4

THE ROYAL LIBRARY OF NINEVEH

“The rare tablets on your route that are not found in Assyria,” commanded King Ashurbanipal, “seek out and bring to me.”1 Ashurbanipal, king of Assyria from 668 BCE, was well aware of the treasures preserved within the clay tablets held in the temple and palace libraries throughout Assyria and Babylonia. He was surprisingly learned; he was a competent mathematician and was himself able to read the cuneiform tablets—those in both Akkadian and ancient Sumerian—and carried on an active daily correspondence with informants resident in many different cities. Indeed, Ashurbanipal himself may have been competent in astrology because as a child he had received his education from a famous contemporary astrologer, Balasi. A letter survives from the latter thanking King Esarhaddon for the honor of teaching the crown prince, Ashurbanipal.2

Ashurbanipal had organized a wide-ranging and systematic search for rare tablets in order, we presume, that he might compile a library that contained the full wealth of learning available at the time. Interestingly, his search was particularly thorough in the southernmost cities of the empire—those that had formerly belonged to the ancient kingdom of Sumer and thus could be expected to contain ancient collections of long-forgotten texts.

You shall put these tablets in your strong box. No one shall withhold tablets from you; and if there be any tablet or spell which I have failed to mention to you, and you perceive that it is good for my palace, search for it and get it and bring it to me.*2

Ashurbanipal knew that much of the intellectual tradition of his predecessors had been hidden, destroyed, or simply mislaid. But now legend, history, divination, rituals, dreams, and magical spells, indeed all the literature of the ancient intellectual world, began arriving at his palace at Nineveh. There is no reason for us to think that his search was anything other than comprehensive and successful. Thus, so far as we know, his library was a “time capsule” of the ancient intellectual traditions, and its discovery by the archaeologists was an event of incalculable consequence. Unfortunately, as we shall see, not all of its contents survived, and so we cannot be certain of the exact percentage of the whole these recovered texts represent.

Subsequent analysis by modern scholars of the contents of his library has revealed that his dominant concern was to seek out all “scientific” texts, that is, the ritual and omen writings that certainly predominate—the pure literary or mythological works form only a very small part of the surviving collection.

Nevertheless, by means of such an intensive effort, Ashurbanipal gathered together an impressive library that even included tablets of such antiquity that they date from “before the flood.”3 Certainly scholars in Mesopotamia were aware of this learning from such ancient times, and one writes: “I have studied the antediluvian stone inscriptions which were sealed, abstruse, confused.”4

Of course, by the eighth century BCE, writing was not only to be found carved in stone or pressed into clay tablets. During the excavations of Nimrud, which lasted from 1949 to 1963, a curious “book” was uncovered. This unique artifact, today on display in the British Museum, consists of a series of ivory “pages” that are hinged together. Each of the “pages” had a slightly raised edge so that they could hold a flat surface of wax. The cuneiform signs were then pressed into the wax. Amazingly, the example discovered contains a section of the astrological series Enuma Anu Enlil, but, as most of the wax has disappeared, it is not possible to state with any certainty how much of the series this “book” originally contained. Proof that this method of recording the astrological series was in use concurrently with the clay tablets is provided in a passing mention in a report from the astrologer Balasi, who states that the quote he was recording came from a tablet of wax.5

Wood was similarly used for the recording of information: in the signatures on the tablets from Nimrud it is stated that they were written “according to the wording of a tablet made of tamarisk wood.”6 Presumably, then, some at least of the standard texts were of cuneiform painted or carved upon wood. That their use was early is established by a line in tablet twenty of the Enuma Anu Enlil. We find reference to “a writing board of the 11th year of Adad-apla-iddina, king of Babylon.”7 This year was 1058 BCE. It is hardly surprising that none of these boards have apparently survived the last three millennia.

Among the tablets found in the Nineveh palace library were parts of four, or possibly five, that recorded a set of acquisitions made in Babylonia for Ashurbanipal. These were added, according to the two dates mentioned in the texts, early in 647 BCE.8 This was a few months after the end of a civil war that had erupted between Ashurbanipal and his brother, the ruler over the southern empire from its capital of Babylon. It is likely that these acquisitions were, at least in part, spoils of war, even though quite a number seem to have been donated by the original owners. Perhaps pressure was brought to bear upon them.

Of interest to historians is, first, that these acquisitions came from private libraries and, second, that not just clay tablets were listed but also the valuable multipaged wax-covered writing boards. In addition, mention was made of single writing boards, and it is these that were probably painted rather than covered with wax. The multipaged texts are known to have had up to sixteen “pages” and could thus hold considerably more information than a clay tablet.9

Like modern libraries, this catalog lists the texts acquired by title and by subject. What is surprising is the great number of texts thus acquired: although many of the catalog tablets are damaged, it is estimated that the original total comprised around two thousand clay tablets and about three hundred multipaged writing boards. The names of fifteen former owners are recorded along with, in nine cases, their professions: two were exorcists, three were diviners, three were astrologers or sons of astrologers (tupsharru), and one was the son of a priest, which type was unspecified.10 Of the contents of the texts, the most common was omen literature, in particular astrology and entrail divination. The catalog also records a variety of other texts received in smaller numbers: the Gilgamesh epic, “esoteric” writings, ritual texts, lamentations, medical recipes, dream books, texts to counter witchcraft, lists of auspicious days, unknown literary works, and part of the astronomical book mul.Apin.

One owner donated 435 clay tablets, and another gave 342; yet even this amount did not apparently make up the full extent of their personal libraries because none of the professionals gave up any texts that related to their particular specialist field. Rather, they gave up those they held relating to others, the implication being that they retained those that were of immediate relevance to their work.

The existence, however, of such specialized literature outside the area of the owners’ professional concern is testimony to the breadth of their education and learning. In fact, the simple existence itself of private libraries—evidently a widespread phenomenon—is testimony to the depth of the intellectual world in ancient Mesopotamia.

A large number of the ancient tablets that Ashurbanipal’s agents collected were kept as they were found, even though they were written in the old Sumerian script. Others were recopied, not always accurately, into Ashurbanipal’s Akkadian. In some cases both the antique and the recopied versions of the same text have survived, and it is possible to see the quality of the translation, thus allowing modern scholars to demonstrate that in certain cases they understand Sumerian better today than did some of the scribes working 2,500 years ago in Nineveh.

It is difficult to determine with any confidence how many scholars and officials were allowed access to Ashurbanipal’s palace library or to what extent its contents routinely provided a source of commercial and political data. It is important to bear in mind that this library was a royal collection aimed primarily at the needs of the royal administration. It has to be considered most unlikely that any but court officials were ever allowed access. Whether, through such royal intermediaries, others such as city officials or commercial traders could check laws, reports, or standard editions of texts is not known.

Hormuzd Rassam’s excavations in the nineteenth century revealed the true size and elegance of Ashurbanipal’s library, with its walls holding the spectacular lion hunt frieze; one conclusion that can be drawn as a result is that this long gallery was a room in which it would have been both an honor and a pleasure to study. Its splendor is evidence of the value that Ashurbanipal placed upon it and, by extension, upon the intellectual tradition that he inherited and perhaps revitalized.

As he grew up Ashurbanipal would have become aware of the constant stream of information sent to his father from all the larger cities of the empire. King Esarhaddon not only had his scholarly informants in many of the cities of Assyria and Babylonia but also had a special representative, his “eye and ear” in the south, Mar-Ishtar, from whom twenty-four letters survive speaking of astrology and magic. He served the king well, playing a key role in the rebuilding of destroyed temples in Babylonian cities and in the subsequent “reorganization” of the religious cults.11

King Ashurbanipal similarly had a well-organized network of specialized scholars reporting to him regularly. Not only were the various commercial and political events noted, but every astronomical observation of significance was recorded. It is evident that part of the duty of the astrologers was to keep a daily watch upon the heavens.

These reports of astrological phenomena were almost always accompanied by an interpretation that gave a brief prediction of the effect upon the kingdom. These predictions and interpretations of celestial events were, in the main, drawn from their great series of astrological texts, the Enuma Anu Enlil, named from its opening line, “When the Gods Anu and Enlil . . .”—thus, incidentally, informing us that astrology was the concern of these two gods: Anu, the god of heaven, and Enlil, the god of earth, implying the interrelationship of the two realms.

The texts of this canonical series continued over many tablets, and for ease of identification each tablet carried in a special section at the end both the title of the complete work and the first line of text from the next tablet in the series. This was the Akkadian equivalent of a modern book’s title page.

We cannot be clear about the exact arrangement of the tablets in the library, as Rassam’s archaeological methods were primitive and little was made in the way of plans or records. All we know is that down the middle of the gallery stood long wooden tables or shelves that had originally held the thousands of baked clay tablets, each one within a protective wooden or clay case. Every case was filed for ease of retrieval by means of a small triangular clay tag listing its contents. This was attached to the case by a short length of cord.

The number of cuneiform tablets held today in the world’s libraries and museums is immense. Of all types of tablets—commercial, literary, scientific—dating from Sumerian to neo-Babylonian, more than 500,000 presently exist. The British Museum alone holds 130,000 tablets, as well as a number of crates filled with more in the basement that “no one likes to even think about”; the Istanbul museum has about 85,000; Paris and Berlin each hold some 25,000; and the North American universities—Yale, Philadelphia, and Chicago—together hold some 75,000 more, and this does not include those held in various private collections.

In addition to these there is a large collection held in Baghdad, the true size of which is unknown to outside scholars. Thousands of artifacts were looted during the course of wars in the region. It is hoped that they will eventually turn up on the antique market.

The tablets that concern astrology are primarily those from the palace libraries of Sennacherib and Ashurbanipal found in the ancient city of Nineveh, buried beneath the mound of Kuyunjik. Large collections of these exist, but it is impossible to be sure of their original location in the ruin. The British Museum’s Kuyunjik collection of more than 25,000 tablets and fragments is made up of those found by Layard, Rassam, and later excavators, all of whom dug through the trenches and spoil heaps of earlier expeditions. Their excavation was thus very haphazard and the recording of their provenance virtually nonexistent. Indeed, some tablets from Layard’s first excavation at Nimrud are known to have been cataloged through error or perhaps convenience with those from Kuyunjik.

In consequence, unless the tablet itself specifically states that it was owned by one or another king, we cannot be certain which of the two (or perhaps three, if we include Nimrud) libraries it might have come from.

Within the Kuyunjik collection are about 3,500 reports and fragments of reports that emanate from the scholars and “scientific” advisers to Kings Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal. As tablet fragments are joined together this number will reduce, perhaps leaving about 3,000 tablets representing the total of known reports.

Until relatively recently the great majority of these tablets had not been published, let alone translated. Some 1,500, which include astrological reports, were published as hand-drawn facsimiles by R. F. Harper between 1892 and 1914, while the first 277 astrological translations of Babylonian texts were published by Professor Reginald Campbell Thompson in 1900. Harper’s 1,500 facsimiles were translated and pub-lished in 1930 by Professor Leroy Waterman, but modern research has indicated that his work is very unreliable and should be used “only with great reservations.”12

After many years of working under these limitations, a beginning was made upon the task of publishing the entire Assyrian State Archives, including a retranslation of the work of Campbell Thompson and Waterman. In 1970 Professor Simo Parpola of the Academy of Finland published the 370 astrological reports that had been identified from the “scientific” neo-Assyrian advisers, and in 1983 he published his extensive and detailed commentary upon them. In addition to this, starting in 1964 he worked with other scholars on translating those letters, which fall into other categories—religious, military, and political—including all the later neo-Babylonian reports also held in the archives.

Of the 370 reports from the astrologers and other diviners published by Parpola in 1970, only eighty-one concerned astrology, astronomy, or calendar calculation. However, of the total number, only four carried dates. Furthermore, the kings to whom they were addressed remained unidentified. Initially, then, their use to historians seemed very limited because without a date they could not be placed in any particular historical context in order to extend our knowledge of any particular period. However, Parpola realized that the astronomical events observed by the writers and described, often in detail, within the texts could potentially be used to date them. Eventually, after much careful and difficult analysis, 231 were successfully assigned to a specific date.

Once these had been dated and thus assigned to the reign of a particular king, a curiosity immediately presented itself: almost half the letters were written in just four years—from 672 to 669 BCE—the last years of the reign of Esarhaddon. Additionally, they were not evenly distributed over this period but were written in “clusters,” demonstrating the existence of periods of greater and lesser intellectual activity. The maximum number of letters from any one astrologer during such a short period was the eleven received from Adad-shumu-usur during a two-month period in mid 669 BCE.13

Parpola’s conclusion about this apparent imbalance was that the reports sent during this four-year period probably represented the normal extent of correspondence between the king and his scholars; in this case very little has subsequently been lost.14 The much fewer reports attested for other years before and after this period reflect not a lesser amount of intellectual activity but rather that these particular tablets have been either destroyed in the past or not yet found. A rather similar situation is observed in the recording of important astronomical events such as eclipses. These are well recorded, as would be expected, but only for the years 675 to 666 BCE.

The contents of the libraries of Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal, perhaps numbering, as we have noted, some twenty-five thousand tablets, were discovered in several distinct sections. One section comprised the royal administrative reports—up to three thousand letters to the king from his advisers, including astrologers—which give a wealth of information on Assyrian religious, medical, political, and military life. A second section contained the official histories detailing the political events during the king’s reign; here were found not only the relatively durable clay tablets but also a substantial number of clay cylinders containing historical texts. A great number of these simply fell to pieces upon being brought into contact with the air, and thus their information was lost.

Another section of the library held a collection, perhaps definitive, of Assyrian mythology and literature; there were also some two hundred tablets devoted to the Sumerian and Akkadian languages, composing a type of dictionary, and a large section of some three hundred tablets added a remarkable collection of specialized omen texts that were arranged in a canonical series. Finally, there was a group of commercial texts, contracts, no doubt retained for the same archival reasons as would pertain today.

Archaeologists soon discovered that the Assyrians, and the Babylonians before them, were devoted to the various arts of divination. The basis of this devotion lay in their ancient cosmological beliefs regarding the nature of the universe and the task of humankind.

For the Mesopotamians, earth and the heavens above were not separate domains but were two parts of one realm. Earth and heaven were complementary; one depended upon the other, and both were equally important. There was no concept, for example, of earth being in any way “lesser” than heaven. Indeed, while they believed that the omens studied by their specialist diviners were messages sent from the gods, these messages, these omens, could just as easily be drawn from events upon the earth as events witnessed in the skies. This point is made very clearly in a manual for diviners that was recovered by archaeologists: “The signs in the sky, just as those on the earth, give us signals.”15

The second key point to understanding the attitude of the Mesopotamians is the discovery that, from the very earliest times, they viewed humankind as being, in part, divine, born of the very substance of the gods, created of their divine “flesh and blood.” The story of the Babylonian Noah, Atra-Hasis, dating from the early second millennium BCE, explains:

Let one god be slaughtered

So that all the gods may be cleansed in a dipping

From his flesh and blood

Let Nintu mix clay,

That god and man

May be thoroughly mixed in the clay,

So that we may hear the drum for the rest of time

Let there be a spirit from the god’s flesh.16

The third factor in understanding this view of the universe is the ancient belief that the task of humankind was to serve the gods:

Let the birth-goddess create offspring

And let man bear the toil of the gods.

You are the birth-goddess, creatress of mankind

Create Lullu [man] that he may bear the yoke.

Let him bear the yoke assigned by Enlil,

Let man carry the toil of the gods.17

Thus it was vitally important to know precisely what the gods required. This is no doubt why they saw the night sky with its constellations as the Shitir Shame, the Book of Heaven, upon which was written the commands of the gods.

The Mesopotamians saw all anomalous phenomena as omens, as divine communications that might be read by the trained diviner. In consequence, these diviners, members of a specialist intellectual fraternity (called generally a “priesthood,” though with no suggestion of celibacy) attached to the palace or temple, devoted their time to the interpretation of such omens drawn from a vast range of natural phenomena. For these experts celestial events—the movements of clouds; the direction of winds or shooting stars; the birth of malformed animals or children; the occurrence of lightning, thunder, earthquakes, or floods—were never gratuitous; all had significance, all potentially revealed the desires of the gods, if only they could be read correctly. And to read them correctly was the task of the diviner.

Of course, while we cannot be dogmatic about anything when dealing with these ancient concepts, as we shall see, such omens were evidently conceived as being but signs of a possible future, not portents of some irrevocable coming event. The future—the will of the gods—was negotiable, was malleable, was never, it seems, considered to be fated as we understand this term today.

Each of the various techniques for interpreting omens had its standard texts, its own specialized literature. For example, the texts concerning divination from unusual births were compiled into a standard series called the Shumma Izbu, from the opening line of the first text cited, “If a newborn animal . . .” Those diviners who drew omens from the observation of unusual animal behavior had the series Shumma Alu Ina Mele Shakin (“If a city is situated on a hill . . .”); those who divined from autopsies performed upon the entrails (livers, lungs, hearts, intestines, vertebrae, breastbones, stomachs) of ritually slaughtered sheep, usually rams, used the series Shumma Martu (“If the gallbladder . . .”);18 the medical exorcists had their series, Enuma Ana Bit Marsi Ashipu Iffiku (“If the exorcist is going to the house of a patient . . .”); and the astrologers had their great series, the Enuma Anu Enlil (“When the gods Anu and Enlil . . .”).

Detailed analysis of the astrological tablets in the library quickly revealed two important facts: first, that astrology developed over a long period of time, the tablets from Nineveh representing the state of the study just prior to the fall of the Assyrian empire and the subsequent influx of foreign philosophies, and second, that the astrology found in these tablets and in the reports made to the king is what is known as mundane astrology, that is, concerned not with the individual but with the king and the state. Nowhere do any individual birth charts appear nor are they referred to in any text. Similarly, the zodiacal signs are absent, as is any concept of the ascendant, even though both have been integral to astrology since classical times. The obvious conclusion is that they were a later development, forming no part of the techniques practiced by the Assyrian and Babylonian astrologers and thus, should it be needed, certain proof of the long development period of the techniques used by modern astrologers.

The astrologers writing to Ashurbanipal and his father were not so specialized that they did not have a competence in many varieties of divination. The sole exception was entrail divination, including hepatoscopy, the examination of the liver of a sacrificial animal, and extispicy, the examination of the lungs, liver, windpipe, gallbladder, and intestines.

The tradition of entrail divination was the jealously guarded preserve of a separate, skilled specialist tradition. Their art entailed the speaking of a question into the ear of a ram. The animal was then slaughtered and its entrails closely examined for any significant bumps or blemishes. While this can be seen to leave room for a certain inaccuracy, the procedure was designed to accommodate such deficiencies: if the first examination did not provide a suitable answer, the tradition allowed for two further attempts in order that a “correct” outcome might be obtained. While it would seem wise on the part of astrologers to distance themselves from such techniques, it can be seen that, in general, considerable creative flexibility was condoned in omen interpretation, a flexibility that is also found in astrology.

Evidence from later times indicates that the kings were well aware of this process and took various steps to eradicate or control it. The Old Testament, for example, preserves a story of this kind that, however embellished, probably contains the memory of some real situation or incident. In the book of Daniel it is recorded that King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon was troubled by a dream. He wished to understand its meaning and so summoned all the court astrologers and magicians. He not only demanded an interpretation of the dream, but threatened—should they fail him—to execute all his diviners and to destroy their houses. The astrologers asked the king to describe the dream so that they might give an interpretation.

Nebuchadnezzar, evidently cynical in his dealings with advisers, refused. He said simply that, in order to remove the possibility of fraud, the astrologers should not only be able to interpret the dream but should also know, in advance, its contents. Only in this way, he explained, could he have confidence in the interpretation.

The astrologers and diviners again asked to be told the dream. At this point the king became angry and accused them all of simply playing for time, of being unable to comply with his request. Finally, his diviners confessed that his accusations were correct and admitted that the task was beyond them. They added, however, that no other king would ever think of putting such a difficult question to them. Frustrated, the king flew into a rage and ordered them all to be executed—including Daniel, who, under the Babylonian name of Belteshazzar,19 was an astrologer attached to Nebuchadnezzar’s court. This incident allowed Daniel (or whoever this story is based on) a chance to show his abilities.20

Modern scholars have attempted to gain some understanding of the structure of the Mesopotamian intellectual tradition: what it meant to be a scholar in those times. While most of the surviving written sources reveal little information about the writers and their milieu, the reports that were sent to Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal proved to contain fragments of personal information about both the public and the private lives of the writers. By sifting through these reports it is possible to build up some idea of the life of the writers.

The scholars writing the reports fall into five areas of expertise. First there were the scribes, the tupsharru: these were the astrologers—the experts in interpreting celestial and meteorological omens. Then there were the haruspices, the baru, who were expert in predicting the future through the study of entrails, usually those of rams. Third we find the exorcists, the ashipu and the mashmashu, who conducted the requisite magic rituals for avoiding evil or illness. Next came the physicians, the asu, who treated diseases by physical means, by use of drugs or other therapies. Last we find the singers, the kalu, who calmed the anger of the gods with intricate chants.21

Among these expert scholars were two social groupings: those who were close to the king, who had access to him on a regular basis, and those, usually operating in provincial cities, who did not. Scholars of the privileged “inner circle,” however exalted their social rank, still did not live in the palace but normally owned houses in the residential parts of Nineveh. While they were famous and highly respected members of the court, they clearly lived in constant fear of the king, whom they continually flattered and praised. It is obvious that these high-ranking scholars were, despite the status of their rank and the importance of their information to the king, powerless to influence any state decisions.

They did not form a powerful court cabal of Machiavellian “kingmakers,” as has been suggested in the past. In contrast, they fulfilled a passive “academic” role: they existed and held their positions simply to answer queries from the king, drawing their answers from the standard scholarly texts. Virtually all the surviving reports were written in response to some specific query from the king. Among these reports there were none that sought to manipulate the king or his political policy. As the natural tendency of such courtiers is to seek even more power through involvement in the affairs of state, we can only conclude that the apparent absence of any evidence suggesting these practices, despite a wealth of data—albeit from a short period of time—is testimony to the kings’ strictures against such action.

An analysis of this “inner circle” clustered about Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal reveals some remarkable family connections: there are at least three cases of father-son relationships, and one of these provides evidence of a long-standing family dynasty. Indeed, one quarter of the recorded “inner circle” belonged to this prominent family dynasty, which had a continuous tradition of intellectual expertise, including astrology, for more than 250 years.22

During the reign of Esarhaddon this intellectual dynasty was represented by the two brothers: Nabu-zeru-leshir, chief astrologer, and Adad-shumu-usur, exorcist both to Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal. Nabu-zeru-leshir’s son, Ishtar-shumu-eresh, followed tradition and rose to the position of chief astrologer to Ashurbanipal. He achieved such fame that he earned a mention in the “king list.” It is from him that the greatest number of reports has survived—a total of seventy-two. Adad-shumu-usur’s son, Urad-gula, was also an exorcist and physician in royal service, but he fell out of favor and was ultimately to lose his position. Two recovered reports show his father pleading on his behalf to the king.23 All these experts were descendants of the chief astrologer to King Ashurnasirpal II, who had reigned some two hundred years earlier.

This type of dynasty pertained also to the provincial cities; the scholar Tab-silli-marduk, his father, and his uncle all resided in Babylon and all wrote astrological reports to the king.

Professor Parpola comments: “It seems evident . . . that the important court offices of scholarly advisers were in the hands of a few privileged families, a veritable scholarly ‘mafia,’ which monopolized these offices from generation to generation.”24

Each of the report writers, for example the astrologers, would have been the head of a well-organized team made up of both experts and trainees. In Assyria, at least, it seems to have been standard practice for this team to comprise ten scholars because the title of the leader, rabi esherte, translates as “head of a group of ten.”25 A scribe’s training was long and arduous. He had to undertake a deep study of the discipline’s “scriptures,” the accuracy and validity of which he does not seem to have questioned. Despite this, these scholars were continually adding to the wealth of knowledge. While many of the predictions of eclipses and planetary phases were based upon old and primitive scientific techniques, others have, upon closer inspection, proved to derive from astronomical methods considerably more sophisticated, methods not found in the “canonical” texts. These new techniques resulted from scholarly work upon the mass of data that had accumulated over the preceding millennium from the astrologers’ systematic recording of astronomical details. This process was ultimately to give rise to the mathematical astronomy that typified the fifth century BCE and later periods into classical times.

An added complication for the student was that he had to learn not only Akkadian but also ancient Sumerian. He needed to gain competence in both the symbolic and the phonetic use of the same cuneiform signs—this latter a factor that greatly increased the complexity and difficulty of working with ancient texts. Indeed, these difficulties, by themselves, tended to reduce general literacy.

In each city, a team of astrologers would have been needed to maintain an unbroken watch of the heavens. Such teams were attached to the royal court or, at least, supported directly by the king. In several of the cities we have evidence that such astrological organizations were in operation—evidently continuing their existence over hundreds of years.26

In classical times, some six hundred years after Ashurbanipal, Babylon and Uruk were still famous for their astrologers. The second-century CE Greek traveler and geographer Pausanias mentioned that the astrologers, the “Chaldeans,” were still resident in their quarter near to the temple of Bel in Babylon even though all the other inhabitants had been moved to the new regional capital of Seleucia on the Tigris.27 Strabo (54 BCE–24 CE), Pliny (23–79 CE), and the astrologer Vettius Valens (second century CE) all mention the Babylonian schools of astrologers lasting until times close to their own. Their assertions receive support from the archaeological record—astronomical texts from Babylon are known, dating until 42/43 CE,28 and a solar eclipse table written in cuneiform and dated to 75 CE has been found.29

The first millennium BCE saw a number of great economic and political changes, which created the conditions whereby intellectuals could function independently of temple and palace, able, it seems, to hire out their talents to all who could afford to pay. The eventual point was reached, under the Persian invaders, at which the diviners were no longer attached to the palaces or temples. This, in some as yet unknown way, helped to provide the grounding for the subsequent inclusion of mathematics in astrology and for the emphasis upon the state to shift toward a concern with the individual. First came the use of the regular zodiac, then individual birth charts, and finally, around the turn of the millennium, the ascendant—the sign rising in the eastern sky at the equator at the moment of birth.