beard of the Assyrian king is omnipresent and should be seen in combination with his likewise elaborate hairdo which also could have been exaggerated by using a wig. Both prosthetic devices (beard and wig) would allow to actually style the king in the way the images portray without considerably wasting the actual time of the king and without the danger that the actual hair would not allow the appearance whished for. The beards of the kings from Ashurnasirpal II to Ashurbanipal are far from being the same except for their abundance and sophisticated styling. Even in light of different media and craftsmen, the aesthetics of one king’s beard can change. Ashurnasirpal II for example displays in his statue in front of the temple of Ishtar bēlit māti (BM 118871)138 a hairdo combed in wavy lines down to his shoulder where it curls up in four rows indicating a thick mane resting on his shoulders and with a blocklike beard, the facial hair frizzed in tiny curls, tingling around the ears and the lower lip, while a mustache ending in upward turning curls adorns his upper lip. The lower part of the beard takes the form of the afore mentioned block, three horizontal rows of curls are followed by a part of wavy probably roped up hair strands, interrupted by three further rows of curls and ending in three horizontal rows. It is very likely that the beard was once painted blue-black.139 The hair is executed pretty flat when looking at other examples. Yet, the beard and hairstyle considerably add to the three-dimensional appearance of the otherwise block-like figure. Differing from this is the “portrayal” of the king in stela BM 118805140 (Fig. 1) from the temple of Ninurta in Nimrud. The king wears his tiara, but clearly his upper hair is dressed in waves. The hair strands are astonishingly thick but end in fewer curls than in many other instances. Yet because of their three-dimensional crafting with explicit twirling and curling they still form an impressive bulk of hair falling on his shoulders and back. The beard is clearly doubled layered, probably split. Like in the hairdo the curls are twirled and create a very voluminous impression. The large-scale orthostat reliefs merge both aesthetics. In orthostat relief MT 32.143.4141 (Fig. 2) from the NW-palace in Nimrud for example, the mass of curls corresponds much more to the statue, the details much more to the stela. The hair itself is meticulously carved by single lines, the twisting before 137

N’Shea 2018, 319, 328. See e.g., Strommenger 1970, 13–14, plate I; Magen 1986, 140; for a photograph see https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1851-0902-507, last accessed January 29, 2021. 139 For comparisons to color, we have, e.g., the wall paintings of Til Barsip or the glazed bricks and the wall paintings of Assur, Nimrud, and Khorsabad; also newly edited, Astrid Nunn and Piening (2020) have collected evidence concerning Assyrian statues. For blueblack, see Thavapalan 2020, 413. 140 See e.g., Börker-Klähn 1982, 182, no. 136. 141 See e.g., Meuszyński 1981, 41, 45, 84, plate 8, 2. 138

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the curly ends is clearly visible. Interestingly, the beardless person in front of the king, most likely a eunuch, wears the same hairstyle with the exception that the hair-strands ends in 7 instead of 8 rows of curls and is thus less bulgy. Undeniably, as has been already stated, the juxtaposition of the protagonists emphasizes the beard of the king considerably.

Figure 1: Stele of Ashurnasirpal II (BM 118805) from the temple of Ninurta in Nimrud, h: 2.94 m (photo: Wagner-Durand).

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Figure 2: Orthostat relief of Ashurnasirpal II from the NW-palace in Nimrud, MT 32.143.4, h: 2.34 m (Photo MET, OA).

Figure 3: Stela of Shamshi-Adad V (BM 118892) from the temple of Nabu in Nimrud, h: 1.95 m (drawing: Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 161).

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Figures 4a–c: Bauherren-stelae of Ashurbanipal and Shamash-shumu-ukin (BM 90864-6) (Börker-Klähn 1982, 124–126).

In respect to the aesthetics of the royal beards, one stela of Shamshi-Adad V (BM 118892)142 is worth to be noted (Fig. 3). Not only does the stela display a very distinct style to render the hair, but mainly we witness the split beard of the king, which in my opinion is a clear reference to the ancient kings of Agade who seemingly wore such a style.143 This reminiscence finds no known imitations amongst the later kings. Ashurbanipal who is well known for his lavish self-presentation also is never shown with this kind of beard. In fact, he wears a hairstyle remarkably like that of Ashurnasirpal II expressed by the means of his craftsmen with a strong attitude to in depth carving. Yet, I want to turn the attention to the Bauherren-stelae which we will also discuss later: BM 90864–6144 (Fig. 4a–c). In both his stelae, Ashurbanipal wears the traditional hair and beard style, the block like configuration of the beard in the rare en face depiction is clearly visible and renders the main aspects of the wavy hairdo, of the bulgy curls flowing on shoulder and back, of the twirled strands alternating with rows of curls. Yet, they are executed very flatly, BM 90865 displays fewer details in the beard dressing than BM 90864. Unfortu142

See e.g., Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 161. See the so-called head of Sargon cast of bronze in the Iraq museum; see e.g., Mallowan 1936. 144 See e.g., Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 224–226. For recent photographs, see https://www. britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1881-0324-367, last accessed January 29, 2021; https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1880-0617-3, last accessed January 29, 2021; https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1880-0617-3, last accessed January 29, 2021. 143

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nately, the corresponding stela of Shamash-shuma-ukin (BM 90866) is badly worn and defaced and thus it is difficult to judge on the issue of the beard. It seems, however, that Shamash-shuma-ukin’s beard is not interrupted by the typical horizontal curly lines but consists of twisted hair strands. Possibly, this aims, as we will later see, at the distinction between the brothers as kings of Assyria and Babylonia, since this reminds more to the style of the southern neighbor. Thus, beards are identity markers. They show affiliation to social status and ethnolinguistic groups. From these observations several deductions can be made. Assyrian beards are signs of virility that are fashioned according to a larger habitual set in which they are employed. The royal beard is, apart from adaptions to personal favors and fashions, styled in a similar manner from the 9th century until the very end of the empire. Exceptions are mainly due to two causes: mostly they are expressions of a certain craftsmen’s style (1) most likely in combination with the king’s personal taste (2). Yet, these variations rather than exceptions are not in conflict with the main way of the royal beard style. The split beard is very much an exception, the known en face images confirm this finding. In this respect it remains to be debated whether the link to the Akkadian kings was a conscious one or whether this was an actual fashion in the first Millennium which, however, seem doubtful. In respect to the king, it seems quite likely that the beard and the hair were either enhanced by fake strands and inwoven hair or by wigs and prosthetic devices. It has also to be considered that the hair was dyed.145 All of this leads to beard and hair as part of the royal propaganda, proclaiming the king’s supermasculinity. Yet, I argue that this might be a side effect, the beard, be it fake or not, is the physical manifestation of the king’s interiority, and signifies the body politic. It belongs to what makes him king, as any other prosthetic, like dress itself. It is no less worth than what we perceive as the allegedly real physicality. In one shape and all sizes Yet, turning to the overall shape of the king, his figure, his muscles, and body tone, differences between the king and his court are not so easily claimed when stripping down garments and ornaments, beard, and hairdo. There seem to be certain mechanisms in effect. One is the fact that during certain stages of carving statues and orthostats, there was an overall agreement of how certain body parts, especially muscles of legs and arms were to be executed. Second is the impression of certain body blueprints that have been applied to execute and display distinct social groups in orthostat reliefs. These blueprints are especially visible with reliefs of Ashurnasirpal II, although they seem to slightly change from room to

145

Concerning dying red, see Thavapalan 2020, 60. Also, one must acknowledge that according to Scurlock and Anderson, black hair is a good omen: “one with black hair would find food to eat” (Scurlock and Andersen 2005, 708).

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room, or more likely, from master craftsmen to master craftsmen who were responsible for executing certain rooms.146 In the review scene of the lower register of the orthostat reliefs BM 124537+9147 from the throne-room B in NW-palace (Fig. 5) all except the bodies of the captured and submitting personae, who take on whole other postures, share the same body blueprint, yet, the size of these figures, hint to a certain hierarchy between the officials, bearded or non-bearded. However, they all seem to share similar, sometimes identical blueprints concerning muscles and body shape. One soldier, e.g., leading the horses in the left part of the main orthostat is depicted considerably smaller, yet he represents also a version of the blueprint. The phenomenon of a shared blueprint is not only visible amongst human Assyrian protagonists but also with genies (with wings e.g., BM 118876, or without wings e.g., BM 124575), even with the eagle headed ones (e.g., BM 124576).148 While the blueprint signifies Assyrian identity–divine, royal, or entirely human–it is never applied to the so-called other, ergo captured personae, enemies in general, foreign officials and alike.149

Figure 5: Orthostat reliefs (BM 124537+9) of Assurnaṣirpal II showing a review, lower register, NW-palace, throne room b; h: 0,97 m (drawing: Meuszyński 1981, Taf. I, 3–4).

Blueprint design, however, is not confined to Ashurnasirpal II. In the wall paintings of Kar Shalmanassar (Tell Ahmar), for example, high ranking officials and the king share the same body shape whilst foreign attendees, as seen with his father’s reliefs,150 contrast the Assyrian identity and self-understanding by different postures.151

146

Reade 1979b, 23. See e.g., Meuszyński 1981, 22–23, Taf. I,3–4, B-18+17 (lower register). For photographs, see also https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1847-0623-10 and https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1849-0502-11, both last accessed January 29, 2021. 148 In contrast to the genies, the king never wears a garment that give his legs free. 149 Please note that the blueprint is not transmedially applicable. This must be due to the media itself and the different craftsmen fashioning different media. 150 See e.g., Thureau-Dangin and Dunand 1936, plate LXII. See also Tomabechi 1983. 151 For gesture and posture and their meaning in respect to identity see also Cifarelli 1998. 147

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Concerning Tiglath-Pileser III, there is an intriguing example of how different the bodies can be postured, but main aspects remain the very same. The lower part of BM 118908152 from the SW-palace in Nimrud shows the king in his chariot. Focusing on the core group of persons in this chariot, we witness the king as the central figure. Left in the relief (actually behind him) we witness a beardless servant holding the royal parasol. The driver of the chariot stands behind the king (actually he is on left side of the king). All of them take up different body positions due to their actions. The king raises his right hand for a praying gesture, the left arm is stretched down in a narrow angle to the body, the left hand holds a lotus flower. The beardless servant holds the parasol, only the right hand visible since the left body part is covered by the king. The charioteer holds the rains in both his hands, the arms straightened and stretched out in front of his body. What is the most interesting characteristic about all three of them, despite their different status and their different dressing, despite their different head dresses and facial hair, is that they all seem equally strong, with broad chests, equally tall and with accentuated arm muscles with a noticeable optical depth effect. The assessment of such a phenomenon in respect to Sargon up to Assurbanipal is much more difficult due to the growing activities shown in the reliefs, as well as the disappearance of strict register lines. That the postures and dynamics change is commonly known and has been analyzed by several scholars.153 However, it seems that the Assyrian male body was conceptualized as a marker of Assyrian (male) identity and thus poured into a blueprint adaptable to action and context. This concept remains valid until the end of the empire. The king himself shares these features with the Assyrian male elite. Yet, the shape of the king’s body is not the only thing that defines his royal body. The body is also characterized by prosthetics, by dress and paraphernalia, as well as its setting and especially in later times also by size. The blueprint or blueprint like shaping of Assyrian bodies is not only a matter of technique, it is about ontologies and identities. As we have witnessed, the outer appearance, the physicality is understood as immensely important and revealing the true nature of beings in Assyria and beyond. Thus, all Assyrians by their inner nature, by their interiority also share the same or very similar physicalities. These, amongst others, attribute them to the overall group of Assyrians, while others share other physicalities revealing their non-Assyrian nature. In all cases, the body blueprint signifies Assyrian superiority, yet other elements, body prosthetics, as dress, hair, beard, and so on, reveal the attribution to sub-identities and group attribution within the Assyrian (male elite) society. That also applies to the king,

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See e.g., Barnett and Falkner 1962, 30, plate LXVIII–LXXI, for a photograph see also https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1851-0902-498, last accessed January 29, 2021. 153 See especially Groenewegen-Frankfort 1951; Czichon 1992.

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whose body politic is revealed by elements of dress, hair, beard, size (s.b.), posture, gesture, and paraphernalia as well as setting. Again, the category of propaganda helps to explain why Assyrian bodies seem to be flawless in visual cultures, but it falls short when considering that the images were not so widely received as to count valuable for the effect propaganda shall take. It also does not help to explain why they were visualized in the exact way returning to the notion of the body politic as the expression of the required interiority of the king as well as Assyrian elite members in general. In respect to the physical body of the king as shown in images and relation to others, the isocephalic and non-isocephalic modes of depiction call for attention. The depiction of the king as larger than others (germ. Heterokephalie) is not as common as one could imagine. There are even situations in which the king is smaller (strictly seen) than other individuals surrounding him. These are constellations in which seize differences seem due to miscalculations or compositional requirements. This is often caused by the royal tiara, which stretches the height of the king considerably. Thus, in these depictions he is de facto bodily smaller than other(s). This is, for example, the case with the orthostat relief BM 1849,0502. 14154 from the NW-palace in which Ashurnasirpal II holds a bow and bowl in front of a human attendant. Here, the king is bodily smaller than the high beardless official. This in turn strengthens the assumption that the crown is a prosthetic of the royal body. This relief (BM 1849, 0502.14) clarifies that the body was visually conceptualized according to the size of the slab. When starting the production process of the relief, carving (or sketching) the beardless official, almost as tall as the relief itself, the king was necessarily fashioned bodily smaller than the official because of his tiara. Accordingly, the eyes, the line of sight and the shoulders of the other are situated remarkably higher than those of the king. As a second example we look at his orthostat BM 124535155, which is the lower part of Ashurnasirpal’s II lion hunt sequence, namely the libation, from the throne room B of the NW-palace. First, differences in height between the protagonists are visible, yet they are by no means exaggerated. Although the king appears as the tallest person in the scene, this is actually mainly due to his royal tiara. The importance of the participants except for the king and the beardless official in front of him is diminished by two things, first they appear in pairs. Thus, the attention of the viewer is rarely focused on one of them. Second, the posture of the king and his vis-à-vis is much more open to the viewer and represents the chest broader and thus more voluminous. Thus, size is clearly not all that matters, but it does matter. The smallest participants are represented by a pair of accom154

Budge 1914, plate 35; for a photograph, see: https://www.britishmuseum.org/collec tion/object/W_1849-0502-14, last accessed January 29, 2021. 155 Meuszyński 1981, 23, B-19, Taf. I.3 (lower register); for a photograph, see: https:// www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1847-0623-13, last accessed January 29, 2021.

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panying soldiers far left of the king. The next smallest persona is actually the visà-vis of the king, whose non-priority in respect to the king is also made clear by a descending line of sight from king to beardless official. The next couple which is slightly taller are the beardless officials carrying the hunting equipment, also probably eunuchs, standing or moving behind the king. Almost as tall, if not as tall as the king, except for his tiara, are two pairs behind the single vis-à-vis beardless official who is engaged in a ritual act with the king. The first pair is an especially interesting couple, consisting of one bearded figure and one without a beard, both surely very-high ranking engaged in the ritual by taking up a gesture of prayer and/or anticipation. The figure in the foreground wears a special headband which in my opinion designates him as Shalmaneser III, heir to the throne and son of Ashurnasirpal II. They are both followed by two musicians which according to their stature are equally strong and virile as the non-musicians and clearly larger as the remaining couple of this slap, two soldiers following the beardless officials behind the king. The whole scenery is a nice didactic play of what societies understand as masculine or not. This understanding is a negotiation of bio-essentialist factors and cultural characteristics.

Figure 6: Zincirli stela, VA 2708, h: 3,18 m (drawing: Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 219).

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The mode in which the king is depicted size-wise is still valid for Sargon’s relief program in Khorsabad, as can be seen with reliefs from façade L or room 6.156 Any attempt of isocephalic depiction entirely dissolves in visual media of the 7th century, like Esarhaddon’s Zincirli stela (Fig. 6),157 in which the size differences are exaggerated in an unpreceded way. Ashurbanipal shows himself entirely in the heterocephalic mode and thus manifests the body politic as outstanding also in respect to size. Yet, the need of this exaggeration as the preferred mode of selfrepresentation needs to be explained, since during the first half of the empire’s history there seems to be no need or urge doing so. Ashurbanipal is famously not a man of understatement, yet this precise overstatement of supermasculinity makes one suspicious whether that was to counteract the (felt) lack of fitness. The royal wardrobe One could spend an entire book on the royal dress, in respect to one single king and even more so when considering three centuries of royal wardrobe. Still, more detailed big data are needed to get a better picture on the exact meaning of dress and ornament in distinct contexts. Here, we focus on several examples that shall illustrate the relationship of dress, kingship and the individual king. 158 Which body shape and which exact dress was displayed in Assyria represents a combination of personal favors, timely fashion and functional embedding. Thus, we will aim for several selected observations in respect to the king’s dress. The tale of two brothers:159 Body, dress and ethnicity In respect to the garments, the contrasting depictions of Ashurbanipal, crown prince of Assyria, and Shamash-shuma-ukin, crown prince of Babylon160 immediately come to mind. Scholars have intensively discussed in which dresses both have been depicted as long as they still were forced to get along. Several iconographic instances pair them together and show their destination and affiliation. Despite the Assyrian birth identity of Shamash-shuma-ukin, he is always identified with the garments of Babylonian tradition.161 The narrow sides of the Zincirli-

156

Albenda 1986, plate 45, façade L, slaps 20–21 or plate 70, room 6, slaps 11–12. Zincirli stela (VA 2708) (Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 219); Til Barsib stelae (Aleppo NM 31+47) (Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 217–218). 158 All kings either follow or set the fashion, thus, their clothes change throughout time, the kind of embroidery they use, the ornamental elements sewn on the dresses, the jewelry they wear. 159 For a detailed and recent analysis of the brothers’ relationship: see Zaia 2019. 160 RINAP 4: no. 113 30 ff. “For Ashurbanipal, crown prince of Assyria, and Šamaš-šumaukīn, crown prince of Babylon, both brothers, my offspring, may they decree as their destiny a good fate, a favorable fate, one of the lengthening of the days of their reigns (and) the protection of the throne(s) of their priestly offices.” 161 For a detailed depiction of the garments and their difference, see Gaspa 2018, 146. 157

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stela (VAM 2708 and their affiliates Aleppo NM 31 +47)162 shows them wearing either a Babylonian or an Assyrian dress clearly communicating both their royal nature and their future status: as sovereign of Babylonia and king of Assyria. Their garments are way more than mere decoration, they are the physical manifestations (physicalities) of each brother’s true being and destination. The same can be observed with the small already mentioned Bauherren-stelae from Babylonia (BM 90685-4: Ashurbanipal, BM 90866; Shamash-shuma-ukin).163 Although the topos of the basket bearing king had vanished from iconographical (not literal) tradition for over 1000 years, both kings wear the basket in their specific royal attires: one dressed as a Babylonian, the typical conical head disappearing underneath the basket, the other dressed as an Assyrian king, the tiara clearly shown in front of the basket, obliterating any doubt about his status. However, the stelae itself also show Ashurbanipal’s integration to Babylonia. His body is depicted in the manner of the southern neighbor. The overall shape, the bulgy belly, the less obvious accentuation of the muscles are features of a southern iconography and expression of Babylonian identity. Yet, it remains doubtful how and by whom these stelae were perceived and whether the message was decoded in the intended way in Babylonia. In the sense of the body politic as the manifestation of the interiority of each brother, these media visually present the Babylo-Assyrian view of both kings contextualized in Babylonia itself. Unfortunately, there is no depiction of Shaamash-shuma-ukin after the brothers’ alienation. And thus, it remains unseen how the depiction of his physicality might have been adapted to these new circumstances. The defacement of this Bauherren-stela,164 however, gives hint to the practice of changing or destroying his physicality, his body politic and its (re-) presentation. King the hunter165 The issue of functional clothing versus practical dressing is a difficult one. Today’s hunters would be bewildered to see what the kings wore during their hunts. Whilst Ashurnasirpal II also wore embroidered textiles, it seems that there was a slight difference between his ceremonial attire after the hunt and his hunting gear. Thus, he quite subtly changes his attire from the hunt itself to the libation after the hunt. During the hunt itself, the king wears no upper garment, no shawl or toga as well as no upper arm bracelets and no bead necklace. Thus, he must have gotten adorned for the ritual act. Whether these adornments are important for the ritual act or just not suited for the hunt remains to be discussed. Both explanations are 162

Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 217–219. Börker-Klähn 1982, no. 226–224 164 Zaia 2019, 48. 165 The literature for discussion the royal hunt in visual media and beyond is abundant: see especially Watanabe 1998; 2000; 2002; 2004; Strawn 2005; Weissert 1997; WagnerDurand 2019. 163

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appealing and the quite ‘rational’ Ashurnasirpal II might be perceived as a man of pragmatism. In contrast, Ashurbanipal knows no modesty at all when it comes down to the quest of killing the lion. This king’s visual and textual self-image is in a way inconsistent. On the one hand, he orchestrates himself as divine perfection, on the other hand there are hints to weakness, e.g., when he does not partake in the battle of Ulai. In fact, Ishtar tells him not to do so and takes over for him.166 At first sight, the visual image of the hunting Ashurbanipal counteracts such impressions. However, in this context too, the staged hunt, the safety of the enclosed arena, the most likely sedated formerly caged lions, the presence of many soldiers, leave a stain on the impression of the oh-so heroic king. In this context, the dress of the king, as impractical as it gets, finds explanation. It is all about effect. Ashurbanipal is, as N’Shea rightly states, “dressed to dazzle.”167 Alike Ashurnasirpal, over 200 years earlier, but surely known to Ashurbanipal by the sight of his reliefs, the later king, dresses himself also in an embroidered garment: he mostly wears a “composite garment made up of a wrap-around skirt that is knee length at the front and longer at the back, and a top vestment that covers his entire torso and his arms to the biceps.”168

Figure 7: Detail of Ashurbanipal’s dress during the lion hunt, leg on the right belongs to a soldier alongside the king, upper register of BM 124886, from the N-Palace, room S’ (photo: Wagner-Durand).

If we look further at the skirt and the embroidery, we observe ornaments made of metal sewn on to the dress (Fig. 7). These are well known from the archaeological contexts giving a vivid impression on how these dresses might have once 166

Prism B: RINAP 5: no. 3 V 60–V 72. N’Shea 2019. 168 N’Shea 2019, 179. N’Shea also discusses the stylus worn by Ashurbanipal (N’Shea 2019, 179, 181). 167

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looked like 169 Considering the overall textiles, these garments were not light weight: they included heavy embroideries and textile bands on the fringes, as well as most likely silver and golden threads as well as the metallic ornaments increasing the multi-modal experientiality of the king’s physical appearance: he was oiled and scented, dressed in a shiny and lavish garment, making metallic noises when moving. N’Shea aptly calls this phenomenon prosthetic hyper-masculinity. These supernatural looks of the king were not refined to the hunt and thus to the ‘public’ sphere of the staged act. He also wears a remarkably similar, if not the same, dress without upper cover when he enjoys leisure time in his gardens (BM 124920, room S’ = fallen into room S).170 The relationship between the garden scene, a garden in which actual lions were free to wander around as relief BM 118914171 shows, is up to discussion. The link of the garden scene and the banquet following the battle of Ulai (room I) and the defeat of the Elamites in the N-Palace is evident by for example the inscription of BM 124794172 and of course by the distorted head of Te-Umman dangling from the tree. Its spatial relationship to the hunting scenes in the N-palace (room S’, room C), however hint to a tight relationship, probably hinting to a progression of events that ends or resolves in the leisure of the garden where the king relaxes in the face of his dead opponent TeUmman.173 Therefore, the extravagant garment is neither specifically made for the hunt nor for relaxing; it is made for the king being fit for any royal occasion and any royal function at any given time. On the bases of N’Shea, the king’s garments are prosthetics of royal Assyrian supermasculinity. In the case of Ashurbanipal this super-masculinity most likely counteracts the interiority of the king and (over)emphasizes the body politic and thus the physicality of Ashurbanipal as king of Assyria. The case of Ashurbanipal pushes the considerations made in this paper into the realm of propaganda. Summary If we consider the body as an entity that reveals and communicates identity, we witness the king as part of an Assyrian male community. This community signifies itself by an artificial ideal of mostly hypermasculine and hyper-fertile (except 169

See e.g., Gaspa 2014; N’Shea 2019; Gaspa 2018, 157–186; Hussein 2016, esp. gold clothing ornaments from Tomb II, ND 1898.116 (rosettes), ND 1980.117 (eight-pointed stars), ND 1898.118 (hemispherical buttons), ND 1989.119 (triangles with raised hemispheres), ND 1989.62 (spoked wheels), ND 1989.28 (thin strips). 170 Barnett 1976, 57, plate LXIV. For a photograph, see https://www.britishmuseum.org/ collection/object/W_1856-0909-53, last accessed January 29, 2021. 171 Barnett 1976, 39, plate XV. For a photograph, see https://www.britishmuseum.org/ collection/object/W_1856-0909-23_1, last accessed January 29, 2021. 172 RINAP 5: no. 50; Barnett 1976, 57, plate LXIV; for a photograph, see https://www. britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1856-0909-55, last accessed January 29, 2021. 173 For a short discussion on the function of the N-palace and the shown hunts as generic events or a special occasion connected to the battle of Ulai, see Kertai 2015, 184.

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for the eunuchs) characteristics. Still, the king’s body, according to texts and visual sources, surpasses all these hyper-characteristics into the realm of divine kingship. Since the visible reality of the natural body of the king must have differed from these unfulfillable prerequisites, an undeniable tension arose between the natural conditions of the individual king’s body and the divine body he should ‘occupy’ when becoming king. Here, the concepts of Descola and Kantorowicz help to explain how this undeniable tension could have been bridged. According to Descola every being can be understood by its physicality and its interiority. Whilst the physicality of the king is what we might today understand as reality, ancient Assyrians may have understood this very differently. To bring the divine interiority of the king to the outside, any prosthetic could be rightfully used, from wig to dress, from hair pieces to sandals. This is of no less reality than the mere physical body. This body, the body politic, represents the royal body fit for rule, the body given by the gods when ascending the throne, the body that makes him king. The body politic is the physical appearance of the perfect and chosen king. It visualizes the king’s otherwise not visible physicality and manifests his interiority and suitability as the perfect sovereign assuming any task to be faced: be it priest, shepherd, warrior, hunter, or servant of the gods. For Assyrian kings, the body politic mainly embodies the divine nature of kingship and thus the divine part of the king in his status as the deputy of the god Aššur on earth. The visual media showing the Assyrian king represent manifestations of kingship and form the presences of the king in his office, they manifest the body politic and make visible what the body natural can’t show. The powers these images emanate cannot be explained by mere propaganda, but only by taking the complex ontological system in which these images were embedded into account. Indeed, these images might have taken effects that are alike those of propaganda. These effects, however, can only take place, because of the ontological status of king and image in the Neo-Assyrian world. Bibliography Albenda, P. 1986. The Palace of Sargon, King of Assyria. Monumental Wall Reliefs at Dur-Sharrukin, from Original Drawings Made at the Time of their Discovery in 1843–1844 by Botta and Flandin, Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Ambos, C. 2013. “Rites of passage in Ancient Mesopotamia: Changing status by moving through space: Bit rimki and the ritual of the substitute king”, in: C. Ambos / L. Verderame (eds), Approaching rituals in ancient cultures. Questioni di rito: rituali come fonte di conoscenza delle religione e delle concezioni del mondo nelle culture antiche. Proceedings of the conference, November 28–30, 2011, Roma (Rivista degli studi orientali N.S. 86, Suppl. 2), Pisa / Rome: Fabrizio Serra editore, 39–54.

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on June 23, 2014 (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 412), Münster: UgaritVerlag, 273–304. Gaspa, S. 2017. “Garments, Parts of Garments, and Textile Techniques in the Assyrian Terminology: The Neo-Assyrian Textile Lexicon in the 1st-Millennium BC Linguistic Context”, in: S. Gaspa / C. Michel / M.-L. Nosch (eds), Textile Terminologies from the Orient to the Mediterranean and Europe, 1000 BC to 1000 AD, Lincoln: Zea Books, 47–90. Gaspa, S. 2018. Textiles in the Neo-Assyrian Empire. A Study on Textile Terminology in Assyrian Texts. (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 19), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Gaspa, S. 2019. “The Textile Dimension of Cult”, in: S. Gaspa / M. Vigo (eds), Textiles in Ritual and Cultic Practices in the Ancient Near East from the third to the First Millennium BC. Proceedings of an International Workshop in Copenhagen (6th to 7th October 2015) (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 431), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 199–249. Gaspa, S. / Greco, A. / Morandi Bonacossi, D. / Ponchia, S. / Rollinger, R. (eds). 2014. From Source to History. Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond. Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014 (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 412), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Gómez, S. M. V. 2011. “La Propaganda en Próximo Oriente Antiguo: rescate y valoración de un tema estigmatizado”, in: P. Orbe (ed.), Actas III Jornadas de Investigación en Humanidades, Bahía Blanca: Universidad Nacional del Sur, 139–143. Groenewegen-Frankfort, H. A. 1951. Arrest and Movement. An Essay on Space and Time in the Representational Art of the Ancient Near East, London: Faber & Faber. Hurowitz, V. 1992. “‘His Master Shall Pierce His Ear with an Awl’ (Exodus 21.6)—Marking Slaves in the Bible in Light of Akkadian Sources”, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 58, 47–77. Hussein, M. M. 2016. Nimrud. The Queens’ Tombs. Translation and initial editing by Mark Altaweel, editing and additional notes by Mcguire Gibson (Oriental Institute Miscellaneous Publications), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago / Baghdad: Iraqi State Board of Antiquities and Heritage. Ingold, T. 2016. “A Naturalist Abroad in the Museum of Ontology: Philippe Descola’s Beyond Nature and Culture”, Anthropological Forum 26/3, 301– 320. Kantorowicz, E. H. 1957. The King’s two bodies. A study in mediaeval political theology, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Karlsson, M. 2016. Relations of Power in Neo-Assyrian State Ideology (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 10), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter.

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Keller, G. 2001 [1874]. Kleider machen Leute, Stuttgart: Reclam. Kertai, D. 2015. The Architecture of Late Assyrian Royal Palaces, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Krutak, L. 2013. “The Power to Cure: A Brief History of Therapeutic Tattooing”, in: P. Della Casa / C. Witt (eds), Tattoos and Body Modifications in Antiquity: Proceedings of the sessions at the EAA annual meetings in The Hague and Oslo, 2010/11 (Zurich Studies in Archaeology 9), Zurich: Chronos, 27–34. Kühn, D. 2018. Die „Zwei Körper des Königs“ in den westsemitischen Kulturen. Ugarit, aramäische Königreiche, Phönizien, Ammon, Moab, Israel und Juda (Kasion 4), Münster: Zaphon. Laato, A. 1997. A star is Rising. The Historical Development of the Old Testament Royal Ideology and the Rise of the Jewish Messianic Expectations (University of South Florida international studies in formative Christianity and Judaism 5), Atlanta: Scholars Press. Linke, J. 2015. Das Charisma der Könige. Zur Konzeption des altorientalischen Königtums im Hinblick auf Urartu (Phillipika 84), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Lorentz, K. O. 2010. “Ubaid headshaping: Negotiations of identity through physical appearance?”, in: R. A. Carter / Ph. Graham (eds), Beyond the Ubaid. Transformation and integration in the late prehistoric societies of the Middle East (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 63), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 125–148. Magen, U. 1986. Assyrische Königsdarstellungen: Aspekte der Herrschaft. Eine Typologie (Baghdader Forschungen 9), Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1936. “The Bronze Head of the Akkadian Period from Nineveh”, Iraq 3/1, 104–110. Mayer, W. R. 1987. “Ein Mythos von der Erschaffung des Menschen und des Königs”, Orientalia 56/1, 55–68. Mayer, W. R. 2010. “Die Tätigkeiten und Regungen, Haltungen und Zustände des Menschen im Spiegel der Sprache: zur akkadischen Idiomatik”, Orientalia 79/3, 304–341. Meuszyński, J. 1981. Die Rekonstruktion der Reliefdarstellungen und ihrer Anordnung im Nordwestpalast von Kalḫu (Nimrūd). Räume: (B.C.D.E.F.G.H. L.N.P) (Baghdader Forschungen 2), Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Mosher, D. L. 1991. “Macho Men, Machismo, and Sexuality”, Annual Review of Sex Research 2/1, 199–247. Niehaus, J. J. 2008. Ancient Near Eastern themes in biblical theology, (Grand Rapids: Kreger Publications. N’Shea, O. 2018. “Empire of the Surveilling Gaze: The Masculinity of King Sennacherib”, in: S. Svärd / A. Garcia-Ventura (eds), Studying gender in the Ancient Near East, Pennsylvania: Eisenbrauns / The Pennsylvania State University Press, 315–335.

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N’Shea, O. 2019. “Dressed to dazzle, dressed to kill: staging Assurbanipal in the royal lion hunt reliefs from Nineveh”, in: M. Cifarelli (ed.), Fashioned Selves: Dress and Identity in Antiquity, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 175–184. Nunn, A. / Piening, H. (eds). 2020. Mesopotamian Sculpture in Colour, Gladbeck: PeWe-Verlag. Orizaga, R. Y. 2013. “Roman Cosmetics Revisited: Facial Modification and Identity”, in: P. Della Casa / C. Witt (eds), Tattoos and Body Modifications in Antiquity: Proceedings of the sessions at the EAA annual meetings in The Hague and Oslo, 2010/11 (Zurich Studies in Archaeology 9), Zurich: Chronos, 115– 120. Oshima, T. 2012. “When the Gods Made Us from Clay”, in: A. Berlejung / J. Dietrich / J. F. Quack (eds), Menschenbilder und Körperkonzepte im Alten Israel, in Ägypten und im Alten Orient (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 9), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 407–431. Oshima, T. 2018. “The King’s Godly Image as the Perfect Physiognomy of the Holder of Kingship. Royal Ideoloy in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, in: A. Berlejung / J. E. Filitz (eds), The physicality of the other. Masks from the ancient Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 27), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 231–259. Otto, A. 2017. “Private and State in the Second Millennium B.C. from an Archaeological Perspective”, in: R. de Boer / J. G. Dercksen (eds), Private and State in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 58th Rencontre assyriologique internationale at Leiden, 16–20 July 2012, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 21–42. Petrone, P. / Niola, M. / Di Lorenzo, P. / Paternoster, M. / Graziano, V. / Quaremba, G. / Buccelli, C. 2015. “Early medical skull surgery for treatment of post-traumatic osteomyelitis 5,000 years ago”, PLOS ONE 10/5, e0124790. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 2015. Religion and Ideology in Assyria, (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 6), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Power, C. 2010. “Cosmetics, Identity and Consciousness”, Journal of Consciousness Studies 17/7–8, 107–117. Reade, J. E. 1979a. “Ideology and Propaganda in Assyrian Art”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 329–343. Reade, J. E. 1979b. “Assyrian Architectural Decoration: Techniques and Subject Matter”, Baghdader Mitteilungen 10, 17–49. Richardson, S. 2007. “Death and Dismemberment in Mesopotamia: Discorporation Between the Body and the Body Politic”, in: N. Laneri (ed.), Performing Death. Social Analysis of Funerary Traditions in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean (Oriental Institute Seminars 3), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 189–208. Richardson, S. 2020. “Down with ‘Legitimacy’: On ‘Validity’ and Narrative in Royal Tales”, in: E. Wagner-Durand / J. Linke (eds), Tales of Royalty. Notions

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“An object of wonder for all of the people” Ideology and Propaganda in the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian Empires Mattias Karlsson Uppsala University

Abstract: This paper focuses on the relevance of the concept propaganda with regard to the official sources of the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires. Instead of (as is usual) centre on royal inscriptions and iconography, this study deals (inspired by the theory of political economy) with Neo-Assyrian and NeoBabylonian public buildings and their potential to inspire awe and cohesion. To this end, the term tabrītu (“wonder”) and the expression ana tabrāti (“for the wonder”), which are used in Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions to describe the intent of the patrons of the public buildings, are highlighted. Almost all of the major Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian rulers appear as “senders” (by using the term and expression apropos their public buildings), a variety of constructions (temples, ziggurats, palaces, wall reliefs, gateway colossi, walls, gates, stelae) are attested as “messages”, and “the people” (nišē) or “all of the people” (kiššat nišē) are defined as the intended “receivers”. Just like any other ruler in world history, the Assyrian and Babylonian rulers employed propaganda in their quest for legitimacy. Keywords: propaganda; ideology; political economy; Assyria; Babylonia.

Introduction In the early days of Assyriology, the terms ideology and propaganda were not widely used. Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions were seen primarily as historical and/or religious texts.1 In the 1970s, the “Italian school” centred on the political-ideological dimension, on source criticism, the author, and language structure. 2 The two terms ideology and propaganda now became standard. In recent years, there has been a “backlash” and a questioning of the two terms (especially propaganda) in Assyriology, whereby text transmission and religiouscultural dimensions of the texts are highlighted.3 Stepping back a little, how can “ideology” be defined? The Cambridge English Dictionary states that ideology is “a set of beliefs or principles, especially one on 1

See e.g. Olmstead 1916, 6–7 (on Assyrian historiography) and Langdon 1912, 1–14 (on Neo-Babylonian royal inscriptions). 2 See e.g. Liverani 1973 and Fales 1979. 3 Shafer 1998; Bahrani 2003; Ataç 2010; Siddall 2013. The sources are here viewed as representative for the whole Assyrian society and/or as primarily religious in essence.

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which a political system, party, or organization is based”.4 Thus, ideology seems to be a basic and neutral term. For anyone who has studied Mesopotamian royal inscriptions and iconography with their clear and consistent patterns (e.g. concerning themes associated with warfare and cult), it is obvious that a “set of beliefs or principles” is easily applicable to the Mesopotamian context. It should, in other words, be uncontroversial to speak of Assyrian or Babylonian (state) ideology. Also, how can “propaganda” be defined? The said dictionary here states that propaganda consists of “information, ideas, opinions, or images, often giving only one part of an argument, that are broadcast, published, or in some other way spread with the intention of influencing people’s opinions”. It is added that the term has a “mainly disapproving” meaning,5 thus stating propaganda as coercive. Once again, it is easy to apply this definition to the Mesopotamian context and to the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires with their rich and imposing sources. Propaganda arguably points to three components.6 First, there is the sender of a message. This sender should be a member of the political elite of a polity. Questions that can be asked here are: Who composed and/or commissioned the message? Was he/she/they part of the political elite? Then, there is the message itself. It should be composed in a certain way. Questions that can be asked here are: Is the message rhetorical? Is the message biased? Finally, there is the receiver of a message. As noted in the definition, there has to be an observable intention to influence people’s opinions. Questions that can be asked here are: Who was exposed to the message? In what form was the message in question published? The receiver component is the one centred on in the debate on the relevance of the term propaganda in ancient Mesopotamia.7 It is, for example, noted that texts and images were sometimes hidden and that access to texts and images was sometimes restricted. 8 On the other hand, other exemplars of a text can (by contrast) be displayed, and texts and images were often accessible to officials (high and low), who naturally had access to (for example) temples and palaces.9 It is also pointed to occasional language and literacy barriers concerning texts.10

4

https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/ideology (last accessed March 12, 2020). 5 https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/propaganda (last accessed March 12, 2020). 6 See also Karlsson 2016, 10–18. 7 The sender criterion (highlighting the elite) seems to be uncontroversial (see e.g. Tadmor 1997, 328–329; Winter 1997, 367–377). The same can be said of the message criterion (focusing on rhetoric and bias) (see e.g. Tadmor 1975, 36; Cifarelli 1995, 229–324). 8 Aspects brought up e.g. in Siddall 2013, 134–140. 9 Liverani 1979, 302; Russell 1991, 238–239. 10 Aspects brought up e.g. in Siddall 2013, 134–140.

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There are, however, indications of Assyrian royal inscriptions influencing distant foreign cultures, and the letter of Sargon II to Assur is often interpreted as having been read out loud to the general public.11 It is also stressed that texts are directed at posterity and the deities. References to these recipients are made in the concluding formulae.12 It would be naive, though, to believe that these recipients were the only ones imagined, considering all the bias and rhetoric in the texts and the need for the ruler to legitimate his position. The Mesopotamian king must also have aimed at convincing a human, contemporary audience of his fitness for office.13 It is also noteworthy that texts and images are the sources centred on in the debate on the relevance of the term propaganda in ancient Mesopotamia.14 However, there are other and arguably more spectacular forms of Mesopotamian propaganda. M. Liverani here talks of “coarser” channels of propaganda. While especially texts were more accessible to the elite, other sources were relatively accessible (even if sometimes from afar) to people less involved in ideology production, such as people in or from other countries and people from the lower strata of society. There are then “objectual messages” (composed of city walls, temples, palaces, and so on), “situational messages” (consisting of festivals, ceremonies, and so on), and “oral messages” (with texts read out to the general public).15 Focusing on objectual messages, the perspectives of political economy are crucial. As concluded by S. Pollock in her book on ancient Mesopotamia, economy is embedded in socio-political relationships, with material production being fundamentally a social phenomenon. Ideology is presented to people not only as ideas and values but also through material products, such as monuments. Monuments are ideological statements about (unequal) social and political relations. As such, they serve to naturalise the dominant ideology of a society. 11

Machinist 1983 (on the reception of Assyrian royal inscriptions in Judah and biblical texts); Oppenheim 1960 (on a public recital of Sargon II’s letter to Assur). 12 On concluding formulae of Assyrian royal inscriptions, see Lackenbacher 1982. 13 For this conclusion, see also (e.g.) Tadmor 1997, 330–332. Ultimately, the treatment of the term propaganda in the Assyriological context depends (at least to some extent) on the background and preferences of the individual scholar. Answers to the following three questions are illuminative in this respect. Firstly, should the message or receiver components be stressed? Those who discard the term propaganda tend to focus on the latter. Secondly, should the perspective be from above or below? In other words, should the relatively modest evidence of dissent lead us to believe that the Mesopotamian kings spoke for everyone? Thirdly, is universalism or relativism the preferable stance? In other words, to what extent can the ancient Mesopotamian society be compared to modern societies? Was Mesopotamia a parallel universe, with social laws unknown to us, according to which its kings did not need to justify their wealth and positions of power? 14 See e.g. Siddall 2013, 134–140 and Karlsson 2016, 10–18. 15 Liverani 1979, 302; 1990, 28–29.

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Ideological statements often promote expressions of unity and divisiveness simultaneously. Monuments can partly inspire awe, displaying power over labour and resources, as well as evoking humility and respect from below. Monuments can also inspire cohesion, promoting solidarity and within-group identity, enabled by the relevant communal or corvée labour (realizing the actual building).16 The role of builder for the Mesopotamian kings entailed not only the idealistic execution of a royal duty but also an opportunity for the ruler to cynically promote his own political agenda.17 The effect or function cohesion is not easily studied, considering the biased nature of the sources, with the upper strata of society seemingly speaking for all. The effect or emotion awe in the face of monumental architecture is likewise difficult to pinpoint in ancient records. Of course, the (imposing) measurements of buildings (both those established via archaeology and those given in royal inscriptions) can be focused on.18 There is, however, a word or phrase that more directly can tell of the master builders’ intentions behind their ambitious building programs, namely tabrītu or ana tabrāti, translated “(for the) wonder/amazement/ admiration (of someone)”. As will be seen, Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions occasionally refer to the making of public buildings into “objects of wonder for the people” by kings, thus revealing an intention to influence, or “awe”, the population. Before presenting and discussing the attestations of the said forms in the mentioned sources, the word tabrītu (nom. sg.), Sumerian u 6 .d i, needs to be examined more closely (ana is simply prepositional). According to the CAD, this word has two semantic fields. In the singular, it means “nocturnal vision”. In the plural, it can be translated as “admiration”. It is the latter field (much more frequent) which is relevant for the purposes of this paper. The admiration in question mainly refers to the effect of public buildings upon people, and secondarily to the effect (good and bad) of people and things linked to tabrītu upon other people.19 The word is attested already in texts from the Old Akkadian and Old Babylonian periods. The root of the word is barû, meaning “to see, look at”.20 As far as I 16

Pollock 1999, 173–195. For the Mesopotamian king as master builder, see e.g. Ellis 1968, 20–33. 18 For significant measurements in the ancient texts, see e.g. RINAP 4 2, v 18–21, referring to a palatial building of Esarhaddon. 19 Attestations of the latter type come from bilingual proverbs and prayers, the Old Babylonian legend of Naram-Sin, the Marduk prophecy, and a passage in Ashurbanipal’s annals which states that this king chained a captured enemy together with wild animals at a city gate, for the sight of it. 20 CAD T, pp. 31–32; CAD B, pp. 115–118. According to the CDA (p. 393), the word can (in the singular) also be translated as “appearance, sighting, (notification of) arrival, apparition”, and (in the plural) as “(astonished) gaze”, with the said phrase meaning “to the wonderment (of people, land, etc.)”. CDA also notes that it can function attributively in the royal epithet rē’û tabrāti, meaning “amazing/marvellous shepherd”. 17

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know, the word tabrītu or the phrase ana tabrāti and their attestations have not been studied in detail before. Although the word tabrītu and the phrase ana tabrāti have been touched upon before,21 the present paper is (as far as I know) the first one that study these in some detail and length. The evidence in Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions Searches in the online databases RIAo (Royal Inscriptions of Assyria online) and RIBo (Royal Inscriptions of Babylonia online),22 complemented by some manual searches,23 resulted in around 60 attestations, most of these (c. 75%) found in Assyrian royal inscriptions. The word and phrase in question are used by the NeoAssyrian kings Tiglath-pileser III, Sargon II, Sennacherib, and Esarhaddon, and by the Neo-Babylonian kings Nabopolassar, Nebuchadnezzar II, and Nabonidus. The word and phrase refer to awe in response to temples, a ziggurat, palaces, wall reliefs, gateway colossi, wall structures, city gates, and stelae.24 Temples An inscription which reports on Esarhaddon’s renovation of Esharra, the temple of the god Ashur in Assur, contains the said phrase. After a section with the king’s name and titulary, followed by a passage which mentions the dilapidation of the Ashur temple, the following passage appears. “I did not change the [lo]cation of that temple and I laid its foundations on gold, silver, precious stones, aromatics, (and) ḫašūru-resin, and I secured its brickwork. I built (and) completed (it), (and) greatly made (it) an object of wonder for the people.”25 Esarhaddon here built (raṣāpu) and completed (šuklulu) the temple (bītu) and “greatly made (it) an object of wonder for the people” (ana tabrāt nišē ma’adiš ušālik).26 The people in question should be identified with the people of Assur. The following section conveys Esarhaddon’s reward requests.

21

See notably Liverani 2014. Available through http://oracc.org/riao/corpus/ (last accessed July 6, 2020), and through http://oracc.org/ribo/corpus/ (last accessed July 6, 2020). RIAo is largely based on the RINAP-volumes, while RIBo is based e.g. on the works Da Riva 2013 (Nabopolassar) and Schaudig 2001 (Nabonidus). The royal inscriptions of Nebuchadnezzar II at RIBo are largely drawn from unpublished material treated by G. Frame and R. Da Riva. 23 Of the texts of Sargon II (not yet part of RIAo). His annals from Khorsabad (Fuchs 1994 / ISKh), Assur and Nineveh (Fuchs 1998), and Kalhu (Gadd 1954) were checked. 24 The translations of the text passages in the next section follow those of the relevant text publications (RINAP 1, 3–4 [Assyrian texts]; Oracc [Babylonian texts]). 25 RINAP 4 58, iv 5–v 6. Cf. RINAP 4 59, ii 2–12. 26 The verb is alāku Š and simply means “to come about” (CAD A I, pp. 300–328). 22

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In another text of Esarhaddon, this time from Babylon and centred on the rebuilding of Babylon and Esagil (the temple of the god Marduk), the king says the following (after speaking of various rebuilding preparations). “I had its bricks made for a whole year in brickmolds of ivory, ebony, boxwood, (and) musukkannu-wood. I built anew (and) [co]mpleted Esagil, the palace of the gods, together with its shrines, from its foundations to its battlements. I made (it) greater than before, raised (it) up, glorified (it), (and) made (it) glisten like the stars (lit. “writing”) of the firmament. I filled (it) with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people.”27 Esarhaddon here targets Esagil, or the “palace of the gods” (ēkal ilāni), and its shrines (ešertu). He claims that “I filled (it) with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāt kiššat nišē lulâ ušmalli). Not only the “splendor” (lulû) but also Esagil as a whole should be referred to as a wonderment meant to impress.28 The people in question should be identified with the people of Babylon. The following passage tells of how Esarhaddon reinstalled the gods and goddesses of Esagil in their shrines. Also Babylonian kings used the said phrase when referring to temples. Nebuchadnezzar II employed it in his narrations focused on temple building in Babylonia. The following is claimed after this king having narrated of his work in Borsippa on Ezida, the temple of the god Nabu, in some detail (e.g. regarding access ways, throne platforms, daises, and gateway colossi). “I suitably beautified the temple (Ezida) and filled (it) with splendor to be an object of wonder. I had the sanctuaries of Borsippa (re)built (and) provided for.”29 With regard to the Nabu temple (bītu), Nebuchadnezzar II here claims to have “filled (it) with splendor to be an object of wonder” (ana tabrāti lulê ušmallam), and to have “suitably beautified” (asmiš udammiq) it. Again, not only the splendor but also the temple as a whole would have functioned as the wonderment. Generally, the sanctuaries (ešertu) of Borsippa were (re)built (epēšu Š) and provided for (zanānu). Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Borsippa should have been the ones aimed at.30

27

RINAP 4 106, iii 29–53. The word lulû means “splendor, glamor, abundance” and is said of deities and buildings (CAD L, pp. 242–243). It tends to occur with malû in the D or ŠD-stems. Decorations aside, the dimensions of this temple must have impressed, with the principal building measuring 79x86 m and its eastern annex 89x116 m (Koldewey 1914, 204–214). 29 Nebuchadnezzar II 29, iii 62–66 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005500/html). 30 The phrase “an object of wonder” may be considered as an abbreviation of “an object of wonder for (all of) the people”. As is evident throughout this paper, both Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian rulers employed the latter phrase. 28

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The passage quoted above continues with words on the king’s work on the ziggurat and processional barge of Nabu. The later Babylonian king Nabonidus also used the said phrase in the context of his narrations of temple building. In one of his texts, work on Ebabbar, the temple of the god Shamash in Sippar, is centred on. The following statement is made in the context of the king’s telling of his attending to the infrastructure (roofs, architraves, gates, etc.) of the temple in question. “For the residence of his divinity, I clad the cella of his lordly majesty with an awesome radiance. I decorated the utensil(s) of the temple with silver and gold and filled (it) with splendor to be an object of wonder for the people. I securely placed an inscription of mine and an image of my royal majesty inside it for eternity.”31 Nabonidus here narrates of his work for Shamash and his residence (mūšabu) and cella (bīt papāḫi) by saying that “I filled (the temple) with splendor to be an object of wonder for the people” (ana tabrāt nišī lulâ ušmalla), after having stated that he decorated (zanānu D) the utensils (unūtu) of the temple with silver and gold. The people in question should be identified with the people of Sippar. The following passage continues with references to providing for the divine couple Shamash and Aya in the innermost of their sanctuary. Ziggurats The phrase is also evidenced with regard to ziggurats (“temple towers”). In a text of Nabopolassar, this king speaks of the dilapidation of Etemenanki, the “ziggurat of Babylon” (ziqqurrat Bābili), and that he renovated it. The following passage appears towards the end of the rebuilding narration, directly after references to the royal family taking up baskets, hoes, and spades. “In joy and happiness, I built the temple as a replica of Ešarra and I raised its superstructure up like a mountain. For the god Marduk, my lord, I made it suitable to be an object of wonder, just like it was in earlier times.”32 The temple (bītu) in question should be Etemenanki (as it is centred on elsewhere), described as a “replica of Esharra” (māḫir Ešarra). Nabopolassar claims that “I made it suitable to be an object of wonder” (ana tabrātim lū ušassimšu),33 in his honouring Marduk, and restoring the building to its former glory.34 The 31

Nabonidus 24, ii 7–10 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005421/html). Cf. Nabonidus 26, i 25–28 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005423/html). The latter text presents an abbreviated version and just conveys “to be an object of wonder”, thus excluding the word “people”. 32 Nabopolassar 5, iii 25–33 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005364/html). 33 The verb wasāmu Š means “to make fitting, proper, suitable” (CAD A II, pp. 328–329). 34 Following the destruction of Babylon by Sennacherib, the ziggurat was rebuilt by Esarhaddon and subsequent Assyrian and Babylonian rulers (George 2006, 7–19).

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wonderment effect should have been designed not only for Marduk but also for the people of Babylon.35 The following (and concluding) passages contain prayers to Marduk and to the ziggurat monument itself. Palaces Also palaces are intended to awe in Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions. The following passage is attested in one of Sennacherib’s texts, after a note on the effective use of wells for a new royal palace in Nineveh. “I made those palatial halls beautiful. To be an object of wonder for all of the people, I raised the superstructure of the entire palace. I called it “The Palace Without a Rival”.”36 After having beautified (ušālik asmiš) some palatial halls (ēkallāti), the Assyrian king states that he raised the superstructure (ullâ rēšīša) of the palace (ēkallu) in order for it “to be an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāt kiššat nišē). The palace in question is named “Palace Without Rival” (ēkallu šānina lā īšû).37 The people in question should be identified with the people of Nineveh. The following passage deals with the planting of a botanical garden, having exotic plants and trees, alongside the new palace.38 An annalistic text of Sennacherib centres on eight of the king’s military campaigns and on the making of a new palatial “armory” (ēkal kutalli) in Nineveh. The following passage directly succeeds the campaign narrations. “At that time, after I had completed the palace in the citadel of Nineveh for my royal residence (and) had filled it with luxuriousness to be an object of wonder for all of the people:”39 Sennacherib obviously refers to his new palace “Palace Without Rival” when speaking of the completion (šuklulu) of a palace (ēkallu) inside Nineveh as his “royal residence” (rimīt šarrūtīya), and that he “filled it with luxuriousness to be an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāte kiššat nišē lulê umallûši). The people in question should be identified with the people of Nineveh. The following passage starts the narration on the new armory. Another text of Sennacherib summarizes the military feats of this king and describes in detail the rebuilding and decoration of the said armory. The following 35

Decorations aside, the dimensions of this ziggurat must have impressed, with its height in Neo-Babylonian times being calculated to c. 90 m (George 2006, 18). 36 RINAP 3/1 17, vii 49–52. Cf. RINAP 3/2 39, 72–75; RINAP 3/2 41, 10´´–11´´; RINAP 3/2 42, 41´–42´; RINAP 3/2 43, 92–93; RINAP 3/2 44, 70–72; RINAP 3/2 46, 152–153. 37 Decorations aside, the dimensions of this palace must have impressed, with the total length of the palace being estimated to roughly 500 m (Russell 1991, 78–93). 38 Texts 39, 41, and 44 deviate through a prayer directly after the above passage. 39 RINAP 3/1 22, vi 36–38.

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passage is attested after Sennacherib’s telling of how he had a columned and roofed pedestal erected in a great courtyard of the palace. “I made (that) armory extremely large, perfect, (and) splendid. I filled it with luxuriousness to be an object of wonder for all of the people. The surplus payment of all of the lands, (including) that of the distant Medes— from whom none of the kings, my ancestors, had received tribute— together with the wagons, chariots, vehicles of the king of the Elamites, the king of Babylon, and Chaldea that I had captured, along with the countless equipment that I had accumulated: I had (all of these things) carried to the treasury of that palace and brought inside it.”40 The king here states that he made an “arsenal” (ēkal māšarti) extremely (magal) large (rabû Š), perfect (šuklulu), and splendid (šarāḫu D), and that he “filled it with luxuriousness to be an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāt kiššat nišē lulâ ušmalliš). The passage goes on with noting that this palace stored taxes and tribute of military value. The people in question should be identified with the people of Nineveh. The text then continues (and concludes) with a prayer and reward request to Ashur and Mullissu. Also Esarhaddon uses the phrase in relation to palace building. In one text with campaign narrations and a building account regarding an arsenal in Kalhu, the following passage occurs after mentioning the perceived shortcoming (lack of a terrace) of the arsenal in Esarhaddon’s time and eyes. “As for me, Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, pious prince, to whom the prince, the god Ninšiku (Ea), gave (wisdom) equal to that of the sage Adapa, that terrace was on my mind and I (text: “he”) thought about it. I incorporated unused land as an addition (and) raised the terrace with massive stone blocks from the mountains. I raised its walls by 120 brick courses, built palatial halls for my royal residence upon it, (and) built (and) completed (it) from its foundations to its parapets. I roofed them with magnificent cedar beams, grown on Mount Amanus, (and) installed doors of cypress, whose fragrance is sweet, in their gates. I filled (it) with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people.”41 The king here speaks of his piety and wisdom and of his dedication for rebuilding. He builds (banû) palatial halls (ēkallāti) for his royal residence (mūšab šarrūti) on the terrace. Roofs and doors of exclusive timber are installed, and the king concludes that “I filled (the arsenal) with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāt kiššat nišē lulê ušmalli). The people in question should be identified with the people of Kalhu. A note on the making and storing of an inscription follows. 40 41

RINAP 3/1 34, 85–90. RINAP 4 77, 45–55.

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In another text of Esarhaddon, the king summarizes his military feats and speaks of a building in Kalhu for his son and crown prince Ashurbanipal. The campaign narratives and a lacuna (three lines) precede the following passage. “[…] that … […] bedrooms [… for the pleasure of] Ashurbanipal, the senior son of the king, [who (resides in) the House of Succession, my beloved son, whom the gods Aššur, Sîn, Šamaš, Bēl, Nabû, Nergal, Ištar of Nineveh, (and) Ištar of Arbela] called to exercise kingship—I greatly enlarged its small … […] I built (and) completed [that palace from its foundations to its parapets. I] roofed them [with magnificent cedar beams, grown on Mount Amanus (and) installed doors of cypress, whose fragrance is sweet], in their gates. I filled (it) [with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people].”42 Esarhaddon again states that he built and completed a palace from top to bottom, specifying by saying that he made its roofs and doors of exclusive timber. He again concludes by saying that “I filled (the palace) [with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people]” ([ana tabrāt kiššat nišē lulê] ušmalli). The people in question should be identified with the people of Kalhu. A note on the making and storing of an inscription follows. Another inscription of Esarhaddon contains a summary of historical events and references to the construction of a palace in Tarbisu for Ashurbanipal. The following passage appears directly after the above-mentioned summary. “At that time the site of the small palace, which is in the city Tarbiṣu, had become too small. I added more land as an addition (making it) bigger than before and I completely raised (its) terrace. I built (and) completed a magnificent palace, whose site is very extensive, for the pleasure of Ashurbanipal—senior son of the king, who (resides in) the House of Succession, my beloved son, whom the gods Aššur, Sîn, Šamaš, Bēl, Nabû, Nergal, Ištar of Nineveh, (and) Ištar of Arbela called to exercise kingship— from its foundations to its parapets. I roofed them with magnificent cedar beams, grown on Mount Amanus, (and) installed doors of cypress, whose fragrance is sweet, in their gates. I filled (it) with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people.”43 The “small palace” (Egaltura) in Tarbisu is here turned into a “magnificent palace” (ēkallu ṣīrtu) for Ashurbanipal’s sake. Esarhaddon completes the building and uses exclusive timber for its roofs and doors. He concludes by stating that “I filled (the palace) with splendor (making it) an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāt kiššat nišē lulê ušmalli). The people in question should be

42 43

RINAP 4 79, 4´–11´. RINAP 4 93, 22–30.

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identified with the people of Tarbisu. Once again, a passage concerning the composing and storing of an inscription follows. Also Babylonian kings employed the said word about palaces. In a text of Nebuchadnezzar II, this ruler centres on the making of a new royal palace in Babylon. After speaking of the building policies of earlier kings and his own dedication to Babylon (and Borsippa), the following passage appears. “In Babylon, the city of my choice that I love, (as for) the palace, a building (that was) an object of wonder for the people, the bond of the land, a holy private room, (and) the abode of my royal majesty, in the Ka-dingirra district—which is in Babylon, from Imgur-Enlil to Lībil-ḫegalla, the eastern canal, from the bank of the Euphrates River to Ay-ibūr-šabû, the street Babylon—which Nabopolassar, the king of Babylon, the father who engendered me, had created with (sundried) brick(s) and taken up residence inside, its foundation(s) had become weak on account of flood water (and) the gates of that palace had become too low as a result of the raising (of the level) of the street(s) of Babylon.”44 Nebuchadnezzar II here refers to the “palace, a building (that was) an object of wonder for the people” (ēkallu bīt tabrāti nišīm), namely the palace in Babylon which the king inherited from his father Nabopolassar, and which is further qualified as “the bond of the land, a holy private room, (and) the abode of my royal majesty” (markasu māti kummû ellu atmāni šarrūtīya). The people in question should be identified with the people of Babylon. The following passage centres on the tearing down and building up of the palace. In another inscription of Nebuchadnezzar II, the new palace in Babylon is highlighted. The following passage occurs after the claim that Marduk and Nabu had commanded the king to build a new royal palace in Babylon. “In the Ka-dingirra district, which is in Babylon, I built a palace, a building (that was) an object of wonder for the people, the bond of the land, a holy private room, (and) the abode of my royal majesty. That which no king among the (former) king(s) had built: I secured its foundation on the surface (lit. “breast”) of the netherworld, at the level of the water table, and raised it as high as a mountain with bitumen and baked brick.”45 Nebuchadnezzar II here speaks of having built (epēšu), the “palace, a building (that was) an object of wonder for the people” (ēkallu bīt tabrāt nišīm), further qualified as “the bond of the land, a holy private room, (and) the abode of my royal majesty” (markas māti kummû ellu atmān šarrūtīya). The people in question should be identified with the people of Babylon. The following passage states that 44

Nebuchadnezzar II 15, ii 1–11 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005486/html). Cf. Nebuchadnezzar II 29, vii 34–56 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005500/html). 45 Nebuchadnezzar II 3, i 20–29 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005474/html).

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this palace was an important matter for all people(s), and that people from far and wide were made to construct it. The same king talks of his new palace as a wonderment also in an inscription dealing with the king’s various works on Babylonian sanctuaries. The following passage appears after the king’s stating that people of all lands were made to come to Babylon and present him and Marduk with tribute. “To build a palace, a house (to be) an object of wonder for the people (and) the residence of my royal majesty, I gave them hoe(s) and had them undertaken the assignment of building walls. … I had my personal officials undertake the implementation of th(at) work:”46 The people in question are here given the necessary tools to build (epēšu) “a palace, a house (to be) an object of wonder for the people (and) the residence of my royal majesty” (ēkallam bīt tabrāt nišīm mūšab šarrūtīya) for Nebuchadnezzar II and his ambition to awe those with the palace in sight. The people in question should be identified with the people of Babylon. A long list of officials (giving names and titles) succeeds the passage. Wall reliefs Also the wall reliefs were intended to inspire awe. In an inscription belonging to Sargon II concerning the building of his new capital city Dur-Sharrukin (Khorsabad), the following passage appears after mentioning the creation and installment of gateway colossi in the royal palace(s) of Dur-Sharrukin. “I formed on large limestone slabs (images of ) the (enemy) settlements that I had conquered. I surrounded their (the palace rooms’) lower courses (with them and) made (them) an object of wonder.”47 The artisans of Sargon II here form (bašāmu) scenes from military campaigns, or “(images of) the (enemy) settlements that I had conquered” (dadmē kišitti qātīya), on “large limestone slabs” (askuppāt pīlī rabâti), and “turn (these into) an object of wonder” (ana tabrāti ušālik). Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Dur-Sharrukin should have been the ones aimed at. The following passages claim that the decorated slabs were monumental (in terms of measurements) and firmly secured to the rock, and that the city was provided with eight gates.48

46

Nebuchadnezzar II 28, v 28´–34´ (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005499/html). ISKh 2.1:77–79. Cf. 2.2:39–40; 2.3:437–438; 2.4:165; 2.5.2:39–43; 2.5.4:120–123. 48 The texts 2.3, 2.4, and 2.5.2 deviate by a passage on the depicting of all subjugated peoples on the walls directly after the above passage. Text 2.5.4 deviates through a passage on offerings to the Mesopotamian deities directly after the above passage. 47

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Also Sennacherib speaks of wall reliefs as awe-inspiring. An (annalistic) text talks of his “Palace Without Rival” in Nineveh, with the following passage found after notes on the creation and installment of gateway colossi. “I engraved on large limestone slabs (images of) the enemy settlements hat I had conquered. I surrounded their (the palace rooms’) lower courses (with them and) made (them) an object of wonder.”49 Sennacherib here arranges for “large limestone slabs” (askuppāt pīlī rabâti) being engraved (esēḫu) with scenes of military conquests, or “(images of) the enemy settlements that I had conquered” (dadmē nākirī kišitti qātīya). These are “made into an object of wonder” (ana tabrāti ušālik).50 Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Nineveh should have been the ones aimed at. The following passage speaks of the creation of a botanical garden alongside the palace. One of Sennacherib’s inscriptions on building in Nineveh refers to the wall reliefs only indirectly. The following passage appears after a passage which speaks of the creation, decoration, and installment of palace columns. “I surrounded their (the palace rooms’) lower courses with slabs of breccia (and) alabaster, and large limestone slabs (and) made (them) an object of wonder.”51 The wall reliefs are not specifically mentioned in the above passage, although these can be inferred in the mention of “large limestone slabs” (askuppāt pīlī rabâti).52 These, together with the slabs of breccia and alabaster, are “made into an object of wonder” (ana tabrāte ušālik). Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Nineveh should have been the ones aimed at. The following passage centres on the effective use of wells for the benefit of the occupants of the palace. Gateway colossi Gateway colossi are also monuments linked to the said word in the royal inscriptions. In an inscription of Tiglath-pileser III which deals with the king’s

49

RINAP 3/1 1, 86. Cf. RINAP 3/1 2, 63; RINAP 3/1 15, vii 5–9; RINAP 3/1 16, vii 12– 16. Texts 15 and 16 add the information that the reliefs in question were engraved also on “slabs of breccia (and) alabaster”. 50 Decorations aside, the dimensions of these panels must have impressed. One panel (BM 124911), simply portraying Sennacherib in front of prisoners of war at Lachish, is 251 cm high, 15 cm thick, and 178 cm wide (https://www.britishmuseum.org). 51 RINAP 3/1 17, vii 41–44. Cf. RINAP 3/2 41, 6´´–8´´; RINAP 3/2 42, 38´–39´; RINAP 3/2 43, 89–90; RINAP 3/2 44, 67–68; RINAP 3/2 46, 150–151. 52 This passage may be seen as an abbreviation of the preceding passage.

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military feats and his building activities in Kalhu, the following passage comes after notes on the magnificent doors of the palace he built in Kalhu. “I set up in (its) entrances (statues of) lions, šēdu, (and) lamassu, whose features are very skillfully wrought (and) which are clothed with splendor, and I erected (them there) as objects of wonder (for the people). I laid threshold slabs of gypsum (and) parūtu-alabaster at their feet (lit. “beneath them”) and (thus) I brightened the(ir) exit(s).”53 Tiglath-pileser III here speaks of majestic and splendid “(statues of) lions (urmaḫḫu), šēdu, (and) lamassu” that he set up (ṣabātu Š) at entrances (nērebu) in the palace, and goes on by saying that “I erected (them there) as objects of wonder (for the people)” (ana tabrāte ušazziz).54 Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Kalhu should have been the ones aimed at. The following passage centres on the fashioning of other kinds of mythological figures. Also Sennacherib associates the phrase with gateway colossi. In one of his inscriptions on military campaigns and building activities in Nineveh, the following passage occurs after references to roofs and doors in the palace. “In the corridors that are within the papāḫu-chambers, I made openings for latticed windows. At their gates, I stationed apotropaic figures of alabaster (and) elephant ivory, whose folded hands hold poppies, who are laden with pride (and) allure, (and) who are filled with exuberance, and (thus) I made (them) an object of wonder.”55 Sennacherib here tells of his having stationed (izizzu D) “apotropaic figures of alabaster (and) elephant ivory” (lamassu gišnugallu šinni pīri) with various gestures (folded hands holding poppies) and of splendid qualities (bāltu, kuzbu, lulû) at the palace gates (bābu). In this way, Sennacherib “made (them) an object of wonder” (ana tabrāte ušālik). Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Nineveh should have been the ones aimed at. The following passage talks of the covering of the roofs of the corridors in which the colossi were situated.

53

RINAP 1 47, r 29´–30´. Decorations aside, the dimensions of these gateway colossi must have impressed. One (typical) colossus (BM 118802), guarding the throne room of Ashurnasirpal II’s palace in Kalhu, is 350 cm high and 371 cm long (https://www.britishmuseum.org). 55 RINAP 3/1 17, vi 30–36. Cf. RINAP 3/2 40, 6´–10´; RINAP 3/2 41, 1´–2´; RINAP 3/2 43, 24–27; RINAP 3/2 44, 45–46; RINAP 3/2 46, 127–129; RINAP 3/2 49, 25–27. The versions in texts 40, 41, 44, and 49 are abbreviated, to varying degrees. 54

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Walls Also wall structures of various kinds are linked to the phrase in question. In the inscriptions of Esarhaddon on the rebuilding of Babylon, the following passage appears after a note on the renovating of the ziggurat Etemenanki. “With the large ašlu-cubit, I measured the dimensions of Imgur-Enlil, its great wall—each length (and) width was 30 ašlu. I had (it) built as it was before and raised (its top) up like a mountain. I built (and) c[ompleted] Nēmetti-Enlil, its outer wall, (and) filled (it) with [sple]ndor (making it) [an object of wonder] for [all of] the people.”56 Esarhaddon here speaks of rebuilding Imgur-Enlil, the inner wall of Babylon, and then announces that he built (raṣāpu) and completed (šuklulu) Nemetti-Enlil, the outer wall (šalḫû), and “filled (it) with [sple]ndor (making it) [an object of wonder] for [all of] the people” (ana [tabrāt kiššat] nišī [la]lâ ušmalli).57 The people in question should be identified with the people of Babylon. Thereafter, the king in question states that he returned abducted deities to, and reinstalled cult procedures in, the sanctuaries of Babylon.58 Nebuchadnezzar II also refers to awe-inspiring walls in Babylon. In one inscription of his on the refurbishing of Babylon (especially its royal palace), the following passage occurs after a description of how the king created and installed roofs, doors, and decor for a new palatial structure in Babylon. “I surrounded it with a fortified wall of bitumen and baked brick like a mountain. Beside the wall of baked brick, I built a great wall using strong stone(s) (and) large (slabs) quarried from the mountain(s) and (then) I raised its superstructure like a mountain. I had that building built to be an object of wonder and I filled it with splendor for all of the people to see. Dignity, anger, reverence, (and) brilliance of kingship surround it so that criminals (and) the unrighteous cannot enter inside it.”59 The ruler in question here narrates that he built (epēšu) an imposing “great wall” (dūra rabâ) of exclusive stones around the new palatial structure. He then states that “I had that building built to be an object of wonder and I filled it with splendor for all of the people to see” (bīta šâtim ana tabrāti ušēpišma ana dagālam kiššat nišī lulê ušmallīša). The people in question should be identified with the people

56

RINAP 4 105, vi 33–vii 4. Cf. RINAP 4 104, v 1–9; RINAP 4 107, vii 1–6. Decorations aside, the dimensions of these city walls must have impressed. The city walls of Sennacherib’s Nineveh measure c. 12 km in circumference (Russell 1991, 79). 58 Text 104 differs by a passage on the resettling of Babylonians directly after the above passage. 59 Nebuchadnezzar II 15, ii 47–56 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005486/html). Cf. Nebuchadnezzar II 29, ix 19–44 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005500/html). 57

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of Babylon. The following passage brings up the creation of a new wall to protect Esagil and Babylon from hostile outsiders.60 In another inscription of Nebuchadnezzar II focused on various works in Babylon, the following passage appears after a statement on the rebuilding of Ezida. The city walls of Babylon are here implicitly linked to awe. “I put Imgur-Enlil and Nēmetti-Enlil, the great walls of Babylon, (back) in order, built the embankment walls of its moat like a mountain with bitumen and baked brick, and surrounded the outskirts of the city (with a wall). I stationed fierce wild bulls of copper and raging mušḫuššu-dragons in its gates and made the city of Babylon become an object of wonder.”61 Nebuchadnezzar II here says that he worked on (ešēru Št2) the walls of Babylon, qualified as “great walls” (dūrāni rabûti). He also mentions “embankment walls” (kār ḫirīti) and surrounding (saḫāru Š) the outskirts of the city (with a wall). After a brief note on gateway colossi,62 the king states that he “made the city of Babylon become an object of wonder” (āl Bābili ana tabrātim ušēpi). The context highlights wall structures, in terms of awe-inspiring monuments. Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Babylon should have been the ones aimed at. The following passage centres on the creation of fortresses inside Babylon. Also Nabonidus speaks of walls as awe-inspiring. In an inscription of his centred on the rebuilding of the city wall Imgur-Enlil, the following passage occurs after a description of the mentioned wall as greatly dilapidated. “ strengthen that wall and give (it) support, I removed the buckled sections of its wall (lit. “its buckled walls”). (As for) Imgur-Enlil, the wall of Babylon, the boundary (with a length) of 20 UŠ (7,200 m), the eternal boundary marker, the plan of stability, the firmly-founded border, the wide-stretching ground plan, the strong shield that bolts (Babylon) before enemies, the foremost cult center on which people rely, I strengthened its foundation(s), made (them) firm like mountains, and (then) I raised its high parts up like mountain(s), (and) made it as secure as a great mountain. I established it as an object of wonder.”63 Imgur-Enlil, qualified as the “wall of Babylon” (dūr Bābili), is here rebuilt. Nabonidus strengthens (danānu D) its foundations (išdu), and raises (zaqāru D) its superstructure (mēlû), with the wall having the qualities of mountains (kinnû, 60

Text 29 differs through elaborating somewhat on the intimidating effects of the walls and by conveying (directly after that) a passage in which the king prays to Marduk. 61 Nebuchadnezzar II 8, ii 3–12 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005479/html). 62 For a clear reference to the famous bulls and dragons on the glazed bricks adorning the Ishtar gate, see the quoted passage in the section on gates below. 63 Nabonidus 1, i 20–ii 4 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005398/html).

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šadû, uḫummu). Finally, the king claims that “I established (the wall) as an object of wonder” (ana tabrātu aštakkanšu). Although the intended target of the wonderment effect is not explicitly stated, the people of Babylon should have been the ones aimed at. The following passage mentions the depositing of his and a previous king’s inscription in the wall. In another inscription of Nabonidus, various works on Ezida (the Nabu temple in Borsippa) are highlighted. The following passage appears after the royal titulary (on the king’s divine support, piety, wisdom, and lineage). “When I strove to finish off the work on Ezida, I laid the foundations of the enclosure walls of Eurmeiminanki and (thereby) secured their foundation(s). I built (them) anew and made (each) worthy of (high) praise. To be an object of wonder for all of the people, I had (it) filled with splendor. (As for) the enclosure walls Ezida from the entrance gate of the goddess Nanāya to the river, (those) [f]acing north and (those) facing west, [bo]th of which are adjacent to the Gattu River (Euphrates), (walls) [that] Neriglissar, a king (who came) before me, [had built but whose] construction he had not completed—I [did not ch]ange [its (original) emplacement], but (only) [raised] its [su]perstructure. [I] (re)built (it) and made (it) surpass the previous one.”64 The words by Nabonidus that “I had (it) filled with splendor to be an object of wonder for all of the people” (ana tabrāti kiššat nišī lulê ušmalli) supposedly refer to the mentioned rebuilding (epēšu) of the enclosure walls (igārāti siḫirti) of the ziggurat of Ezida, Eurmeiminanki. The enclosure walls of Ezida itself are then focused on, with the king rebuilding (banû) these. The people in question should be identified with the people of Borsippa. A passage with prayers and reward requests directed towards Nabu follows. Gates Also gates are referred to as awe-inspiring in Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions. In the inscriptions of Nebuchadnezzar II on various works in Babylon and Borsippa, the following passage appears after a narration on the beautification of the processional street in Babylon. “(As for) Ištar-sākipat-tēbîša, both gates of Imgur-Enlil and Nēmetti-Enlil, their entrances became too low as a result of the raising (of the level) of the street(s) of Babylon. I removed those gates and secured their foundation(s) at the level of the water table with bitumen and baked brick. I had (them) skillfully built with baked bricks (colored with) shining blue glaze that have (representations of) wild bulls (and) mušḫuššu-dragon(s) fashioned upon them. I had (beams of) hard cedar stretched (over them) as their roofs. 64

Nabonidus 13, i 9´–ii 11 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005410/html).

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At each of its gate, I hung doors (made) of cedar with a facing of bronze (and) threshold(s) and nukuššû-fittings of cast copper. At their doorjamb(s), I stationed fierce wild bulls of copper and raging mušḫuššudragons. To be an object of wonder for all of the people, I filled those gates with splendor.”65 Nebuchadnezzar II here exclaims that “I filled those gates with splendor to be an object of wonder for all of the people” (bābāni šināti ana tabrāti kiššat nišī lulê ušmallam), apparently referring to the city gates (of the outer and inner city walls) in question. 66 The people in question should be identified with the people of Babylon. The following passage refers to a fortified wall on the eastern bank of the city.67 Stelae Stelae are also monuments associated with tabrītu in the royal inscriptions. On a stele of Esarhaddon from Zincirli (ancient Sam’al) centred on the king’s conquest of Egypt, the following passage occurs after the narration of the campaign in question. “I had a stele written in my name made and I had inscribed upon it the renown (and) heroism of the god Aššur, my lord, (and) the might of my deeds which I had done with the help of the god Aššur, my lord, and my victory (and) triumph. I set (it) up for all time for the admiration of all of (my) enemies.”68 Esarhaddon here speaks of his stele (narû) as narrating the renown (tanittu) and heroism (qarrādūtu) of the god Ashur, the “might of my deeds” (danān epšetēya), and “my victory and triumph” (lītu kišitti qātēya) achieved with the help of this god, and then states that “I set (it) up for all time for the admiration of all of (my) enemies” (ana tabrāt kiššat nākirī ana ṣāt ūmē ulziz). The stele is clearly directed at a foreign audience (more precisely, potential enemies in and around Sam’al), naturally so considering its location.69 The following (and concluding) passage conveys curses and blessings. 65

Nebuchadnezzar II 29, v 54–vi 21 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005500/html). Cf. Nebuchadnezzar II 42, 24–53 (http://oracc.org/ribo/Q005513/html). The latter text differs by not naming the gate in question. 66 Decorations (not the least the famous bulls and dragons on glazed bricks) aside, the dimensions of these city gates must have impressed. The Ishtar gate in Nebuchadnezzar II’s time had a total length of 50 m, with the front gate measuring 13x28 m and the main gate 33x22 m, separated by a 4 m interval in between (Pedersén 2018, 169). 67 Text 42 differs by its referring to an akītu-house in the outskirts of the city directly after the above passage. 68 RINAP 4 98, r. 50–53. 69 The stela was found “in the small court inside the outer city gate, beside its stone base”.

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A very fragmentary stele belonging to (probably) Esarhaddon found near the Orontes River (Syria) and similar in content to the Zincirli stele gives the following broken passage (the preceding lines of the text are not preserved). “[… and (my) victory] (and) my [conqu]est [I had written upon it and] I set (it) up [for all time for the admira]tion of [all (my) enemies].”70 The king seems to speak of having told of his “[victory and conqu]est” ([lītu kišitti] qātēya) upon the stele, and seems to conclude by saying that “I set (it) up [for all time for the admira]tion of [all (my) enemies]“ ([ana tab]rāt [kiššat nākirī ana ṣāt ūmē] ulziz). Also this stele is clearly directed at a foreign audience (more precisely, potential enemies in the Orontes River region), naturally so considering its location. The other (and following) preserved bits of the inscription convey the first part of the curses. Conclusion This paper has focused on the relevance of the concept propaganda with regard to the official sources of the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires. Instead of (as is usual) centre on royal inscriptions and iconography, this study has (inspired by the theory of political economy) dealt with Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian public buildings and their potential to inspire awe and cohesion. To this end, the term tabrītu (“wonder”) and the expression ana tabrāti (“for the wonder”), which are used in Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions to describe the intent of the patrons of the public buildings, have been highlighted. Table 1 illustrates the use of the term and expression apropos the propaganda elements sender— message—receiver. As illustrated in this table, all the major rulers of the Neo-Assyrian (except Ashurbanipal) and Neo-Babylonian empires appear as “senders”, meaning that the intent on awe-inspiring was not restricted to (a) certain ruler(s).71 A great variety of public buildings are attested as “messages” (in their being tied to the word tabrītu or the phrase ana tabrāti), namely temples, ziggurats, palaces, wall reliefs, gateway colossi, walls, gates, and stelae, meaning that the intent on aweDecorations aside, the dimensions of this stela (VA 2708) must have impressed, measuring 322x135x50 cm (RINAP 4, 181, 183 and fig. 5). For the foreign audience of Assyrian propaganda, see Porter 2000. 70 RINAP 4 1008, 1´–3´. 71 As already noted, Ashurbanipal uses tabrītu but in the context of displaying captured enemies. This king “fills” (malȗ D/ŠD) buildings with splendor (lulȗ) but without explicitly referring to the people. He speaks of temples (RINAP 5/1 6, i 49´; 7, i 20´; 10, ii 8; 10, v 49; 23, 33), palaces (RINAP 5/1 9, vi 58; 11, x 104), and city walls (http://oracc.org/ rinap/Q003771/html, l. o 3) in this way. It is noticeable that the early Neo-Assyrian kings Ashurnasirpal II and Adad-nirari III employed the epithet “amazing shepherd” (rē’û tabrāti) (see RIMA 2, A.0.101.1: i 13; RIMA 3, A.0.104.6: 6), and that Sargon II used the epithet “amazing man” (eṭlu tabrāti) (Frame 1999, 36 [l. 12]).

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inspiring was not restricted to (a) certain monument(s). Table 1 also indicates the identity of recipients. In terms of “place”, 44% of the attestations tell of Nineveh, 25% of Babylon, and 10% of Dur-Sharrukin. Marginally, Kalhu, Assur, Borsippa, Sippar, Tarbisu, Sam’al, and a place near the Orontes river are also attested as sites of awe-inspiring public buildings. Clearly, the said intent was not spatially restricted either. In terms of “people”, these are implicitly expressed in 49% of the attestations. In these cases, the people of the cities should be the ones thought of. In 36% of the cases, kiššat nišē are explicitly stated as recipients, while nišē are referred to in 12% of the cases. In other words, it was the general population of the cities that was targeted. Naturally, persons with close access to the monuments (priests with regard to temples, courtiers as for palaces, etc.) were most affected, although ordinary people could also come close enough to be awed. Also visitors (such as foreign envoys) of the cities may be reckoned with. It is also noticeable that the phrase kiššat nišē sometimes has a universal connotation, such as in the Assyrian royal titles “king of all people(s)” (šar kiššat nišē) and “sun of all people(s)” (šamšu kiššat nišē).72 sender

“message”

Sennacherib Sennacherib Esarhaddon, Nebuchadnezzar II Sargon II Nebuchadnezzar II Nabopolassar, Nebuchadnezzar II, Nabonidus Esarhaddon Esarhaddon Nebuchadnezzar II Nabonidus Nabonidus Esarhaddon Tiglath-pileser III Nabonidus Esarhaddon Esarhaddon

wall reliefs, gateway colossi palaces temples, walls, gates wall reliefs palaces

receiver – place

receiver – people

Nineveh

17

Nineveh

kiššat nišē

9

Babylon

kiššat nišē

8

Dur-Sharrukin Babylon

nišī

6 4

ziggurats, walls

Babylon

temples palaces temples temples temples palaces gateway colossi walls stelae stelae

Assur Kalhu Borsippa Sippar Sippar Tarbisu Kalhu Borsippa Sam’al near Orontes

3 nišē kiššat nišē nišē kiššat nišē kiššat nišī kiššat nākirī kiššat nākirī

Table 1: The evidence: sender-message-receiver.

72

For these titles, see Seux 1967, 284; 313.

no.

2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

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In 3% of the attestations, kiššat nākirī are the intended recipients. As for this observation, in 90% of the examples, the awe-inspiring effect is meant for an internal audience, while Esarhaddon’s stelae in Syria and his monuments in Babylon speak to an external audience. The stress on internal audience suggests that the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian rulers recognised dissent and the need to influence their own subjects.73 Esarhaddon’s monuments tell of a wish to convince the Babylonians of the blessings of Assyrian rule. 74 The said stelae are directed at a truly foreign (Syrian) audience, aimed at the pacification of the king’s enemies, both actual and potential ones.75 This paper demonstrates the relevance of the term propaganda in the NeoAssyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires, in its focusing on tabrītu and ana tabrāti as explicit aims of Assyrian and Babylonian kings concerning their public buildings. The finding that Mesopotamian rulers not only sought to impress the deities and posterity but also to awe the contemporary general population is not vulgar or cynical. Rather, it is based in the evidence of the ancient sources as well as in the rejection of oppressive and relativistic ideas about ancient Mesopotamia as a parallel universe (with social laws unknown to us), according to which the scarcity of expressions of dissent in the sources is taken as proofs of a Volksseele and according to which the Mesopotamian rulers had no need of justifying their power positions. Just like any other ruler in world history, Assyrian and Babylonian rulers employed propaganda. In narrow and text-biased debates on access to Mesopotamian official sources, it is easy to forget the bigger picture, according to which the various monuments of Mesopotamian rulers must have inspired awe. As apparent through the illustration below (Fig. 1), conveying the image which the excavators of Nimrud had of an Assyrian capital, the public buildings of Mesopotamian cities must have dominated the urban landscape and delivered a powerful message on the might and strength of the Mesopotamian ruler.76

73

For the issue of opposition in Mesopotamia, see e.g. Finet 1973 and Richardson 2010. For the propagandistic efforts by Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal to convince Babylonians of the blessings of Assyrian rule, see e.g. Porter 2003, 39–58. 75 In the sense that the monument would create the feeling of inferiority on the part of the recipient. For similar interpretations, see e.g. Morandi Bonacossi 1988. This interpretation goes against the idea of Assyrian royal stelae in the periphery as “internal” (Shafer 1998). 76 After the completion of this paper, new texts of Nebuchadnezzar II appeared. Some of these show that also processional barges (called Maumuš and Maidḫedu and used at the New Year festival) of Marduk and Nabu could be “objects of wonder for all of the people” (RIBo Nebuchadnezzar II WBA v 29–30, vii 40; WBC iii 10–11, last accessed May 6 2021). Also after the completion of this paper, RINAP 2 (the royal inscriptions of Sargon II) and RINBE 2 (the royal inscriptions of Amel-Marduk, Neriglissar, and Nabonidus) were published. 74

Figure 1 – Kalhu, according to its initial excavators (Layard 1853, pl. 1).

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Liverani, M. 1990. Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Ancient Near East ca. 1600–1100 BC (History of the Ancient Near East, Studies 1), Padua: Sargon. Liverani, M. 2014. “The King and His Audience”, in: S. Gaspa / A. Greco / D. Morandi Bonacossi / S. Ponchia / R. Rollinger (eds), From Source to History: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond: Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014 (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 412), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 337–385. Machinist, P. 1983. “Assyria and Its Image in the First Isaiah”, Journal of the American Oriental Society 103, 719–737. Morandi Bonacossi, D. 1988. “Stele e statue reali assire: Localazione, diffusione e implicazione ideologiche”, Mesopotamia 23, 105–155. Olmstead, A. T. 1916. Assyrian Historiography: A Source Study (University of Missouri Studies, Social Sciences Series 3/1), Columbia: University of Missouri Press. Oppenheim, A. L. 1960. “The City of Assur in 714 B.C.”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 19/2, 133–147. Pedersén, O. 2018. “The Ishtar Gate Area in Babylon: From Old Documents to New Interpretations in a Digital Model”, Zeitschrift für Orient-Archäologie 11, 160–178. Pollock, S. 1999. Ancient Mesopotamia: The Eden That Never Was (Case Studies in Early Societies 1), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Porter, B. N. 2000. “‘For the Astonishment of All Enemies’: Assyrian Propaganda and Its Audience in the Reign of Ashurnasirpal II and Esarhaddon”, Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 35, 7–18. Porter, B. N. 2003. Trees, Kings, and Politics: Studies in Assyrian Iconography (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 197), Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht. Richardson, S. (ed.) 2010. Rebellions and Peripheries in the Cuneiform World (American Oriental Series 91), New Haven: American Oriental Society. Russell, J. M. 1991. Sennacherib’s Palace Without Rival at Nineveh, London and Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Schaudig, H. 2001. Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Großen samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften. Textausgabe und Grammatik (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 256), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Seux, M.-J. 1967. Épithètes royales Akkadiennes et Sumériennes, Paris: Letouzey et Ané. Shafer, A. T. 1998. The Carving of an Empire: Neo-Assyrian Monuments on the Periphery, PhD thesis, Harvard University. Siddall, L. R. 2013. The Reign of Adad-nīrārī III: An Historical and Ideological Study of an Assyrian King and His Times (Cuneiform Monographs 45), Leiden: Brill.

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Tadmor, H. 1975. “Assyria and the West: The Ninth Century and Its Aftermath”, in: H. Goedicke / J. J. M. Roberts (eds), Unity and Diversit (Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies), Baltimore / London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 36–48. Tadmor, H. 1997. “Propaganda, Literature, Historiography: Cracking the Code of the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in: S. Parpola / R. M. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 325–338. Winter, I. 1997. “Art in Empire: The Royal Image and the Visual Dimensions of Assyrian Ideology”, in: S. Parpola / R. M. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 359–381.

ANATOLIA AND EGYPT

The Hero, the Pious, the Chosen, the Legitimate One Ideology, Different propagandae in the Hittite Empire Marta Pallavidini Freie Universität Berlin

“In this way every irregular, irrational, inconsistent and even reticent element in the document will cease to seem an obstacle to the reception of the message, and will instead become a privileged sign of the code.” (M. Liverani, Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts, Orientalia NS 42, 1973, 180)

Abstract: In order to describe some aspects of the society of ancient civilizations, scholars commonly resort to and make use of terms that did not exist in ancient languages. In particular, in ancient Near Eastern studies two concepts have been employed: ideology and propaganda. These concepts have raised questions about their definition, use, and application to ancient cultures, not to mention criticism strongly present in the debate. This paper focusses on the different aspects of royal ideology which the kings of the Hittite Empire communicated via texts and on the meaning of their choices. The written sources that will be taken into account are diplomatic, in particular international treaties, and historiographic texts. The contribution aims to underline that the use of the words ideology and propaganda is legit, yet it must not be forgotten that each king writes a very personal history along with the greater historical picture. Furthermore, also the audience to whom the texts conveyed the messages is considered as a fundamental element of the propaganda, and more importantly, as crucial for the goal of persuasion. Keywords: Hittite royal ideology; Hittite Empire; propaganda, audience.

Introduction The words ideology and propaganda are used almost on a daily basis in different media, like tv-news, newspaper, social media and so on. They are used in particular in the political discourse, but also other topics can employ this terminology, like, for instance, art, philosophy, history, and society. It seems, therefore, that the meaning of these two terms is clear and well established. But it takes just a look at the definitions given in different dictionaries as well as the entries in the Encyclopedia Britannica to understand that they both need further clarification, especially when used in relation to ancient contexts. In the Oxford English Dictionary alone, propaganda is defined as “A committee of Cardinals responsible for foreign missions, founded in 1622 by Pope Gregory XV (officially known since 1967 as the Congregation for the Evangelization

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of Peoples),” “An organization, scheme, or movement for the propagation of a particular doctrine, practice, etc.” and finally as “The systematic dissemination of information, esp. in a biased or misleading way, in order to promote a political cause or point of view. Also: information disseminated in this way; the means or media by which such ideas are disseminated.”1 In the Cambridge English Dictionary propaganda is defined as “information, ideas, opinions, or images, often only giving one part of an argument, that are broadcast, published, or in some other way spread with the intention of influencing people’s opinions.”2 The same holds true for the term ideology. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ideology is “(a) The study of ideas; that branch of philosophy or psychology which deals with the origin and nature of ideas. (b) spec. The system introduced by the French philosopher Étienne Condillac (1715–1780), according to which all ideas are derived from sensations”, and also “The study of the way in which ideas are expressed in language” as well as “Abstract speculation; impractical or visionary theorizing”, and finally “A systematic scheme of ideas, usually relating to politics, economics, or society and forming the basis of action or policy; a set of beliefs governing conduct. Also: the forming or holding of such a scheme of ideas.”3 The Cambridge English Dictionary, more concisely, defines ideology as “a set of beliefs, or principles, especially one on which a political system, party, or organization is based.”4 Moreover, for both terms the Encyclopedia Britannica has long and detailed entries that considers the origin, the philosophical context, the use of the terms, as well as their connotations within specific historical events, like e.g., World War II.5 The purpose of this paper is not to give a new definition of the terms, nor it is to establish whether or not the terms ideology and propaganda are allowed in the field of Ancient Near Eastern history. The scope of this investigation is rather to point out that the use of this terminology has to be considered together with other elements that are fundamental when dealing with the concepts of ideology and propaganda in ancient times. In the case of ideology, it has to be kept in mind that we are dealing with state entities that were ruled by a king, and that the kings have

1

https://www.oed.com/view/Entry/152605?rskey=t8aeSG&result=1#eid (last accessed April 21, 2021). 2 https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/propaganda (last accessed April 4, 2021). 3 https://www.oed.com/view/Entry/91016?redirectedFrom=ideology#eid (last accessed April 4, 2021). 4 https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/ideology (last accessed April 4, 2021). 5 See for ideology and propaganda respectively, https://www.britannica.com/topic/ ideology-society and https://www.britannica.com/topic/propaganda (both last accessed April 4, 2021).

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specific functions to fulfill.6 Therefore, when we refer to ideology in the Ancient Near East, it is always the ideology of kingship. In the case of propaganda, the elements that have to be considered are: the content of the messages, the techniques employed to convey the messages, the audience, and the purposes, since propaganda never aims to an auto-referred celebration of the king but it has practical political objectives. In this contribution the focus will be on the Hittite sources, and in particular three intertwined topics will be addressed. First, the fact that different kings tend to select the elements of the royal ideology on which they build their image, and how this selection is based on contingent situations. Second, which messages were communicated, by which means and media, and why. Finally, there will be a reflection on the audience to whom those messages were addressed and to the link between propaganda and persuasion The sources The situation of the Hittite sources when dealing with ideology and propaganda has, at the same time, advantages and disadvantages. In fact, on the one hand the Hittite sources are limited in number and in genres—if compared, for instance, to Assyrian or Babylonian sources—administrative documents lack almost completely, and the great majority of the written sources comes from only one place, the Hittite capital Ḫattuša.7 For these reasons the possibility of comparison between different sources is often not possible, and the texts reflect only the view of the elites. On the other hand, among the Hittite sources there are privileged genres for the study of ideology and propaganda, i.e., the international treaties, the decrees, and the historiographic texts.8 In the international treaties and in the decrees, in fact, contain, in the initial part, a sort of “prologue”9 that resumes some historical events directly connected with the circumstances that lead to the issue of the document. The historiographic documents strictu sensu are entirely dedicated to the narrative of the events that had the Hittite kings as protagonists. In this contribution I will focus in particular on the Hittite Empire (14th–13th Century BCE), since it is the period for which the most sources are available, and, also, they are suitable to be compared with one another in specific cases. The documents issued during the reigns of Šuppiluliuma I, Muršili II, Ḫattušili III and Tutḫaliya IV will constitute the basis of the analysis presented in this paper10 with 6

On the functions of the Hittite king, see below. For an overview of the places where Hittite written sources have been retrieved see http://www.hittiteepigraphs.com. 8 For an overview of these sources in the Hittite Empire, see Pallavidini 2016, 22–44. 9 On this structural part of the Hittite treaties, see Altman 2004. 10 The reigns of Muwatalli and Šuppiluliuma II are not considered in this contribution since the written sources are too few to allow any incisive remark on the propaganda of these two kings. 7

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the purpose of understanding the intertwining of the elements of the royal ideology and the aspects of the propaganda of each king. Šuppiluliuma I For the reign of this king the most important written sources for the investigation of the propagandistic messages are the treaties. There is, in fact, a rich documentation of treaties with Anatolia (with Ḫukkana of Ḫayaša: CTH 42), with Syria (with Aziru of Amurru: CTH 49, and with Tette of Nuḫašše: CTH 53) and with Mesopotamia (with Šattiwaza of Mittani: CTH 51 and 5211). From the analysis of these documents, it is possible to identify two lines of propagandistic messages. One line is the emphasis on the magnanimity of the king. In CTH 42 the incipit of the treaty is dedicated to list a series of benefits given by the Hittite king to Ḫukkana: first of all, the Hittite king elevates the status of the king of Ḫayaša, then he has this new status recognized by the people of Ḫattuša and Ḫayaša, and finally Šuppiluliuma gives Ḫukkana a daughter in marriage. In CTH 49, Aziru’s submission is not described as the consequence of a military intervention of the Hittite king, but as a voluntarily change of alliance.12 To convey the message of Šuppiluliuma’s magnanimity, the treaty describes Aziru as “runaway slave” 13 taken as subject by the Hittite king. In this case we assist to a complete change of perspective in order to convey a specific message. The heroic aspect that, as it will be shown, also characterizes the texts of Šuppiluliuma I becomes secondary when it is urgent to underline the magnanimity of the king. The aspect of the magnanimity could, in my opinion, be related to a representation of the king as good shepherd, but it remains implicit, since there is no specific terminology that conveys this idea. Probably the specific image was not essential in the current ideology of kingship, and for sure it was not the main image that Šuppiluliuma wanted to associate to himself more important was the heroic image of the king. Yet the Ḫukkana treaty is probably to be dated to an early stage of Šuppiluliuma’s reign, therefore the king could not present himself as the conqueror of Syria and consequently his propaganda points towards an image of magnanimity instead of expressing only a heroic image. The aspect of magnanimity does not end with the Syrian treaties. It is actually still very present in the treaty for Mittani. In fact, an entire section of the treaty is dedicated to narrate the intervention of Šuppiluliuma in favor of Šattiwaza, who was protected by the Hittite king since he left Mittani.14 Nevertheless, the aspect of the magnanimity is no longer preeminent. In fact, the historical prologue of 11

CTH 52 cannot be considered an actual treaty, but as complement of CTH 51 the text is included in this genre. See Devecchi 2015, 254. 12 On Aziru’s changes of alliance(s), see Devecchi 2012 with further references. 13 On this definition, Altman 2004, 327. 14 CTH 51, Obv. 51–73.

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CTH 51 is constructed on expressions related to the semantic field of warfare, like dâku “to defeat,”15 ḫabātu “to prevail,”16 leqû that means “to take” but in military context can define the act of taking prisoners or of conquering territories.17 The use of this language conveys the idea of the king as hero.18 On the contrary, in CTH 52, which is the “version of Šattiwaza”19 of the treaty, the magnanimity is once again in the foreground, since the military conquest of Mittani by Assyria is depicted in very negative terms, while the subjugation by Šuppiluliuma is described as the response to a request of protection made by Šattiwaza himself. In the case of CTH 51 and CTH 52 we actually see two different lines of propaganda in action: one directed to Šattiwaza, which aims at the subordination toward Ḫatti, the other directed—in my opinion—to an internal audience in order to show how the Hittite king was able to gain such an important country as Mittani as a subject. In order to send the most compelling message, the elements of magnanimity and heroism are strictly intertwined in these two documents and aim to present Šuppiluliuma as a magnanimous and heroic king at the same time. Finally, a further feature of Šuppiluliuma’s propaganda can be detected: in the treaty with Tette of Nuḫašše we can see a use of the propaganda not connected to the celebration of the figure of the Hittite king but directed against Mittani. In fact, in the historical prologue of the treaty, the Mittanian king is depicted as someone who acts illegally by crossing the boundaries and invading Nuḫašše. In fact, in CTH 53, Obv. I 2–11 we read “When the king of the land of Mittani sought to kill Šarrupši, and the king of the land of Mittani entered the land of Nuḫašše together with his infantry levies and his chariotry, and when he oppressed (?) him, Šarrupši sent his messenger to the King of Ḫatti, saying ‘I am the subject of the King of Ḫatti: Save me!’20 And I, my Majesty, sent infantry and chariotry to his aid, and they drove the King of the land of Mittani, together with his troops and his chariotry, out of the land of Nuḫašše.”21 This use of propagandistic message is quite uncommon in the Hittite documents and—as we can also infer from an example present in the Deeds of Šuppiluliuma22—has the purpose, I think, to justify a specific endeavor of the Hittite king, i.e., the subjugation of Mittani in the case of Šuppiluliuma and, as shown in the next paragraph, the intervention against Egypt in the case of Muršili.

15

CTH 51.I, Obv. 14. Cf. CAD/D, 35. CTH 51.I, Obv. 46. Cf. CAD/Ḫ, 11. 17 Cf. CAD/L, 131–147. 18 For an overview of heroic aspects in the Hittite kingship, see Cordani 2013. 19 See fn. 10. 20 CTH 53, Obv. I 2–11. 21 For this translation see Beckman 1999, 54–55. 22 See below. 16

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Muršili II The texts of Muršili II are very privileged sources, since also the most preserved historiographic texts date to the reign of this king. In fact, not only the Complete and Ten Years Annals but also the Deeds of Šuppiluliuma were composed during the reign of this king. The sources are privileged also because they include different textual genres and, specifically, the Deeds of Šuppiluliuma show a quite unique feature, i.e., they provide an interesting insight of Muršili’s view of his father’s undertakings and how specific episodes are exploited for Muršili’s own propaganda. The Deeds of Šuppiluliuma, in fact, narrate the famous episode of the request of a Hittite prince to have as spouse, made by the widow of an Egyptian Pharao23 and the killing of this prince on his way to Egypt. In the narrative the Hittite king, before sending one of his sons to Egypt, check if there was a treaty with this Country, and, after a positive answer, he decides to send his son Zannanza to the Egyptian queen and widow. But then the Hittite king gets the news that Zannanza has been killed.24 The narrative is structured to point out the righteousness of Šuppiluliuma, who acts according to the agreement with Egypt, and, on the contrary to underline the fact the Egyptians were guilty of the murder of Zannanza25, and also of having transgressed the borders.26 At a first glance, the episode seems to date the deterioration of the relations with Egypt to the reign of Šuppiluliuma and to ascribe this deterioration to this specific episode. In fact, by narrating this episode Muršili not only can blame the Egyptian for the deterioration of the relations with Ḫatti but he also dates the beginning of the hostility that lead to the battle of Qadesh to the reign of his father, declining any responsibility in the matter and justifying an eventual military intervention.27 The propagandistic message is then not related to Šuppiluliuma but to Muršili, who exploits an event that possibly happened during his father’s reign to his own purposes. Also, a very preeminent aspect in the propagandistic messages of Muršili II is the magnanimity, yet it is declined in different nuances than in the documents of Šuppiluliuma I. In fact, the focus on the magnanimity is related to the quality of mercy. 23

On the possibility to identify Nipḫururiya, the Pharao mentioned in the Deeds of Šuppiluliuma, with Akhenaten, see Miller 2007a. There is no conclusive proof on this identification, but also the chronology of some events and sources of Šuppiluliuma’s reign seem to point in this direction. See Stavi 2015, 172–180. 24 For a recent transliteration and translation of this episode see Del Monte 2008, 113–125. 25 On the figure of Zannanza and the possible fictionality of this character see Liverani 1971. 26 KUB 14.7+, Obv. I 3–11. 27 A military intervention of Šuppiluliuma in Egypt is documented by the Second Plague Prayer CTH 378.II: A, 23–28 but it is possible, according to Fragment 36 of the Deeds of Šuppiluliuma, that the Hittite king did not intervene himself but that he sent his son Arnuwanda.

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An episode which is present in both the treaty for Manapa-Tarḫunta of the Šeḫa-River-Land (CTH 69) and the Annals (CTH 61) reports, in fact, that Muršili decides not to punish Manapa-Tarḫunta for a rebellion against the Hittite king and the consequent alliance with a certain Uḫḫa-Ziti, since women and elders of the Šeḫa-River-Land beg Muršili to show mercy toward Manapa-Tarḫunta.28 The presentation of the figure of Muršili II as pious is connected to the fact that an epidemic broke out during the last years of the reign of Šuppiluliuma and in the very years of the reign of Muršili.29 As attested in the so-called Plague Prayers30 the epidemic was caused by the gods’ wrath, since Šuppiluliuma had neglected to make some sacrifices and violated several oaths.31 In this case Muršili had to present himself to his subjects as well as to the gods as respectful of his religious and cultic duties, even if this means to “sacrifice” the figure of his father. This propagandistic line is clearly present in the prayers and in the historiography, but it is—more implicitly—exploited also in the treaties, in which Muršili’s pietas is declined in the nuance of clemency towards the subjects, as well documented by the episode of Manapa-Tarḫunta previously mentioned.32 Another aspect of Muršili’s propaganda that is not usually attested in the documents is the image as the king as a judge. This is one of the most important functions of the Hittite king and represents a central element of the ideology of kingship, but it is usually not exploited for propagandistic purposes, as far as shown by the written sources. Yet this element is referred to in three documents of Muršili II, one in CTH 63, an international decree regarding disputes among subordinates in Syria, and then in CTH 67 (Rev. 16–20) and CTH 69 (Rev. III 25–27) which, respectively, the treaty for Targašnalli of Ḫapalla and for ManapaTarḫunta of the Šeḫa-River-Land. In CTH 63 (Rev. III 55–59) the king explicitly invites the subordinates to turn to him as judge if the matter becomes “too grave.”33 In the passages from the treaties, the Hittite king, in the same fashion as in CTH 63, invites the subordinate king to come to him for a judgement. It is possible, in my opinion, that this element was relevant in Muršili’s propaganda, since it was related to the image of the king as righteous that emerges also in the constant underlining of his pietas. We can therefore speak of a whole prop28

CTH 69, Obv. I 37–39 and CTH 61.I.A, Rev. III 11–21. For a summary of the outbreak of the plague, see Bryce 2005, 205–207. 30 Singer 2002, 47–69. See also https://www.hethport.uni-wuerzburg.de/txhet_gebet/ textindex.php?g=gebet&x=x (CTH 378) (last accessed April 4, 2021). 31 2nd Plague Prayer, Obv. 9–12, Obv.13–20, Obv. 33–46’; 1st Plague Prayer, Obv. 10– 12. 32 The terminology shows the focus on the piety by using the terms genzu- (CTH 69, Obv. I 46, 58, Rev. III 6, 7) translated by Beckman (1999, 83) with “compassion”; šullai-/ šullatar that describes the contentious behavior that the subordinates have to avoid (CTH 69, Obv. I 68–69); takšul to define the peaceful relations of the subordinates among one another (CTH 69, Obv. I 47, 60). 33 See Miller 2007b, in particular 130. 29

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agandistic apparatus, directed to the intern and foreign subjects, as well as to the gods, that aims to present Muršili as righteous, as judge, as servant of the gods. Ḫattušili III The most powerful—and studied34—propagandistic apparatus is that of Ḫattušili III. To the reign of this king are ascribed several important sources: two treaties (CTH 92 with Bentešina of Amurru and the parity treaty with Ramesses II, CTH 91);35 an annalistic text (CTH 82, in a bad state of preservation); and several decrees (CTH 44, 81, 86, 87, 88, 89, and 224), among which CTH 81, the so called “Apology”, is considered the most significant of all.36 This text is characterized by a very long section (Obv. I 1 – Rev. IV 59) in which all the fundamental passages of Ḫattušili’s career are described in order to justify his accession to the throne of Ḫatti. Since Ḫattušili became king of Ḫatti after having deposed his nephew and legitimate successor of Muwatalli, Urḫi-Teššup, the text is issued to justify the actions that lead him to take over the power in Ḫatti. Also, the document is dated to a later stage of Ḫattušili’s reign 37 and since in the last lines Tutḫaliya, son of Ḫattušili and heir presumptive, is appointed as priest of the goddess Ištar, it is plausible that the decree was issued also to smooth the succession of Tutḫaliya, that could have been contested. The variety of propagandistic aspects present in CTH 81 is so wide that it would take a specific research to explain and discuss all of them, which is beyond the purpose of this contribution,38 but I want to stress out two innovative elements that characterize the propaganda of Ḫattušili III and that are fundamental to convey specific messages in this document. The first element is the endorsement of a deity. The close relation between a king and a deity has already been initiated by Muwatalli, who added to his titulature the epithet “beloved of the Storm God of Lightening”39 but the documentation is almost completely lost, so that it is challenging to associate this element to a propagandistic program.40 In the case of Ḫattušili, it can be considered, though, an actual change in the ideology of kingship that carries a specific message, i.e., that he is predestined to be king, since he was 34

For an idea of the amount of Hittitological papers that deal with or mention CTH 81, the so-called “Apology”, see https://www.hethport.uni-wuerzburg.de/hetkonk/hetkonk_ab frage.php. 35 The attribution of the treaty with Ulmi-Teššup to Ḫattušili III or to Tutḫaliya IV is still debated. For a recent summary and updates on the topic see Devecchi 2015, 160–162. 36 On the definitions given to this very peculiar document, see Pallavidini 2016, 264 with fn. 126–136 for further references. 37 See in particular Tadmor 1983 and Houwink ten Cate 1992. 38 For an analysis of all the aspects see Pallavidini 2016, 262–273. 39 See for instance, the titulature of the treaty for Alakšandu of Wiluša, CTH 76, Obv. I 1– 2. 40 This change in the ideology of kingship may be connected on a religious reform that failed. Cf. Singer 2006.

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chosen by the goddess Ištar. This topic is so important in the propaganda of Ḫattušili III that even an aspect like the illness of the young Ḫattušili is exploited in a propagandistic sense. In fact, in the “Apology” the illness is not only mentioned, but even exploited as topic of the first intervention of the goddess in favor of Ḫattušili. It is, actually, the goddess who intervenes to save Ḫattušili from the death (CTH 81, Obv. I 11–21). In this sense, a negative element—the illness, which is not explicitly mentioned but implicated by the expression ANA mḪattušili=wa MU.KAMḪI.A maninkuwanteš UL-war=aš TI-annaš “for Ḫattušili the years are short, he will not live (long)” (CTH 81, Obv. I 14–15)—is over-turned by the intervention of the goddess and constitutes the first sign of Ḫattušili’s predestination of becoming king.41 The second innovative element that is widely present in CTH 81 is the legalistic aspect underlying that Ḫattušili was entitled to make war against Urḫi-Teššup and therefore to claim the throne of Ḫatti in the aftermath. There is, in fact, a fil rouge that connects the events that led to the war against Urḫi-Teššup and that show how Ḫattušili’s behavior was legitimate, since, according to the text, was Urḫi-Teššup who violated the rights of his uncle as king of Ḫakpiš.42 The manipulation of the facts to convey specific messages becomes evident by two further episodes: the first is the narration of the battle of Qadesh in the “Apology”. This very important event, is, in fact, dismissed in only a couple of lines (CTH 81, Ro. II 69–74 “When it happened that my brother went to Egypt, I led for my brother on campaign down to Egypt the troops and the chariots of those lands which I had resettled, and I commanded troops (and) chariots of Ḫatti of which I was in charge in front of my brother”)43 in which the focus is not on the battle itself, nor on the military strategy, nor on the (alleged) Hittite victory. Ḫattušili recounts only the fact that he fought directing his own contingents. This aims to point out the independent role of Ḫattušili on the battlefield, since he took part in the war not as subject of Muwatalli but as king of Ḫakpiš. The second episode has the scribe Mittanamuwa as protagonist. In the decree in his favor (CTH 87) the scribe is portrayed as the one who saves Ḫattušili from the death at a young age when he suffered for an illness (CTH 87, Obv. I 5–8)44 in contradiction to the report of the same episode in the “Apology”, since in this text the saving of Ḫattušili happened thanks to the divine intervention of Ištar. These two episodes already show an essential element, related to how propaganda works: the facts, which were probably well known by the audience to whom the messages were addressed, are not denied or falsified, they are manipulated in

41

On the topic of the illness connected to the political propaganda of Ḫattušili III see already Ardesi 2001. 42 On the specific elements of this topic see Pallavidini 2017. 43 Translation van den Hout 1997, 201–202. 44 Edition of the text: Goetze 1925, 41–45.

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order to adhere to a specific message that was necessary to convey in the contingent specific context. In the case of the propaganda of Ḫattušili III the most important goal was to legitimate himself, and, possibly even more urgently, his successor Tutḫaliya. Tutḫaliya IV The sources of the reign of Tutḫaliya IV are not so abundant, specifically we have only two treaties (the Bronze Tablet and the treaty for Šaušgamuwa of Amurru).45 Yet, even though the sources are only a few, in the Bronze Tablet alone a whole propagandistic message with several layers of interpretation is conveyed in one paragraph: in Obv. I 6–13 Tutḫaliya affirms “When my father, Ḫattušili, began war with Urḫi-Teššup, son of Muwatalli, and deposed him from kingship, Kurunta was in no way guilty of offense. However, the people of Ḫatti committed offense, Kurunta was not involved in any of it. Previously Muwatalli, the King, entrusted him to my father, Ḫattušili, to raise, and my father had indeed previously raised him.”46 First of all, the subject of the verb kururiyaḫḫ- is Ḫattušili, who therefore is defined as the one who began the hostilities against Urḫi-Teššup, contradicting the narrative of the “Apology” and making use of a verb that is traditionally employed in the historiographic texts and in the treaties to describe the rebellion of the subordinates against their overlord. Yet Urḫi-Teššup is never named with his name as king, i.e., Muršili (III),47 signalizing that Urḫi-Teššup was not considered a legitimate king. To describe the behavior of Kurunta in the war between Ḫattušili and Urḫi-Teššup the terms waštai- and waštul- are employed, therefore the sematic field of the guilt/sin is evoked, but both terms are accompanied by the negation that exonerates de facto Kurunta from any responsibility in the matter. In the last lines, Tutḫaliya recalls the fact that Kurunta was raised by Ḫattušili, creating in this way a line of legitimacy and alliance that tends to exclude the other son of Muwatalli, Urḫi-Teššup. It is clear that Tutḫaliya’s message has two purposes: first, to underline his legitimacy as king, disregarding the figure of Urḫi-Teššup; second, to implicitly admit that it was Ḫattušili who provoked the war with Urḫi-Teššup. This second purpose is, in my opinion, related to the very practical goal of trying to secure his position as king: by admitting the responsibilities of his father, Tutḫaliya tries to win back that part of the court and of the elite who could have been hostile to him because of his father’s actions. Both these purposes are the Leit-Motiv of the documents of Tutḫaliya IV. Also in CTH 105, the treaty for Šaušgamuwa of Amurru, in fact, there is an articulated clause regarding the protection of Tutḫaliya’s successors that is reinforced by the 45

See fn. 28. Translation after Beckman 1999, 114. 47 Cf. Mora 1987. 46

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narration of a so-called paradigmatic example. We read in fact “You shall not behave like Mašduri. Muwatalli took Mašduri, who was king of the Šeḫa-RiverLand, and him his brother-in-law, giving him his sister Maššanauzzi in marriage. And he made him king of the Šeḫa-River-Land. But when Muwatalli died, then Urḫi-Teššup, son of Muwatalli, became king. My father wrested the kingship away from Urḫi-Teššup. Mašduri committed treachery. Although it was Muwatalli who had taken him up and made him his brother-in-law, afterwards Mašduri did not protect his son Urḫi-Teššup, but went over to my father thinking ‘Will I protect even a bastard? Why should I act on behalf of the son of a bastard?’ Will you perhaps behave like Maḫduri?” (CTH 105, Obv. II 15–30).48 In this circumstance, it is so important to Tutḫaliya to ensure the protection of Šaušgamuwa for himself and his successor(s) that he implicitly equates himself to Urḫi-Teššup. In fact, Mašduri was obliged to be loyal even to Urḫi-Teššup, who was an illegitimate son of Muwatalli but, since he was chosen by his father for the kingship, he was a legitimate king. Šaušgamuwa, in the same fashion, is obliged to protect Tutḫaliya, who is legitimate since he was chosen by the former king, even though this took the power in a questionable way. Concluding remarks From the analysis it emerges that the most important aspects of the ideology of kingship are the focus of propagandistic messages, but the focus is for each king on different aspects, like the magnanimity and heroism for Šuppiluliuma, the pietas for Muršili, the predestination for Ḫattušili, and the legitimacy for Tutḫaliya. And even within the reign of a king, different aspects can be the focus of the messages. This happens according either to specific historical and political circumstances, as in the case of the different narration of Ḫattušili’s recovery in CTH 81 and CTH 87, or to the fact that messages were directed to different addressees, like it is shown by the episode of Manapa-Tarḫunta recounted in CTH 69 and in CTH 61. The audience, too, is for sure an important factor in how the messages were conveyed but it is not easy to establish who constituted the addresses of the messages. Two elements have to be taken into consideration: first, the fact that literacy was not common, even among the highest social classes, and second, the fact that different texts could have been addressed to different audiences. Yet, it is also possible, that each document had several addresses to whom specific messages were conveyed.

48

Translation according to Beckman 1999, 105.

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It is possible, in my opinion, to exclude as audience the general population, since the messages that the texts convey are too layered and too refined to be addressed to all subjects of the king. Therefore, the audience was composed by the elites and the members of the royal court, i.e., the people who played a significant role in the political life of the Country, by the foreign kings and their courts, by the gods, and possibly, by the posterity.49 As for the texts taken into consideration in this contribution, it is fair to argue that the diplomatic texts were first and foremost directed to the foreign kings and their courts, as well as to the gods, since in the treaties they were summoned as witnesses and guarantors of the juridical validity of treaty itself. For the historiography strictu sensu it is more complex to identify a specific— or primary—addressee. As already pointed out by several scholars50 the elites and the royal court were certainly the audience of the messages contained in the texts, since they aimed to the celebration of the deeds of the king, and therefore to underline his capacity as king. Also the gods were possible addresses of historiography, as it is shown by the Annals of Muršili, in which the king addresses the Sun-goddess with direct speech51, and as already pointed out by V. Haas who wrote “primäre Intention der Historiographie […] besteht darin die höchsten Götter des Staates und wohl auch die engste Entourage des Königs von den konkreten Herrschaftsführung zu überzeugen.” 52 A further, innovative and—in my opinion—compelling hypothesis is that of A. Gilan, who sees as audience of the historiographic texts also the posterity to whom the king wanted to present a coherent picture of the events in order to ensure the stability of the dynasty. Therefore, he interprets historiography as a commemorative act.53 Finally, the decrees that aim to more contingent purposes are directed to the addressees of the texts themselves and more in general, to the elite and the entourage of the king, since these people were aware of the measures taken by the king regarding specific issues, and maybe some of the people of the entourage also had a role as consultants in those decisions. After having reviewed the textual evidence and having discussed about the audience, there is still a fundamental point to consider, that is the purposes of this propagandistic messages. The first, and also the easiest to detect, is the (auto)-celebration of the king and of his skills according to the current ideology of kingship.

49

On the posterity as audience of the propagandistic messages of historiography, see Gilan 2005. 50 See Cancik 1976, 54–55; Hoffner 1980; Roszkowska-Mutschler 2002. 51 Cf. Prologue of the Ten-Years Annals. 52 Haas 2006, 77. 53 Gilan 2005.

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This purpose, in fact, is functional to a more contingent and practical goal, that is the stability of the power of the king. In the Hittite history, the succession to the throne has been often tumultuous, as well shown by the Telipinu’s Proclamation,54 therefore—as masterly shown by the “Apology” of Ḫattušilis III—to secure the power of the actual and the future king was probably an essential goal of every Hittite king, especially those who took the throne in an unorthodox way. In order to achieve this goal, it was necessary to persuade the variegated audience that the king was the right person to sit on the throne. It is then evident that three elements—ideology of kingship, propaganda, and persuasion—are intertwined. The aspects of the ideology of kingship constitute the content of the messages that were conveyed via the written sources. This messages actively propagate the image of the king accordingly to the ideology of kingship. The purpose was to persuade the audience that the king was the most fit person for the role. The decision of conveying specific messages, the manipulation of the facts, and the goal of persuasion are the exact definition of what is propaganda. Therefore, the use of the term is, in my opinion, legit. It is also important to keep in mind that the final purpose of this process was the attempt of the king to secure the stability of his—and of his successor(s)—power. This idea is not to interpret as related to the idea of global history and therefore of a bigger picture than we can—as historians—evaluate. It is rather connected with specific political and historical circumstances, with the Realpolitik, with the will and the need of each king to write his own very personal history, as confirmed also by the fact that each king focuses on different aspects of the ideology of kingship according to his own perception of his position and of the world around him. Bibliography Altman, A. 2004. The Historical Prologue of the Hittite Vassals Treaties. An Inquiry into the Concepts of Hittite Interstate Law, Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press. Ardesi, A. 2001. “Il tema della malattia come spia di propaganda politica nei testi del periodo imperiale ittita”, Atti dell’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Classe di Scienze Morali, Storiche e Filologiche. Rendiconti 398, 229–257. Beckman, G. 1986. “Inheritance and Royal Succession Among the Hittites. Appendix: The Terminology of Succession and Rule”, in: H. A. Hoffner / G. M. Beckman (eds), Kaniššuwar. A Tribute to Hans G. Güterbock on his Seventyfifth Birthday, May 27, 1983 (Assyriological Studies 23), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 13–31. Beckman, G. 1999. Hittite Diplomatic Texts, Second edition (Society of Biblical Literature. Writings from the Ancient World 7), Atlanta: Scholars Press. 54

See Hoffmann 1984 for the edition of CTH 19 (Telipinu’s Proclamation), and Beckman 1986 for the rules and customs about the royal succession.

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Bryce, T. 2005. The Kingdom of the Hittites, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cancik, H. 1976. Grundzüge der hethitischen und alttestamentlichen Geschichtsschreibung, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Cordani, V. 2013. “What Kind of Hero? Aspects of Heroic Kingship in Hittite Literature”, KASKAL 10, 221–234. Del Monte, G. 2008. Le gesta di Suppiluliuma. Traslitterazione, traduzione e commento, Pisa: PLUS-Pisa University Press. Devecchi, E. 2012. “Aziru, Servant of Three Masters?”, Altorientalische Forschungen 39/1, 38–48. Devecchi, E. 2015. Trattati internazionali ittiti, Brescia: Paideia. Gilan, A. 2005. “Die hethitischen ‘Mannestaten’ und ihre Adressaten”, in: A. Süel (ed.), V. Uluslararası Hititoloji Kongresi Bildirileri, Çorum 02–08 Eylül 2002 – Acts of the Vth International Congress of Hittitology, Çorum, September 02– 08, 2002, Ankara: Nokta Ofset. Goetze, A. 1925. Hattušiliš. Der Bericht über seine Thronbesteigung nebst den Paralleltexten (Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Ägyptischen Gesellschaft 29/3), Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Haas, V. 2006. Die hethitische Literatur, Berlin / New York: de Gruyter. Hoffmann, I. 1984. Der Erlass Telipinus (Texte der Hethiter 11), Heidelberg: Winter. Hoffner, H. A. Jr. 1980. “Histories and Historians of the Ancient Near East: The Hittites”, Orientalia NS 49, 283–332. Houwink ten Cate, Ph. H. J. 1992. “The Bronze Tablet of Tudhaliyas IV and its Geographical and Historical Relations”, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie 82, 233–270. Liverani, M. 1971. “Zannanza”, Studi micenei ed egeo-anatolici 14, 161–162. Liverani, M. 1973. “Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts”, Orientalia NS 42, 178–194. Miller, J. L. 2007a. “Amarna Age Chronology and the Identity of Nibhururiya in the Light of a Newly reconstructed Hittite Text”, Altorientalische Forschungen 34, 252–293. Miller, J. L. 2007b. “Mursili II’s Dictate to Tuppi-Teššub’s Syrian Antagonists”, KASKAL 4, 121–152. Mora, C. 1987. “Una probabile testimonianza di coreggenza tra due sovrani ittiti”, Rendiconti dell’Istituto Lombardo. Accademia di Scienze e Lettere. Classe di Lettere e Scienze Morali e Storiche 121, 97–108. Pallavidini, M. 2016. Diplomazia e propaganda in epoca imperiale ittita. Forma e prassi (Dresdner Beiträge zur Hethitologie 48), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Pallavidini, M. 2017. “Ḫakpiš, la prima ‘Sekundogenitur’ di Ḫatti? Considerazioni sul rapporto giuridico di Ḫattušili con Muwatalli e Urḫi-Teššup sulla base di CTH 81”, Res Antiquae 14, 205–220.

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Roszkowska-Mutschler, H. 2002. “Zu den Mannestaten der hethitischen Könige und ihrem Sitz im Leben”, in: P. Taracha (ed.), Silva Anatolica. Anatolian Studies Presented to Maciej Popko on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, Warsaw: Agade, 289–300. Singer, I. 2002. Hittite Prayers (Writings from the Ancient World 11), Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill. Singer, I. 2006. “The failed reforms of Akhenaten and Muwatalli”, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 6, 37–58. Stavi, B. 2015. The Reign of Tudhaliya II and Šuppiluliuma I. The Contribution of the Hittite Documentation to a Reconstruction of the Amarna Age (Texte der Hethiter 31), Heidelberg: Winter. Tadmor, H. 1983. “Autobiographical Apology in the Royal Assyrian Literature”, in: H. Tadmor / M. Weinfeld (eds), History, Historiography and Interpretation. Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures, Jerusalem: Brill, 36–57. Van den Hout, Th. P. J. 1997. “Hittite Canonical Compositions - Biography and Autobiography: Apology of Hattušili III”, in: W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture, Volume I, Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, Leiden / New York / Köln: Brill, 199–204.

“Šawoška of Šamuḫa, My Lady, caught him like a fish with a net” Usurping the Throne and Writing about it Amir Gilan Tel Aviv University1

In Memory of Dr. Ilse Wegner Abstract: Ḫattušili’s coup d’état, deposing his nephew, great king Urḫi-Tešub (Muršili III) from the Hittite throne is certainly the most momentous event depicted in his so-called Autobiography (CTH 81). In this chapter, I will explore in detail different accounts of Urḫi-Tešub’s capture at the town of Šamuḫa as it is depicted in Ḫattušili’s Autobiography and in the so-called parallel texts. It will be shown that the function of these depictions was to conceal rather than to reveal what really happened in Šamuḫa. It will be argued that even if not propagandistic in nature, the Autobiography is abundant in hidden ideological undercurrents which are highly illuminative once explored. Keywords: Hittite history; Hittite historiography; Hittite kingship; usurpation; ideology.

Great king Ḫattušili “III” reigned in the first half of the 13th Century BC, his reign marking the zenith of the Late Hittite Empire.2 Ḫattušili “III” concluded the famous silver peace treaty with Ramesses II of Egypt, establishing a golden but short-lived age of “Pax Hethitica.”3 His rise to power, however, overthrowing his nephew, great king Urḫi-Tešub/Muršili III from the throne, is often considered as sowing the seeds of the Hittite Empire’s downfall.4

1

I would like to thank the two editors for the kind invitation to participate in the volume. I also warmly thank Jared Miller and Nicole Rudnitsky. The contribution was supported by the Israel Science Foundation, grant No. 1911/19, “The religious world of king Ḫattušili “III” as reflected in his ‘Autobiography’ and in related texts.” Abbreviations follow the Chicago Hittite Dictionary. 2 Ḫattušili is designated in the scholarly literature as Ḫattušili III. However, as there is no conclusive evidence for the existence of an Early Empire Period king Ḫattušili (II), Ḫattušili “III” was probably only the second Hittite king to bear that name (Miller 2013, xii). As he always appears as Ḫattušili III in the rich secondary literature, he will retain his conventional numbering here as well. The numbering will appear between inverted commas. 3 Klengel 1999, 235–272; Singer 2011; Bryce 2005, 266–294. 4 See now Miller 2020 with a critical discussion and earlier references.

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The altercation between great king Urḫi-Tešub/Muršili III and his uncle was inevitable, at least according to the available sources, all representing Ḫattušili’s side of the story. Ḫattušili was installed by his brother, great king Muwattali II, as governor of the Upper Land and later became king of the appanage kingdom of Ḫakpiš, after Muwatalli moved the royal residence to Tarḫuntašša.5 Urḫi-Tešub, who followed his father Muwattalli as great king, moved the royal residence back to Ḫattuša. The restoration of Ḫattuša as a royal capital inescapably got UrḫiTešub into conflict with Ḫattušili, who was not willing to give up his northern kingdom, especially not his two most prized towns, his capital Ḫakpiš and the sacred town of Nerik which he resurrected “like a stone out of deep water.” Great king Ḫattušili is the author of one of the most unique compositions that passed on to us from the Hittite world, the so-called Autobiography or Apology of Ḫattušili “III” (CTH 81).6 The composition, the main source for Ḫattušili’s rise to power as outlined above, is relatively well-preserved and was often copied by Hittite scribes. At least fifteen manuscripts have been recognized so far, documenting the importance of the Autobiography already in antiquity. Most scholars agree that the composition was written relatively late into Ḫattušili’s reign, after the conclusion of the silver peace treaty in 1259 BC.7 The genre of the composition is notoriously difficult to assign and was often a matter of discussion among scholars.8 The Autobiography is often regarded as a masterpiece of political apologetic literature, revealing and legitimizing Ḫattušili’s cunning, carefully planned usurpation of the Hittite throne, resembling Richard III as he was portrayed by

5 On Ḫattušili as king of Ḫakpiš see Pallavidini 2017 and Bilgin 2018, 56–57. On his career before his coup d’état see Parker 1998. On the kingdom of Ḫakpiš see Alparslan 2010. 6 The composition, and several parallel texts were edited already at the dawn of Hittite studies by Albrecht Götze in 1925. Götze added new fragments to the original edition in 1930. Further related texts were edited by Archi (1971) and by Ünal in his comprehensive study of Ḫattušili ‘III’ (1974a and 1974b). The definitive edition of the Autobiography is Otten’s (1981), who meticulously re-constructed the composition from the various manuscripts. Recent translations include, among many others, van den Hout 1997 and Knapp 2015, 125–148. 7 Cancik 1976, 42; Tadmor 1983, 37–38, 54–57; Houwink ten Cate 1992, 265–267; van den Hout 1997, 199; Sürenhagen 2018, 47. The dating is based on a sentence in section 12b: “Those (kings) who had been enemies in the days of my fathers (and) grandfat[her]s concluded peace with me” (Otten 1981, 27), which seems to refer to the conclusion of the silver peace treaty with Egypt. Recent studies, such as Knapp 2015, 159 and especially Beckman 2016, emphasize the political, apologetic nature of the Autobiography and therefore tend towards an earlier date of composition, closer to the events portrayed, when a composition of such an apologetic text would be more prerequisite. The argument, however, is circular in nature. 8 See the excellent discussion by Sürenhagen 2018 with references to earlier literature. See also Maul 1998.

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William Shakespeare.9 As such, it makes an excellent subject for a volume on ideology and propaganda. The Autobiography, however, is primarily religious in nature, as the older scholarly literature, less possessed with the notions of propaganda or political legitimation than the present one, has recognized long ago. In his first edition of the text, Götze aptly noted that the composition was “der älteste Beispiel einer Aretalogie.”10 Schmid also convincingly suggests that the Autobiography is a theological composition.11 In fact, the intended purpose of the composition is explicitly stated at its very beginning, revealing its intention to publicly declare the “divine plan” (parā ḫandandatar)12 of the goddess Šawoška of Šamuḫa, the phrase occurring in various forms at least twelve times in the composition.13 The intended audience of the text is surprisingly wide and includes not only Ḫattušili’s immediate heirs but also “every man” (DUMU.NAM.LÚ.U19LU): “Šawoška’s divine plan I will proclaim. Let every man hear it and may in future His Majesty’s son, his grandson (and) offspring of His Majesty be respectful among the gods towards Šawoška!”14 The composition ends with a cult foundation for Šawoška of Šamuḫa, secured by an endowment of the confiscated estates of Arma-Tarḫunta, Ḫattušili’s nemesis, exempting it from taxes and corvée obligations. 15 Ḫattušili also appoints Tudḫaliya, his son and heir to the throne, to the service of the goddess, putting him in charge of the cult foundation. It has been suggested that the appointment was made in order to secure the ascension of Tudḫaliya to the Hittite throne,16 but it was probably made in order to secure the future of the cult foundation, espe-

9

As aptly noted by Parker 1998, 270. Götze 1925, 55; see also Cancik 1976, 41–46 and most recently Sürenhagen 2018, 51– 52. 11 Schmid 1985, 4: “In seiner Vorgabe hingegen ist der GT [CTH 81, A.G.] ein theologischer Text, wobei Theologie hier nichts anderes bezeichnen soll als die Reflexion des religiösen Lebens oder spezifischer: der Versuch des Menschen, seine Wirklichkeit zu verstehen in deren Beziehung zur Wirklichkeit schlechthin, sein Leben zu deuten in dessen Beziehung zur Gottheit. Der GT ist ein theologischer Text, weil hier eigenes Leben gedeutet wird.” But according to Schmid the text may be pseudo-religious as well. 12 The phrase parā ḫandandatar has been often been the subject of modern studies, see, among others Götze 1925, 52–55; Cancik 1976, 44–46; Mouton 2007. 13 On Šawoška and her different hypostases in Anatolia see Wegner 1981; Beckman 1998; 2014; Miller 2008; and most recently Allen 2015. On the history of the goddess and other goddesses in Šamuḫa see among others, Lebrun 1976; Miller 2004, 385–387; Klinger 2010; Beckman 2012 and now Soysal 2019. 14 KUB 1.1 I 5–8, Otten 1981, 4–5. 15 Otten 1981, 28–31, iv 71–89; van den Hout 1998, 62. 16 As suggested in an often-cited article by Imparati 1995. 10

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cially from claims by the former owners of the land. 17 However, as correctly shown by Schmid, the cult foundation for Šawoška of Šamuḫa was in fact already regulated in the so called parallel text, KBo 6.29+, and reported only in retrospect in the Autobiography.18 KBo 6.29+ was evidently written prior to the Auto-biography, as the prince that was designated to the priesthood of Šawoška of Šamuḫa was not yet named in it. The endowment for the deity is also itemized in greater detail in the parallel text. Thus, the Autobiography is not primarily a deed of cult foundation, as suggested by several scholars.19 The fact that KBo 6.29+ clearly precedes the Autobiography provides yet another indication that the Autobiography may have been composed well after the events it depicts. A comparison between the Autobiography and the parallel text KBo 6.29+ also clearly illuminates the theological nature of the former, demonstrating once again the necessity to study Ḫattušili’s Autobiography in relation to other texts.20 The “parallel” composition KBo 6.29+ and various other texts often present different accounts of the events portrayed in the Autobiography, variations that are often significant and highly instructive.21 In this contribution, I suggest to take a closer look at the different accounts of what is certainly the most momentous event depicted in the Autobiography, Ḫattušili’s coup d’état, deposing his nephew, great king Urḫi-Tešub (Muršili III), from the Hittite throne. More specifically, I suggest to zoom in on the actual capture of Urḫi-Tešub in Šamuḫa, the town of Šawoška of Šamuḫa, as it is depicted in Ḫattušili’s Autobiography and in the “parallel” texts. It will be shown that even if not primarily “propagandistic” in nature, the depiction of Ḫattušili’s coup d’état is rich in hidden ideological undercurrents, which are highly illuminative once explored.22 Muršili III’s deposition by Ḫattušili was undoubtedly the most defining event depicted in the Autobiography and it certainly triggered its composition. This does not necessarily indicate that the Autobiography was primarily politically motivated, which, as suggested above, it was not. Ḫattušili’s successful overthrow of the reigning king, his nephew Urḫi-Tešub was the greatest act of Šawoška’s “divine plan” (parā ḫandandatar) which the composition aims to commemorate. It 17

Tudḫaliya instituted oracular consultations after his ascension to the throne regarding possible compensation for the deceased Arma-Tarḫunta for his confiscated estates (KBo 2.6+ ii 11’–19’ and 31’–41’, van den Hout 1998, 64, 194–217), suggesting that the confiscation remained controversial during his reign. 18 Schmid 1985. 19 See for example Archi 1971, 186. 20 Schmid 1985, 4. 21 As part of the project “The religious world of king Ḫattušili ‘III’ as reflected in his ‘Autobiography’ and in related texts,” funded by the Israel Science Foundation, I am currently preparing a new edition of the Autobiography and all the “related” texts, some of which were not edited since Götze’s editions. 22 See especially Sürenhagen 2018, 50–51 for a critical discussion on the applicability of the term propaganda for Hittite literature.

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follows that the magnitude of Šawoška’s “divine plan” was revealed to Ḫattušili only sometime during or after the capture of Urḫi-Tešub in Šamuḫa, the town of the deity.23 Consequently, the Autobiography must be read backwards, exploring how the author forms, as a result of religious retrospection, his earlier interactions with the deity and how he molds these encounters into an integral narrative, imagining, in retrospect, a lifelong “divine plan.” It was primarily a feeling of religious revelation, not merely pragmatical political or geographical considerations, that promoted the special bond between Ḫattušili and Šawoška of Šamuḫa.24 Certainly, Ḫattušili must have had extensive interactions with the goddess on earlier occasions, as the Autobiography and numerous other sources reveal, but Ḫattušili must have had numerous interactions with other persons or deities too, most notably with the Storm-god of Nerik, but they are almost completely left out from the Autobiography. It is hardly a coincidence that almost all of the subplots portrayed in the Autobiography eventually play a role at the final showdown in the town of Šamuḫa: Šawoška’s divine plan; Ḫattušili’s victories over the Kaška as a young prince and as a king of Ḫakpiš; his relationship with his brother, great king Muwatalli; the long-lasting conflict with Arma-Tarḫunta son of Zidā, the former governor of the Upper Land, and his son Šippaziti; the town of Šamuḫa itself, which allegedly was filled with malevolent spells by Arma-Tarḫunta and his family;25 even his marriage to Pudu-Ḫepa, the person chosen by the deity to receive the dream with the crucial message announcing Ḫattušili’s victory; all these are Chekhov’s guns that reappear in the events leading to the capture of Urḫi-Tešub. There are several other accounts of the altercation between Urḫi-Tešub and Ḫattušili, found in the texts listed under the catalogue number CTH 85. Some of these texts, lesser known and mostly badly preserved, seem to serve a political “propagandistic” function much more conspicuously than the Autobiography. One is KUB 21.37, a fragmentary loyalty oath authored by Ḫattušili addressed, similarly to the Autobiography, to “every man” (DUMU.NAM.LÚ.U19LU, KUB 21.37 obv. 7’). 26 The aim of the loyalty oath was primarily to secure the exclusive 23

See now Gilan 2021. Ḫattušili’s presence in Šamuḫa is now magnificently documented in the ongoing excavations in Kayalıpınar, identified as ancient Šamuḫa. See most recently Müller-Karpe and Müller-Karpe 2020. The cuneiform texts excavated in Kayalıpınar are edited in Rieken 2019. The choice of Šawoška of Šamuḫa as Ḫattušili’s personal deities has attracted considerable scholarly attention, primarily suggesting that the choice was politically or geographically motivated: Archi 1971, 195; Hutter-Braunsar 2004; Taracha 2006; 2009. 25 Otten 1981, 16–17. The same accusation is also found in KUB 21.17 i 10–11, edited by Ünal 1974b, 18–19: nam-ma-mu-kán MUNUSMEŠ UḪ7 EGIR UGU ti-eš-ki-it (11') [n]u-mu UḪ7-er “Furthermore, he kept setting witches on my back and they bewitched me.” See Miller 2010 on the historicity of this episode. 26 Edited by Archi 1971, 203–208; Ünal 1974b, 116–127; and Giorgieri 1995, 268–273. The most recent discussion is Giorgieri 2020, 159–161. 24

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succession of Ḫattušili’s “seed”—the lineal succession of his direct descendants—to the Hittite throne, excluding the “seed” of Urḫi-Tešub, and most importantly, excluding the “seed” of Muwatalli as well.27 The text recounts the history of Ḫattušili’s conflict with Urḫi-Tešub, justifying Ḫattušili’s conduct towards him, even adding information not available in the Autobiography. According to KUB 21.37 obv. 18’–36’, Urḫi-Tešub rectified anew, after his ascension to the throne, Mutawalli’s appointment of Ḫattušili as governor of the Upper Land. He also assured that the territories entrusted to him by Muwatalli were further his.28 Furthermore, Urḫi-Tešub swore an oath to that effect in the presence of the Moongod, an oath that he allegedly violated later on. The text ends with a fragmentary divine list of witnesses. The explanatory value of a fragmentary text such as KUB 21.37 is surely limited, but it is interesting to note that Šawoška of Šamuḫa is not mentioned at all in the preserved passages. The second is KUB 21.46 (CTH 254), an oath to the royal couple Ḫattušili and Pudu-Ḫepa and their descendants, of which only the first two paragraphs are partially preserved.29 The oath is a standard collective oath, attested also for other Hittite kings as well, to be sworn month by month by the entire population of Ḫattuša, witnessed by the “thousand gods” of the land. Thus, both loyalty oaths certainly provide effective channels of communication for the propagation of Ḫattušili’s side of the story, much more than his Autobiography does. Ḫattušili’s version of events is also found, in a much-abridged form, in KBo 14.45 (CTH 85.3), a fragment bearing a stamp seal impression of Ḫattušili and Pudu-Ḫepa, of which only ten lines are partially preserved. As already recognized by Otten, the preserved lines closely recall the Autobiography, practically giving an abridged version of events:30 “He took away provinces from me. […] he began to spread out from (his) [settlem]ents? and plotted with [evil intentions to destroy me]. So [I] began war against him. […]. I defeated him, caught him and [rem]oved [him from the throne]. But I did not kill him!”31 In CTH 81, the rationale for the altercation with Urḫi-Tešub is laid out in forty lines in the second half of the third column. The narrative end with a “declaration of war,” presented in reported speech.32 The narrative flow, however, is signifi27

KUB 21.37 obv. 7’–17’. If Archi’s reconstruction of the end of the line is indeed correct. 29 Edited by Miller 2013, 274–275. See also Giorgieri 2020, 159. 30 Otten 1962, 75. See also Balza 2012, 88–89. 31 KBo 14.45, CTH 85.3: 3’–7’: [ n]u-mu-kán ma-ni-ia-aḫ-ḫa-uš da-a-a[š …] (4') [… a-šeeš-š]a-an-na-az iš-pár-ru-wa-an da-a-[aš …] (5') [… ]-x-ni ša-an-aḫ-ta nu-uš-ši ku-ru-riia-aḫ-[ḫu-un] (6') […]x na-an-za-an tar-aḫ-ḫu-un na-an AṢ-BAT na-[…] (7') [ ar-ḫa -ti-itt]a-nu-nu-un ku-e-nu-un-ma-kán Ú-UL. 32 On declarations of war in the Ancient Near East see now Trimm 2017, 67–75 with ref28

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cantly interrupted by a rhetorical passage, apologetic in nature, clearly written in retrospect, in which Ḫattušili is pretending to respond to an anonymous hypothetical criticism, but in fact elucidates the reason why his coup d’état was not only successful but also rightful, establishing that it was rightful because it was successful: “In a manly way I declared to him: ‘You opposed me. You (are) a Great King, whereas I (am) king of the single fortress that you left me. So, come! Šawoška of Šamuḫa and the Storm-god of Nerik will judge us!’ When I wrote thus to Urḫi-Tešub—if someone speaks thus: ‘Why did you at first install him in kingship, but why do you now declare war on him in writing?’ (I will answer:) ‘If he had in no way opposed me, would they (i.e. the gods) really have made a Great King succumb to a petty king?’ Because he has now opposed me, the gods have made him succumb to me by (their) judgement—(§) When I declared him these words: ‘Come!’ …”33 Ḫattušili’s challenge to Urḫi-Tešub marks the beginning of the final and decisive confrontation between them, portrayed in column IV of the Autobiography. After receiving Ḫattušili’s message, Urḫi-Tešub had hurriedly fled to the town of Maraššantiya and went to the Upper Land, accompanied by Šippaziti, the son of Arma-Tarḫunta. Šippaziti was apparently ordered back from exile by Urḫi-Tešub in order to command the troops of the Upper Land in the nascent military confrontation. Whether a military confrontation eventually took place at all between Šippaziti and Ḫattušili is a matter of interpretation.34 The text continues with a report of a dream, occurring to Pudu-Ḫepa, in which Šawoška of Šamuḫa revealed to the future great queen that she will “run before” her husband—the phrase denoting divine support in military action, often appearing in Hittite royal annals—and that all of Ḫattuša will take his side. Šawoška also stated in that dream that she will elevate Ḫattušili and appoint him SANGA-priest of the Sun-goddess of Arinna, in other words, she will keep her word and make him a great king, demanding from Pudu-Ḫepa in return a special cultic status.35 Pudu-Ḫepa’s dream is followed by a second dream, whose function it was to demonstrate that the promise in the first dream, to turn all the lands of Ḫattuša onto Ḫattušili’s side, was now fulfilled. The second dream is a rare collective dream occurring to a number of lords, not specified by name, that, not unlike Ḫattušili himself, were maltreated by Urḫi-Tešub: erences to older studies. 33 KUB 1.1++ iii 68–iv 2, Otten 1981, 22–23, translation after van den Hout 1997, 203. 34 The problem is the right interpretation of the sentences in KUB 1.1 iv 5–6, Otten 1981, 22–23, and most specifically of the verb » marḫ- appearing at the end of line 6: “But because Šippaziti was evil against me, he did not m. against me.” Puhvel, HED M, 64, translates: “he was no match for me.” 35 KUB 1.1+ iv 7–16, Otten 1981, 24–25. See most recently Mouton 2019, 27–28.

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“Šawoška appeared in a dream to the Lords that Urḫi-Tešub had once chased out, (saying): ‘On your own you could do nothing (lit. you were weak), but (I), Šawoška, turned all the Lands of Ḫattuša onto the side of Ḫattušili.’ ”36 Finally, it was the goddess, not Ḫattušili, that captured Urḫi-Tešub: “There, too, I witnessed Šawoška’s divine plan in abundance: How she had left Urḫi-Tešub no other way whatsoever and locked him up in Šamuḫa in a sty, like a pig.37 The Kaškeans, who had been at war with me, backed me. All of Ḫattuša backed me.”38 It is only here, thirty lines after his declaration of war at the beginning of the column, that Ḫattušili is finally depicted as taking active action again: “Out of respect of my brother I did nothing (to him). I went back to Šamuḫa into the presence of Urḫi-Tešub and brought him down like a prisoner.”39 After his capture, the deposed great king was banished by his uncle to Syria, to the Land of Nuḫašše, while Ḫattušili seized the Hittite throne. Ironically, it seems that as a political exile, Urḫi-Tešub became a more dangerous opponent in Ḫattušili’s eyes than he was when he was great king.40 Urḫi-Tešub’s younger brother, Kuruntiya, proved to be a more formidable rival. But several questions are left unanswered: what exactly happened in Šamuḫa, leading to Urḫi-Tešub’s capture? Was the town put under siege? Was there a battle? According to the version offered in the Autobiography, Ḫattušili played no active role whatsoever in the deposition of Urḫi-Tešub. It was Šawoška of Šamuḫa, not the usurper, that, merely by the force of dream appearances, singlehandedly stripped Urḫi-Tešub of his last supporters. And it was the goddess, not Ḫattušili, that captured Urḫi-Tešub “in Šamuḫa in a sty, like a pig.” According to the narrative given in the Autobiography, Ḫattušili only arrived at Šamuḫa and encountered Urḫi-Tešub there after it was all over. We do not know what exactly happened in Šamuḫa, because the author chose to obfuscate the events rather than to portray them. The parallel text, KBo 6.29+ (CTH 85.1.A), written closer to the events depicted, offers a different account of Urḫi-Tešub’s downfall. As the text is lesser known, a translation of the whole passage is given here: “When he (Urḫi-Tešub) heard (the message sent by Ḫattušili) he fled from Maraššantiya and entered Šamuḫa. I, meanwhile, went after him. And as 36

KUB 1.1+ iv 19–23, Otten 1981, 24–25, translation after Mouton 2019, 28. See Starke 1985, 321–322 on the grammar of the phrase. 38 KUB 1.1+ iv 23–32, Otten 1981, 24–25. 39 Translation following CHD P, 29a. 40 On Urḫi-Tešub in exile see Singer 2006. 37

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soon as I arrived at Šuluppa, the lords and the men that were with him approached me and said to me: ‘We will go and kill him and we will bring the head before you.’ I did not allow them and they did not kill him. I personally went to Šamuḫa to him. Then, too, Šawoška of Šamuḫa, My Lady, showed her divine plan. At the time I caught up with him, a wooden fortification wall of 40 gipeššar came down and Šawoška of Šamuḫa, My Lady, caught him like a fish with a net, tied him up and handed him over to me. I brought him down. Then, too, out of [respect] of my brother, I took him [but I did noth]ing to him.”41 Compared to the Autobiography, the version given in the parallel text, KBo 6.29+, offers important variations. Here, no dreams led to the downfall of UrḫiTešub. Rather, the author relates the treacherous offer by Urḫi-Tešub’s minions at the town of Šuluppa, giving Ḫattušili the opportunity to appear magnanimous by rejecting the gruesome offer. According to this version of events, Ḫattušili arrived at Šamuḫa before the decisive occurrence—the collapse of a section of the fortification wall that apparently led to Urḫi-Tešub’s surrender. As in the Autobiography, here too it is the goddess, not Ḫattušili, that captures Urḫi-Tešub, this time like a fish with a net. More importantly, even though Šawoška is not depicted as actively toppling down the fortification wall herself, the collapse of the wall is attributed to her divine plan (parā ḫandandatar). Thus, her intervention was revealed through a physical omen; an extraordinary event that manifested itself in the real world and could have been witnessed by everyone present. Did the section of the fortification wall collapse as a result of a siege? Or was the collapse rather unexpected, and therefore interpreted as a divine omen by both Ḫattušili and UrḫiTešub, leading to the latter’s surrender? These questions must remain open as well. A comparable manifestation of a “divine plan” through a physical omen, deciding the fate of a decisive confrontation, was revealed to Ḫattušili’s father, king 41

KBo 6.29+ ii 18–39, Götze 1925, 50–51: (18) a-pa-a-aš-ma GIM-an iš-ta-ma-aš-ta na-aš-kán URUMa-ra-aš-ša-an-ti-ia-za ar-ḫa pár-aš-ta (20) na-aš I-NA URUŠA-MU-ḪA an-da-an pa-it (21) am-mu-uk-ma-aš-ši EGIR-an-da pa-a-u-un GIM-an-ma (22) I-NA URU ŠU-LU-UP-PA ar-ḫu-un nu-uš-ši ENMEŠ ku-i-e-eš (23) EGIR-aš-ša UNMEŠ-uš kat-ta-an e-še-er (24) na-at-mu me-na-aḫ-ḫa-an-da ú-e-er nu-mu me-mi-er (25) pa-a-i-u-e-ni-wa-raan-kán ku-en-nu-um-mi-e-ni (26) nu-wa-at-ta SAG.DU-an me-na-aḫ-ḫa-an-da (27) ú-tumme-e-ni na-aš Ú-UL tar-na-aḫ-ḫu-un (28) na-an-kán Ú-UL ku-en-nir nu-uš-ši I-NA URUŠAMU-ḪA (29) ú-ki-la kat-ta-an pa-a-u-un dIŠTAR URUŠA-MU-ḪA-ma-za (30) GAŠAN-IA apí-ia pa-ra-a ḫa-an-ta-tar ti-ik-ku-uš-ša-nu-ut (31) nu-uš-ši kat-ta-an EGIR-pa ku-e-da-ni me-e-ḫu-ni (32) ar-ḫu-un BÀD-eš-šar-ma ŠA IZ-ZI 40 gi-pé-eš-šar (33) kat-ta ú-it a-pu-uun-ma-kán dIŠTAR URUŠA-MU-ḪA GAŠAN-IA (34) KU6-un GIM-an ;ḫu-u-pa-la-za EGIRpa iš-tap-ta (35) na-an iš-ḫi-ia-at na-an-mu pa-ra-a pé-eš-ta (36) na-an-kán kat-ta *NA* úwa-te-nu-un (37) na-an-za-an-kán a-pí-ia-ia ŠA ŠEŠ-IA (38) [na-ak-ki-i]a-an-ni ḫa-an-da-aš da-aḫ-ḫu-un (39) [Ú-UL-ma-aš-ši ku-i]t-ki i-ia-nu-un. (19)

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Muršili II, in his third-year campaign against Uḫḫaziti, king of Arzawa.42 As in the Autobiography and in KBo 6.29+, divine intervention is proceeded here too by a declaration of war. But whereas in the annals, the subsequent conquest of the Land of Arzawa is credited to Muršili II, not to the “Mighty” Storm-god, who merely ran before him in battle, in both the Autobiography and the parallel text, KBo 6.29+, the subsequent capture of Urḫi-Tešub is attributed to the goddess, not to Ḫattušili. In KBo 14.45 (CTH 85.3), cited above, Urḫi-Tešub’s capture is reported by Ḫattušili in the first person preterite. In both the Autobiography and in KBo 6.29+, it is the goddess that captures Urḫi-Tešub. Moreover, humiliating similes are used in both compositions, comparing the captured Hittite great king to a pig in a sty, or to a fish quivering in a net, respectively. The unique use of the two similes suggests that there was apparently no attempt to hide the Schadenfreude at the downfall of Urḫi-Tešub. As keenly observed by many commentators on the Autobiography, the choice of narrative was intentional, clearly intended to distance Ḫattušili from the unlawful act of removing a reigning Hittite great king from office, framing his coup d’état as a just act of divine judgment, intentionally masquerading a political crime by ascribing to it an elevated religious meaning. However, the fact that we know so little about what really took place at Šamuḫa, may suggest that the depictions in the two texts, in the Autobiography and to a lesser extent also in KBo 6.29+ may have served another function: to conceal rather than to reveal what really happened. As far as both narratives allow any reconstruction of events, there was no real showdown between the reigning great king and his uncle. We cannot even be certain whether there was a siege or a battle at all. It seems that Urḫi-Tešub had to surrender after he was betrayed by his minions, perhaps even by his closest allies, and was left, stripped of his troops, exposed to his fate, outside of his capital. For all we know, the “pig in a sty” simile could have been more realistic than often assumed—bringing to mind, for example, the capture of Saddam Hussein, who was found hidden in a “spider hole” in 42

The episode is narrated in both historical works of Muršili II. It is better preserved in the “Ten Year Annals” (KBo 3.4+ ii 7–22, edited by Götze 1933, 44–49; translation after Beal 2000, 85 with minor alterations): “From Palḫuišša I came back to Ḫattuša. I set my infantry and horse-troops in motion and in that same year I went against Arzawa. I sent a messenger to Uḫḫaziti. I wrote to him as follows: ‘Because I asked you to return my subjects who came to you and you did not give them back and you kept calling me a child and you kept belittling me. Now, come, we will fight. Let the Storm-god, my lord, decide our lawsuit.’ When I had gone and when I had arrived in Lawaša, the ‘Mighty’ Storm-god, my lord, showed his divine plan. He shot a lightning bolt. My troops saw the lightning bolt and the Land of Arzawa saw it. The lightning bolt went and struck Arzawa. It struck Apaša, the city of Uḫḫaziti. It set Uḫḫaziti on his knees and he became ill. As Uḫḫaziti became ill, he did not subsequently come against me for battle.” The comprehensive Annals KUB 14.15 ii 2–16, Götze 1933, 46–49 also depict the extraordinary event, with some variations. On the two episodes see Gilan 2019.

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a farm compound near the town of Tikrit in December 2003. Thus, the capture of Urḫi-Tešub in Šamuḫa may have been—we simply do not know—a nightmare dreaded by any ruler. Urḫi-Tešub’s capture could have been therefore highly unsettling for his usurper as well. If the gods, and most notably the Sun-goddess of Arinna, whose protégé the Hittite great king was, allowed this to happen to UrḫiTešub, what guarantee does Ḫattušili have that the same will not befall him, or his son and successor, Tudḫaliya IV? It was perhaps that kind of fear that motivated Ḫattušili, as a great king, to author his unique “Prayer of Exculpation to the Sungoddess of Arinna” (CTH 383.1), exonerating himself from a plethora of possible transgressions against the deity, the goddess of Hittite great kings, transgressions that took place during the reign of his father, Muršili II, the reign of his brother Muwatalli II, and during the relatively short reign of his nephew Urḫi-Tešub.43 Vague as it is, the portrayal of Urḫi-Tešub/Muršili III’s removal from the throne is relatively copious compared to the portrayal of other usurpations in Hittite literature, especially if the author is the usurper himself. The historical introduction of the Telipinu-Text, composed in the first quarter of the 15th Century BC, portrays the history of the Old Hittite kingdom, beginning with a formulaic description of the reigns of Labarna and Ḫattušili I, the founding fathers of the Old Hittite Kingdom. It continues with the reign of Muršili I, whose military achievements, the conquests of Aleppo and of Babylon, mark the culmination of the Old Hittite Kingdom. Muršili was subsequently murdered by Ḫantili I, who was married to Muršili’s sister and by Zidanta I, Ḫantili’s son in law. The narrative continues to portray a history of failure, conspiracy and murder within the Hittite royal family that characterized the reigns of Ḫantili, Zidanta, Ammuna, and Ḫuzziya I; the misfortunes of these reigns were considered as the divine punishment for the “original sin” of the Old Kingdom—the murder of Muršili. The strife within the royal family continued well into Telipinu’s own reign, causing the death of his wife Ištapariya and his son Amunna, inducing Telipinu, according to his own narrative, to summon the assembly in Ḫattuša and issue a series of reforms, most notably regulating the succession to the Hittite throne. The circumstances that led to Telipinu’s enthronement are portrayed in sections §21–§24 of the text. The author is careful to prove Telipinu’s eligibility to the throne—he was married to a first-ranking princess—and to demonstrate his clemency towards Ḫuzziya and his family, contrastable to Ḫattušili’s mild handling of Urḫi-Tešub.44 However, how Telipinu actually became king is not revealed: 43

For CTH 383.1 see most recently Daues and Rieken 2018, 420–431. See also KUB 21.16 (CTH 84.1), concerning the neglect of the festival of invocation of Ḫebat of Kummanni by Šuppiluliuma. It was authored during the reign of Ḫattušili “III,” perhaps as a historical introduction to a composition pertaining to his own restoration of the festival. The text also documents an interest in cultic failings that occurred during Šuppiluliuma’s reign. See now Gilan forthcoming b. 44 See already Hoffner 1975 for such a comparison.

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“… And when also Ammuna died (lit. became a god), Zuru too, the chief of the guardsmen, secretly sent in those same days a member of his family, his son, Taḫurwaili, a golden-spear man and he single-handedly killed the family of Titti(ya) with his sons. (§) He also sent Taruḫšu, a runner, and he killed Ḫantili with his sons. So now Ḫuzziya ruled as king. Telipinu had Ištapariya, a first-ranking, as his wife. Ḫuzziya would have had them killed, but the plan became known and Telipinu banished them. (§) His five brothers—he assigned estates to them: ‘They should go and stay there! Let them eat (and) drink! No [one] may inflict harm to them!’ I declare: ‘They have done evil to me but I will not do evil to them.’ (§) When I, Telipinu, sat on the throne of my father, I went on a campaign to Ḫaššuwa and I destroyed Ḫaššuwa …”45 Closer to the time of Ḫattušili “III,” his grandfather, the great conqueror Šuppiluliuma, was apparently involved in the murder of Tudḫaliya “the Younger” and became great king in his place. The episode is only mentioned in one Hittite composition, in Muršili’s “first” plague prayer, addressed to the assembly of the gods (CTH 378.I).46 As noted by Klinger, not without irony, the murder of Tudḫaliya only came up during a long and devastating plague, when the murder was indicated as a possible cause for the continuation of the epidemic by divination:47 “O gods, [my] lords! A plague broke out in Ḫattuša. Ḫattuša has been severely damaged by the plague and it [is being] severely pun[ished]. This is the twentieth year! And since dying continues in [Ḫattuša] on a large scale, the affair of Tudḫaliya the Younger, son of Tudḫali[ya], started to weigh on [m]e. I conducted an oracle investigation through a deity [and] the affair of Tudḫaliya was also confirmed by the deity. Since for Ḫattuša Tudḫ[aliya] the Younger was their lord, [Ḫatt]uša’s princes, lords, overseer(s) of provincial troops, dignitaries, [troops] and chariots, everybody had sworn an oath to him. My father too has sworn an oath to him. (§) Later, however, [my f]ather harassed Tudḫaliya but the [La]nd of Ḫattuša: the [princes, the lord]s, the overseer(s) of provincial troops, the dignitaries, [join]ed my father and they went rogue on Tudḫaliya, their lord of the oath, and they killed him. They captured his brothers Pirwa and […], who continued to [support] him, and sent them to Alašiya. And [since Tudḫaliya the Younger] was their lord; they were to him his underlings of the oath. They

45

KBo 3.1+ ii 4–17, edited by Hoffmann 1984; for these sections see Goedegebuure 2006, 231 and Gilan 2015, 145–146. 46 Edited most recently by Rieken et al. 2016. See now also Daues and Rieken 2018, 368– 377. Recent translations include Singer 2002, 61–64 and van den Hout 2006, 259–263. 47 Klinger 2007, 52–53. See also in Klinger 2012.

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transgressed yo[ur] oath, my lords, [and] killed Tudḫaliya. § [(You), O g]ods, m]y lords, have protected my father.”48 Šuppiluliuma’s involvement in the murder of his brother, Tudḫaliya “the Younger”, was brought up by bis son, great king Muršili II, as a possible cause for the continuation of the plague. Šuppiluliuma and his associates, representing the entire Land of “Ḫattuša,” deposed and murdered Tudḫaliya “the Younger,” thus transgressing the oath they swore to him. But Muršili is visibly uneasy to acknowledge Šuppiluliuma’s guilt and often strives to distinguish between Šuppiluliuma’s involvement in the murder and that of the Land of Ḫattuša, represented by the different officials listed after him. Whereas Šuppiluliuma “harassed” the young Tudḫaliya, it was the entire Land of Ḫattuša that joined his cause, eventually killing Tudḫaliya and banishing into exile his supporters. In what way Šuppiluliuma himself was involved in the murder plot is not clarified and the ambiguity is probably intended. Later on in the prayer another distinction is drawn between Šuppiluliuma and the Land of Ḫattuša. While Šuppiluliuma, and Muršili after him, both performed themselves a “ritual of bloodshed” because of the murder, the Land of Ḫattuša neglected to perform it. However, as the following sections of the prayer reveal, Muršili may have had another reason to distinguish between his father and the Land of Ḫattuša: If the Land of Ḫattuša did not yet perform rituals of compensation for the transgression of the oath, one could argue before the gods that the great suffering caused by the epidemic in Ḫattuša constituted a worthy compensation, or that such rituals could be performed, thus opening a vista of hope that something could be done to halt the epidemic. In his “First” plague prayer, addressed to the assembly of the gods, king Muršili grappled with several theological questions such as collective culpability and the concept of paternal sins imposed on the sons. However, as the last sentence in the passage cited above hints, Muršili also had to come to terms with a particular theological problem posed by Šuppiluliuma’s reign. The gods did not merely protect Šuppiluliuma and spared him during his life-time from retribution for his involvement in the murder of Tudḫaliya “the Younger.” Šuppiluliuma even became an outstanding king, not only reconquering lost Hittite territories but successfully conquering and securing new ones, eventually forging an empire in Syria. Šuppiluliuma could not have achieve all that without divine support. But it was precisely Šuppiluliuma’s pinnacle achievement of all things that also brought with it a catastrophe in the magnitude of the epidemic. Even if Šuppiluliuma’s astounding military successes were considered by his contemporaries as consistent with the will of the gods, the outbreak of the epidemic during his reign 48

CTH 378.1, §§2–3. The translation follows the new edition: E. Rieken et al. 2016; see also Daues and Rieken 2018, 368–377, including new readings suggested by Groddek 2009, 99–106. Earlier translations of these passages, such as Singer 2002, 61–62 and van den Hout 2006, are now obsolete.

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showed that Šuppiluliuma must have angered the gods in some ways after all. Thus, the will of the gods could ultimately manifest itself only in hindsight; setbacks warrant new explanations in retrospect. Returning to Ḫattušili’s coup d’état, it too was interpreted differently, and negatively, by the next generation, most famously in the “Bronze Tablet.” But as the apologetic passages from the Autobiography cited above illustrate, Ḫattušili had all the reasons to believe that his successful coup must have been sanctioned by the gods precisely because it turned out to be successful, and because he was guided by a deity. And if the description of the events leading to Urḫi-Tešub’s capture in Šamuḫa, especially in KBo 6.29+, are taken at face value, his removal from the throne was a relatively effortless affair. Urḫi-Tešub’s capture, however, must have also been highly unsettling for the usurper, as the vague depiction of the event in the Autobiography may suggest. And learning from the example set by his grandfather, the great Šuppiluliuma, Ḫattušili must have also realized that even a highly successful king could have angered the gods in some ways, ways which were perhaps not apparent to his contemporaries but only revealed themselves in hindsight later on. It was thus primarily religious awe that may have motivated the authors of both KBo 6.29+ and of the more theological Autobiography to attribute the capture of Urḫi-Tešub’s in Šamuḫa solely to the deity. But it was fear, rather than guilt, that promoted them to conceal, rather than to portray, what actually happened in Šamuḫa. In Hittite Anatolia it was apparently easier to mount a coup d’état and seize the throne than to write about it. Bibliography Allen, S. L. 2015. The Splintered Divine: A Study of Ištar, Baal, and Yahweh Divine Names and Divine Multiplicity in the Ancient Near East (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 5), Boston / Berlin / Munich: de Gruyter. Alparslan, M. 2010: “Das Land Hakmiš: Geschichte, Lokalisation und politische Bedeutung einer hethitischen Metropole”, in: A. Süel (ed.), Acts of the VIIth International Congress of Hittitology, Çorum 25–31 August 2008, Ankara: Baski Anit Matbaa, 29–44. Archi, A. 1971. “The Propaganda of Ḫattušiliš III”, Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici 14, 185–215. Balza, M. E. 2012. “Sealed Tablets from Hattuša”, in: M. E. Balza / M. Giorgieri / C. Mora (eds), Archivi, depositi, magazzini presso gli Ittiti / Archives, Depots and Storehouses in the Hittite World. Proceedings of the Workshop held at Pavia, June 18, 2009 (Studia Mediterranea 23), Genoa: Italian University Press, 77–110. Beal, R. H. 2000. “The Ten-Year Annals of Muršili II.”, in: W. W. Hallo / K. L. Younger (eds), The Context of Scripture. Volume 2, Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World, Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill, 82–90.

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Beckman, G. 1998. “Ištar of Nineveh Reconsidered”, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 50, 1–10. Beckman, G. 2012. “An Irate Goddess (CTH 710)”, in: B. Aghaei / M. R. Ghanoonparvar (eds), Iranian Languages and Culture: Essays in Honor of Gernot Ludwig Windfuhr, Costa Mesa California: Mazda Publishers, 1–7. Beckman, G. 2014. The Babilili-Ritual from Hattusa (CTH 718) (Mesopotamian Civilizations 19), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Beckman, G. 2016. “Hattušili III between Gods and Men”, in: S. Erkut / Ö. Sir Gavaz (eds), Studies in Honour of Ahmet Ünal Armağanı, Istanbul: Arkeoloji ve Sanat Yayınları, 69–74. Bilgin, T. 2018. Officials and Administration in the Hittite World (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 21), Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter. Bryce, T. 2005. The Kingdom of the Hittites, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cancik, H. 1976. Grundzüge der hethitischen und alttestamentarischen Geschichtsschreibung, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Daues, A. / Rieken, E. 2018. Das persönliche Gebet bei den Hethitern. Eine textlinguistische Untersuchung (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 63), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Gilan, A. 2015. Formen und Inhalte althethitischer historischer Literatur (Texte der Hethiter 29), Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Gilan, A. 2019. “‘Now See How the Mighty Storm-God My Lord is Running Before Me’: Revelation of Divine Power in Hittite Historiography”, in: S. Anthonioz / A. Mouton / D. Petit (eds), When Gods Speak to Men: Divine Speech according to Textual Sources in the Ancient Mediterranean Basin (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 289), Leuven: Peeters, 33–48. Gilan, A. 2021. “‘As a priest I offered to the Goddess by Myself’: The Hittite Kings as Priests”, Archiv für Orientforschung 54, 208–215. Gilan, A. forthcoming b. “The Šuppiluliuma Conundrum: A Hittite King between Religious Piety and Political Performance”, in: K. R. Morgan (ed), Pomp, Circumstance, and the Performance of Politics: Acting ‘Politically Correct’ in the Ancient World (Oriental Institute Seminar 13), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Giorgieri, M. 1995. I testi ittiti di giuramento, PhD Thesis, Università di Firenze. Giorgieri, M. 2020. “The Dynastic Crisis of the Hittite Royal Family in the Late Empire Period: Evidence from the Loyalty Oaths”, in: S. de Martino / E. Devecchi (eds), Anatolia Between the 13th and the 12th Century BCE (Eothen 23), Firenze: LoGisma, 155–175. Goedegebuure, P. M. 2006. “The Proclamation of Telipinu”, in: M. W. Chavalas (ed.), The Ancient Near East. Historical Sources in Translation, Malden: Blackwell, 228–235.

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Götze, A. 1925. Ḫattušiliš. Der Bericht über seine Thronbesteigung nebst den Paralleltexten (Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Aegyptischen Gesellschaft 30), Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Götze, A. 1930. Neue Bruchstücke zum großen Text des Hattušiliš und den Paralleltexten (Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Ägyptischen Gesellschaft 34.2), Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Götze, A. 1933. Die Annalen des Muršiliš (Mitteilungen der VorderasiatischÄgyptischen Gesellschaft 38), Berlin / Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Groddek, D. 2009. “Anfang und Ende des Ersten Pestgebetes Muršilis II.” Res Antiquae 6, 93–110. Hoffmann, I. 1984. Der Erlass Telipinus (Texte der Hethiter 11), Heidelberg: Carl Universitätsverlag Winter. Hoffner, H. A. Jr. 1975. “Propaganda and Political Justification in Hittite Historiography”, in: H. Goedicke / J. M. Roberts (eds), Unity and Diversity. Essays in the History, Literature and Religion of the Ancient Near East, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 49–62. Houwink Ten Cate, Ph. H. J. 1992. “The Bronze Tablet of Tudhaliyas IV and its Geographical and Historical Relations”, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie 82, 233–270. Hutter-Braunsar, S. 2004. “‚Und Šauška, meine Herrin, nahm mich bei der Hand‘. Staatsgottheiten und persönliche Gottheiten Ḫattušilis III”, in: M. Hutter / S. Hutter-Braunsar (eds), Offizielle Religion, lokale Kulte und individuelle Religiosität. Akten des religionsgeschichtlichen Symposiums „Kleinasien und angrenzende Gebiete vom Beginn des 2. bis zur Mitte des 1. Jahrtausends v. Chr.” (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 318), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 259–268. Imparati, F. 1995. “Apology of Ḫattušili III or Designation of His Successor?” in: Th. P. J. van den Hout / J. de Roos (eds), Studio historiae ardens: Ancient Near Eastern Studies Presented to Philo H. J. Houwink ten Cate on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, (Publications de l’Institut historique-archeologique neerlandais de Stamboul 74), Leiden: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul, 143–158. Klengel, H. 1999. Geschichte des hethitischen Reiches, New York / Leiden: Brill. Klinger, J. 2007. Die Hethiter, München: Beck. Klinger, J. 2012. “Krankheit und Krieg im Spannungsfeld zwischen mythischer und realer Katastrophe”, in: A. Berlejung (ed.), Disaster und Relief Management – Katastrophen und ihre Bewältigung (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 81), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012, 471–497. Klinger, J. 2010. “Der Kult der Ištar von Šamuḫa in Mittelhethitischer Zeit”, in: J. Klinger / E. Rieken / C. Rüster / E. Neu (eds), Investigationes Anatolicae: Gedenkschrift für Erich Neu (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 52), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 153–167.

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Knapp, A. 2015. Royal Apologetic in the Ancient Near East, Atlanta: SBL Press. Lebrun, R. 1976. Samuha, Foyer Religieux de l’Empire Hittite, Louvain-laNeuve: Université Catholique de Louvain, Institut Orientaliste. Maul, S. M. 1998. “Altorientalische Tatenberichte mit (auto)biographischen Zügen”, in: F. Paschoud / W. W. Ehlers (eds), La biographie antique (Entretiens sur l’Antiquité Classique 44), Vandoeuvres, Genève: Foundation Hardt, 1–32. Miller, J. L. 2004. Studies in the Origins, Development and Interpretation of the Kizzuwatna Rituals (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 46), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Miller, J. L. 2008. “Setting up the Goddess of the Night Separately”, in: B. J. Collins / M. R. Bachvarova / I. Rutherford (eds), Anatolian Interfaces: Hittites, Greeks and their Neighbors. Proceedings of an International Conference on Cross-Cultural Interaction, September 17–19, 2004, Emory University, Atlanta, GA, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 67–72. Miller, J. L. 2010. “Practice and Perception of Black Magic among the Hittites”, Altorientalische Forschungen 37, 167–185. Miller, J. L. 2013. Royal Hittite Instructions and Related Administrative Texts (Writings from the Ancient World 31), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Miller, J. L. 2020. “Are there Signs of the Decline of the Late Hittite State in the Textual Documentation from Hattuša?”, in: S. de Martino / E. Devecchi (eds), Anatolia Between the 13th and the 12th Century BCE (Eothen 23), Firenze: LoGisma, 237–255. Mouton, A. 2007. “Sur la Différenciation Entre Rêve et Parā Handandatar dans les Textes Hittites”, in: M. Doğan-Alparslan / M. Alparslan / H. Peker (eds), Belkıs Dinçol ve Ali Dinçol’a Armağan = Vita: Festschrift in Honor of Belkıs Dinçol and Ali Dinçol, Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 523–531. Mouton, A. 2019. “Divine Speech in Hittite Dreams”, in: S. Anthonioz / A. Mouton / D. Petit (eds), When Gods Speak to Men: Divine Speech according to Textual Sources in the Ancient Mediterranean Basin (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 289), Leuven: Peeters, 21–32. Müller-Karpe, A. / Müller-Karpe, V. 2020. “Untersuchungen in Kayalıpınar 2019”, Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft zu Berlin 152, 191– 236. Otten, H. 1962. “Die Textfunde der Campagnen 1958 und 1959”, Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft zu Berlin 93, 75–77. Otten, H. 1981. Die Apologie Hattusilis III. Das Bild der Überlieferung (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 24), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Pallavidini, M. 2017. “Ḫakpiš, la prima “Sekundogenitur” di Ḫatti? Considerazioni sul rapporto giuridico di Ḫattušili con Muwatalli e Urḫi-Teššup sulla base di CTH 81”, Res Antiquae 14, 205–220. Parker, V. 1998. “Reflexions on the Career of Ḫattušiliš III until the Time of this Coup d’État”, Altorientalische Forschungen 25, 269–290.

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Rieken, E. 2019. Keilschrifttafeln aus Kayalıpınar 1. Textfunde aus den Jahren 1999–2017 (Documenta Antiqua Asiae Minoris 1), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Schmid, G. 1985. Religiöse Geschichtsdeutung und politische Propaganda im Großen Text des Hattušiliš III, Zeitschrift für Religions- Und Geistesgeschichte 37, 1–21. Singer, I. 2002. Hittite Prayers (Writings from the Ancient World 11), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Singer, I. 2006. “The Urḫi-Teššub affair in the Hittite-Egyptian correspondence”, in: Th. van den Hout (ed.), The Life and Times of Ḫattŭsili III and Tutḫaliya IV: Proceedings of a Symposium Held in Honour of J. de Roos, 12–13 December 2003 (Uitgaven van het Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten te Leiden 103), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut Voor Het Nabije Oosten, 27–38. Singer, I. 2011. “Syria after the Battle of Qadesh”, in: I. Singer (ed.), The Calm before the Storm. Selected Writings of Itamar Singer on the End of the Late Bronze Age in Anatolia and the Levant (Writings from the Ancient World Supplements), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 3–17. Soysal, O. 2019. “Zur Chronologie der Götterkreise von Šamuḫa und die ‚alte Göttin‘ in Kayalıpınar”, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 109, 101–109. Starke, F. 1985. Die keilschrift-luwischen Texte in Umschrift (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 30), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Sürenhagen, D. 2018. “Die ‚Apologie‘ Hattusilis III. Überlegungen zur Gattungszugehörigkeit und Funktion eines Umstrittenen Textes”, in: H. Roeder (ed.), Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen II. Eine Archäologie der narrativen Sinnbildung (Ägyptologie und Kulturwissenschaft 2), Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 47–58. Tadmor, H. 1983. “Autobiographical Apology in the Royal Assyrian Literature”, in: H. Tadmor / M. Weinfeld (eds), History, Historiography and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures, Jerusalem: Brill, 36–57. Taracha, P. 2006. “Zur Entwicklung des offiziellen Pantheons im staats- und dynastischen Kult der hethitischen Grossreichzeit”, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 5, 89–106. Taracha, P. 2009. “Why Ḫattušili Chose the Storm-god of Nerik and Šauška of Šamuḫa”, in: O. Drewnowska-Rymarz (ed.), Here and There Across the Ancient Near East. Studies in Honour of Krystyna Lyczkowska, Warsaw: Agade, 261–270. Ünal, A. 1974a. Ḫattušili III. Teil I, Band I: Historischer Abriss (Texte der Hethiter 3), Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Ünal, A. 1974b. Ḫattušili III. Teil I, Band II: Quellen und Indices (Texte der Hethiter 4), Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Van den Hout, T. 1997. “Apology of Ḫattušili III (1.77)”, in: W. W. Hallo / K. L. Younger Jr. (eds), The Context of Scripture, Volume One: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, Leiden / New York / Köln: Brill, 199–204.

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Van den Hout, T. 1998. The Purity of Kingship. An Edition of CTH 569 and Related Hittite Oracle Inquiries of Tuthaliya IV (Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui 25), Boston / Köln / Leiden: Brill. Van den Hout, T. 2006. “Muršili II’s Plague Prayers”, in: M. Chavalas (ed.), The Ancient Near East: Historical Sources in Translation, Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 259–66. Wegner, I. 1981. Gestalt und Kult der Ištar-Šawuška in Kleinasien (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 36, Hurritologische Studien 3), Kevelaer: Butzon und Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.

Hittite Funeral Traditions and Afterlife Beliefs in the Context of Hittite Cosmology Levan Gordeziani / Irene Tatišvili Ivane Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University

Abstract: According to the Hittites, death was an inevitable and hopeless prospect they tried to postpone or avoid by various means: prayers and repentance of sins, vows to the gods, so-called substitution rituals, etc. The surviving texts, which belong to different times and/or ethno-cultural circles, do not reflect a unified, orderly system of ideas about the afterlife. Both the texts and the archaeological material confirm the coexistence of various burial traditions, inhumation and cremation in particular. Beliefs about the death of the king, his family members and their afterlife should have been an integral part of the royal ideology; consequently, a more or less arranged system might still be expected. However, here too may we notice the inconsistencies, ambiguities, or elements of different concepts, that can be explained by the meeting of two cosmological systems. The emergence of cremation could be viewed in this context. Keywords: Hittite funeral traditions; afterlife beliefs; cosmology; royal ideology; cremation.

Afterlife Beliefs and Burial Customs “Life is bound up with death and death is bound up with life. A human does not live forever. The days of his life are counted. Even if a human lived for ever, and evil sickness of men were to be present, would it not be grievance for him?”1 This sentence from the prayer of the Hittite prince Kantuzzili probably reflects fear of the uncertainty that awaited man after death, perhaps more so than does Hamlet’s philosophical contemplation.2

1

Translation of the text CTH 373 by Singer (2002, 32); cf. Schwemer 2015, 6, 8: (KUB 30.10 obv. 20’) ḫu-iš-wa-tar-ma-pa an-da ḫi-in-ga-ni ḫa-mi-in-kán ḫi-in-ga-na-ma-pa anda ḫu-iš-wa-an-ni-ia ḫa-mi-in-kán (21’) da-an-du-ki-iš-na-ša DUMU-aš uk-tu-u-ri na-atta ḫu-⸢iš-wa⸣-an-za ḫu-iš-wa-an-na-aš UDḫi.a-ŠU kap-pu-u-an-te-eš (22’) ma-a-am-ma-an da-an-du-ki-iš-na-ša DUMU-aš uk-tu-u-ri ⸢ḫu⸣-[i]š-wa-an-za e-eš-ta ma-na-aš-ta ma-aan (23’) [a]n-tu-wa-aḫ-ḫa-aš i-da-a-lu-wa i-na-an ar-ta ma-na-at-ši na-at-ta kat-ta-watar: “Life is bound up with death for me, and death is bound up with life for me. A mortal does not live forever, the days of his life are counted. If a mortal were to live forever, (even) if also the evils befalling man, illness, were to remain, it would not be a grievance for him.” See also Daues and Riecken 2018, 337. 2 Cf. Singer 2002, 31; Klinger 2012, 59; Schwemer 2015, 11.

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The Hittites seemed to have expected nothing good from imminent death3 and, therefore, tried to postpone or avoid it by various means: prayers and repentance of sins, the vows to the gods, the so-called substitution rituals, etc.4 But what, exactly, did the Hittite believe happens to a person after death? A clear answer to this question has not been found in the surviving Hittite texts.5 This is unsurprising, as the few, relevant texts belong to different epochs or ethnocultural circles. Indeed, they may not even reflect a single, orderly system of ideas on the issue.6 What is more or less common to these texts and bears a striking resemblance to the religious beliefs of many peoples of the ancient world can be summed up as follows: “The living human was conceived as conjunction of the body (tuekka, NÍ.TE) and a spiritual component (ištanza(n)-, ZI). This ištanza(n)- was not only the vital spirit, but also the seat of sentiment and thought. It defined a complex semantic field: ‘spirit, soul, will, mind’.”7 It is mostly interpreted or translated as “soul”. It was believed that, after death, the “soul” leaves the body and continues an independent existence.8 When discussing the fate of the soul of the deceased, we shall distinguish between two aspects: 1. Where does the soul go, and under what conditions does it find itself in the netherworld? 2. What is the relation of the soul of the dead to the living? This last question, discussed below, is pertinent to everyone. However, for the one who has diced with death, whether on the battlefield or due to illness and old age, this question regarding the afterlife journey and the destination of the soul becomes ever more crucial. In this respect, like the Mesopotamians and the Hellenes,9 the Hittites had no favourable prospects. 3

Hoffner 1987, 54: It is even possible that one of the two words for “death”, ḫinkan, is derived from the verb ḫink- which means “to give, present, allot(?)”; thus, death is “that which has been granted to all men as their lot” (see also Dardano 2020, 41–54). The Hittites distinguished between “good” and “bad death” mostly by the lifetime that was granted to a human (Hutter 2013, 169; Kapelus 2010b). 4 See van den Hout 1994, 40–41. 5 For a review of texts dealing with death and burial see, for example, Otten 1958, 8–9. 6 See, for example, Haas 1976, 197. 7 Archi 2007b, 183–184. For the concept of the soul see also Otten 1958, 122–124; Kapelus 2010a. 8 Van den Hout 2014, 76. 9 Of course, afterlife beliefs in Mesopotamia or Greece did not remain unchanged over millennia. The idea of a hopeless death could have been gradually intensified in Mesopotamia, and by the end of the third millennium BC the attitude towards the death had changed. If in earlier texts the reward for devotion seems to be the prolongation of the life,

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The myth of Telipinu describes the netherworld as follows: “The gatekeeper opened the seven doors. He drew back the seven bars. Down in the Dark Earth stand bronze palḫi-vessels. Their lids are of lead. Their latches are of iron. That which goes into them doesn’t come up again; it perishes therein.”10 Other texts represent the netherworld differently:11 in the Hittite funerary ritual it is described as a meadow; in the Hurro-Hittite Myth of Teššob’s visit to his sister Allani13 the netherworld looks like a city centred around a palace. The passage below might describe the existence of the spirits of the dead there: 12

“The evil tenawas [holds(?) him(?), so that] he does not recognize [them]. One doesn’t recognize the other. Sisters having the same mother do [not] recognize (each other). Brothers having the same father do [not] recognize (each other). A mother does [not] recognize [her] own child. [A child] does [not] recognize [its own] mother … does [not] recognize … does [not] recognize [her] own … From a fine table they do not eat. From a fine stool they do not eat. From a fine cup they do not drink. They do not eat good food. They do not drink my good drink. They eat bits of mud. They drink waste waters(?) …”14 In other texts we also find a reference to a slightly happier perspective. However, the question remains, whether this applies only to the royal family15 or also to the “mere mortal”16 as well, and, if the latter is the case, at what cost they could

later only a few heroes, Ur-namma and Gilgameš, were rewarded in afterlife (Katz 2014, 71). Like Gilgameš, who feared death and aspired to immortality, the prominent hero of the Greek world, Achilles would rather be the last among the living than to reign over the souls in the netherworld (Homer, Odyssey 11.489–490; see, for example, Gordeziani 2012, 341). 10 KUB 17.10 iv 14–17. Translation by Hoffner 1990, 17. 11 Haas 1995, 2021–2023; Wilhelm 2009, 69. 12 CTH 450, editions: Otten 1958; Kassian et al. 2002. Most if not all copies are in NS and dated to the 13th century BC. However, they go back to much older originals and Hattian and Hurrian influences could be attested (Kassian et al. 2002, 11–13). 13 KBo 32.13 (CTH 789); for the edition see Neu 1996. 14 KBo 22.178+ KUB 48.109 ii 2–10, iii 1–7. Translation by Hoffner 1990, 33. 15 See, for example, Haas 2000, 53; van den Hout 2014, 76; cf. Archi 2007b, 190. 16 It is debatable whether there is a “mere mortal” in the texts. For a review of texts dealing with death and burial see, for example, Otten 1958, 8–9. As for the terms for “mortal”, “human”, “son of mankind” (danduki, DUMU.LÚ.U19.LU, DUMU NAM.(LÚ.)U19.LU, DUMU NAM.LÚ.U19.LU-UT-TI, LÚ NAM.U19.LU, LÚ NAM.U19.LU-UT-TI), they may serve to show the difference between gods and humans rather than to designate a simple commoner (Singer 2002, 30; Schwemer 2015, 29–30; cf. Lebrun 1980, 419).

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have hoped for it: performing special magical rituals,17 meeting high moral standards, or rendering faithful service to the gods / kings. We think that here, as in many other cases, “intentional ambiguity”18 is used in Hittite texts. The reader or listener has hope but is not given precise instructions or, moreover, a guarantee. Like many other peoples, the Hittites also believed that the spirits of the dead can have a profound effect on the living. The souls of ancestors or loved ones can protect and support the living if the latter take proper care of them—remember them, perform the appropriate rituals, and offer sacrifices.19 Under certain conditions, the soul of the dead could become dangerous to humans.20 Therefore, it is very important that the living spare no effort to ensure that the soul of the deceased arrives at its “destination” in a timely and peaceful manner,21 regardless of the conditions the soul faces there. The living ought not violate the divine order, and for that reason must perform the proper rituals and burial rites.22 Only scarce archaeological and textual evidence have survived to inform our current study of these customs. “Wo sind die Toten der Hethiter?”—the title of Jürgen Seeher’s article23—well reflects one of the most intriguing puzzles of Hittite archaeology. Compared to other historical periods in Anatolia, very few tombs have survived from the time of the Hittite kingdom, most being from the period of the Old Kingdom.24 Even the tombs of the kings have not been discovered or identified.25 17

Cf. Archi 2007b, 175–176. Cf. Tatišvili 2019, 1058. 19 For the ancestor cult see, for example, Archi 2007a; Singer 2009; Kapelus 2010a. It is noteworthy that only the cult of dead kings and members of the royal family was reflected in the texts that have come down to us. Consequently, it is difficult to say what similarities and differences there may have been in the ancestral cult at the state and family levels. 20 Cf. Beckman (1995, 531–532), who thinks that the royal ancestor cult was so extensive because the unhappy spirit of the departed king was as dangerous to all the land of Hatti as a ghost of ordinary person to his family. 21 Cf. Archi 2007b, 183; Archi 2016, 42. 22 That is why the ancient funerary rituals, including that of the Hittite royals (CTH 450), could be regarded, first of all, as “rites of passage” (see, for example, Klinger 2012, 63– 64; Mouton 2020, 21). 23 Seeher 2015. 24 See, for example, Genz and Mielke 2011, 12; Seeher 2015, 230–232. It is possible that a corpse was considered so insignificant that the Hittites did not even care about its proper burial. Cf. Klinger 2012, 66; van den Hout 2002, 73–74; contra Singer 2009, 173. 25 See, for example, Schachner 2011, 293. The texts mention different edifices that are somehow linked with funeral rituals and the ancestral cult (ḫaštiyaš pir, NA4ḫekur SAG.UŠ, É ḫešta/i-, É(.GAL) ḫuḫḫaš, É.GIDIM/É (ŠA) GIDIM, É.NA4, DKASKAL.KUR). There are found different buildings and monuments that may correspond to these terms. Their identification and determination of their exact functions is debatable. See, for example, Hawkins 1998, 72–76; van den Hout 2002, 73–91; Kapelus 2007, 221–229; Singer 2009, 169– 191; Balza and Mora 2011, 213–225; most recently, Mouton 2020, 21–36; Ünal 2020, 18

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It is well known that inhumation was the prevalent burial custom in Anatolia during the third millennium and the beginning of the second millennium BC. Cremation has also been practiced by the Hittites since the time of the Old Kingdom.26 The introduction of a new type of burial is usually regarded as a sign of important changes,27 mostly indicating the entry of new people or new ideology. The migration of new people to Anatolia at this time seems to be unproven, hence we may rather consider some ideological changes. The coexistence of two burial types in one cemetery should presumably indicate the coexistence of different ethnic or social groups.28 It is unclear why several local ethnic groups previously practicing inhumation should introduce a new burial rite after settling in one area. Consequently, we find it more convincing to assume that the burial types represent different social groups.29 However, there is no consensus among scholars as to which type of burial corresponds to which social group. In the texts, at least for the period of the Old Kingdom, one may find a reference to the inhumation of royal family members.30 Consequently, it could be suggested that people of high social status were inhumated, while people of low social status were burned.31 However, since cremation for the king and queen is confirmed in the royal funerary ritual, we might think that this rule was used for members of the royal family, while inhumation was used for the rest.32 In any case, the introduction of cremation can be attested both archaeologically (at the Osmankayası cemetery, where probably only “ordinary” people were buried)33 and in the texts that may only depict a special treatment for the souls of exceptional mortals, i.e., the king, the queen, and their family members. These texts 539–550. 26 See, for example, MacQueen 1975, 136–139; van den Hout 1994, 53–56; Hutter 2013, 162. Cremation was first confirmed in Anatolia as early as the second half of the 3rd millennium / early 2nd millennium in Gedikli (Adana), but it is questionable whether this fact indicates the direction of cremation entering the Anatolian highlands (Seeher 2015, 231). For different ways cremation was spread in Anatolia, see also Gurney 1981, 168–171; Rutherford 2008, 223–230. In some burial sites, for example, in Osmankayası and Bağlarbaşı Kayası, inhumation and cremation were used simultaneously; both burial types are revealed in Gordion, but cremation is dated to a relatively later period—from the 2nd millennium, at Kazankaya—there is only inhumation, in Ilıca—only cremation, with one exception. See, for example, van den Hout 1994, 53–56; Schachner 2011, 294; Bryce 2012, 178–179; Seeher 2015, 235. 27 Schachner 2011, 293. For the importance of this change (“der große Umbruch”) in general see recently Mielke 2018. Cf. methodological observations of Singer 2006, 740–741. 28 Schachner 2011, 294. 29 Cf. Seeher 2015, 231. 30 Gurney 1981, 168; Seeher 2015, 233–234. See also below. 31 Seeher 2015, 235. 32 Archi 2007b, 182; Hutter 2013, 163; cf. Bryce 2012, 179. 33 See, for example, van den Hout 1994, 55–56; Bryce 2012, 178.

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could be helpful to study the ideological changes that might have caused the introduction of a new burial type in the Old Kingdom. Cremation in the Context of Two Cosmological Systems Beliefs about the death of the king, his family members, and their afterlife should have been an integral part of royal ideology; consequently, a more or less orderly system should be expected. However, here too may we notice the inconsistencies, ambiguities, or elements of different concepts. It is probable that the concept of Hittite royal power was based on the Hattian one. The leaders of the Nesites could have presumably favoured the Hattian concept of the king’s special relationships with the gods, namely positioning the King between man and god.34 The supreme deities of the Hattian pantheon could have been adopted and placed at the head of their own pantheon to legitimize and strengthen the royal power.35 The prominent position of the king and members of the royal family, according to official ideology, was to be maintained after death. On the one hand, the death of the king is “a great calamity, a great sin”,36 on the other hand, the dead king “becomes a god”37 and protects his descendants and the country. For the souls of the king and members of the royal family, a privileged dwelling in the netherworld must be provided, one that is somehow comparable to the Greek Elysium.38 However, in the text, which presumably depicts the “journey of the soul”39 of the deceased, this path is not without problems: through prayer and magic they ensure that the soul does not stray from the path,40 and the deceased himself worries about his own fate and does not want to go to the “dark earth”.41 Even in the royal 34

For the Hittite social universe see recently Beckman 2018, 145. See in details Tatišvili 2019, 1048–1051. 36 šalliš waštaiš: for the translation and interpretation of this expression see, for example, Otten 1958, 118–119; van den Hout 1994, 56–57; Wilhelm 2009, 74; Mouton 2020, 21– 22. 37 For this expression see, for example, Otten 1958, 119–120; Hutter-Braunsar 2001; 2015, 48–52. 38 Bryce 2012, 184; Archi 2016, 42. Is it possible to explain the two-level netherworld of the Greeks, with special, relatively comfortable conditions for prominent souls, in the same way as proposed for the Hittites below in the article? 39 The unity and the origin of the text (CTH 457.7) as restored by Hoffner (1988, 191–199; 1990, 32–33), as well as the interpretation of different passages, is debatable. See, for example, Polvani 2005, 613–622; Archi 2007b, 169–174; Fuscagni F. (ed.) 2012. hethiter. net/: CTH 457.7.2 (INTR 2012-12-19); 2016. hethiter.net/: CTH 457.7.1 (INTR 2016-1017); Klinger 2012, 60–61. 40 KUB 43.60 i 1–25: Hoffner 1990, 32–33; Polvani 2005, 615–617; Archi 2007b, 172– 173; Fuscagni, F. (ed.), 2012. hethiter.net/: CTH 457.7.2 (INTR 2012-12-19). 41 KUB 43.60 i 26–37: Hoffner 1990, 33; Polvani 2005, 615–617; Archi 2007b, 172–174; Fuscagni, F. (ed.), 2012. hethiter.net/: CTH 457.7.2 (INTR 2012-12-19). 35

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funerary ritual, in our view, there is too much effort expended in ensuring that the soul of the deceased king take his rightful place in the netherworld,42 considering that he was truly thought to “become a god” ex officio. Adopting new gods by different ways—simply adding them to one’s own pantheon; equating them with the old deities; or by syncretism—was a common occurrence in the ancient world and was usually quite easy and painless. It was also rather simple to adopt concepts and cult practices related to these gods. In our view, the fact that a more or less orderly model could not be created and offered to the public can be explained by an attempt to combine two fundamentally different cosmological systems. The cosmological system is well known from the Mesopotamian texts, according to which the universe is three-partial with strict boundaries that are difficult even for the gods to cross: the underworld / “dark earth”, the earth (= human habitation) and the heaven. This model fits well with the old Indo-European beliefs.43 It is conceivable that the Mesopotamian view of the world was reflected in both Hittite notions and, consequently, in texts of religious content.44 Presumably, it is the basis for the division of the Hittite pantheon into deities of heaven and earth / underworld.45 According to Hattian beliefs that can be reconstructed from the Hittite texts, the deities move freely in the whole universe, the different parts of which do not seem to them to be strictly separate from one another. Moreover, the supreme deities equally belong to earth and heaven, and rule equally over them. In the relevant texts from the Hattian tradition, the expression “the deities of heaven and earth” does not separate the deities of these two realms but unites those who have equal rights in both realms, while the division and border between them might 42

The ritual, its composition, the tablets and fragments that are attributed to it, are discussed in many works. See, for example, Otten 1958, esp. 7–17; van den Hout 1994, 56– 70; 2015, 301–306; Haas 1995, 2024–2027; Kassian et al. 2002, 15–40; Kapelus 2008; 2011; recently Mouton 2020, 21–36. The ritual lasted 14 days. The body of the deceased king was consigned to the pyre on the second day, on the third day his bones were gathered and brought to their final destination, the “stone house” (Archi 2016, 40). This part of the ritual is quite similar to the funerary ritual of Patroclus as described by Homer, but also common to other rites where the body was cremated. Further micro-rituals that were performed on following eleven days were specific for the Hittites (Rutherford 2008, 230– 231). 43 See, for example, Masson 1991, 187–199; cf. Klinger 2012, 56, who denies the importance of the “Indo-European heritage” for religious ideas and mythological concepts of the Hittites. 44 For the influence of Mesopotamian cosmology on Hittite beliefs see, for example, Singer 1996, 62–63; Otten and Siegelová 1970, 37–38. The rituals to change the fate and prolong the life should be also of the Mesopotamian provenance (Haas 2000, 56; Klinger 2012, 58–59). 45 Tatišvili 2007, 184–191.

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exist for mere mortals alone.46 The living king is the chosen one or even a son of the deities, one who becomes a deity after death. Consequently, for a dead king, the boundaries between heaven and earth are blurred, and the inhumation of his corpse does not prevent him or his soul from moving freely between these realms. However, in the case of a Mesopotamian three-partial universe, which was also familiar to the Indo-Europeans, there are boundaries between these realms— even for gods. Therefore, inhumation—burying in the “dark earth”, could be a problem both for the king, who was unsure of his fate after death, and for the public, who had to believe in the “privileged death” of the ruler.47 Thus, the deceased king needed “extraordinary measures” to ensure his rightful position and ascend to heaven. First of all, cremation as a method of liberating the soul,48 as well as other spells or magical acts, would open the door to heaven. One might think that the Hittites took the Hattian concept of royal ideology (the status of the king as a representative of the supreme deities on earth, accompanied by the tendency to equate him to the sun deity and to deify the dead king), however, to protect the deceased king from a worse perspective, they switched to cremation in order to send his liberated soul directly to heaven.49 Extremely important to our topic is a passage from the “Testament of Hatusili I” (CTH 6/ KUB 1.16 + 40.65), which has long attracted the attention of scholars. At the end of the text, the king addresses a request to Hastayar:50 “Wash me as is fitting, hold me to your breast, and at your breast protect me from the earth!”51 46

See in details Tatišvili 2002, 141–147; 2007, 185–191; see also Görke 2013, 45–49. Cf. the following words of a Hittite king addressed to the Sun: “Sungod of Heaven, my Lord, what have I done that you have taken from me (my) th[rone] and given it to someone else? … You have summoned me to the (ghosts of the) dead and, be[hold], (here) I am among the (ghosts of the) dead. I have shown myself to the Sungod of Heaven, my Lord, so let me ascend to my divine fate, to the gods of Heav[en] and [free] me from among the (ghosts of the) dead” (KBo 15.2 rev. 14’–19’ / CTH 421, translation by van den Hout 1994, 46; for the edition of the text see Kümmel 1967). 48 Cf. Katz 2014, 73: Cremation was not customary, presumably because burning in the open air allows the remains to escape towards the sky rather than directed into the netherworld. 49 Another attempt to merge two cosmological systems could be seen in the Journey of Teššob to the netherworld. Cf. the interpretation of Neu (1993, 346) as a conciliatory feast, a symbolic meeting of heaven and earth. See also Wilhelm 2009, 68–72. 50 Melchert 1991, 185: “mother, wife or favorite concubine”. Cf. Beckman 2000, 79; Klinger 2005, 142; Beal 2003, 34. 51 Translation by Beckman (2000, 81). For the recent edition see Gilan 2015, 82: (iii 71) … SIG5-an[-za-mu ar-ri] (72) [tág-ga-n]i-ia-ta-mu-za-pa an-d[a ḫar-ak] nu-mu tág-ga[ni-ia-ta] (73) ták-na-az pa-aḫ-ši – “[wasch mich] gut! An deiner [Br]ust halte mich, schütze mich an deiner Brust vor der Erde!” See also Klinger 2005, 146; contra Sommer and Falkenstein 1938, 199: “ ‚verwahre mich mittels (der) Erde‘, d.h. ‚birg mich in der Erde‘ ”; Haas 2000, 54: “In guter Weise sollst du mich waschen; an deiner Brust sollst du mich halten; und an deiner Brust sollst du mich in der Erde/ mit der Erde schützen.” For 47

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“These concluding lines seem to be a request for proper burial rites”,52 which included washing the body and burying it in the ground. Very often, this passage is referred to as evidence for the question of burial vs. cremation.53 But the mention of earth may not even rule out full cremation, as both direct burial and burial after cremation were practiced in central Anatolia in the second millennium.54 The expression “protect me from the earth” is especially interesting to us. This may reflect the last hope of the king, obsessed with the fear of death, that the love of a dear one would save him from suffering. However, regardless of whether the phrase was really uttered by a dying king,55 or it was simply used as a commonplace expression by the Hittite elite, one could see a certain scepticism towards the burial customs of the deceased king, foreshadowing the change to cremation.56 Bibliography Archi, A. 2007a. “The Cult of the Royal Ancestors at Hattusa and the Syrian Practices”, in: M. Alparslan / M. Doğan-Alparslan / H. Peker (eds), VITA: Festschrift in Honor of Belkıs Dinçol and Ali Dinçol, Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 49– 55. Archi, A. 2007b. “The Soul Has to Leave the Land of the Living”, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 7/2, 169–195. Archi, A. 2016. “Some Remarks on Ethnoarchaeology and Death in the Ancient Near East”, in: C. Felli (ed.), How to Cope with Death: Mourning and Funerary Practices in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the International Workshop, Firenze, 5th–6th December 2013 (Ricerche di Archeologia del Vicino Oriente 5), Pisa: Edizioni ETS, 29–48. Balza, M. E. / Mora, C. 2011. “‘And I built this Everlasting Peak for him’. The Two Scribal Traditions of the Hittites and the NA4ḫekur SAG.UŠ”, Altorientalische Forschungen 38/2, 213–225. Beal, R. H. 2003. “The Predecessors of Hattušili I”, in: G. M. Beckman / R. H. Beal / G. McMahon (eds), Hittite Studies in Honor of Harry A. Hoffner Jr. on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 13–35.

the arguments, why we prefer the first translation see Melchert 1991, 184–185. 52 Beckman 2000, 81 fn.14. 53 See, for example, Gurney 1981, 168; Haas 2000, 53–54; Seeher 2015, 233. 54 Melchert 1991, 185. 55 According to Melchert’s highly thought-provoking interpretation, the scribe recorded the words of a king who was either really dying or he thought he was dying (Melchert 1991, 183; Beckman 2000, 79), contra Gilan 2015, 92–95. 56 Some changes in funerary traditions, especially concerning the journey of the soul of the deceased king via earth to heaven, could be attested also comparing different texts that are attributed to the Hittite funerary ritual CTH 450 (van den Hout 2015, 303–305).

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ken. Akten des Symposiums vom 18. bis 20. Februar 2010 in Bonn (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 391), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 145–155. Kassian, A.S. / Korolëv, A. / Sidel'tsev, A. 2002. Hittite Funerary Ritual šalliš waštaiš (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 288), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Katz, D. 2014. “Tod (death). A. In Mesopotamien”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 14/1–2, 70–75. Klinger, J. 2005. “Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte des Hethiterreiches”, in: B. Janowski / G. Wilhelm (eds), Staatsverträge, Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte (Texte der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge 2), Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 139–146. Klinger, J. 2012. “La mort et l’au-delà dans la vie des Hittites”, in: J.-M. Durand / Th. Römer / J. Hutzli (eds), Les vivants et leurs morts : Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, les 14–15 avril 2010 (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 257), Freiburg / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 53–66. Kümmel, M. 1967. Ersatzrituale für den hethitischen König (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 3), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Lebrun, R. 1980. Hymnes et prières hittites (Homo Religiosus 4), Louvain-laNeuve: Centre d’Histoire des Religions. MacQueen, J. 1975. The Hittites and their Contemporaries in Asia Minor (Ancient Peoples and Places 83), London: Westview Press. Masson, E. 1991. Le combat pour l’immortalité. Héritage indo-européen dans la mythologie anatolienne, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Melchert, C. 1991. “Death and the Hittite King”, in: R. Pearson (ed.), Perspectives on Indo-European Languages, Culture and Religion. Studies in Honor of Edgar C. Polomé, Volume I (Journal of Indo-European Studies Monograph 7), 182–188. Mielke, D. P. 2018. “Der große Umbruch. Brandbestattung der Bronze und Eisenzeit”, in: H. Brink-Kloke / D. P. Mielke (eds), Vom Umgang mit dem Tod. Archäologie und Geschichte der Sepulkralkultur zwischen Lippe und Ruhr. Beiträge zur Tagung im LWL-Museum für Archäologie Herne, am 7. November 2014, Büchenbach: Verlag Dr. Faustus, 108–146. Mouton, A. 2020. “Devenir un Dieu : les lieux des funérailles royales hittites”, in: V. Muller / S. Müller Celka / F. Le Mort (eds), Multifonctionnalité et intrication des espaces funéraires et domestiques dans le Néolithique et l’âge du Bronze du Proche-Orient et de Méditerranée. Workshop interdisciplinaire, Lyon 24 mai 2018, 21–36. https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-02904638. Neu, E. 1993. “Knechtschaft und Freiheit. Betrachtungen über ein hurritischhethitisches Textensemble aus Ḫattuša”, in: B. Janowski / K. Koch / G. Wilhelm (eds), Religionsgeschichtliche Beziehungen zwischen Kleinasien, Nordsyrien und dem Alten Testament im 2. und 1. Jahrtausend. Akten des Interna-

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tionalen Symposium, Hamburg 17.–21. März 1990 (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 129), Freiburg / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 329–362. Neu, E. 1996. Das hurritische Epos der Freilassung Bd. 1: Untersuchungen zu einem hurritisch-hethitischen Textensemble aus Ḫattuša (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 32), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Otten, H. 1958. Hethitische Totenrituale (Institut für Orientforschung, Veröffentlichung 37), Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Otten, H. / Siegelová, J. 1970. “Die hethitischen Gulš-Gottheiten und die Erschaffung der Menschen”, Altorientalische Forschungen 23, 32–38. Polvani, A. M. 2005. “Some Thoughts About KUB 43.60 (The So-Called Text of “The Voyage of the Immortal Human Soul”)”, in: A. Süel (ed.), Acts of the Vth International Congress of Hittitology, Çorum 2–8 September 2002, Ankara: Nokta Ofset, 613–622. Rutherford, I. 2008. “Achilles and Sallis Wastais Ritual: Performing Death in Greece and Anatolia”, in: N. Laneri (ed.), Performing Death. Social Analysis of Funerary Traditions in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean (Oriental Institute Seminars 3), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 223–236. Schachner, A. 2011. Hattuscha. Auf der Suche nach dem sagenhaften Großreich der Hethiter, Munich: C. H. Beck. Schwemer, D. 2015. “Hittite Prayers to the Sun-God for Appeasing an Angry Personal God. A Critical Edition of CTH 372–374”, in: M. Jaques (ed.), Mon dieu qu’ai-je fait? Les diĝir-šà-dab(5)-ba et la piété privée en Mésopotamie (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 273), Freiburg / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 349–393. Seeher, J. 2015. “Wo sind die Toten der Hethiter? Überlegungen zum Fehlen von spätbronzezeitlichen Bestattungsplätzen in Zentralanatolien”, in: A. MüllerKarpe / E. Rieken / W. Sommerfeld (eds), Saeculum. Gedenkschrift für Heinrich Otten anlässlich seines 100. Geburtstags (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 58), 229–238. Singer, I. 1996. Muwatalli’s Prayer to the Assembly of Gods through the StormGod of Lightning (CTH 381), Atlanta: Scholars Press. Singer, I. 2002. Hittite Prayers (Writings from the Ancient World 11), Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill. Singer, I. 2006. “The Hittites and the Bible Revisited”, in: A. M. Maeir / P. de Miroschedji (eds), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”. Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 723–756. Singer, I. 2009. “‘In Hattusa the Royal House Declined’: Royal Mortuary Cult in 13th Century Hatti”, in: F. Pecchioli Daddi / G. Torri / C. Corti (eds), CentralNorth Anatolia in the Hittite Period. New Perspectives in Light of Recent Re-

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search. Acts of the International Conference Held at the University of Florence, 7–9 February 2007 (Studia Asiana 5), Rome: Herder, 169–191. Sommer, F. / Falkenstein, A. 1938. Die hethitisch-akkadische Bilingue des Hattusili I. (Labarna II.) (Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philologisch-historische Abteilung 16), Munich: Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Tatišvili, I. 2002. “Problems of Hittite Cosmology”, Sprache und Kultur 3 (Festschrift Gregor Giorgadze 75), 141–147. Tatišvili, I. 2007. “Aietes – son of Helios (for the study of Hittite-Georgian religious parallels)”, Phasis. Greek and Roman Studies 10/1, 182–192. Tatišvili, I. 2019. “Transformations of the Relationship between Hittite Kings and Deities”, in: A. Süel (ed.), Acts of the IXth International Congress of Hittitology, Çorum 8–14 September 2014, Ankara: Dumat Ofset, 1047–1074. Ünal, A. 2020. “Zur Funktionalität und Identität der hethitischen Kultanlage (É/NA4) hekur”, in: S. Dalkılıç / B. Gür (eds), A Life Dedicated to Anatolian Prehistory. Festschrift for Jak Yakar, Ankara: Phoibos, 539–550. Van den Hout, Th. P. J. 1994. “Death as a Privilege. The Hittite Royal Funerary Ritual”, in: J. M. Bremer / Th. P. J. van den Hout / R. Peters (eds), Hidden Futures. Death and Immortality in Ancient Egypt, Anatolia, the Classical, Biblical and Arabic-Islamic World, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 37–76. Van den Hout, Th. P. J. 2002. “Tombs and Memorials: the (Divine) Stone-House and Hegur Reconsidered”, in: K. A. Yener / H. A. Hoffner (eds), Recent Developments in Hittite Archaeology and History. Papers in Memory of Hans G. Güterbock, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 73–91. Van den Hout, Th. P. J. 2014. “Tod. B. Bei den Hethitern”, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 14/1–2, 75–79. Van den Hout, Th. P. J. 2015. “Zu einer Stratigraphie der hethitischen Totenrituale”, in: A. Müller-Karpe / E. Rieken / W. Sommerfeld (eds), Saeculum. Gedenkschrift für Heinrich Otten anlässlich seines 100. Geburtstags (Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten 58), 301–306. Wilhelm, G. 2009. “Die Götter der Unterwelt als Ahnengeister des Wettergottes nach altsyrischen und altanatolischen Quellen”, in: F. Hartenstein / M. Rösel (eds), JHWH und die Götter der Völker – Symposium zum 80. Geburtstag von Klaus Koch, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 59–76.

ḥr.w n k3.w and bibrû: Between Tribute and Gift Ideological and Propagandistic Developments in Egypto-Hittite Relationships Marco De Pietri Università degli Studi di Pavia

Abstract: The Annals of Thutmose III at Karnak report a passage quoting some ḥr.w n k3.w, “vessels in the shape of a bull”. Similar objects, resembling rhytonlike vessels, are depicted in two tombs of Sheik ‘Abd el-Qurna: TT 91 (unknown owner) and TT 86 (of Menkheperrasoneb) both of the period of Thutmose III, within a scene including the Hittite chief offering tributes to the pharaoh. These vessels, bibrû in Akkadian, also used for cultic purposes, were widespread in the Hittite culture: the term bibrû is attested in different documents from Boğazköy and El-Amarna (e.g. EA 41). This paper has two goals: 1) to present a possible identification of the vessels described as ḥr.w n k3.w with actual Hittite or Aegean rhyta, merging archaeological, textual, and iconographical evidence from Egypt and Ḫatti; and 2) to stress how a decisive shift in the Egyptian ideological perception of these objects occurred, being they conceived firstly as “tributes” and then as “gifts”. This swinging from the “metaphor of tribute” to the “metaphor of gift” clearly embeds a changing in Egyptian mindset on ideology and internal propaganda, perceiving Ḫatti earlier as a subjugated country and later as a peer and equal “brother”. Keywords: rhyta; bibrû; tribute vs. gift; Egypto-Hittite correspondence; El-Amarna letters.

Rhyta(?) in the Annals of Thutmose III The Annals of Thutmose III, carved on the 6th pylon at Karnak, report a passage related to the pharaoh’s 17th campaign (42nd regnal year, ca. 1437 BC), including tributes from an Asiatic land, probably Ḫatti, mentioning some ḥr.w n k3.w, “vessels in the shape of bull” (Figs 1–2):1

1

Urk. IV 732–733: “Tribut eines anderen asiatischen Landes (vielleicht

oder

)”. If the interpretation of this land as Ḫatti (Ḫt3) is confirmed, vs. the interpretation as Jsy, probably Išuwa (see HL1, 1118, no. 40988), this would be the very first attestation of this toponym in the Egyptian sources: De Pietri 2019, 32–47. Anyhow, also affirming the latter identification, Išuwa was indeed an area under the Hittite control or, at least, under the Hittite sphere of influence. For a recent edition of the text of the Annals of Thutmose III, cf. SITH, KIU 3479, Scène 3.s Annales (VI), line 17: http://sith.humanum. fr/karnak/3479 last accessed 30 April, 2021; for an image in high-resolution of the text of

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Figure 1: Transcription of the hieroglyphic text from the Annals of Thutmose III (after Urk. IV 732–733).

Figure 2: Annals of Thutmose III at Karnak; the square defines the area of the inscription bolded in our transliteration; see close-up on the left (© CNRS-CFEETK 198229).

[jn.w n wr n … m rnp.t ṯn] […] [ḥḏ] [? …] ḥnc dd.wt ḥr.w n k3.w jrj n dbn 341 qd.t 2 ḫsbd jnr jrj n qd.t 33 ṯ3gw m3w.t nfr.t ḥmt ḥr ḫ3s.t=f (18) [ḏbt] […] “[Tribute of the chief of … in this year]: […] [silver] [ …] and dishes, heads of bulls making 341 deben, 2 qedet (of) lapis lazuli making 33 qedet a good stick of ṯ3gw-wood, copper of his/its foreign land, (18) [brick(s)] […]”

the Annals of Thutmose III, see http://www.cfeetk.cnrs.fr/archives/?n=198229, photo CNRS-CFEETK 198229 (last accessed 30 April, 2021), here as Fig. 2.

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For the sake of clarity, I summarize all the tributes presented by Ḫatti(?) to the pharaoh: silver (rings?) (ḥḏ ?); lapis lazuli (ḫsbd jnr); a good stick of ṯ3gwwood; vessels: dishes (and) bull headed “bowls” (dd.wt ḥr.w n k3.w); copper “of the foreign land” (i.e. native), in bricks (ḥmt ḥr ḫ3sw.t=f [ḏbt]).2 It is here quite interesting the quotation of ḥr.w n k3.w “vessels in the shape of bull” which, according to Breasted, could resemble that “bulls’ heads […] upon the vessels, as depicted in the relief.”3 Notwithstanding, what is striking in this passage is the definition of these vessels among the list of jn.w, “tributes”:4 hereafter, it will be discussed how this concept developed from “tribute” to “gift”, in the later ElAmarna and Egypto-Hittite correspondence. Rhyta on Egyptian tomb reliefs An object similar to that described in the aforementioned inscription is depicted in a tomb of Sheik ‘Abd el-Qurna (TT 91, unknown owner), dating to the same period of the Annals of Thutmose III: it could be interpreted as something like a rhyton (Fig. 3, in the middle, bull-headed vessel).

Figure 3: Detail from a relief in TT 91, showing a possible rhyton (after Wreszinski 1923, plate 290).

This kind of vessels, called bibrû in Akkadian and usually employed for cultic purposes, was very common and widespread in the Aegean and Hittite cultures: one of the best specimen of these peculiar artefacts is surely the silver rhyton today held at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts in New York, belonging to the Schimmel collection (Fig. 4).5 According to CAD, the term bibrû, attested in documents from Boğazköy and El-Amarna, refers to peculiar rhyta, often crafted in

2

Transliteration and translation by the present author. Breasted 1906, Vol. 2, 216, fn. j; unfortunately, no pictures of this relief are available. 4 Even if this term is integrated in lacuna, the comparison with previous and later sentences assures this reading. For the term jn.w, see TLA, lemma-no. 27040: “Abgaben; Gaben; Lieferungen” (cf. Wb. I, 91.12–18). 5 Cf. Aruz et al. 2008, 183–184. 3

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silver, quite frequently used as precious gifts.6 A useful synthesis about these artefacts is offered by R. Koehl, while a further philological insight is provided by O. Carruba.7 Even if the actual origin of rhyta is debated (most of them is attributed to Aegean people), I would argue that among the many “tributes” given by Asiatic lands, also Hittite rhyta must be included, or, at least, Aegean rhyta in possession of the Hittite king (this hypothesis could be a good answer to the vexata quaestio on the actual origin of the rhyta depicted in the Theban tomb TT 86, see infra).8

Figure 4: Bull-headed rhyton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, no. 1989.281.11 (MET: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/327400).

W. Wreszinski has already noted and described the object in TT 91: “Darunter: fast zerstörter Krater mit Aufsatz, schlanke, zweihenklige Kanne, Amphora mit Stierkopf als Deckel, von dem nur die Horner noch sichtbar sind […]. Ganz unten: Stierhörnen, zu einem Deckel oder einem Trinkgefäß in Gestalt eines Stierkopfes gehörig, Schaft eines zerstörten Szepters oder dergl., Keule”.9

6

CAD 2 (B), 222–223. Koehl 2013; Carruba 1967. 8 For tribute scenes in Theban tombs: Matić 2014; 2015. 9 Wreszinski 1923, plate 290. Another representation of a possible rhyton in the same tomb is presented in Matić 2019, fig. 5 (on the right). 7

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A similar vessel is also visible among the offerings brought by “the chief of Tunip” in the tomb of Menkheperrasoneb (TT 86) at Sheik ‘Abd el-Qurna (Fig. 5, on the right).10 In this procession of vile enemies, the Hittite chief (labelled as wr n Ḫt3, “chief of Ḫatti”), is depicted as offering “tributes” to the pharaoh (through the person of Menkheperrasoneb), among other chiefs of Asiatic lands (Fig. 5, on the left): we could wonder if the Hittite chief was presenting to the pharaoh the same kind of “tributes” offered by other countries (such as the “chief of Tunip”) including also rhyta (according to Urk. IV 732).

Figure 5: Tribute scene in TT 86; the square shows the label of the “chief of Ḫatti” (after Matić 2019, fig. 9).

A description of this scene is given by N. de Garis Davies: “Menkheperrasonb is also introducing five files of foreigners, who carry in their hands some of their finest and more characteristic products. […] The hope of finding firm bottom in these pictures is not increased when we study the first six figures in Pl. IV, heading two files of men who are clearly meant to represent two civilizations.11 […] A man heading a file of men of Minoan type (as learnt from Egyptian paintings), and who in facial aspect 10

PM I/2, 175–177: “TT 86: Menkheperrasonb, First prophet of Amūn […]. Hall, (8): […] I–IV, northern tribute. 1, chiefs of Kheftiu, Hittites, and Tunip […]”. Further attestations of foreign lands offering rhyta come from the tombs of Rekhmire (TT 100), and Useramun (TT 131), datable to or around the reign of Thutmose III (Matić 2019, figs 2–3, 5), and from the tomb of Meryre II at El-Amarna (De Pietri 2019, 41, fig. 11; Breyer 2010, 447; and Drenkhahn 1967 for the interpretation of the tributaries in this tomb: Hittite vs. Aegean). 11 For plate IV, see Fig. 4 (detail of the entire scene).

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and dress is a replica of a Syrian in the row below, is labelled ‘The chief of Keftiu’. A second leader of them has his passport endorsed ‘The chief of Kheta’, thought he, too, conforms to a Syrian type shown close by, as if a Hittite could not be distinguished from anyone else north of the Egyptian boundary”.12 This scene is even more interesting if we consider that Menkheperrasoneb lived during the reign of Thutmose III: thus, we could find here a confirmation, or at least a visual clue, of the passage in the Annals of Thutmose III. A further consideration about this kind of artefacts is presented by Claude Schaeffer: specifically, about the function of these vessels, the scholar thought that “ce vase devait contenir un liquide parfumé (?) ou un breuvage que la femme avait introduit dans un petit godet fuselé, pour le répandre ensuite sur les mains du Prince, ou le verser dans une coupe qu’il pouvait tenir à la main”.13 Rhyta in the El-Amarna letters Some El-Amarna letters mention rhyta, such as EA 41 (= LA 302 = CTH 153 = Knudtzon no. 18, Cairo 4747), a letter in Akkadian addressed by Šuppiluliuma I to Ḫuriya (= Amenhotep IV) in order to restart friendly relationships after the enthronement of the new pharaoh (who has interrupted them). 14 The letter is ended, as usual, with a list of exchanged gifts (golden statues vs. silver statues): among them, also some rhyta are attested. This is probably the first step showing a switch from the “metaphor of tribute” to the “metaphor of gift” within the Egypto-Hittite relationships. The interesting portion text is here presented following Rainey’s edition:15 Rev. 39 a-nu-um-ma a-na šul-ma-ni-ka 1 bi-ib-ru 40 KÙ.BABBAR UDU.‹A›.LUM 5 ma-na KI.LÁ.BÉ 1 bi-ib-ru 41 KÙ.BABBAR UDU.SIR4 \ pu-u-ḫi-lu 3 ma-na KI.LÁ.BÉ 42 2 [k]à-ak-kà-ru KÙ.BABBAR 10 ma-na KI.LÁ.BÉ-ma 12

De Garis Davies 1933, 3–4. Schaeffer 1956, 191, commenting on figs 149–150, 152. 14 Liverani 1999, 410–411 (Italian translation); Knudtzon 1915, Vol. 1, 298–303 (transliteration and German translation); Hoffner 2009, 277–279 (transliteration and English translation); von Dassow and Greenwood in ANE, 199–200 (English translation); Moran 1992, 114–115 (English translation); Schwemer 2006, 190–191 (German translation). About the identification of Ḫuriya, see Liverani 1999, 410, fn. 12: “Questa [i.e., Ḫuriya = Amenhotep IV) è l’opinione corrente, cf. bibliografia in Kühne 1973, 101, fn. 497; Houwink ten Cate 1963, 175–276 pensa invece che si tratti di Tutankhamon. Cf. Meyer 1992, 87–90.” 15 Schniedewind and Cochavi-Rainey 2015, Vol. 1, 358–361. In the following cuneiform transliteration, I uniformed the original texts from different editions according to the current Assyriological and Hittitological standards. 13

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43 2 GIŠni-kip-tu4 ra-a-bu-tì ul-te-bíl-ak-ku “(39–43) Now, for your greeting gift, one silver rhyton, a ram, five minas in weight, one silver rhyton, a breed ram, three minas in weight, two [ta]lents of silver, ten minas in weight, two large medicinal shrubs, have I sent to you.” This letter, after the greetings (here omitted), resembles quite strictly those of the later Egypto-Hittite correspondence between Ramses II, Ḫattušili III, his wife Puduḫepa, and other members of the Hittite court (see following paragraph); the Hittite king asks the pharaoh the reason for an unexpected outage in the dispatch of gifts, which was so common during the period of Ḫuriya’s father (i.e., Amenhotep III). A particular expression is used to explain this assiduity of gift exchange: ù ki-me-e a-bu-ka ù a-na-ku / šul-ma-na i-na bé-e-ri-ni ḫa-aš-ḫa-a-numa, “and just as your father and I / desired greeting gifts between us” (Vs. 17– 18), describing the request of gifts as a personal desire of the two kings, and not just as a common practice among ancient courts.16 This passage is noteworthy, since it testifies the changing of the status related to these rhyta, which are no more described and considered as jn.w, “tributes”, but as šulmānu, “greeting gifts.”17 Among these “gifts”, a particular importance can be envisaged in the mention of silver, zoomorphic rhyta (in this case with a ram protome), a very common gift sent from Anatolia to Egypt (and vice versa), as also attested in the later Egypto-Hittite correspondence. Rhyta in the Egypto-Hittite correspondence Later documents of the Egypto-Hittite correspondence exchanged between Ramses II and Ḫattušili III provide us with other references to rhyta sent as “gifts” by the Hittites to the Egyptians. For instance, KUB III 69, a letter sent by Ramses to the Hittite queen Puduḫepa ends with a list of “gifts”, including a possible rhyton:18 Rs. 15 [1 GAL GA]L-tu4 ša še20-te-e ša KÙ.GI SIG5 KÙ.BABBAR GAR. RA 16 [……………………………… x] [x ……………… x]-tu4 GUD.MAḪ Rs. 15 [l gr]oßer Trink[becher] aus gutem Gold, mit Silber eingelegt;

16

For the reason of gift exchange: Liverani 1999, 324–331; Zaccagnini 1973. CAD 17 (Š3), 244–247; CDA, 383. 18 ÄHK no. 33, D14 = Edel 1994, Vol. 1, 88–91. Cf. the Italian translation in Cordani 2017, 112–114. Comment in Edel 1994, Vol. 2, 142–143. 17

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16 [……………………………]..[…..]; ein Stier The letter ends with a dispatching of some gifts: 1 drink cup, 1 drink bowl and 1 drink vessel (all made of fine gold); 1 big drink cup of fine gold, with silver marquetry and, eventually, 1 GUD.MAḪ, literally, “a bull”: perhaps, we can interpret this last object as a typical rhyton in the shape of a bull head, also mentioned in other letters.19 For the possibility of envisaging a similar item among the Hittite tributes reported in the Annals of Thutmose III, see supra. Another letter mentioning a possible rhyton is KUB III 70, sent by the Egyptian prince Šutaḫapšap to Ḫattušili III:20 Rs. 11 [1 GAL] ša KÙ.GI SIG5 tam-lu-ú ša še-te-e 12 [i-na p]a-ni GUD.MAḪ SI.MEŠ-šu NA4.BABBAR (Rasur) 13 [… x] ◌ ša NA4.GE6 14 [KI.LAL-šu] 93 GÍN KÙ.GI SIG5 Rs. 11 [1 Becher] aus gutem Gold, mit Inkrustierung, zum Trinken, 12 [mit dem G]esicht eines Stiers, dessen Hörner aus weißem Stein, 13 [und (dessen) Augen] aus schwarzem Stein sind; 14 [sein Gewicht] (beträgt) 93 Schekel guten Goldes. On the obverse and the first part of the reverse, the Egyptian prince thanks the Hittite king for having asked him about his health and remembers the peace established with the Treaty, wishing it to last forever. Šutaḫapšap also adds a particular greeting, asking the Sun-god and the Storm-god “to make long the years of the Great King, king of Egypt, together with the years of Ḫattušili, Great King, king of Ḫatti, his brother” (ù i-na-an-di-nu a-na ur-ru-ki / MU.MEŠ ša LUGAL. GAL LUGAL KUR Mi-iṣ-ri-i / qà-du MU.MEŠ ša IḪa-at-tu-ši-li / LUGAL.GAL LUGAL KUR Ḫa-at-ti; Rs. 1–4). The reverse ends with the presentation of some other gifts sent to the Hittite king. The most interesting object sent to Ḫattušili is surely the drink vessel “with a muzzle of bull” that V. Cordani describes as follows: “Potrebbe trattarsi di un rhyton (così CAD 12 [P], 333b e Meyer 1987, 156) o, più in generale, di un vaso teriomorfo. Secondo Edel 1994, Vol. 2, 60, invece, il muso del toro sarebbe una sorta di disegno intarsiato sulla superficie della

19

E.g. KUB III 70, Vs. 11–12: [1 GAL] ša KÙ.GI SIG5 tam-lu-ú ša še-te-e / [i-na p]a-ni GUD.MAḪ SI.MEŠ-šu NA4.BABBAR. The similarity between these two objects has already been tentatively proposed in Cordani 2017, 114, fn. 2. Another golden rhyton, probably coming from Egypt, is quoted in KBo II 11. 20 ÄHK no. 9, B3 = Edel 1994, Vol. 1, 34–37. For other transliterations and translations: Beckman 19992, 128; Cordani 2017, 69–70; Edel 1978, 129–136; Freu 2008, 219–220; Müller 2010, 415–419. Comment in Edel 1994, Vol. 2, 59–61.

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coppa”.21 A third document quoting another possible rhyton is KUB IV 95 + 750/v (= KBo XXVIII 45), a letter sent by Ramses to the Hittite prince Teššub-Šarruma:22 Vs. 12 1 GAL ša KÙ.GI SIG5 tam-l[u-ú ša še-te-e NA4.ḪI.A] 13 šúm-mu-uḫ GUD š[a KÙ.GI SIG5 …… ra-ṭu] 14 i-na ša-ap-ti[-šu KI.LAL KÙ.GI x GÍN] Vs. 12 l Becher aus gutem Gold, einge[legt, zum Trinken, mit Steinen (?)] 13 übersät; ein Rind a[us gutem Gold (?) ……; eine Ausgußtülle] 14 an [seinem] Rand. [Das Gewicht des Goldes (beträgt) x Schekel]. This letter reports, after the usual greetings, a long list of gifts sent by the hands of Pariḫnawa; at the first spot, we find 1 GAL ša KÙ.GI SIG5 tam-l[u-ú ša še-tee NA4.ḪI.A] 13 šúm-mu-uḫ, “a drink cup of fine gold, inlayed, with stones, with an ox on its side(?)”.23 It is noteworthy here the presence of this object, which could be maybe interpreted as a bull-headed rhyton, as the ones attested in the Annals of Thutmose III: in this case, it was Egypt delivering to Ḫatti such a kind of gift. Rhyta from Egypt to Ḫattuša in other Hittite documents (besides ÄHK) Letters Another document reporting rhyta as “gifts” is a fragment of a letter in Hittite, probably part of the royal correspondence, KBo II 11 = Bo 13 = CTH 209.12:24 Rev. 11’ [A-NA ŠUL-M]AN LUGAL Aḫ-ḫi-ya-wa-a-ma-mu ku-it TÀŠ-PUR nu a-pa-a-at ku-it UL I-DE4 12’ [LÚ ṬE4-MI-Š]U ma-a-an ú-da-aš ku-it-ki ma-a-an UL nukán ka-a-ašma BI-IB-RU KÙ.BABBAR

21

Cordani 2017, 70, fn. 2. ÄHK no. 16, C3 = Edel 1994, Vol. 1, 44–47. Cf. the Italian translation in Cordani 2017, 72. Comment in Edel 1994, Vol. 2, 70–72. The complete joins are KUB IV 95 (+) KBo XXVIII 45 + KBo LVII 3, as indicated in Cordani 2017, 72, fn. 3 (collatio in Miller 2007, 133). On the base of these new recognized joins, the translation of the last part of the letter differs from that integrated by Edel. 23 For the tamlû technique: De Pietri 2020, 309–310. This passage received different interpretations; e.g. Cordani 2017, 72, fn. 1: “Oppure: ʻsulle (sue) labbra’. In tal caso l’espressione sarebbe riferita al toro e non alla coppa”. 24 Hoffner 2009, 352–354. Cf. the transliteration and German translation in Hagenbuchner 1989, Vol. 2, 392–394. 22

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13’ [IŠ-TU KÙ.]SIG17 MAŠ-LU IŠ-TU ŠUL-MAN KUR Mi-iz-ri-i ar-ḫa da-aḫ-ḫu-un Rev. 11’ Concerning what you wrote me about the “greeting gift” of the King of Aḫḫiyawa: Because I didn’t know that 12’ whether or not his messenger brought something - I took a silver rhyton 13’ trimmed in gold away from the “greeting gifts” of (the King of) Egypt and sent these to you. This letter was addressed by the king of Arzawa to the Hittite king Ḫattušili III. The king of Arzawa probably answers to an accusation advanced by the Hittite king, of having directly sent gifts to another person, without his permission (this could be the interpretation of the word of the Hittite king in Rs. 6’). The Arzawean king replies that probably the Great King has been badly informed (thus maybe the meaning of the sentence in Rs. 7’: Ú-UL-za-kán URUKÙ.BABBAR-ši, “are you not up in Ḫattuša”) and quotes, in Rs. 7’, the “road of/to Egypt”, KASKAL KUR Mi-iz-ri-i, also quoted in the following Rs. 19’ and 21’. Despite the sense of the sentence is not clear, we can suppose that the Arzawean king is here dealing with some objects coming from/directed to Egypt. In Rs. 9’, the vassal king also adds as follows: [kin]u-un-ma-an ka-ru-ú ZAG-an ḫar-mi, “now I already hold it as a border”, probably stating, as a defence to Ḫattušili’s accusation, that he did not interlace direct contacts with Egypt. As a proof of his good faith, the king of Arzawa says he has already sent to the Hittite king “a silver rhyton, trimmed in gold” taken from “the greeting gifts of (the King of) Egypt” (nukán ka-a-aš-ma BI-IB-RU KÙ.BABBAR / [IŠ-TU KÙ.]SIG17 MAŠ-LU IŠ-TU ŠUL-MAN KUR Mi-iz-ri-i ar-ḫa da-aḫ-ḫu-un). Therefore, it is clear from this document that sometimes such gifts did not reach directly Ḫattuša but were also sent from Egypt to other Hittite vassals, such as the king of Arzawa.26 25

Receipts of inventory texts Besides the letters, some receipts of inventory texts reporting exchanged goods (including rhyta) can be mentioned, such as CTH 241.5 = KBo IX 91:27 Obv. 15 la-la-me-eš GIŠPISAN KUR Mi-iz-ri BI-IB-RI KUBABBAR 16 (erased) 25

Košak 1982, 24–29. The sender and the addressee of this letter were firstly suggested in Jasink 2005. 26 However, this is just a speculation, because the Hittite text (IŠ-TU ŠUL-MAN KUR Miiz-ri-i) does not allow to understand if the gift was directed to or coming from Egypt. 27 Cf. Cornil and Lebrun 1975–1976, 100–108 (mainly for the discussion about the technical terms of the goods).

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17 1 GÚ UR.MAH 2 GAL KUBABBAR LÚMEŠa-ra-un-na 18 a-ša-an-du-la-aš URUNe-ri-ik Obv. 15 receipt of the chest (from) Egypt, (with) silver rhyta 17 1 (shaped like the) neck of a lion, 2 silver beakers: (for) the yeomen 18 of the garrison of Nerik CTH 241.5 mentions the receipt (la-la-me-eš) of a chest, containing at least 3 silver rhyta (bi-ib-ri KUBABBAR), one in the shape of a lion neck and 2 with silver beakers.28 It is interesting to note that rhyta were exchanged in both the directions, from Egypt to Ḫatti and vice versa: we have already seen in the Annals of Thutmose III that, among the other objects of the tribute, also a bull-headed rhyton is quoted and actuals rhyta are depicted in some Egyptian tombs. The rhyta quoted in this text are said to be dispatched to the “yeomen of the garrison of Nerik”, so maybe allocated for some cultic activities. Cultic texts Eventually, reference to rhyta is stated within some cultic texts, e.g. CTH 504 = KUB XII 1, the so-called Inventory of Manninni, dated to the 13th cent. BC:29 Rs. IV 20’ [1 G]IPISAN SA5 1EN GAB URUMi-iz-ri-i GUŠKIN NA4ZA.GÌN 6 BIIB-RU GUŠKIN Rs. IV 20’ [1] roter Behälter: 1 ägyptischer Front(teil) (aus) Gold (und) Lapislazuli; 6 goldenem Maul. Among other objects (here omitted) delivered inside the red chest there are six golden rhyta: this entry is noteworthy because of the high quantity of the artefacts and the precious metal used to craft them. Conclusions Moving from the quotation of ḥr.w n k3.w in the Annals of Thutmose III, mentioning items interpreted as silver, bull-headed rhyta from Ḫatti or Išuwa, we have shown how these particular vessels are attested in the same period also on depic28

More recent transliteration and translation in Cornil and Lebrun 1975–1976, 106: “KBo IX 91 Ro 15 : la-la-me-eš GIŠPISAN KUR Mi-iz-ri BI-IB-RI KÙ.BABBAR : « État : corbeille/coffre d’Égypte, des rhytons en argent »”. For the term lalameš, see CHD L–N, 26. Cf. Luwian lalami-, in Laroche 1959, 61 (quoted in Cornil and Lebrun 1975–1976, 107, fn. 12). 29 Siegelová 1986, 2. Band, 448–449. Cf. Košak 1978, 102: “KUB XII 1 IV 20’: PISAN SA5 1-EN GAB URUMi-iz-ri TUR GUŠKIN NA4ZA.GÌN 6 BI-IB-RU GUŠKIN, ʻ[ x ] red chests, 1 small (with) an Egyptian front of gold and blue stone, 6 golden rhyta’.”

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tions in tombs at Thebes and El-Amarna. During this first stage, these vessels and other objects are described by the pharaonic propaganda as jn.w, “tributes”. Later on, the El-Amarna letters, the Egypto-Hittite correspondence between Ramses II and Ḫattušili III, and other Hittite documents (letters, inventory texts with the related receipts, and cultic compositions), clearly illustrate how rhyta were exchanged both from Ḫatti to Egypt and vice versa. Moreover, this latter documentation shows how the pharaonic perception of these items changed from the propagandistic idea of “tribute” to a more concrete and honest definition of “gifts”, according to the Akkadian term (attested in the long lists ending many letters of the international correspondence) used to define the exchanged objects, i.e. šulmānu, “greeting gifts”. The documentation briefly presented in this paper (just an exemplification of many other similar documents) clearly shows how Egyptian propaganda evolved from the early idea of “tributes” to the later conception (more realistic and less ideological constructed) of “gifts”.30 This is only one among many examples supporting a slow but effective change in the Egyptian mindset and view towards the other countries, a gradual swinging from the “metaphor of tribute” to the “metaphor of gift”, perceiving Ḫatti as a subjugated country (in the reign of Thutmose III and his successors) and later (during the El-Amarna period and the following 19th dynasty) as a peer and equal “brother”.31 Bibliography Aruz, J. / Benzel, K. / Evan, J. 2008. Beyond Babylon. Art, Trade and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium B.C., New York; New Haven: Metropolitan Museum of Art; Yale University Press. Beckman, G. 1999. Hittite Diplomatic Texts. Second Edition (Society of Biblical Literature. Writings from the Ancient World 7), Atlanta: Scholars Press. Breasted, J. H. 1906. Ancient Records of Egypt: Historical Documents from the Earliest Times to the Persian Conquest, 5 Volumes, Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Breyer, F. 2010. Ägypten und Anatolien. Politische, kulturelle und sprachliche Kontakte zwischen dem Niltal und Kleinasien im 2 Jahrtausend v. Chr. (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Denkschriften der Gesamtakademie 93), Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Carruba, O. 1967. “Rhyta in den hethitischen Texten”, Kadmos 6, 88–97.

30

For a complete collection of all the texts mentioning “gifts” exchanged from Egypt to Ḫatti and vice versa: De Pietri 2019, Section 1.2.1.2. 31 For a discussion on the concept and specific language (sometimes metaphorical) of diplomacy, ideology, and propaganda, see e.g. Pallavidini 2016, 5–12 (with previous bibliography at the end of the book). About the terminology referring to “gifts” and “tributes”, see e.g. Siegelová 2011. On the concept of brotherhood in Hittite diplomatic texts, see Pallavidini 2016, 16–17 and Pallavidini 2020.

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Cordani, V. 2017. Lettere fra Egiziani e Ittiti (Testi del vicino Oriente antico 4. Letterature dell’Asia Minore 5), Torino: Paideia. Cornil, P. / Lebrun, R. 1975–1976. “Fragments hittites relatifs à l’Égypte”, Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 6–7, 83–108. de Garis Davies, N. 1933. The Tombs of Menkheperrasonb, Amenmose and Another (Nos. 86, 112, 42, 226) (The Theban Tombs Series 5), London: Egypt Exploration Found. De Pietri, M. 2019. Evidence of Contacts Between Pharaonic Egypt and the State Entities of Hittite and Post-Hittite Anatolia, PhD Thesis, Università degli Studi di Pavia. De Pietri, M. 2020. “From Thebes to Arslantaş: Egyptian Iconography on Ivories through Ugarit, Byblos and Megiddo”, in: M. Iamoni (ed.), Proceedings of the 5th “Broadening Horizons” Conference (Udine 5–8 June 2017). Volume 1. From the Prehistory of Upper Mesopotamia to the Bronze and Iron Age Societies of the Levant (West&East Monografie 2), Trieste: Edizioni Universitarie Trieste, 303–323. http://hdl.handle.net/10077/30219. Drenkhahn, R. 1967. “Ausländer (Hethiter und marijannu?) in Amarna”, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Instituts für ägyptische Altertumskunde in Kairo 22, 60– 63. Edel, E. 1978. “Der Brief des ägyptischen Wesirs Pašijara an den Hethiterkönig Ḫattušili und verwandte Keilschriftbriefe”, Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, I. Philologisch-Historische Klasse 4, 117–158. Edel, E. 1994. Die ägyptisch-hethitische Korrespondenz aus Boghazköi in babylonischer und hethitischer Sprache (Abhandlungen der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 77), Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Freu, J. 2008. Les Hittites et leur histoire. Tome 3 : L’apogée du nouvel empire hittite (Collection Kubaba. Série Antiquité 14), Paris: Editions L’Harmattan. Hagenbuchner, A. 1989. Die Korrespondenz der Hethiter (Texte der Hethiter 15– 16), Heidelberg: Winter. Hoffner, H. A. Jr. 2009. Letters from the Hittite Kingdom (Society of Biblical Literature. Writings from the Ancient World 15), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Houwink ten Cate, Ph. H. J. 1963. “The Date of the Kurustama Treaty”, Bibliotheca Orientalis 20, 274. Jasink, A. M. 2005. “Micenei e Vicino Oriente”, in: F. Pecchioli Daddi / M. C. Guidotti (eds), Narrare gli eventi. Atti del convegno degli egittologi e degli orientalisti italiani in margine alla mostra “La battaglia di Qadesh” (Studia Asiana 3), Rome: Herder, 209–224. Knudtzon, J. A. 1915. Die El-Amarna-Tafeln (Vorderasiatische Bibliothek 2), Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Koehl, R. B. 2013. “Bibru and Rhyton: Zoomorphic Vessels in the Near East and Aegean”, in: J. Aruz / Graff, S. B. / Rakic, Y. (eds), Cultures in Contact: from

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Mesopotamia to the Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C., New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 238–247. Košak, S. 1978. “The Inventory of Manninni (CTH 504)”, Linguistica 18, 99– 123. Košak, S. 1982. Hittite Inventory Texts (CTH 241–250) (Texte der Hethiter 10), Heidelberg: Winter. Kühne, C. 1973. Die Chronologie der internationalen Korrespondenz von ElAmarna (Alter Orient und Altes Testament: Veröffentlichungen zur Kultur und Geschichte des Alten Orients und des Alten Testaments 17), Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Laroche, E. 1959. Dictionnaire de la langue louvite (Bibliothèque archéologique et historique de l’Institut français d’archéologie d’Istanbul 6), Paris: Librairie Adrien-Maisonneuve. Liverani, M. 1999. Le lettere di el-Amarna. 2. Le lettere dei “Grandi Re” (Testi del vicino Oriente antico 2 / Letterature mesopotamiche 3), Brescia: Paideia. Matić, U. 2014. “‘Minoans’, kftjw and the ‘Islands in the Middle of w3ḏ wr’ beyond Ethnicity”, Ägypten und Levante/Egypt and the Levant 24, 277–294. Matić, U. 2015. “Aegean Emissaries in the Tomb of Senenmut and Their Gift to the Egyptian King”, Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 7/4, 38–52. https://journals.uair.arizona.edu/index.php/jaei/article/view/18737. Matić, U. 2019. “Memories into Images, Aegean and Aegean-like Objects in the New Kingdom Egyptian Theban Tombs”, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 29/4, 653–669. https://doi.org/10.1017/S095977431900026X. Miller, J. 2007. “The Kings of Nuḫḫašše and Muršili’s Casus belli”, in: D. Groddek / M. Zorman (eds), Tabularia Hethaeorum – Hethitologische Beiträge Silvin Košak zum 65. Geburtstag (Dresdner Beiträge zur Hethitologie 25), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 521–534. Moran, W. L. 1992. The Amarna Letters, Baltimore / London: Johns Hopkins University Press. Müller, M. 2010. Akkadisch in Keilschrifttexten aus Ägypten: deskriptive Grammatik einer Interlanguage des späten zweiten vorchristlichen Jahrtausends anhand der Ramses-Briefe (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 373), Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Pallavidini, M. 2016. Diplomazia e propaganda in epoca imperiale ittita. Forma e prassi (Dresdner Beiträge zur Hethitologie 48), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Pallavidini, M. 2020. “Shaping Diplomacy through Language: Networks of Metaphors in Hittite Diplomatic Texts”, Journal of Ancient Civilizations 35/1, 1– 12. Schaeffer, C. F. A. 1956. Ugaritica III (Mission de Ras-Shamra 8), Paris: Libraire Orientaliste Paul Geuthner. Schniedewind, W. M. / Cochavi-Rainey, Z. 2015. The El-Amarna Correspondence. A New Edition of the Cuneiform Letters from the Site of El-Amarna

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based on Collations of all Extant Tablets. Collated, Transcribed and Translated by Anson F. Rainey Z"L, 2 Volumes (Handbuch der Orientalistik. 1. Abt., Der Nahe und Mittlere Osten 110), Leiden / Boston: Brill. Schwemer, D. 2006. “Briefe aus dem Archiv von el-Amarna”, in: B. Janowski / G. Wilhelm (eds), Texte der Umwelt des Alten Testaments. Neue Folge. Band 3: Briefe, Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 173–175. Siegelová, J. 1986. Hethitische Verwaltungspraxis im Lichte der Wirtschafts- und Inventardokumente, Praha: Národním muzeum v Praze. Siegelová, J. 2011. “Geschenk oder Geschäft? Wovon zeugt die ägyptisch-hethitische Korrespondenz”, in: V. Callender / Z. A. Hawass (eds), Times, Signs and Pyramids. Studies in Honour of Miroslav Verner on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, Praha: Faculty of Arts, Charles University, 323–334. Wreszinski, W. 1923. Atlas zur altägyptischen Kulturgeschichte, 1. Band, Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Zaccagnini, C. 1973. Lo scambio dei doni nel Vicino Oriente durante i secoli XV– XIII (Orientis antiqui collectio 11), Rome: Centro per le antichità e la storia dell’arte del Vicino Oriente. Online resources SITH = Système d’Indexation des Textes Hiéroglyphiques – Project Karnak: http://sith.huma-num.fr/karnak. TLA = Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae: http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/.

SYRIA AND THE LEVANT

Friend of the King Revisiting the Household Terminology in EA 288 and its Socio-political Implications Emanuel Pfoh National Research Council (CONICET) / National University of La Plata

Abstract: In EA 288, ‘Abdi-Ḫeba, ruler of Jerusalem, writes to the Pharaoh and calls himself “friend/companion of the king”. While ancient Near Eastern and Biblical scholarship has correctly addressed the phrase relating it to some sort of royal servant, an effort to widen the scope of connotation of the terminology has actually not been attempted. This paper offers then a perspective from the ethnohistorical and ethnographic records on friendship and companionship, in order to illuminate the socio-political meaning of this appellative, as well as the political ontologies and ideologies at interplay. In effect, the phrase may be understood as pertaining to a patrimonial order in society, expressing household politics, especially patronclient relationships, not only as a practice active in Syria-Palestine during Late Bronze Age times, but also as an indigenous political ontology reflected in the Amarna letters. Keywords: Late Bronze Age; Amarna letters; Jerusalem; patronage; friendship.

Introduction In EA 288, a letter sent by ‘Abdi-Ḫeba, ruler of Jerusalem,1 to the Egyptian king, his overlord, the noun phrase “friend/companion of the king” is employed. Further, it can be said that the whole paragraph (ll. 9–15) containing the petty king’s declamation is full of terminology and deeds which shed light on a political ontology, proper of the Levant during the Amarna age (second half of the 14th century BCE) but that we may extend to the whole of the Late Bronze Age (ca. 1550– 1200 BCE), confronting the Egyptian perspective on that peripheral territory and its rulers and its peoples, as reflected in the Amarna letters.2 1

For the historical background, see for instance Na’aman 2011; and for opposing interpretations of the archaeological evidence from Jerusalem in the Late Bronze Age, see Steiner 2003; and Uziel et al. 2019. See also for different considerations on the socio-political landscape of the period, Cohen and Westbrook 2000; Mynářová 2014; 2015; Benz 2016, 17–46; Koch 2019. 2 On this confrontation, see originally Liverani 1967; 1983. Moran (1995, 330) understood this ideological-political clash essentially from a bureaucratic perspective: “we must assume that protestations of loyalty and requests for help were made with an understanding consistent with the legal position of an Egyptian vassal and with the considerable evidence that the implications of such status were neither unfamiliar nor rejected” (my emphasis).

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Of course, the historical and philological details of the proclamation of personal subordination to the Pharaoh in EA 288 are already well known in Amarna studies.3 But the core issue is why this personal subordination is expressed, and what political expectations can be read between the lines. In the following pages, I only wish to shed some further light on the socio-political and ideological situations and expectations expressed in the letter, beyond the more usual scholarly attention to philological aspects or historical circumstances in the Amarna epistolographic corpus. The textual evidence The passage in Akkadian containing our noun phrase was most recently transliterated by Anson F. Rainey,4 in his English translation of the Amarna letters, in the following manner: 09) a-mur a-na-ku la-a LÚ.ḫa-zi-a-nu 10) LÚ ú-e-ú a-na šàr-ri EN-ia 11) a-mur a-na-ku LÚ ru-’ì šàr-ri 12) ù ú-bi-il GUN šàr-ri a-na-ku 13) ia-a-nu-mi LÚ.AD.DA.A.NI ia-a-nu-mi 14) ⸢MUNUS⸣um-mi-ia ⸢zu⸣-ru-uḫ šàr-ri KAL.GA 15) ⸢ša⸣-⸢ak⸣-⸢na⸣-[an-ni] ⸢i⸣-⸢na⸣ É LÚ.⸢AD⸣.⸢DA⸣.[A-NI] Regarding the translation into modern languages, and consequently expressing modern interpretations of the situations evoked in the letter, we need to go—albeit swiftly—through the most relevant examples during the last century. To begin with, in 1907 Jørgen A. Knudtzon translated the paragraph into German in this way: “Siehe, ich bin nicht ein Regent; Ein Offizier bin ich dem König, meinem Herrn. Siehe, ich bin ein Hirt des Königs, und einer, der den Tribut des Königs trägt, bin ich. Nicht mein Vater, nicht meine Mutter, (sondern) die mächtige Hand des Königs [hat mich] geset[zt] im Haus [meines] V[a]te[r]s.”5

However, this view ignores the evidence in favour of the existence of a particular “Asiatic” worldview on the Egyptian-Canaanite political contact, differenced from the Egyptian worldview, as Liverani rightly exposed in his seminal studies. In general, on the clash of ontologies, see recently Lloyd 2019. 3 Apart from the scholars referred to in the next section, see e.g. Hess 2003, 232–239; Na’aman 2011, 35–40. 4 Rainey 2015, I 1116. 5 Knudtzon 1907, 869 (original emphases).

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Several decades after the authoritative interpretation by Knudtzon, William L. Moran, in his now classic anthology The Amarna Letters, translated the passage into English like this: “Behold, I am not a mayor; I am a soldier of the king, my lord. Behold, I am a friend of the king and a tribute-bearer of the king. It was neither my father nor my mother, but the strong arm of the king that [p]laced me in the house of [my] fath[er].”6 We already see in this translation a variation in the meaning of the Akkadian phrase rū’i šarri, which Knudtzon translated as “shepherd/herdsman of the king” (Hirt des Königs)7 and Moran instead—and more precisely—as “friend of the king”. Then, the transcribed noun phrase zuruḫ šarri dannatu is differently rendered as “the mighty hand of the king” (die mächtige Hand des Königs) by Knudtzon, but as “the strong arm of the king” by Moran. In spite of the clear variation in the translated expression of bodily members from the Akkadian, the connotation of Pharaonic power is utterly evident and without discussion in this passage. 8 Also, Knudtzon translated ḫaziānu/ḫazannu as “officer” (Offizier) whereas Moran offered the, again, more appropriate “mayor” rendition.9 Later on, in his 1998 Italian translation of the Amarna letters, Mario Liverani gave the following rendition of the paragraph: “Guarda, io non sono un reggente, sono un soldato (egiziano) per il re mio signore. Guarda, io sono un compagno del re, io sono uno che porta tributo al re. Né mio padre né mia madre, ma il forte braccio del re mi ha messo nella mia casa paterna.”10 Liverani translates ḫazannu as “ruler” (reggente), instead of “mayor”, and rū’i šarri as “companion of the king” (compagno del re), noting in connection that ‘Abdi-Ḫeba had been educated in Egypt in order then to be sent to rule in one of the political centres of Canaan (“… Abdi-Heba era stato uno di quei principi educati in Egitto e poi rimandati a regnare”).11 Finally, Rainey offered the following translation of the paragraph in question: “Look, as for me, I am not a city ruler, (but rather) a soldier of the king, my lord. Look, as for me, a “companion” of the king and a bringer of the

6

Moran 1992, 331 (original emphasis). Cf. Mettinger 1971, 65. 8 See on this expression and its Egyptian origin, Liverani 2010, 151–154. Its biblical rendition is studied in Hoffmeier 1986. 9 On the role of the ḫazannu as local ruler in Amarna Syria-Palestine, see Lemche 2016; Pfoh 2019. 10 Liverani 1998, 97. 11 Liverani 1998, 97 fn. 125. 7

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king’s tribute am I. Neither my father nor my mother, (but rather) the strong arm of the king has placed me in my father’s house.”12 Some historiographical views on “friend/companion of the king” “Friend of the king” and “companion of the king” would then seem to be the most appropriate—apart from the most recent and probably most accepted by other scholars—translations of the noun phrase rū’i šarri in a denotative level. Now, in either translations, it should be clear that the terminology is referring not necessarily to some expression of real emotion from the petty Canaanite king to his superior, but rather to a socio-political expression from someone who would seem to have (or better wish for) a personal bond of closeness or even dependence towards his Egyptian overlord. Attending—again swiftly—to the relevant historiography on the phrase, in 1957, for instance, A. van Selms published a short article seeking to find the origins of the term in biblical literature.13 In it, and addressing the Hebrew kingship, van Selms noted precisely that “the title ‘the king’s friend’ is exclusive—we never find more than one bearer of the title at the same time; moreover, that the title indicates a certain office, and is not the reflection of sentimental feelings or of gratitude; last that the bearer of the title was considered part of the royal family and therefore was often chosen from among the collaterals of the royal house. […] we come to the conclusion that ‘friend of the king’ as the indication of an office held by one special dignitary originated in Palestine itself, probably in Canaanite surroundings […]”14 Later on, observing the resemblances of the Akkadian phrase to the Biblical Hebrew expressions ‫ רע המלך‬and ‫רעה המלך‬, “friend of the king”, Herbert Donner revisited, in a 1961 article, the particular office by that title for the Davidic-Solomonic monarchy according to biblical and Near Eastern evidence (cf. 2 Samuel 15:37, 16:16–17; 1 Kings 4:5; 1 Chronicles 27:33), proposing instead an Egyptian origin for it15 and also associating it to the aforementioned example in EA 288: “So erscheint Abdihepa von Jerusalem als Träger des ägyptischen Titels »Freund des Königs«, der ihm neben anderen Ehrenbezeichnungen vom Pharao verliehen worden ist”.16

12

Rainey 2015, I 1117. Van Selms 1957. See further now Dietrich 2014. 14 Van Selms 1957, 119 and 122 respectively. 15 See, for example, the opening line in the Story of Sinuhe: “The Prince, Count, Governor of the domains of the sovereign in the lands of the Asiatics, true and beloved Friend of the King, the Attendant Sinuhe, says: […]”, in Hallo 2003, 77. 16 Donner 1961, 274. See also Mettinger 1971, 63–69. 13

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From a wider ancient Near Eastern perspective, the Akkadian term for “friendship” (ṭābūtu), along with the ones for “brotherhood” (aḫḫūtu), “love/friendship” (ra’āmuttu) and “peace” (sulummû) have long been recognised as terminology proper of political relations, in particular a peer-polity or symmetric interaction17 (for asymmetric interaction see below). Actually, the idea of friendship conveys, in political terms, an expected collaboration, alliance and reciprocity between, e.g., two kings or rulers. One might consider initially with Donner that ‘AbdiḪeba received the honorary title “friend of the king” from the Pharaoh (or his high officials), which might also be in accord with Liverani’s indication that the petty king had probably been educated (acculturated) in Egypt, as it is known it was the Egyptian political custom during the New Kingdom.18 In fact, there are many historical and ethnographic examples from different societies of such a title being given to the king’s courtiers, personal servants, advisers and retainers, etc.19 However, in the present historical situation reflected by the epistolary text, “friend/ companion of the king” could most probably be ‘Abdi-Ḫeba’s own “perceived status”, as Ellen Morris notes,20 and with this there can already be quite another interpretation for the expression and what it connotes in terms of socio-politics from the native or indigenous perspective of the sender of the letter to the Pharaoh. The key question thus is: What does it mean politically to be friends/companions with a superior party? Household terminology: Ethnohistorical and ethnographic illustrations In terms of methodological procedure, it should be noted from the outset that any ethnohistorical or ethnographic comparison between two or more particular social situations, separated by time and/or space, aims essentially at singling out logical expectations after more or less analogous circumstances. In other words, similar cultures living side-by-side can certainly show similar socio-behavioural patterns on account of political contacts and material and symbolic exchanges, and it would accordingly be legitimate to enact a comparison by analogy. But different cultures existing at different periods of time could in fact reveal similar socio17

Cf. Munn-Rankin 1956; Moran 1963a; 1963b, 174; Weinfeld 1973; Zaccagnini 1990; Liverani 2001, 122–138; Podany 2010; Charpin 2019. 18 Cf. Frandsen 1979, 169; Morris 2018, 105–109, 154–156. 19 Cf., for instance, Goitein 1971; Konstan 1995; Grätz et al. 2004; Mączak 2005; Dreyer 2011; Llewellyn-Jones 2013, 12–41, esp. 32: “The title ‘friend of the king’ had a long pedigree in the Near East, and it is particularly well attested in the Hebrew Bible […] and in Akkadian texts as rukhi šarri […]. The title does not seem to have implied any specific function, but being a ‘friend of the king’ was clearly a closely guarded privilege and a source of pride for those who bore it; thus Tiribazus, the powerful satrap of Armenia, was a particularly favoured ‘friend of the king’ (Artaxerxes II), and, when resident at court away from his satrapy, ‘he alone had the privilege of mounting the king upon his horse’ (Xenophon, Anabasis 4.4.4.)”. 20 Morris 2006, 189.

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political circumstances too, which may as well be compared in order to see if the dynamics witnessed in one of them might be useful for understanding analogous socio-political actions in the other. Any typological or evolutionary consideration from this comparison should obviously be left out in the procedure, as it is primarily and most importantly the internal socio-political logics of the actors what is sought to be grasped for interpretive comparison.21 A first impression about the key phrase in EA 288 is that it belongs within a household symbolic framework, even if it is considered an Egyptian title that was bestowed upon the petty king. Household politics are of course related to Max Weber’s famous definition of a “patrimonial authority/domination” (patrimoniale Herrschaft).22 The notion has been thoroughly applied to ancient Near Eastern socio-politics by J. David Schloen in his massive The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol.23 In it, Schloen notes for example that: “In a patrimonial regime, subordinates are either ‘sons’ or ‘servants’ of the person in authority, superiors are ‘fathers’ or ‘masters,’ and social equals are ‘brothers,’ […] it can be argued that ancient Near Eastern social groups, both large and small, were based on traditionally legitimated domination expressed in the language of the household. […] Aspects of social relationships that a modem Westerner might separate under the headings of ‘family,’ ‘friendship,’ and ‘patronage’ are usually all expressed in terms of kinship.”24 In this sense, it is possible to argue that ancient Near Eastern socio-political action is not defined by the assumed (Western) limits of the institutional categories referred to in the quotation. Instead, these native or indigenous categories express symbolically but also tangibly different aspects of common patrimonial understanding of reality.25 In other words, to call someone a “father” when no biological affiliation exists implies, for instance, political submission and an expectation of protection.26 Likewise, to call someone a “brother” implies alliance and reciprocity. And to call someone a “friend” implies as well alliance, affinity 21

This whole question, in reality, deserves further discussion in ancient Near Eastern studies, but this is not the place to proceed with it. One may attend, in the meantime, to the insights in Detienne 2000, from a historical (Classical) perspective, and Candea 2019, from a socio-anthropological perspective. 22 Weber 1978 [1922]. 23 Schloen 2001. 24 Schloen 2001, 71 and 110. See also for Ugarit, Hawley 2010. Further, on subordination terminology, see Loretz 2003; this fine study lacks however a socio-anthropological analysis of the question, which would indeed supplement the philological study of the terminology. On this latter aspect, cf. the discussion in Pfoh 2020. 25 Cf. Conte 2001; Parolin 2009, 29–40. See also Schloen 2001, 71. 26 See already, for the features of divine fatherhood and motherhood, Dhorme 1932, 229– 235.

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and an expectation of reciprocity. As Julian Pitt-Rivers noted in The People of the Sierra, the foundational monograph of Mediterranean anthropology from the 1950s: “To enter into friendship with someone means putting oneself in a state of obligation. This obligation obliges one to meet his request, even though it involves a sacrifice on one’s own part. One must not, if one can help it, say ‘no’ to a friend. On the other hand accepting a service involves him in an obligation, which he must be ready to repay. Hence the necessity for mutual confidence.”27 But here a seemingly egalitarian term like “friend” can in reality obscure an actual asymmetric relationship, like a patron-client relationship.28 This implies, from an analytical perspective, the need to go beyond the explicit term to find out how it connotes a particular social relationship (and also a political ontology). We may appeal, in this regard, to relevant data coming from other historical scenarios, like Medieval Europe, and also from more recent ethnographic observations, for instance in Mediterranean societies, for the sake of going deeper into our comparative analysis and also in order to widen the possibilities of interpretation of implied political praxis related to the concept of “friend/companion of the king” in Amarna times. First of all, and since “companion” is the denotation given most recently to the term by Liverani and Rainey, we may attend to the medieval resemblances it certainly possesses. A “companion”, in effect, is a retainer or even a client of the medieval kings, knights and chieftains, belonging to and supported by a seignorial household, and attached to his lord through personal dependence. As the noted French historian Marc Bloch observed: “The chiefs, especially the young chiefs, surrounded themselves with ‘companions’ (in Old German gisind, meaning literally ‘companion for an expedition’; Tacitus has rendered the word very accurately by the Latin comes). These companions they led in battle and on plundering expeditions, and in the intervals of rest gave them hospitality in their great wooden ‘halls’ where the atmosphere was congenial for long drinking-bouts. The little band was the mainstay of its captain in wars and vendettas; it supported his authority in the deliberations of the freemen; and the generous

27

Pitt-Rivers 1954, 138. Specialised literature on this subject is abundant: see, for instance, Pitt-Rivers 1954, 137–159; Campbell 1964, 230–234, 236, 244; Wolf 1966; Davis 1977, 132–150; Eisenstadt and Roniger 1984, 1–18, 269–293; Briquet 1999; Mączak 2005, 35–76. For the ancient Near East, especially Syria-Palestine, see Lemche 1995; Westbrook 2005; Pfoh 2009. 28

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gifts—of food and drink, of slaves, of gold rings—which he lavished upon these followers was an indispensable element of his prestige.”29 Furthermore, and just like in a patron-client relationship, where prestige is acquired by the patron through the act of having several clients, a king’s or a chieftain’s companion would also acquire prestige for himself just by belonging to his lord’s household and being in his service: “Modest as was the original social status of many of the ‘thugs’ maintained by the magnates and even by the king, from now on it grew steadily in prestige. The ties which bound these war-companions to their chief represented one of those contracts of fidelity freely entered into which were compatible with the most respectable social position.”30 If we attend to Weber’s characterisation of what he calls a “patrimonial retainer”, we find clear coincidences not only with the description in the previous quotations, but with what the Syro-Palestinian/Canaanite petty kings under Egyptian domination during the Late Bronze Age thought they were entitled to as well: “The patrimonial retainer may receive his support in any of the following ways: a) by living from the lord’s table, b) by allowances (usually in kind) from the lord’s magazines or treasury, c) by rights of land use in return for services (‘service-land’), d) by the appropriation of property income, fees or taxes, e) by fiefs.”31 Now, closely related to the military attachment of the companion to his lord, where both parties gain prestige yet in a different and unequal proportion, is the situation of obtained honour enhancing the bond of patronage or clientelism (rather than “vassalage”). In the words of Pitt-Rivers: “Honor based on power is the backbone of clientelism: he who acknowledges his own inferiority and attaches himself to a powerful patron also shares in the latter’s glory. While his enjoyment of the protection and re29

Bloch 2004 [1939], 154. See also Althoff 2004 [1990], 102–135. Bloch 2004 [1939], 156. 31 Weber 1978 [1922], 235. A reference to the maryannū social group, usually associated with war activities on chariots in the Syrian political landscape of the period, can certainly be made here; cf. Vita 1995, 93–109. Also, and after these features, the characterisation of Canaanite society as an “oligarchy” by Rainey (2003, 172), could indeed be better understood as properly patrimonial. See also the characterisation of the king’s men of Ugarit in Márquez Rowe 2002 (albeit without acknowledging patron-client relationships); and especially in Prosser 2010, 178–217 (with explicit acknowledgement of patron-client relationships). 30

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wards such a relation affords does at first place him in a position of inferiority to his patron, it simultaneously confirms his superiority over his equals.”32 Regarding how friendship, which implies in theory a certain equality of status between two individuals, can also express patronage, a profoundly unequal or asymmetric relationship (not only in political but also in economic terms), PittRivers has indicated: “[…] moral equality is essential even between unequals, for the only admissible reciprocity is in sentiments. It must be accepted that my sentiments are of the same value as yours even though I cannot demonstrate them by material equivalence—‘it’s the thought that counts’. For this reason economic equivalence must be denied. Yet for this reason also it becomes possible to find a structure of patronage erected upon the ties of friendship between unequals: protection and influence are given in return for service and prestige, and the greater the value of protection the greater the counterprestation that can be expected in return.”33 We may also find a relevant description of the features of patronage for understanding the Syro-Palestinian/Canaanite political ontology of subordination, often at odds with the Egyptian orders and messages found in the Amarna correspondence,34 in further words of Pitt-Rivers: “Service and protection are the reciprocal links which hold a system of patronage together. At the same time the patron increases his prestige through the possession of clients, while the client participates in the glory of his patron. The two are linked together by a personal tie which gives each diffuse rights over the other: service when it is required, assistance when it is needed. The system is reinforced through the institution of ritual kinship and expressed in its idiom.”35 Again, these observations allow for better understanding many of the aspects of the Levantine political submission expressed in the Amarna letters. In effect, the reference to “ritual kinship” is particularly apt, for instance, for analysing EA 158, in which Aziru, ruler of Amurru, addresses the Egyptian officer Tutu not only as his lord but, interestingly, as his “father” and calls himself his “son”—as also does ‘Abdi-Ḫeba in EA 288:66. Since Aziru understands Tutu’s office as occurring in the personal service of the king (i.e. the Pharaoh),36 the petty king 32

Pitt-Rivers 2017 [1991], 111. Pitt-Rivers 1973, 89–105, here 98 (original emphases). 34 Cf. Liverani 1983; 1989. 35 Pitt-Rivers 1965, 58. 36 Cf. EA 158:1–2, 10–16, 20–21. Moran (1992, 244) translates “T[o] Tutu, my lord, [my] father: Message of Aziru, your son, your servant. […] Moreover, a[s] you in that place are 33

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consequently asks for his brokerage before the king.37 This is clearly an expression of politics based on a patronage political ontology, by which political relationships are always personal, conveyed by household terms of friendship and kinship and marked by an exchange of loyalty for protection.38 Thus, to quote once again from Pitt-Rivers: “The simulation of kinship in ritual kinship is inspired by this concern: to borrow the qualities attached to ‘real’ kinship in order to cement a relationship initiated by nothing more than mutual agreement. It is only this which distinguishes the blood-brother from the bond friend.”39 Considerations on asymmetric friendship and political ontologies We may characterise the relationship the Canaanite petty kings assumed to have with their Egyptian overlord in terms of asymmetric friendship (or simply expressed, clientelism). These analytical terms convey well the native or indigenous socio-political ontology whereby a great king like the Pharaoh is supposed to offer, in Amarnian terminology, protection (naṣāru) and “life” (balāṭu)—be the latter transcendent (from the Egyptian perspective) or in kind (from the Canaanite or “Asiatic” perspective)—and a petty king offers in return his loyalty (kittu) and obedience.40 This loyalty is inevitably understood as personal, from an indigenous

my father, whatever may be the request of Tutu, my f[at]her, just write and I will grant it. [A]s you are my father and my lord, [and] I am your son, the land of Amurru is your [lan]d, and my house is your house. […] [And] you are in the personal service [of the king], my [lord]”. Rainey (2015, I 787) translates “To Tutu, my lord, my father; the message of Aziru, your son, your servant. […] Furthermore, look, you are my father there and whatever the request of Tutu, my father, write and I verily will furnish (it). [L]ook, you are my father and my lord [and] I am your son. The territories of Amurru are your [territori]es and my house is your house. […] [And lo]ok, you abide in the presence of [the king,] my [lord]”. Liverani (1998, 273) offers instead for ll. 20–21 the following translation: “Guarda: tu stai al cospetto [del re mio signore]”, namely “Look, you are in the presence [of the king, my lord]”. 37 As Kettering (1988, 425) observes: “[…] a broker acts as a middleman to arrange an exchange of resources between two parties separated by geographic or personal distance such as differences in rank or office. Brokers bridge distances separating patrons and clients. A broker is a mediator in an indirect exchange, an agent who does not control what is transferred but who influences the quality of the exchange in negotiating the transfer. He is more than an intermediary or go-between because he has resources of his own that he can add to the exchange, and he does more than transmit the negotiations: he can also influence them, doing his own manipulating and lobbying”. 38 See Kettering 1989; and Althoff 2004 [1990], 65–101. 39 Pitt-Rivers 1973, 98; original emphases. See also Eisenstadt 1956. 40 See Liverani 1983, 49–53. Further on the endurance of this ideology of loyalty in SyriaPalestine, cf. Niehr 1997, 113–119.

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Syro-Palestinian perspective, and hence bound to an expectation of necessary reciprocity from the Pharaoh. If we consider separately the different pertinent lines of EA 288,41 we may advance the following interpretations: 1) EA 288:9–10: “Look, as for me, I am not a mayor, (but rather) a soldier of the king, my lord”. ‘Abdi-Ḫeba declares that he is not a mere mayor/ruler submitted to the Pharaoh, like the rest of his Canaanite monarchic colleagues: he truly is a soldier of the king (cf. also EA 285:6), namely a military servant in his direct service. This is an overstated declamation of personal political loyalty. This expression fits very well with the description in the quotation from Pitt-Rivers about the inferior role of a client in a patronage situation, noted above: “While his enjoyment of the protection and rewards such a relation affords does at first place him in a position of inferiority to his patron, it simultaneously confirms his superiority over his equals”. Consequently, by recognizing himself as a “soldier of the king” (i.e. a client, in his own understanding), ‘Abdi-Ḫeba elevates his own personal submission to the Pharaoh over the rest of the Canaanite rulers under Egyptian domination. 2) EA 288:11–12: “Look, as for me, a friend of the king and a bringer of the king’s tribute am I”. When ‘Abdi-Ḫeba calls himself a “friend [or companion] of the king”, regardless if this was an Egyptian-given title, we may assert that he is expressing what friendship and affinity means in terms of a sociability of patronage within a greater household conception of political community. He is—in analytical terms—a client who correctly reminds his patron (the Pharaoh) that he as such must reciprocate and respond to his need: ‘Abdi-Ḫeba asks alternatively for archers to be sent, or a commissioner, or to be fetched himself, in sight of the war-like situation he claims to be facing (cf. EA 288:48–61). That he also calls himself a “tribute-bearer” makes explicit his condition of a loyal servant who indeed fulfils what is expected of him by his kingly overlord.42 3) EA 288:13–15: “Neither my father nor my mother, (but rather) the strong arm of the king has placed me in my father’s house”. The recognition that ‘Abdi-Ḫeba accessed his throne not through his biological affiliation to his father and his mother (i.e. his lineage), but was rather appointed by the “strong arm of the king” (cf. also EA 286:9–13; 287:25–28), makes perfect sense within a patronage framework: actually, the ethnographic record

41

The translation into English given in this section slightly modifies Rainey’s aforementioned rendition. 42 Compare this with KTU 3.1, a letter from a loyal Ugaritic “vassal” (client) sending tribute to his Hittite overlord; cf. Knoppers 1993.

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shows in many situations that patronage cuts through biological/family bonds and forges new loyalties.43 It is clear that the Pharaoh—who without doubt held the monopoly of coercion in Weberian parlance—did as he wished in conquered territory like the Levant and he (his office, actually) supported already existent rulers or appointed new ones, most probably following geopolitical considerations. The interesting thing about this is ‘Abdi-Ḫeba’s own understanding of this political situation: he “reads” his subordination through the lenses of patronage and speaks therefore in that precise political language, while the Pharaoh, from afar, neglects or implicitly denies any sort of personal (patronage) bond and regards instead the role of the petty kings as one proper of minor officers who should abide by the direct orders received. Decades ago, Liverani had already recognised this clash of ideological and political conceptions between the Pharaoh (the Egyptian chancery) and the Syro-Palestinian kinglets.44 While Liverani rightly identified then the communicational interference or misunderstanding between an Egyptian (bureaucratic) worldview and an “Asiatic” (personalised and vassal-like) worldview, it can in fact be argued now that the latter ontology meets more appropriately the features essential to household politics, wherein to find patron-client relationships and their corresponding terminology.45 A final remark The present discussion attempted to expose how an analytical perspective built upon ethnographic and ethnohistorical data and considerations can shed further light on ancient terminology, its ideologies and its socio-political connotations. This involves an analytical disposition for cultural translation, although in an inevitably forensic manner: our historical actors are not out there anymore, in order to observe them act and interact “in the field”. All we have left are textual and archaeological remnants of their worldviews and of their produced materiality— and our informed guesses about their thoughts and the meaning of their behaviours. This interpretive strategy could, in spite of its logical and certain limitations, be helpful to recover—always partially—the political ontologies within the messages of Amarna epistolography, which portray fragments, scenes and, especially, ideological projections from ancient historical situations. Bibliography Althoff, G. 2004 [1990]. Family, Friends and Followers: Political and Social Bonds in Medieval Europe, translated by C. Carroll, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

43

See relevant ethnographic examples of this, for instance, in Black 1972; Bradburd 1980; Blackwood 1997. Other relevant historical insights are found in Kettering 1989. 44 Liverani 1967; 1983; 1989. 45 Cf. Pfoh 2020, 182–187.

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Benz, B. C. 2016. The Land before the Kingdom of Israel: A History of the Southern Levant and the People who Populated It (History, Archaeology, and Culture of the Levant 7), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Black, J. 1972. “Tyranny as a Strategy for Survival in an ‘Egalitarian’ Society: Luri Facts versus an Anthropological Mystique”, Man NS 7/4, 614–634. Blackwood, E. 1997. “Women, Land, and Labor: Negotiating Clientage and Kinship in a Minangkabau Peasant Community”, Ethnology 36/4, 277–293. Bloch, M. 2004 [1939]. Feudal Society, I: The Growth of Ties of Dependency, London: Routledge. Bradburd, D. A. 1980. “Never Give a Shepherd an Even Break: Class and Labor among the Komachi”, American Ethnologist 7/4, 603–620. Briquet, J.-L. 1999. “Des amitiés paradoxales. Échanges intéressés et morale du désintéressement dans les relations de clientèle”, Politix 12, 7–20. Campbell, J. K. 1964. Honour, Family and Patronage: A Study of Institutions and Moral Values in a Greek Mountain Community, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Candea, M. 2019. Comparison in Anthropology: The Impossible Method (New Departures in Anthropology), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Charpin, D. 2019. « Tu es de mon sang » : Les alliances dans le Proche-Orient ancien (Docet Omnia), Paris: Les Belles Lettres – Collège de France. Cohen, R. / Westbrook, R. (eds). 2000. Amarna Diplomacy: The Beginnings of International Relations, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Conte, É. 2001. “Affinités électives et parenté arabe”, Études rurales 157/158, 65–94. Davis, J. 1977. People of the Mediterranean: An Essay in Comparative Social Anthropology, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Dhorme, E. 1932. “Le dieu parent et le dieu maître dans la religion des Hébreux”, Revue de l’histoire des religions 105, 229–244. Dietrich, J. 2014. “Von der Freundschaft im Alten Testament und Alten Orient”, Die Welt des Orients 44/1, 37–56. Detienne, M. 2000. Comparer l’incomparable : Oser expérimenter et construire (Points 627), Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Donner, H. 1961. “Der ‘Freund des Königs’”, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 73, 269–277. Dreyer, B. 2011. “How to Become a ‘Relative’ of the King: Careers and Hierarchy at the Court of Antiochus III”, The American Journal of Philology 132/1, 45– 57. Eisenstadt, S. N. 1956. “Ritualized Personal Relations: Blood Brotherhood, Best Friends, Compadre, etc.: Some Comparative Hypotheses and Suggestions”, Man 96, 90–95. Eisenstadt, S. N. / Roniger, L. 1984. Patrons, Clients and Friends: Interpersonal Relations and the Structure of Trust in Society, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Frandsen, P. J. 1979. “Egyptian Imperialism”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 167–181. Goitein, S. 1971. “Formal Friendship in the Medieval Near East”, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 115/6, 484–489. Grätz, T. / Meier, B. / Pelican, M. 2004. “Freundschaftsprozesse in Afrika aus sozial-anthropologischer Perspektive: Eine Einführung”, Africa Spectrum 39/1, 9–39. Hallo, W. W. (ed.). 2003. The Context of Scripture. I: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, Leiden: Brill. Hawley, R. 2010. “Household Metaphors in the Epistolary Traditions of Ugarit: Implications for Social Theory”, in: W. H. van Soldt (ed.), Society and Administration in Ancient Ugarit. Papers Read at a Symposium in Leiden, 13–14 December 2007, (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 114), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 71–83. Hess, R. S. 2003. “Rhetorical Forms in the Amarna Correspondence from Jerusalem”, MAARAV: A Journal for the Study of the Northwest Semitic Languages and Literatures 10, 221–244. Hoffmeier, J. K. 1986. “The Arm of God versus the Arm of Pharaoh in the Exodus Narratives”, Biblica 67/3, 378–387. Kettering, S. 1988. “The Historical Development of Political Clientelism”, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 18/3, 419–447. Kettering, S. 1989. “Patronage and Kinship in Early Modern France”, French Historical Studies 16/2, 408–435. Knoppers, G. N. 1993. “Treaty, Tribute List, or Diplomatic Letter: KTU 3.1 Reexamined”, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 289, 81–94. Koch, I. 2019. “Southwestern Canaan and Egypt during the Late Bronze Age I– IIA”, in: A. M. Maeir / I. Shai / C. McKinny (eds), The Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages of Southern Canaan (Archaeology of the Biblical Worlds 2), Berlin: de Gruyter, 262–282. Knudtzon, J. A. 1907. Die el-Amarna-Tafeln mit Einleitung und Erläuterungen, Anmerkungen und Register bearbeitet von O. Weber und E. Ebeling (Vorderasiatische Bibliothek 2/1), Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Konstan, D. 1995. “Patrons and Friends”, Classical Philology 90/4, 328–342. Lemche, N. P. 1995. “Justice in Western Asia in Antiquity, or: Why No Laws Were Needed!”, Chicago Kent Law Review 70/4, 1695–1716. Lemche, N. P. 2016. “The Amarna Letters and Palestinian Politics”, in: L. L. Grabbe (ed.), The Land of Canaan in the Late Bronze Age (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 10 / Library of Hebrew Bible and Old Testament Studies 636), London: Bloomsbury, 133–146.

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Liverani, M. 1967. “Contrasti e confluenze di concezioni politiche nell’età di ElAmarna”, Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 61/1, 1–18. Liverani, M. 1983. “Political Lexicon and Political Ideologies in the Amarna Letters”, Berytus 31, 41–56. Liverani, M. 1989. “Contatti linguistici e incomprensioni ideologiche nelle lettere di el-Amarna”, in: Commercia linguae. La conoscenza delle lingue nel mondo antico, Pavia: Dipartimento di Scienze dell’Antichità dell’Università di Pavia, 31–43. Liverani, M. 1998. Le lettere di el-Amarna, 1. Le lettere dei ‘Piccoli re’ (Testi del Vicino Oriente Antico 3/1), Brescia: Paideia. Liverani, M. 2001. International Relations in the Ancient Near East, 1600–1100 BC (Studies in Diplomacy), New York: Palgrave. Liverani, M. 2010. “The Pharaoh’s Body in the Amarna Letters”, in: M. Liverani / M.G. Biga (eds), ana turri gimilli: Studi dedicati al Padre Werner R. Mayer, S.J. da amici e allievi (Quaderni del Vicino Oriente V), Rome: Università di Roma “La Sapienza”, 147–175. Llewellyn-Jones, L. 2013. King and Court in Ancient Persia 559 to 331 BCE (Debates and Documents in Ancient History), Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Lloyd, G. E. R. 2019. “The Clash of Ontologies and the Problems of Translation and Mutual Intelligibility”, HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 9/1, 36–43. Loretz, O. 2003. “Ugaritisch ʿbd ‘Sklave, Diener, Vasall’: Eine Studie zu ug.-he. ʿbd ʿlm || bn ảmt (KTU 1.14 III 22–32a et par.) in der juridischen Terminologie altorientalischer Verträge”, Ugarit-Forschungen 35, 333–384. Mączak, A. 2005. Ungleiche Freundschaft. Klientelbeziehungen von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart (Deutsche Historisches Institut Warschau: Klio in Polen 7), Osnabrück: Fibre. Márquez Rowe, I. 2002. “The King’s Men in Ugarit and Society in Late Bronze Age Syria”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 45/1, 1– 19. Mettinger, T. 1971. Solomonic State Officials: A Study of the Civil Government Officials of the Israelite Monarchy (Coniectanea Biblica / Old Testament Series 5), Lund: Theological Faculty, University of Lund. Moran, W. L. 1963a. “The Ancient Near Eastern Background of the Love of God in Deuteronomy”, Catholic Biblical Quaterly 25/1, 77–87. Moran, W. L. 1963b. “A Note on the Treaty Terminology of the Sefire Stelas”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 22/3, 173–176. Moran, W. L. 1992. The Amarna Letters, Baltimore / London: Johns Hopkins University Press. Moran, W. L. 1995. “Some Reflections on Amarna Politics”, in: Z. Zevit / S. Gitin / M. Sokoloff (eds), Solving Riddles and Untying Knots. Biblical, Epigraphic

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and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 559–572. Morris, E. F. 2006. “Bowing and Scraping in the Ancient Near East: An Investigation into Obsequiousness in the Amarna Letters”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 65/3, 179–196. Morris, E. F. 2018. Ancient Egyptian Imperialism, Hoboken: Wiley Blackwell. Munn-Rankin, J. M. 1956. “Diplomacy in Western Asia in the Early Second Millennium B.C.”, Iraq 18/1, 68–110. Mynářová, J. 2014. “Egyptian State Correspondence of the New Kingdom: The Letters of the Levantine Client Kings in the Amarna Correspondence and Contemporary Evidence”, in: K. Radner (ed.), State Correspondence in the Ancient World. From New Kingdom Egypt to the Roman Empire (Oxford Studies in Early Empire), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 10–31. Mynářová, J. 2015. “Egypt among the Great Powers and Its Relations to the Neighboring Vassal Kingdoms in the Southern Levant According to the Written Evidence: Thutmose III and Amarna”, in: B. Eder / R. Pruzsinszky (eds), Policies of Exchange. Political Systems and Modes of Interaction in the Aegean and Near East in the 2nd Millennium B.C.E., Proceedings of the International Symposium at the University of Freiburg, Institute of Archaeological Studies, 30th May – 2nd June 2012 (Oriental and European Archaeology 2), Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 155–163. Na’aman, N. 2011. “Jerusalem in the Amarna Period”, in: C. Arnould-Behar / A. Lemaire (eds), Jérusalem antique et médiévale. Mélanges en l’honneur d’Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, Louvain: Peeters, 31–48. Niehr, H. 1997. “The Constitutive Principles for Establishing Justice and Order in Northwest Semitic Societies with Special Reference to Ancient Israel and Judah”, Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 3, 112–130. Parolin, G. P. 2009. Citizenship in the Arab World: Kin, Religion and NationState, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Pfoh, E. 2009. “Some Remarks on Patronage in Syria-Palestine during the Late Bronze Age”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 52/3, 363–381. Pfoh, E. 2019. “Prestige and Authority in the Southern Levant during the Amarna Age”, in: A. M. Maeir / I. Shai / C. McKinny (eds), The Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages of Southern Canaan (Archaeology of the Biblical Worlds 2), Berlin: de Gruyter, 247–261. Pfoh, E. 2020. “Feudalism and Vassalage in Twentieth-Century Assyriology”, in: A. Garcia-Ventura / L. Verderame (eds), Perspectives on the History of Ancient Near Eastern Studies, University Park: Eisenbrauns / Penn State University Press, 172–189. Pitt-Rivers, J. 1954. The People of the Sierra, New York: Criterion Books.

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Pitt-Rivers, J. 1965. “Honour and Social Status”, in: J. G. Peristiany (ed.), Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 17–95. Pitt-Rivers, J. 1973. “The Kith and the Kin”, in: J. Goody (ed.), The Character of Kinship, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 89–105. Pitt-Rivers, J. 2017 [1991]. “The Malady of Honor”, in: J. Pitt-Rivers, From Hospitality to Grace: A Julian Pitt-Rivers Omnibus, edited by G. da Col / A. Shryock, Chicago: HAU Books, 105–118. Podany, A. H. 2010. Brotherhood of Kings: How International Relations Shaped the Ancient Near East, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Prosser, M. C. 2010. Bunušu in Ugaritian Society, PhD dissertation, University of Chicago. Rainey, A. F. 2003. “Amarna and Later: Aspects of Social History”, in: W. G. Dever / S. Gitin (eds), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past. Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 169–187. Rainey, A. F. 2015. The El-Amarna Correspondence: A New Edition of the Cuneiform Letters from the Site of El-Amarna based on Collations of all Extant Tablets, edited by W. Schniedewind / Z. Cochavi-Rainey (Handbuch der Orientalistik 110), Leiden: Brill. Schloen, J. D. 2001. The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East (Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2), Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Van Selms, A. 1957. “The Origin of the Title ‘The King’s Friend’”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 16/2, 118–123. Steiner, M. L. 2003. “The Evidence from Kenyon’s Excavations in Jerusalem: A Response Essay”, in: A. G. Vaughn / A. E. Killebrew (eds), Jerusalem in Bible and Archaeology: The First Temple Period (Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series 18), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 347–363. Uziel, J. / Baruch, Y. / Szanton, N. 2019. “Jerusalem in the Late Bronze Age / The Glass Half Full”, in: A. M. Maeir / I. Shai / C. McKinny (eds), The Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages of Southern Canaan (Archaeology of the Biblical Worlds 2), Berlin: de Gruyter, 171–184. Vita, J.-P. 1995. El ejército de Ugarit (Banco de Datos Filológicos Semíticos Noroccidentales – Monografías 1), Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. Weber, M. 1978 [1922]. Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, edited by G. Roth and C. Wittich, Berkeley: University of California Press. Weinfeld, M. 1973. “Covenant Terminology in the Ancient Near East and Its Influence on the West”, Journal of the American Oriental Society 93/2, 190– 199.

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Westbrook, R. 2005. “Patronage in the Ancient Near East”, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 48/2, 210–233. Wolf, E. R. 1966. “Kinship, Friendship, and Patron-Client Relations in Complex Societies”, in: M. Banton (ed.), The Social Anthropology of Complex Societies (Association of Social Anthropologists Monograph 4), London: Routledge, 1– 22. Zaccagnini, C. 1990. “The Forms of Alliance and Subjugation in the Near East of the Late Bronze Age,” in: L. Canfora / M. Liverani / C. Zaccagnini (eds), I trattati nel mondo antico. Forma, ideologia, funzione (Instituto Gramsci. Saggi di Storia Antica 2), Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 37–79.

Ideology and Material Culture in the Late Bronze Age Northern Levant A Pottery Perspective∗ Mariacarmela Montesanto Durham University

Abstract: The aim of this article is to review the impact that the Mittani and the Hittite empires had on the local material culture (i.e. pottery) during the Late Bronze Age (15th–12th century BCE) in the Northern Levant. The Northern Levant includes modern South-eastern Turkey and Northern Syria at the crossroads between Anatolia and Mesopotamia. The region has always played a crucial role in understanding interaction and acculturation processes between different social groups. During the Late Bronze Age, the Northern Levant was first part of the Mittani kingdom (15th–14th century BCE), while later on (14th–12th century BCE) it became part of the Hittite empire. According to Marxist theory, the concept of “Ideology” was understood as a means employed by political elites to shape and influence social behaviours. More often, ideology is used to describe the strategies used by a kingdom or an empire to assert itself over the conquered society. In relation to this theory, scholars assumed a connection between ideology and material culture by linking the imperial political presence and the appearance of a specific pottery industry and typology. Therefore, the imperial presence is associated with the consequent appearance of non-local pottery types. The article will present a series of case studies to review the interactions between the Late Bronze Age empires and the local population in the Northern Levant. In particular, the contribution will focus on the selective integration in the local pottery typology of non-local types to understand the impact that these empires had on social habits and local identities. Keywords: ideology; Northern Levant; pottery; empire; Late Bronze Age.

Introduction The Late Bronze Age in the Northern Levant is often defined as the International Age,1 however studies often draw attention on the shared practices while neglecting the differences. The overall aim of this article is to present case studies to review the interactions between the Late Bronze Age empires and the local pop∗

I am very grateful to Aslıhan Yener for allowing me to be part of the Tell Atchana team and to Marina Pucci and especially to Murat Akar, whose research gave me the inspiration for this work. 1 Feldman 2006.

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ulation of the Northern Levant from a pottery point of view. In particular, it will focus on the selective integration in the local pottery typology of foreign, imported types, often in relation to their intrinsic meaning and function. Scholars2 assumed a connection between the imperial political presence and the appearance of a specific pottery industry, thus establishing a link between the imperial centralised production and the consequent standardisation and exportation of this model on newly conquered territories. Research focused on the study of Southern and Central American empires identified a series of strategies employed or prompted by these entities on their peripheral areas.3 Of particular relevance for this contribution are 1) emulation, when people in the province employ a prestigious style or practice associated with the imperial elite; 2) resistance, when provincial people seek to reduce or to overthrow the imperial control; 3) appropriation, when provincial peoples selectively adopt or modify imperial procedures and institutions and use them to further local ends. The article will present a series of case studies based on the analysis of the material culture (i.e. pottery) to review the interactions between the Late Bronze Age empires and the local population in the Northern Levant. Ideology can be understood as an attempt to naturalise or impose the interest of a particular group of the population over another, and it is generally accepted that this process is accomplished by misrepresenting the interests that are common to the rest of the group or society.4 This methodology has often been used to understand the extent of imperial control over the general population.5 More recently, studies focused on the analysis of the impact that material culture had in promoting practices and ideologies of ancient Near Eastern empires identified different levels of interaction: delegates (things that produce political effects); proxies (copies or emulation of imperial practices); captives (imperial things); and affiliates (material and immaterial things that represent imperial practices).6 However, because archaeological contexts are often fragmentary, one of the challenges that archaeology faces while trying to associate practices and material culture to a specific ideology is to discern between ideology and local resistance, that is to discern between the interest of a particular group and the interest of the general population. For instance, if we suppose that ideology is the public representation of the elite, there is a need to analyse the material culture to be able to identify elements of challenge and resistance included within. Material culture shared between different groups is often modified in the form of new shapes and styles; social practices evolve and are adapted to conform with 2

Postgate 2007; D’Agostino 2008. Stark and Chance 2012, 193. 4 Miller and Tilley 1984; Bernbeck and McGuire 2011; Pollock 2011; Marx and Engels 1978 [1846]. 5 Pollock 2011. 6 Khatchadourian 2016; Glatz 2020. 3

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local behaviours and values. This practice can be seen as a form of resistance to an ideology, interpreted as the interest and, by association, as the material culture of the dominant group, i.e. the empire. It is with this approach in mind that the article will review the material relationships and interconnections between the Mittani, Hittite and local material culture in the Levant, in order to identify and analyse within the broader context elements of resistance to the imperial ideology. Historical background The Late Bronze Age in the Northern Levant is characterised by a complex system of “great kings” and “small kings”.7 The role of “great kings” is played by the major imperial powers active in the region, i.e. Mittani and Hittite empires, while the “small kings” are the many city-states and kingdoms that, at various time, became vassal or subjects of the empires. More specifically, the Northern Levant during the Late Bronze Age was divided into a series of polities: the small kingdoms of Mukiš and Halab in the North; Ugarit, Niya and Nuḫašše towards the coast; Amurru and Qatna in the centre and Kadesh and Ube in the South.8 The capital cities were often fortified and excavations at a number of major sites confirmed that the palace and the temple played an important and central role during this time. However, although fairly big houses or residencies have been excavated at a number of sites, it seems that the majority of the Late Bronze Age Northern Levantine population was living in rural villages and in the countryside. The Mittani kingdom9 started to appear around the 17th century BC in Upper Mesopotamia;10 however, its expansion started during the 15th century BC, when the Old Hittite kings completed a series of military victories in the Northern Levant, defeating the kingdom of Yamhad whose power base was in Aleppo. While the Hittites, at that time, were unable to fill the power vacuum left by the fall of Yamhad, the Mittani managed to invade Syria and to establish control over the area. Mittani managed also to expand towards the south, reaching its maximum expansion during the 15th century BC and slowly losing control over these areas during the 14th century BC. The Hittite kingdom was known in Anatolia since the 17th century BC, however only during the 14th century a series of military campaigns resulted in a rapid

7

Liverani 2014. Luciani 2014. 9 Scholars disagree on the nature on the Mittani state; the imperial grasp of Mittani is difficult to perceive because of the lack of written documentation (Cancik-Kirschbaum et al. 2014); it is variably defined as either polity (Schwartz 2014), kingdom (von Dassow 2008) or state (Yoffee 2014). 10 De Martino 2014, 61. 8

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expansion of the kingdom and therefore in the creation of the empire that successfully controlled Anatolia, parts of Upper Mesopotamia and the Northern Levant.11 The Late Bronze Age in the Ancient Near East is characterised by extensive relationships between the various political entities of the region. These relationships were happening both at a diplomatic level, but also at an artistic level. Many scholars define the art and the material culture produced during this period in the Near East and Egypt as belonging to an international style.12 Many objects and art created during this period show a high level of hybridity and artistic internationalisation,13 making very hard to identify a single workshop of place of origin for the styles. While form of arts such as frescoes and carvings, and material culture such as metals show this international style, pottery and its trends can be regionally defined.14 Pottery is used at all levels of society, it is often part of everyday life and as such it can be considered as an indicator of social, functional and political changes. The following chapters will introduce the Late Bronze Age pottery from the Amuq valley and it will analyse it in relationship with the appearance of specific pottery types, linked with an imperial presence over the region. Alalakh and the Amuq Valley The Amuq Valley is located in modern Southern Turkey, in the province of Hatay. The valley is crossed by three main rivers, the Orontes from the south, the Kara Su from the north and the Afrin from the south-east. The Amuq Valley includes more or less the territory that during the Late Bronze Age belonged to the kingdom of Mukiš.15 The site of Tell Atchana (Fig. 1), the ancient city of Alalakh, was the capital city of the kingdom, while smaller, maybe rural sites are known in the sites of Chatal Höyük and Tell al-Judaidah.16 The Amuq Valley was investigated by the Oriental Institute of Chicago during the 1930s and by the British Museum during the 1930s and 1950s. 17 The Oriental Institute surveyed and excavated the sites of Chatal Höyük and Tell al-Judaidah,18 while the British Museum focused on the site of Tell Atchana / Alalakh.19 The majority of information we have about Alalakh, the kingdom of Mukiš and the political setting of the Late Bronze Age Northern Levant is coming from

11

Bryce 2005. Smith 1965; Kantor 1947. 13 Feldman 2006. 14 Luciani and Hausleiter 2014. 15 Yener et al. 2000. 16 Yener 2010; Yener et al. 2020; Wilkinson and Casana 2005. 17 Braidwood 1937 and Woolley 1955, respectively. 18 Braidwood 1937; Braidwood and Braidwood 1960. 19 Woolley 1955. 12

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the Alalakh Archive texts.20 However, recent surveys and excavations conducted in the Amuq Valley and in Alalakh, 21 and recent re-analysis of the materials from the site of Chatal Höyük22 are shedding new light on the social and material culture of this kingdom. Understanding the impact that the Mittani empire had on the Northern Levant is difficult because of the lack of archaeological data.23 Recent archaeological excavation related to the Ilisu Dam project in the Upper Tigris valley exposed numerous sites that were under Mittani rule, however the archaeological data coming from these sites offer limited information. The site of Alalakh, on the other end, offers both text and archaeological data and it is crucial in understanding the rise and fall of the Mittani empire and the social structures of local people living under the empire.24

Figure 1: Location of the sites mentioned in the text (base map @Esri 2014; map by the author).

20

Von Dassow 2008. Yener 2010; Yener et al. 2020. 22 Pucci 2019a. 23 Wilhelm 1989, 27; Novák 2007, 390; 2013, 347; Akar 2018. 24 Yener 2010; Von Dassow 2008; Akar 2018. 21

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Alalakh under the Mittani empire Alalakh was one of Mittani’s westernmost vassals. The well-documented Hurrian control at Alalakh was used by some scholars as a marker of the Mittani hegemony over the area.25 The main text that allowed a reconstruction of the history of Alalakh during this period is the inscription on the statue of Idrimi.26 He was one of the sons of the king of Halab (Aleppo), who had been deposed and was forced to fled. Eventually, Idrimi founded the kingdom of Mukiš as a vassal to the Mittani empire.27 The Mittani political influence at Alalakh is testified by the “Hurrianisation” of Alalakh,28 reflected by the texts recovered from Level IV and it is defined by the architecture dated to Levels/Periods V and IV,29 partly revealed by the old excavations conducted by Woolley (Fig. 2).30 Woolley’s excavations retrieved an official complex composed of a main palace (Level IV palace) and surrounding buildings (including the Castle),31 a temple and several houses. Recent excavations exposed several other buildings dated to the Late Bronze Age I,32 but more information awaits publication.33 Historically speaking, according to the new phasing, Levels /Periods 5, 4 and 334 comprise the period when Alalakh was connected to the Mittani empire and aligned with it through the emigration of Hurro-Mittani citizens to Northern Syria35 or through the local emulation of Mittani imperial culture.36 Texts and material culture retrieved from the site show that the social structure of Mukiš was organised according to Mittani models.37 For instance, textual evidence shows that the formation of a specific social class, the maryannu, started at Alalakh during the Late Bronze Age I (Level/Period IV) and it may be linked with 25

Stein 1984; Von Dassow 2014. Von Dassow 2008. 27 Van De Mieroop 2016. 28 Draffkorn 1959. 29 Woolley Level, defined in Roman numerals, is given to indicate that the information and phasing is coming from Woolley’s publication. Levels exposed by the new excavations are defined by Period followed by Arabic numerals. The new round of excavations tried to synchronise the archaeological sequence with Woolley’s historical levels. Unfortunately, some of Woolley’s historical levels cannot be linked with the archaeological deposition. Period 4 is contemporary to Level IV; Period 3 is partially contemporary to Level III; Period 2 is partially contemporary to Level II and Period 1 is contemporary to Level I (Yener 2013; Yener et al. 2020). 30 Woolley 1955. 31 Woolley 1955; Yener 2013. 32 Yener 2013; Yener et al. 2020. 33 Alalakh Volume 3: The Late Bronze Age I City is under preparation. 34 Yener et al. 2020. 35 Von Dassow 2008. 36 Akar 2018. 37 Von Dassow 2008. 26

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Alalakh’s incorporation in the Mittani Empire.38 Furthermore, other textual evidence suggests that Mittani political power influenced the social organisation of Alalakh and of other cities ruled by the Mittani empire.39 Renewed research aimed to better clarify the Level/Period V and IV at Alalakh, cleared that although the Level IV Palace was destroyed, the Castle and other areas on the site were rebuilt, showing that Mittani influence over the city was not affected by the destruction.40 Material culture shows the appearance of a particular type of pottery, called Nuzi Ware. Nuzi ware is a type of painted pottery found in Syria and Northern Mesopotamia during the Late Bronze Age. Nuzi Ware was first recovered from the site of Nuzi (Yorghan Tepe)41 and the term was generally used by Mallowan after he recorded the presence of this type of pottery in many sites of the Jazirah.42 The painted decoration consists of geometric elements, floral motifs and animals while shapes mainly include open and intermediate shapes (such as cups, goblets and kraters) generally used as drinking vessels.

Figure 2: Map of Woolley’s Alalakh excavations showing the Level IV/III buildings (after Woolley, 1955: plate XXII, redrawn by the author).

38

Von Dassow 2008, 269; 2014. Von Dassow 2008. 40 Yener et al. 2020; Akar 2018. 41 Starr and Chute 1937–1939. 42 Mallowan 1946, 132. 39

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Excavations conducted at the heartland of the Mittani Empire (in the sites of Tell Rimah, Tell Brak43 and Tell Fekheriye44) show how this type of pottery was generally produced in few centres and then imported everywhere in the empire.45 However, at Alalakh, starting from Level V (15th century BC), it started to appear a locally produced version of Nuzi Ware, generally called “Atchana Nuzi Ware” and characterised by floral decorations.46 The evolution of the Atchana Nuzi Ware shows many influences coming from the Aegean and Egypt, possibly reflecting the hybrid nature of Alalakh’s society. The original Nuzi Ware is generally associated with a Mittanian elite, as it is generally found in contexts related with the palace or palace activities, while the Atchana Nuzi Ware is more widespread and recovered almost everywhere on the site.47 Although the Mittani rule over Mukiš and Alalakh ended in the middle of the 14th century BC and textual evidence confirms that some social practices and organisation patterns did not survive Mittani’s demise,48 the production of the Atchana Nuzi Ware did not stop. Evidence suggests that it continued until almost the very end of the site’s occupation,49 showing that by this time, the Atchana Nuzi Ware was completely integrated with the local tradition. Although this article focuses on the pottery, another material that shows traces of Mittani influence is the vitreous material. Renewed excavations at Alalakh yielded glass and frit objects as well as vitreous slags.50 Vitrified materials, and in particular beads, were very common in Mittani centres such as Nuzi, Tell alRimah and Tell Brak, where such items have been found in great quantities, emphasising a high consumption of jewellery and bead decorations.51 In addition to this, the crudely carved small stone statuettes retrieved from Level IV palace52 have been identified as part of the Mittani or Late Bronze Age Khabur material culture.53 These statuettes have been defined as “stone spirits” and interpreted as guardians or chthonic deities placed in doorways or foundations.54 They seem to originate in the Khabur region and they have been found in Early Bronze Age and Middle Assyrian levels in that region,55 but they have also been found in other 43

Oates et al. 1997. Bonatz 2008. 45 Stein 1984. 46 Bataray 2020. 47 Bataray 2020. 48 Von Dassow 2008. 49 Montesanto and Pucci 2019. 50 Dardeniz 2017; 2018. 51 Akar 2018. 52 Woolley 1955, plate XLIV. 53 Stein 1984; Pfälzner 2007; Akar 2018, 46. 54 Carter 1970. 55 From Tell Munbaqa (Czichon 1998), Tell Brak (Oates et al. 1997), Selenkahiye (Van Soldt 2001), and Tell Sabi Abyad (Wiener 2011). 44

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contexts dated to the late Middle Bronze Age and Late Bronze Age I in Tell Mardikh / Ebla56 and Tell Afis.57 In Atchana they appear sporadically during the Late Bronze Age I and continue to be found until the 14th century BC.58 However, the presence of such statuettes in at least a periphery centre gravitating around Alalakh59 in levels dated to the Middle Bronze Age, means that there was already a cultural connection with the Khabur region long before the Mittani era in the region.60 Palace Level IV and the Castle dated to the same period, according to Woolley,61 were destroyed by the Hittite army during the reign of Tutḫaliya I/II. According to the Northern Levantine historiography, the series of destructions caused by the Hittite Syrian campaigns put an end to the Mittani rule over this region.62 However, excavations at Alalakh revealed that the Castle was repaired at least three times after the destructions (Alalakh’s Level/Period 3) and these levels mention the names of two kings (Addu-Nirari and Itur-Addu) that were not present in the Alalakh Level IV archive.63 This new evidence defines the final stage of Mittani rule over Alalakh. Although this period is poorly documented, archaeological and historical data points towards the definition of this period as the final act of the Mittani presence in the Northern Levant.64 Local pottery tradition during the Late Bronze Age I Pottery dated to the Late Bronze Age I and to the first part of the Late Bronze Age II presents many influences related to the Middle Bronze Age. The local pottery assemblage includes a variety of open shapes (shallow bowls, s-curve bowls), kraters and a wide variety of jars. Although the territory was now under Mittani control, the pottery assemblage shows a high presence of local shapes, evolved from the Middle Bronze Age local pottery assemblage. Some shapes, such as the shallow bowls and the s-curve bowls comes from Middle Bronze Age shapes. The Syrian Grey Ware, very widespread during the Middle Bronze Age is still used, as well as the Syro-Cilician pottery.65 However, the Mittani influence is more vis56

Matthiae 2006. Mazzoni 1998, 208. 58 Woolley 1955, 238–239; Yener 2015, 207. 59 Toprakhisar Höyük (Akar and Kara 2020, 87–89). 60 See also Akar and Kara 2020. 61 Woolley dated the Palace and the Castle to Level Vb (Woolley 1955, 156); however, since this complex was still in use when a new wing of Level IV Palace was built, a new phasing labelled them as Level 4a (Yener 2013). A general consensus defines Tutḫaliya I/II as the Hittite king who destroyed Level IV Palace and Castle (von Dassow 2008; Bryce 2005). 62 Liverani 2014; von Dassow 2014. 63 Akar 2018; Yener et al. 2020. 64 Von Dassow 2008; Fink 2010; Yener et al. 2020. 65 Heinz 1992; Bulu 2017. 57

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ible in the appearance of bowls, cups and goblets in Nuzi and in Atchana Nuzi Ware, and in the appearance of the Khabur Ware. The majority of shapes produced in Nuzi Ware were bowls, cups and goblets (Figs 3a, c–e), all shapes generally associated with a drinking function. The widespread of such items in all the territories of the Mittani empire suggests a specific strategy used by the Mittani Empire to influence the local societies and their behaviours. When the Nuzi Ware started to be locally produced, becoming the typical Atchana Nuzi Ware, in addition to typical Nuzi Ware’s shapes, some local shapes, such as the biconical krater, started also to be produced in Atchana Nuzi Ware (Figs 3b–c). The recovery of a biconical krater in Atchana Nuzi Ware is a perfect example of adaptation. Local potters produced a local object but decorated it by using a local imitation of a “foreign” decoration. The biconical krater is very typical of the Northern Levant. This shape does not typically appear in local pottery assemblages recovered from Mesopotamia or Anatolia and it remained, also during later periods, as a marker of the Northern Levantine drinking culture.66 The krater, in the Northern Levant and in the Amuq Valley, is often found together with cups and drinking bowls. This shape is not commonly attested in Anatolian or Mesopotamian pottery assemblages, while the cups and the bowls are often found in these contexts, meaning that these latter shapes were associated with others and therefore forming a different drinking set if compared to the findings from the Northern Levant and the Amuq Valley. Khabur Ware is a pottery with monochrome painted decoration and firstly identified in the Khabur region.67 However, data coming from archaeological excavations show that this pottery spread in Northern Iraq, Syria, Iran and Turkey.68 Khabur Ware may be the inspiration for the development of the Atchana Banded Ware, characterised by a horizontal banded decoration, usually in red paint. This ware generally appears on plates, bowls and cups. The Cylindrical cup is typically a Syrian shape that can be found across the Mittani Empire. At Alalakh it appears undecorated but also in Nuzi and Banded Ware. The presence of typical Mittani drinking vessels produced in Simple Ware, Banded Ware, Nuzi Ware and Atchana Nuzi Ware, together with the production of a very Levantine shape such as the krater suggests that the Mittani Empire succeeded in modifying the local drinking habits and that such habits became so much integrated in the local culture that also local shapes commonly associated with drinking and part of the local drinking set were produced imitating the typical ware of the Mittani empire.

66

Pucci 2018. Mallowan 1937. 68 Palmisano 2012. 67

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Figure 3: Nuzi pottery from Tell Atchana and Tell Brak, local krater from Tell Atchana (after: a: Bataray 2020, plate 8.1; b: Horowitz 2020, fig. 7.10; c: Bataray 2020, plate 8.2; d–e: Soldi 2008, fig. 6).

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As a summary, the Late Bronze Age I pottery from Alalakh includes bowls, small plates, goblets, jars and kraters. Nuzi Ware and Atchana Nuzi Ware generally includes goblets and kraters. Goblets do not generally belong to the local pottery assemblage; they are mostly absent from the Middle Bronze Age assemblage but they start appearing during the Late Bronze Age in Nuzi Ware and Khabur Ware. These two wares are very typical of the Upper Mesopotamian region and likely introduced in the Amuq Area during the Mittani period. The krater, on the other hand, belongs to a Levantine tradition. The preliminary analysis of the Late Bronze Age local pottery assemblage revealed that only the smaller bowls with simple rims could be used as drinking vessels. While these could be associated with undecorated kraters or with some of the jars, it seems that they were not produced in Nuzi or Atchana Nuzi Ware and therefore it is likely that they were not part of an original, Mittani drinking set. The most popular shapes recovered in Nuzi and Atchana Nuzi Ware are the cup, the goblet and the krater, and it is highly possible that they were part of a drinking set.69 The same shapes are recorded also after the Hittite conquest of the Amuq Valley and until the very end of the site’s occupation.70 The analysis of the Late Bronze Age I local pottery assemblage suggests that the Mittani Empire managed to exercise a certain level of control and that its ideology and habits were integrated within the local culture. Indeed, Mittani ideology at Alalakh is particularly evident in the drinking habits. The assimilation of Mittani drinking vessels in the local pottery assemblage, especially in the local drinking set, and the reproduction of local shapes in Mittani’s Ware highlights this integration. Furthermore, the use of these drinking vessels did not stop with the collapse of the Mittani empire, but continued after its dismissal from the Amuq Valley. Alalakh under the Hittite empire During the mid-14th century BC, Alalakh and Mukiš became part of the Hittite Empire.71 The arrival of the Hittites is not easily recorded in the site’s architecture. The first evidence of Hittite administrative presence was identified in Level/Period 3 from Woolley’s excavations and it should be ascribed to the rule of Šuppiluliuma I (Fig. 4).72 To this king is also attributed the construction of the Northern and Southern Fortresses.73 The following levels, Alalakh Level/Period 2, is characterised by the erection of two monumental casemate buildings, and by a reorganisation of the whole city’s plan. The lack of texts dated to Level/Period 2 makes the historical synchronisation of this period difficult. This period is char69

Soldi 2008; Oguchi 2013; Bataray 2020. Level 0; Montesanto and Pucci 2019; Bataray 2020. 71 Bryce 2005. 72 Woolley 1955; Yener et al. 2020. 73 Akar 2012; 2013; Yener et al. 2020. 70

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acterised by the appearance of Hittite material culture, including pottery and metalworks,74 but also by the appearance of a major local industry of Atchana Nuzi Ware. Based on this evidence, it is possible to date Level/Period 2 to the reign of Šuppiluliuma I and/or Muršili II.75 Furthermore, in contrast to previous theories that stated that the Hittite settlement at Alalakh was restricted to the Royal Precinct,76 the new excavation provided an opposite scenario that defines the city as a highly fortified and commercially active site.77

Figure 4: Map of Woolley’s Alalakh excavations showing the Level III/I buildings (after Woolley 1955, figs 32 and 59, plate XII; redrawn by the author).

The end of Period 2 is defined by a series of abandonment levels witnessed in most of the city; no trace of destruction is observed and there is the impression that the site was abandoned for a short period.78 The site was re-settled in Period 1. The Fortresses were not re-used, the temple and other buildings were re-built, and the material culture shows a high level of continuity with the previous period.

74

Horowitz 2015; 2020; Yener 2017. Yener et al. 2020. 76 Fink 2010. The Royal Precinct includes the area previously exposed by Woolley’s excavation (Woolley 1955; Yener et al. 2020). 77 Yener 2017; Yener et al. 2020. 78 Akar 2013. 75

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This period ended at the beginning of the 13th century BC,79 while evidence for a 13th century BC occupation is restricted to the temple area.80 The presence of Hittite officials at Alalakh is therefore visible in the architecture, texts and also in the material culture.81 A series of objects and pottery types started appearing in levels dated to the 14th and 13th centuries BC (Level/Period 2–1).82 More particularly, the Hittite presence is visible in the Northern and Southern Fortresses and in the temple and neighbouring areas.83 The temple, dedicated to Ishtar, was the most conspicuous cult establishment found in Alalakh. Although the temple was excavated by Woolley in the 1930s,84 the new excavations exposed an area located as close as possible to where the temple used to be, to better understand its stratigraphy and chronology.85 The excavation in the area surrounding the temple yielded two Imperial Hittite sealings and an orthostat mentioning the governor of the city and its wife.86 In addition to these finds, the recovery of specific material culture suggests that specific Hittite cult practices were introduced to Alalakh at that time.87 Handmade miniature vessels shaped as plates or juglets have been found scattered in the area surrounding the temple and elsewhere in the city since the beginning of Level/Period 2,88 sometimes together with a three-spiked metal axe, interpreted as a sacred or ceremonial weapon.89 Similar miniature plates and juglets have been found deposited in the sacred pools of Hattusa and therefore were linked with specific cult rituals.90 The finding of these shapes starting from Level/Period 2, generally associated with Anatolian cults, and the importance that cults and rituals had in the Hittite society suggests that they were specifically introduced by the Hittite officials during the mid-14th century BC. The temple and the activities related to them had an important role in Hittite society and it is easy to imagine that when the Hittites took control over the city and the region, they also introduced Hittite forms of rituals.

79

Yener et al. 2020. Yener 2013; Montesanto and Pucci 2019; Montesanto 2020; Pucci 2020. 81 Yener 2017; Horowitz 2015. 82 The use of Arabic numerals and the definition of Period refers to the new sequence for the site (Yener et al. 2020). 83 Akar 2012; 2013; Yener 2017; Montesanto 2020. 84 Woolley 1955, 33–90. 85 Yener 2013; Montesanto and Pucci 2019; Montesanto 2020. 86 Yener 2017. 87 Montesanto 2020. 88 Akar 2017; Yener 2017. 89 Yener 2011. 90 Fischer 1963, plate 119; Neve 1971, 12; 1993, 28, fig. 66; Schoop 2011, 248. 80

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As many scholars pointed out,91 the Hittite state tried to exert power through the control of local cults and ritual and, as a consequence, to exert control over ritual practices and behaviours. However, it is impossible to know whether this attempt to exercise power through ritual in Alalakh was effective. The majority of material culture directly associated with Hittites was recovered from the temple or its surroundings (two clay sealings, an orthostat, an oracle text, as well as pottery and metalworks directly associated with a ritual function), while the rest of the sites yielded very little pottery that can be associated with the Hittite presence.92 The end of Level/Period 1 is very ephemeral. New excavations have determined that there is no evidence for the 14th century BC in any area of the site, with the exception of the temple. Based on the omission of Alalakh or Mukiš from the list of allies recorded at the battle of Kadesh,93 it can be suggested that Alalakh was no longer a capital city of a vassal state but it was likely directly annexed as a province presumably under direct Hittite or related authority. Furthermore, no evidence of fundamental change in the city plan or in the building orientation means that there is some degree of continuity from the previous period. In addition to that, the analysis of the texts dated to the Hittite period indicates that the Hittite presence and administration on the area was pretty light.94 The ceramic production at Alalakh and in the Amuq Valley during the Late Bronze Age II does not appear to have undergone any economic impact linked to the Hittite conquest.95 Only five shapes have been identified as Hittite (see below) at Alalakh.96 Three of these shapes are fragmentary and two are miniature shapes strictly connected with ritual activities. However, the presence of small finds such as biconvex seals and metalworks have been used to prove cultural contact with the empire.97 Thus, the evidence suggests that, at Alalakh, Hittite culture was visible in very specific contexts (the ritual sphere). Moreover, the persistence of Northern Levantine practices of drinking, eating and cooking, different from those in Anatolia, and the strong continuity of the Late Bronze Age I pottery tradition shows an extremely low impact of the Hittite culture. Furthermore, the continuation of the Late Bronze Age I Mittani pottery and seal traditions in the Late Bronze Age II demonstrates that these customs had a stronger impact than the Hittite ones.

91

Cammarosano 2018; Thames 2020. Glatz 2009; 2020; Montesanto and Pucci 2019. 93 Beckman 1999, 90–95. 94 Von Dassow 2020, 214. 95 Pucci 2019b. 96 Glatz 2009; Horowitz 2015. 97 Yener 2011; 2017. 92

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Local pottery traditions during the Late Bronze Age II Late Bronze Age II local pottery tradition shows a high degree of continuity with the previous period, with the exception of the introduction of foreign shapes connected with Central Anatolia and with the Hittite political control over the area.98 The Hittite shapes identified in the local pottery assemblage are the miniature juglet and plate; the arm-shaped vessel; and two types of jars (Fig. 5).

Figure 5: Hittite vessels retrieved from Tell Atchana (after a: Yener2017, fig. 6; b: Woolley 1955, plate CXXXIII.150; c: Woolley 1955, plate CXI.39; d: Yener 2017, fig. 6; e: Horowitz 2020, plate 7.2).

98

Glatz 2009; Horowitz 2020.

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The pointed juglet (Fig. 5d) is a miniature vessel generally associated with ritual activities.99 While recently the pointed juglets recovered at Alalakh have been used to show the connectivity between Anatolia and Cyprus,100 it is clear that they were not present in the local pottery assemblage during the Middle Bronze Age and, although they start appearing in central Anatolia during the 15th century BC,101 they do not appear at Alalakh and in the Amuq before the mid14th century BC,102 when the region became part of the Hittite empire. The miniature plates (Fig. 5a) are generally handmade and they are typical of Anatolian sites and generally found in temples and ritual or cult areas.103 Another shape generally linked with the Hittites is the truncated-conical cup (Fig. 5e). This shape is wheel-made, showing a slight carination and it is generally string cut. Very few of them have been recovered from Alalakh and the Amuq Valley, generally in the temple or in the fortress, all contexts related to Hittite activities. Horowitz104 believes that they are Anatolian, however they are found also in Levantine sites and in Mittani sites making their origin not really clear. The arm-shaped vessels are linked to rituals involving liquids, and they appear in Central Anatolia around the 15th century BC.105 At Alalakh only one example was found in a building dated to the Hittite empire by Woolley and interpreted as one of the houses located not far from the temple area.106 Two jar shapes recovered in Late Bronze Age II Alalakh can be linked to Anatolia. A krater (Fig. 5b) and the fusiform jar (Fig. 5c). The krater finds comparisons with similar shapes recovered in Hattusha,107 while the fusiform jar is a shape typically found in Late Bronze Age II pottery assemblages. This particular shape is of Anatolian origin108 and in the Late Bronze Age II (13th century BC) starts to appear in Syria109 and in sites under Hittite direct control such as Tarsus, Tille Höyük, Gordion, Arslantepe and Korucutepe. 110 The fusiform jar is a known shape at Alalakh, it was found by Woolley above the platform of temple II and below the Annex of temple I;111 and by the new excavations from 14th century

99

Yener 2017; Akar 2017. Akar 2017. 101 Fischer 1963; Schoop 2011. 102 Yener 2017. 103 Müller-Karpe 2008. 104 Horowitz 2015. 105 Mielke 2007. 106 Woolley 1955, plate CXXV.a. 107 Müller-Karpe 1988, Taf. 14. 108 Müller-Karpe, 1988, Taf. 3.2. 109 Venturi 2014; Pedrazzi 2007. 110 Respectively, Goldman 1956, fig. 385.1191; Summers 1993, fig. 54.2; Voigt and Henrickson 2000, fig. 17.11; Manuelli 2013, fig. III.61.BT3A; and van Loon 1980, table 16h. 111 Woolley 1955, plate CXI.69. 100

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BC contexts.112 It seems this shape does not continue into the 12th century BC as the last examples found can be dated to the 13th century BC. The analysis of the Late Bronze Age II local pottery assemblage suggests that Hittite ideology and habits were not completely assimilated by the local populations. The pottery vessels that can be ascribed to a Hittite tradition belong to a ritual or trade function. It is known from historical sources that Hittite functionaries were in charge of religious affairs,113 and archaeological research confirmed that the city was the centre of an important cult of Ishtar throughout the Hittite period.114 It is therefore not surprising to detect that Hittite imperial ideology was more prominent in the ritual and religious sphere, while other settings were more resistant to it. The evidence coming from the material culture suggests that the local population decided to embrace the imperial ideology only at a ritual level, and to resist and reject it in other contexts. Although the Hittite state tried to exert its power over the provinces through the control of local cults and rituals, there is no evidence that local population adopted Hittite behaviours in other spheres. There is no text mentioning the adaptation of a local cult to Hittite tradition; however, evidence coming from other sites (Emar) shows how a very local ritual (the zukru festival)115 was co-opted and adapted into a Hittite ritual typology through the input and the collaboration of the Hittites. It is therefore possible to suggest that the local Ishtar cult was adapted to Hittite rituals and standards, as it may be proved by the long set of instructions directed to the commanders of Hittite border regions related to the administration of the ritual sphere in such regions.116 However, even if the local cults and the religious sphere were affected by the Hittite influence, the analysis of pottery dated to the Late Bronze Age II in Alalakh shows that the Hittite tradition had an extremely low impact in other spheres, and that both the local Late Bronze Age I and Mittani/Hurrian traditions continued to flourish despite the Hittite political and ritual influence. Conclusions The Levant during the Late Bronze Age was a world encompassed by supra-regional powers117 and each of these powers tried to seek and maintain control over large parts of the area. This period may be considered as an “Age of Empires”, during which the small polities and kingdoms were at various levels interconnected and intertwined. This interconnectivity is not only visible in the economic exchange, but also in the growing correlation between people, material culture, 112

Horowitz in press, figs 17.1,3 and 20.3–5. Bryce 2005; Cammarosano 2018; Thames 2020. 114 Yener 2017. 115 Thames 2020. 116 Taggar-Cohen 2006. 117 Luciani 2014. 113

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technological knowledge and ideology. At the same time, the awareness of an interconnected and standardised society highlights hidden patterns and a view that the adoption of non-local characteristics needs to be studied from a local perspective.118 The Late Bronze Age Northern Levant offers one of the best opportunities to analyse how local populations reacted to the imperial ideology, understood as the introduction of new material culture in their local assemblages. My point in this article is to argue that Amuq communities decided to challenge the standard, imperial ideology and to adopt and reproduce specific types of material culture according to the habit they wanted to imitate or the function that the object represented. At the same time, this article wants to understand the impact that ancient empires had on local populations by looking at changes in the material culture. In particular, the aim was to better analyse the local pottery assemblage to understand local differences and resistance to a standardised imperial material culture. The Late Bronze Age in the Northern Levant is often considered as the “International Age”; however, studies often draw attention on the shared practices while neglecting the differences. My case study deals with the interactions between the Late Bronze Age empires and the local population in the Northern Levant focusing on the site of Alalakh to shed new light on the impact that the Mittani and Hittite empires had on ceramic use and production on the site. The analysis of the local pottery assemblage highlighted the different impact that the Mittani and the Hittite empire, and therefore their ideology had on Alalakh’s local material culture. Generally, publications consider the impact of the Mittani empire on the Northern Levant as ephemeral and almost inconsistent. However, the analysis of the local pottery assemblage at Alalakh during the Late Bronze Age I and the Late Bronze Age II tells a different story. Nuzi Ware was considered as a luxury item and therefore often locally imitated, and in time “Mittanian” vessels and Hurrian material culture became part of the local assemblage and continued to be used and produced well after the dismissal of that empire, thus impacting local habits and becoming integrated with the local pottery assemblage. On the other hand, the presence of Hittite pottery in the Northern Levant and in Alalakh has been used as evidence for the presence of the Hittites in the area. However, although the Hittites were ruling the Northern Levant during the Late Bronze Age II, a more detailed analysis of Alalakh pottery assemblage shows how their impact in the local material culture is ephemeral and affecting limited social habits.119 Hittite material culture and Hittite pottery was perceived in a different way compared to the local material culture. It never truly became part of the local pottery assemblage despite there is evidence that Hittite vessels were also locally 118 119

Stockhammer 2012. Pucci 2019b.

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produced. The Hittite vessels were all linked to specific functions and employed during rituals or for trade. One can argue that these vessels were used during specific occasions and by specific people. It is likely that people performing rituals in temples and trading with neighbour regions were somehow linked to a Hittite elite and carrying out Hittite or Hittitised cults. While almost all levels of local population decided to adopt specific wares and pottery shapes belonging to a Mittani tradition and integrate them in their local pottery assemblage and social practices, the same population did not fully integrate Hittite pottery shapes in their local assemblage. This resistance is manifested by the reluctance to acquire Hittite social habits and the tendency of using local shapes to perform social practices. To conclude, this analysis is an example of how the contextual study of the material culture can be used to address questions related to the interactions between the Late Bronze Age empires and the local population in the Northern Levant, focusing on the selective integration in the local pottery typology of nonlocal types to understand the impact that these empires had on social habits and local identities. Bibliography Akar, M. 2012. The Late Bronze Age II City of Alalakh and Its Social Context in the Northern Levant: A Re-Examination of the Post-Level IV Stratigraphic Sequence (I–III) based on New Excavation Results (2003–2010), PhD Thesis, Università degli Studi di Firenze. Akar, M. 2013. “The Late Bronze Age Fortresses at Alalakh: Architecture and Identity in Mediterranean Exchange Systems”, in: K. A. Yener (ed.), Across the Border: Late Bronze-Iron Age Relations between Syria and Anatolia. Proceedings of a Symposium held at the Research Center of Anatolian Studies, Koç University, Istanbul, May 31–June 1, 2010, Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 37–60. Akar, M. 2017. “Pointed Juglets as an International Trend in Late Bronze Ritual Practices: A View from Alalakh”, in: Ç. Maner / M. T. Horowitz / A. S. Gilbert (eds), Overturning Certainties: Festschrift Presented to K. Aslıhan Yener for her 40 years of Field Archaeology in the Eastern Mediterranean, Leiden: Brill, 1–24. Akar, M. 2018. “Arkeolojik ve Tarihsel Bağlamı İçerisinde Mitanni İmparatorluğu’nun Batı Sınırı: Alalah (Aççana Höyük) Geç Tunç Çağı Tabakalarına Ait Bir Değerlendirme”, Colloquium Anatolicum 17, 33–55. Akar, M. / Kara, D. 2020. “The formation of collective, political and cultural memory in the Middle Bronze Age: foundation and termination rituals at Toprakhisar Höyük”, Anatolian Studies 70, 77–103.

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Luciani, M. 2014. “The Northern Levant (Syria) During the Late Bronze Age: Small Kingdoms between the Supraregional Empires of the International Age”, in: A. E. Killebrew / M. Steiner (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant: c. 8000–332 BCE, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 509–523. Luciani, M. / Hausleiter, A. (eds) 2014. Recent Trends in the Study of Late Bronze Age Ceramics in Syro-Mesopotamia and Neighbouring Regions (OrientArchäologie 32), Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1937. “The Excavations at Tall Chagar Bazar and an Archaeological Survey of the Habur Region. Second Campaign, 1936”, Iraq 4, 91– 177. Mallowan, M. E. L. 1946. “Excavations in the Bilah Valley 1938”, Iraq 8, 111– 159. Manuelli, F. 2013. Arslantepe – Late Bronze Age: Hittite Influence and Local Traditions in an Eastern Anatolian Community (Arslantepe Series IX), Roma: Sapienza Università di Roma. Marx, K. / Engels, F. 1978 [1846]. The German Ideology: Part I, translated by S. Ryazanskaya, New York: Norton. Matthiae, P. 2006. “Old Syrian statuary and carved basins from Ebla: new documents and interpretations”, in: P. Butterlin / M. Lebeau / J. Y. Monchambert / J. L. Montero Fenollos / B. Buller (eds), Les espaces syro-mésopotamines : dimensions de l’expérience humaine au Proche-Orient ancient, Turnhout: Brepols,423–438 . Mazzoni, S. 1998. “Clay and stone finds”, in: S. M. Cecchini / S. Mazzoni (eds), Tell Afis (Siria): scavi sull’acropoli 1988–1992, Pisa: ETS, 201–204. Mielke, D. P. 2007. “Red Lustrous Wheelmade Ware from Hittite Contexts”, in: I. Hein (ed.), The Lustrous Wares of Late Bronze Age Cyprus and Eastern Mediterranean: Papers of a Conference, Vienna 5th–6th November 2004, Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 155–168. Miller, D. / Tilley, C. 1984. Ideology, Power and Prehistory, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Montesanto, M. 2020. “Lost in Transition: The Late Bronze–Iron Age Pottery Assemblage in Tell Atchana / Alalakh”, Studia Eblaitica 6, 57–88. Montesanto, M. / Pucci, M. 2019. “The Iron Age at Alalakh”, Archaeology and History in the Lebanon 50–51, 93–135. Müller-Karpe, A. 1988. Hethitische Töpferei der Oberstadt von Hattus̆ a: ein Beitrag zur Kenntnis spät-grossreichszeitlicher Keramik und Töpferbetriebe unter Zugrundelegung der Grabungsergebnisse von 1978–82 in Boğazköy, Marburg/Lahn: Hizeroth. Müller-Karpe, A. 2008. “The Rise and Fall of the Hittite Empire in the Light of Dendroarchaeological Research“, in: S. W. Manning / M. J. Bruce (eds), Tree-

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rings, Kings, and Old World Archaeology and Environment: Papers Presented in Honor of Peter Ian Kuniholm, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 253–262. Neve, P. 1971. Regenkult-Anlagen in Boğazköy-Hattuša: ein Deutungsversuch, Tübingen: E. Wasmuth. Neve, P. 1993. Hattusa. Stadt der Götter und Tempel: neue Ausgrabungen in der Hauptstadt der Hethiter, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Novák, M. 2007. “Mitanni Empire and the Questions of Absolute Chronology: Some Archaeological Considerations”, in: M. Bietak (ed.), The Synchronization of Civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium BC, Volume 3. Proceedings of the SCIEM 2000, 2nd Euroconference, Vienna 28th of May-qst of June 2003, Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 389–401. Novák, M. 2013. “Upper Mesopotamia in the Mittani Period”, in: W. Orthmann / P. Matthiae / M. al-Maqdissi (eds), Archeologie et Histoire en Syrie. Vol. 1: La Syrie de l’époque néolithique à l’âge du fer. (Schriften zur vorderasiatischen Archäologie 1/1), Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 337–348. Oates, D. / Oates, J. / McDonald, H. 1997. Excavations at Tell Brak 1: the Mitanni and Old Babylonian Periods, Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Oguchi, H. 2013. “The Distribution of Nuzi Ware and Its Implication”, in: A. Ozfirat (ed.), Scripta: Essays in Honour of Veli Sevin. A Life Immersed in Archaeology. Arkeolojiyle Geçen Bir Yaşam İçin Yazılar. Veli Sevin'e Armağan, Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 215–231 . Palmisano, A. 2012. “Diachronic and Spatial Distribution of Khabur Ware in the Early Second Millennium BC”, Journal of Open Archaeology Data 1, e8. http://doi.org/10.5334/4f8d6ed49bd54. Pedrazzi, T. 2007. Le giare da conservazione e trasporto del Levante: uno studio archeologico dell’economia fra Bronzo Tardo II e Ferro I (ca. 1400–900 a.C.), Pisa: Edizioni ETS. Pfälzner, P. 2007. “The Late Bronze Age ceramic traditions of the Syrian Jazireh”, in: M. Al-Maqdissi / V. Matoian / C. Nicolle (eds), Céramique de l’âge du bronze en Syrie, Beirut: Institut Français d’Archéologie du Proche-Orient, 231–291. Pollock, S. 2011. “Imperial Ideologies and Hidden Transcripts: A Case from Akkadian-Period Mesopotamia”, in: R. Bernbeck / R. H. McGuire (eds), Ideologies in Archaeology, Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 130–150 . Postgate, N. 2007. “The Ceramics of Centralisation and Dissolution: A Case Study from Rough Cilicia”, Anatolian Studies 57, 141–150. Pucci, M. 2018. “Il superamento della tipologia: l’analisi funzionale dei materiale del loro contesto archeologico per una ricostruzione delle consuetudini. L’esempio dell’Amuq”, in: M. Betrò / S. de Martino / G. Miniaci / F. Pinnock (eds), Egitto e Vicino Oriente Antichi: tra passato e futuro. Studi e ricerche

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sull’Egitto e Vicino oriente in Italia: I convegno nazionale. Pisa 5–6 giugno 2017, Pisa: Pisa University Press, 243–251. Pucci, M. 2019a. Excavations in the Plain of Antioch 3. Stratigraphy, Pottery and Small Finds from Chatal Höyük in the ‘Amuq Plain (Oriental Institute Publications 143), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Pucci, M. 2019b. “Cultural Encounters during the LB II and IA I: Hittites and ‘Pelesets’ in the Amuq (Hatay) Turkey”, Asia Anteriore Antica. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Cultures 1, 169–194. Pucci, M. 2020. “Economic Decay and Urban Rebirth in the Amuq. The Hittite Conquest of Hatay and the End of the Late Bronze Age (mid-14th to the 12th Centruey BC)”, in: S. de Martino / E. Devecchi / C. Corti (eds), Anatolia between the 13th and the 12th Century B.C.E., Firenze: LoGisma, 327–360. Schoop, U.-D. 2011. “Hittite Pottery: A Summary”, in: H. Genz / D.P. Mielke (eds), Insights into Hittite History and Archaeology (Colloquia Antiqua 2), Leuven: Peeters, 241–273. Schwartz, G. M. 2014. “Reflections on the Mittani Emergence”, in: E. CancikKirschbaum / N. Brisch / J. Eidem (eds), Constituent, Confederate, and Conquered Space. The Emergence of the Mittani State, Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter, 265–278. Smith, W. S. 1965. Interconnections in the Ancient near East: A Study of the Relationships between the Arts of Egypt, the Aegean, and Western Asia, New Haven: Yale University Press. Soldi, S. 2008. “Recent Considerations About the Origin of Nuzi Ware in the Light of Its Archaeological Contexts”, in: H. Kuhne / R. M. Czichon / J. F. Kreppner (eds), Proceedings of the 4th International Congress of the Aechaeology of the Ancient Near East. 29 March – 3 April 2004, Freie Universitat Berlin, Vol. 2, Wiesbaden: Harassowitz, 245–258. Stark, B. L. / Clark, J. K. 2012. “The Strategies of Provincials in Empires”, in: M. E. Smith (ed.), The Comparative Archaeology of Complex Societies, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 192–237. Starr, R. F. S. / Chute, R. S. 1937–1939. Nuzi: Report on the Excavations at Yorgan Tepa near Kirkuk, Iraq Conducted by Harvard University in Conjunction with the American Schools of Oriental Research and the University Museum of Philadelphia, 1927–1931, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Stein, D. L. 1984. “Khabur ware and Nuzi ware: their origin, relationship, and significance”, Assur 4, 1–65. Stockhammer, P. W. 2012. “Questioning Hybridity”, in: P. W. Stockhammer (ed.), Conceptualizing Cultural Hybridization: A Transdisciplinary Approach. Papers of the Conference, Heidelberg, 21st–22nd September 2009. Transcultural Research. Heidelberg Studies on Asia and Europe in a Global Context, Berlin / Heidelberg: Springer, 1–3.

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Summers, G. 1993. Tille Höyük 4: The Late Bronze Age and the Iron Age Transition (British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara Monographs 15), London: British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara. Taggar-Cohen, A. 2006. Hittite Priesthood (Texte der Hethiter. Philologische und historische Studien zur Altanatolistik 26), Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Thames, J. T. Jr. 2020. The Politics of Ritual Change. The zukru Festival in the Political History of Late Bronze Age Emar, Leiden: Brill. Van De Mieroop, M. 2016. A History of the Ancient Near East ca. 3000–323 BC, West Sussex: Wiley. Van Loon, M. N. 1980. Korucutepe: Final Report on the Excavations of the Universities of Chicago, California (Los Angeles) and Amsterdam in the Keban Reservoir, Eastern Anatolia, 1968–70, Volume 1, Amsterdam: North-Holland / New York: Elsevier. Van Soldt, W. 2001. “Stone objects”, in: M. Van Loon (ed.), Selenkahiye: Final Report on the University of Chicago and University of Amsterdam Excavations in the Tabqa Reservoir, Northern Syria 1967–1975 (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 91), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut vor heet Nabije Oosten, 447–477. Venturi, F. 2014. “The Late Bronze Age II Pottery Production in Tell Afis”, in: M. Luciani / A. Hausleiter (eds), Recent Trends in the Study of Late Bronze Age Ceramics in Syro-Mesopotamia and Neighbouring Regions (OrientArchäologie 32), Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 115–136. Voigt, M., / Henrickson, R. 2000. “Formation of the Phrygian state: The Early Iron Age at Gordion”, Anatolian Studies 50, 37–54. Von Dassow, E. 2008. State and Society in the Late Bronze Age: Alalaḫ under the Mitanni Empire. Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians, Bethesda: CDL Press. Von Dassow, E. 2014. “Levantine Polities under Mittanian Hegemony”, in: E. Cancik-Kirschbaum / N. Brisch / J. Eidem (eds), Constituent, Confederate, and Conquered Space. The Emergence of the Mittani State, Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter, 11–32. Von Dassow, E. 2020. “Alalaḫ between Mittani and Ḫatti”, Asia Anteriore Antica. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Cultures 2, 193–226. Wiener, N. 2011. Damages Representations: The Figurines from Bronze Age Tell Sabi Abyad , Syria, and the Archaeology of Disregard, MA thesis, University of Leiden. Wilhelm, G. 1989 The Hurrians, Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Wilkinson, T. J. / Casana, J. 2005. “Settlement and landscapes in the Amuq region”, in: K. A. Yener (ed.), The Amuq Valley Regional Projects, Volume 1: Surveys in the Plain of Antioch and Orontes Delta, Turkey, 1995–2002 (Ori-

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ental Institute Publications 131), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 25–65. Woolley, C. L. 1955. Alalakh. An Account of the Excavations at Tell Atchana in the Hatay 1937–1949. Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London 18, London: The Society of Antiquaries. Yener, K. A. 2010. Tell Atchana, Ancient Alalakh: Volume 1. The 2003–2004 Excavation Seasons, Istanbul: Koç University Press. Yener, K. A. 2011. “Hittite Metals at the Frontiers: A Three-Spiked Battle Axe from Alalakh”, in: P. P. Betancourt / S. C. Ferrence (eds), Metallurgy: Understanding How, Learning Why. Studies in Honor of J. D. Muhly, Philadelphia: INSTAP Academic Press, 265–272. Yener, K. A. 2013. “New Excavations at Alalakh: The 14th–12th centuries BC”, in: K. A. Yener (ed.), Across the Border: Late Bronze–Iron Age Relations between Syria and Anatolia. Proceedings of the International Conference Held at Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations, Koç University, Istanbul May 31 – June 1, 2010 (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement Series 42), Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 37–60. Yener, K. A. 2015. “Material evidence of cult and ritual at Tell Atchana, ancient Alalakh: deities of the transitional Middle-Late Bronze period”, in: P. Ciafardoni / D. Giannessi (eds), From the Treasures of Syria: Essays on Art and Archaeology in Honour of Stefania Mazzoni (Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 126), Leuven: Peeters, 203– 215 . Yener, K. A. 2017. “Cult and Ritual at Late Bronze Age II Alalakh: Hybridity and Power under Hittite Administration”, in: A. Mouton (ed.), Hittitology Today: Studies on Hittite and Neo-Hittite Anatolia in Honor of Emmanuel Laroche’s 100th birthday (5èmes Rencontres d’archéologie de l’IFÉA), Istanbul: Institut Français d’Études Anatoliennes, 215–224 . Yener, K. A. / Edens, C. / Harrison, T. P. / Verstraete, J. / Wilkinson, T. J. 2000. “The Amuq Valley Regional Project, 1995–1998”, American Journal of Archaeology 104, 163–220. Yener, K. A. / Akar, M. / Horowitz, M. T. 2020. Tell Atchana, Alalakh, Volume 2: The Late Bronze II City. 2006–2010 Excavation Seasons, Istanbul: Koç University Press. Yoffee, N. 2014. “The Age of Opportunity: Social and Political Transitions in Mid-Second Millennium BC Mesopotamia”, in: E. Cancik-Kirschbaum, N. Brisch / J. Eidem (eds), Constituent, Confederate, and Conquered Space. The Emergence of the Mittani State, Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter, 247–258.

Fragments of Power The Use of Pottery and the Reconnaissance of the Presence of the Middle Assyrian State in the Archaeological Record* Costanza Coppini Freie Universität Berlin

“It is clear that the perceived ‘uniformity’ of Middle Assyrian pottery is not the outcome of the mass-production of purposefully standardized pottery in centralized state-controlled manufactories” (K. Duistermaat, The Pots of Assur in the Land of Hanigalbat, 2015, 127)

Abstract: Propaganda in material culture is a misused and over-used term, primarily when referring to studies about ancient political entities. This is the case of the Middle Assyrian state, which has been analyzed and perceived by scholars as a centralized form of governance. This analysis is very much influenced by the apparent standardization in material culture and the state’s structures.1 Recent studies show that this interpretation and conception are now obsolete; therefore, they must be reviewed and reassessed.2 Uniformity in ceramic material is seen as a form of propaganda by the central government, a self-confirmation of its expansion and power. The analysis of the historical and political processes behind the Assyrian State’s functioning and the ceramic evidence shows a different character of the state, which had control over certain territories, named as provinces, but did not exercise state control over the production of such goods as vessels. In this contribution, I am going to focus on the overall concept of standardization on one of the components of the Middle Assyrian material culture, i.e., pottery, and its connection to the actual political expansion of the state, regarding new studies that deal with the impact of this political actor in the material culture. Keywords: Middle Assyrian, pottery, food consumption, redistribution, propaganda.

*

I wish to thank the editors of this volume, Marta Pallavidini (Institute of Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Freie Universität Berlin) and Ludovico Portuese (École Pratique des Hautes Études, Paris), for inviting me to contribute on the topic. I am also grateful to Professor Dominik Bonatz (Institute for Near Eastern Archaeology, Freie Universität Berlin), director of the Syrian-German project “Archäologische Ausgrabungen in Tell Fecheriye (Syrien)”, for allowing me to use the material from the excavation to the aim of this paper. 1 Düring 2020, 97. 2 Düring 2020; Brown 2013, 107, 117.

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Introduction Propaganda is, in many cases, one of the most investigated topics on empires and ancient states3 since most ancient political entities are better known through the tools they used to strengthen a perfect official image of themselves under the eyes of the subject people.4 These tools contributed to augment primarily visual propaganda, which was expressed on reliefs, statues, inscriptions—to name a few. They were part of “tangible” propaganda.5 In contrast, aspects of “intangible” propaganda were visible too; for example, the movement of elite goods worked as propaganda.6 This paper will focus neither on visual propaganda nor on elite goods, rather on one of the expressions of the craft of ancient societies visible in everyday life. Pottery will be the focus, not in the sense of its technological or morphological attributes, rather as a mean of expression, of showing off the individuals and societies who use it.7 I will refer to the Late Bronze Age II (1350– 1110 BCE), the period characterized by the supremacy in northern Mesopotamia of the Middle Assyrian political entity. Undoubtedly, this state was the first in northern Mesopotamia that impacted the territory and material culture significantly, from land management—as it can be argued from written sources—to architecture and visual arts. One could argue why to use pottery in a paper dealing with propaganda when more effective means are available. The ground lies in the fact that, especially for the Middle Assyrian period, pottery is always and uniquely related to the state; it is intended as one of the forms of cultural influence.8 On the tide of recent studies on ancient states and empires, this is a rather outdated view: though not totally wrong, it does need to be updated. Methodology To the aim of this paper, I will focus on the analysis of the ceramic material and its function to determine whether or not it can be considered a tool for propaganda. A specific case study will be referred to, i.e., the Middle Assyrian ceramic assemblages from Tell Fekheriye.9 In the first part, the assemblages from two different 3

Liverani 1976; Larsen 1979; Reade 1979; Cooper 1993; Tadmor 1997; Karlsson 2016, 10; Sano 2016; Portuese 2020, 261. 4 Barjamovic 2012, 45–46. 5 Portuese 2020, 264. 6 Postgate 1992, 259. 7 Braun 1983, 107; Rice 1987, 237; Sinopoli 1991, 119; Dietler 1996; Duistermaat 2007, 241; D’Anna 2012. 8 Pfälzner 1995, 232; Postgate 2010; D’Agostino 2014, 243. 9 Tell Fekheriye is a rectangular-shaped artificial mound located in north-eastern Syria, at the outskirts of the modern town of Ras al-‘Ain, in the north-western part of the Khabur River basin, in the Hasseke district. It has tentatively been identified with ancient Washshukanni, the capital city of the Kingdom of Mittani (Mayer 1995, 171). Concerning the chronological frame of this paper, it is relevant to mention that this same center has been identified with Ashshukanni, the Assyrian-ruled center of the 13th cent. BC, as reported

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contexts—the so-called Cuneiform Tablet Layer and the Middle Assyrian House 1—will be described according to technological and typological characteristics that have been elaborated for the publication of the Tell Fekheriye Late Bronze Age ceramics.10 The functional analysis will be illustrated in the second part; the materials will also be contextualized and linked to other artifacts that occurred in the same contexts. This analysis will be carried out following the methodology used in the work on the Late Bronze Age ceramics from the site, summarized here. It has to be remarked that the functional analysis is carried out based on stu-dies on Middle Assyrian ceramic material from sites in the Khabur and Balikh Valley.11 The functional analysis of the Middle Assyrian period ceramics from the contexts mentioned above is based on the principle that vessels were made to be used as containers.12 The vessel’s function is determined by the suitability of its shape to contain determined goods and perform specific functions and activities (eating and drinking, cooking, storing, etc.)—as it will be shown below, which can be related to different activities—as it will be shown further on.13 In the last part, the evidence of propagandistic elements in the production and use of ceramic vessels will be highlighted and connected to ceramic production and use. The approach used to understand whether propaganda can be referred to cera-mics or not is a bottom-up, aiming at tracing relationships between the use of objects—the ceramic vessels, in this case—and the actors who loaded the objects with a specific meaning.14 In the analysis of the case study Tell Fekheriye and the use of the ceramic vessels and related object the bottom-up approach will be implemented, looking at the involvement of non-elite agencies in the practices rela-ted to food and economy.15 The ceramic assemblages in the archaeological context: The Cuneiform Tablet Layer (CTL) and the Middle Assyrian House 1 (MAH 1) The ceramic assemblage from CTL holds a high value, not only for the inherent relevance and the paradigmatic range of ceramic types attested, rather for its association with cuneiform tablets and clay sealings with impression.16 The CTL conby Cancik-Kirschbaum (1996, 33–35). For a recent summary of the arguments for the identification of Tell Fekheriye with Washshukanni/Ashshukanni see Bonatz 2021, 6. 10 Coppini forthcoming. 11 Pfälzner 1995; Duistermaat 2007. The lack of a proper functional analysis has been caused by various hindrances, as the forced interruption of field research since 2011 and the consequent unfeasibility of use-wear and residues analysis (Lesure 1988; Skibo 1992, 2015; Montesanto 2020). 12 Braun 1983, 107. 13 Braun 1983, 108–109. 14 As Glatz points out (2020, 22), the bottom-up approach can be the solution to investigate relationships between people, places and things. 15 Furholt et al. 2020, 158. 16 Clay sealings with impression have been extensively treated in the recently published

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text consists of two superimposed deposits17 marking the rearrangement of this sector of the settlement in the time of the first establishment of the Middle Assyrian rule at the site and in the Upper Khabur basin in general.18 Despite the type of archaeological context, the CTL has proven to have formed in an exact time range, i.e., in the period of the rule of Shalmaneser I and the first years of Tukulti-Ninurta I (1273–1244 BCE). The majority of the ceramic assemblage consists of bowls and jars (Figs 6–7), while goblets, plates, strainers, and pots constitute a very small part (Fig. 1). The bowls cluster is divided into types, i.e., with conical walls (Fig. 6: 4–8) and or with carinated walls (Fig. 7: 1–4),19 both mostly falling in two well-determined size groups, i.e., between 11 and 17 cm rim diameter (size-group B) and more than 17 cm (size-group C). Jars belong mainly to size-group B and are categorized in a very distinct type, the ribbon-rim jar (Fig. 6: 1–3, 7: 5a).20

Strainers; 0,53%

Potstands; 2,66%

Plates; 2,13%

Goblets; 7,71% Jars; 19,68%

Pots; 1,33%

Bowls; 65,96%

Figure 1. CTL phases: types.

The second assemblage that will be considered here has been retrieved from contexts dated through the cuneiform tablets found in it to the reign of king Tukulti-Ninurta I (1243–1207 BCE). These contexts have been excavated in the MAH 1, a residence located on the western lower town of the tell.21 The building

volume about the Tell Fekheriye glyptic by Dominic Bonatz (Bonatz 2021). 17 The deposits are a waste in a tertiary context of use (Bonatz 2021, 81). 18 Bonatz 2021, 81. 19 It is not the aim of this paper to go into details of the vessels’ typology. However, it must be stressed that the carinated bowls from CTL match the typical Middle Assyrian-style sharp carinated bowls occurring in the territory ruled by the Assyrian state (among others: Pfälzner 1995; Duistermaat 2007; Montero Fenollós 2015; Pfälzner et al. 2017). 20 Without going into further details, as the sharp carinated bowls, the ribbon-rim jars, too, are widely attested in the whole territory dominated by the Middle Assyrian state. 21 MAH 1 was first excavated by the Theodor Marriner Expedition lead by Calvin McEwan and that worked on the site only for a very short season in 1940 (McEwan et al. 1958). It

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consists of nine room; it resembles the type of the Assyrian Herdhaus22 and presents similarities to the house of Shkri-Tilla and Shilwa-Teshub in Nuzi.23 The ceramic assemblages have been retrieved in room fillings. Especially significant is the collection from Courtyard 2, which shows a relatively high occurrence of bowls, together with jars and goblets. In the assemblage, bowls, jars, and goblets are almost equally distributed. Straight-walled and carinated bowls occur in sizegroup C. Jars were found in the same context as clay sealings with impression:24 they belong to size group B or C, while goblets occur mainly in A, and only a few in B. Another significant cluster of material has been found in the filling of Room 8 (Figs 2 and 8). As noticed concerning Courtyard 2, also in this space the majority of the assemblage consists of bowls, carinated or not, of size-groups B and C (Figs 8: 5–7). Jars appear in size group A and B, goblets only in size group A (Fig. 8: 1–2), both in the same types as vessels from CTL. All in all, a similar ceramic pattern characterizes CTL and MAH 1, though with differences pointing to smooth changes in the ceramic types. To the aim of this paper, such changes are not relevant: the critical point is the functional analysis, which will be highlighted in the following paragraph. Goblets; 16%

Jars; 15% Bowls; 69%

Figure 2: Room 8: types.

The functional perspective Though a functional analysis stricto sensu was not possible due to various hindrances,25 other conditions were optimal for the functional study.26 One of those conditions is the finding context: it refers to MAH 1, in whose Room 8 a coherent

was found in the area called Sounding VI but was only partially excavated—7 rooms— and in the building fillings cuneiform tablets and sealings with impression were found (McEwan et al. 1958, 19). 22 Camatta in preparation; Andrae 1930, 18. 23 Camatta in preparation. 24 Bonatz 2021, 24. 25 See above, fn. 9. 26 The functional study is very preliminary and is more extensively presented in the volume on the Tell Fekheriye Late Bronze Age ceramics (Coppini forthcoming).

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ceramic assemblage was found. The second favorable condition is the association of ceramic to clay sealings with seal impression and tablets, both in CTL and in MAH 1. It must be remarked that CTL is a tertiary deposit; nevertheless, the finding condition supports the hypothesis about function, and the remarkable occurrence of sealings gives further hints on the use of associated vessels. A

100,00%

73,68%

26,32%

B

100,00%

C

100,00%

100,00%

75,00%

75,00%

66,67%

33,33% 25,00%

18,75% 6,25%

6

6.0

6.0.1

6.1

6.2

6.3

6.4

6.5

Figure 3: CTL stratigraphic group: jars types (6 to 6.5) and their sizes (A, B, C). A

B

C

93,75% 85,71% 80,00%

79,17% 62,50%

37,50%

63,16%

50,00%

54,81%

77,78%

50,00% 36,84%

35,10%

11,11% 14,29%

Plates

Shallow bowls

20,00%

19,44% 10,10%

Bowls

11,11%

6,25% Deep bowls

1,39% Pots

Jars

Beakers Shouldered Potstands beakers

Figure 4: CTL stratigraphic group: types and their sizes.

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Going into details concerning CTL ceramic material and associated finds, the number of jars, and the enormous quantity of bowls can lead to some thoughts about this material’s original primary context (Figs 3–4 and 6–7). As aforementioned, both bowls and jars occur in exact size groups, thus recurring in a sort of standardization. Starting from the bowls, it is well assessed that they were used in food-related practices. In the case of CTL bowls, the small exemplars in sizegroup A, despite their low number, were used in consumption contexts to contain the food that was going to be eaten by each guest. Bowls with conical walls in size-group B, with their wide-open shape and their size—which allowed containing larger quantities of solid food—were adopted in a social context where food was shared. Synthetically said, the small bowls in size A were the containers for the consumption of the foodstuff contained in the conical bowls in size B, which were used for sharing that food. Turning to jars in size-group B, they were most probably used to store grains and liquids.27 Combining their occurrence with the considerable amount of sharp-carinated bowls in size group C, a specific indication for their use can be hypothesized. First of all, the occurrence of jars happens with a certain number of sealings with a seal impression. Bonatz demonstrated that the jar sealings from CTL served to close the ceramic containers that stored foodstuff—whether liquid or solid—that was needed to be controlled.28 A piece of further important information has been recovered in the cuneiform texts from CTL. A certain number of those tablets register food distribution lists issued by “palace”.29 The hypothesis that follows piecing together the puzzle is that carinated size C bowls could have been used as a redistribution vessel, i.e., to distribute the content of the ribbon-rim jars.30 This hypothesis fits with the records from the texts of the Middle Assyrian period. In those written sources, it is mentioned that specific grain quantities were distributed to slaves or free workers, although with different manners and criteria,31 and this operation of distribution was carried out using an open container, i.e., a bowl, which measured a certain quantity of grains.32 The redistribution activities happened on different levels and depending on different criteria.33 When these activities were carried out by the state, i.e., by 27

In the case of the material from Tell Fekheriye it has not been possible to carry out residue analysis in order to determine the contents. Therefore, the assumption that they contained liquids or grains is based on a same-period assemblage from Tell Sheikh Hamad: P. Pfälzner reports that jars were not used to store grains, rather liquids (Pfälzner 1995, 243). Kim Duistermaat, who analyzed the Middle Assyrian ceramic material from Sabi Abyad, asserts that ribbon-rim jars were used for both contents (Duistermaat 2008, 432). 28 Bonatz 2021, 88. 29 These tablets were part of a central archive, perhaps located in the area of Monumental Building D (Bonatz 2021, 110). 30 Pfälzner 1995, 243. 31 Jakob 2003, 48. 32 Jakob 2003, 49. 33 One of the criteria is the amount of redistributed grains, calculated on the base of the

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the “palace,” they were managed by officials under the supervision of the district governor (bēl pāḫete).34 The officials managing the distributions could be the rab ikkārāte (“chief farmers”) or the zāriqu,35 who supervised the crown’s land, therefore, also all the conquered territories.36 The contexts from MAH 1 show some similarities with the redistribution practices hypothesized about CTL, though with differences.37 As mentioned before, the most suitable indications were collected in Room 8 (Figs 5 and 8). In fact, findings from this space in MAH 1 can provide indications about activities carried out in the house. The most remarkable findings are jar sealings belonging to a homogeneous corpus showing two seal motifs.38 The sealings were found associated with jars from the room fill, all belonging to the already well-known ribbonrim jar type. As already stated above, jars of this type were probably used to store grains and liquids: from this evidence, it can be asserted that the function of storage for the jars and consequently for Room 8 leaves no doubts. The association of jar sealings with the high occurrence of ribbon-rim jars corroborates the hypothesis of Bonatz, i.e., the interpretation of Room 8 as a storeroom. Thanks to the jar sealings, there are hints about the owner of the sealing, therefore of the contents of the jars and—it can be deduced—of MAH 1. The seal that impressed Room 8 clay sealings belonged to Aššur-iddin,39 who was not a simple wealthy inhabitant of Tell Fekheriye: this personage is well-known from Tell Sheikh Hamad texts, in which he is mentioned as the sukallu rabiu.40 Therefore, the content was redistributed from (or on behalf of) Assur-iddin: but to whom? It might be of help considering the rest of the vessels building up the assemblage from Room 8, i.e., the sharp-carinated bowls. They belong to size-group B, fewer to C, therefore they contained less quantity of redistributed stuff than those in CTL. The differences in size and their different distribution in two different contexts (CTL and MAH 1) allow to hypothesize the existence of two different redistribution systems, showing a chronological difference as CTL precedes MAH 1. The two different systems can be tightened to different entities that controlled and were in charge of the redistribution and they might have been addressed to different groups of people. The nature of MAH 1 recalls the difference in the entities car-

household and the age, and the duty or profession that the household’s members carried out (Jakob 2003, 49). 34 Jakob 2003, 117. 35 According to Wiggermann (2000, 190) the rab ikkārāte are attested as chief farmers at the dunnu at Tell Sabi Abyad and the zāriqu had the same role according at Dur Katlimmu, according to the texts (Röllig 1988, 10, fn. 15). 36 Wiggermann 2000, 188. 37 Bonatz 2021, 97. 38 Bonatz 2021, 107. 39 Bonatz 2021, 116: seal motif M.As 1. 40 Cancik-Kirschbaum 1996, 24.

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rying out the redistribution: the building was a private household,41 therefore had a well different function that the one of the “palace” recurring in the cuneiform texts from CTL. Therefore, redistribution activities were carried out on a smaller scale, and this is corroborated by the evidence of size B carinated bowls. The context of Room 8 shows that redistribution was carried out from the owner of the goods in the house—or his intendants—being, in this case, Aššur-iddin to workers that were dependent on him and most probably not directly from the Middle Assyrian state. The evidence of functions in the two contexts, CTL and MAH 1, speaks for differentiation in the use of the settlement of Tell Fekheriye during the time of the Middle Assyrian domination. A

B

C 66,67%

58,33%

33,33%

33,33%

8,33%

Bowls - not carinated

Bowls - carinated

Figure 5: MAH 1 Room 8: percentages of the two bowl’s types and their sizes.

Propaganda? These two contexts from Tell Fekheriye show many elements related to the Assyrian presence at the site, i.e., pottery and glyptic. The ceramic assemblages from CTL and MAH 1 resemble those from contemporary Middle Assyrian sites, thus witnessing the occurrence of shared traits in the whole Assyrian-ruled area. I will go into detail of pottery first. The wide presence of similar vessel types in the Middle Assyrian state does not match the value they held in the Middle Assyrian society. In other words, it is clear from the relatively rich written sources attributed to the Middle Assyrian empire that works and functionaries significant to the correct functioning of the state bureaucratic apparatus are carefully categorized. The evidence for a codified role of potters is not made explicit, whereas other professions are clearly mentioned and set in the state’s system.42 At this point, I would add that potters are not mentioned in ration lists, from which we are informed about payments to workers and laborers. Therefore, it can be hypo-

41 42

Bonatz 2021, 89. Glatz 2020, 234.

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thesized that potters were not controlled and employed economically by the state apparatus. Overall very few mentions of the role of potters are present in the texts. The most significant one to the aim of this paper is in a letter of a local governor from the vicinity of Sabi Abyad to the dunnu steward asking for a potter to produce vessels for a meeting with a local tribe chief.43 It is an official encounter, and beakers are necessary for the shared consumption of beer. Therefore, potters are very important in the context. This text serves a double purpose: 1) attesting that the potter has no official role; 2) attesting that it is not the container itself that holds special meaning, rather the sharing of food and beverages. Therefore, the use of vessels, and of pottery in general, must be regarded as utilitarian, and apparently not charged of further symbolic or semiotic value. This same view affects the pottery used for consumption in the CTL context. In my opinion, the consumption and sharing of food and beverages promoted a shared identity, as these vessels spread well outside the Assyrian core and meant a willingness to belong to a political community.44 The vessels from CTL were probably used in foodrelated practices, thus with the aim of showing off an identity other than that of the inhabitants of the Upper Khabur basins, being Assyrian rulers from another region in ancient Mesopotamia. The social activities carried out in those contexts are tightly linked to the role of food as a “prime political tool.”45 A second way of looking at pottery consists in analyzing its role in economic activities. These activities were carried out with the redistribution in CTL and MAH 1 contexts, though on different levels—as demonstrated above. Also in that case, I recall a utilitarian use in the shape of jars and bowls, without loading them with different meanings. A different perspective arises from the glyptic. On clay sealings’ impressions the represented motifs are all very well linked to the Middle Assyrian figurative tradition, as shown by Bonatz.46 It is rather a show of identity than of propaganda. There is no definitive solution to this matter, but Karlsson proposes a valid alternative.47 He refers to “social propaganda,” which he defines as “when goals consciously or unconsciously are promoted and established through social interaction.” It is here proposed to speak of a cultural expression and affiliation rather than a political affiliation.48 The political affiliation is rather expressed by the actions and uses of these vessels, and clay sealings, if associated with them. The development of the Middle Assyrian state certainly parallels the increasing homogeneity and recognizability of the ceramics in the territory dominated by

43

Duistermaat 2007, 257. Glatz 2020, 254. 45 Dietler 1996, 87. 46 Bonatz 2021, 102. 47 Karlsson 2016, 13. 48 Brown 2013, 108. 44

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this political entity.49 From the assemblage found at Tell Fekheriye it is possible to assess that the homogeneity increases as the control from the bureaucratic mechanisms tightens.

Figure 6: CTL phases: vessels’ function. © Tell Fekheriye Project.

49

Glatz 2020, 229.

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Figure 7: CTL phases: vessels’ function. © Tell Fekheriye Project.

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Figure 8: Room 8: vessels’ function. © Tell Fekheriye Project.

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Bibliography Barjamovic, G. 2012. “Propaganda and practice in Assyrian and Persian imperial culture”, in: P. Fibiger Bang / D. Kolodziejczyk (eds), Universal Empire: A Comparative Approach to Imperial Culture and Representation in Eurasian History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 43–59. Bonatz, D. 2021. Middle Assyrian Seal Motifs from Tell Fekheriye, Syria (Tell Fekheriye Excavation Reports I), Berlin / Boston: de Gruyter. Braun, D. P. 1983. “Pots as Tools”, in: J. A. Moore / A. S. Keene (eds), Archaeological Hammers and Theories, New York: Academic Press, 107–133. Brown, B. 2013. “The Structure and Decline of the Middle Assyrian State”, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 65, 97–126. Camatta, P. In preparation, in: P. V. Bartl / P. Camatta (eds), The Stratigraphy and Building History (Tell Fekheriye Excavation Reports III), Berlin: de Gruyter. Cancik-Kirschbaum, E. 1996. Die Mittelassyrischen Briefe aus Tall Šēḫ Hamad (Berichte der Ausgrabung Tall Sēḫ Ḥamad, Dūr-Katlimmu 4), Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag. Cooper, J. S. 1993. “Paradigm and Propaganda. The Dynasty of Akkade in the 21st Century”, in: M. Liverani (ed.), Akkad: The First World Empire. Structure, Ideology, Traditions, Padua: Sargon, 11–23. Coppini, C. Forthcoming. The Late Bronze Age Ceramic Sequence at Tell Fekheriye (Syria) (Tell Fekheriye Excavation Reports II), Berlin: de Gruyter. D’Agostino, A. 2014. “The Tell Barri Sequence of Late Bronze Age Levels”, in: M. Luciani / A. Hausleiter (eds), Recent Trends in the Study of Late Bronze Age Ceramics in Syro-Mesopotamia and Neighbouring Regions (OrientArchäologie 32), Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 235–262. D’Anna, M. B. 2012. “Between Inclusion and Exclusion: Feasting and Redistribution of Meals at Late Chalcolithic Arslantepe (Malatya, Turkey)”, in: S. Pollock (ed.), Between Feasts and Daily Meals: Toward an Archaeology of Commensal Spaces (eTopoi 2), Berlin: Topoi, 97–123. http://www.topoi.org/ wp-content/uploads/2013/06/21-508-1-PB.pdf Dietler, M. 1996. “Feasts and Commensal Politics in the Political Economy”, in: P. Wiessner / W. Schiefenhoevel (eds), Food and the Status Quest: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, Oxford: Berghahn Books, 87–125. Duistermaat, K. 2007. The Pots and Potters of Assyria Technology and organization of production, ceramic sequence, and vessel function at Late Bronze Age Tell Sabi Abyad, Syria, Turnhout: Brepol. Duistermaat, K. 2015. “The Pots of Assur in the Land of Hanigalbat – The Organization of Pottery Production in the Far West of the Middle Assyrian Empire”, in: B. S. Düring (ed.), Understanding Hegemonic Practices of the Early Assyrian Empire. Essays dedicated to Frans Wiggermann (Publications de

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l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 125), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 126–152. Düring, B. S. 2020. The Imperialisation of Assyria: An Archaeological Approach, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Furholt, M. / Grier, C. / Spriggs, M. / Earle, T. 2020. “Political Economy in the Archaeology of Emergent Complexity: A Synthesis of Bottom-Up and TopDown Approaches”, Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 27, 157– 191. Glatz, C. 2020. The Making of Empire in Bronze Age Anatolia. Hittite Sovereign Practice, Resistance, and Negotiation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jakob, S. 2003. Mittelassyrische Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur. Untersuchungen (Cuneiform Monographs 29), Leiden: Brill. Karlsson, M. 2016. Relations of Power in Neo-Assyrian State Ideology (Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 10), Boston / Berlin: de Gruyter. Larsen, M. T. 1979. “Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Lesure, R. G. 1988. “Vessel Form and Function in an Early Formative Ceramic Assemblage from Coastal Mexico”, Journal of Field Archaeology 25, 19–36. Liverani, M. 1976. “I canali della propaganda”, in: M. Sordi (ed.), I canali della propaganda nel mondo antico, 22–26. McEwan, C. W. / Braidwood, L. S. / Frankfort, H. / Güterbock, H. G. / Haines, R. C. / Kantor, H. J. / Kraeling, C. H. 1958. Soundings at Tell Fakhariyah (Oriental Institute Publications 79), Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Montero Fenollós, L. 2015. Asirios en el Medio Éufrates, La Coruña: Ferrol. Montesanto, M. 2020. “More than a pile of sherds: functional analysis and social behaviour during Iron Age Alalakh”, in: M. Iamoni (ed.), From the Prehistory of Upper Mesopotamia to the Bronze and Iron Age Societies of the Levant. Volume 1. Proceedings of the 5th ‘Broadening Horizons’ Conference (Udine 5–8 June 2017), Trieste: EUT, 337–352. Pfälzner, P. (1995). Mittanische und mittelassyrische Keramik: eine chronologische, funktionale und produktionsökonomische Analyse (Berichte der Ausgrabung Tall Sēḫ Ḥamad, Dūr-Katlimmu 3), Berlin: Reimer. Pfälzner, P. / Qasim, H. A. / Sconzo, P. / Puljiz, I. 2017. “Report on the First Season of German-Kurdish Excavations at Muqable in 2015”, Zeitschrift Für Orient Archäologie 10, 44–96. Portuese, L. 2020. Life at Court: Ideology and Audience in the Late Assyrian Palace (marru 11), Münster: Zaphon. Postgate, J. N. 1992. “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur”, World Archaeology 23/3, 247–263.

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Postgate, J. N. 2010. “The debris of government: Reconstructing the Middle Assyrian state apparatus from tablets and potsherds”, Iraq 72, 19–37. Reade, J. E. 1979. “Ideology and Propaganda in Assyrian Art”, in: M. T. Larsen (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Mesopotamia 7), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 329–343. Rice, P. M. 1987. Pottery Analysis: A Sourcebook, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Sano, K. 2016. “Die Repräsentation der Königsherrschaft in neuassyrischer Zeit. Ideologie, Propaganda und Adressaten der Königsinschriften”, Studia Mesopotamica 3, 215–236. Sinopoli, C. M. 1991. Approaches to Archaeological Ceramics, New York: Plenum Press. Skibo, J. M. 1992. Pottery Function. A Use-Alteration Perspective, New York: Plenum Press. Tadmor, H. 1997. “Propaganda, Literature, Historiography: Cracking the Code of the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, in: S. Parpola / R. Whiting (eds), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 325–338. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 2000. “Agriculture in the Northern Balikh Valley. The Case of Middle Assyrian Tell Sabi Abyad”, in: R. M. Jas (ed.), Rainfall and Agriculture in Northern Mesopotamia (Publications de l’Institut historiquearchéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 85), Istanbul: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 171–231.

Elite Ideology, Ritual Manipulation and the Anomalous Cultic Practices Implemented by the Hazor Rulership Matthew Susnow Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Abstract: Hazor was the largest Bronze Age site in the southern Levant, well established as an urban center with many temples. This study explores how elites used ritual as an ideological tool to promote their legitimacy, to reinforce social hierarchy, and to maintain control over the cult and the population. Accordingly, the site’s temples are analyzed employing a methodology that aims to contextualize objects within entire temple assemblages—through spatial analysis—to assess the innerworkings of Hazor’s temples. This data is compared to contemporary temples from the region, demonstrating that temple use patterns at Hazor diverge from those of other sites. These anomalies resulted from Hazor’s rulers actively controlling and manipulating the performance of ritual throughout the site. Hazor’s elites also made use of highly recognizable forms of cultic space so as to engage the nonelite sectors of society—“the other”—while altering the manner in which those spaces were used and who ultimately had access to them. Therefore, Hazor’s ritual anomalies directly relate to elite efforts to promote their own ideology and to maintain control over “the other,” while also aiming to integrate the various socially stratified groups into a community joined together in a sacred landscape. Keywords: Hazor; southern Levant; temples; elites; ritual.

Introduction This paper investigates the concept of ideology at the site of Hazor, the largest urban center in the southern Levant during the second millennium BCE (Fig. 1). Ideology does not end simply with the process of ideation; it is something that can be materialized, and accordingly, it can play an important explanatory role in the interpretation of human behaviors and their material correlates.1 Herzog, in his important work on southern Levantine cities,2 suggests that the analysis of cities should be investigated in terms of power relations amongst different social classes in society. Following Giddens, who understands a city as a container of power,3 urban settlements are not simply localities within which institutions are established, they are places where institutions are used as tools by various social actors to acquire power and control over those of less privileged statuses. The city is thus 1

For example, Tilley 1984; cf. Trigger 2006, 450–451. Herzog 1997. 3 Giddens 1984, 262. 2

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a stage within which elites exercise and communicate materially their powerful status in society.4 It is within this stage that ideology serves as an active factor in dictating social relations and that elites can become active agents with the ability to manipulate ideology in order to maintain and enhance their own power.5 The data from Hazor fits this model perfectly.

Figure 1: Map of the southern Levant, with Hazor marked in the north, and additional sites mentioned in this study: 1. Nahariya; 2. Tel Nami; 3. Tel Mevorakh; 4. Megiddo; 5. Beth Shean; 6. Pella; 7. Tell el-Hayyat; 8. Lachish; 9. Tel Haror. Tell ed-Dab‘a is in Egypt, Sidon is in Lebanon.

4 5

Herzog 1997, 6–7. Kristiansen 1984; Knapp 1988.

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At Hazor, the ideology of the local elites was dualistic in nature, aiming to differentiate their own special status from the statuses of others while at the same time striving to achieve a sense of connectivity amongst the populace. Through the utilization and manipulation of ritual and ritual spaces, elites managed to promote their own ideology in a manner that both fostered a sense of legitimacy in the eyes of the local populace—“the other”—while consolidating and maintaining control over the entire urban landscape. From a neo-Marxist perspective, ideology appears to have been a means undertaken by one dominant group to mask certain underlying contradictions in society such as sociopolitical, economic and religious inequality and hierarchy by projecting notions of congruence, familiarity and, inevitably, acceptance amongst the controlled and excluded “others.” For reasons elaborated on below, the methods applied here will be strictly archaeological. Background: The Middle and Late Bronze Age southern Levant During the Middle and Late Bronze Ages (MB and LB, hereafter; ca. 2000/1950– 1150 BCE), a period referred to as the floruit of Canaanite culture, the southern Levant underwent widespread renewed urbanization.6 The newly constructed cities and their surrounding settlements bear numerous common traits that are visible in various aspects of the region’s material culture, including shared architectural traditions, ceramic forms, metallurgical developments, and burial customs, amongst many other commonalities.7 Quite early in the MB I (by ca. 1750 BCE), local elites consolidated power on the urban scene, evident in the large architectural projects such as ramparts, city walls, city gates, bastions and palaces or elite buildings that were established in urban centers.8 As these elements within the urban landscape were symbolically equated with elite control and authority over the settlement, it is noteworthy that constructed spaces for organized religion (temples) were completely lacking from the urban plan at this time.9 Thus, while social variegation and hierarchy was established early in the MB and continued to increase as MB society became more complex, the trajectory of cult was quite different. The earliest evidence of cult in the MB focused on inclusivity—not hierarchy and exclusivity—and was aimed at forging group and communal identities based around large-scale commensal consumption and feasting.10 These tendencies changed over time as cult was integrated into the urban landscape in the form of standardized constructed temples and became increasingly restricted by and exclusive for the elites who controlled them.

6

Ilan 1995; Cohen 2016, 39–51. Mazar 1990, 172–294; Kempinski 1992; Yasur-Landau 2019. 8 Herzog 1997. 9 Susnow 2021, 176–178. 10 Susnow 2021, 53–54. 7

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While some level of literacy and scribal tradition existed in the Bronze Age Levant, the region is strikingly lacking in local textual sources, in contrast to contemporary surrounding regions of the ancient Near East.11 The fragmentary data that is extant from the southern Levant comes from a total of ca. 62 inscribed cuneiform objects and documents, 12 and while 18 of these objects come from Hazor, nothing can be extracted from these that provides useful insight into the motivations and ideology of local elites. 13 Thus, scholars of the Bronze Age southern Levant are at a significant disadvantage in their efforts to reconstruct the social structures, thoughts and world views of the Middle and Late Bronze Age populace. Therefore, the topic of ideology must be addressed through archaeological methods. Hazor of the Second Millennium BCE Hazor was an anomalous site in Canaan during the MB and LB (Fig. 2). In addition to its immense size—which comprised approximately 84 hectares of land and included both an acropolis as well as a lower city—the settlement included elaborate public architecture throughout the site, an elevated geopolitical stature, and well-established international networks.14 The monumentality attested at the site should be associated with elite activities, and other sites in the region pale in comparison. In fact, in striking contrast to other southern Levantine sites which experienced gradual development during the MB I and into MB II (e.g., Megiddo), Hazor was established anew during the MB I/II–MB II transition based on a preplanned Syrian model.15 This new urban center included cultic space in its initial plan, diverging from all other iterations of urban development in the region. In the LB, the special status of Hazor’s ruler is clarified in the Amarna letters, which refer to the local ruler of Hazor as “king” on two occasions (šàr URU Ḫa-ṣú-ra in EA 148: 41; LUGAL URU Ḫa-ṣú-riKI in EA 227: 3).16 No other Levantine vassal rulers are qualified by this term, a title which is otherwise reserved for more significant kings of larger states.17 There is also ample evidence that cult at the site was practiced differently than elsewhere in the southern Levant. While much attention in the past has been given to the site’s numerous temples and cultic precincts found in Areas A, C, F and H, 11

Horowitz et al. 2018; Cohen 2019. Horowitz et al. 2018, table 1. The precise number is not clear, as a number of these were found out of stratigraphic context. 13 Horowitz et al. 2018, 63–88. 14 Yadin 1972, 1–12, 121–128; Ilan 1995, 306–308; Maeir 2010, 11; Zarzecki-Peleg and Bonfil 2011; Ben-Tor 2015, 43–111. 15 Yasur-Landau 2019, 234. 16 Rainey 2015, 750–751, 964–965. 17 Bienkowski 1987, 55–58; Moran 1992, xxvii, fn. 73; Zarzecki-Peleg and Bonfil 2011, 541. 12

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with studies having focused on their architecture, their development over time, figurines and aspects of rulership,18 a most recent study focuses on the repertoire of activities that were performed in each of the different cultic spaces.19 While all of these aspects contribute to a holistic understanding of cult at Hazor, it is specifically the final aspect—the identification of how temples were used—that provides the most vivid basis for demonstrating that ritual and ritual space at Hazor diverged from other southern Levantine sites.

Figure 2: Site map of Hazor with the areas discussed in this text designated. The acropolis is located in the south and includes Areas M and A. Temples in Areas C, F and H are located in the lower city, with Area H and its sequence of temples at the northern extremity of the site (adapted after Yadin 1972, fig. 3).

Moving forward, it is the goal to 1) detail the deviations in ritual at the site and 2) shed light on the active involvement of human agents—the elites—in this process of altering ritual performance throughout the many different cultic spaces at 18

Bonfil and Zarzecki-Peleg 2007; Zuckerman 2007a; 2010, 177–178; 2012; ZarzeckiPeleg and Bonfil 2011, 547–549; Ben-Tor et al. 2017, 130–132, 138–140. 19 Susnow et al. 2020.

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the site. The study will focus specifically on the following time periods: the MB II and MB III (ca. 18th – mid-16th centuries BCE); and the transition from the LB I to LB IIa (ca. early-14th century BCE), with the onset of the Amarna Period when drastic changes and alterations to cultic spaces were apparent throughout the urban landscape (Table 1). After identifying the use patterns of the temples in Hazor’s elite-controlled acropolis, these observations will be contextualized by comparing them to the activities identified in other cultic spaces from the rest of the MB and LB southern Levant at large. First, however, the methodology and theoretical framework. Period

Suggested Dates (BCE)

Stratum on the Acropolis

Stratum in the Lower City

MB I/II–MB II

1750–1650

XVII

4

MB II–MB III

1650–1550/1500

XVI

3

LB Ia

1550–1479

XV

2

LB Ib–LB IIa

1479–1375

XIV

1b

LB IIa–LB IIb

1375–1250

XIII

1a

Table 1: Periodization and stratigraphy of Middle and Late Bronze Age Hazor

Methodology Without texts, it is extremely challenging to access and assess the thoughts, ideas and worldviews of individuals and social groups of the past. Many studies have explored various ways of identifying human agency and cognizance in the material culture remains, especially notable within the cognitive-processual school of thought, but also amongst post-processualists.20 While the topic of the archaeology of cult and ritual has been well researched for decades now,21 a most recent approach argues for the necessity to conduct spatial analyses of the distribution of objects found within temples in order to understand how temples were used, and correlatingly, how cult was practiced.22 In this manner, this study will present the results of the contextual analysis of the assemblages from Hazor’s elite-controlled temples to understand how those temples were used and to look statistically at the types, quantities and percentages of objects found distributed throughout Hazor’s 20

See, for example, Trigger 2006, 444–478; Renfrew and Zubrow 1994; Renfrew and Bahn 2008, 391–428, 491–502; Johnson 2010, 102–121; and various contributions in Bernbeck and McGuire 2011. 21 For overviews of the topic, refer to Renfrew 1985; Levy 2006; Barrowclough and Malone 2007; Insoll 2011. 22 Susnow 2021, 96–104.

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temple spaces. Following Weber’s notion of ideal types,23 the observations from Hazor’s temples will be compared to general trends witnessed at other temples around the southern Levant. By hypothesizing expected or ideal-type assemblages and activities for southern Levantine temples, deviations from the ideal-type temple assemblage at Hazor can be identified and then explained through various modes of reasoning, perhaps resulting from different temporal, socioeconomic or geopolitical circumstances, as well as different temple types, locations and, relevant here, the active hands of human agents. Cult as practiced in the Southern Levant There are three general types of temples in the southern Levant: open-air precincts, large monumental symmetrical or Syrian-style (migdal) temples, and asymmetrical temples.24 These spaces were used differently and were likely associated with different social statuses. In particular, monumental temples were mainly associated with elites while open-air precincts and irregular temples were non-elite in nature.25 When these spaces and their assemblages on the whole are analyzed contextually, the following general trends emerge (Figs 3–4): MB and LB temples have high percentages of vessels related to consumption (e.g., bowls) and generally very low percentages of vessels related to food preparation (cooking pots) and storage (storage jars / pithoi).26 Evidence for consumption is strongest in LB cultic contexts, in which bowls account for over half of nearly every assemblage, and in general, when it is possible to distinguish between interior and exterior spaces, more evidence of immediate consumption is found in temple interiors. Activities involving storage and food preparation vary but are better attested in the earlier MB sites, and in exterior spaces (temple courtyards and open-air cultic spaces) rather than in temple interiors. Further, a number of sites during the MB also have large quantities of cultic vessels, most visible in the miniature vessels and cultic stands. These vessels are most commonly found in open-air cultic precincts (e.g., at Nahariya, Lachish Area D) and in exterior spaces associated with temples (e.g., the temple courtyards at 23

On the concept of ideal types, see Weber 1978. For archaeological applications, cf. Schloen 2001; Otto 2014; Susnow et al. 2020. 24 On general surveys of these temples, see Wright 1985; Mazar 1992; Kamlah 2012; Metzger 2012. See further, in Mazar 1992, 173–177, two examples of a unique type of temple with strong Egyptian influences (temples with raised holy-of-holies), at Beth Shean and Lachish. 25 Mazar 1992, 187. 26 This data is based on the analysis of the following sites, which can further be found in detailed studies in Samet et al. 2017; Susnow 2021; Susnow et al. 2020: in the MB, at Nahariya, Lachish Area D, Tel Haror, Tell el-Hayyat, Sidon, Pella and Tell el-Dab‘a; and in the LB, at Lachish (Fosse and Acropolis Temples), Beth Shean (Temple 58066), Tel Mevorakh and Tel Nami.

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Tel Haror and Pella).27 In contrast, fewer overall objects related to ritual, such as miniature vessels and cultic stands, were recovered from LB temples. At the same time, new vessel types related to ritual, such as cup-and-saucers and scoops, appear in temples in the second half of the LB, although in relatively low quantities, and unlike the miniature vessels and cultic stands which were mostly restricted to cultic space, these new vessels were found in other non-temple contexts as well.28

Figure 3: Sample of assemblages from MB temples in the region, noting trends in consumption, food preparation, storage, and cultic vessels. Tell el-Hayyat is unique in its large amounts of food preparation and storage, diverging from other temples (adapted after Susnow 2021).

If one were to establish an ideal-type assemblage for cultic space in the southern Levant, it would reflect a consumption-based repertoire of vessels with large quantities of bowls and related serving vessels, but small amounts of food preparation and storage. Taken as a whole, an average overall temple assemblage comprised over 50% bowls, while cooking pots and baking trays comprised 4% and storage jars and pithoi only 5%.29 Of course, various quantities of other non-ce27

See further the miniature vessels from the Temple 3 courtyard offering pits at Tell elDab‘a, Egypt, in Müller 2002, fig. 7. 28 Samet et al. 2017, 140–143. 29 On the average temple assemblage, cf. Susnow 2020, fig. 8. This diverges from household and palatial trends, which have much more storage and cooking capabilities and lower

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ramic objects related to ritual, prestige, and personal adornment appear in temples as well. Establishing this ideal-type assemblage underscores a number of divergences amongst southern Levantine temples. For example, open-air sites and extramural or rural temples generally display higher amounts of food preparation and storage, likely because all activities related to these spaces had to have been conducted on site. In urban settings, these activities could be conducted in other spaces, reflected in the very low levels of on-site food preparation and storage. Hazor’s ritual spaces will now be analyzed in a similar fashion.

Figure 4: Sample of assemblages from LB temples. There is a very high emphasis on consumption (in the form of bowls), with little food preparation and storage, and small proportions of cultic vessels (adapted after Susnow 2021).

Ritual and ritual spaces at Hazor Several temples and cultic precincts dating to the MB and LB were found in Area A on Hazor’s acropolis and Areas C, F and H of the lower city (Fig. 5).30 While the contextual analysis itself focuses on Area A specifically, the location and construction of all temples will be detailed first. The earliest evidence of cult was found in Stratum XVII on the acropolis. In the LB IIa (Stratum XIV/1b), drastic changes to all cultic spaces were apparent throughout the urban landscape.

concentrations of bowls. Cf. Samet and Yasur-Landau 2016. 30 There was also ritual space in Area M, the site of the administrative palace, although not the focus of this study. Cf. Zuckerman 2010.

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Fig. 5: Hazor Temples, by Stratum, from Areas A, C, F and H: 1. Southern Temple; 2. Southern Temple, Street N. of temple, and Complex of Standing Stones; 3. Orthostat Temple; 4. Southern Temple; 5. Orthostat Temple; 6. Building 7050 and Northern Temple; 7. Orthostat Temple; 8. Stelae Temple; 9. Area F precinct; 10. Building 7050; 11. Orthostat Temple; 12. Stelae Temple; 13. Area F precinct (prepared by author, after Susnow et al. 2020, fig. 2).

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Temples and stratigraphy In Area A, the acropolis of MB and LB Hazor, a migdal temple, the Southern Temple, was constructed together with a large palace in Stratum XVII (MB II) during the first constructional phase of the MB settlement (Fig. 5:1). This temple went out of use in Stratum XV (LB I), when its ceramic vessels were buried in a favissa that was dug into the floor of the interior chamber of the structure.31 North of this temple, a nearby street leading to the center of the acropolis was also associated with cultic activities.32 In Stratum XVI (MB III), an open-air cultic space (the Complex of Standing Stones) was established near the palace entrance and included 37 aniconic standing stones (maṣṣebot), adjacent offering tables, and a large circular stone basin in the middle of the enclosure (Fig. 5:2).33 This complex was in use until the end of the MB and was associated with activities in a number of surrounding rooms. In Stratum XIV (LB IIA), a ceremonial precinct was constructed (Fig. 5:6). This included Building 7050, defined here as a migdal temple.34 This precinct was destroyed in Stratum XIII, together with other public LB buildings. Another migdal temple, the Northern Temple, was also built in Area A in Stratum XIV, in use for a single phase.35 All activities in Area A should be associated with Hazor’s elites. In Area H of the lower city, a sequence of four superimposed migdal temples—referred to as the Orthostat Temple—was first established in Stratum 3 (=Stratum XVI) (Fig. 5: 3,5,7,11).36 Located at the northernmost part of the site, the Orthostat Temple cut into the Stratum 4 earthen rampart that demarcated the northernmost boundary of the controlled settlement. The temple was oriented facing south in line with the acropolis, opening into a courtyard that decreased in size over time.37 Major changes to the temple are evident in Stratum 1b: the temple was transformed from a bipartite to tripartite structure; the walls of the temple’s interior were lined with basalt orthostats and there was an increase in iconography, mirroring the finds from Area A’s Building 7050;38 and the temple’s courtyard 31

Ben-Tor et al. 2017, 24–33, 35–45, 65. Ben-Tor et al. 2017, 59–62, 240; cf. Marom et al. 2014. 33 Ben-Tor et al. 2017, 45–54; Bechar 2018a, 31. 34 On the function of Building 7050, cf. Zuckerman (2010; 2017), who believed it was a temple, and Ben-Tor (2006; 2008; 2020; et al. 2017, 139–140) and Bonfil and ZarzeckiPeleg (2007), who argue it was a palace. Based on observations of its architecture, courtyard, syntax, and activities, it is interpreted here as a temple. 35 Bonfil 1997, 51–63, 85–101. On the dating of the construction of this temple, Bonfil dates it to the LB I (Stratum XV), but see recently in Bechar 2018b, 50–53, for a reassessment of the temple’s date. 36 Zuckerman 2012, 105–107. 37 Yadin 1972, 79–83; Ben-Tor 1989, 215–220, 228–230. 38 Ben-Tor 1989, 212–213, 240–247; cf. Yadin 1972, 92, fn.1. On the basalt objects (offering tables, a large stand, statues, a lion orthostat), orthostats and new iconography, as well as the possibility that the shared iconography in Areas A and H related to the solar 32

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became significantly more restricted, decreasing in size while its entrance changed from a direct entrance from the south (Stratum 2) to an indirect entrance from the east. In Stratum 1a, the architecture demonstrated significant deterioration. Although located in the lower city, this temple should be associated with Hazor’s elites.39 In Areas C and F, non-monumental cultic spaces were established in Strata 1b and 1a. In Area C, a small shrine—the Stelae Temple—was constructed as a small, single-celled rectangular room (Fig. 5: 8,12).40 The later Stratum 1a shrine had a niche against the back wall in which stelae (one worked), statues, a small basalt lion orthostat and two offering tables were discovered.41 During Stratum 1b, the entrance opened into a spacious courtyard that was surrounded by other structures of the local Area C neighborhood. This courtyard was later blocked off by a wall in Stratum 1a, preventing access to the shrine from the surrounding neighborhood. Rather, it was confined to a small indirect approach from the south.42 In Area F, a very limited open-air cultic space, defined by a large limestone altar, was established in Stratum 1b (Fig. 5: 9,13). The area surrounding this open-air space comprised a number of small units, possibly domestic in nature.43 The area was in use until the end of Stratum 1a. Area A temple activities (Figs 6–7) The Southern Temple’s assemblages from Strata XVII and XVI indicate extensive amounts of consumption (65% of the assemblages were composed of bowls, cups and chalices), little storage and food preparation, with 16% miniature vessels. From the Stratum XV favissa, over half of the assemblage (53%) was composed of bowls, cups, goblets and chalices. Cups comprised 24% of the overall assemblage, unique in terms of their high concentration (165 in total) at a cultic site. Miniature vessels made up 29% of the overall assemblage, in addition to 6 cultic stands. Storage jars/pithoi and cooking vessels, in contrast, comprised less than 2% of the overall assemblage. The assemblages from the street to the north of the temple similarly indicate large amounts of consumption with little storage and food preparation, including a high concentration of cups (55 total, 13% of the assemblage) in Stratum XVII. In Stratum XVI, assemblages from interior spaces associated with the street can be differentiated from exterior spaces: assemblages from interior spaces solely reflect consumption and ritual (78% bowls, 22% miniature vessels), while outdoor activities also included some food preparation and deity, cf. Yadin et al. 1961, plates CCCXXV:1, CCCXXXI:1–4; Bonfil 2017, 569–571; Ben-Tor et al. 2017, 571–572. 39 Zuckerman 2012, 117–122. 40 Yadin et al. 1958, 76. 41 Yadin et al. 1958, 85–90. 42 Yadin et al. 1960, 96, 111–112. 43 Yadin 1972, 100–101; Yadin et al. 1960, 130–145.

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storage. It is further noteworthy that outdoor space had a relatively high percentage of kraters (9%) as well as a number of miniature vessels (8%).

Figure 6: Hazor’s cultic spaces from the MB from Areas A and H. Different trends are clearly evident in the Complex of Standing Stones (after Susnow et al. 2020, table 4).

From the Complex of Standing Stones, relatively low concentrations of bowls were recovered whereas storage and food preparation were much more well attested than at most other cultic sites. Kraters made up a more significant portion of the assemblages than in most other temple assemblages. On the other hand, less than 4% of the assemblage was composed of cultic vessels in the form of miniature vessels and cultic stands. During the LB, large amounts of consumption were attested in and around Building 7050: both interior and courtyard assemblages were composed of over 60% bowls, cups, goblets and chalices. Large amounts of cooking and storage vessels were also yielded from the complex, with a slightly higher percentage from exterior spaces. A high concentration of kraters was also recovered, comprising as much as 9% of the courtyard assemblage. Vessels specifically related to ritual, such as miniature vessels, cultic stands, and cup-and-saucers, were almost exclusively recovered from the building interior, the sole exception being one miniature vessel from the courtyard. With regards to the Northern Temple, the assemblage consisted mainly of simple bowls, miniature bowls and stands with little evidence for storage jars and cooking pots.44

44

Bonfil 1997, 98–99.

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Figure 7: Hazor’s elite cultic spaces from the LB. In Building 7050 specifically, higherthan-expected amounts of cultic vessels were recovered, specifically from interior space, and it displays more storage and food preparation capabilities than other temples (after Susnow et al. 2020, table 5).

Hazor’s ritual divergences In every single elite-controlled cultic space at Hazor, ritual diverges from the ideal-type temple assemblage in significant ways. As a starting point, a number of expected traits are present. Substantial evidence for consumption is attested in all Area A temples, with nearly two-thirds of all the assemblages composed of bowls, cups, goblets and chalices, except for the Complex of Standing Stones. Storage and food preparation are much more limited, excluding the above noted trends at the Complex of Standing Stones (expected) and Building 7050 (unexpected for a constructed temple), which have higher percentages of both categories. There are also higher percentages of kraters in Hazor’s temples than at other sites, specifically in the Stratum XVI street outside of the Southern Temple, the Complex of Standing Stones and Building 7050. The same is true for the Area H Orthostat Temple. A specific vessel type unique to elite ritual space in MB Hazor is the cup, which in tandem with the higher-than-normal concentrations of kraters, may be indicative of special drinking activities that were practiced at Hazor but not in other sites. These made up significant portions of the assemblages from the Southern Temple (24% of the favissa assemblage) and the contemporary street to the

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north (13% of the assemblage), and in both contexts, were found with large quantities of miniature vessels, suggesting the two were used in supplementary fashion, or perhaps even could be interchangeable. More striking are the types of spaces within which miniature vessels at Hazor appear. While in the southern Levant at large there was an overwhelming preference for the use of miniature vessels in exterior spaces,45 precisely the opposite is reflected in Area A at Hazor. Indoor space in elite-controlled sectors of the site had higher-than-expected concentrations of miniature vessels (the Southern Temple, the rooms surrounding the nearby street, Building 7050). This contrasts significantly with their use in non-elite cultic spaces at the site, such as in Areas C and F, which in fact accord with trends from the rest of the southern Levant.46 Thus, control over the use of these vessels in non-elite cultic spaces was apparently less strict than that in Area A. Perhaps the most anomalous cultic space at the site was the Complex of Standing Stones. As an open-air cultic site, it certainly facilitated large amounts of storage and food preparation like at other MB open-air cultic spaces. However, the complex was not located in an isolated location, contrasting from other open-air cultic sites in the MB southern Levant which were either extramural or from nonurban settlements. As argued above, in those examples, out of practical necessity, the cultic spaces needed to facilitate storage and food preparation on site, as there was no surrounding source to otherwise provide such services. But the urban and palatial setting at Hazor does not fit this pattern. Further, the lack of miniature vessels in this open-air precinct is highly unexpected. Most miniature vessels during the MB in the southern Levant were recovered from open-air/outdoor spaces. It is particularly counterintuitive that such a prominent open-air space, at a site with many miniature vessels in other contexts, had such a limited number of these and other cultic vessels. It will now be demonstrated that all of these alterations of southern Levantine cultic norms were in fact manipulated by the elites at the site. Elite manipulation of rituals as a means to promote elite ideologies On numerous occasions, the late Sharon Zuckerman argued that Hazor was a “sacred landscape” constructed by elites in order to legitimize their rule while integrating the settlement’s non-elite population with its greater sphere of influence.47 Echoing these notions, Greenberg recently argued that the monumental edifices 45

For example, at MB Nahariya, Lachish Area D, the courtyards at Tel Haror, Pella, and even Tell el-Dab‘a. 46 In Area F, cultic vessels at large were concentrated in outdoor contexts, and in Area C, miniature vessels were solely yielded from the surrounding neighborhood, not the temple. See in Yadin et al. 1960, 132, plate CXXIII: 23–30. On Area H miniature vessels, see Susnow et al. 2020, 137. 47 For example, in Zuckerman 2007a, 16; 2012, 116–122.

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atop the acropolis as well as the monumental temples and city gates of the lower city were vehicles of royal authority and ideology in the LBA city-state.48 Indeed, no Bronze Age site in the southern Levant had nearly as many temples as Hazor did, and the monumental migdal temples—which were associated with elites— appear both on the acropolis and lower city. However, this present study has underscored the fact that the ideology of Hazor’s elites was not motivated only by terms of integration. It was framed in starkly different ways during the MB and LB: during the MB, as inclusive and integrative, while during the LB, as increasingly exclusionary and restrictive. From the earliest stage of urban settlement at MB Hazor (Stratum XVII/4), the active hand of elites was immediately visible, using a pre-planned model of a city to construct monumental palatial and temple architecture atop the acropolis while establishing rampart fortifications surrounding the entire lower city as well as monumental city gates. This initial construction phase clearly established Hazor’s elites’ swift consolidation of power and rulership over the entire fortified site, and as mentioned above, integrating an official space for cult into the initial urban plan was counter to all other attestations of MB urbanization.49 Shortly after, the Complex of Standing Stones was erected at what appears to be the entrance to the MB palace, signifying the integration of multiple ritual spaces into a palatial setting. While two different types of cultic spaces were in use at the same time in close proximity (one monumental, one open-air), their use patterns were significantly different and both appear in manipulated and modified forms. The Complex of Standing Stones, with its evidence for consumption, storage, food preparation, a number of female figurines and many beads,50 recalled open-air cultic spaces of the early MB. Yet, miniature vessels—which typified this type of space—were lacking, apparently reserved for use in the more official and ceremonial ritual space of the Southern Temple. This in itself diverges from the observable behavioral patterns of constructed monumental temples, which otherwise attest to very little indoor use of miniature vessels. By constructing a space for ritual and communal consumption near the palace entrance in a vernacular form, Hazor’s rulers were mimicking ritual space familiar to all strata of the populace. This is particularly apparent in the use of standing stones—one of the most common recurring features of southern Levantine cult—in the open-air context.51 The more restricted access to the Southern Temple and the special use of large amounts of miniature 48

Greenberg 2019, 317. The integration of a temple (Southern Temple) into palatial space was rare in the southern Levant, and when it does appear, it occurs late in the MB and never as part of the initial settlement or palatial plan (e.g., at Megiddo Stratum X, Pella Phase 4, and in the north at Alalakh Level VII). 50 Ben-Ami 2006. 51 On standing stones, see Graessar 1972; Mettinger 1995; Susnow 2021, 183–186. 49

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vessels in that space demonstrate active agents—the elites—controlling specific rituals and where they could, and could not, be performed. The “others” were relegated to familiar open-air cultic space outside the palace but cut off from access to miniature vessels which elites usurped in their more official iterations of ritual and ritual space. It was precisely at this time that Hazor’s elites aimed to further integrate the site under its sphere of influence by introducing standardized cultic architecture into the lower city. The construction of the Orthostat Temple on the northern extremity of the settlement signifies the extent of the elite’s authority and its use of ritual to enforce its legitimacy over the entire settled landscape. While built in the form of elite architecture, the initial phase of the Orthostat Temple had a large open courtyard that could be used in remarkably inclusive ways, having the potential to host large groups during rituals, festivals and processions. It presented itself as a temple for the lower city dwellers, while in actuality, it was strictly (and increasingly) controlled and restricted by the elites. Although elite-controlled ritual spaces were in actuality hierarchically oriented and tightly controlled, they also embodied certain aspects of inclusivity. In Stratum 1b, significant changes were made throughout the site, including in Areas A, C, F, H and M (the location of the monumental administrative palace of the LB).52 Elites appear to have been mainly invested in notions of monumentality for their own benefit, to the detriment of the infrastructure and socioeconomic statuses of non-elite sectors of the settlement. This included the construction of new cultic spaces, especially Building 7050 and the Northern Temple which are the only two newly established migdal temples during the LB in the southern Levant. It was demonstrated above that the Building 7050 activities contrast with other constructed temples in the region. Not only does the complex uniquely contain large amounts of storage—likely related to the ample evidence for diverse forms of feasting—higher-than-expected proportions of the assemblage were made up of vessels associated with ritual, including most prominently, miniature vessels.53 However, miniature vessels—which typified MB and open-air cult in the region—nearly disappear from the cultic landscape of the southern Levant during the LB. While true for the other cultic spaces at Hazor, Building 7050 uniquely continued the tradition of using large amounts of miniature vessels, demonstrating an extreme control over their use and distribution.54 Once again, these vessels were confined to use in interior spaces, diverging from their expected outdoor use. These changes on the acropolis paralleled significant alterations by elites to the Area H Orthostat Temple. Accessibility to the temple was significantly limited in Stratum 1b with its smaller courtyard and redirected courtyard entrance. At the 52

Bechar 2018b, 49–62; Ben-Tor 2015, 74–84. On evidence for feasting, see Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007. 54 Zuckerman 2007a; 2007b. 53

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same time, the wealth and volume of finds, furnishings and iconography increased. This seems directly related to elite concerns and confined chiefly to the benefit of Hazor’s rulers, as the same repertoire of objects and decoration emerge in Area A’s Building 7050 at this time, and in any case, the lower city populace was increasingly excluded from accessing the temple. The immense investment in elite-oriented activities on the acropolis contrasts with the remarkable deterioration of public construction and the diminishing access to official cultic space in the lower city. The newly founded spaces for ritual in Areas C and F were neither standardized in form nor monumental. The Area C Stelae Temple was of an irregular simple plan and the Area F complex was open air. Initially, both spaces were highly accessible to the locals and neither exhibits the same extent of elite intervention in the manner the site’s other cultic spaces experienced. 55 However, in the final stratum of the Stelae Temple, the cultic equipment and furnishings increasingly resemble those of the elites and suggest elite involvement in this temple as well, 56 a change which coincides with the blocking of access from the Area C neighborhood to the temple. Indeed, this reflects the site-wide trend of increasingly restricted and exclusive spaces designated for ritual. In Area C, it would appear that Hazor’s elites directly usurped control over the shrine or, alternatively, locals emulated the elite ideology of strengthening control over ritual space while increasingly preventing others from benefiting. Concluding thoughts on ideology and ritual at Hazor While it had already been established that Hazor was different than other southern Levantine sites in terms of its many elaborate buildings, its elevated political status and its international networks, this study has demonstrated that the use patterns and assemblage types from Hazor’s temples substantially diverge from other southern Levantine temples. Ritual as practiced at Hazor was therefore different, too. As argued here, this was a result of active elite involvement throughout the site’s many different cultic spaces in an effort to consolidate power over the greater populace. Ritual was an essential tool in the scheme to promote the elites’ legitimacy, to reinforce social and ritual hierarchy, and to maintain control over the cult and the population. Returning to terms of ideology, ritual at Hazor was dialectical, presenting contradictions and conflicts with how ritual was performed in the region at large. However, these contradictions were framed within normative forms of religion. While ritual at Hazor was different than at other sites in the southern Levant, it 55

In Area F, for example, cultic vessels (miniature vessels, cultic stands, kernoi and cupand-saucers) were yielded mainly from an outdoor context, in line with the expected ideal assemblage. See Yadin et al. 1960, 132. 56 This includes a basalt statue, a lion orthostat, well-executed iconography and well-produced maṣṣebot.

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was written in the same language; its discourse was formulated in such a way so as to relay to the local populace—“the other”—a sense of familiarity, and ultimately, acceptance. Creating recognizable ritual spaces and performing a repertoire of recognizable activities signaled an organic wholeness amongst the population, taking attention away from the divergent traditions that were in fact being practiced and the actual inequalities in terms of power and status at the site. The city of Hazor, therefore, was indeed a stage within which elites exercised and communicated their powerful statuses through material means. As an ideological tool, ritual was utilized as a means to mask the imbalance in power and to legitimize social inequalities. Even as hierarchy was imbedded in the social structure and urban fabric of Hazor from its very inception in the MB, it was the ideology of the elites to establish this hierarchy in a manner to which locals would be receptive. However, over time, shifting concerns of the local elites altered the expression of this ideology from one of inclusivity to one of exclusivity, and ultimately ended in the unraveling of Hazor’s elites’ control over the city in the form of a series of termination rituals and crisis architecture.57 It was therefore the primary aim of elites to not only establish their authority over the settlement but to perpetuate and maintain that authority. The control and manipulation of ritual was the driving force in this process. Bibliography Bechar, S. 2018a. “Take a Stone and Set It Up as a Massebah: The Tradition of Standing Stones at Hazor”, Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 134/1, 28–45. Bechar, S. 2018b. The Effects of Political Changes on Material Culture: The Middle Bronze Age–Late Bronze Age Transition in Northern Canaan as a Test Case, PhD Thesis, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Ben-Ami, D. 2006. “Mysterious Standing Stones”, Biblical Archaeology Review 32, 38–45. Ben-Tor, A. (ed.). 1989. Hazor, III–IV. An Account of the Third and Fourth Seasons of Excavation, 1957–1958. Text, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Ben-Tor, A. 2006. “Ceremonial Palace, Not a Temple”, Biblical Archaeology Review 32/5, 8, 78–79. Ben-Tor, A. 2008. “The ‘White Building’ is a Temple: Response to Bonfil and Zarzecki-Peleg”, Israel Exploration Journal 58, 94–99. Ben-Tor, A. 2015. Hazor. Canaanite Metropolis, Israelite City, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. (In Hebrew). Ben-Tor, A. 2020. “Building 7050 at the Acropolis of Late Bronze Hazor: A Palace After All”, Tel Aviv 47, 173–192.

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Ben-Tor, A. / Zuckerman, S. / Bechar, S. / Sandhaus, D. (eds). 2017. Hazor VII: The 1990–2012 Excavations. The Bronze Age, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Bernbeck, R. / McGuire, R. H. (eds). 2011. Ideologies in Archaeology, Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Bienkowski, P. 1987. “The Role of Hazor in the Late Bronze Age”, Palestine Exploration Quarterly 119, 50–61. Bonfil, R. 1997. “Middle Bronze Age to Persian Period”, in: A. Ben-Tor / R. Bonfil (eds), Hazor V: An Account of the Fifth Season of Excavation, 1968, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 25–161. Bonfil, R. 2017. “Basalt Statuary”, in: A. Ben-Tor / S. Zuckerman / S. Bechar / D. Sandhaus (eds), Hazor VII: The 1990–2012 Excavations. The Bronze Age, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 569–571. Bonfil, R. / Zarzecki-Peleg, A. 2007. “The Palace in the Upper City of Hazor as an Expression of a Syrian Architectural Paradigm”, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 348, 25–47. Barrowclough, D. / Malone, C. (eds). 2007. Cult in Context: Reconsidering Ritual in Archaeology, Oxford: Oxbow Books. Cohen, S. 2016. Peripheral Concerns: Urban Development in the Bronze Age Southern Levant, Sheffield: Equinox. Cohen, Y. 2019. “Cuneiform Writing in Bronze Age Canaan”, in: A. YasurLandau / E. H. Cline / Y. Rowan (eds), The Social Archaeology of the Levant. From Prehistory to the Present, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 245–264. Giddens, A. 1984. The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration, Berkeley / Los Angeles: University of California Press. Graessar, C. 1972. “Standing Stones in Ancient Palestine”, The Biblical Archaeologist 35, 33–63. Greenberg, R. 2019. The Archaeology of the Bronze Age Levant. From Urban Origins to the Demise of City-States, 3700–1000 BCE, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Herzog, Z. 1997. Archaeology of the City: Urban Planning in Ancient Israel and its Social Implications, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Horowitz, W. / Oshima, T. / Sanders, S. 2018. Cuneiform in Canaan: The Next Generation, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Ilan, D. 1995. “The Dawn of Internationalism – The Middle Bronze Age”, in: T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land, New York: Facts on File, 297–319. Insoll, T. (ed.). 2011. The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and Religion, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Johnson, M. 2010. Archaeological Theory. An Introduction, Second edition, Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell.

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