The Pennsylvania State University Schreyer Honors College

Home , Alulim, Cosmetic palette, Enmebaragesi, Ipuwer Papyrus, Lugalbanda, Narmer

. THE PENNSYLVANIA STATE UNIVERSITY SCHREYER HONORS COLLEGE

DEPARTMENT OF CLASSICS AND ANCIENT MEDITTERENEAN STUDIES

EARLY STATE FORMATION AND THE MARGINS OF IDEOLOGY

DANA PIRROTTA SPRING 2020

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for baccalaureate degrees in Political Science and Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies with honors in Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies

Reviewed and approved* by the following:

Gonzalo Rubio Professor of Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies Thesis Supervisor

Erin Hanses Lecturer in Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies Honors Adviser

* Electronic approvals are on file. ii

ABSTRACT

To ensure perpetuation, states recognized the power of manufacturing an ideology that sustained the perception of royal legitimacy. An ideology enveloped copious potential for power, but was also naturally fragile, requiring constant maintenance and fodder. Preservation was revealed through the fabrication and dissemination of a royal genealogy, used to legitimize the institution of royal kingship.

In a competitive environment, it was not enough to rely on divine rule, and the state often focused on deploying extensive propaganda campaigns against entities that threatened them; the peripheral “others.” These campaigns were influential within the state, noted through iconographic representations, but failed to accurately portray what are described as mutually beneficial economic relationships across administrative records. This juxtaposition is nestled deeply within the elusive historical narrative and cannot alone pronounce the true influence peripheral peoples exerted over their settled counterparts. iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF FIGURES iv

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS v

CHAPTER ONE LEGITIMIZING THE STATE: DIVINE KINGSHIP 1 Divine Kingship as the Root of State Legitimization 1 Conceptualizing Ideology and the Discrepancies of Divine 5 Divine Kingship in Pre-Dynastic Egypt 12 Classical Maya Divine Kingship 16 Divine Kingship in the Ancient Chinese State 19 Divine Kingship in the Ancient Near East 26 CHAPTER TWO 36 LEGITIMIZATIONTHROUGH XENOPHOBIC ICONOGRAPHY 36 Iconography and the Relationship of Portrayal 36 The Narmer Palette 38 The Garden Party Relief 43 The Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn 47 Standard of Ur 52 CHAPTER THREE 60 A BAD REPUTATION: MOBILE PASTORALISM 60 Origins of Perspective 60 Mobile Pastoralists as Relational Figures 69 CHAPTER FOUR 79 EVOLUTION IN PERCEPTION 79 Fallacy and Fallacy: Exploring Perceptions of the “Amorites” 79 Old to Middle Kingdom: Asiatics as the Ideal “Other” 93 CONCLUSION: Kingship and Kinship 104 BIBLIOGRAPHY 108

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1. Drawing of the Cairo Colossus...... 13 Figure 2. Ānyáng Divination Texts CUL 52...... 24 Figure 3. Weld Blundell Prism ...... 28 Figure 4. Photograph of the Narmer Palette ...... 39 Figure 5. Drawing of the Narmer Palette’s Carvings ...... 40 Figure 6. Garden Party Relief...... 45 Figure 7. Drawing of the Garden Party Relief...... 45 Figure 8. Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, King of Akkad ...... 48 Figure 9. Drawing of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn ...... 48 Figure 10. Royal Standard of Ur. “Peace Side.” ...... 54 Figure 11. Royal Standard of Ur. “War Side.” ...... 54 Figure 12. Asiatics at Beni Hasan...... 96

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to express my gratitude for the Pennsylvania State University and the

Schreyer Honors College for providing me the opportunity to academically achieve as a proud

Nittany Lion. I thank my parents and family, who supported me throughout the entirety of my accomplishments and failures, and know the best is yet to be.

I am indebted to my professor of four consecutive years, and endearing collegiate role model, Professor Gonzalo Rubio. You were there to commend my proudest moments, and an advocate in times of complete defeat. Thank you for investing time and energy into my personal success and making Penn State a home where I knew I was cared for. You have reinvigorated my adoration for learning in a climate that emphasizes performance, and I will be forever grateful for the impact you have had on my life.

For the Glory,

Dana C. Pirrotta

CHAPTER ONE

LEGITIMIZING THE STATE: DIVINE KINGSHIP

Divine Kingship as the Root of State Legitimization

In the modern world, it might be initially challenging to quantify the value of a list. With abundant sticky-notes and accompanying ballpoint pens, lists are associated with the grocery store, “To-do’s”, and daily planners. While seemingly mundane, lists were utilized for a far more staggering function in the ancient world; to legitimize the status of a divine king and the institution of kingship itself.

While social orders vary cross-culturally, the elite class was typically the most dependent

on the legitimization provided by the social order. For this reason, the primary goal of the elite

class was to transmit information to the masses in a manner that supports and would perpetuate

their legitimate status.

Assmann states, “the basic principle behind all connective structures is repetition.”1

Repetition, as a powerful tool in both ancient and modern times, instills a permanence that

refutes potential curiosities of variation, and instead deepens patterns that will be viewed as the

backbone of a shared culture. This backbone is known as “memory culture” and is a reference to

the external application of conditions on behalf of a society that are passed down

intergenerationally. (Assmann 2011: 3-15)

When mimetic memory becomes ritualized, the sequences of imitation, “assume a meaning and significance that go beyond their practical function.”2 This allows ritual to become

part of a society’s cultural memory, functionally dissipating meaning to present and future

1 Assmann 2001: 3 2 Ibid., 6

generations. This process is applied to symbols, iconography, and other communication

methods. As these representations eventually extended their existence beyond the physical realm,

they are in turn incorporated into a cultural identity.”3 (Assmann 2011: 5-12)

This process eventually extended beyond the physical and came to influence the role of

writing. For a system of communications to become pronounced, it must pass through a phase of

external storage and development. Within this theoretical area of storage, communications that

concern culturally valued information are refined through what Assman describes as a series of

“coding, storage, and retrieval.”4 This process demands the careful touch of institutional power to uphold high levels of specialization. For these reasons, Assman concludes that writing in part developed as a result of the state’s hyper focus on releasing idealized cultural messages.

(Assmann 2011: 8-12)

Assman asserts that the economic and political spheres were perfect theatres for symbolic

representation. Though the development of writing in the ancient world is still subject to fervent

debate, writing as a technological advancement is understood as unprecedented. Writing

provided to be capable of completely revolutionizing communications, and cultural memory

could stretch across the confines of its original, archaic context. However, the discovery of

retention through writing was countered in a balance centered around manipulation and

suppression. Writing incorporated various aspects of identity while exerting a cyclical

relationship within the influence of socio-cultural traditions and institutions. (Assmann 2011:7-

11)

3 Ibid., 5 4 Ibid., 8

Cultural memory tied with rising levels of political power allowed otherwise complacent

symbols to be manipulated in manners that would create an elite foundation for legitimacy. The

maintenance of these symbols correlates with the maintenance of the elite class’s place in a

society. (Yoffee 2005: 4-18)

While states convey the expected social order and legitimation techniques through

writing and iconography, how a state chooses to communicate these priorities differs culturally.

In order to exert the idea of legitimized government, the fabrication of a so-called elite class

must be accepted by willing constituents who will then feed into a stratified social order. The

transmission of information was necessary in order to maintain both a royal, and elite class.

One of the most frequent texts encountered in the records of early states is the royal

genealogy. This is because, “A dynasty needs an ideology to legitimize its rule, every ideology

invokes a version of history that illustrates it… and the simplest form of that legitimizing history

is a list of king’s names.”5 (Wang 2014: 52-60; Yoffee 2005: 4-18)

Regardless of audience, king lists share exigence; to prove that ancestry equals legitimation, and that a strong divine lineage suits the claim to a royal title. Though the specific details of divine kingship vary cross-culturally, the concept of divine kingship can be summarized into an institutionally applied, religiously based power that is upheld with the intention of legitimizing the institution of kingship itself. (Wang 2014: 21-38)

The concept of divine kingship was crucial; in a fast-paced, perilous world, masses needed to be compelled in order to submit their lives to a king with reasonably fictional

5 Wang 2014: 52

supremacy. Associating a mortal king with the divine heightened the phenomenon of social

memory, the marriage between social identity, and historical reality. (French 1995: 9-18)

Establishing this connection was key, as social memory is the phenomenon that gives individuals the perception that they belong to a group despite differences in class. The divine association with the king and propping up of the elite create the necessary social strata to economically support the institution of kingship. (French 1995: 9-18; Wang 2014: 21-38)

It is social memory that builds the foundation for a communal identity. As demonstrated by the prevalence of ancient genealogies, it is abundantly clear that the focus on establishing a prior lineage is one of the most efficient manners of creating the desired communal identities.

This is how the king list originates. Those tasked with creating the communal identity may be selected for a variety of factors, wealth, physical strength, biological lineage, attractiveness, etc.

This opportunity allowed for the automatic creation of an elite, who then had the freedom to include themselves in the communal identity. This decision aligns the leader with the legitimacy established by those on the king list, and the institution of kingship unfurls. To oversimplify, king lists legitimize rule by associating the current leader with an institution built from a social memory of fabricated and divine ancestral succession. (French 1995: 9-18; Wang 2014: 21-38)

It is in the best interest of the societal elites to maintain whatever characteristics qualify

them for their desired “rank”, and often, beyond wealth and strength, the divine connection to the

pantheon was the most powerful. Through divine kingship and reiteration of such through king

lists, the elite were able to establish their legitimacy and manipulate the masses to embrace their

status willingly.

Writing was the most prominent method to establish legitimacy, and thus the king list

was popularized. The development of writing is so insurmountable that history does not begin

until it bursts through the curtains of the ancient world. While cultures have developed writing

for different reasons, many cultures seem to have developed writing as part of the quest to

perpetuate the idea of divine kingship and legitimacy of a kingship institution. The creation of

writing usually almost immediately leads to the dissemination of state sponsored information

such as the king lists. Writing, as the newest form of communication, became consistently used

by those basking in the upper echelons of ancient life, subsequently creating a severe restriction

in access to literacy. Once writing and iconography could be used to exert power, these forms of

communication blossomed into tools of enhancement. (Wang 2014: 21-38)

King lists are a necessary tool to connect contemporary rulers to the past in manners that establish a social memory and formulate a divine connection that legitimizes kingship.

Depictions of royal ancestors vary across instances of proto-writing, and ideal audiences, but the purpose of legitimizing kingship is abundantly clear across the ancient Egyptian, Mayan,

Chinese, and Mesopotamian states. Regardless of method, king lists leave behind a curious cocktail of immense narratives that suit the motivations of their institution.

Conceptualizing Ideology and the Discrepancies of Divine

Despite differences in motivations and focus, ideologies are each crafted by their own

unique history, entirely symptomatic of transforming political, cultural, or economic

environments. The origins of an ideology are representative of the influences that shaped patterns

of thought, and in many aspects of life, people are mere carriers of such clusters of thought and

conviction.

Ideology and the conflict that shrouds it have existed since human thought. Ideology is

not inherently controversial, though Carver writes, “ideologies are born of crisis and feed on

conflict.”6 Periods of uncertainty and disdain lead to the development and strengthening of an

ideology, so it is not surprising that the phenomenon frequently leads to and results in strife.

An ideology will reveal the origin of conflict that it is birthed from and orient a

population around an evaluation of goals and morals that envelop what is described as a

“rudimentary political program.” 7 Through this examination, an ideology provides a system of

explanation, evaluation, and orientation through the methodical compilation of ideas. This

methodical approach is exemplified through the conceptualization “democracy”. To Americans,

“democracy” is not an ideology, but an ideal that other ideologies interpret differently based on

their own programs. (Carver 2016: 1-12)

Despite eighteenth century French roots, ideologie has transformed in meaning

throughout the years. Coined by Comte de Tracy, impressive shifts in perception and the

meaning of ideology have been associated with Marx, Engels, and Lenin. (Carver notes that

ideology is often associated with “highly abstract philosophy, and forceful, even brutal, political

repression.”)8 This is due to the marriage of power and politics, noted by de Tracy’s prominence

during the French Revolution. De Tracy’s philosophically rooted ideological program was

angled towards such rebellion, based on the worthiness of either establishing truth or revealing

the falsity of lie. It was even reported by a 1796 commentator that de Tracy proposed ideology

as, “philosophy of the mind.”9 Without these principles, what we deem as “knowledge” could not be derived from an intellectual base. Correct ideas would result in correct theories of humanity, and such prescriptions would create correct political institutions dedicated to these

6 Carver 2016: 1 7 Ibid., 1 8 Carver 2016: 5 9 Ibid., 5

ideas, ideologies. While the philosophy of ideology was not uncommon, it is de Tracy’s

revolutionary association with a political program that impacts modern interpretation. (Carver

2016: 5-7)

Carver identifies what he considers to be three critical features of de Tracy’s conception of ideology, beginning with a structure based on the “explicit linkage between logic, psychology, and politics.”10 This linkage was strengthened through logical reasoning and observations in a

process beginning with simple claims or theories. With the developed structure, there was an

assumption that intellectuals would uncover the truth and then advise political systems and

leaders to implement policies that match the discovered truths. Finally, was the notion that the

linkage of logic, psychology, and political life was understood, and coincided with science and

history. (Eagleton 1991: 2-12, Carver 2016: 1-12)

With no clear definition in play, Eagleton makes a conscious consolidation of definitional variations and critical features, recognizing the value of independent philosophical lineages throughout historical composition. Many definitions used in modern and dated research contradict each other, such as, “any set of beliefs motivated by social interests” versus, “the dominant forms of thought in a society.”11 While counter existence is not innately unacceptable,

it further demonstrates the complexities of various ideological cores. Other definitions are compatible, but with unique implications. Several definitions would lead an individual to not even consider their own manner of thinking as ideological as these definitions portray ideology as something that another person maintains. Other definitions revolve around human knowledge

10 Ibid.,6 11 Eagleton 1991: 2

8 of the world and truth, such as de Tracy’s interpretations, and others are not concerned with such aspects at all. (Eagleton 19991: 1-32)

While definition is far from sight, Eagleton outlines two distinct arguments streamlining the perfection of ideology. One lineage, including Hegel and Marx, focuses on ideology as an illusion; concerned with the “function of ideas within social life than with their reality or unreality.”12 Marx’s analysis of ideology developed not only into a body of ideas that pertained to specific characteristics, but further, to validate the authority of those in different classes to make claims allowing them to pursue their particular interest. Through this lens of Marx’s, ideology could be fluid depending on how material interests (usually the control of resources and services) were pursued and then protected both politically, and socially. This meant that depending on Marx’s waxing and waning, his ideology could be, “reactionary, conservative, reformist.”13 (Eagleton 1991: 2-12, Carver 2016: 1-12)

It appears the “truth” portion of theological conception was purposefully misconstrued into “self-truths'' by revolutionaries such as Karl Marx and Engels, who were able to weaponize de Tracy’s tenants to use ideology as a method of institutional abuse. However, “ideology” in the modern studies of political science, history, and the social sciences stem largely from the theories

Marx and Engles. (Eagleton 1991: 2-12, Carver 2016: 1-12)

Ideology, though this interpretation, exists in reference not only to a belief system, but to a power, particularly legitimizing the power of a dominant or elite class. Thompson is quoted,

“To study ideology is to study the ways in which meaning serves to sustain relations of domination.”14 According to Eagleton, this is the most accepted modern theory of defining

12 Eagleton 1991: 3 13 Ibid., 7 14 Eagleton 1991: 5, ft. 6

ideology. This process of legitimation through ideology existed through six strategies; promoting

beliefs and values, “naturalizing and universalizing such beliefs so as to render them self-evident and apparently inevitable”, criticizing countering ideas, “excluding rival forms of thought”, and

“obscuring social reality.”15 These six strategies, known as mystification, interact in extremely

complex and complementary manners to ensure the control and adoption of the political

program of a state. (Eagleton 1991: 2-12, Carver 2016: 1-12)

Now, far removed from the systematic and comprehensive political program, ideology is

an enigma composed of illusion, falsities, and “ideas that conceal a dynamically changing social

reality.”16 Ideology is not capable of demonstrating a specific human phenomenon, as it fails as a

systematic template to identify what is and what is not. Instead, Carver reflects on ideology as an

“agenda” of points to raise, questions to debate, and theories that should be prompted when

analyzing the relationship between politics and philosophy particularly regarding systems of

ideas that make claims. Ideology can provide a “wealth of critical perspective, if only we are

prepared to use it.”17 Ideology is not a neutral term, or neutral idea by any means. It is instead, a

neutral, descriptive term. (Eagleton 1991: 2-12, Carver 2016: 1-12)

Political theory has long been intertwined with ideology in studies of both early states, and modern political phenomenon. Schmitt writes:

“All significant concepts of the modern theory of the state are secularized theological concepts not only because of their historical development - in which they were transferred from theology to the theory of the state, whereby, for example, the omnipotent God became the omnipotent lawgiver-but also because of their systematic structure, the recognition of which is necessary for a sociological consideration of these concepts.”18

15 Ibid., 5 16 Ibid.. 11 17 Ibid.,11 18 Schmitt 1985: 36

While the role of King Lists is far less mystifying, the study of divine kingship is

simultaneously equally more, and less complex than can be given credit in this thesis. The root of

this logical contradiction exists in cross-cultural variations in the interpretation of divinity. In

different contexts, divinity and its implication for Kings are quite perplexing. The Kings of the

UR III dynasty were worshipped as Gods while living, and the Achaemenid Kings of Iran were

only divinized during certain acts of worship and strictly after death. Even categorization of

divinity, let alone the necessary subcategories, do not provide the necessary insight into how the

Mesopotamians viewed divine kingship. (Schmitt 1924: 36-52; Selz 2008: 25-30)

Both perspectives of Selz and Michalowski intertwined within Schmitt’s theories of political theogony. Political theory is to the modern state, what theogony used to be to the role of Divine Kingship in the ancient Near East. Understanding the workings of sacred or divine kingship was previously hampered by a strict binary approach, described by Selz as an,

“Aristotelian-based scientific classification system.”19 This approach led to discussions that were

not evidence based, though there is overwhelming agreement that the Mesopotamians held

divine status to varying extents. (Michalowski 2008: 33-45; Schmitt 1924: 36-52; Selz 2008: 25-

30)

This view of human beings as “composite” and a ruler’s connection to the “eternal”

worked throughout the course of history to create subcategories and internal classes for the

divine, including divine prototypes.20 This emphasizes the struggles of strict divine classification and the study of, as exemplified by the use of the DINGIR. (Selz 2008: 16-22)

19 Selz 2008: 25 20 Ibid., 25

DINGIR, as a divinity marker, is used throughout the earliest texts of Uruk though the

sign is increasingly restricted in the third millennium.21 The sign is not attributed to major,

primordial deities (with the exception of AN.INANNA and AN.NISSABA), serving in contrast

to the association of DINGIR to Gilgamesh and Lugalbanda. (Selz 2008: 16-22)

Jan Van Dijik argues that the DINGIR was not used for the primordial celestial deities, however, this view is problematic as the celestial gods were viewed in the Ancient Near East as,

“prototypes for the divine class.”22 Selz connects this phenomenon to the Greek concept of euhemerism, which occurs when mortal heroes are deified. (Selz 2008: 16-22)

Other scholars, such as Friedman, viewed divine kingship as a historical product that develops alongside the transitions of general structural transformations. Michalowski adopts this perspective, and attempts to pinpoint the seedlings of divine Kingship in Mesopotamia as

“historically defied phenomena” instead of moments bursting through what would be typical societal trajectories.23 While the typical study of Mesopotamian kingship revolves around the development of a particular individual through iconographic or textual means, such depictions are often symptoms of the symbolic configurations already occurring. For example, the use of

Lugal, en, and ensi appear to vary greatly in symbolic function, but in historical use, all three are

“quasi-synonyms” for “sovereign.”24 While these terms were used depending on different

contexts in various environments, they must be studied not through an evolutionary means, but

within the linguistic traditions of a particular state. (Michalowski 2008: 33-45)

21 Ibid., 25. The cuneiform sign associated with DINGIR is in the Akkadian fashion. In Sumerian, DINGIR is represented by star shaped wedge. Selz comments on the purposeful star shape, and how it reflects the perceived positioning of the gods in the sky. 22 Selz 2008: 16 23 Michalowski 2008: 33 24 Ibid., 34

Divine Kingship in Pre-Dynastic Egypt

The saplings of Egyptian divine kingship were uncovered by Flinders Petrie in 1893; the

Colossi at Coptos. At Coptos, the presence of three humanoid limestone statues demonstrate how

iconography led to the use of the writing to legitimize divine, political rule. The colossi

themselves are initially flummoxing; three enormous figures speckled with the petroglyphs of an

early mythical king list.25 Little could researchers have predicted the true intention of the eye-

level inscriptions; to develop a fabricated history through an “ancient process of redefinition.”26

(Kemp 2000: 211-242; Wang 2014: 22-23)

The colossi are recognized by the name of the museum in which they are hosted, and the

Cairo piece’s particular iconographic markings allowed Williams to determine them to be the

“early royal name” of King “Narmer”.27 This discovery of proto-dynastic royal name

preservation led Williams to conclude that the iconographic script was used to communicate the

institution of kingship through a fabricated social memory. (Kemp 2000: 211-242; Wang 2014:

22-23)

25 Kemp 2000: 216. Petroglyphs are not synonymous with hieroglyphs. A petroglyph usually refers to a rock carving popularized during prehistoric times while hieroglyphs are representational signs indicative of an ideographic(proto) writing system. 26 Ibid.,211-242 27 Ibid., 211

Figure 1. Drawing of the Cairo Colossus. Kemp, 2000.

The markings also described as “petroglyph panels” secure the colossi their fame. Some claim to see evidence that not all the petroglyphs were carved at the same time- implying that there was an additional history of erasure, replacement, and inclusion. However, Kemp argues that these concerns are ones of “over-interpretation” and does not give much attention to these claims.28 (Kemp 2000: 211-242; Wang 2014: 22-23)

28 Ibid.,215. Kemp describes the logistics of creating the petroglyphs; first chipping a “poorly defined” outline that would later be detailed. For this reason, the impression of different stages of relief carving could incorrectly be interpreted as different styles of relief carving. This is not the case at Coptos.

Dreyer proposed that the entirety of names was meant to be read as royal. King Narmer,

credited with founding Egypt’s first dynasty, is heartily placed on the midsection of the list. This

placement emphasizes that fictitious historical tampering occurred, as the names older than

Narmer are certainly mythological. This backdating was critical to ensuring the longevity of

kingship for future rulers that would depend on the legitimacy provided by a well-structured

institution. (Kemp 2000: 215-223)

Narmer, as the founder of the First Dynasty, would have heavily utilized similar

propaganda to ensure that his rule would not appear historically unprecedented. Narmer also self-

associated to mythical/divine kings on the list to establish a connection to higher powers, setting

the stage for future dynasties to utilize their connection with the divine for political procurement.

Dreyer arrived at this conclusion after noting that the Narmer petroglyphs were also featured on late predynastic seal impressions. These signs typically depicted animals accompanied by numerals; “their basic nature implies that they are part of an administrative process.”29 While the names are royal, there is agreement that the colossi are not true

representations of historical ancestors. As Wang attests, they are “vehicles for the display of

significant names.”30 (Kemp 2000: 231-235; Wang 2014: 20-28)

A handful of the colossi signs are also quite prominently featured on ivory tags

recovered from the royal tomb of U-j at Abydos. If Dryer were not mistaken to view the

petroglyphs as royal names, we could conclude that the grouping of such symbols to create

proper/royal names were inklings of a proto-writing system. Wang personally notes these signs

29 Ibid. 233. This interpretation represents a common practice found in other societies with proto-writing- the use of “graphic representation of proper names.” For example, King “Elephant-Mountain”, or the paralleled North American titles, like “Spotted Horse.” If the name “Narmer” was removed from the list, the context of the group's signs would change dramatically. (Here, Kemp refers to Baron 1981: 188–200) 30 Wang 2014: 21-25

as, “the earliest examples of writing yet known in Egypt” though others disagree. In this

instance, the listing of mythological ancestors is purely ideological, and the desire to create

ancient ties to the institution of kingship may very well have led to the proliferation of writing in

the region. (Kemp 2000: 231-235; Wang 2014: 20-28)

To expand, seal impressions from Abydos’s royal necropolis, in tandem, list a chronological order of rulership, building off the Colossi’s mythological king list. Through the seals, we see a king list through a more traditional sense. The seal of “Den” lists first dynasty kings from Narmer to Den, and a secondary seal for “Qaa” lists eight kings retroactively. While the colossi were impressive in size, the statues quickly became an outdated technology. The seals not only demonstrated wealth on a mobile scale but did so artistically in a means that could establish legitimacy on both administrative and economic grounds. (Kemp 2000: 231-242)

These seals, alongside the colossi, demonstrate that the ancient Egyptian elite were

focused on the legacy of their ancestors, particularly through the realm of legitimization and

tradition.31 Smaller in size, cylinder seals were easily mobile, and could be rolled over a variety

of objects, expanding the target audience. If the seals were only meant to be viewed from the

eyes of the King, there would be little reason for such elaborate decoration and placement within

the historical narrative. This would explain why Qaa and Den used seals that demonstrated their

royal lineages, as it would, “reinforce his assertion of ownership.”32 The impressive stature of

the Colossi and the specific ideological function of the decorative seals were indicators of means to “invoke the royal lineage” and legitimize divine rule.33 (Kemp 2000: 231-242)

31 Ibid,. 21-25. Scholars agree to different extents. Redford is under the impression that the king lists were created from “serial recording of year names used for administrative purposes.” If this was the case, it would still emphasize the marriage between the king’s accomplishments and a historical, dynastic reality. 32 Ibid., 21-25 33 Ibid.,21-25

Classical Maya Divine Kingship

Throughout the Classical Period (250-900AD), divinity was not innate for Maya royalty

and was bestowed by the Pantheon.34 This permitted the King to functionally operate as a God,

despite the lack of any self-possessed divinity. The socio-religious adherence to a quadripartite

cosmic order, known as the “world tree”, was unique to Mesoamerican culture and is described

as a cosmic alignment along the cardinal directions, centering the acropolis. The acropolis, as a

sacred space, connected royalty to the constituency through the preservation of social identity

and belonging. This preservation was often accomplished by performing public rituals in the

acropolis that not only reinforced the sacredness of the space but idealized the king as the link

between the worshippers and the worshiped. (Miller: 1993: 186-200)

Classical Mayan states preserved their divine king lists on monumental staircases that

often-marked entrances to theatrical public areas. While the staircase structures were decorated with royal name markers, the Mayan state employed metaphorical meaning that is noted through the physical ascension and descension of the architecture. Composed of six steps, the most

contemporary King was grounded, while older and/or mythological kings were the highest

staged. As individuals ascended the staircase, they experienced the effect of becoming closer

with their foundational ancestors. As they descended, constituents accepted their relationships

with modern-memory kings and subsequent representations of kingship. The presentation of time

was significant to the Maya, popularizing the metaphorical representation of “stacked stairs” for

various forms of ancestor worship.35 The stairs not only identified time periods through

34 Inomata 2006: 806 35 Wang 2014: 24 “To the Maya the ancestors are metaphorically presented as “stacked stairs.”

ascension dates, but effectively applied the most honorable position to the eldest ancestor. (Wang

2014: 21-38)

The megalith staircases framed the “theatrical stages” for performance events, such as

ritual re-enactments, presentation of captives, welcoming of diplomats, and other forms of state

organized entertainment. 36 These events created underlying themes of a cohesion-based political

reality through communicating established ideas via individual experience. This phenomenon

elevated the observers to evaluators, and therefore had significant influence over the,

“maintenance and transformation of premodern centralized polities.”37 Spectacles of social unity

were highlighted by physical crowding that exceeded usual face-to-face interactions,

successfully presenting a real community. (Inomata 2006: 805-842; Wang 2014: 21-38)

While the stairs had influence over state performance through proximity, Inomata defends that a mass public could not collectively view the stair’s intricate details and royal name markers. Only the closest spectators could absolve the literal effect of the stairs, leading to the argument that these areas were reserved for non-constituents. Due to the geographical tightness of Mesoamerican politics, a pseudo-national communication was mutually understandable by most. By placing (or forcing) foreign ambassadors and political prisoners closest to the stairs, they would have swallowed the employed messaging of the stairs, representing the power of the state. (Inomata 2006: 805-842; Wang 2014: 25-30)

Unlike the Egyptians, Chinese, and Mesopotamians, the audience for the Mayan king lists was intentionally diverse. The diversity of the audience is revolutionary as it demonstrates the Mayan desire to communicate messages of power to constituents and to foreigners. The

36 Ibid., 26-27 37 Inomota 2006: 805

Egyptians and Maya both made iconographic monuments that could be understood on a pictorial

level, but the Egyptians perceived foreigners as unintelligent and therefore did not consider

creating foreign targeted messages. Though the Egyptians did vehemently despise foreigners and

frequently depicted their slayings, the images were meant to bolster their constituency, not instill

fear into foreigners themselves. In contrast, the Maya State was opportunistic and did not revoke

their chance to communicate to a multi-faceted audience. By forcing both constituents and foreigners to interpret impressive displays of state power, classic Maya polities maintained their impressive image and ideological rhetoric. The outright public display of royal and divine might would have been deeply disturbing to political prisoners and diplomatic elites, while also simultaneously inspiring to constituencies. (Inomata 2006: 805-842; O’Connor 2003: 155-186;

Wang 2014: 21-38)

There is debate surrounding the inherent nature of classic Maya art. Described by Fash,

the debate surrounds “whether the inscribed public monuments are reliable indicators of key

historical events, or inflated propaganda that is distorted at best, and misleading or false, at

worst.”38 While the Yaxchilan Hieroglyphic stairway did reflect historical rulers, it is far more

practical to be studied as state propaganda supplemented with snippets of historical reality.

Ultimately, the nature of the monument was dedicated to reflecting royal succession bestowed by

the gods and included metaphorical and physical connections to divinity and social cohesion.

(Fash 1992: 105–115; Inomata 2006: 805-842; Wang 2014: 21-38)

38 Fash 1992: 105–115

Divine Kingship in the Ancient Chinese State

As a vast territory with an inordinately impressive human history, the development of the

Ancient Chinese state reveals answers as perplexing as questions. Those most ingrained in

academia tote the sheer abundance of surviving sources, indicating a mirage of continuity. While

the selection of primary texts is impressive, the corpus of ancient Chinese compositions cannot

be presented without doubtful considerations to the nature of source matter and the historical

narrative. (Li 2018: 218-228; Wang 2014: 40-53)

The ancient Chinese did not view the divine king as a god, but an individual that could

become “quasi-divine” after death. Smith writes, “China has no equivalent to Osiris, Tammuz,

Adonis, Astarte, Cybele, and Ceres. Nor does it seem to have developed in the official cult of

China a pantheon of celestial deities such as we find in Indo-European regions.”39 Without the

prominence of a formulated pantheon, the Chinese state was preoccupied with focus on the

ancestral cult and adherence to cosmic order.

The Shi Ji(史記) , Chinese for “Records of the Grand Historian” or “Historical Records”

are perhaps the most influential source of continual documentation in regard to ancient China.40

The Shi Ji were birthed as a means to convey the dynastic leadership of all periods, concluding in

the Han Dynasty. Though spearheaded by Sīmǎ Tán, his son, Sīmǎ Qián completed the work in

the first century and is generally credited as the sole author. Though large portions of the oldest

genealogies are lost from the Shi Ji, the mention of absent sections perpetuates the belief that the

Shi Ji were the most expansive king list in human history. This idea was not controversial until

the 1920’s “Doubting Antiquity” movement began; aimed to pick apart sources like the Shi Ji

39 Smith 1957: 173 40 Wang 2014: 40

20 with the aid of “textual criticism.”41 Textual criticism focused on questioning to what extent ancient states should be trusted in the materials they produced about themselves. In terms of the

Shi Ji, new, fragmentary evidence is unveiled at a pace that allows both traditionalists and opponents ample evidence to continue debate.

The Shi Ji include a modest list of five legendary emperors and three sovereigns serving as mythological founders and prior rulers of prehistoric China. The prophetic “Three Sovereigns” began their rule in 2850BC, as attested by ancient administrators, and were replaced with the

“Five Emperors”. The inclusion of the mythological sovereigns and emperors on the Shi Ji demonstrate the imaginative creation of a “complex genealogical tree” linking kings such as “Yu the Great” to an institution that was pre-legitimized by mythological rule.42 (Li 2018: 218-228;

Wang 2014: 40-53)

Portions of the Shi Ji are constructed skeletally with framework of benji (本紀), Chinese for “annals.”43 The benji are described by Wang the “chronicles of former kings and emperors.”44

Only the reigns of specific emperors were chronicled because only “legitimate” rulers were allotted a coveted place in history. The decision to incorporate or exclude a ruler from the benji (and therefore the Shi ji) was made after that ruler’s death. The decision was the responsibility of the

Royal Historian, who followed an individually designed, stringent process. However, with so many competing dynasties, how could the royal historian determine which ruler was singularly the most legitimate? (Wang 2014: 40-53)

41 Ibid., 40. 42 Wang 2014: 40 43 Ibid.,40 44 Ibid., 40

With a heavy burden, the Royal Historian meticulously justified their selection abilities

by first presenting their pedigree, comparable to the scribes of the ancient Near East.

Theoretically, the pedigree bolstered people’s trust in the proficiency of the Royal Historian to

judge the emperors vying for legitimation through a process lined with moral inclination. Trust

in the Royal Historian was crucial, as his decisions determined legitimacy across the historical

narrative. (Wang 2014: 40-53)

While later developments are still perplexing, humble beginnings at the Shang Dynasty’s

ancient site of the Erlitou state provide a less controversial royal genealogy for the ancient

Chinese. This Yellow River region rose to become one of the earliest states of the second

millennium, replacing the Neolithic Lung-shun “Black Pottery” culture. Excavations of Erlitou have been fruitful; elite tombs, beautiful objects, and rough boundaries that hint at the burial sites of dynastic royalty. While writing is not the only method of depicting royal lineage, no evidence of writing or any other have yet to be recovered from Erlitou.45 (Li 2018: 218-228; Wang 2014:

40-53)

Erlitou was naturally absorbed and replaced by the Erligang culture at the same site circa

1500BC. Now known as modern Zhèngzhōu, evidence has revealed that the Erligang culture might

have served as an early capital.46 While there is little evidence of royal tombs, there are quite a

number of cast bronze vessels, found peeking just outside the inner-city’s set of walls. These

Erligang bronze vessels are incredibly poignant when compared to that of the Erlitou culture, and

45 It is possible that any glyphs marking burial sites were lost or were written on biological materials that degraded with time. 46 Ibid., 41-42; Zhèngzhōu expresses several features that hint at its theoretical capital status. First, the site is double walled, and the appearance of fortifications demonstrates a need for protection, perhaps from competing polities. These walls were the largest in the Chinese region at the time. There are also remnants of workshops and burial areas throughout the city, demonstrating a heightened sense of organization and administration.

22 the Erligang state pioneered the widespread casting of uniform bronze vessels. The Erligang bronzes appeared to be the ideal “vehicle for displaying inscriptions,” with “no technical obstacle to inscribing them.”47 However, the vessels did not boast any inscriptions, despite evidence of writing technology during the period (circa 1500-1450). The failure to inscribe was in direct contrast to the supplanting Zhōu (周) Dynasty’s ritual bronzes, which were made of elite materials and beautifully scrawled. Zhèngzhōu pottery fragments unequivocally prove that the Erligang culture was fully capable of bronze inscription, but deliberately chose otherwise. (Li 2018: 218-

228; Wang 2014: 44-52)

This compelling decision is indicative of the early nature of ancient Chinese writing, and its subsequent influence on institutional legitimization. Unlike the Mayan and Egyptian states, the technology of writing in ancient China was not automatically implemented to pioneer state legitimization. While the quest for civilization led to the development of writing in some cultures, the motivations for writing seem to unfold alongside the mysteries of the Chinese ancestry cult.

(Li 2018: 218-228; Wang 2014: 44-52)

Neolithic Chinese establishments were relatively successful due to the prosperity of a wide variety of natural resources. Wang theorizes that proto writing perhaps developed in early Chinese cultures to supplement natural and resulting economic growth. This theory partially explains why writing was not immediately weaponized. When writing does appear, king lists manifest through divination texts. (Wang 2014: 56-174)

Erligang was in decline by the thirteenth century, leaving a power vacuum for the site of

Ānyáng (安陽) to emerge as a major city, encroaching into the second millennium. During this

47 Ibid., 44.

23 period, the Shāng (商) Dynasty revealed a unique king list provided through the Ānyáng Oracle

Bones (AOB). (Wang 2014: 56-174)

Turtle plastrons as well as ox shoulder blades were the most popularized medium for divination during the Shāng Dynasty. The Diviner would etch symbols into the bones, outlining multiple oracles, predications, and prophecies. After a process of detailed carvings, a hot poker struck the bone, and once cracked, the pattern of the bone’s breakage over the script was interpreted. (This practice is often referred to as scapulimancy, and occasionally as pyromancy.)

While abundantly clear no magic truly unfolded, the diviner held a significant level of power over the crown. Just as the Royal Historian was responsible for royal legitimization across the historical record, the diviner was consulted on grave and controversial decisions, and provided invaluable input that was taken seriously. Few decisions of importance were made without the consultation of the diviner and therefore, the divine input of the pantheon. The AOB are indicative of the exclusivity and privacy kept between the diviner and the divine, and their influence in relaying the desires of the ancestral royal cult.48 (Wang 2014: 44-52; 56-174)

Beyond the fanciful, the oracle bones demonstrate a writing system that was adequately functional and mature enough to “record continuous discourse”, an indication of growth from the writing fragments of Erligang.49 (Wang 2014: 44-52)

48 Ibid., 45 49 Ibid., 44

Figure 2. Ānyáng Divination Texts CUL 52. Recto (left); Verso (right). Hopkins Collection

With a heightened focus on royal ancestry and allocated sacrifices, the AOB provided enough information for researchers to reconstruct a Shāng Dynasty king list despite never uncovering another variation of such. The AOB specifically demands particular sacrifices for different ancestral kings, allowing researchers to assume that the diviners had access to some form of a king list that has yet to be uncovered.50 Twenty-nine kings were named as recipients of unique sacrifice, and were ordered generationally. The living king was humbly self-referred with

50 There are documented instances in which the divination bones demanded immense human sacrifice. Evidence of such are preserved on the bones, but also throughout mass grave sites dated to the Shāng Dynasty.

25 anonymity as “the king”, though it was not especially challenging to reconstruct the nine missing identities with the aid of additional records. (Li 2018: 218-228; Wang 2014: 44)

Demonstrated by the Shi Ji, the anonymity of self-reference was a symptom of postmortem legitimation. The King did not belong to the royal ancestral cult if the Royal Historian did not determine him to be worthy of such honor. This underscores the state’s emphasis on the institution of kingship rather than a focus on the mortal, individual king himself. (Wang 2014: 44-

52)

The Shāng Dynasty Ānyáng oracle texts and the revered Shi Ji (with the support of the benji) run surprisingly parallel in royal genealogy, despite being dated almost one thousand years apart. Both allow inferences in the skeletal format surrounding dynastic documentation. While many emperors are documented, we can assume that many more were not; failing to reach legitimacy in the eyes of the Royal Historian. This emphasis on the institution over the individual was a precautionary method to maintain institutional credibility, as a lack luster leader could seamlessly be removed from the historical record before tarnishing the successes of past and future kings. This stylistic aspect of the developing state could be considered an early form of highly selective damnatio memoriae.51 Institutional prioritization was also apparent through the inability of the current ruler to declare himself legitimate during his lifetime. The Shi Ji and benji attested to the belief that kingship was bestowed by heaven, and the divine spoke through the Royal

Historian to anoint and discredit. (Smith 1957: 171-203; Wang 2014: 19-52)

51 “Damnatio memoriae”, translates in Latin to an action that erases all conceivable remnants of an individual from official/recordable memory. Many cultures have their own forms of Damnatio memoriae, though perhaps the most popularized example is the attempt of the Ancient Egyptians to remove the memory of Queen Hatshepsut. While the Royal Historian added names instead of removing them, the kings deemed not legitimate were not preserved on the historical record.

Sīmǎ Qián notes that the cosmos could alter the course of negative kingship to prevent failing dynasties, but to what extent Sīmǎ Qián saw this philosophical correction would entirely depend on his interpretation of events. What constituted proper kingly conduct would be different person to person. The Chinese king was, “a mortal charged with the crushing burden of leading mankind”, but the Royal Historian seemed burdened with sheer power.52 (Smith 1957: 171-203)

Divine Kingship in the Ancient Near East

In contrast to the Egyptian and Maya, the Mesopotamian king lists demonstrate a sheer dedication to mythological backdating, and the extensive inclusion of prehistoric rulers increases the length of the Mesopotamian king lists texts considerably. Unlike the elaborately decorated

Maya stairs, lavish cylinder seals of Egypt, and extensive Chinese benji, the Mesopotamian corpus was preserved on unbaked mud bricks, leading researchers to believe they were not intended for public display. Demonstrations of institutional legitimation were perhaps the most prominent source of propaganda, and the air of privacy shrouding the Mesopotamian king lists is thought provoking. If the lists were not designated for the public consumption, who was the intended audience and how did communicating with this audience assist with legitimizing the institution of kingship? (Wang 2014: 24-29)

The Genealogy of Hammurabi is preserved near entirety on unbaked clay tablets and prisms, directly pointing towards private ownership and use. It is very possible that researchers have yet to unearth elaborate and rich versions of the Genealogy, but the standard Genealogy overwhelmingly discovered follows a strict protocol of unbaked, low quality materials. One theory presented by J. Finkelstein theorizes that in written, physical form, the Genealogy of the

52 Smith 1957: 172

Hammurabi Dynasty was recited at the Kipsu festival/ceremony. The Kipsu rites revolved

around presenting offerings to royal ancestors, and with the unimpressive matter in which the

lists were presented, Finkelstein theorized that a portion of the Kipsu rites were an exclusive

event for the elite. This elite event would deepen the reverence towards deceased royals and

deepen connections with the institution of kingship. (Wang 2014: 24-29)

The first main support for the private nature of the King lists stems from administrative texts of Mari. Within this subsection, most of the texts refer to the details and logistics of small food offerings for the royal ancestral cult. Some sites, such as that of Tell Mishrief, feature statues that incorporate small bowls for which offerings may be left. These statues are noted to be stoically placed in private areas accessible through surreptitious chambers and hallways that public individuals would not have awareness of or access to. (Wang 2014: 24-40)

The Genealogy of Hammurabi, as well as the Assyrian King List and the King List of

Ugarit work in tandem to support Finkelstein’s theory of the ritualistic function of the relatively

underdressed king lists. All three king lists mention the invoked worship of the royal ancestral

cult and highlighted the preference for private ritualistic performance. In turn, the air of

exclusivity would suffice in part to maintain the public’s attitude towards respecting the

institution of kingship beyond the period they exist within. With privacy prioritized, it is still

unclear who made up this elite audience. Finkelstein theorizes that living members of the royal

family would likely be in attendance, but exact audiences are not clearly documented.

To invoke the royal ancestors, be it historical or mythological, Mesopotamian culture

demanded the vocals of the living king to reinvigorate the deceased. There was a certain power

associated with reading the names of royalty out loud, suiting the theory of oral invocation

during the Kipsu. The desire to be invoked after death motivated many Mesopotamian kings to

order their name be inscripted on visible monuments. Constituents would in turn invoke such

royal names and participate in the practice of establishing a desirably memorable legacy

postmortem. The practice of royal name invocation and narration was not unique to

Mesopotamia and was prominent internationally, as demonstrated by the heavy utilization of the

Inka civilization. (The Inka supplemented mummification with memorization of royal

bloodlines, and “ruling house specialists” would recite these accounts in narrative poems at

celebrations and festivals as witnessed by the Spaniards in 1534.) (Wang 2014: 12-17; 34-40)

While the theories surrounding the Genealogy of Hammurabi and other Mesopotamian

King lists have been well received, the nature of the Sumerian King list has proved to be an interpretational challenge. The exact function of the Sumerian King list has yet to be determined and is surrounded by enough uncertainty to bring forth arguments questioning the list’s place within the Sumerian writing tradition. (Wang 2014: 34-40)

Figure 3. Weld Blundell Prism, The Ashmolean Museum Cuneiform Collection

The Sumerian King list upholds the notion that kingship was bestowed from heaven.

What is unique, however, is that the succession of dynastic rule was designed to “rotate” among the city-states of Mesopotamia. This system is noted as the “bala”, translating into “rotation” or

“transfer”.53 The Akkadian language borrowed “bala” as “palû”, which in turn translated into,

“term of office”, or used in regard to rulers as a “reign.”54 While there are many theories surrounding the nature of bala (particularly the method and means of paying a form of tribute), bala did not represent fixed seasons of power and was likely a means of generational legitimization. Through the bala system, a single city state (theoretically) held rule as the premier dynasty, then passed the kingship to the next dynasty in line. (Sharlack 2004: 16; Wang 2014:

34-40)

The Sumerian king list naturalizes this bizarre rotation, claiming the bala existed alongside humanity since creation. Tablets list king names, lengths of reigns, and of course, the dynastic locations. Like the Genealogy of Hammurabi and the Assyrian King list, the Sumerian king list is rudimentary in presentation, but sparks contemplation due to the preservation of the

Sumerian king list through dozens of variations, all with peculiar edits. List variation is not indicative of the dynastic unity one would attach to the bala system and can be partially explained by the contemporary natures of the edits. These edits include potential human- mythological blending and attempts to re-enforce the power of the illegitimate Isin dynasty.

(Wang 2014: 34-40)

The variations, attested by Wang, speak towards a political need for falsification, and the desire to create the appearance of aspects of city-state rule. Insisting to co-exist with humanity

53 Sharlack 2004: 16 54 Ibid., 16 ft. 72

30 itself, the list should be analyzed through its manufactured perceptions of fabricated unity to reveal motivations of political control. The contemporary editions are particularly insistent upon the transfer of kingship from the Gods, who also supervised the transfer of kingship from one city to the next. Individual city-states revered many similar divinities, but through the bala system, Sumer could assert their ideal Pantheon over the region, creating a monopoly over religion and force political unity. (Yoffee 2005: 171-173; Van de Mieroop 2004: 41-45)

The Sumerian King list is quite extensive, due to the incorporation of mythical, predynastic bala cycles. The reigns of these kings are outside the realm of biological capabilities, spanning in some cases, thousands of years. The first king of Sumer (directly given kingship from the gods) was king Alulim (a2-lu-lim) of Eridu, who is allocated 28,000 years of rule on the

Weld Blundell Prism’s list.55 (There is disagreement as to when these mythological rulers were added, or if the names represented historical actors who were later on noted as mythological to contribute to the list’s institutional backing.) The earliest ruler who can be accounted for historically is Enmebaragesi (me-bara2-si), who ruled Kish circa 2600BC for an attested nine- hundred years. Enmebaragesi’s status as a confirmed King speaks to arguments of post-death deification exemplifying the cross over between human rulers later attributed with mythological life spans. As with the Colossi at Coptos, the addition of mythological ancestry is tangibly influential when manifesting a community’s social memory and bolstering institutional success.

(Yoffee 2005: 171-173; Van de Mieroop 2004: 41-42; Wang: 2014: 36)

Beyond solidifying institutional control, the bala was manipulated as a means of legitimizing rule during the Dynasty of Isin. Archaeologically established dynasties, like Larsa,

55 The Weld Blundell Prism is considered one of the most complete and spectacular versions of the Sumerian king list.

are absent from the Sumerian King List, as well as two prominent Lagash Dynasties. Larsa was a

viable city state circa 2500BC and is documented to have exerted an impressive amount of

influence over Mesopotamia. By the time the Sumerian King List was compiled (roughly late-

third or early second millennia) Mesopotamian civilization was well established for over a

thousand years. Many different dynasties had arrived and departed, and the compliers sought a

way they could reconcile a major, noticeable discrepancy; how could the concept of a lineage

reinvigorate itself during a period of dynastic competition? The Dynasty of Isin unequivocally

failed to trace ancestry back to an Amorite genealogy, a necessary means of legitimacy during

the period. Isin’s direct rial, the city state of Larsa, claimed bala legitimacy rather

opportunistically. For this reason, it is no accident that Larsa and others are purposefully

excluded from the list as a result of emphasizing their Amorite royal lineages. (Wang 2014: 34-

40)

The Isin Dynasty compilers were then able to re-shuffle contemporary dynasties to create an organized pattern of rule. The list had to not only be sequential, but also serve the dynastic ideology as well. This is when the mythological kings were added, with impossible years of power. For each city and dynasty rulers were then listed with background information such as dates of rule and transfer, thus creating a clear cycle for future transfer. Politically, multiple dynasties co-existed, though the nature of the Sumerian King list strung them out sequentially.

Wang refers to this phenomenon as an “imaginative prehistory”.56 These changes were necessary

for the rest of Mesopotamia to be inclined to accept the list’s variations to cater to the Isin

Dynasty. (Wang 2014: 34-40)

56 Wang 2014: 37

The compilers, described by Wang as “tidy-minded bureaucrats”, do not give much detail

into exactly how the lists were used beyond modern theories of legitimization.57

Unlike the remaining corpus of Egyptian king lists, the New Kingdom’s Turin King List

(also referred to as the Royal Canon of Turin), was written on perishable papyrus, and is also

theorized not to have been designed for display. The TKL was recovered by archaeologists

without a beginning or an end, so the exact purpose of the list is unfortunately lost to time. While

the papyrus was thought to date to the period of Ramses II (New Kingdom’s 19th Dynasty),

researchers cannot rule out the possibility that the list was compiled later and subsequently

backdated. Like the Sumerian King List, the TKL contains the names of kings and their reigns.

According to Ryholt, this makes the TKL a “true king list”, as nearly all other Egyptian king

lists selectively include kings based on “unstated principles” and did not include reigning

years.58 Some kings across the TKL are grouped in familial manners, perhaps inspiring

Manetho’s interpretation of dynasties. Researchers have reason to believe that the list also

contains the Hyksos rulers of Lower Egypt’s 15th Dynasty, as names of this period are listed

with a hieroglyph that indicates foreign status. (This is unique, as foreign rulers were not

typically recorded or embedded into Egyptian recorded rule.) (Ryholt 2004: 135-155)

Both the TKL and Sumerian King List meticulously date king names and years, and both do so on cheap and attractive materials. In tandem, the lists raise a valued question: if each dynastic year could be accounted for, what is the motivation for associating the years with a list of kings?

57 Ibid., 50 58 Ryholt 2004: 135

Through the tampering of the Isin Dynasty, we know that administrations had a heavy hand in the creation of the lists- an undeniable conflict of both influence, and interest. As in modern administrative systems, a list of years and dates would be useful for the ancient state, though there would not be a direct administrative need to create predynastic periods and mythological kings. This emphasizes Wang’s idea that the ancients were curious into antiquarian history, and that the lists could have been written by administrative scribes as aids for several reasons. Described as “manifestations of scribal curiosity”, scribes created answers to their own historical questions as well as formulated a perpetual sense of historical stability: the institutions of kingship and the state must have pre-existed in regard to modern society.59 In short, the state has existed alongside the world; one was not before the other. The origin of the state could be explained through the divine that provided and dictates kingship, and the divine beings of the pantheon were believed to have served as proto kings before humanity. It is the inspiring imaginative qualities of the ancient Sumerian scribes, and their passion for the presentation above that most likely limited the audience of other scribes. Though these passion projects were probably supported by a given administration, such creations are not all designed to be propaganda for any king during his reign. Paired with other literary works, the king lists were the backbone to a scribal tradition passed down generationally. (Wang 2014: 30-54)

For this reason, it is crucial to continue to analyze the Sumerian King lists’ purpose among scribes and exigence within the scribal tradition. Due to its scribal prominence, the most probable method of transmission throughout ancient history was through the standardized scribal school.60 Known as an “edubba”, private schooling sites trained scribes through repeatedly

59 Wang 2014: 50 60

34 rewriting extensive lexical lists. Popular choices include the professional lexicon, and the king lists due to complicated repetition and numerical recall. The edubba system is comparable to wooden writing boards recovered from “elite” tombs at Giza. One board, among excess content, contained a column of six king’s cartouches, listed exactly four times. The six names backdate, from Neferirkara and Sahura, Khafra and Djedfra, Djoser and Bedjua, etc. The board also contains lists of god’s titles, locations, and place names, typical of the scribal education in

Ancient Egypt. (While there is no direct evidence to suggest the relationship of the buried man with the wooden boards, Wang assumes that the man perhaps wrote them while he was alive.)

(Wang 2014: 55)

Format wise, the Sumerian King list is reflective of accounting texts, a skill that would be learned earlier in the education process. In this aspect the Sumerian King list can be boiled down to a skeleton of nouns attached with a numerical value. Researchers theorize that the TKL’s scrawling were a reference point, placed on the back side of an administrative tax role, highlighting the use of a king list as an administrative aid. Because the tax roll was used for formal economic purposes on behalf of the state, the scribes had no incentives to add personal bias against kings and reigns. This is demonstrated by the TKL’s inclusion of Hyksos rule and all

Egyptian kings up all the way perhaps into the twentieth dynasty.

In reflection, the king lists of Maya, Egypt, and China differ from those in Mesopotamia in several ways. First and foremost, the Mesopotamian king lists were not for display, and not composed of materials of wealth or luxury, though still used for ancestor worship in the case of the Genealogy of the Hammurabi Dynasty. Though we only have what king lists have been discovered so far, we have hypotheses of a possible associated oral tradition, another unique factor. Beyond ancestor worship, the Sumerian king list and other Mesopotamian chronologies

35 served a significant external function as a tool for scribal training or tax administration. (Wang

2014: 30, 62)

CHAPTER TWO

LEGITIMIZATIONTHROUGH XENOPHOBIC ICONOGRAPHY

Iconography and the Relationship of Portrayal

Iconography was an invaluable tool for the implementation of “ars memoriae” or

“memorativa.”61 Credited to Simonides, memorativa employs the strategic injection of

rhetorical imagery into areas in which it does not naturally or independently exist. The perfect

theatre for memorativa to flourish was the state’s small localities, as such targeting allowed the

state to, “preserve the order of things.”62 Memorativa provided a sturdy platform for the support

and development of artificial memory that could be rhetorically manipulated. By inserting

ideological ideas, a community’s social obligation towards a central and defining element,

known as memory culture, could easily be shaped. (Assmann 2001: 15-70)

The state understood the power of influence and the effect on a moldable constituency,

employing memorativa often. For this reason, studying the messages states promoted through

artistic measure can be extraordinarily insightful.

Rulers cross culturally are associated with the divine, but it is within the Egyptian and

Mesopotamian cultures that his relationship was monumentally elevated. The relationships wax

and wane depending on the culture of the period, so it is not surprising that how the royal-divine relationship was portrayed requires deeper inquiry into the portrayal of kingship itself. 63 Even in

the earliest instances, Kings are involved with the divine; physically occupying the same space

61 Assmann 2001: 15 62 Ibid. 15, ft. 1 63 Winter 2008: 75. Here, Winter distinguishes between divine kingship, and “sacral kingship”. Winter defines sacral kingship as the sacred innateness of a ruler to rule, and divine kingship as the “explicit ascription of divinity”.

or even register as Gods. White outlines four categories in which textual evidence supports the

royal imagery of kingship. First, is that dealing with institutional origins. The second and third

are to articulate the origins and describe the necessary conditions of an effective ruler. Finally,

the fourth category deals with creating the signs by which the outlined effectiveness could be

recognized. These categories each support the idea that kingship originated from the Heavens. A

specifically designated official would then lay claim to the throne and “manifested physical

signs that indicated both their appropriateness for selection and their ability to govern.”64

Iconographic representation within art explores the blend of divine kingship into divine kingship portrayal, satisfying equal elements in the balance of religious, economic, and political systems.

(Winter 2008: 74-101)

Winter concludes that the development of iconography was usually driven by a political force. For this reason, the institution of divine kingship found solace in iconography as a method for prominent representation. While literary texts were effective in other aspects, only small sects of the population were literate or had viewing access to these documents. In contrast, every constituent could appreciate the messaging behind massive artistic renditions, demonstrating the all-encompassing power of the state. Many of these messages centered around the conquest over barbaric peripheral or foreign peoples, and often, these groups are portrayed in an overwhelmingly negative light. (Bahrani 2008: 101-130; Winter 2008: 47-101)

Even if relationships with outside peoples were not inherently negative, these groups were ultimately used as scapegoats for internal strife or as means to accentuate the state’s exigence. The state often used the portrayal of foreigners to demonstrate their ability to protect

64 Winter 2008: 75

38 and provide for their constituencies, crushing those that challenged their ideological institutions of divine kingship. The Narmer Palette, Garden Party Relief, Victory Stele, and Standard of Ur all coexist in manners that focus on xenophobic portrayal and juxtaposition of administrative power.

The Narmer Palette

A prominent concept of Egyptian pharaonic kingship was the pharaoh's status as a god incarnate; a divine individual who could become a god after death. The Narmer Palette was recovered from Hierakonpolis’s Main Deposit in 1898 and is succinctly described by Davis as a

“carved schist cosmetic palette.”65 (Davis 1992: 119-205)

The site of Hierakonpolis, also referred to as Nehken, featured objects deposited from several generations, perhaps demonstrating an understanding of the implicit value of the site’s original purpose. Most of the artifacts are dated to the Old Kingdom, though their artistic techniques and styles are reminiscent of the Naqada periods. The Narmer Palette and Scorpion

Mace head are the most famous finds from the site, in part due to their depictions of military hostility. The preservation of the original artifacts, particularly the Narmer Palette, hint at the palette’s likely function as a votive offering. With no indications of grinding or evidence of kohl, researchers agree that the palette was not designed for functional use. (Davis 1992: 119-205)

The palette’s iconography represents the social and natural world as, “symbols of power generated as political propaganda”, incorporating both human and environmental features.66 The iconographic focus of the palette is King Narmer’s militant unification, emphasized by the

65 Davis 1992: 71 66Ibid., 32

39 execution of uncivilized peoples within the Nile Delta. Even the decision to use a cosmetics palette is rhetorical; the faux functionality of an accessory uniquely juxtaposes the militant reality of propaganda, triggered by an impending power vacuum. The Narmer palette can be conclusively studied to legitimize elite authority. (Wilkinson 1999: 2-23)

Figure 4. Photograph of the Narmer Palette. Recto (right); Verso (left) The Egyptian Museum, Cairo

Dating to the period of upper and lower unification, King Narmer’s depiction on the

Narmer Palette is of the earliest of any Egyptian king. He is noted to have succeeded the proto- dynastic “Ka”, and as the founder of Egypt's first dynasty, the palette was hypothetically commissioned to ease the transition from the Naqada period into unified rule. This transition would have sparked immense political and social changes, as the “mechanism of rule” was also

40 experiencing, “rapid and radical reformulation.”67 By redefining the previous model of kingship,

Narmer also created precedent for the future pharaonic dynasties that provide Ancient Egypt with such relished fame. By establishing king-centric ideology, the first dynasty dissolved the circular power vacuum encouraged by competing chiefdoms. The palette debuts three revolutionary artistic formats for the developing state, including pictorial event representation, pictorial signs, and the use of proto hieroglyphics. (Davis 1992: 119-205; Wilkinson 2000: 23-

30)

Figure 5. Drawing of the Narmer Palette’s Carvings. Recto (right); Verso (left). Davis 1992

67 Ibid., 29

Both the recto and verso sides of the palette feature two bulls framing the serekh that

displays Narmer’s royal name, a phonetic combination of the signs for “catfish (n’r)” and “chisel

(mr).” The catfish was viewed as an uncontrollable and strong beast in predynastic times, while

the bulls flanking the serekh are theorized to represent dominance. Royal names were of

particular cultural importance as they would express the King’s royal power, described as an,

“earthly incarnation with a celestial deity.”68 Despite modern translations of Narmer’s royal

name failing to follow the expected grammatical patterns of the first dynasty, the royal name

nonetheless serves as a concise statement of theological association. (Davis 1992: 119-205;

Wilkinson 2000: 20-24)

The recto side features several symbols, many with a variety of modern interpretations.

However, the identification of Horus, placed in line with Narmer’s head, is universally accepted due to the similar presence of Horus in iconography four generations after Narmer. The relative sizing of figures reflected their relevance, and importance within the piece; kings and Gods were usually the largest or highest figures depicted. Narmer, as the most prominent figure, is clutching a thick mace, adorned with Upper Egypt’s white, egg-tipped crown. The eye travels from the

mace to its intended victim- a foe much smaller in stature and pulled up by the hair. There are

two hieroglyphic symbols next to the man, indicating his regional origins, perhaps as an Asiatic.

By purposefully attempting to identify the man with his origin, King Narmer is fulfilling a sense

of “other”, and then representationally destroying it. The Narmer Palette shows the destruction of

68 Ibid., 25

the “other”, and Wilkinson attests, “Explicitly xenophobic iconography is first met in the reign of

Narmer.”69 Behind the man are bundles of papyrus plants, a known symbol of Lower Egypt.

Davis mentions theories that the papyrus plants were a means of measuring casualties, as the

papyrus did independently represent the number one thousand. There are six papyrus plants,

perhaps indicating six-thousand deaths of the Asiatic/ “others”. A military conquest resulting in the deaths of six thousand peripheral peoples, if the papyrus are to be taken as numerical measurements, would definitely be an exaggeration on behalf of the state to further pronounce their ability and willingness to slaughter what would now considered non-Egyptians. Beneath

Narmer’s feet are two disfigured men; whether they are dead or maimed, we are unsure. The hieroglyphics next to these men could also symbolize a place of origin, though there are fewer indications as to which peoples they represent. (Davis 1992: 119-205; Wilkinson 2000: 20-24)

The verso’s lowest register depicts a bull trampling a man to death, thought to be an idealized representation of King Narmer, stepping on those who oppose his right to rule. The

Bull was often associated with King Narmer, but the depiction of Kings as animals did not advance after the Old Kingdom. Instead, animalization in future generations was usually human- animal hybrids, such as the griffin.70 Upper registers display a procession, depicting Narmer with

the royal symbols of the crook (heka) and flail (nekhakha). 71 (Davis 1992: 119-205; Wilkinson

1999: 155-190; Wilkinson 2000: 20-24)

There is still debate questioning if the scene portrayed on the Narmer Palette represented

a series of actual, historical events. Regardless of the true position in the historical narrative, the

69 Ibid., 29 70 This could be because as the King became more divine, associating him with a wild animal would be poor royal decorum. 71 Wilkinson 1999: 190

43 palette does speak towards the propaganda needed to a legitimate institution of kingship post- unification. John Baines suggests that the depiction on the Narmer palette serves, “...not to record an event but to assert that the king dominates the ordered world in the name of the gods and has defeated internal, and especially external, forces of disorder.”72 As demonstrated, the external forces of disorder were best portrayed through the depiction of “others”, and the internal forces stated through their demise and conquest. (Davis 1992: 119-205; Wilkinson 2000: 20-24)

The Garden Party Relief

The Assyrian empire experienced a period of immense power and influence under the reign of Assurbanipal (Aššur-bāni-apli) as the fourth king of the Sargonic Dynasty. During this period, Assyria devastated competing city-states, and Assurbanipal claimed hegemony over the

“four quarters” of the known world.73 Remembered as the last great Assyrian king, Assurbanipal did not secure his legacy without employing impressive systems of ideologically pervasive propaganda. Early and constant unrest led to a wealth of revolutionary xenophobic tactics found in art from the period. (Levin 2002: 350-366; Spalinger 1974: 301-307)

Assurbanipal’s reign was initiated with a troubling transition of power from his father,

Esarhaddon (Aššur-aḫa-iddina). Esarhaddon had successfully conquered Egypt around 670 BC, and though the system of governance implanted by Esarhaddon was initially effective, Pharaoh

Taharqa escaped political imprisonment and reinvigorated his Egyptian constituents to rise against Assyrian rule. The rebellions led by Taharqa created palpable and immediate unrest for

Assurbanipal when Esarhaddon unexpectedly died en route to Egypt to calm the stir.

72 Baines. 2007. 294 73 Levin 2002: 350-366. The title, “šarru kibrat 'arbaim” in Akkadian, translating into, “King of the Four Quarters of the World”, was a title earned by particularly prominent rulers, such as Assurbanipal.

Esarhaddon’s untimely death pushed Assurbanipal on the throne just as a major period of instability began to unravel and forced Assurbanipal to focus the first years of his reign on the threat of rebellion in Egypt. (Spalinger 1974: 301-307)

With immense focus on maintaining a desirable and competitive territory, attention had to be divided hastily, creating uncertainty with the initial years of Assurbanipal’s rule. The political and civil unrest Assurbanipal faced early on influenced his regime’s creativity in maintaining and re-establishing his legitimate right to rule, particularly among his Assyrian constituents. While the burdensome rebellions of the Egyptians were eventually settled, they influenced a spike in unique iconography that was quickly utilized against an equally formidable foe, the Elamite peoples.

The result of growing conflict with the Elamites is demonstrated in full brutality depicted in “The Garden Party” relief. Set in the Khorsabad palace, the central feature of the relief is

Assurbanipal, enjoying the presence of his wife, sprawling on reclined furniture while doting servants dance in abundance; nourishment and musical entertainment whisking the atmosphere.

There is a soothing harp accompaniment, fans cooling the air to an acceptably serene temperature, and never-ending bowls of seemingly decadent dishes. The occasion is quite

impressive, though not a festival or religious offering day, but a celebration of military might.

Assurbanipal is more than deserving of his royal dining experience, as the head of the Elamite

king, Teumman, is sickeningly suspended from a gorgeously leafy tree. (Bahrani 2004: 115-119;

Cifarelli 1998: 210-228)

Figure 6. Garden Party Relief. The British Museum

Figure 7. Drawing of the Garden Party Relief. Bible History Online, 2019. The artistic characterizations and styles of the Assyrian empire, particularly enhanced

under Assurbanipal, focused on minute details and the portrayed distinctions of ethnographic

groups. The “effect of the real”, coined by Roland Barthes, is a form of visual representation in

which such details and distinctions encapsulate the perception of a historical narrative.74 While the Assyrian empire did have their own usual motifs and compositional styles, the portrayal of the dismembered head of Teumman spans across multiple works, and speaks greatly to the

“effect of the real” phenomenon and the underlying, though initially mystifying symbolic

importance it embodies. (Bahrani 2004: 115-119; Cifarelli 1998: 210-228)

74 See Zainab 2004: 115; ft.2

What is historically known about the Elamites poses them as a constant and competitive entity. Within the same year of corralling Egypt in 665 BC, King Urtak of the Elamites attacked

Babylon unprovoked, introducing the Elamite presence as a prioritized focus to Assurbanipal’s

Assyria.75 The relationship between the two entities only deteriorated into violent conflict when

Assurbanipal’s frustrated older brother, Shamash-shum-ukin (Šamaš-šuma-ukin), colluded with the Elamites to stage a coup d'état. The historical narrative between Elam and Assyria is significantly underplayed by the artistic rendition within the Garden Party Relief, and it is clear that Assurbanipal purposefully exaggerated specific qualities in attempts to dismiss such interactions.

Teumman’s head would not be caught by the viewer as the composition purposefully draws the eyes in a clockwise fashion. Focus is drawn to Assurbanipal, then led upwards to the right with the assistance of a leafy canopy. The eyes track the movements of the eager servants, and finally rest upon the thick bark of a stoic tree to catch Teumman’s head. The path the eye is naturally inclined to take should not be discounted while analyzing the messaging of the relief, as it is clear the artist subtlety and masterfully utilized the eye’s natural inclinations to highlight the head of Teumman as a finale. It is the presence of the head that dictates the exigence of the entire relief and yet it appears tucked away. The head is hidden in full view. (Bahrani 2004: 115-

119; Cifarelli 1998: 210-228)

The independent appendage is not directly in Assurbanipal’s sights, perhaps hinting at a bored or arrogant approach to an unworthy opponent, implying that Assurbanipal is uninterested

75 Urtak passed power on to Teumman, who immediately took action to kill all political rivals, removing qualms surrounding his lack of biological blood ties to Urtak. Major issues between the Elamites and Assyrians did not occur until Urtak’s surviving sons (heirs to the rightful Elamite throne) were safe guarded by Assurbanipal in Assyrian territory. This protection existed in direct opposition to Tueumman’s demands to have the sons extradited to Elam for execution. (See Cifarelli 1998: 210-228)

in relishing his opponent’s decrepit remains. The primary messaging is clearly one of brutality,

however, the “hidden in plain sight” approach surreptitiously increases attention to Teumman’s

head. The image of Teumman’s head in such a fashion became a prominent artistic motif of the

period (demonstrated through the Battle of Til-Tuba) and serves as a window into a creative

system of internal propaganda and particularly the intentional depiction of “others.” (Bahrani

2004: 115-119)

Assurbanipal kept a close watch on his empire after learning from the hardships plaguing

Egypt and kept a fierce focus on his image as a conqueror of peoples, and nations. This was done

not only through terrifying artistic renditions of battles, but also through more subtle means, few

as immensely powerful yet devilishly delicate as the placement of Teumman’s head.

The Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn

The Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn is a glaring block of pink limestone, standing a proud

six feet tall; boasting the Akkadian victory over the “barbaric” Lullubi peoples.76 Commissioned

by Naram-Sîn of Agade (ca.2254-2218BC77), grandson of Sargon, the Stele memorializes the proximity of competing city-states during the Old Akkadian period, and the resounding impact external pressure reflected on rule.78 Naram-Sîn was involved with many conflicts with Zagros

76Bahrani 2008: 101-130. The inscription originally paired with the Stele cites the Lullubi as the depicted enemy. The Lullubi were a tribal people that are theorized to have lived within the Zagros Mountain range and are described as a pre-Iranian organizational system. In general depictions, they are as civilized as any other barbaric foe; half naked, wearing animal skins, short bearded, and with thick braids of hair. 77 Winter 2008: 76 ft. 2. White uses the dates offered by J.A Brinkman that follow Middle Chronology. However, Winter notes that while “Low Chronology” is thought to be more accurate in modern research, it has yet to be standardized. For this reason, Winter maintains the dates presented by J.A Brinkman. 78 Van de Mieroop 2006. The disdain between Babylon and Akkad defined the period, and several inscriptions from Rimush, Uncle to Naram-Sîn, claim to flatten southern cities and exterminate entire male populations. While statistically impossible due to the population approximations for the period, uprisings and their disastrous results were exaggerated for propaganda pieces.

Figure 8. Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, King of Akkad. Figure 9. Drawing of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, Louvre Museum, Paris. Weapons and Warfare 2019

Mountain hill tribes/peoples, and through conquest spread the empire methodically and rapidly.

King lists allot Naram-Sîn fifty-six years of rule, and twenty-year names refer to such conquests

and colonization. In doing so, Naram-Sîn led the Akkadian empire to its perceived peak, and in

doing so, adopted the title, “King of the Four Quarters.”79 (Levin 2002: 350-366; Perkins 1957:

54-62)

79 Levin 2002: 350-366

The Stele depicts Naram-Sîn marching into the mountainous Zagros territory, leading his

troops as they pace over wounded enemies. The stele’s composition is quite unique, as the

traditional use of registers is completely ignored, and instead, features one unified composition

with narrative fluidity. Instead of a line-by-line account of the conquest, one scene with many interactive components is far more dynamic. (Bahrani 2008: 101-130)

Naram-Sîn is the largest figure, and as expected, commands both immediate visual

attention and adoration. This would be expected of the usual hierarchical scale implemented by

artists during the Akkadian Period, however, exemplifying Naram-Sîn as the largest feature becomes more curious once the presence of the Gods (depicted as stars) are noted. The stars, while in the highest portion of the narrative, are nonetheless smaller in size than Naram-Sîn; perhaps an indication of divine approval for Naram-Sîn elevated status and bloody conquest.

Naram-Sîn, while powerful, still relied on divine support for success, and the positioning of the stars further emphasizes his special (yet figurative) relationship with the pantheon. (Selz 2008:

16-22; Winter 2008: 76-106)

While under the Gods, Naram-Sîn towers over the remaining people, reaffirming the

stele’s scale. While the DINGIR is delicately placed in front of Naram-Sîn’s proper royal name throughout inscriptions, his Victory Stele erected in Sippar features signs of divinity beyond textual cuneiform markers.80 Naram-Sîn is also depicted with the “multi-tiered horned crown”

of the Gods on his head. The status provided by DINGIR was emphasized by the adaptation of

80 Naram-Sîn was the first ruler to be attributed with the cuneiform sign, “DINGIR”. This cuneiform sign was originally the Sumerian ideogram for “sky” and was adapted into a logogram in Akkadian to represent “god” or “goddess” as “ilum” or “ili”. By associating his royal name with DINGIR, Naram-Sîn effectively deified himself to the status of a God. Traditionally, the royal cult for a particular ruler was established postmortem, but by defying himself whilst still alive, Naram-Sîn took an unprecedented approach to the concept of divine Kingship and divine- royal representation. (See also Van de Mieroop 2006)

royal garb to include the use of the conical honed helmet. This item was specifically used in

traditional iconography to mark a God, and its presence on a mortal king was revolutionary.81

Naram-Sîn’s decision to be portrayed as a divine being in both writing and iconography indicates the support of the pantheon in his endeavors but also, status as a member of the

pantheon.82Naram-Sîn holds weapons that also serve as tokens to deities, furthering

symbolization of divinity and introducing warrior status. The imagery of divinity and military

might be further emphasized by his placement on the stele. He is featured top center, but at a

diagonal so that those stationed below when looking up would submit to his glare. (Perkins

1957: 54-62; Cameron 1936: 41; Van Buren 1943: 318-327; Winter 2008: 76-106)

The wild Lullubi are thrown from the Zagros’ mountain, impaled with spears. The

violence depicted against the peripheral pastoralists is relentless, as uncivilized peoples do not

die civilized deaths, and are therefore systematically killed like animals. The manner of life must

suit the manner of death, speaking towards the state’s perception of the “other.” The Lullubi are

ethnically identifiable through their animal skinned and thick, braided hair, while the Akkadian

soldiers are dressed in proper battle attire, tunics and helmets. The matter of death must suit the

manner of life. (Perkins 1957: 54-62; Cameron 1936: 41; Van Buren 1943: 320-327; Winter

2008: 76-106)

81 Winters 2008: 76-101. The head dresses of men were often in severe contrast to the conical bull-horned helmet the god was adorned with. In addition to differences in artistic shape, the helmet was sometimes decorated with gold leaf, or precious stones to emphasize its symbol of divinity. Various texts from the period reiterate the bull-horned helmet was a restricted symbol for the Gods, and was particularly used for the highest level of the Pantheon that cross culturally included Anu, Enlil, and Ea. 82 Ibid 2008. Note here that Winter theorizes that the unique and revolutionary placement of the horned headdress on a king should not be interpreted as viewing Naram-Sîn as an independent agent amassing full divine status. She supports this by noting that Naram-Sîn is still holding the tokens of various deities and that his beard is a “protective ornament” to invoke the Gods. The headdress features a modest, single tier of horns, and would at most retain the status of a minor deity rather than a ranking member of the supreme Pantheon.

Like the Narmer palette, defeated enemies plead for their lives, to no avail. Naram-Sîn

walks over the slain, potentially even kicking them to the side of the mountain. The man ahead

of Naram-Sîn has been speared through his neck and appears to be dying a slow, tortured death.

On the mountain’s edge, Naram-Sîn is encroaching on the Lullubi King Satuni, who is also shown pleading for his life. He will certainly be met with the last spear in Naram-Sîn’s hand, as the divine king looks up at the starry Gods instead of Satuni as he approaches. The Akkadian army is respectfully organized, adoringly watching Naram-Sîn demolish the remaining men.

(Perkins 1957: 54-62; Winter 2008: 76-106)

Beyond demonstrating the Akkadian’s ability to completely remove the barbaric Lullubi

from existence, the stele is also used as a harsh warning to those who wish to challenge Naram-

Sîn, be it internal or external. As foreigners and “barbarians,” the Lullubi deserved eradication,

and this mentality is clearly portrayed on the victory stele as instead of accepting their fate, the

Lullubi beg and run about cowardly. It is the barbaric nature of the Lullubi that allowed Naram-

Sîn to obtain the god’s permission to annihilate them, as reinforced by the stele’s artistic

stylizations. (Perkins 1957: 54-62; Winter 2008: 76-106)

There are some unique discrepancies in the stele’s idealistic portrayal. For such barbaric

and unorganized groups of individuals, one would ponder why victory over the Lullubi resulted

in such a massive stele. This is comparable to the attitudes expressed in Assurbanipal’s Garden

Party relief; one of mild indifference despite clear historical indication otherwise. This could be

perhaps because such victory was the necessary exigence for Naram-Sîn to deify himself. There

is not a wealth of knowledge regarding the Lullubi, and the extent of influence they had on

Akkad beyond representation in the stele is unclear. Regardless, it is worth noting that the

victorious interaction of the Lullubi warranted such a massive stele that revolutionized aspects of

artistic narrative fluidity with self-divination. (Perkins 1957: 54-62; Winter:2008: 76-106)

The Stele’s messaging was enduring enough to maintain status as a prized object; after

the fall of the Akkadian empire, King Shutruk-Nahhunte carried the stele back to Susa as a spoil

of war and added his own inscription to the stone. Revolutionizing iconographic motifs to create

a completely new blend of divine and royal artistic demonstration elevated Naram-Sîn to the

epitome of political influence and might. The use of new indicators of mortal-divinity, paired

with the artistic rendition of slaughtered barbarians, speak volumes to the intended

propagandistic interpretation of the stele, and how it retained symbolic power to other city-states

after the fall of the Akkadian empire. (Selz 2008: 16-22; Van de Mieroop 2006: 60-69; Winter

2008: 76-106)

Standard of Ur

The Royal Standard of Ur was uncovered from the Royal Tombs of Ur , dating to the

Early Dynastic III period (ca.3000-2500 BCE).83 The finds, including the Royal Standard of Ur, continue to be viewed as extremely impressive in the Mesopotamian corpus.84 Ur was inhabited

dating back to the late Ubaid period (5000BCE), but it was the ED III period in which the city of

83 Woolley concluded that sixteen of the eighteen hundred tombs found at Ur belonged to royals due to the emphasized presence of wealthy objects and materials. Beyond the impressive artifacts, Woolley’s theory was supported with the discovery of bodies appearing to be self-suicided buried near the alleged royals, pointing towards their position in life as royal retainers. (Woolley believed that such retainers willingly drank poison in a practice that was thought to deify the rulers.) For these reasons, Woolley named the tombs of Ur as Royal, though this is questioned by Roger Moorey and others. (See Marchesi 2004: 153-197 and Woolley 1934: 777-780) 84 As with the designation of the tombs as “royal”, Woolley determined the object to be a “standard.” A standard is a flag, or an image carried as a visual symbol of a specific state power, individual, or perhaps clan. Due to the shape of the alleged standard, Woolley imagined it to be mobile due to the evidence of two flag poles. Whether or not the wooden box is a standard, or a musical box (as others have put forth), the iconography remains stagnant. The piece will continue to be referred to as a standard throughout the remainder of this thesis. (See Marchesi 2004: 153-197 and Woolley 1934: 777-780)

Ur was renowned as a powerhouse of Southern Mesopotamia. Ur’s importance and flagship in

the area is demonstrated by the number of foreign produced goods found in the Royal Tombs; lapis lazuli from Afghanistan, Indus valley camelian, and Anatolian/perhaps Egyptian gold are prevalent.85 These materials are used to add lavish embedded detail across the standard,

deepening expressions of drink and merriness wished for by all cultures, as well as the bloody

occasion that led to such. The original wooden frame featured many delicate and expensive

materials in order to heighten the artist’s details; red limestone, shells, lapis lazuli, and other

precious materials were used for decoration. There are two sides to the standard, aptly labeled,

“War”, and “Peace”. It is presumed that the banquet scene alive on the “Peace” side

supplements the completed “War” and highlights the juxta positional importance of such victory.

(White 2004: 229-230; Hansen 1998: 70-78)

The “War” side provides some of the earliest depictions of ancient armies, and includes

chariots pulled by domesticated donkeys, as horses were not introduced or domesticated in

Mesopotamia until much later (perhaps 2500 BC). The “Peace” side depicts the post-conquest

celebration with a procession of excited constituents in their Sumerian wooly skirts. Some

members hold food and drink, others are playing musical instruments; scenes like this were quite

common on seals, such as that of Queen Pu-abi. The detail included on the Standard of Ur is

monumental, and rightfully considered an immense source of political propaganda. The

dedication to detail and use expensive materials nod to a heightened level of importance.

(Perkins 1957: 54-62; Hansen 1998: 70-78)

85 Ur, as with the majority of Mesopotamia, existed in a marshy climate subject to frequent flooding. Mining was unheard of, and Ur, as well as the immediate surrounding area, could not provide any precious substances beyond a wealth of salt bricks. For this reason, even without direct tracing, researchers can be sure that such precious materials were a result of long-distance trade, further demonstrating Ur’s status as an economic entity.

Figure 11. Royal Standard of Ur. “War Side.” British Museum in London

Figure 10. Royal Standard of Ur. “Peace Side.” British Museum in London

The side most pertinent to xenophobic iconography is the dubbed “War” side. An early representation of a Sumerian army is featured, and chariots pulled by mule’s trample enemies as

55 infantry members with cloaks and spears are hacked with axes. Other men are naked and paraded to the King, who himself, holds a spear. It is theorized that the royal standard belonged to a

Sumerian King of Ur, though exact identification is currently impossible.86

On both the “War” and “Peace” sides, the King is portrayed artistically as the largest figure; a common phenomenon used to distinguish superiority rhetorically across the Ancient

Near East. Beyond size and dress, the king shares identical facial figures with the soldiers and banqueters alike; large eyes, rounded noses, and no immediate differences in gender portrayal.

While it is possible the depiction was intended to represent a historical king, it is far more likely that the Kingly figure was intended to be a general representation of administrative power, capable of conquest and subsequent celebration. (Marchesi 2004: 153-197; Perkins 1957: 54-62;

Hansen 1998: 70-78)

The perception of a general depiction concerning both royal and militant units logically parallels the imagery used to portray the standard’s enemy. It is quite plausible that the wealth and power of Ur during the third millennium was desirable for surrounding entities, and for this reason, it is likely that the Sumerians were involved in quite several skirmishes. This provides one explanation for the vague depiction of a foe; Ur was involved in battle with many different peoples, and an overgeneralization would be more than appropriate over a historical sequence of occurrence. Secondary support is strongly rooted in the ultimate distinguishing factor between

Ur and others, the identification of the civilized and foreign. Though there is debate on the realistic portrayal of the enemy, some researchers believe the opposing forces were Akkadian

86See Marchesi 2004: 153-197. PG779 was severely looted, making it impossible to determine the context of the standard among other artifacts and ownership directly.

due to their angular skirts. Regardless of definite ethnic portrayal, the angular skirts point to a

clear attempt to mark the “otherness” of the enemy. (Perkins 1957: 54-62; Hansen 1998: 70-78)

The left side of the top register depicts the immediate aftermath of the battle. The king,

again the largest figure, has dismounted his chariot.87 (By depicting the King with the chariot, a swift message of not only royal rule, but military control is pressed upon the viewer. As with the

Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, the King is depicted as a voracious fighter directly involved with his

army in the battle.) Adorned in a long, noticeably grander robe than others, the king is presented

alongside his own battle standard. Lined behind him are his generals, ordered by rank, and

dressed in leather armor, stylistically exposing one shoulder with weapons in hand. This

procession and presence of nobles would be a clear indication of the enemy’s surrender. On the

right side of the standard, the king is depicted again, examining his human captives. We can

assume that these captives are also in a hierarchical rank; the first prisoner is the only other to

wear a robe and is physically being presented by a Sumerian soldier. (Perkins 1957: 54-62;

Hansen 1998: 70-78)

It is this procession of the King and his generals that lead researchers to view the battle

scene as a surrender, requiring the attendance of the high-ranking individuals. On the right side,

the Sumerian king is looking over his human captives. Just as the generals are lined up behind

the king in rank, it is likely that the captives are also presented in rank, making the foreign king first in line. There are other indications that he is the king, such as being restrained by a soldier, and by his similar size. dress. Like the Sumerian king, the foreign king is the only other person wearing a robe, and the only “other” to be clothed at all. The standard succeeds in proving the

87 The king is depicted so large in this register that he peeks through the register’s artistic frame. Note in photograph. It is equally plausible that it was an artistic error as well as an attempt to present the king as large as spatially possible.

Sumerian king’s dominance and superiority, but also the foreign King’s loss of respect and

power. Though his identity has been obscured due to a variety of reasons, it is safe to assume this

man’s status as a king.

The portrayal of the captured king gives light into the true conclusion of a conflict. In ancient times, a king’s escape was often seen as unflattering for the victorious army, and frequently led to future battle. (This demonstrated by the escape of Taharqa and his insistence

upon returning to and inspiring the Egyptians to rebel against Assyrian rule.) The king on the

standard did not successfully evade capture, and his surrender is memorialized.

The enemy men behind the king are also lined up in order of importance, generals and

royal cabinet members. As they are all naked, bleeding, and tied with ropes, it appears that they

will all be killed. Due to the constant conflicts in the ancient near east, killing male soldiers was

relatively unpopular as they could be integrated into existing armies. However, noblemen did

not inherit this quality. According to historical records, kings and generals were executed

frequently. Even though the prisoners of war are subdued and tied, the Sumerian soldiers still

bear the weapons, hinting at the impending slaughter.

The second register depicts the armored Sumerian soldiers in a phalanx; marching

forward with leveled spears. They are organized, trained, and disciplined. The phalanx structure

speaks to formal military training, an immense expenditure for the state that artistically refers to

the abundance of resources and might. The resources were well spent, as the battle seems to have

ended quickly. “War” is believed to be an early representation of a border conflict, easily the

most common source of strife in an area plagued by polities forced to share resources. (Bahrani

1993: 12-19)

The losing army’s soldiers are naked and bound, featuring painful bleeding injuries on

their chests and thighs, the ultimate symbol of defeat. Historically, the ancient war captives

would be stripped as a nod to the poignant Mesopotamian association between death with nudity.

This tradition of depicting prisoners as either dead or nude made roots in the Early Dynastic III period, beginning with the very Royal Standard of Ur; “where both captured enemy soldiers and enemies lying trampled under chariot wheels are shown nude.”88 It is very likely that live

prisoners were stripped to remove their dignity.89 The portrayal of such nakedness is reminiscent

of vulnerability, often caused by a “conscious act of subjugation and degradation.”90 (Bahrani

1993: 12-19)

Clothing in Mesopotamian culture equated an individual with civilization, and by

removing one’s clothes, their civilization and humanity were also stripped away. The use of

clothing as a humanizing factor is supported by the transformation of Enkidu in the Epic of

Gilgamesh. Described as a wild beast that the forest animals identify with, Enkidu becomes a

human when he is provided food, a woman, but most importantly, clothing. (Bahrani 1993: 12-

19)

While the “Peace” side emphasizes a relaxed and enjoyable dinner scene, it serves as a

juxtaposition to the brutal defeat of the foreigners on the “War” side of the standard. The

messaging is clear; the state of Ur is powerful and a battle against such would be a bloody

mistake. Like the Garden Party, the enemies are depicted as fragile and unworthy, and a massive

88 There are clear connections between nudity and death, though not all as gruesome. This is exemplified by Innan’s Descent to the Netherworld. At each of the seven gates she faces, Inanna consistently must remove an article of clothing until she is completely nude in Dumuzi’s realm. While Inanna is most likely not being degraded as a deity by stripping nude, her powers most certainly are, as she is weakened in the underworld. See Bahrani 1993 89 Bahrani 1993: 15-17. While nakedness was symbolic, it was also perhaps quite practical for mass execution. 90 Ibid.,15

59 banquet has erupted to celebrate a tedious win. The state, again, has the resources not only to support charioteers and fully armed soldiers, but to celebrate profusely afterwards with drinks and entertainment for all. The enemy is depicted as naked and weak, to equate them with the uncivilized, and their death is positive riddance for the peoples of Sumer.

CHAPTER THREE

A BAD REPUTATION: MOBILE PASTORALISM

Origins of Perspective

Mobile Pastoralism is frequently, yet unfairly perceived as a lower and less accomplished

stage on the road to civilization. The perception of mobile pastoralists and nomadic societies as

“lesser” was originally spearheaded by the ancient states, and re-invigorated by anthropologists

supporting the “Neo-Evolutionary” movement.91 Such a poor reputation stems from a variety of

factors, such as poor understanding of social development, the marriage between agriculture and

statehood, and the illusion of territorial boundaries. (Yoffee 2005: 4-10)

According to Yoffee, viewing social development through the misguided lens of evolution was a mere excuse, “to justify racism, the exploitation of colonized peoples, and the occidental contempt towards other cultures.”92 This linear fashion of evolution was championed

by Leslie White’s ideas surrounding cultural progression, described as a culture’s trajectory

through “previous” stages; bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and as a finale, statehood. (Yoffee 2001:4-

12)

Ultimately, the neo-evolutionary theory was problematic for a multitude of reasons as

human society and culture do not necessarily parallel the progressions of biological models. This

chain of misrepresentation forces the impression that civilizations follow a predicted sequence,

despite the sparsity of expected uniformity. The neo-evolutionary perspective is also incapable of

91See Yoffee 2005: 4-6. The “Neo-Evolutionary” movement was the application of Charles Darwin’s biological Theory of Evolution in an attempt to explain the “evolution” of human society and culture. 92 Ibid., 4

61 considering societal adaptations that occur as a result of external stimuli and does not account for the possibility of logical contradiction in sequence, such as when cultures skip, relapse, or do not advance. (Yoffee 2005: 5-34)

While the pseudoscience of neo-evolution is innately flawed, the perception of mobile pastoralists and other non-settled groups as uncivilized and vehemently “lesser” has nevertheless prevailed into modern research and thought. According to Porter, the modern discontent with such groups and the retention of a negative reputation is a symptom of colonialism’s intellectual influence, particularly in Africa and Asia. Even in modern studies, the mobile pastoralist groups in these continents prevail to be seen as, “backward or outright criminal.”93 The European imperial campaigns into Africa and Asia weaponized the concepts of “civilization” and

“civilized”. The pastoralist lifestyle existed in a direct contrast to the European ideal, and the guise of spreading moral values to the “uncivilized” was ample justification for European involvement.

During this period, civilization was defined as, “an achieved social order or way of life.”94 Despite pastoral groups having the achieved social order, they were not valued or identified as entities. This bias against mobile pastoralism in the modern world continues, as

Williams recently concluded that a civilization is not only a state of social order, but a state of social order that exists, “especially in conscious historical or cultural contrast to barbarianism.”95

Such lasting impressions make it abundantly clear that measuring societal value of pastoral groups with imperialism definitions are faulty, at best. Scott writes, “...if archaic civilization

93 Porter 2012: 14 94 Boletsi 2013: 64 95 Ibid., 64

means sedentism, farming… then there is something radically wrong with the historical order.”96

(Boletsi 2013: 64-69; Porter 2012: 8-64; Scott 2017: 116-118)

The perception that mobile pastoralists innately lacked means of advancement is rooted

in theories of production and social stratification. Animal husbandry was the primary profession

of mobile pastoralists, and researchers theorized that such homogeneity prevented complex

social stratification, as the individual wealth gaps were minor.97 The nomadic life-style also was

theorized to be burdensome for social development, as the mobile pastoralists were thought to be

unable to create long-term social contracts with members outside of the tribe. In turn, these two

hypotheses doomed mobile pastoralists to an incessantly underdeveloped and uncivilized life.

These arguments refuse to acknowledge the influence pastoralism exerted on settled society, and

instead, mistakenly viewed them as mere gravitational entities. Porter attests that there are major

inconsistencies within both the evidence and logic revolving around the study of mobile pastoral

communities, particularly the argument that mobile pastoralists were naturally incapable of

reaching the “achievements” of settled communities. (Porter 2012: 8-64)

The dissociation between mobile pastoralists and urban life is a symptom of an eternal marriage between agriculturalists and the state. Though the differences in mobile pastoralism and agriculturalism might appear minor, the symbiotic relationship between agriculturalists and the state led to development and an air of superiority within sedentary, urban life.

96 Scott 2017:116 97 Ibid., 2017. Tribal relationships were built on a redistributive kinship system instead of the economic, top-down approach pioneered by states.

By discovering the potential to express and exert control over large populations through

agriculture, the state was able to congregate immense manpower that in turn created a circular

relationship into taxable, technological advancements. There are two prevailing theories of the

relationship between statehood and agriculture as identified by Scott: incremental yet dramatic

climate change, and the power of grain. (Porter 2012: 2-12; Scott 2017: 1-37)

Nearly two millennia before the earliest states, congregations of Neolithic peoples discovered techniques to domesticate plants. These small, settled areas were roughly a thousand individuals on average, and were built around fertile, marshy plains, underscoring the urban connection to water access. Nissen attests that between 3,500 and 2,500, Mesopotamia faced a significant decrease in sea levels and a simultaneous increase in aridity. River outlets retreated to their main channels, and soil that was one fertile became saline. Just as fertile land and water access drew the Neolithic peoples into their regions originally, inhabitants were forced to flock to other areas with viable resources. This demographic condensation led to increased competition for water. Self-preservation, as a human characteristic, would disincentivize those with access to the Tigris and Euphrates to philanthropically share the precious resource at their own expense.

(Porter 2012: 2-12; Scott 2017: 1-37)

A population dense region on fertile land served as the perfect “nucleus” for statehood, and control over agricultural production would serve as sustenance for the bureaucracy and its constituents. Though state development can be increasingly tricky, early states were able to organize and execute massive labor-intensive building projects focusing on canalization to increase agricultural land and yields. The state initiated and encouraged advance, and for this

reason, was also able to further exert control over agricultural production. Archaic states were

agrarian in nature, and surpluses were necessary in order to sustain the bureaucracy composed of,

“non producers.” 98 It was in the best interest of the early Mesopotamian states to absorb

concentrations of sustainable land, acquiring as many laborers as possible. (Porter 2012: 2-12;

Scott 2017: 1-37)

While Febvre gives cadence to the equation of tight populations and usable land, he turns

to the international reliance on grain as the critical component of state-agricultural development.

Barely, wheat, and millet sustained statehood regardless of international cultural practice, and provided the ideal structure for statehood. (Scott 2017: 1-37)

The forms of grain previously introduced were critical components of not only nourishment, but taxation, and calendrical innovation. This introduces a secondary theory of the relationship between agriculturalism and state development; Febvre’s concept of “possibilism”.

This theory gives cadence to agricultural areas attracting increasing population, but directly links the large-scale production of grain to state birth. Febvre raises a curious question: if early states were agrarian, why do we not see the administrative proliferation of lentils, chickpeas, yams, and even bananas? The key between states and grains is that, “only cereal grains can serve as a basis for taxation” as they were easily “visible, divisible, accessible, storable, transportable, and rationable.”99 In comparison, yams, tubers, roots, and other prominent edible products were

unable to contribute these desirable, state-oriented qualities. Cereal grains are easily visible, growing above ground, and ripen around the same time each year. This assisted the tax

collector’s responsibilities as the state could easily measure and confiscate bushels. Because the

crops are easily seen, they became political- the quality of land, and therefore harvest worked to determine taxation. Officials often attempted to increase crop yields (and therefore their taxable

98 Scott 2017:124 99 Ibid.,: 121

amount) by pressuring constituents to adopt technological advancements. (In Mesopotamia

specifically, farmers were instructed to break up large clumps of land for better nutrient

dispersion, eventually leading to the development of the plow.) The weight and other

measurements of grain were standardized, and workers were rationed out payments in grain,

which could be consumed or traded for other goods.100 Strategically, grain stores well, making it

the perfect tax and food. Where grain growing regions stopped, so did taxes. (Porter 2012: 2-12;

Scott 2017: 1-37)

As the state grew in power through population, it is likely that bureaucratic forces were

able to pressure those with access to water into mandatory redistribution. The earliest attempts at

irrigation including the filling and transporting of water-filled clay buckets, a burdensome and ineffective process. With inordinate access to manpower and organizational abilities, the state

was able to force major building projects to create irrigation canals. The increase in viable

agricultural land would subsequently increase the amount and quality of food that would later be

redistributed by the state. While a massive undertaking, the organizational abilities of central

authority would have made the process of canalization possible. High crop yields could sustain

an increasing population, which in turn would apply continuous pressure to increase cultivation,

turning again to technological advancement. This demonstrates a trial of process and

development to increase productivity, furthering the pressures of the state to feed large, urban

populations. (Porter 2012: 2-12; Scott 2017: 1-37; 116-135)

There is a clear dependency on the state by the agriculturalists, and exemplified pressures of state authority over the profession. This relationship directly contrasts the reality of mobile

100 Scott 2017: 132 In Umma, the daily food ration allocated to the lowest class laborers was roughly two liters of barely.

pastoralists. Mobile pastoralists, unapologetically, are not state-affiliated individuals, and instead

belong to the tribal communities through blood ties. (Porter 2012: 2-12)

The Mobile pastoralists are attributed with the unique ability to remain nontaxable. Most of the world’s ancient population was not composed of settled people, referred to by Scott as

“non-grain” people.101 The pastoralists, while seemingly free from the burden of the state, did

not live worlds apart. The majority of mobile pastoralists lived on the peripherals of cities and

had their own uniquely attributed cultures. The mobile pastoralists engaged in animal husbandry,

and often traded animal products with settled communities. For these reasons, the mobile

pastoralists had economic influences over the varieties of civilizations they engaged with and are

recorded to have an overall positive relationship on economic oriented inscriptions. The mobile

pastoralists kept sedentary markets alive with new goods from distant city-states and provided

the main source of protein for agriculturally focused cities. The relationship of the peripheral

people with the state is highlighted by uncoerced, natural trade and exchange, providing

mutually beneficial goods to peoples unable to acquire them otherwise.

This “un-taxable” quality of mobile pastoralists directly linked to negative perceptions pioneered by the ancient states out of the constant weariness of territorial competition. Scott describes early states as “population machines” designed to focus on the “number and productivity of its domesticated subjects.”102 This is not unreasonable as the overwhelming

majority of the world’s human population was not directly involved with the state, making

population control a heightened state sponsored priority. States depended entirely on a surplus

101 Scott 2017: 151 102 Scott 2017: 151

67 producing constituency, making it an imperative to “collect people'' and settle them close to the ideological source of power.103 (Scott 2017: 150-155)

While the construction of fortifications are the most obvious indicators of a desire to protect a valuable resource, the resource in question was often, constituents. Those “collected” were settled near the state’s ideological source of power. Boundaries protected farmland and wealth while simultaneously trapping taxable citizens within: “city walls were intended to keep the essentials of state preservation inside.”104 Exerting this control was necessary for protection, but also to maintain a state’s human collection. (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-186; Scott 2017: 136-139)

Other issues developed between the pastoral peoples and state boundaries due to the nature of animal husbandry. To little surprise, imaginary boundaries did not dissuade peripheral peoples from utilizing pastureland. This rationale would explain the vehemently negative campaigns against the pastoral lifestyle as blatant efforts to retain a sheepish population. As an entity with autonomous power, states struggled with the ability of the pastoralists to “disrespect” their boundaries and recognized that uncontrolled movements within and around the state could be severely destabilizing. A break in boundaries directly translated into a break of control. It is when the state feels increasingly threatened territorially do, we see campaigns launched against those living across the periphery regardless of the positive and mutually beneficial economic relationships. (Porter 2012: 8-64; Scott 2017; 150-155)

Understanding the imaginary boundaries of a period and region are useful when retroactively studying the relationships between settled and mobile entities. The frontier in ancient times was not necessarily a specified area, but a zone in which a variety of interactions

103 Ibid., 150 104 Ibid., 138

could unfold. The frontier space was a premier environment for the development of

revolutionary cultural and political practices that could challenge existing hegemonies. The

relationship between states and the frontier is featured by the relationship between the Amorites,

Ur III, and “Muriq Tidnim”, the Amorite wall.105 (Michalowski 2011: 122-125)

Muriq Tidnim can be translated into, “The One That Keeps the Tidnim (Amorites) at a

Distance.”106 The Correspondence of the Kings of Ur (CKU) claim that the anti-Amorite wall was a massive fortification, but there is a complete lack of evidence for a building project that would have been time consuming, and expensive. Vague descriptions of the Amorite wall led

Michalowski to conclude that the wall was most likely a series of disconnected fortifications that comprised a smaller, previous building project known as, “the bad mada.” The CKU

“unequivocally insists” that the purpose of the wall was to keep the hostile Amorites at bay though if this were true, why would the fortifications to protect Ur III be so dismal?107

(Michalowski 2011: 122-125)

The supposed wall and its name are theorized to have been offensive, rather than

defensive. This theory is supported by the documentation of the desirable Diyala frontier and the

control of which result in the control over the “fragmented polities in the Zagros” and

“confederations of Anšan and Šimaški.”108 The minor Amorite raids unfolding during the period

were not the primary motivations for building the wall, but naming it as such was an “obvious

tactical propaganda ploy.”109 (Michalowski 2011: 124-170)

105 Michalowski 2011: 109 106 Ibid., 109 107 Ibid., 144 108 Ibid., 168 109 Ibid., 168

While there were benefits of the urban, settled life, mobile pastoralists had the immense opportunity to adapt to political and economic dangers through simple relocation. The ability to mobilize for any occasion made mobile pastoralism extremely resistant to the changes that plagued settled communities. By avoiding these adverse effects with ease, it is not unreasonable to assume that ancient administrators recognized the threat of allure. While every ancient state deployed its own curated method of population control, the balance between risk and reward for the average state-affiliated individual was quite delicate- especially if an open frontier provided temptations of abandonment.

Mobile Pastoralists as Relational Figures

The concept of barbarism has not seen a major perceptual shift between ancient and modern history. Barbarians are still thought of as nomadic savages, living naked and adhering only to a lawless life of full-fledged debauchery. The fear, mystery, and consequential obsession with barbarians has infiltrated all cultures, though each culture had its own unique “barbarian” population defined through equally unique characteristics. Though often depicted quite disparagingly through state-sponsored literary documents and artistic renditions, the reality of those seen as barbaric was significantly less gripping. Those labeled as “barbaric” were more often than not foreigners, or mobile pastoralists living on and around a state’s periphery. Mobile pastoralists bear the brunt of extreme negative portrayals, demonstrated by their automatic label of barbaric. However, it is increasingly clear that the role of the peripheral peoples extended beyond economic necessity, as the earliest states relied on self-definition through negation in order to maintain their precious ideological regulations.

In entomological origin, “barbarian” thrives off negative connotations. The word,

“bárbaros” is an ancient Greek interpretation of the onomatopoeic sounds that foreigners were

perceived to have blundered through in an attempt to speak in Greek, or in their native

language.110 This process is reminiscent of a common idiom, “It’s all Greek to me”, employed

when a person is completely unaware of what is being said in conversation; a complete lack of

understanding.111 While often used playfully or in resignation, this phrase originates from the ancient Greeks, who thought the blundering of foreigners would have sounded like, “bar bar.”112

(Boletsi 2013: 57-107)

Though qualifying characteristics for barbarism altered depending on time period and region, one factor that superseded cultural differences was the status of the barbarian as relatively nomadic and disassociated with the state. These two factors inspired negative associations formulated by those settled in urban areas, though in reality, the positive, and usually mutual beneficial relationships between those living on the periphery (the “barbarians”)

and the state were well documented.

Understandably so, there is no doubt that the state continuously perpetuated the character

assassination on the mobile groups to justify its own administrative existence and exert

superiority as a sedentary settlement. This phenomenon is exemplified by Herodotus’s writings

of Egypt; a civilization unquestionably matched in advancement but described underwhelmingly

with unflattering claims of obscure mannerisms. (Even though the Egyptians were a developed,

settled society, a barbaric attitude is applied against them due to their unique customs.) Many of

these radical interpretations are brow raising to say the least, and demand a line of questioning

110 Boletsi 2013: 70. 111 Ibid., 70 112 Ibid., 58

rooted in the doubting antiquity movement; to what extent can we believe what civilizations

wrote about themselves, and to what extent can we believe what civilizations wrote about

“others”? (Boletsi 2013: 57-107)

The term “civilization” is significantly younger than “barbarian”, which speaks deeply to

the dichotomy that has been critical to the reception of both terms throughout history. Though

intricacies in definition alter, “barbarian” terminology remained significantly more stable despite

lacking an acute definition. “Barbarian” has lasted the test of time in such a dynamic, adaptable

manner, as there is always the idea of an “absolute other” that allows another group of people to

self-identify.113 This phenomenon is described by Hayden White as “ostensive self-definition by negation.”114 This is supported even further by Samuel Huntington, quoted, “We know who we

are only when we know who we are not and often when we know whom we are against.”115

Here, the most critical component of studying civilized and barbarian groups is revealed; they

are defined almost exclusively in relation to each other. (Boletsi 2013: 65-123)

In the eyes of the ancient state, the “who we are not” was quite clear: the peripheral mobile pastoral groups. For this reason, mobile pastoralists were frequently noted as outsiders, and unfairly given the status of barbarian. This label was inherently relational to the domestic city dwellers through negation and raises the question of how to study what aspects made settled people view themselves as civilized in comparison. The concept of opposing a state elite naturally created a dualistic juxtaposition between the superiority of the civilized and the inferiority of the non-state affiliated. (Boletsi 2013: 57-107)

113 Boletsi 2013: 65 114 Ibid., 103 115 Ibid., 65

This task is complicated, as the designation of barbarian was not fixed to a single group,

or even a characteristic often shared by a group.116 The connotations associated with mobile

pastoralists shift through period and place due to various distinguishing factors manufactured by

a particular political system. Some of these factors focused on linguistic differences, or variables

in cultural and religious values. This is exemplified by the Ancient Greeks, who prioritized

language and viewed those that did not speak Greek as barbaric, and the Medieval Europeans,

who believed religion could civilize outside peoples. While some periods have demonstrated a

clear focus on aspects of a characteristic, there are often healthy combinations of factors that

enforce the barbarian perception. (Boletsi 2013: 59-80)

The ways that the perception of barbarism shifts throughout history also serves as a direct

measurement of the perception of civility; mobile pastoralists have consistently defined

civilization. Boletsi writes, “...the barbarian functions as a mirror against which the “civilized

man” observes the hinterland of his own nature.”117 (Boletsi 2013: 57-107)

This is exemplified by the Sumerian Tale The Marriage of Martu.118 The tale portrays a

marriage of community unity between the “wearers of GUNA” and the people of Ninab and

dates from the third millennium.119 Unlike the marriages involving a “bride price” such as in

Enlil and Sud, and Enlil and Ninlil and Enki and Ninghursa, Martu wins his bride through

competition.120 Though the marriage was not promised explicitly, Numushda does not withhold

116 Ibid., 65. Throughout various points in time, the Ancient Greek civilization alone viewed the Egyptians, the Christians, Romans, Germans, Asians, Africans as barbaric. 117 Ibid., 59 118 The tale is, unusually, brought to us in one singular copy though mentioned on many different sources. 119 Vanstiphout: 1999: 461-473 Researchers are still unaware of what the “Guna” was, without further context clues or details, in this case it is assumed to be a garment that was most likely primitive as a way to describe the peripheral peoples. 120 Ibid., 461-473. In terms of domestic marriage, endogamy was most prominent as the practice of marrying within one’s own community/ethnic/chiefdom group. Throughout history, we often see the practice of endogamy being broken to offer peace or strengthen/create political alliances. In typical Hittite and Semitic traditions, MAR.TU (also

his daughter, and even adds other “trimming” prizes to make Martu’s conquest, “a regularly

negotiated marriage.”121 (Vanstiphout 1999: 461-473)

Figure 12. The Marriage of Martu. Vanstiphout 1999

The tale is formatted like a fairy tale with a happy ending for Martu; despite the cries

against him for being a barbarian, Numušhda allows the arrangement to continue. This perhaps

sheds light on the indirect relationship between the perception of barbarians, and their actual

referred to as Amurru) is husband to the theorized counterpart in the feminine; Ēl. Other traditions name her Belit- Sheri, and the mentioned Sumerian account features king Numušhda and his daughter Adnigkidu. The text features the dichotomy between the urban peoples, celebrating a beer festival in Ninab, and the steppe-people, Martu, on a quest to find a wife at his mother’s request. The god Numušhda is impressed with Martu’s victory within all the festival’s events and offers him prizes of gold and silver. Instead, Martu requests Adnigkidu, Numušhda’s daughter, as his wife. While Adnigkidu agrees steadfastly, her friend is quite bewildered, and stubbornly reminds her of his foreign, barbaric qualities. This friend is the one who underlines this dichotomy between the steppe-peoples and urban ones, though it is not seen as an immense problem for the remainder of the village, or even the future bride herself. 121 Ibid., 461-473

74 status/social acceptability in average life. Why Martu is portrayed as a barbarian and still allowed to marry a willing Adnigkidu is a unique and creative juxtaposition of the relationships between the third and second millennium and should be noted as such. This interaction is overall a political bind between civilized barbarians and their neighboring settlement of Inab. These concerns and allegations are reminiscent of the tensions between city folk and the surrounding individuals; a dynamic relationship that creates a necessary Mesopotamian dysmorphia. The barbarian clearly functions around and against civilized man, but not in a manner that is wholly unacceptable to each culture. (Vanstiphout 1999: 461-473)

As demonstrated, civilized and barbaric standards have changed, though they have almost always been portrayed as natural enemies. For this reason, history is often viewed through one perspective, and often, it is the administrative, formal perspective developed by the state with ulterior motives in mind. Therefore, understanding the role of those “barbarians” living on the periphery and their influence on state development cannot be understood accurately through state sources alone. “Thus, in this typology the barbarian emerges through a web of cultural, social, political, religious, and scientific discourses. As a result, the history of the barbarian becomes a narrative of discontinuities, repetitions, tensions, and unexpected intersections.”122 (Boletsi 2013:

59)

It is due to these unexpected intersections that forces modern scholars to re-evaluate the role of the barbarian beyond the scope created from the civilized bureaucracy. To fail to do so only underscores the barbarian/nomadic presence and impact on the mere grain of civilization itself. (Boletsi 2013: 57-58)

122 Boletsi 2013: 59

While the dichotomy of state, and non-state individuals was culturally apparent, the ancient states still needed systems to methodically categorize tax paying citizens and account for boundary dwellers. The barbarian figure was of great importance in ancient Chinese culture as a means of developing collective imagery, and this dichotomy was expressed through the categorizations of peripheral “Li” peoples as either “cooked” or “raw”.123 (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-

168)

Due to the impermanence of mobile groups around and near ancient Chinese territories, it is not surprising that the state did not have a permanent or nationwide term for such people. In the foundational and philosophical stages of empire building, the “All Under Heaven” doctrine assigned barbarians identity based off of cardinal directions: Yi in the East, Rong in the West, Di in the North, and Man in the South.124 While this model was frequently revived by both the state and various ancient Chinese philosophers, even scholars of the Qing Dynasty noted that reality did not resonate with the categories of the idealistic mantra. The lack of precision for the overall peripheral population combined with the misalignment of the cardinal direction peoples is indicative of how the ancient Chinese state was constructing China. (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-168; Li

2018:218-228)

Curiously noted by Fiskesjö that while the Locus Classicus and Li ji texts make distinctions in culinary habits of some barbarian groups, distinctions between the peripheral peoples of the North and of the South are not readily apparent. As the Chinese state expanded and absorbed outsiders, it meant a natural environmental boundary in the north, creating what has since remained an ethnic boundary. The peoples on the Northern frontiers engaged in mobile

123 Fiskesjö 1999: 139 124 Fiskesjö 1999: 141. ft. 10

76 pastoral lifestyles, and some, in response to the exertion of power on behalf of the Chinese imperialists transformed into raiding groups or powerful independent states. The Southern peoples uninvolved with the state were seemingly of a different breed; described as completely different linguistically and ethnically. With little evidence of political unification or military strategic systems, the southern peripheral peoples were ideal as they “fit the ancient notion of barbarians as objects of civilization much better.”125 For this reason, southern imperialist expansion was accelerated, scattering the southern pastoral communities who were later identified with proper Chinese names such as “miao.”126 The southern expansion and rapid assimilation of “others” into the state led to the administrative proliferation of the “cooked” and

“raw” distinction, emphasized by a twelfth century text:

“Those who have submitted and are attached to our county and township administration are the Cooked Li. Those who live in mountain caves and are not punished by us or supply corvée labour are the Raw Li. These sometimes come out to engage in barter with the administered population.”127

While the distinction appears to be one of settled versus mobile life, the distinctions revolve around an individual’s taxability. The “raw” (sheng) and the “cooked” (shu) are excellent examples of how the ancient Chinese state divided individuals administratively while utilizing an incredibly poignant metaphor of culinary cultures.128 (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-168; Li

2018:218-228)

Barbarian culture is universally associated with eating raw food, particularly meat. The state wisely associated non-taxable people as preferring or only having access to raw foods, creating a negative connotation surrounding those who did not pay to, or exclusively belong to

125 Ibid., 142 126 Ibid., 142 ft. 18 127 Ibid.143 ft. 24 128 Ibid., 139

the state. This application of culinary terminology was multifaceted as through negation, the

“raw” untaxed reflected in the status of the taxed as “cooked.” In the Ancient Chinese state,

cooked food was only available exclusively to the Chinese elite as only the upper echelons could

afford cookware and the servant labor needed to attend a hearth. However, using “cooked” to

refer to the average tax paying citizen was a brilliant ploy of collective imagery to align even the

poorest with the richest in their taxable character. (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-168)

Beyond the metaphorical, the rapid expansion of the ancient Chinese state resulted in the inclusion of many “raw” within state borders. As noted, state expansion can be problematic when the absorption of peripheral peoples includes their cultures and customs unwillingly or even unknowingly, by the state. Just as the expansion was the catalyst for “cooked” and “raw” differentials, the “raw” Li were viewed terribly, and association with them was discouraged.

(Fiskesjö 1999: 139-186)

This ideology is preserved through cited portions of the Guihai yuheng zhi:

“The Raw Li, though simple and straightforward, are brutish and aggressive. They do not accept impositions or affronts, but still, they are not, after all, an affliction on our people. But the Cooked Li, for the most part, are faithless folk from Hu-Guang, and Fujian: they are sly, cruel, misfortune-bringing rascals. While outwardly they present their taxes to the officials, secretly they contract with the Raw Li to invade governmental lands, and roam about plundering travelers.”129

Guihai yuheng zhi, the “Well Balanced Records of Guihai”, are the reflections of the

peripheral peoples in the remote Song region with special interest towards the aboriginals. Not

surprisingly, the perception towards the Li peoples despite being “cooked” or “raw” does not

properly credit the peripheral peoples with holding China together entirely during the foundation

of the late imperial period. The imaginary distinction between the “Li” be it “cooked” or “raw”,

129 Ibid,. 143 ft. 25

and the Chinese themselves directly reveal the importance of imperial sovereignty. The Chinese

state existed through propagating themselves from the peripheral peoples, who actively served as

a “solution to the paradox of imperial sovereignty.”130 The “Li” became more than a foul hoard

to despise; they became an excuse for the state to develop, “new values out of the pragmatic

context.”131 Essentially, the barbarian presence was a way to keep China “Chinese” during these enormous bouts of imperial expansion. (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-186)

The peripheral people are identified both as savage brutes, but also as viable trade partners. Fiskesjö notes on “Chinese imaginations” that dwelled on the periphery as a “repository of lost fortune”, romantically encompassing the trope of the noble savage.132 A Ming

encyclopedia includes that furthest grouping of Li, describing them as such:

“... There are people who live out long lives, happily at ease; they do not interact with the outside world. Tigers and leopards stand guard on their behalf. There are no roads by which one could approach them; the springs there are fragrant, and most extraordinarily beautiful…”133

The dichotomy of interpretation is telling. The barbarians were purposefully depicted

negligently to bolster administrative power and expansion but simultaneously idealized through

romantic prose and identified as productive trade partners. For these reasons, the “Li” peripheral

peoples were more than “raw” and “cooked”; they were ingested as fuel for the developing

Chinese state to devour whole and spit out. The relationship between the Li and the Chinese

State is indicative of the state's capabilities to shift the perception of “barbarian” and demonstrate

how the role of those living on the periphery went beyond economics and into the realm of

ideological manipulation. (Fiskesjö 1999: 139-186)

130 Ibid., 140 131 Ibid., 141 132 Ibid., 143 133 Ibid., 143 ft. 27

CHAPTER FOUR

EVOLUTION IN PERCEPTION

Fallacy and Fallacy: Exploring Perceptions of the “Amorites”

The “Amorites'' and the mystery surrounding them have sparked an incredible intellectual

curiosity. This phenomenon, aptly titled, “the Amorite Question”, is the academic dedication of

understanding the radical variations concerning the identity of the Amorite peoples, who they

were, and the extent of their influence. Research was reinvigorated in 1930, after the discovery

of thousands of cuneiform tablets from Tell Hariri in Mari. The texts, dating to the 18th century,

contained a plethora of Amorite names written in the Babylonian language. The impact of the

discovery was far reaching, and new theories regarding the social, ethnic, and political

relationships in Northern Mesopotamia and Babylon developed. As an area with an immense

history, Assyriologists are often accused of attempting to collapse history through a hyper focus

on a particular person, or series or events, as exemplified through interests in renaming the Old

Babylonian Period the “Amorite Epoch.”134 (Michalowski 2011: 82-87)

These interests, among far-flung theories shallowly rooted without evidence, are based on the exceptional, yet outdated analysis of Buccellati’s 1996 research. Many of these theories revolve around the use of native sources, applying an ethnically homogeneous basis as an approach. The most notable of these theories, according to Burke, is the identification of the

Amorites as nomads due to the “textually-defined but mostly insufficiently nuanced” details

134 Michalowski 2011: 82

80 attributed to the Amorites.135 Often, these older interpretations resurface with new evidence, but still fail to address the “diversity of contexts” surrounding the Amorites.136 To break apart these prevailing theories of homogeneity, Michalowski demonstrates that the Ur III records include two different kinds of “Amorites”, outsiders visiting the area, and those who lived in

Mesopotamia both permanent or in passing. (Burke 2014: 357-360; Michalowski 2011: 82-87)

While the documentation from Mari is extensive, the cuneiform tablets only manage to cover a period of fifty years, making them independently unable to provide significant insight into the inner workings of ethnicity and the Amorite influence on Ur III. The Mari scribes wrote in a scribal dialect from Ešnunna, though the populations of Syria and Northern Mesopotamia did speak an Amorite dialect during this period. These Amorite dialects were relatively new to

Syria, as there are no traces of any Amorite whisperings in the Ebla archives 700-800 years prior.

(During the pre-Amorite period, Syrian names appear to have been written in a different Semitic language group, or groupings.137) Few, if any, western Mesopotamians had Amorite names around 2,000 BC, and in the cuneiform texts that predate the bulk of the Mari archives, there is no evidence of the Amorites. Despite a shared Semitic heritage, the languages of Babylonian and Amorite were not mutually understood, and all that is known about the Amorite language stems from loan words and personal names. Rarely in the Ancient Near East can language be a practical determining factor for identity, though Mesopotamians often referred to the Amorites as speakers of such. Amorite personal names are found sprawled throughout Persian Gulf and

135 Burke 2014: 357 136 Burke 2014: 357 137 Michalowski 2011: 83 ft. 3

Western Iran, making it clear that for some reason there was a “replacement of one dialect continuum by another.”138 (Michalowski 2011: 83-87)

While there is little clarity whether the ruling class of Amorites were new or old to the region, Amorite speakers are credited with founding Babylonian dynasties and a surplus of royal lineages. While they were able to capitalize upon Mesopotamian cuneiform for communication, the Amorites themselves did not capture many cultural traits that would assist in Amorite identification and classification. This prompts Burke’s mention of the troubles surrounding relying on Ur III’s fragmented characterizations about the Amorites. Despite the elite status of some Amorites, ideology surrounding the Amorites was quite disparaging. Michalowski writes that the traits that are preserved, are, “detected behind the veneer of adopted written conventions.”139 This is because Sumerian scholars at a young age were exposed to concepts that painted “others “quite poorly, despite the “other’s” dynastic control. These teachings identified

Sumer as the “kalam” (homeland), and individuals that were not of the kalam lived in complete negation of traditional, “civilized” life.140 (Michalowski 2011: 82-100)

Sumerian curriculum texts included the Curse of Agade, and Enki and the World Order, both detailing characters that are ignorant of the finer characteristics of civilization, such as settled homes, proper burial rituals, agriculture. The Curse of Agade describes the humiliating submission of the Amorite peoples to Naram-Sîn, and the offerings they were forced to bring to the goddess Inanna. Similar descriptions call the Amorites, “evil, with minds like beasts.”141

These negative depictions of Amorites are often derived from the Old Babylonian Period, and

138 Ibid., 83 139 Ibid., 83 140 Ibid., 84 141 Ibid., 84

shed limited light on how “others” were involved in society. While negative descriptions prevail,

there is no way to know how, “pervasive prejudices might have been at the time.”142 (Burke

2014: 358-359; Michalowski 2011: 82-102).

During the period of Yasmaḫ-Addu, and increasingly so under the Zimri-Lim’s reign,

central and eastern Syria hosted a variety of Amorite tribes that eventually began to inhabit both

the cities and the peripheral steppe. Some members found permanent residence in villages and

towns, while local texts designate those who remained mobile on the periphery as,

“ḫanûm/ha.na.”143 The ḫanûm/ha.na Amorites are described as gravitational peoples, centered

around water and pastoral areas. The distinction between the ḫanûm/ha.na Amorites and the

Amorites in the elite class clearly demonstrates non-homogenous nature of the Amorite peoples

but does not offer any insight into the intra-Amorite relationships between various Amorite social groups. (Michalowski 2011: 182-190)

For these reasons, attempting to understand the history of the Amorites through the sources of those they interacted with is extraordinarily challenging. Michalowski argues that the current discussion surrounding the Amorites mistakenly creates a, “unitary semantic concept that combines notions of a common origin, ethnic and linguistic identity, tribalism, and nomadism as a way of life.”144 During the Middle Bronze Age, the Amorites ruled the Ancient Near East into

the Egyptian Delta and Babylon; free of permanent regional ties. This signified a curious, yet

prevalent, “Pan-Amorite” identity, that has created a myriad of different approaches, and

142 Ibid., 84 143 Ibid., 83 144 Ibid., 83

discrepancies when studying the Amorites.145 While most theories refuse to give up such

notions, there are two generally accepted consensus in the community. The first is that the

Amorites were not a homogeneous ethnic group, and therefore must be studied through a

“longue durée” approach from the mid third to mid second millennium.146 While Michalowski embodies this approach through the linguistic study of MAR.TU, Burke approaches concepts surrounding Amorite material culture. Questions linger, who were the Amorites, and what contributed to this “pan-Amorite” identity? (Burke 2014: 358; Michalowski 2017: 82-121)

Michalowski utilizes the longue durée approach by studying how aspirational thinking affected linguistic phenomena, such as the word “MAR.TU” and its status to contribute to

“convenient historical fiction.”147 To do this, Michalowski collected the references to MAR.TU

from each period to suggest that usage of MAR.TU would reflect a developing definition or set

of stereotypes applied to the Amorite peoples. The master historical narrative perpetuated mainly

by Old Babylonian texts portray the movements of the Amorites across Syria and Mesopotamia

as one of invasion and then destruction, while the appearance of the Amorite language is

indicative of subsequent population spread. (Michalowski 2017: 83-85)

The sudden outbreak of Amorite personal names should be viewed as a symptom of

population influx, the manner of which (rapid or incremental) not sufficiently noted by texts.

However, in comparative studies, the spread of language and the replacement phenomenon rarely

succeeds with drastic population shifts or shifts that completely replace a population. Renfrew

theorizes that “elite dominance” also played a role in the spread of Amorite, and Nichols builds

145 See Burke 2014: 361-363. This “pan-Amorite” concept by Burke is a direct analogy to the Panhellenic values of the Greek polities. Despite differences in cultural and political values, polities identified as one beyond, despite their state/polity-oriented approaches. 146 See Burke 2014: 361 147 Michalowski 2011: 83

to identify mechanisms for language shifts, such as demographic expansion and migration.

Nichols suggests that linguistic changes often occur in response to the introduction of

immigrants. It is reasonable to assume that the Amorites entered Mesopotamia and Syria in an

incremental manner that led to the success of the replacement phenomenon. Alternative models

for language spread, unfortunately, undermine the idea that the appearance of various languages

and dialectal groups in the Ancient Near East can only be understood as the result of

concentrated and substantial population movements. (These theories are easily disproved by the

appearance and use of languages such as Akkadian, Kassite, and Sumerian.) While the

appearance of linguistically novel names may indicate the arrival of new peoples, we cannot

assume beyond a case-by-case basis that all new peoples brought with them their unique

languages and cultures. Overall, it is unlikely that the Amorite-speakers were able to arrive in

Mesopotamia in a wave so massive that the language continuum would be able to encompass

aspects of Amorite self-definition and ideological constructs. (Michalowski 2011: 85-89)

The relatively recent appearance of the Amorite language in Syria and Northern

Mesopotamia is accompanied by other developments, tribalism and transhumance. However, these developments do not necessarily imply that a new population was introduced. The Mari archives include native categories that were perhaps rooted in ideas of an Amorite-linked identity

as a means for the elite to appeal to their constituents. The major focus of the Amorite-based appeals revolved around the emphasis of legitimacy. Michalowski suggests that the Amorite genealogies were not primordial but instead were at best, secondary in nature. The use of fabricated genealogies and tribal names within the archives present an intentionally invented reality that was the result of the fluctuating and complex relationships between those settled in urban centers, and those mobile on the periphery. Many rulers led polities that were inevitably

short-lived due to the competitive nature of the Ancient Near East, and survival was predicated

in part on this form of identity politics. The label of “Amorite” lived in fluctuation, and its

position would have been desirable at some instances across region and period, making it

challenging to fully interpret. There is little doubt that these ethnic identities operated beyond

local and into state level texts in Syria and in Babylonia to some degree. (Michalowski 2011: 85-

100)

While some areas of Amorite identity are questionable, the retroactive application of

injected characteristics are quite harmful to study, particularly when attempting to identify the

theoretical differences between different classes of mobile peripheral peoples: pastoralists,

nomads, and those engaging in transhumance. While wrongly accused of nomadism, the

identification of one mobile class cannot be used as a defining characteristic due to their

overwhelming similarities in ancient portrayal. (Michalowski 2011: 87-122)

The Zagros region is especially important in discussions surrounding the Amorites’ sphere of pastoralism, as it is the area in which sheep and goats were originally domesticated.

Archaeological evidence, studied by Abdi, suggest that (with definitional nuance) that the pastoralist lifestyle was complimentary to the agricultural production demonstrated in the settled western Zagros. For this reason, a hypothetical Amorite arrival may have had cultural implications, but would not be held responsible for introducing a new means of living to an urban population. It is far more feasible that the Amorite peoples documented in Ur III in the

Zagros region consisted of new socio-political units that led to a melting pot of new and old populations adjusting into each other. Within these units, the strategies for pastoral success were not determined by ethnic ties, but by geographical climate. Though some Amorites around Mari

during the reign of Zimri-Lim moved with the seasons, this does not imply that the Amorites in

other regions did the same. (Michalowski 2017: 89-100)

W. Sallaberger has noticed that the people distinguished as Amorites in Ur III

occasionally delivered what are described as “fat-tailed” sheep.148 This observation of the fat

tailed Awassi sheep, included the sheep’s biological advantage to store extra energy in their fat

tails, suiting the sheep to a nomadic lifestyle. However, the Awassi sheep, still prevalent in the

modern Middle East, should not alone determine a people’s lifestyle as both settled and nomadic

communities could raise them. In contrast, Sallaberger also identifies that the Amorites are

associated with cows and oxen, creatures poorly suited for nomadic life. While animals alone

cannot dictate or denounce a nomadic lifestyle, the evidence of mixed husbandry adds even more

controversy to the nomadic or pastoralist lifestyle. It is quite possible that some Amorite groups

were nomadic, but as Yoffee states, “being Amorite has little to do with any common subsistence

pattern (pastoralists vs. agriculturalists), or a common residential pattern (nomads vs. city

dwellers), or any common economic status.”149 (Michalowski 2011: 89-90)

Aligning the Amorites with nomads, “undoubtedly grows out of a conceptualization that

creates radical distinctions between urban and rural, state and nonstate, center and periphery,

settled and mobile, and other binary oppositions, some of them actually rooted in ancient

ideological formations.”150 Such curiosity unfolds into a prime example of self-definition by negation, and the categorizations of the Amorites hinders the historical narrative significantly.

Here, the dichotomy between the Amorites and the Settled peoples are arbitrarily manufactured,

148 Ibid., 89 149Ibid., 89 150 Ibid., 90

clearly in an attempt for self-definition of the civilized. (Michalowski 2011: 89-90; Porter 2012:

8-64)

Porter emphasizes that, the lifestyles of the nomads and the settled communities were quite fluid due to the ebb and flow of traditional ancient life. There are relevant arguments that

cite certain areas as centers for “semi-pastoralists” that occupied both urban and non-urban

niches. Buying into ancient accounts of the Amorites at face value is an extreme

oversimplification that hinders the ability to research the effect of the peoples on the settled and

peripheral populations. The concept that the cities and settled populations needed to exist in

contrast to the friendly or hostile Amorites tampers with modern attempts to reconstruct the

historical record. (Michalowski 2011: 89-90; Porter 2012: 8-64)

More so, the scribes and officials of the time provide accounts that are immensely biased

and fail to provide, “comprehensive testimony on matters from which their authors were socially

remote and of which they were technically foreign.”151 The boundaries of the Ur III state were

dedicated to raising pastoral herds by mobile pastoralists; this means that the texts regarding Ur

receiving milk, wool, and other animal products reflects an economic relationship between the

city and the pastoralists. The Drehem records make it obvious that the eastern frontier was also a

viable source of animal products, and that the state was not solely depending on the peripheral

peoples. However, it is abundantly clear that the “outsiders'' actually an invaluable role in the

“inside” economy. For this reason, we must accept that the: Amorites: and others were not

always “outsiders”. (Michalowski 89-91; Porter 2012: 8-64)

151 Ibid., 91

Meijer states that repeated descriptions of the Amorites, such as that they, “didn’t bury their dead, they lived in tents, etc.” exist mainly as indicators of urban life contradictions. This phenomenon occurred to “bolster the cohesive spirit of the urban, settled population… perhaps even to “indoctrinate” one’s subjects against these early dangers from the steppe.” These descriptions are even more curious when one questions the status of many Amorites as accepted into society’s upper echelons; how dangerous could these steppe people be? (Michalowski 2017:

90)

Most dramatically, the Amorites are identified with the destruction and collapse of states, though evidence of such is also politically and economically flawed and intertwined. With a growing pool of data, new narratives of collapse develop, but the chronological events and the motivations for such are still understandably a mirage, tempting researchers to fill them with their own fanciful gaits of interpretation. As demonstrated by the variety of collapse explanations featured above and the plausibility of their experience intertwined with one another, we are warned that monocausal explanations are faulty at their core.

The transition from the End of the bronze age into the conceptualization of the iron age was marked by a period of two hundred years featuring major state collapse. It is tempting to entertain non causality as reasons for collapse, but these thought processes are faulty at their core. For example, Dr. Harvey Weiss of Yale concluded that earthworms, or a lack thereof, had a role in the fall of Akkad. Dr. Weiss concluded that because there were no archeological records of irrigation, that agriculture must have relied on natural precipitation, making a long-lasting drought quite dangerous. The period of climate change aligned with the abandonment of Akkad, perhaps due to internal mutiny. While Burke notes that the impact of climate change research in relation to the end of the third millennium provides evidence of a decline in Jazira settlements as

a result of the increasing aridity. This increase in arid climate was “potentially exacerbated” by

both local and imperial campaigns in the area, and the regions that were once not competitive

became battle grounds between settled states and the mobile or nomadic peoples. This

“devastating reversal of fortune” is what Burke sees as an “episode of collapse.” (Burke 2014:

365-366).

While it is easy to blame one singular factor such as environmental or economic reasons, it is especially callus to see out what is popularized as the “revenge of the pastoralists.” While scholars and researchers steer clear from these theories in modern day, the ancient world was quick to blame the “others” for internal economic and political failure. Viewing the Amorites as triggers of collapse is far more telling through the definition of Frangipane:

“Very often what is thought of as “collapse” was a merely a change, in other words a few elements—even important ones—were transformed within the overall system that fashioned a civilization, while other elements are simultaneously retained and adapted to the new conditions representing the continuation of what are often equally important aspects of traditional relations between the members of a given society.”152

Just as the mere changes and transformations surrounding collapse theories take into

account the peculiarities of regional transition, Burke attempts to study the Amorites through

their material culture, an approach that demands the intersectionality of history and anthropology

starting with the Middle Bronze Age and working retroactively. Archaeological date from the

Levant and Mesopotamia identifies the Middle Bronze Age as the “pinnacle” of Amorite culture,

identified by Burke as the “Amorite koiné”153 To study the socio-cultural impacts of the koiné,

Burke first identifies the cultural zones contained within the north-western half of Mesopotamia

to the Egyptian delta, and underlie the processes that assisted the development of the koiné and

152 Michalowski 2011: 171 153 Burke 2013: 358

finally suggests how the koiné may be used to study the variety of Amorite perspectives. (Burke

2013: 358-360)

Burke contends, with Michalowski, that being Amorite was not fundamentally an ethnic,

but a social identity, and was therefore fully capable of carrying an impressive range of Amorite

connotations. Some of these connotations included nomadic status, ancestral political relations,

and other symptoms of Amorite identity previously discussed. Koiné will be employed to study

the material evidence of the Amorite peoples and the practices associated with the material

culture to construct a theoretical common identity. The prevalence of Amorite koiné led to the

oikumene, described as an overarching cultural framework that blanketed Mesopotamia and the

Levant. Ristvet, in reaction to Syrian and Anatolian sources remarks, “the Amorite states of the

early second millennium actively constructed a shared culture, often adapting southern

Mesopotamian imagery and institutions.”154 The oikumene is an all-encompassing representation of the “unidirectional flow” of culture, both material and ideological, though noted to be limited in manners that could be studied archaeologically.155 (For example, many instances of social and

legal customs are not prevalent in Amorite-laced material remains.) (Burke 2014: 358-360)

Fortifications are supplemented by the royal mortuary complexes at Ebla, Marti, and

Qatna, as koiné was often expressed through burial traditions. Amorite burial traditions included

warrior burials, family crypts, and the marked practice of infant burial through “subfloor” jars or

pots.156 The differences in burial practices, particularly that of infants is indicative of traditions

154 Ibid 2014: 359 155Ibid 2014: 358-400. The oikumene and koiné are challenging in the realm of modern interpretation; while some scholars actively reject the conquests/migration theories regarding the “Amorite question”, they are equally convinced that the relationships between the Amorites and the Mesopotamians are actively preserved throughout material culture. Porter is able to reflect the koiné’s manifestation from northern Mesopotamia to Egypt as an indication of cultural interaction, though Burke describes her analysis as brief. 156 Ibid 2014: 359

that were intramural when allowed, and flexible in most circumstances. The Amorite burial

practices that allowed material remains would be “ideal” situations for the Amorites but not

wholly representative. These sorts of finds in regard to the Amorite peoples were not unique, and

Burke notes that scholars not in agreement are more inclined to associate what he views as

Amorite material culture/ architecture as in association with Semitic groups, such as the

Canaanites. This disagreement is revealing in terms of the methods within historical and

archaeological approaches to assist in understanding the Amorites. While there is tangible

consensus of the prevalence of the Koiné, there is limited deliberation on to what extent the

Koiné is representative of the relationship of the Amorites to material culture and their identity itself. (Burke 2013: 360-361)

Because the koiné are manifested uniquely across region and period, the approach to studying them must also be longue durée and should not be compiled in a check-box manner.

The analysis of the koiné, to be successful, should revolve around the social and intercultural interactions that the koiné eventually embodied.157 As a wide ranging mobile group, the

Amorites were able to have a plethora of social contacts over long distances, and this must be

taken into account when studying the manifestations of material culture across Mesopotamia.

The process of conflict and subsequent diplomatic trade are noted to perhaps have framed many

Amorite social encounters. (Burke 2013: 360-362)

Cultural contact is directly affected by military conflict, and the second half of the third

millennium was marked by long-distance military expeditions into Southwest Asia. Evidence

157 Here, Burke notes that he does not consider “accelerants” to the social and cultural interactions, such as climate change.

suggests that the campaigns of Lagaš against Mari (perhaps due to inadequate water access)

sparked a series of area-wide campaigns. The Amorites are not mentioned until the Ur III

campaigns document them as “tidnum” (recall the naming of the “Amorite-wall”) and begin

contemplation of war in frontiers or tribal zones. Michalowski notes these campaigns as triggers

for “Amorite” unity as a developing secondary state in reaction to direct threats from the Ur III

campaigns. After an earlier period of Amorite enslavement, the MAR.TU are eventually

identified as “amurrum”, translating to, “elite Amorite guards.” The identification of sedentary

Amorites as such are associated with military roles, such as generals or mercenaries. Whether

enslavement, forced relocation, or soldiers for hire, the new and multi-faced role of the Amorites

would have resulted in a paradigm shift of sociocultural developments marking the Akkadian

periods’ transition to the Old Babylonian period. The Amorites are not mentioned in textual

sources as prisoners of war, as are the “people of Shimanum”, and though there is little about

refugees, it is likely these Amorites were viewed as victims of border disputes.158 The transition

of soldiers to mercenaries, as well as the variety of warrior burials across the ancient Near East

are indicative of the context that led the Amorites to become socially integrated with new

communities. This integration as a symptom of conflict, resulted in enslavement, deportation, or

even military-for hire service within the suspected Amorite populations. (Burke 2013: 360-362;

Michalowski 2011: 124-140)

Diplomacy also sparked the koiné during the Middle to Late Bronze Age. The proliferation of long-distance trade paths and caravans are not inherently Amorite, but the

Amorite association with the trade paths increased tenfold. Trade led to increased

158 Ibid. 363 ft. 22

93 communication, inter-local marriage, and texts from the Mari archives equate the Amorite pastoralists with merchants. (Burke 2013: 360-362)

Overwhelmingly, as demonstrated by Michalowski and Burke, analyzing the Amorites through a region and period is not effective towards understanding Amorite identity and the relationships the Amorites had with others and each other. No single corpus can convey the complicated nature of the Amorite existence, as there is no means to study the Amorite as an ethnic and cultural monolith. Both conclude that studying the Amorite cultures through regional settings is more productive when rationalizing the relations of the Amorites with the world around them and understanding how such entanglement led to an emergence of facilitation embodied by the koiné, in Burke’s case. The “Amorite question” is multifaceted and has led to a variety of different approaches in hopes to uncover the evolution of what ancient states meant to be Amorite.

Old to Middle Kingdom: Asiatics as the Ideal “Other”

The Pharaonic period (circa 3100 to 300 BCE) was divided up into periods of unity and intermediate stress; kingdoms, and the dynasties speckled within. It took thousands of years to create stability and control, and while ethnic homogeneity (and superiority) was praised by the

Ancient Egyptians, the population became quite diverse towards the end of the Old Kingdom.

With emphasis on the Middle Kingdom, this case study will focus on the political demonization of the Asiatic peoples, their prominent historical role in Egyptian integration and eventual dominance.

Standardized depictions reveal there is more to ethnicity in ancient Egypt than expected, despite a healthy smattering of xenophobia. The Egyptians did successfully and purposefully

distinguish between categories of foreigners through varieties of artistically demonstrated

stereotypes. Not only were the map locations of foreigners geographically noted, but different

classes of foreigners were depicted when not mentioned in general terms.159 For example, men

painted with darker, yellowed skin were typically Asiatic, while Nubian men were painted black

with thick bellies and the absence of facial hair. The Libyans were marked with tattoo

decorations and goatees, and hair decorated with feathers. The depictions of the Asiatics,

Nubians and Libyans were highly standardized, especially during the Middle Kingdom.

Distinguishing factors such as skin coloring, hairstyles, and dress communicated perceived

ethnic belonging, and the Egyptian dedication to accurately identifying non-Egyptians.

(O’Connor 2003: 155-186; Butner 2007: 12-25; Mourad 2015: 189-214)

In the early years of the fourth millennium, there is evidence of an Egyptian mining

presence in the Sinai harvesting.160 Early evidence suggests a violent and unpleasant

relationship between the Egyptians and the Asiatics inhabiting the area, who were most likely

disturbed by the quest for precious stones.161 Beyond military encampments and textual

information, Old Kingdom reliefs depict various Pharaohs killing Asiatics during the period.

(Butner 2007: 12-35; Mumford 2000: 87-92)

There is a sharp decline in the aggressive relationship between the Egyptians and Asiatics

beginning in the early years of the Middle Kingdom. Mumford concludes, “After an intervening

159 Butner 2007: 12-35 160 Ibid., 2007: 12-25. (See also Mumford 2003: 83-100. ) Though there is ample evidence of Egyptian dig sites in the Sinai, Mumford and Parcak write, “Indirect Egyptian exploitation of turquoise and copper from South Sinai occurs as Early as the late Predynastic to Early Dynastic Periods.” 161 Ibid., 86-87: “In regard to Egypt’s relations with the indigenous populations of the Sinai after the early Dynastic Period, Old Kingdom rock texts at Wadi Maghara depict Egyptian military action, illustrating various Pharaoh smiting enemy chiefdoms and recording skirmishes against Iwnwt and Mntw populations.” In the biography of Pepy-Nakht Heqa-ib, his expedition to the Red Sea to retrieve the body of a commander who was allegedly killed by the Asiatics. These events highlight the aggressive relationship between the Egyptians and the Asiatics.

95 period of minimal or no contact, the renewal of Middle Kingdom activity and texts in South

Sinai reflect a definite decrease in hostilities in the area.”162 The violent Old Kingdom reliefs are replaced through a diplomatic paradigm shift that included interwoven components pertaining to the transition of a hostile to a cooperative relationship. The reliefs that the Middle Kingdom produced portrayed the Asiatics as equals instead of second-class citizens or prison laborers.

While a surprising twist of perception, there is direct evidence of Asiatics working alongside the

Egyptians in their mining expeditions.163 It is known that interactions between the Asiatics and

Egyptians of the Middle kingdom were extensive as official bureaucratic positions including

“interpreters” and “overseers of interpreters” were accounted for.164 (Butner 2007: 12-35;

Mumford 200: 87-92)

Texts and depictions from Egypt during the Middle Kingdom also speak to Asiatic civil participation under Egyptian rule. As expected, these texts are mainly economic in nature, and portray Egypt’s international dependence on foreigners through trade across the Levant. One relationship is a funerary relief at Beni Hasan from the tomb of Khnumhotep II. (Butner 2007:

17-46; Mumford 200: 87-92)

162 Ibid.,87 163 Mumford 2003 87. Ft. 24 164 Ibid., 87

Figure 13. Asiatics at Beni Hasan. Butner, 2007

The Asiatics depicted at Beni Hasan follow the traditional artistic representations of the

Asiatics across sites such as shaft tomb 181, the Lisht Pyramid Complex, and inscriptions from

Serabit el-Khadim165. The Asiatics are organized in a procession that is theorized to be bringing galena (eye kohl) to Egypt. The presence of women and children indicate the possibility of plans to remain in Egypt for an extended period, reflecting a positive relationship that could exist throughout extended trade. While perhaps a trading caravan or even ambassadors paying tribute, there is a clear diplomatic economic relationship that is important enough to preserve as a major life within a monarch’s tomb. Shea states that the visit, “apparently merited inclusion among the notable events of Khnum-hotep’s monarchy by virtue of its rarity, and so, with them, was painted

165 The Asiatics are described with “bulbous” and “mushroom-like hair”, beards that are short and pointed, with yellowed skin. (See figure 7.12 in Mourad 2015)

97 on the walls of his tomb.”166 Regardless if the scenario’s hypothesized rarity serves as exigence for depiction, it is clear that the Egyptians did interact with Asiatics, if only on occasion, in positive manners. (Butner 2007: 17-46; Shea 1981: 219-228)

In Ancient Egypt, textual representation of foreigners is equally, if not more important than iconographic representations. This is because textual evidence can provide both economic and political information which is of broader value when studying the relationship between a culture and its peripheral peoples. Textual evidence can be challenging to interpret as many texts are not created to fulfill a specific purpose modern day researcher are privy to; for example, a fictional text regarding creation is not merely a pseudohistory, but an outlet of legitimation. As with most ancient societies, the elite controlled the technology of writing, and therefore a corpus would most likely only reflect the ideas and priorities of the upper class.

The ancient Egyptian religious system and school of philosophical thought revolved around the unique concept of “ma’at '', roughly translating in English to “order” or “justice”167.

The lifelong quest to achieve ma’at and its role in securing a desirable afterlife demonstrated the emphasis of ma’at as the ultimate ethical and behavioral ideal. (The philosophical concept of justice was embodied by the hippopotamus goddess of the same name.168) Ma’at, as the personification of justice, was a major actor in the policing of the cosmic order that in turn regulated the world’s order. (Armour 2001: 134-140; Butner 2007: 9-21)

One of the Pharaoh’s most prominent duties was to maintain ma’at, and his responsibility symbolized the divine connection that allowed him to rule with justice; maintaining both the

166 Shea 1981:223 167 Butner 2007: 9 ft. 22 168 Armour 2001: 134-135 98

cosmic and earthly order.169 The Ancient Egyptians consciously chose to portray non-Egyptians

quite negatively, and the root of such stems from the status of foreigners as disruptors of ma’at,

and perceived cosmic order. The Ancient Egyptian word for “people'' was surprisingly self-

reflective and reserved only for the referral of other Egyptians. Modern understanding of the

Ancient Egyptian’s usage of “people” implies that the Egyptians did not even view foreigners as

human.170 For these reasons, it is not surprising to see the brutal depictions of the Asiatics in the

Old Kingdom, and predictable negative portrayals during times of social and economic failure.

This occurrence is worth exploring far into the Middle Kingdom, when relationships are

ichnographically positive, but textually negative. (Armour 2001: 134-140; Butner 2007: 9-21)

The Ipuwer Papyrus is representational of “wisdom literature”, a popular genre pioneered

into the Middle Kingdom. The text painfully laments the incorporation of foreigners into

Egyptian life, and Ipuwer grieves, “foreigners have become people everywhere.”171 This

underlies the subhuman view of foreigners, and the despair created when foreign peoples

successfully infiltrated and assimilated into Egyptian life. This scenario would completely

disrupt the desired order, and understandably demand textual devices reflect the internal chaos.

(Butner 2007: 87-90; Lichtheim 1975:150-155)

Fresh from the cusp of the First Intermediate Period (circa 2181-2040BC172), the contents

of the Ipuwer Papyrus are didactic, and specifically encompass the subgenre of lamentation173.

One line claims, “See, a man is slain by the side of his brother, who abandons him to save

169 Ibid., 135. The original hieroglyphic representation of ma’at was two straight lines that intersect, creating the image of the Pharaoh's throne. According to Armour, this indicates that the decisions made by the Pharaoh were made through the guidance of ma’at. 170 Butner 2007: 24 ft. 82 171 Lichtheim 1975: 150 172 Butner 2007: 14 ft. 49 173 Ibid., 21. ft. 75 99 himself.”174 The integration of foreigners would have been deeply disturbing to a xenophobic culture, and the plagued chaos suggests destruction and despair as a natural outcome. We can gleam that the Asiatics doomed the Egyptians through cultural assimilation to such an extent that ma’at has been dissolved, allowing the degradation of honor, loyalty, and justice. Men are leaving their brothers to die alone; social order has completely collapsed.

The Ipuwer Papyrus creates a structure for the Prophecy of Neferti, which even further emphasizes this conundrum in reference to Asiatics. Neferti writes,

All happiness has vanished, the land is bowed down in distress, Owing to those feeders, Asiatics who roam the land. Foes have risen in the East, Asiatics have come down to Egypt... Desert flocks will drink at the river of Egypt, Take their ease on the shores for lack of one to fear; For this land is to-and-fro, knowing not what comes….175

This prophecy is one of few ancient Egyptian prophetic texts to have survived and takes place during the Old Kingdom’s fictional rule of the fourth dynastic king, Snefru. However, the author, Neferti, most likely composed the piece in the earliest years of the Middle Kingdom’s twelfth century. While the text lacks conclusive exigence, most agree that its prophetic nature is indicative of xenophobic political propaganda; an attempt to blame foreigners for the dynasty’s tumultuous situation instead of poor central leadership. Lichtheim writes that the wisdom style could be utilized to describe the, “chaos that overtakes the nation when the kingship is weak.”176

(Butner 2007: 87-90; Lichtheim 1975:150-155)

174 Lichtheim 1975: 158 175 Lichtheim 1975: 141 176 Lichtheim 1975: 134 100

The text describes Nefterti’s task of entertaining the fictional royal court with prophecies about the future instead of tales of the past. Neferti reveals that the future is bleak and ravaged by civil war, and that Egypt’s only hope rests on a future king, “Ameny.” Neferti claims that Ameny can reset the cosmic order of ma’at and banish foreign enemies. The prophesized “Ameny” is easily and immediately linked to Amenemhat I, the first ruler of Egypt’s twelfth dynasty. Like

Assurbanipal, Amenehat struggled with territorial unification, and under his rule, the institution of pharaonic rule diminished significantly in terms of reputation, leading to a weak central government riddled with internal rebellion. (Butner 2007: 87-90; Lichtheim 1975:150-155)

Amenemhat quickly realized that he needed to re-legitimize himself and his institution; the easiest method of guiding his constituents into Pharaonic kingship was through the Prophecy of Neferti. Empowered through writing, Amenemhat I created a new mythical identity for himself as a prophesied ruler who was fated to reclaim Egypt. The proto-mythical text does accomplish several bureaucratic goals. First, it re-establishes the concept of Kingship and the importance of a central administrative unit while simultaneously casting blame on foreigners through first intermediate period association. What it means to be Egyptian, and what it means to be foreign, are re-examined and then exemplified. This textual piece is not autobiographical, but fictional in nature, and demonstrates the inability of every text to be accepted at face value when analyzing relationships with foreigners. (Butner 2007: 12-25; 35-38)

The Tale of Sinuhe is another exemplary textual example; resting in the shadows of

Amenemhat I’s death after founding Egypt’s 12th dynasty. The earliest recovered manuscript was dated to the period of Amenemhat III, though it is believed the tale was actually composed 101 earlier in 1870 BC.177 The story is crafted quite expertly and in a fashion that has led a myriad of modern researchers to develop plenty of unique interpretations. “Sinuhe” is thought to mean “the

Son of Sycamore '', which could be a direct link to the sycamore’s status as the “Tree of Life” that is often associated with Hathor, the patron of foreign countries.178 (Butner 2007: 12-25;

Parkinson 1999: 21-24)

After Amenenmhat’s death, Sinuhe flees Egypt and is luckily saved from a death in the desert by a group of mobile pastoralists (a strong first indicator of positivity towards other peoples). He is eventually asked to join a community in the Upper Retjenu by Ammuneshi, an

Asiatic ruler. Sinuhe seamlessly blends into the community, is asked to marry Ammuneshi’s eldest daughter, and lives with the tribe for eighty-five years. This is a curious life; Sinuhe leaves

Egypt, and successfully joins the elite social strata of another society. He is accepted as a foreigner with power. Here, integration has proven to be successful due to his original status as an Egyptian in a “barbarian” community. However, when Sinuhe becomes pressed with severe homesickness upon his death bed, he realizes he must die in his original homeland to ensure a proper burial. Regardless of his newfound elite position in this new society, Ammuneshi cannot provide the amenities of Egypt, despite his generosity of wealth and status. Sinuhe must return to

Egypt for his proper burial.179 (Butner 2007: 12-25; Parkinson 1999: 21-24)

What does the tale tell us about relations with those on the Egyptian periphery? First, the

Egyptians were capable of portraying foreigners as normal people, even in a positive light.

177 Parkinson,1999: 21 178 Assmann 205: 171. Note Hathor is mentioned multiple times through the tale. 179 Burial was of utmost importance to the ancient Egyptians, and not having a proper burial would result in a terrifying religious reality; no life after death. After eighty-five years, Sinuhe realizes his natural life is ending, and for this reason, finally understands that Ammuneshi and his new foreign community cannot support the needs instilled in him by his original, Egyptian culture. Notably, even after 85 years, Sinuhe held on to this burial expectation, another note to the power of “Egyptian-ness”.

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However regardless of how casually portrayed, eastern neighbors were not and could never be

Egyptian as no form of foreign integration was acceptable under ma’at’s cosmic order.180 Even

in the best case scenario (from rescue to royalty), Sinuhe realizes he cannot recreate his Egyptian

light. In some ways, the tale is touching. A classic rendezvous of a man’s journey to return to the

homeland. In other ways, the moral of the tale is not subtle; do not leave Egypt. (Armour 2001:

134-140; Butner 2007: 12-25, 9-21; Parkinson 1999: 21-24)

While a cautionary tale, the Asiatics are not referred to negatively, perhaps telling of a

civil relationship. The tale also speaks to the ability of foreigners to interact with Egyptians but

fails to describe any foreigner living in Egypt in the manner Sinuhe is living with the Asiatics.

The Tale of Sinuhe directly contrasts the Asiatic depictions of the Prophecy of Neferti,

and the Ipurus Papyrus. They are not problematic brutes who create despair and threaten to

topple the institution of kingship, but instead, a people who were not civilized due to their lack of

“proper” burial techniques.

In final comparison, the Old Kingdom most definitely presented a more aggressive

attitude towards the presence of foreigners; as barbaric, and even non-human. The ancient

Egyptians thought of themselves as the most civilized and advanced beings in their world and

highlighted this ideology through constant attacks on the Asiatics and peripheral “others.” Sinai

sites depict Asiatics being dragged by their hair, though new Middle Kingdom contact appears

less brutish through the art in Beni Hasan. The Tale of Sinuhe demonstrates positive

characteristics of the foreigners, and there is evidence that the Asiatics were able to join the elite

ranks of Egyptian society through economic might. By the end of the Middle Kingdom, the

180 Note how an Egyptian could assimilate into another culture, but a foreigner could not expect the same assimilation into Egyptian culture. 103

Asiatics were so ingrained into the culture that they rose to power as the “hyksos” and forged a completely new dynasty. (O’Connor 1997: 45-67; Butner 2007: 12-25)

While it is often claimed by ancient sources that they entered in a sweeping barbaric manner, there is more evidence that the mobile pastoralists and nomads on the periphery slowly began settling casually; a creeping conquest. The Hyksos easily took over Egypt through their ever-growing strong influence on social, economic, and political life.

The popularized account created by Manetho is admittedly influenced with speckled myth and sources biased against the historical truth of the situation.181 His account describes the

Hyksos entering Egypt as armed invaders, whose barbaric tactics destroyed any resistance and easily suffocated the Middle Kingdom’s military forces. He records that the Hyksos, throughout this dramatic conquest, burned temples, palaces, and forced women and children into slavery while riding hordes of horses. While Manetho’s account, ridden with flair and fondant is gripping, modern scholars now cast his telling in the realm of Herodotus’s falsities and subscribe to the idea of a simple, gradual societal infiltration of the Asiatics. This is supported by several theories, most prominently the plague of the thirteenth dynasty that led to both famine and internal strife. As this national crisis was quite daunting, the administration did not have either the support or resources to be border oriented, and new migrants (the mobile pastoralists) closed in on the periphery’s welcoming power vacuum. (O’Connor 1997: 45-67; David 1997: 45-67)

181 “Hyksos” roughly translates into “foreign king” in Greek.

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CONCLUSION: Kingship and Kinship

In the ancient world, the lifespan of an administrative institution could be short lived or span the test of centuries. The strength of a given administration was rooted not only in its ideology, but the state’s method and competency expressing such ideology. Described as a political program, a successful state ideology would not only provide extensive political control, but vehemently degrade the ideologies of competing entities. The ideology of a state had to be accepted by constituents as the epitome of institution; as their ideal.

Just as quickly as humans developed consciousness, ideology surfaced, though its binding of power and politics was not captured until de Tracy and the French Revolution.

Concerned with “correctness” and “truth”, political revolutionaries from all regions and periods manifested and twisted interpretations of the like, basing their personal ideologies in surreptitious personal agendas. Ideology is mystifying as it is as omnipresent as it is elusive, and each perception presents unique yet unacceptable complications. (Carver 2016: 1-12; Eagleton

19991: 1-32; Schmitt 1976: 36-40)

What is certain, however, is that ideology exists beyond a belief system, and is often associated with the legitimization of an elite, or dominant class. Ideology was utilized by the state in a layered process; outlining and naturalizing proper values, discrediting opposing schools of thought, and misrepresenting social reality. While seemingly standardized, the process of mystification was only successful if poignant on all fronts with the fragility of the ancient state at risk. (Carver 2016: 1-12; Eagleton 19991: 1-32)

Once established, there were a myriad of methods to protect such precarious power, the seemingly most effective accomplished through divine association. Divinity and the

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classification of such varies greatly from state and period, but as the prominence of international

royal genealogies continue, king lists burst with might. King lists (presented in a variety of

forms) reliably remain among the oldest documents a state produced, each fictionalizing the

historical narrative. Early states and founding dynasties are laden with mythological kings,

proving the institution of kingship existed long before humanity, and therefore justified and

supported its continued prominence. Through zealous genealogical ties to the divine, the

institution of kingship married the pantheon, and forced social memory that in turn, inserted

social stratification into a constituency. Those on the upper echelons bolstered themselves by

synchronizing with the state’s divine messaging, eagerly leading constituents to accept their

surplus-producing existences. (French 1995: 9-18; Wang 2014: 52-60; Yoffee 2005: 4-18)

Once the king list fully engrained divine kingship into a population, an administrative institution proliferated a new medium for the propaganda machine; writing, and the iconographic art. In combination, legitimization could be secured, and kept. The most predatory and politicized messages heightened the state’s individual ideology, and a plethora of works focused on an important ideological layer: the elimination of external, incorrect, potential. (French 1995:

9-18; Wang 2014: 52-60; Yoffee 2005: 4-18)

As a crowded cradle, Mesopotamia was a conglomerate of competing ideologies, some state oriented, some not. Overwhelmingly composed of agrarian states, constituents were taxable, and often relied on the protection and redistribution of the institutions they were contained in. The early symbiotic relationship between the state and agriculture created a direct contrast to the “state-less” existence of the mobile pastoralists and their tribal structures. While the states developed with grain in tow, relationships between economic and political spheres heightened and ideological structures were generated. These structures were foundational

106 theatres for development of the discourse surrounding royal legitimization and divine authority; invaluable tools of state power. (Boletsi 2013: 64-69; Porter 2012: 8-64; Scott 2017: 116-118)

States maintained boundaries not only to protect acres of agricultural territory, but also to collect their constituencies, actively attempting to increase surplus with each generation. The unpredictable, uncontrollable, but most importantly, “un-taxable” nature of those living on the state’s periphery unwillingly created fierce ideological competition for urban and settled centers.

(Fiskesjö 1999: 139-186; Michalowski 2011: 122-125; Porter 2012: 8-64; Scott 2017; 150-155)

The tribal lifestyle existed in near complete contrast to the state, and for this reason, the nature of the “others” was institutionally capitalized on to protect the state’s achieved ideology.

Mobile Pastoralists relied on a kinship system, in which legitimacy and authority were predicated on blood ties. For this reason, pastoral tribes did not need to legitimize any manufactured institutions, and subsequently did not feel the urge to produce propaganda campaigns. The tribal structure of the peripheral peoples was the most general characteristic subjected to annihilation, and the states pounced. (Porter 2012: 8-64; Scott 2017; 150-155)

For full control, the “other” could not only be uncivilized, but barbaric: raw, savage, and animalistic. The definition of the barbarian is as enigmatic as an ideology, as it was constantly updated naturally depending on the intended outcome of the state. The iconography studied demonstrates the different variations of barbarian ranging from nude to bearded, violent to crude.

Some states, such as the Egyptians, went as far as to attempt to ethnically identify their barbarians, while others were content with portrayal by self-negation. (Butner 2007: 12-50;

Boletsi 2013: 57-107)

Despite these decrepit depictions, the peripheral peoples are often documented to have positive economic relationships with those they border, as is the case with the Amorites and

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Asiatics. The often misleading and falsified representations of foreign and peripheral peoples did not remain in ancient history, as even today, tribal and pastoral groups are still viewed as inherently lesser despite necessary societal contributions. Whether this is a symptom of neo- evolution or remnants of imperialism, the “lesser” perception of mobile pastoralists is politically problematic to the modern world, best exemplified by the ongoing genocide in Darfur. Origins of the conflict are tenfold, but the most relevant, noted by the Council of Foreign Relations, is the competition between farmers and nomads for access to water following the drought of 1983.

(Butner 2007:12-50; Michalowski 2011:82-102)

Due to the purposeful and perpetual fabrication of who peripheral peoples really were, a striking challenge will continue to persist. Whether or not researchers will ever fully understand the influence of the “other” on the state is impossible to speculate, but it is clear that the “other” has and will continue to exert influence over settled society. The mysteries surrounding peoples who could be both “inside” and “out” continue to unfold.

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