5

LETTERS FROM ASSYRIAN SCHOLARS

As night began to cast its shadow across Mesopotamia, teams of astrologers prepared themselves for their nightly vigil. Under kings Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal they were enjoined to keep a constant watch upon the heavens. Not only did they keep watch to record the omens commensurate with the celestial events they might witness but also, after the moon had disappeared from sight at the end of the month, they were eager to observe the moment of its reappearance. The first appearance of the new moon was a crucial “peg” for the Babylonian lunar calendar. It denoted the beginning of a new month. Any astrologer who missed it, through negligence or bad visibility, risked the opprobrium of the king, and that could cost an astrologer his post, for the task of the ancient astrologers was not only to read the meaning of the skies but also to control the state calendar.

Almost one thousand years earlier King Hammurabi had put in place a single official calendar within his Babylonian Empire. This demanded that the astrologers master two practical tasks: that of predicting eclipses and that of calculating, in advance, the exact evening upon which the new moon would first become visible. Yet, despite the passing of a millennium and the concurrent advances in mathematics, a truly accurate calendar was still not in operation by Ashurbanipal’s day. In fact, this was to require more than another millennium.

Even as late as the seventh century BCE, the observation and measuring of the planetary movements had remained extremely simplistic. For example, an astrologer monitoring the gradual transit of Mars toward a conjunction with Saturn reported on March 13, 669 BCE, to King Esarhaddon: “There is still a distance of about five fingers left; it [the conjunction] is not yet certain. . . . It [Mars] moves about a finger a day.”*3 This letter is an example of one of the major practical tasks of the Mesopotamian astrologers: to observe and record all physical phenomena from which omens could be drawn. These included not only the celestial events to which we have referred but also terrestrial events that modern astrologers would not think to include, such as meteorological phenomena or earthquakes or anomalous events—a mongoose that was run over by the king’s chariot became the source of an ominous interpretation. This event was considered sufficiently significant for the king to be advised against a proposed military venture. His defeat seemed likely.1

Information gained from such observations was presented to the king in two general manners. The first was bluntly informative, stating simply, for example, that “Mars has emerged from the constellation Scorpio and directed its course towards Sagittarius. The king, my lord, should know this.”2 Such a report as this served a purely scientific purpose and conveyed no more than a modern planetary ephemeris. More common, however, are reports that not only present the information but also seek an interpretation of the event, to which was added the requisite political advice. “When the planet Mars comes out from the constellation Scorpio, turns and re-enters Scorpio, its interpretation is thus: . . . do not neglect your guard; the king should not go outdoors on an evil day.”3

Several letters make it clear that the king himself had earlier requested specific information regarding the planetary movements, the anomalous event, or lucky and unlucky days for the coming month from the astrologers or other diviners.4

Yet, despite all this intellectual activity, the king, as the following tablet of 669 BCE attests, could still be confused as to the month and even perhaps the day. “What the king, my lord, wrote to me: ‘What month do you have now,’ the month we have at present is Addaru, and the present day is the 27th; the coming month is Nisannu.”5

These reports contain a surprising amount of information on both the intellectual and personal life of the astrologers; the king apparently fulfilled a strongly paternalistic role and was expected to concern himself with details of the astrologers’ domestic problems. In one letter the Babylonian astrologer Bel-le’i, having dealt with the official business of the report, adds a plea: could the king arrange to catch a runaway handmaiden?6

The king’s involvement in such a minor problem reflected the fact that all the astrologers were direct employees of the throne. The king alone, it seems, could authorize their receipt of benefits or changes in the conditions of their lives. “Send me an ass,” wrote another Babylonian astrologer, Nergal-itir, to the king, “that it might ease my feet.”7 The granting of medical treatment also appears to have needed authorization from the king: “Bil-ipush, the Babylonian magician, is very ill: let the king command that a physician come and see him.”8

These personal additions to the reports demonstrate with some clarity that the profession of astrologer was not without its vicissitudes, its errors, and its falls from grace. The astrologers owed their privileged positions and their means of living to the king; if they fell out of favor they could easily lose everything. Their status appears always to have been insecure, and the fear of failure and its consequences emerge from the reports: “We became worried and got scared, and that is why we have now written to the king,”9 and further: “In deep anxiety, I have nothing to report.”10

So perhaps we can understand why, when an astrologer had had a success, he was at some pains to ensure that the king was properly aware of the fact. The astrologer Akkullanu, on July 30, 666 BCE, wrote to Ashurbanipal that “If the planet Jupiter is present in the eclipse, all is well with the king; a noble dignitary will die in his stead. Has the king paid attention to this? A full month had not yet passed before his chief judge was dead.”*4 Another, who was perhaps justifiably proud of his success in correctly predicting the moon’s movements—which, incidentally, demonstrates how infrequently they must have got it right—saw the need to drive the point home to the king. He wrote stressing that on the first day of the month he had predicted that “On the fourteenth the Moon will be seen with the Sun” and, as he proudly proclaimed, events proved him correct.11

All astrologers were not of equal status. Some, such as Ishtar-shumu-eresh, rose to intellectual prominence, in his case to that of chief astrologer, and enjoyed the prestige and benefits of a long relationship with the king. Others were accorded respect for their competence but never rose to high office, remaining based at provincial outposts and never moving closer to the center of power. Yet others, less exalted in rank, were minor but competent members of an astrological team or but students, still dreaming of advancement.

An astrologer’s life was always uncertain. The reports detail instances of pleas for support or, more specifically, for food and dwelling space. Such entreaties suggest the likelihood that once an astrologer fell out of favor, he was no longer provided for by the court or the temple—perhaps he was even ejected from the latter’s precincts.

The astrologer Tabia, following upon some unknown but significant dereliction, fell so far from grace that, following repeated cries to the king for food, he was officially ordered to go out and make bricks for a living.12 His disgrace was echoed by that of another, Adad-shumu-usur, who was reduced to begging the king: “As a father I am your servant. O king, my lord, may I see your face as those who are acceptable. Alas! I am dying for want of food. I am forced to beg like a dog. Hitherto I have not been negligent.”13

The practical side of astrology, the physical observations, was beset always by numerous technical problems. On many occasions the astrologers reported that clouds or dust storms had rendered observation impossible. Their mechanical aids were also fallible: one tablet records that accurate observation was negated due to the malfunction of a timing device, an Abkallu shikla—probably some form of water clock—which had stopped during the night, making the astrologers lose track of the passing of time.14

Even without malfunctioning apparatus, incertitude and error were always present. Despite the advances in Assyrian and Babylonian mathematical procedure, it was still not possible to predict eclipses of the sun consistently, and this was an important deficiency because these events were viewed with considerable apprehension if not fear. An inability to see such an event ahead risked the king’s wrath: “In regard to the eclipse of the Sun, of which the king has written, saying, ‘Will it take place or will it not take place? Send a definite reply,’ the eclipse of the Sun does not occur at my command. The sign is not clear and I am cast down. I do not understand it.”15

Throughout history one of the distinguishing features of scholarly life has been the highly tuned egotism, arrogance, and self-importance adopted by the majority of those who rise to prominence in their field. Such attitudes have always led to passionate disputes based more upon the friction of egos than upon the clash of doctrines. To bemused onlookers it appears that normally urbane scholars will fight as though their very survival were at stake. The intellectual world of ancient Mesopotamia was not free from such disputes, although we are normally privy only to one end of the argument. The astrologer Akkullanu on one occasion was so contemptuous of an interpretation that he could not bring himself even to argue its faults. Instead, he wrote back to the king, stating bluntly that “This omen is nonsense: the king should disregard it.”16 Whether this subsequently led to an altercation with his wayward colleague we cannot tell, though it would be likely, because the king would almost certainly have reported the error back to its source.

In a number of the reports translated by Professor Parpola we find details of an angry dispute between three astrologers over a point of astronomical identification. In fact, this dispute was founded upon a misunderstanding. The king, Esarhaddon, had been informed by an unspecified astrologer that Mercury was going to rise the next month. He wrote to the astrologer Ishtar-shumu-eresh, asking if this was correct. Modern calculations have shown that at the time of the request Mercury had already risen. Ishtar-shumu-eresh knew this, having undoubtedly observed it himself. In consequence, in a report dated March 24, 669 BCE, he summarily dismissed the error of his unnamed colleague with the Assyrian proverb: “An ignorant one frustrates the judge, an uneducated one makes the mighty worry.”17 Ishtar-shumu-eresh then dropped the subject and proceeded to discuss Venus.

Unfortunately, the king misunderstood this letter and thought that it was Venus that had been observed rising rather than Mercury. With some concern, the king sought a second opinion: he called in two other royal astrologers, Nabu-ahhe-eriba and Balasi, to give their opinions on whether Venus had risen. Correctly, two days later, the astrologer Nabu-ahhe-eriba reported back to the king that Venus was not yet visible and angrily added that “He who wrote to the king . . . is a vile man, a dullard and a cheat. . . . Venus is not yet visible. . . . Who is this person that so deceitfully sends such reports to the king? . . . Tomorrow they should let me glance over them, every single one of them. . . . Why does someone tell lies and boast about these matters? If he does not know, he should keep his mouth shut.”18

The same day, March 26, 669 BCE, Balasi also wrote a reply to the king, equally dismissive of his colleague: “As regards the planet Venus about which the king, my lord, wrote to me: ‘I am told that it has become visible,’ the man who wrote this to the king, my lord, does not know what he speaks. . . . Who is the man that writes so to the king my lord? I repeat: he does not understand the difference between Mercury and Venus.”19

As could be expected, this dispute between proud experts ended with a blazing row, which erupted in the royal palace itself on March 28, 669 BCE. A report has survived from Balasi that reveals the outcome of the affair. On March 29, 669 BCE, he wrote that “As to the planet Mercury . . . yesterday Ishtar-shumu-eresh had an argument with Nabu-ahhe-eriba in the palace. Afterwards, in the evening, both went to make the observation, saw it, and were satisfied.”20

Aside from such angry clashes, Mesopotamian intellectual life, like that of the modern world, contained its insular experts protecting their positions with an ancient form of jargon—primal astrologese. On one occasion the king asked Ishtar-shumu-eresh to explain precisely what a certain part of an astrological commentary meant. The elderly astrologer wrote back with a very detailed explanation revealing that indeed Assyrian astrology had its confusing linguistic conventions, which outsiders could not readily understand even if they were able to read the tablets: “As regards the planet Venus about which the king, my lord, wrote to me: ‘When will you tell me what “Venus is stable in the morning” means?’ It is written as follows in the commentary: ‘Venus is stable in the morning: the word “morning” here means to be bright, it is shining brightly, and the expression “its position is stable” means it rises in the west.’”21

Not every interpretation was drawn from the canonical astrological series found in Ashurbanipal’s library, the Enuma Anu Enlil. Astrologers were apparently permitted to add interpretations passed down in some alternative, probably oral, extracanonical tradition that did not form any part of the official teaching, a tradition of which little is known.

One particular report from Ishtar-shumu-eresh explicitly gave an oral provenance for the interpretation offered. He spoke of the omens derived from an observation of Mars, which first left Scorpio but then, turning retrograde, reentered the constellation. This, he stated, indicated an evil day upon which the king should not leave his palace. But, added Ishtar-shumu-eresh, this interpretation came not from the “series” but “from the oral tradition of the masters.”22

Astrologers seem always to have been under some pressure to produce a prediction from events. However, on occasion a refreshing honesty emerges in the face of textual silence. One of the reports translated by Parpola states of an observation, that there was “no word about it.”23 Of course, if there had been an omen and the astrologer had simply failed to seek it out then he would be in some disrepute as a result. Perhaps something of this sort happened to poor Tabia or Adad-shumu-usur, who, while in disgrace, previously “had not been negligent.” Generally, though, astrologers seemed to be quick with an omen, some less comprehensible than others. Professor Parpola provides one example that, with its tortured prose, comes very close to that of a modern bureaucracy: “As regards the rains which were so scanty this year that no harvest was reaped, this is a good omen pertaining to the life and vigour of the king . . . [who] perhaps says: ‘Where did you see that? Tell me!’ In a report . . . it is written as follows: ‘If a sign occurs in the sky and cannot be cancelled, if it happens to you that the rains become scanty, make the king take the road against the enemy: he will conquer whatever country he will go to, and his days of life will become long.’”24

The advice is, then, if the rains fail to come then go to war. Perhaps we can see a practical side to this advice, for if the rains fail, so will the crops. This will lead to a famine. Why not, then, take away a large part of the male population to loot some other city, thus gaining food for them and leaving fewer people behind to share the food from the bad harvest at home?

With all the dire consequences of failure—expulsion from the temple, shortage of food, perhaps even execution (the fate of the astrologers in Babylon spoken of in the biblical book of Daniel)—one would expect astrologers to have covered themselves, to have phrased predictions so loosely that they could escape any blame should misfortune result. They were also under such pressure that during at least one documented period an organized exclusion of unwelcome predictions was maintained at court. Evidence of this is found in a letter from an astrologer to King Sennacherib, speaking of the situation that took place during the reign of the latter’s father. The writer states that the royal astrologer “made the following arrangement with all the scribes and haruspices, without the knowledge of the king, your father: ‘If an untoward sign appears, let’s tell the king: “An obscure sign has appeared.”’ They systematically censored all unfavourable predictions.”25

An extreme example of this position is found in one report: the astrologer concerned had already stated that he could not see anything bad portended in the particular movement of the planets that had been observed. Nevertheless, to cover his position he stated that it was impossible for him to recommend any action because, he explained, were any misfortune to occur then he would bear the blame: “Whenever it is that the crown prince enters before the king, when Mars is bright, and harm should result, would there not be a measure of blame to us because of it? He should not therefore, at such a time, return.”26

Of course, in cases of complete uncertainty, there was always the following escape clause: “In regard to that which the king, my lord, has written. . . . On the morrow I shall send. It is not good to think on this matter this day.”27