Steve Watson

Notes on the Cult of the Isin-Larsa Period

October 3, 2015 – 2:11 pm

Ur-Nammu appointed his son to be high priest of Inanna at Uruk, and his daughter to be high priestess of Nanna at Ur.[1] This custom was begun by the Akkadians and was doubtless intended to facilitate the control of the resources of the temple estates by the secular power, as well as to prevent religious disaffection from posing a threat. In the same vein, but rather more traditionally, after a conqueror had replaced the local ruler of a newly incorporated territory, he had to assume that ruler’s cultic responsibilities, just as he had to take precedence in the administrative roles. Thus the kings of Ur III were required to participate in all the festivals that were necessary to the state cults for all the subordinated realms. This was obviously impossible for any one person, so he compromised by using a representative in most cases, and restricted his own participation to the most important cult events in Ur, Nippur, and Uruk. In those places the king celebrated coronation, enthronement, and investiture (by taking a mace and sceptre.)[2] These, at least, would have been easily understood and traditional responses to the problems posed.

Divine Kingship

In a reprise of the Akkadian habit, however, the Ur III kings from Šulgi to Ibbi-Sin also all claimed divinity. They claimed, in fact, to be the children of the parents of Gilgameš. Their names were preceded by the divine determinative, and they were pictured wearing the horned helmets proper to the gods. Temples were occasionally dedicated to them; for example, the temple of Šu-Sin in Ešnunna. Šulgi had his own priesthood. Many names included the names of the kings of Ur as if they were theophoric names;[3] for example, Simat-Šulgi (‘Belonging to Šulgi.’)[4] But it is not certain exactly how this should be understood. It may be that, as has been suggested for the Akkadian practice, the claim of kingship is to be taken functionally, so as to provide a formal sponsor for a state where the particularism of the cities would not accept any of the city gods to play the role. It seems that some caution was still taken with the claim, since in the seal presentation scenes the king may sit in a god’s throne, but he does not have any other divine attributes.

In other respects, however, the kings were less reticent. Royal Hymns were a literary genre introduced by Ur-Nammu,[5] adapting a style of hymn created for Gudea. The hymns were intended for public performance (as was most literature) whether in a regular cultic setting or as part of some special celebration. They emphasise the superior qualities of the king in a pretty standardised way:[6] there are boasts of his divinity and legitimacy; his care for the gods and temples and his ability to placate the gods; his scribal, linguistic, musical, hunterly, oracular, soldierly qualities; his strength and beauty; his responsibility for the peace, justice, and prosperity in the Land. Their ideological function may have been to provide a text in celebrations by which all the city states could direct their attention towards a single name of a unifying god/king to counteract the particularist tendencies of the distinct cults of those cities.

The king’s new divinity may also help to understand the new class of women found in the palace at Ur in this period. At this time, the lukur (nad?tum) seem to be a type of secondary wife used somehow to retain property in a patrilineal line, and may also have had some diplomatic role. Some are called lukur kaskulu (‘of the road’), but the significance of this is not certain – perhaps they were his travelling companions. Although the evidence does not indicate a religious role for the office under Ur III, this may simply indicate a lacuna in the evidence. Not long afterward, in OB times, we do find them as a type of vestal virgin (nad?tum means ‘fallow’) in Sippar, Nippur, and Babylon, that we know of. Then they were considered to be the daughters-in-law of a god, and we have many texts dealing with the disposal of their dowries. In Babylon, however, they were also able to marry normally.[7] Notwithstanding this, if they did have a religious signification in Ur III, we have no idea what it might have been.

[1] H&S, p. 78.
[2] Postgate, p.150.
[3] Postgate, p. 266.
[4] Kuhrt, p. 66.
[5] H&S, p. 78.
[6] Hallo:RH
[7] Postgate, pp. 131, 149.

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Notes on the Economy of the Isin-Larsa – Old Babylonian Period

September 27, 2015 – 6:48 pm

Tendencies in the changing economy which had been noted in the Neo-Sumerian period strengthened in the Isin-Larsa and Old Babylonian periods. Much of the information for this period comes from the very large number of ‘Old Babylonian Contracts’ that have been recovered. This is particularly the case for the private economy of the Land.[1]

Privatisation

During the classic era of Sumerian civilization in the ED periods, the very clear state ideology had it that the material resources of the Land (and the people too) were the property of the God of the city, controlled on his behalf by the temple and with the palace playing very much a supporting role. The ideology cannot have perfectly reflected reality, however, for we know that even the poor man might have a garden that Urukagina’s laws forbade the priest to violate; but it probably paints a generally accurate picture. By the time of the Ur III period, the king – often enough a god – had assumed control of the temple and its economic rights and responsibilities. In this period we had noted that despite the near complete silence of the available texts it was clear that even in the highly centralised Ur III state there was scope for private enterprise – not least because something would be required to fill the gaps in the economic structure as it was described by the extensive palace and temple account texts.

Now, with the fall of Ur, there was a notable increase in the significance of private enterprise. This must be attributed at least in part to the preferences of the newly settled tribesmen, plausibly a consequence of the strong tribal preference for autonomous power structures still notable today.[2] But even without crediting such a cultural motive, we can trace a certain development from the practices of earlier times. It is known, for example, that some workers of the Ur III period were not permanently assigned to the work of the temple or palace – indeed, the existence of some independent class must be traced back into the ED period. In the Isin-Larsa period it became increasingly common for work for the large institutions of temple or palace, which still dominated the economy, to be administered by those institutions but to be performed by contract labourers or labourers who shared their time with other employers. Those workers were paid a salary rather than a ration, or they might take a share of the product or profit. 

Such workers were, of course, to be found in the workshops of the institutions. Others could be found tending the animals of the temple, supplying a quota of their product and undertaking to increase the numbers. Any excess they could manage would be theirs, but so would the responsibility for any deficit, which they would have to make up.[3] Others again could be given land to farm on their own account with a large portion of the product again going to the landholding institutions. For example, up to ½ to 2/3 of the date harvest in such arrangements went to the treasury. Still other such workers were employed at administrative tasks. Independent agents acted as intermediaries between the large institutions and the relevant citizens: they collected taxes and fees, issued payments and rations, organized the collection and distribution of resources, etc. With time many more of these tasks associated with the operation of the institutions became commoditized, divisible, tradable, and heritable as sinecures.

Long Distance Trade

A particular form of enterprise under the control of the Palace was the long-distance trade. This was conducted by merchants on behalf of the palace, who in turn contracted out the business of trade to ‘commercial travelers.’ These latter were entrusted by their merchant principals with capital in the form of silver, or with trade goods consisting usually of various products of agriculture such as oil, grain, or wool, and they were also given a sum for travelling expenses. In return they were to import metals, timber, or slaves.

These journeys could be risky, but they could also be highly profitable if they succeeded. This is reflected in the arrangements made for funding and distribution of risk and reward. The costs of the journey could be large because, apart from the obvious need to buy the goods to trade and to pay support the staff who would go on the voyage, there were also costs levied by river transporters, and ‘taxes’ imposed by any king or strongman across their path who had the power to do so. The initial capital for the venture was loaned to the traveler by the merchant, or by a collection of merchants, and if the trip was successful they would receive their traveling expenses back, plus the initial capital, plus a share of those profits – the profit expected in such cases seems to be something in excess of 100%. In the case that the venture proceeded normally but failed to make a profit, the traveler had to pay back twice the value of the seed fund plus the travelling expenses. If the venture failed through some accident and no fault of the traveler then he was only required to make a simple reimbursement. And if he had failed because of an attack by hostiles on the road he needed to make no repayment at all.

Credit, Debt, and Relief

Private loans which were known in the Ur III period now became extremely common, and this probably had something to do with the nature of the new economic organization, for there was every incentive for the owners of resources who were loaning out the use of their resources to maximize their share of the result. This left little room for the producing classes to weather what might have been merely temporary setbacks with their own resources. They were forced to make use of lenders who priced their loans quite high. An acceptable price for borrowed silver was 20% of the value of the loan, and 33% for grain. This price had to be paid whatever the term of the loan, so short-term emergency loans were very expensive.[4]

The consequences of this new system were widespread recurrent and chronic indebtedness which if left unchecked would lead to immiserisation of the population and certain social unrest. To prevent this, and to demonstrate its capacity to create justice in the Land, the state found it expedient to relieve this distress in repeated acts of debt forgiveness in the form of decrees of mišarum (níg.si.sá) or ‘righteousness.’ Such acts are known to have occurred under the dynasties of Isin and Larsa, and are probably in the tradition of the reform act of Urukagina. By the time of Hammurabi they had become normal ways of beginning a reign, and repeated every seven years:[5] which only goes to show how serious were the faults in the economic system.

Only the Edict of Ammisaduqa, who ruled Babyon a century after Hammurabi, is sufficiently well-preserved to indicate the nature of this traditional remedy, though a fragment is also known of a similar edict of his grandfather Samsuiluna. From this document it appears that although some segments of the population and some parts of the realm might be especially favoured – possibly because their needs had become critical – all free men, whether ‘Akkadian or Amorite,’ were relieved. Slaves were excepted, but it is possible that those who had fallen into debt-bondage by defaulting on a loan were released. In general, the relief applied to debts of producers whose loans had been required for their survival and their dues, but not to loans made in the course of normal business operations. The Palace accepted it as its responsibility to bear this loss, rather than imposing an ‘injustice’ on the lenders.

Palace action was also required in a second aspect of the economy where, once again, the new system showed itself unstable and unable to regulate itself. Thus there developed a practice of fixing prices by royal decree. Again, this is in the tradition of the Reforms of Urukagina, which included a revision of wages and fees.[6] The regularity of such requirements is reflected in their inclusion in published laws of the Isin-Larsa period, such as the Laws of Ešnunna. Indeed, it may have been that this was the principal motivator for the development of so-called ‘Law Codes.’ Other regulations, such as compensation rates and criteria of negligence and guidelines for consumer protection and dispute resolution and so on, naturally arose from consideration of just prices for goods and services. The implications and consequences and points requiring clarification would ramify to involve much of the life of the society.

Classes

It is worth noting at this point also, that the intricate social stratification observed in the earlier periods is no longer dominant. In the Isin-Larsa and Old Babylonian periods a simple tripartite structure is recognised in the laws.[7]

1. Awilum:                 ‘Man’                     Free citizen
2. Muškenum:           ‘Subject’                Royal retainer/Palace dependent
3. Wardum:               ‘Slave’                   Slave

These classes are usually presented as hierarchical, but we are only sure that the slave was seen as below all others. The exact status of the other two is obscure, but legal penalties differed depending upon which of these classes the perpetrator and the victim fell into.

[1] Gadd:H, p.19
[2] Gadd:H, pp. 17-23.
[3] vdMieroop:H, pp. 88 f.
[4] vdMieroop:H, p. 89; Gadd:H, pp. 22 f.
[5] ANETP2, p. 36; 17.18, 8.9.
[6] Gadd:H, pp. 17 f.
[7] Gadd:H, pp. 23 f; Kuhrt, p. 114.

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The Battle of Maldon

September 25, 2015 – 8:30 pm

This is not presented as a polished translation, just as a helper for my reading of the text. It’s just another of my Anglo-Saxon homework texts. As before, note that the OE text is presented as in Mitchell & Robinson (2012) A Guide to Old English (8th edn) Wiley-Blackwell:UK pp. 251-60, and that ? and ? in the MS are replaced here by standard English letters, but ð, þ, and æ are retained. Length markers got eaten by the editor, and I’ll be damned if I’m going through it again putting them back in.

… … … brocen wurde.
… … … would break.

Het þa hyssa hwæne hors forlætan,
He ordered each of his warriors to let go his horse

feor afysan, and forð gangan,
to drive it far off, and to go forward,

hicgan to handum and to hige godum.
to look to his hands and to a stout heart.

5. Þa þæt Offan mæg ærest onfunde,
When Offa’s kinsman first realised,

þæt se eorl nolde yrhðo geþolian,
that the earl would not abide cowardice,

he let him þa of handon leofne fleogan
he let from his hand to fly his beloved

hafoc wið þæs holtes, and to þære hilde stop;
hawk to the wood and advanced to the struggle;

be þam man mihte oncnawan þæt se cniht nolde
by this it could be known that this youth would not

10. wacian æt þam wige, þa he to wæpnum feng.
weaken in the strife, when he took up a weapon.

Eac him wolde Eadric his ealdre gelæstan,
So too did Ealdric wish his earl to follow,

frean to gefeohte, ongan þa forð beran
(his) master to the fight, to begin then to carry

gar to guþe. He hæfde god geþanc
(his) spear to the battle. He had good intentions

þa hwile þe he mid handum healdan mihte
while he in hands might hold

15. bord and brad swurd; beot he gelæste
shield and broad sword; the vow he fulfilled

þa he ætforan his frean feohtan sceolde.
that he before his lord should fight.

Ða þær Byrhtnoð ongan beornas trymian,
Then there Byrhtnoth began to organize the warriors,

rad and rædde, rincum tæhte
rode and advised, instructed the men

hu hi sceoldon standan and þone stede healdan,
how they should stand and hold the place

20. and bæd þæt hyra randas rihte heoldon
and bade that their shields be held right

fæste mid folman, and ne forhtedon na.
tight in hands, and never be fearful.

Þa he hæfde þæt folc fægere getrymmed,
When he had that army fairly arranged,

he lihte þa mid leodon þær him leofost wæs,
he got down amongst the people where it seemed best to him,

þær he his heorðwerod holdost wiste.
where he knew his hearth-soldiery to be most loyal.

25. Þa stod on stæðe, stiðlice clypode
Then standing on the river bank, calling out boldly,

wicinga ar, wordum mælde,
the Viking herald, said words,

se on beot abead brimliþendra
he boastfully presented the seafarers’

ærænde to þam eorle, þær he on ofre stod:
message to the earl, where he stood opposite:

“Me sendon to þe sæmen snelle,
“The bold seamen send me to thee,

30. heton ðe secgan þæt þu most sendan raðe
commanded to tell thee that you must quickly send

beagas wið gebeorge; and eow betere is
treasure in exchange for protection; and it were better for you

þæt ge þisne garræs mid gafole forgyldon,
that you this spear-rush with tribute buy off,

þon we swa hearde hilde dælon.
than that we (in) such harsh battle should engage.

Ne þurfe we us spillan, gif ge spedaþ to þam;
Nor need we kill ourselves, if you are quick to do this;

35. we willað wið þam golde grið fæstnian.
we desire by means of gold to secure peace.

Gyf þu þat gerædest, þe her ricost eart,
If you decide, who are the richest here,

þæt þu þine leoda lysan wille,
that you your people will ransom,

syllan sæmannum on hyra sylfra dom
will give to the seamen on their own terms

feoh wið freode, and niman frið æt us,
wealth in exchange for peace, and take peace from us,

40. we willaþ mid þam sceattum us to scype gangan,
we will with that wealth go aboard the ships,

on flot feran, and eow friþes healdan.”
put to sea, and keep peace with you.

Byrhtnoð maþelode, bord hafenode,
Byrhtnoth spoke, raised his shield,

wand wacne æsc, wordum mælde,
whirled his slender ash-spear, spoke words,

yrre and anræd ageaf him andsware:
angry and resolute he gave him answer:

45. “Gehyrst þu, sælida, hwæt þis folc segeð?
“Do you hear, sailor, what this army says?

Hi willað eow to gafole garas syllan,
They want to give you spears as tribute,

ættrynne ord and ealde swurd,
poisoned point and ancient blade,

þa heregeatu þe eow æt hilde ne deah.
that war gear which does no good for you in battle.

Brimmanna boda, abeod eft ongean,
Pirates’ messenger, take back an offer,

50. sege þinum leodum miccle laþre spell,
tell your master much worse news,

þæt her stynt unforcuð eorl mid his werode,
that her stands a noble earl with his men

þe wile gealgean eþel þysne,
who will defend this native land,

Æþelredes eard, ealdres mines,
Ethelread’s territory, my lord’s,

folc and foldan. Feallan sceolon
people and land. They shall fall

55. hæþene æt hilde. To heanlic me þinceð
the heathen in battle. Too shameful it seems to me

þæt ge mid urum sceattum to scype gangon
that you with our wealth should go aboard ship

unbefohtene, nu ge þus feor hider
uncontested, since you have thus far hither

on urne eard in becomon.
into our country come on.

Ne sceole ge swa softe sinc gegangan;
nor shall you so easily acquire treasure;

60. us sceal ord and ecg ær geseman,
point and edge shall first reconcile us,

grim guðplega, ær we gofol syllon.”
grim battle-play, before we give gold.

Het þa bord beran, beornas gangan,
He ordered then shields to be raised, warriors to advance,

þæt hi on þam easteðe ealle stodon.
so that they all stood on the shore.

Ne mihte þær for wætere werod to þam oðrum;
There it was not possible because of the water either host to (approach) the other;

65. þær com flowende flod æfter ebban,
where came flowing flood after ebb,

lucon lagustreamas. To lang hit him þuhte,
the sea currents crossed. Too long it seemed to them,

hwænne hi togædere garas beron.
until they should bring spears together.

Hi þær Pantan stream mid prasse bestodon,
There by the Blackwater river with hosts they stood,

Eastseaxena ord and se æschere.
the East Saxon spear-ponts and the ash(-ship)-army.

70. Ne mihte hyra ænig oþrum derian,
It was not possible for any other of them to take an injury

buton hwa þurh flanes flyht fyl gename.
except whoever by the arrow’s flight took death.

Se flod ut gewat; þa flotan stodon gearowe,
The tide went out; then the floater-man stood prepared

wicinga fela, wiges georne.
many Vikings, eager for battle.

Het þa hæleða hleo healdan þa bricge
then the protector of heroes commanded to hold the causeway,

75. wigan wigheardne, se wæs haten Wulfstan,
a warrior battle-hardened, who was called Wulfstan,

cafne mid his cynne, þæt wæs Ceolan sunu,
bold amongst his kin, who was Ceola’s son,

þe ðone forman man mid his francan ofsceat
who the first man with his spear killed

þe þær baldlicost on þa bricge stop.
who boldly there upon the causeway stepped.

Þær stodon mid Wulfstane wigan unforhte,
there stood with Wulfstan undaunted warriors,

80. Ælfere and Maccus, modige twegen,
Elfhere and Maccus, valiant twain,

þa noldon æt þam forda fleam gewyrcan,
Who would not at the ford take flight,

ac hi fæstlice wið ða fynd weredon,
but they would defend against the enemy

þa hwile þe hi wæpna wealdan moston.
as long as they could wield weapons.

Þa hi þæt ongeaton and georne gesawon
when they understood that and clearly saw

85. þæt hi þær bricgweardas bitere fundon,
that they there found harsh ford-wardens,

ongunnon lytegian þa laðe gystas,
they began then to act cunningly the wicked foreigners,

bædon þæt hi upgangan agan moston,
begging that they could control the landing-spot,

ofer þone ford faran, feþan lædan.
to cross over the ford, to lead the soldiery.

Ða se eorl ongan for his ofermode
Then the earl began, because of his arrogance

90. alyfan landes to fela laþere ðeode.
to yield too much ground to the wicked folk.

Ongan ceallian þa ofer cald wæter
he began then to call across cold water

Byrhtelmes bearn (beornas gehlyston):
Byrhtelm’s son (the soldiers listened):

“Nu eow is gerymed, gað ricene to us,
“Now (a way) is opened to you, walk quickly to us,

guman to guþe; god ana wat
Warriors to battle; God alone knows

95. hwa þære wælstowe wealdan mote.”
Who may command the battle-field.”

Wodon þa wælwulfas (for wætere ne murnon),
The wolves of slaughter then advanced (caring nought for the water),

wicinga werod, west ofer Pantan,
the Viking tribe, west over the Blackwater,

ofer scir wæter scyldas wegon,
over shining water carried shields,

lidmen to lande linde bæron.
mariners to the land bore linden-shields.

100. Þær ongean gramum gearowe stodon
There against the enemy stood ready

Byrhtnoð mid beornum; he mid bordum het
Byrhtnoth with warriors; he ordered those with shields

wyrcan þone wihagan, and þæt werod healdan
to form the shield-wall, and the company to hold

fæste wið feondum. þa wæs feohte neh,
fast against the enemy. Then was the fight nigh,

tir æt getohte. Wæs seo tid cumen
glory in battle. The time was come

105. þæt þær fæge men feallan sceoldon.
when those doomed to die should fall.

Þær wearð hream ahafen, hremmas wundon,
Then was a cry raised up, ravens circled,

earn æses georn; wæs on eorþan cyrm.
sea-eagles ready for food; there was a uproar in the land.

Hi leton þa of folman feolhearde speru,
They loosed then from hands file-hard spears,

grimme gegrundene garas fleogan;
grim-ground shafts flew;

110. bogan wæron bysige, bord ord onfeng.
bows were busy, shield took spear-point.

Biter wæs se beaduræs, beornas feollon
Fierce was the battle-rush, warriors fell

on gehwæðere hand, hyssas lagon.
on every side, young men lay (dead).

Wund wearð Wulfmær, wælræste geceas,
Wounded was Wulfmar, he chose the bed of slaughter,

Byrhtnoðes mæg; he mid billum wearð,
Byrhtnoth’s kin; by swords was he,

115. his swustersunu, swiðe forheawen.
his sister’s son, cruelly cut down.

Þær wearð wicingum wiþerlean agyfen.
There was to the Vikings requital given.

Gehyrde ic þæt Eadweard anne sloge
I heard that Edward struck one

swiðe mid his swurde, swenges ne wyrnde,
mightily with his sword, not refusing the blow,

þæt him æt fotum feoll fæge cempa;
so that at his feet fell the doomed champion;

120. þæs him his ðeoden þanc gesæde,
For this his lord said thanks to him,

þam burþene, þa he byre hæfde.
to that chamberlain, when he had the chance.

Swa stemnetton stiðhicgende
So resolutely standing their ground

hysas æt hilde, hogodon georne
the young men in the fight, earnestly considering

hwa þær mid orde ærost mihte
who there by spear point might first

125. on fægean men feorh gewinnan,
from doomed men take life,

wigan mid wæpnum; wæl feol on eorðan.
warriors with weapons; the slaughtered fell to the earth.

Stodon stædefæste; stihte hi Byrhtnoð,
Stood unyielding; Byrhtnoth commanded them,

bæd þæt hyssa gehwylc hogode to wige
urged that each young man give thought to the battle

þe on Denon wolde dom gefeohtan.
who would from the Danes win renown in struggle.

130. Wod þa wiges heard, wæpen up ahof,
Advanced then some war-hardened one, a weapon raised up,

bord to gebeorge, and wið þæs beornes stop.
a shield for defence, and against this man stepped forward.

Eode swa anræd eorl to þam ceorle,
So boldly went the earl to that churl,

ægþer hyra oðrum yfeles hogode.
each of them thought ill of the other.

Sende ða se særinc suþerne gar,
Then sent the sea-man a southern spear

135. þæt gewundod wearð wigena hlaford;
so that wounded was the warriors’ lord;

he sceaf þa mid ðam scylde, þæt se sceaft tobærst,
he thrust out with the shield so that the spear-shaft shattered,

and þæt spere sprengde, þæt hit sprang ongean.
and the spear-head rebounded, so that it sprang back.

Gegremod wearð se guðrinc; he mid gare stang
The war chief was maddened; he stabbed with the spear

wlancne wicing, þe him þa wunde forgeaf.
the proud Viking, who had given him that injury.

140. Frod wæs se fyrdrinc; he let his francan wadan
Cunning was that warrior, he caused his lance to go

þurh ðæs hysses hals, hand wisode
through the young man’s neck, guided (his) hand

þæt he on þam færsceaðan feorh geræhte.
so that he seized the life of that impetuous enemy.

Ða he oþerne ofstlice sceat,
then he quickly stabbed another,

þæt seo byrne tobærst; he wæs on breostum wund
so that the mail coat burst; he was wounded on the chest

145. þurh ða hringlocan, him æt heortan stod
through the linked rings, at his heart stood

ætterne ord. Se eorl wæs þe bliþra,
the deadly point. The earl was better pleased,

hloh þa, modi man, sæde metode þanc
then he laughed, the valiant man, said thanks to the Creator

ðæs dægweorces þe him drihten forgeaf.
for this day’s work which the Lord had given him.

Forlet þa drenga sum daroð of handa,
some warrior then let go a spear from (his) hands

150.fleogan of folman, þæt se to forð gewat
to fly from the hands, so that it too deeply went

þurh ðone æþelan Æþelredes þegen.
through that noble thane of Ethelred.

Him be healfe stod hyse unweaxen,
Beside him stood a youth not full grown,

cniht on gecampe, se full caflice
a boy in battle, who full bravely

bræd of þam beorne blodigne gar,
drew from this warrior the bloody spear,

155. Wulfstanes bearn, Wulfmær se geonga,
Wulfstan’s child, Wulfmar the young,

forlet forheardne faran eft ongean;
threw back in return the hard thing;

ord in gewod, þæt se on eorþan læg
the point went in, so that on the ground lay

þe his þeoden ær þearle geræhte.
the one who previously had sorely struck his lord.

Eode þa gesyrwed secg to þam eorle;
An armed man then went to the earl;

160. he wolde þæs beornes beagas gefecgan,
he wanted to take wealth from this young man,

reaf and hringas and gerenod swurd.
armour and ring-mail and ornamented sword.

þa Byrhtnoð bræd bill of sceðe,
Then Beorhtnoth drew a blade from its sheath,

brad and bruneccg, and on þa byrnan sloh.
broad and bright-edged, and struck at the mail-coat.

To raþe hine gelette lidmanna sum,
Too quickly some pirate hindered him,

165. þa he þæs eorles earm amyrde.
then he the earl’s arm wounded.

Feoll þa to foldan fealohilte swurd;
Fell then to the ground the yellow-hilted sword;

ne mihte he gehealdan heardne mece,
he could not hold the hard sword,

wæpnes wealdan. Þa gyt þæt word gecwæð
(nor) wield a weapon. Then still this word he said

har hilderinc, hyssas bylde,
grey-haired battle leader, encouraged the youths

170. bæd gangan forð gode geferan;
urged to go forward the good companions;

ne mihte þa on fotum leng fæste gestandan.
Nor could he long stay standing steadily on foot.

He to heofenum wlat:
He looked to heaven:

“Geþancie þe, ðeoda waldend,
‘Thank you, Lord of Hosts,

ealra þæra wynna þe ic on worulde gebad.
for all the joys which I experienced in the world.

175. Nu ic ah, milde Metod, mæste þearfe
Now I have, gentle Creator, most need

þæt þu minum gaste godes geunne,
that you grant my ghost grace,

þæt min sawul to ðe siðian mote
so that my soul to thee may travel

on þin geweald, þeoden engla,
in thy power, king of angels,

mid friþe ferian. Ic eom frymdi to þe
to go with peace. I entreat you

180. þæt hi helsceaðan hynan ne moton.”
that thieves from Hell may not injure it.”

Ða hine heowon hæðene scealcas
Then heathen warriors cut him down

and begen þa beornas þe him big stodon,
and both the heroes who stood beside him,

Ælfnoð and Wulmær begen lagon,
Alfnoth and Wulfmaer, both were laid out,

ða onemn hyra frean feorh gesealdon.
then beside their lord they gave up life.

185. Hi bugon þa fram beaduwe þe þær beon noldon.
They turned then from battle who did not wish to be there.

Þær wearð Oddan bearn ærest on fleame,
There was Odda’s boy first into flight,

Godric fram guþe, and þone godan forlet
Godric (fled) from the clash, and that good man abandoned

þe him mænigne oft mear gesealde;
who had often given him many horses;

he gehleop þone eoh þe ahte his hlaford,
he mounted then the steed that his lord had owned,

190. on þam gerædum þe hit riht ne wæs,
on the riding-gear which was not right,

and his broðru mid him begen ærndon,
and his brothers with him both galloped away,

Godwine and Godwig, guþe ne gymdon,
Godwin and Godwig, not caring for the fight,

ac wendon fram þam wige and þone wudu sohton,
But turned from the battle and sought the woods,

flugon on þæt fæsten and hyra feore burgon,
Fled to that fastness and minded their own lives,

195. and manna ma þonne hit ænig mæð wære,
and many more than it were at all proper,

gyf hi þa geearnunga ealle gemundon
if they then remembered all the acts deserving favour

þe he him to duguþe gedon hæfde.
which he had done to benefit them.

Swa him Offa on dæg ær asæde
So Offa had told him earlier in the day

on þam meþelstede, þa he gemot hæfde,
in the meeting-place, where the moot happened,

200. þæt þær modiglice manega spræcon
that there many spoke boldly

þe eft æt þearfe þolian noldon.
who later in danger would not hold firm.

Þa wearð afeallen þæs folces ealdor,
There was fallen the people’s leader

Æþelredes eorl; ealle gesawon
Ethelred’s earl; all saw

heorðgeneatas þæt hyra heorra læg.
of the hearth-companions that their great one lay dead.

205. Þa ðær wendon forð wlance þegenas,
Then there pressed forward the bold thanes,

unearge men efston georne;
undaunted men hastening eagerly;

hi woldon þa ealle oðer twega,
they desired then all one of two things,

lif forlætan oððe leofne gewrecan.
to forfeit their lives or to avenge their beloved one.

Swa hi bylde forð bearn Ælfrices,
So he urged them on Elfric’s boy,

210. wiga wintrum geong, wordum mælde,
young in winters, uttered words,

Ælfwine þa cwæð, he on ellen spræc:
Elfwine then spoke, he spoke valourously

“Gemunan þa mæla þe we oft æt meodo spræcon,
“Remember the occasion when we often at drink spoke,

þonne we on bence beot ahofon,
when we on our seats made great boasts,

hæleð on healle, ymbe heard gewinn;
indoor warriors, concerning bitter war;

215. nu mæg cunnian hwa cene sy.
now we will find out who is brave.

Ic wylle mine æþelo eallum gecyþan,
I want my noble lineage to be known to all,

þæt ic wæs on Myrcon miccles cynnes;
that I was of Mercia of a great family;

wæs min ealda fæder Ealhelm haten,
my grandfather was called Ealhelm,

wis ealdorman, woruldgesælig.
a wise alderman, and prosperous in the world.

220. Ne sceolon me on þære þeode þegenas ætwitan
The thanes of the people shall not say slightingly of me

þæt ic of ðisse fyrde feran wille,
that I wanted to abandon this host,

eard gesecan, nu min ealdor ligeð
to seek home, now that my leader lies dead

forheawen æt hilde. Me is þæt hearma mæst;
hewn down in the battle. The harm is greatest for me;

he wæs ægðer min mæg and min hlaford.”
he was both mykin and my lord.”

225. Þa he forð eode, fæhðe gemunde,
Then he went forth, thinking of revenge,

þæt he mid orde anne geræhte
so that with a spear-point he wounded one

flotan on þam folce, þæt se on foldan læg
Viking amongst the host, so that he lay dead in the dirt

forwegen mid his wæpne. Ongan þa winas manian,
destroyed by his weapon. He began then his friends to exhort,

frynd and geferan, þæt hi forð eodon.
friends and companions, so that they went forth.

230. Offa gemælde, æscholt asceoc:
Offa declared, as he shook the ash-spear,

“Hwæt þu, Ælfwine, hafast ealle gemanode
“Behold, you, Elfwine, have alerted all

þegenas to þearfe, nu ure þeoden lið,
thanes to the needful, now our lord lies dead,

eorl on eorðan. Us is eallum þearf
the earl on the earth. It is necessary for all

þæt ure æghwylc oþerne bylde
of us each to encourage the other

235. wigan to wige, þa hwile þe he wæpen mæge
warriors to the struggle, as long as they may weapons

habban and healdan, heardne mece,
have and hold, hard sword,

gar and god swurd. Us Godric hæfð,
lance and good blade. Us has Godric,

earh Oddan bearn, ealle beswicene.
cowardly son of an Odda, all betrayed.

Wende þæs formoni man, þa he on meare rad,
Too many a man believed of that one, when he rode the horse,

240. on wlancan þam wicge, þæt wære hit ure hlaford;
that splendid steed, that it was our lord;

forþan wearð her on felda folc totwæmed,
For that reason here on the field were folc scattered,

scyldburh tobrocen. Abreoðe his angin,
the shield-wall broken. Damn his action,

þæt he her swa manigne man aflymde!”
by which he here so many men set to flight!”

Leofsunu gemælde and his linde ahof,
Leofsunu spoke and raised his linden-shield,

245. bord to gebeorge; he þam beorne oncwæð:
the shield of defence; he addressed those heroes:

“Ic þæt gehate, þæt ic heonon nelle
“I swear that, I will not from here

fleon fotes trym, ac wille furðor gan,
withdraw a foot’s distance, but will go further,

wrecan on gewinne minne winedrihten.
to avenge in the fight my dear lord.

Ne þurfon me embe Sturmere stedefæste hælæð
There is no occasion for steadfast warriors about Sturmere

250. wordum ætwitan, nu min wine gecranc,
to reproach me with words, now my lord is fallen,

þæt ic hlafordleas ham siðie,
that I lordless go home,

wende fram wige, ac me sceal wæpen niman,
turning from the battle, but a weapon shall take me,

ord and iren.” He ful yrre wod,
spear-point and iron.” He went full of wrath,

feaht fæstlice, fleam he forhogode.
fought fiercely, to flee he disdained.

255. Dunnere þa cwæð, daroð acwehte,
Dunnere then spoke, he shook the spear,

unorne ceorl, ofer eall clypode,
simple churl, he cried out over all,

bæd þæt beorna gehwylc Byrhtnoð wræce:
urged that each warrior avenge Byrhtnoth;

“Ne mæg na wandian se þe wrecan þenceð
“He may not flinch who thinks to avenge

frean on folce, ne for feore murnan.”
the lord on the host, not for life be regretful.”

260. Þa hi forð eodon, feores hi ne rohton;
then they went forward, not caring for life;

ongunnon þa hiredmen heardlice feohtan,
the retainers then began to fight fiercely,

grame garberend, and God bædon
grim spear-bearers, and begged God

þæt hi moston gewrecan hyra winedrihten
that they could avenge their beloved lord

and on hyra feondum fyl gewyrcan.
and on their foes bring destruction.

265. Him se gysel ongan geornlice fylstan;
The hostage began eagerly to assist him;

he wæs on Norðhymbron heardes cynnes,
He was from Northumberland of a tough kinfolk,

Ecglafes bearn, him wæs Æscferð nama.
Ecglaf’s son, who was named Ashferth.

He ne wandode na æt þam wigplegan,
He did not flinch at the war-play,

ac he fysde forð flan genehe;
but he shot forth very often spears;

270. hwilon he on bord sceat, hwilon beorn tæsde,
sometimes he struck a shield, sometimes a warrior was wounded,

æfre embe stunde he sealde sume wunde,
about every moment he gave some wound,

þa hwile ðe he wæpna wealdan moste.
while he could wield a weapon.

þa gyt on orde stod Eadweard se langa,
There in the ranks still stood Edward the Tall,

gearo and geornful, gylpwordum spræc
Ready and eager, spoke boastful words,

275. þæt he nolde fleogan fotmæl landes,
that he would not yield a foot’s pace of land,

ofer bæc bugan, þa his betera leg.
turning away backwards, when his superior lay dead.

He bræc þone bordweall and wið þa beornas feaht,
He broke the shield-wall and with the warriors fought,

oðþæt he his sincgyfan on þam sæmannum
until he his treasure-giver on the seamen

wurðlice wrec, ær he on wæle læge.
properly avenged, before he lay dead in the slaughter.

280. Swa dyde Æþeric, æþele gefera,
Likewise did Atheric, noble companion,

fus and forðgeorn, feaht eornoste.
eager and ready to advance, fight resolutely.

Sibyrhtes broðor and swiðe mænig oþer
Sibyrhtes’ brother and very many others

clufon cellod bord, cene hi weredon;
split {strong} shields, they resisted bravely;

bærst bordes lærig, and seo byrne sang
broke the shields’ rimwork, and the mailshirt sang

285. gryreleoða sum. Þa æt guðe sloh
some song of terror. Then at battle struck

Offa þone sælidan, þæt he on eorðan feoll,
Offa the seaman, so that he fell to the earth,

and ðær Gaddes mæg grund gesohte.
and there Gaddes kinsman sought the ground.

Raðe wearð æt hilde Offa forheawen;
Quickly then Offa was cut down in the struggle;

he hæfde ðeah geforþod þæt he his frean gehet,
he had however carried out what he to his lord had vowed,

290. swa he beotode ær wið his beahgifan
as he boasted earlier with his ring-giver

þæt hi sceoldon begen on burh ridan,
that they should both ride into town

hale to hame, oððe on here crincgan,
hale to home, or fall here,

on wælstowe wundum sweltan;
in the slaughter-place to die of wounds;

he læg ðegenlice ðeodne gehende.
He lay thane-like close-by the lord.

295. Ða wearð borda gebræc. Brimmen wodon,
Then there was a clash of shields. The pirates advanced,

guðe gegremode; gar oft þurhwod
enraged to the fight; spear often pierced

fæges feorhhus. Forð þa eode Wistan,
doomed life-house. Forward then went Wistan,

þurstanes sunu, wið þas secgas feaht;
Thurstan’s son, he fought with the fellows;

he wæs on geþrange hyra þreora bana,
he was in the throng of three of then the killer,

300. ær him Wigelines bearn on þam wæle læge.
before Wigelin’s son lay himself in the slaughter.

Þær wæs stið gemot; stodon fæste
There a hard meeting; stood fast

wigan on gewinne, wigend cruncon,
warriors in the battle. Warriors perished,

wundum werige. Wæl feol on eorþan.
weakened by wounds. The slaughtered ones fell to the ground.

Oswold and Eadwold ealle hwile,
Oswald and Eadwold all the while,

305. begen þa gebroþru, beornas trymedon,
both brothers, organised the warriors,

hyra winemagas wordon bædon
their dear kinfold with words urged

þæt hi þær æt ðearfe þolian sceoldon,
that they at (this) need should endure,

unwaclice wæpna neotan.
should wield their weapons not weakly.

Byrhtwold maþelode bord hafenode
Byrhtwold spoke out raising a shield

310. (se wæs eald geneat), æsc acwehte;
(he was an old retainer), shaking a spear;

he ful baldlice beornas lærde:
he full boldly told the warriors:

“Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre,
“Will shll be the sterner, heart the bolder,

mod sceal þe mare, þe ure mægen lytlað.
spirit the greater, as or strength lessens.

Her lið ure ealdor eall forheawen,
Here lies our leader all hewn down,

315. god on greote. A mæg gnornian
a good man on the ground. Ever may he mourn

se ðe nu fram þis wigplegan wendan þenceð.
Whoever now from this war-play wishes to turn.

Ic eom frod feores; fram ic ne wille,
I am learned in life; from here I would not (go),

ac ic me be healfe minum hlaforde,
but I myself beside my lord

be swa leofan men, licgan þence.”
By so beloved a man, I intend to lie.”

320. Swa hi Æþelgares bearn ealle bylde,
Likewise Athelgar’s son encouraged them all,

Godric to guþe. Oft he gar forlet,
Godric to the strife. Often a spear he let go,

wælspere windan on þa wicingas,
A slaughtering-spear to go to the Vikings,

swa he on þam folce fyrmest eode,
so he went in the vanguard of the host,

heow and hynde, oðþæt he on hilde gecranc.
Hacking and killing, until he perished in the fray.

325. Næs þæt na se Godric þe ða guðe forbeah …
This was not that Godric who fled the fight …

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The Wanderer

September 23, 2015 – 7:08 pm

This is not presented as a polished translation, just as a helper for my reading of the text. This is another of the texts that we prepare as ‘homework’ for an Anglo-Saxon group that is being run by Bill Krebs on Thursday afternoons. This poem is from the Exeter Book (Exeter Cathedral Library MS 3501) and photos of the manuscript pages can be found conveniently at Rick McDonald’s website for The Wanderer Project – a labour of love on his part. (To go straight to the photos hit this link.) As before, note that the OE text is presented as in Mitchell & Robinson (2012) A Guide to Old English (8^th edn) Wiley-Blackwell:UK pp. 261-3, and note that they make several emendations of the OE text, but only the reconstruction of line 12 is really significant. As usual in that text, ? and ? in the MS are replaced here by standard English letters, but ð, þ, and æ are retained. Length is marked by an underline, which I find less intrusive – and also a heckuvalot easier to type. 

Oft him anhaga are gebideð,
Ever the solitary man waits on mercy,

metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig
the favour of the Creator, while he, troubled in mind

geond lagulade longe sceolde
through the seaways longtime should

hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sæ,
stir with (his) hands the ice-cold sea,

5. wadan wræclastas. Wyrd bið ful aræd!
following the path of exile. Weird is quite inexorable!

Swa cwæð eardstapa, earfeþa gemyndig,
So says a ‘grasshopper,’ mindful of hardships,

wraþra wælsleahta, winemæga hryre:
of cruel battle, of the fall of beloved kinfolk:

Oft ic sceolde ana uhtna gehwylce
ever I must alone before each dawn

mine ceare cwiþan. Nis nu cwicra nan
my own cares lament. Nor is there now living any one

10. þe ic him modsefan minne durre
to whom I dare my concerns

sweotule asecgan. Ic to soþe wat
openly tell. I to be sure know

þæt biþ in eorle indryhten þeaw,
that it is a fitting habit in a man

þæt he his ferðlocan fæste binde,
to hold tight to his thought-hoard,

healde his hordcofan, hycge swa he wille.
hold on to his thought-store, think what he will.

15. Ne mæg werig mod wyrde wiðstondan,
Nor can weary mind withstand Weird

ne se hreo hyge helpe gefremman.
nor the troubled spirit bring help.

Forðon domgeorne dreorigne oft
And so the fame-hungry often a sadness

in hyra breostcofan bindað fæste;
in their breast-coffer bind fast;

swa ic modsefan minne sceolde,
so should I my own cares,

20. oft earmcearig, eðle bidæled,
full oft wretched, deprived of (his) homeland,

freomægum feor feterum sælan,
far from noble kin, in fetters bind,

siþþan geara iu goldwine minne
since yeara ago my gold-giving lord

hrusan heolstre biwrah, ond ic hean þonan
I wrapped in earth’s darkness, and I dejected therefrom

wod wintercearig ofer waþema gebind,
went in wintry desolation over the commingling waves,

25. sohte seledreorig sinces bryttan,
sought hall-bereft a giver of treasure,

hwær ic feor oþþe neah findan meahte
where I far or near could find

þone þe in meoduhealle mine wisse,
someone to recognise my (kin-line) in the mead-hall,

oþþe mec freondleasne frefran wolde,
or would comfort me in my friendless (state,)

weman mid wynnum. Wat se þe cunnað,
to entertain with joy. He knows well who knows at first hand

30. hu sliþen bið sorg to geferan,
how cruel is sorrow as a companion,

þam þe him lyt hafað leofra geholena.
To one who has few precious protectors.

Warað hine wræclast, nales wunden gold,
He occupies himself with the path of exile, not with wound gold,

ferðloca freorig, nalæs foldan blæd.
The chilled heart, and never the wealth of the Earth.

Gemon he selesecgas ond sincþege,
Remember the retainers and the receivers of treasure,

35. hu hine on geoguðe his goldwine
how him in his youth his gold-generous lord

wenede to wiste. Wyn eal gedreas!
was pleased to feast. Joy has all vanished.

    Forþon wat se þe sceal his winedryhtnes
    So he knows, who must of his beloved lord’s

leofes larcwidum longe forþolian,
counsel do without for a long time,

ðonne sorg ond slæp somod ætgædre
when sorrow and sleep together

40. earmne anhogan oft gebindað,
the wretched solitary one bind,

þinceð him on mode þæt he his mondryhten
he thinks to himself that he his liege-lord

clyppe ond cysse, ond on cneo lecge
embraces and busses, and on (his) knee lays

honda ond heafod, swa he hwilum ær
hand and head, as he sometimes previously

in geardagum giefstolas breac.
in days gone by used the throne.

45. ðonne onwæcneð eft wineleas guma,
Then awakened again the friendless man,

gesihð him biforan fealwe wegas,
sees before him dark waves,

baþian brimfuglas, brædan feþra,
seabirds swimming, feathers spreading,

hreosan hrim ond snaw, hagle gemenged.
falling frost and snow mingled with hail.

    þonne beoð þy hefigran heortan benne,
    Then are the heavier the wounds of the heart

50. sare æfter swæsne. Sorg bið geniwad,
painful with longing for the dear one. Sorrow is renewed.

þonne maga gemynd mod geondhweorfeð;
When remembrance of kin fills the mind;

greteð gliwstafum, georne geondsceawað
(he) greets with joy, eagerly examines every part

secga geseldan. Swimmað eft on weg!
of the companions of men. Things always drift away!

Fleotendra ferð no þær fela bringeð
The spirit of the seafarers does not bring there much

55. cuðra cwidegiedda. Cearo bið geniwad
well-known talk. Care is renewed

þam þe sendan sceal swiþe geneahhe
for he who must send very often

ofer waþema gebind werigne sefan.
over the commingling waters a weary heart.

    Forþon ic geþencan ne mæg geond þas woruld
    Thus I cannot think for all the world

for hwan modsefa min ne gesweorce,
why my spirit does not grow dark

60. þonne ic eorla lif eal geondþence,
when I consider the whole life of noble men,

hu hi færlice flet ofgeafon,
how they suddenly left the stage

modge maguþegnas. Swa þes middangeard
the bold young blades. So this middle earth

ealra dogra gehwam dreoseð ond fealleþ,
every day for everyone declines and fails,

forþon ne mæg weorþan wis wer, ær he age
so no man can become wise, before he passes

65. wintra dæl in woruldrice. Wita sceal geþyldig,
a deal of winters in this worldly realm. A wise man should be patient,

ne sceal no to hatheort ne to hrædwyrde,
must not be too hot-hearted nor too ready with words,

ne to wac wiga ne to wanhydig,
not too weak in the fight nor too lacking in thought,

ne to forht ne to fægen, ne to feohgifre
not too fearful nor too cheerful, nor too greedy

ne næfre gielpes to georn, ær he geare cunne.
nor ever too eager to make boasts, before he has properly experienced (things.)

70. Beorn sceal gebidan, þonne he beot spriceð,
A man must abide, when he makes oaths

oþþæt collenferð cunne gearwe
until the stout-hearted clearly knows

hwider hreþra gehygd hweorfan wille.
whither the inclination of the heart will go.

Ongietan sceal gleaw hæle hu gæstlic bið,
A wise man will know how ghastly it will be 

þonne ealre þisse worulde wela weste stondeð,
when all this world’s wealth stands wasted,

75. swa nu missenlice geond þisne middangeard
just as now in various places throughout the world

winde biwaune weallas stondaþ,
the walls stand wind-blown,

hrime bihrorene, hryðge þa ederas.
frost rimed, the buildings snow covered

Woriað þa winsalo, waldend licgað
the halls decay, the rulers lie

dreame bidrorene, duguþ eal gecrong,
deprived of their joy, their retainers all perished,

80. wlonc bi wealle. Sume wig fornom,
the proud ones beside the walls. Some war took off,

ferede in forðwege, sumne fugel oþbær
bore on the path out, some the bird bore off

ofer heanne holm, sumne se hara wulf
over a wretched sea, some the gray wolf

deaðe gedælde, sumne dreorighleor
dealt death, some a sad-faced

in eorðscræfe eorl gehydde.
lord concealed in the earth.

85. Yþde swa þisne eardgeard ælda scyppend
The maker of men had so marred this dwelling

oþþæt burgwara breahtma lease
that all without the noise of the town-dwellers 

eald enta geweorc idlu stodon.
the old giants’ works stand waste.

Se þonne þisne wealsteal wise geþohte
One who thought wisely on this foundation

ond þis deorce lif deope geondþenceð,
and considered deeply this dark life

90. frod in ferðe, feor oft gemon
wise in spirit, remembers often from afar

wælsleahta worn, ond þas word acwið:
numerous battles, and spake these words:

“Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?
“Where now is the horse? Where the rider? Where the treasure-giver?

Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? Hwær sindon seledreamas?
Where the seats at the feast? Where the mead-hall revels?

Eala beorht bune! Eala byrnwiga!
Alas, bright cup! Alas, mail-clad warrior!

95. Eala þeodnes þrym! Hu seo þrag gewat,
Alas, the glory of the prince! How time passes,

genap under nihthelm, swa heo no wære.
grown dark under a helm of night, as if it never was.

Stondeð nu on laste leofre duguþe
There stands now in the way of  the dear comrades

weal wundrum heah, wyrmlicum fah.
a wall wondrous high, with worms ornamented.

Eorlas fornoman asca þryþe,
The power of ash-spears took off the princes,

100. wæpen wælgifru, wyrd seo mære,
a weapon greedy for slaughter, Fate the famous,

ond þas stanhleoþu stormas cnyssað,
and storms beat at the stone cliffs,

hrið hreosende hrusan bindeð,
a falling storm of snow fetters the earth,

wintres woma, þonne won cymeð,
a tumult of winter, then dimness comes,

nipeð nihtscua, norþan onsendeð
the shadow of night grows dark, from the North comes forth

105. hreo hæglfare hæleþum on andan.
a harsh hailstorm meaning ill to men.

Eall is earfoðlic eorþan rice,
All is fraught with hardship in earth’s realms,

onwendeð wyrda gesceaft weoruld under heofonum.
the fated course of events changes the world under heaven.

Her bið feoh læne, her bið freond læne,
Here wealth is fleting, here friends are fleeting,

her bið mon læne, her bið mæg læne,
here man is fleeting, here kinsman is fleeting,

110. eal þis eorþan gesteal idel weorþeð!’
all this earth’s foundation is made waste!”

Swa cwæð snottor on mode, gesæt him sundor æt rune.
So said a wise man to himself sitting apart in meditation.

Til biþ se þe his treowe gehealdeþ, ne sceal næfre his torn to rycene
He is good who keeps his faith, nor must a man ever his grief too quickly

beorn of his breostum acyþan, nemþe he ær þa bote cunne,
unburden from his heart, unless he already knows the remedy, 

eorl mid elne gefremman. Wel bið þam þe him are seceð,
a prince must act with courage. That is good for one who seeks mercy for himself,

115. frofre to fæder on heofonum, þær us eal seo fæstnung stondeð.
consolation from the Father in heaven, where for us all a mighty tower stands.

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Notes on the Nature of Authority in the Isin-Larsa Period

September 19, 2015 – 9:21 pm

The influx of Semitic elements, of which the Amorites were the latest, led to alterations in the political forms of Sumer.

Tribal Authority

Whereas there is no trace of residual tribal structure in Sumero-Akkadian society of the third millennium BC, the Amorites, as relative newcomers to the Land and arriving in such large numbers, were both closer to their tribal roots and less isolated from the social pressures that preserve tribalism. From the Mari archives we have some idea of the functioning of this tribal society.

We can infer from these documents that there are two principal forms of division to be noted within the Amorite population. First, though one speaks of a ‘tribe’ as if it were an uncontroversial concept, there is in fact a hierarchical organization of tribal federations and subtribes each of which might equally well be called a tribe. Each tribe would typically trace its origin or distinctness back to some supposed ancestor. Tribal loyalties are hierarchical, and the loyalty to the higher tribe would be secondary to the lower divisions of that tribe. The divisions and relationships amongst the tribes are not precisely known as yet, but there are some major groupings known: the H?aneans, who were a relatively settled people on the Middle Euphrates; and the Yaminites (DUMU.MEŠ.yamina, biniyamini, ‘Sons of the right’ = ‘Southerners’) a less settled, more widely dispersed people found from Sippar all along the east bank of the Tigris and across the North Jazirah to the Syrian plain and Mount Basor; the Sim’alites (DUMU.MEŠ.sim’al, binisim’al, ‘Sons of the left’ = ‘Northerners’,) who occupied undetermined regions in the North near Harran; and the nomadic Sutu about Mari. Subordinate to the Sutu were the Almutu, Mih?alizayu, Yah?mamu. Subordinate to the Yaminites were the Ubrabu, Amnanu, Yah?ruru, Yarih?u, and Rababu. Other important tribes whose affiliations are unknown were the Numh?a and Iamutbal from around the Khabur river, and the Ya’ilanu from east of the Tigris.[1]

Second, the Mari archives indicate that tribal society operated in distinct nomadic and urban modes. Tribes might undergo one or another process of gradual sedentarization: either parts of the tribe settling and other parts remaining nomadic, or practicing transhumance by spending the grazing season in the steppe or desert but settling down in town for the remainder of the year – or of course combinations of these processes. In that case, social structures and ways of life relevant to nomadism would persist in the town, and the distinction between the tribesman and the townsman would continue to be felt. In the area of Mari, for example, the evidence is that a town or village tended to be populated by members of one tribe or clan, and (only around Mari) was managed by a sugagu who represented it to the palace authorities, whereas the nomads had a sugagu who acted as a liaison with the state. Since the tribal authority was a separate focus of power from the state, when conflicts between those powers arose, the citizen/tribesman would find his loyalties divided or the nomad and the citizen would be divided against each other. There are records in Mari of such disputes, and it must have happened similarly in the Sumerian cities where a large share of the population was recently settled Amorites.

The structures of tribal authority continued therefore to be effective even after the process of settlement was well begun. Recognising this, the new city rulers sought to preserve their tribal authority, as we can see in their use of certain titulary referring to tribal roles. The term, abu or ‘father.’ for example, derives from the patriarchal principle of tribal societies. Each subordinate part of a tribe was headed by a ‘father of the household’ (ab? b?tim,) and each higher level of the tribal organization was occupied by those selected from amongst these ab?t b?tim. These titles and perhaps some of the associated expectation of subordination were preserved amongst the rulers of the settled tribes. Kudur-Mabuk, for example, the Larsa dynast with the Elamite name, called himself, rather grandly, Abu Amurru (ad.da kur mar.dú, father of the Amorite land) and Abu Iamutbal. Similarly, it was fairly common for the Amorite rulers to include the title rabi?nu, or ‘chief,’ amongst their honours. They would call themselves rabi?n amurru, ‘chief of the Amorites’ or ‘chief of’ some more specific tribal or regional distinction. Again, the kings of Larsa provide examples; with such claims being made by, for example, Zabaia and Abi-Sare.

Of course, the most famous of these rulers who identified themselves as Amorites was Hammurabi, who called himself ‘king of all the Amorite land’ (lugal da.ga.an kur.mar.dú.) Indeed, kingship was always at the top of the hierarchy, though it may have begun amongst the Amorites as a specifically wartime measure. One notes, however, the strict hierarchalism of the Amorites, lacking the independent hierarchies that the Sumerians recognised.

Supersession of Cities

The process which had begun under the kings of Akkad and Ur III by which the ideological centrality of cities to the political life of the Land was diminished continued under the rule of the Amorites. This process was probably somewhat assisted by the fact that the Amorite population, though it was integrating into the Sumero-Akkadian culture, was still aware of the not-so-theoretical possibility of another way of ordering society and justifying political power. The resurgence of small states based on capital cities under the petty kings of the Isin-Larsa period in the South did not retard this trend, for each of those states aspired, whenever this ambition might be realistic, to be the centre of a new empire rather than simply an autonomous city. As a consequence, the elements of this ideology were also devalued. It is particularly to be noted that the status of the city temple was vastly altered from previous times. The kings were increasingly unwilling to tolerate independent and countervailing power centres in their realms, and so the economic independence of the temples and their central role in the organization of economic life had to be curtailed.

[1] Whiting, p. 1238; EJ, s.v. ‘Mari’, §§ C1-3.

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Institutions

September 19, 2015 – 9:16 pm

A class of ensembles can be defined for which the EX includes the acceptance of a norm formation. Amongst the subclasses of this we shall seek to define a class of ‘institutions’ that is suitable to play the theoretical role assigned to institutions in HLSTs (but without assuming that those theoretical roles in any particular HLST are well-defined or reflective of sociological reality.) In sociological theories institutions are generally reckoned to be significant features of a society, and there seems to be some primitive notion that underlies the use of the term, but as is often the case the precise definitions offered cover a range of related possibilities. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Miller, S. 2011, s.v. ‘Social Institutions’, ¶1) provides a reasonable overview of the issues and begins by referring to a pair of representative definitions. The first by J. Turner (1997, The Institutional Order, New York: Longman, p. 6): “a complex of positions, roles, norms and values lodged in particular types of social structures and organising relatively stable patterns of human activity with respect to fundamental problems in producing life-sustaining resources, in reproducing individuals, and in sustaining viable societal structures within a given environment.” And the second by Rom Harré (1979, Social Being, Oxford: Blackwell, p. 98): “An institution was defined as an interlocking double-structure of persons-as-role-holders or office-bearers and the like, and of social practices involving both expressive and practical aims and outcomes.” From such evidence, the consensus seems to be that an institution is a set of norms, rules of behaviour, etc. that creates a structure of interacting roles into which participants in the institution fit, and which is seen to have the function of achieving some end (whether or not it also has other functions.)

The interactions defined by the norm formation have effects on the individual agents in the ensemble but they are defined in terms of subsets of the ensemble. The norm formation that is constitutive of the ensemble describes its functions and the means by which they are to be performed. Moreover, the rationality of any such norm formation will be judged by the consistency of its propositions with the supposed functions to be performed. However, the fact that there is a supposed ‘function’ for an institution is not essential to its sociological characterization. That essential character is rather the system of interactions and roles that are created by the norm formation that characterizes the ensemble. In what follows therefore, institutions will be defined in terms of their sociologically relevant characteristics in the first place, and may then be tested for satisfactoriness in the theories in which institutional entities have a place. So:

Let X be a set of agents, R = {r₁, …, r_n} Ì 2^X with (“x Î X) ($r_i Î R) [x Î r_i], N a norm formation.

Î = (X, R, N) is an Institution if

1. N Ì N_O(X)
2. (“r_i Î R) ($n Î N) ($r_j Î R) (“x Î r_i) ($C_x Ì k_x) (“c_x Î C_x)

[g(n, c_x) & ($y Î r_j) ($a_x Î a_x) [g(n, a_x) & e(x, a_x, c_(x,y}, q_y, y))] ]

• R(Î) = R is the Roleset of Î. The elements of R(Î) are the Roles of Î
• |Î| = X is the membership of Î
• N(Î) = N is the Ruleset of Î. The elements of N(Î) are the Rules of Î

Let Î = (X, R, N) be an institution, r_i, r_j Î R. Write ár_i, r_jñ_N iff

($n Î N) (“x Î r_i) ($C_x Ì k_x) (“c_x Î C_x)

[g(n, c_x) & ($y Î r_j) ($a_x Î a_x) [g(n, a_x) & e(x, a_x, c_{x,y} , q_y, y)]]

• e. There is a norm in N such that in contexts governed by that norm, and for any x in r_i there is an action governed by that norm that has an act effect on some y in r_j.
• Read this as r_i Acts On r_j Under N (or r_i Acts On r_j In Î)
• N: r_i ¾® r_j, or, if the action element is part of a graphical representation of a collection of actions all governed by the same norm formation, then let N be a label for that representation.
• Alternatively, Î: r_i ¾® r_j
• Note that this is modelled on the definition given for agent interactions
• IRAD(Î) = {<r_i, r_j>: r_i, r_j Î R(Î), ár_i, r_jñ_N}, the Institutional Role Action Diagram.

Let Î₁ = (X₁, R₁, N₁) and Î₂ = (X₂, R₂, N₂) be institutions.

1. If ($r Î R₁) ($q Î R₂) q Ì r then Î₂ Supports Î₁
2. If ($r Î R₁) ($q Î R₂) q = r then Î₁ and Î₂ Intersect

 

Examples:   A typical institution is the Family. Now the family, like many other institutions – and all the most interesting ones – has a vast number of constitutive norms, most of them informal or unexpressed, and which differ from instance to instance of the institution. The family in Saudi Arabia or China is a different institution from the family in Australia. It’s certainly also true that different versions of the institution are to be found within what generally count as social boundaries: for example, the family of Black-Americans is different from the family of Ozark Americans. The subdivisions of normative typology can be made presumably down to an arbitrarily low level if we assume that the only reasonable way to operationalise the concept of belief or desire is to infer it from the behaviours that they are supposed to produce in an intentional agent. (The nature of the constitutive norms is a vital topic of sociological study.) To speak of a family in loose terms, however, is to speak necessarily of an idealised or common or otherwise generalised version. We shall consider only a fragment of a standardised version of the institution of the family here.   Let Family be Îfamily = (X, Rfamily, Nfamily) X is the general population of the society in question.             Nfamily = {n1, n2, n3, n4, …} where n1 = ‘If a man and woman have a child then they should be the father and mother of that child’ n2 = ‘Parents don’t have sex with their children’ n3 = ‘Parents protect their children’ n4 = ‘Parents should be married’ … ·         Note that the norm formation proposed for this institution includes explicit definitions for some of the role memberships. That is not necessarily true of all institutions, for which the norm formations may appeal to concepts defined elsewhere.             Rfamily = { r1, r2, r3, r4, …} where r1 = Fathers      = {x: x Î X & Male(x) & ($y Î X)[Offspring_of(y, x)]} r2 = Mothers     = {x: x Î X & Female(x) & ($y Î X)[Offspring_of(y, x)]} r3 = Parents      = {x: x Î r1 Ú x Î r2} r4 = Children    = {x: x Î X & ($y Î X)[ Offspring_of(x, y) ])} r5 = Married Persons … ·         Membership of the role of ‘Married Person’ is not defined by the norms included in the fragment above. ·         The predicate functions used above are undefined, but have the obvious definitions.   It is clear even from the fragment presented that institutions do not exist in isolation. It may turn out that each institution essentially depends for its character upon its position in a system of interlocking institutions – in the same way that the meanings of words in a language can hardly be said to exist in isolation. To illustrate the systematic nature of institutions we present a fragment of a formal model of the institution of Marriage.       Let Marriage be Îmarriage = (X, Rmarriage, Nmarriage) X is the general population of the society in question.             Nmarriage = {n1, n2, n3, n4, …} where n1 = ‘parents should be married’ n2 = ‘A man and a woman who are married have sex only with each other’ n3 = ‘A married couple cooperate’ n4 = ‘A marriage is performed by a celebrant’ …             Rmarriage = { r1, r2, r3, r4, …} where r1 = Males r2 = Females r3 = Celebrants = {x: x Î X & ($y,z Î X)[ Marries(x, y, z) ])} r4 = Married Persons    = {x: ($y,z Î X)[ Marries(y, x, z) ]} r5 = Parents … ·         Here membership of the role of ‘Married Person’, which was not defined in the institutional norms of marriage above, is defined by the institutional norms of marriage. ·         r5 Î Rfamily = r4 Î Rmarriage (amongst others) so Îfamily intersects with Îmarriage and these two institutions support one another. ·         Note that the role of married persons might very well be defined by the appropriate norm formations as {x: ($y,z Î X)[ (Male(x) Û Female(z)) & Marries(y, x, z) ]} which indicates how the recent controversy over ‘same-sex marriage’ may be interpreted as a controversy not just over moral rights but over the very constitution of the institution of marriage. ·         Note that in the two examples given, the participants in the institutions are assumed to be the general population. That is simply a convenience and is probably not accurate.

Institutional Functions

Questions must arise as to the degree to which any set of norms can be unambiguously identified as forming a natural basis for an institution. Two observations may be made with respect to this: first, that the identification of such norm formations is an appropriate study of sociologists and will be sensitive to the type of theory being proposed (as it is unlikely that institutions form natural kinds;) and second, that the most profitable direction of enquiry into the ‘essence’ of any institution must be toward the function of the institution.

Ideal Functions

Let X be a set of agents in the general population of the society in question.

Let Î = (X, R, N) be an institution as defined.

We define an Ideal Institutional Context Consequence Function as:

            C_I(Î, c_X,0, X) = c_X,1 iff

(“x Î X)[ g(N, c_x,0) Þ [(a_x,0 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)) Þ (£_N(a_x,0)Ú¯_N(a_x,0)]] Þ C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X) = c_X,1

• In the above we make the obvious extension to the context consequence function:

C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X) = È_xÎX C(a_x,0, c_X,0, X).

• In most reasonable interpretations of the modal operators modal disjunction above could be replaced with a simple ¯
• Although the IICCF uses the same function letter as the standard context consequence function, the functions are easily distinguished by the arguments.
• The function is an ideal function since the definition describes the context consequence of every relevant agent doing as the institutional norms require. This is never likely to be the actual situation even if every agent was an acceptant of those norms – unless the norms simply describe the actions of every agent, in which case it will apply by fiat; but we discounted that interpretation of norms in the relevant chapter.

What we mean by the function of an institution may not, however, be best captured by defining it as the immediate consequence of the relevant agents acting consistently with its norms. It may be that given certain sorts of contexts as starting points, the immediate consequence of the operation of the institution does not achieve the intuitively felt ‘function’ of that institution. Thus we may seek a definition that captures the notion of ‘in the long run’.

We describe the Ideal Institutional Context Consequence Sequence as:

C_I(Î, c_X,0, X) = <c_X,i: 0 < i, c_X,i+1 = C_I(Î, c_X,i, X)>

One possible notion of function might be:

            c is an ideal function of Î iff ($i)[c Î C_I(Î, c_X,0, X)_i]

This would, however, have the consequence of making trivialities or human universals be the functions of any institution. For example, the fact that humans walk on two legs would on this definition be a consequence of the institution of Marriage, since it occurs in every context of the ideal institutional sequence. This is unlikely to be a satisfactory notion.

Define instead an Ideal Strict Institutional Context Consequence Function as:

            C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X) = c_X,1 iff c_X,1 = { p Î C_I(Î, c_X,0, X):

1. (“x Î X)[ g(N, c_x,0) Þ [(a_x,0 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)) Þ (£_N(a_x,0)Ú¯_N(a_x,0)]] Þ

p Î C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X) &

1. ($X’ Ì X)(“x Î X’)[ g(N, c_x,0) & (a_x,0 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)) & ~(£_N(a_x,0)Ú¯_N(a_x,0)] Þ

p Ï C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X)       }

• p is a propositional description of some fact concerning the context of x or X as appropriate. Each context c_x or c_X is a set of such propositions. This was simply assumed to be clear earlier, but now needs to be made explicit.

And the Ideal Strict Institutional Context Consequence Sequence as:

C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X) = <c_X,i: 0 < i, c_X,i+1 = C_I^S(Î, c_X,i, X)>

In fact according to the normal usage of the term ‘function,’ we have already defined an ideal institutional function in the definition of the ideal strict institutional context consequence function; however, the use of the term in the discussion of institutional functions generally is best understood as a predicate or predicates, which we may define thus:

            p or c is an Ideal Institutional Function of Î given c_X,0 iff        ($i)[c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_i] or

($i)[c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_i & p Î c]

• p a proposition, c a context as used above
• where c_X,0 is understood we may disregard it
• write F_I(Î)(c_X,0)(p) or F_I(Î)(c_X,0)(c)
• an ideal institutional function p is Transient if
  (“i)[(c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_I & p Î c) Þ ($j>i)(“c)[c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_j Þ p Ï c] ]

and similarly for the ideal institutional function c.

• an ideal institutional function p is Recurrent if
  (“i)[(c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_I & p Î c) Þ ($j>i)(“c)[c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_j Þ p Ï c] ] &

(“i)(“c)[(c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_i Þ p Ï c) Þ ($j>i) [c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_j & p Î c]]

and similarly for the ideal institutional function c.

Note that every recurrent institutional function is transient.

• an ideal institutional function p is Enduring if
  ($j)(“i>j)($c)[c Î C_I^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_i & p Î c]

and similarly for the ideal institutional function c.

Real Functions

Most of the hard definitional work has now been done and we can proceed more quickly through definitions of more immediately useful institutional characteristics. The ideal function of an institution is of interest for someone who wishes to design an institution or who wishes to understand the intention of one who plans an institution, but it is unlikely to accurately describe the function of the institution as it actually operates. That function depends upon being an acceptant – or behaving as an acceptant – of the norms that constitute the institution, but we accepted that for various reasons these norms might not always be followed even by an ‘acceptant.’ It was proposed, for example, that we could adequately capture the belief that x will not contravene n unless he estimates that the total satisfaction to be gained from doing so is sufficiently greater than the satisfaction to be gained from abiding by n in the condition:

B_x[ n ] Þ ($C_x,applies Ì k_x) ($a_x,bad Ì a_x) (“c_x,applies Î C_x,applies) (“a_x Î a_x,bad) (“c_x,0 Î k_x)

[((c_x,0 = c_x,applies Þ n & a_x |– ^) &

~B_x­[ (“a_x,alt ¹ a_x)[T(C(a_x,alt, c_x,0, x), I_x, x) << T(C(a_x, c_x,0, x), I_x, x)] ])

Þ A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0) ¹ a_x]

Should this be the case, or should some other interference in the ‘ideal’ action of the acceptant of the institutional N occur, the ideal function may fail. We need therefore to speak of the actual institutional functions.

Let X be a set of agents in the general population of the society in question.

Let Î = (X, R, N) be an institution as defined.

We define an Institutional Context Consequence Function as:

            C(Î, c_X,0, X) = c_X,1 iff (“x Î X)[ x Î K(N) & a_x,0 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)] Þ C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X) = c_X,1

• The institutional context consequence function describes (obviously) the real consequence of the institution.
• In the above we must take into full account the brief considerations made when introducing norm-directed behaviour that the action function will need to account for ‘degrees of belief’ in the norms, possible irrationality, possible epistemological limitations, etc.

We describe the Institutional Context Consequence Sequence as:

C(Î, c_X,0, X) = <c_X,i: 0 < i, c_X,i+1 = C(Î, c_X,i, X)>

Define a Strict Institutional Context Consequence Function as:

            C^S(Î, c_X,0, X) = c_X,1 iff c_X,1 = { p Î C(Î, c_X,0, X):

1. (“x Î X) [ x Î K(N) & a_x,0 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)] Þ p Î C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X) &
2. ($X’ Ì X)(“x Î X’) [ x Ï K(N) & a_x,0 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)] Þ p Ï C(a_X,0, c_X,0, X) }

And the Strict Institutional Context Consequence Sequence as:

C^S(Î, c_X,0, X) = <c_X,i: 0 < i, c_X,i+1 = C^S(Î, c_X,i, X)>

Which leads us to the definitions of appropriate predicates as:

            p or c is an Institutional Function of Î given c_X,0 iff     ($i)[c Î C^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_i] or

($i)[c Î C^S(Î, c_X,0, X)_i & p Î c]

• write F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) or F(Î)(c_X,0)(c)
• The obvious modifications give us also transient, recurrent, and enduring institutional functions.

Intentional Functions

When (“x Î X)[D_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) ]] we may speak of p being the Desired Institutional Function, F_D(Î)(c_X,0)(p)

If (“x Î X)[B_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) ]] the p is the Believed Institutional Function, F_B(Î)(c_X,0)(p)

The concepts of manifest and latent function were introduced into sociology by Robert K. Merton (1957, Social Theory and Social Structure, New York: Free Press of Glencoe, p. 51). He states there that manifest functions are “those objective consequences contributing to the adjustment or adaptation of the system which are intended and recognised by participants in the system,” while latent functions are simply “those which are neither anticipated nor recognised.” They can be defined using the tools developed above. Thus:

If F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) & (“x Î X)[D_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) & B_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p)]] then p is a Manifest Institutional Function, F_M(Î)(c_X,0)(p)

If F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) & (“x Î X)[ ~D_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) & ~B_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) ]] then p is a Latent Institutional Function, F_L(Î)(c_X,0)(p)

• Whether this is exactly what Merton had in mind however is open to dispute (Helm, P. 1971, ‘Manifest and Latent Functions’ The Philosophical Quarterly, v. 21, no. 82, pp 51-60) since X (the relevant set of agents) is not defined, it isn’t known whether the universal quantifier is intended here, it’s not clear what is intended by ‘unintended,’ etc.
• Nor are there distinctions made between transient, recurrent, or enduring functions.
• Merton also desired to distinguish between functions and ‘dysfunctions’, which do not assist the system to adapt and adjust to the environment – but there is no such distinction made above.
• In short, it isn’t obvious that this is a necessary or useful pair of institutional functions

If F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) & (“x Î X)[~D_x[F(Î)(c_X,0)(p)] then p is what Merton would call an ‘unintended consequence,’ and in the current terminology we might label it the Undesired Real Institutional Function.

Institutional Norms

From the above it seems that it is possible to use the notion of action governed by norms to define a ‘function’ of an institution. It is also possible to use the notion of the function of an institution to determine the ‘essential’ norms of an institution. The point of this is to attempt to establish the boundaries of an institution. For example, referring to the examples above, does the institution of Marriage as understood by the relevant agents exclude, normatively, homosexual pairings? Does the institution of Family allow polyamorous unions or divorces?

Let p be such that F(Î)(c_X,0)(p) for Î = (X, R, N).

Suppose that

1. ($N₁ Ì N) F(Î₁)(c_X,0)(p) for Î₁ = (X, R₁, N₁) and
2. (“N₂ Ì N₁)~F(Î₂)(c_X,0)(p) for Î₂ = (X, R₂, N₂)

We may say that N₁ is a Minimal Norm Formation for the function p of the institution Î

• There is no reason to think that any minimal norm formation is unique.
• Note that the functions of an institution are not assumed to be unique, and the set of minimal norm formations for p in Î will also vary with that variable.

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The Ruin

September 13, 2015 – 5:16 pm

From the Exeter Book (Exeter Cathedral Library MS 3501). The OE text is presented as in Mitchell & Robinson (2012) A Guide to Old English (8^th edn) Wiley-Blackwell:UK pp. 261-3. They note several emendations of the OE text, but only the reconstruction of line 12 is really significant. As usual in that text, wynn and yogh in the MS are replaced here by standard English letters, but ð, þ, and æ are retained. Length is marked by an underline, which I find less intrusive.

Wrætlic is þes wealstan, wyrde gebræcon;
Wonderful is this wall-stone, Wierd broke (it);

burgstede burston, brosnað enta geweorc.
Shattered the stronghold, the work of giants is decayed.

Hrofas sind gehrorene, hreorge torras,
The roofs are fallen in, the towers are ruined.

hrimgeat berofen, hrim on lime,
the hoar-frosted gate is broken, rime on the lime-plaster,

scearde scurbeorge scorene, gedrorene,
scarred is the shower-shield, scored and collapsed,

ældo undereotone. Eorðgrap hafað
under-eaten by age. Earth-grip has

waldend wyrhtan, forweorone, geleorene,
the master builders, perished and departed,

heardgripe hrusan, oþ hund cnea
hard grips the ground, up to 100 generations

werþeoda gewitan. Oft þæs wag gebad
of men have passed on. Often did this wall abide

ræghar ond readfah rice æfter oþrum,
grey with lichen and stained red, one kingdom after another,

ofstonden under stormum; steap geap gedreas.
standing firm under storms; the high and wide (wall) decayed.

Wunað giet se wealstan wederum geheawen,
Still stands the wall-stone battered by weather,

fel on ……………………………………….
(by) files…………………………………….

grimme gegrunden …………………………
grim-ground…………………………………

………………scan heo…………………….
…………………??…………………………

………………g orþonc ærsceaft…………..
………………skill ancient work…………..

………………g lamrindum beag
………………Mud-rind withdrew

mod mo… …yne swiftne gebrægd
will …………… swift braided

hwætred in hringas, hygerof gebond
clever in rings, the resolute bound

weallwalan wirum wundrum togædre.
wall-braces with wire skilfully together.

Beorht wæron burgræced, burnsele monige,
Bright were the buildings, many the bathing halls,

heah horngestreon, heresweg micel,
high the far-strewn gables, loud the din of armed men,

meodoheall monig mondreama full,
many a mead-hall full of the joy of men,

oþþæt þæt onwende wyrd seo swiþe.
until Wierd the strong ended that.

Crungon walo wide, cwoman woldagas,
The slain fell all about, came the days of woe,

swylt eall fornom secgrofra wera;
death took all the sword-valiant men;

wurdon hyra wigsteal westenstaþolas,
their sanctuaries became waste places,

brosnade burgsteall. Betend crungon
the city decayed. The rebuilders went down

hergas to hrusan. Forþon þas hofu dreorgiað,
(of the) temples to the earth. So these buildings grow dreary,

ond þes teaforgeapa tigelum sceadeð
and the roof sheds the red-curved tiles

hrostbeages hrof. Hryre wong gecrong
from the vault ring. The ruin falls to the ground

gebrocen to beorgum, þær iu beorn monig
broken into rubble-heaps, where of old many a warrior

glædmod ond goldbeorht gleoma gefrætwed,
joyful and gold-bright glitteringly adorned,

wlonc ond wingal wighyrstum scan;
splendid and wine-brightened shone in war-gear;

seah on sinc, on sylfor, on searogimmas,
looked on treasure, on silver, on well-set gems,

on ead, on æht, on eorcanstan,
on wealth, on riches, on precious stones,

on þas beorhtan burg bradan rices.
on this bright burg of a broad kingdom.

Stanhofu stodan, stream hate wearp
Stone houses stood, a spring hot gushed

widan wylme; weal eall befeng
(in) a great surge; a wall enclosed all

beorhtan bosme, þær þa baþu wæron,
within its bright bosom, where the baths were,

hat on hreþre. þæt wæs hyðelic.
hot to the heart. That was a fine thing.

Leton þonne geotan …….…………………
Let then pour………………………………

ofer harne stan hate streamas
over grey stone hot streams

un………………………………………….
?.….……………………………………….

… þþæt hringmere hate……………………
…[un]til a hot pool ……………………….

……………… þær þa baþu wæron.
……………… where the baths were.

þonne is …………………………………..
Then ………………………………………

…………………re; þæt is cynelic þing,
………………… ?; which is a kingly thing,

huse ……………………. burg …………..
building ……………….. city ……………

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Ensembles

September 13, 2015 – 11:51 am

Research indicates that certain kinds of collections of agents below the level of species are sociologically significant. ‘Class’, ‘group’, and ‘organization’, for example, are all terms used to name such collections – each of them with a slightly different intention and occupying a slightly different role in some sociological theory. To speak generally – but not too generally – of agents in the plural without presupposing the nature of those collections we will introduce the notion of an ensemble, which is intended to be a minimally defined collection of agents that is sociologically significant.

 

Begin with the preliminary definition of a Category Characterization (CX) as a set of properties that may belong to agents. We write a CX as ? = {P₁, P₂, …, P_n}.

The set of agents X = {x: (?P_i??)[P_ix]} is the Category characterized by x.

Let X be a set of agents and ? a CX. If ?(X) (by which we abbreviate (?x?X)(?P_i??)[P_ix]) then X is a Category Set characterized by ?.

• There may be many category sets identically characterized. The point of talking about a category set is to make explicit the assumption that there is a set of properties common to the set of agents in question. What distinguishes that set of agents from another set with the same category characterization may be some set of properties that do not occur in every category characterization. ‘Rational bipeds,’ for example, characterizes many category sets, while ‘rational bipeds residing at this address’ has fewer possibilities, and ‘rational bipeds living here called by my name’ has just one.
• Let X be a category set characterized by the CX ?₁, ?₂ a CX such that ?₂ ? ?₁, Y a category set characterized by ?₂, and Y ? X; then Y is a Category Subset of X.

A category set, however, may be arbitrarily defined and is thus not necessarily sociologically significant. In order for a category set to be sociologically significant it must have some effect upon members of the society (agents) which is a consequence of actions of the members of the category set where those actions are a consequence of their membership in the category set.

In order to make this notion more precise it is necessary that some preliminary items be defined.

1. Let ?_x = {P: Px} be the Complete Description of x; the set of all properties which may be applied truly to x. If ? is a CX and X is a set of agents for which ?(X) (i.e. X is a category set characterized by ?), and ??X, then ? ? ?_x.
2. Now define the set of maximal possible descriptions of x in the case that x is just as before but without the characteristics described by ?. Thus

          E = {?_j: ?_j = {?e_i}},

          where for each ?_j

                            e₀ = ?e_i-1

                            e_i = e_i-1 ? P_i for some P_i ? ?_x\e_i-1 for which (?P??)[~(e_i-1 ? P_i |– P)]

3. E above is the set of Proximal Possible Descriptions of x Without ?, written ?(x,?)

An Ensemble Characterization (EX), ?, is a category characterization for which:

            ?(X) ? (?x?X)(?C_x,applies??_x)(?c_x?C_x,applies)(?y)(????(x,?))[?(y) ? (A_x(c_x, q_x) ? A_y(c_x, q_y))]

Let X be a set of agents and ? an EX. If ?(X) then X is an Ensemble characterized by ?.

• There may be many ensembles identically characterized
• A_x and A_y are assumed to be identical in all respects other than those actually dependent upon x, which is justifiable if we claim that the definition of A_x is included in ?_x.
• Let X be an ensemble characterized by the EX ?₁, ?₂ an EX such that ?₂ ? ?₁, Y an ensemble characterized by ?₂, and Y ? X; then Y is a Subensemble of X.

 

Using the notation presented just above, and by analogy with norm-governed actions, we say that for all c_x ? C_x,applies, c_x is a Context Governed By ? and write g(?, c_x)

We say a_x1 is an Action Governed By ? for the EX ? and write g(?, a_x1) iff

            c_x,0 ? C_x,applies & a_x1 = A_x(q_x,0, c_x,0)

• The context is governed by ? and the action is produced in that context.
• Note that the contexts of several EX may govern any action

Several observations may be made here.

• Very many category sets will be ensembles to some degree, but are unlikely to ever feature in sociological theories. For example, people who like ice cream will react differently from those who don’t like ice cream when asked whether they like ice cream. The fact of sociological significance for an ensemble (rather than its potential) depends upon whether these altered reactions have a wider significance, and in which HLST they are to appear.
• The most obvious content for ? is (?N)(?n?N)K(n), and we have seen how norms change the behaviour of an agent in the circumstances governed by those norms.
• It is possible to define also a collective in terms of it being the patient rather than the agent, so to speak. For example, red haired people do nothing as an ensemble, yet they are universally hated and affect the actions of those around them by inspiring aggression towards themselves. They might therefore be considered a sociologically significant category set. Nevertheless, we will make no such definition since it is not clear that any examples of patienthood really exist; or that if they do they have any real significance before they become agents. To extend the notion of oppression; red heads, who may be an oppressed category set in some society, are irrelevant considered collectively until they develop the characteristics of an ensemble – and the oppression is likely to do that.

Example:  An important example of an ensemble is ‘class’ as it occurs in, for example, Marxist or Weberian sociological theories. It is common however to decry the lack of a well-accepted definition for class. Regard, for example, the definitions offered by those two theorists. Weber writes ([1924] 1978 (eds Roth, G & C. Wittich) Economy and Society, Berkeley: University of California Press, p. 927:) We may speak of a “class” when (1) a number of people have in common a specific causal component of their life chances, insofar as (2) this component is represented exclusively by economic interests in the possession of goods and opportunities for income, and (3) is represented under the conditions of the commodity or labor markets Marx, on the other hand, has no very precise definition to offer for this most basic element of his system. In general, we may understand what he has in mind by the use he makes of the concept. The closest thing to a definition might be his statement (1971 Capital: A Critique of Political Economy Vol. 3, Moscow, p. 886) that There are three great social groups, whose members… live on wages, profit and ground rent respectively. In both cases, as can be seen, class is taken to be essentially determined by the economic status of the class members. However, in order for these to count as ensembles it has to be argued that the economic status gives rises to regularities in action. Only in the case that that is reasonably established would a CX rise to the status of an EX as defined. In both cases, it is reasonable to argue that such regularities may occur, and that the regularities may be distinctive for the category sets that are typically defined. The experiences of the industrial workers of XIXth C England are uniform enough – if considered in sufficient generality – to distinguish their regularities of action from those of the landed gentry of the same time and place, for example. On the other hand, it is not obvious that all such definitions will give rise to appropriate EX – there are few non-trivial regularities of action to be found in ‘wage-earners’ in XXIst C Australia, for example.

Characteristics

The following characteristics of an ensemble that are of sociological interest can be defined in terms of the material presented above.

• N_O(X) = {n: X ? K(n)} – the Outer Norm Formation of
• N_I(X) = {n: K(n) ? X } – the Inner Norm Formation of
• Z(X², t) – the Action Diagram for X With Probability ? t
• Z_NI(X) (X², t) – the Inner Normative Action Diagram for X With Probability ? t
• ZZ(X², t) – the Communication Diagram for X With Probability ? t
• ZZ_NI(X) (X², t) – the Inner Normative Communication Diagram for X With Probability ? t
• ACD(X) = {(x, y): x, y ? X, x/y} – the Agent Constraint Diagram of X.
• ADD(X) = {(x, y): x, y ? X, x>y} – the Agent Dominance Diagram of X.
• ANCD(X) = {(x, y): x, y ? X, x /_NI(X) y} – the Agent Normative Constraint Diagram of X.
• ANDD(X) = {(x, y): x, y ? X, x >_NI(X) y} – the Agent Normative Dominance Diagram of X.

Partitions

Let X be an ensemble. P(X) = {p₁, …, p_n} ? 2^X is a Partition of X, when

1. (?x ? X)(?p ? P(X)) [x ? p]
2. (?x ? X)(?p_i, p_j ? P(X)) [x ? p_i & x ? p_j ? p_i = p_j]

• We call the elements of P(X) the Parts of the partition of X.
• According to 1, every member is in a part in P(X).
• According to 2, each member is in just one part in P(X).
• There may be a use for a subset of 2^2expX Consider the case where we wish to speak of the management of a company being the upper echelons of the financial, operational, etc. sectors of the company; or the heads of departments being a special organizational set within the company. For the purposes of simplicity, let us for now disregard this possibility.

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Notes on the Demography of the Land in the Isin-Larsa Period

September 13, 2015 – 11:47 am

 

The principal cause of the ‘End of Sumer’ was the influx of new people. It has already been noted that there had always been, so far as we can tell, a mixture of populations in the Land. Besides the ethnic Sumerians (the original speakers of Sumerian) themselves, there is strong evidence of a population speaking a Semitic language (Semites) in the late prehistoric period, which may or may not have been the same population as the original Akkadian-speaking peoples (ethnic Akkadians) known to have been present since earliest historical times. There was also in all likelihood a Proto-Euphratean, or ‘Ubaidan population which may have been superseded by an incoming Sumerian population.[1]  It has also been noted that whereas the ethnic Sumerians had no possibility of reinforcement from outside the Land, the same was not true for the Semites. In particular, as the records from Ebla now show, the Semitic element of the early third millennium BC could be refreshed from a vast area inhabited by Semitic populations that stretched from North Syria through the Syro-Arabian Desert down to Kiš, and encompassing the Jazirah and Assyria south to the Diyala valley. This being the case, those other elements could – and eventually would – overwhelm the static Sumerian population if that did not have the internal vitality to maintain its dominance.

Akkadians

The first of these renewing elements that we know of was the Akkadian. Throughout the earlier part of the third millennium and for some time before that, these Semites continued to move into the Land to settle and in large part to adopt the prevailing culture. By the time that Ur III fell we no longer hear of Akkadians immigrating into the country or featuring amongst the nomads of Mesopotamia, and we must conclude that their sources of replenishment had dried up by this time.

As a distinct ethnos, it is certainly identifiable only by the use of its language. We have already looked at the changes that are supposedly due to their specific influence – so far as it can be identified – but for the most part, as a people who had long connections with the settled life of the southern cities, and had long participated in the development of that culture, they did not cause great cultural disruption. Their influence could be absorbed, even when they constituted a majority in many places.

Amorites

A second element we know as the Amorites; a term from the Bible where it translates the Hebrew word ‘emori. Their name is written MAR.TU by the Sumerians, which is interpreted as martu, and they are named Amurru by the Akkadians, which is assumed to be related to the Hebrew name. They are a western people, and so the Sumerian and Akkadian names for the people became their terms for West itself. The proposal that MAR.TU originally meant West and that the direction gave its name to the people is unlikely since there is a well-attested third millennium BC Eblaite term Martu(m) referring to a region or place in the Semitic-speaking region roughly East of that city. It is assumed that this term names an Amorite homeland at the time, but the names of the kings and inhabitants of that land don’t appear to be particularly ‘Amorite’ so the relationship is not undisputed. An alternative name for these people was Tidnu (GÌR.GÌR) but what its relation to the other terms might be is unknown.[2]

As a people they are, like the Akkadians before them, identifiable only by their language; but, unlike the Akkadians, their language is known almost exclusively from their names. In fact, it may well be that there are several closely related languages spoken by the Amorites, who would be better thought of as a group of closely related peoples.[3] Moreover, it may even be possible to detect different waves of immigration by noting the different dialects evidenced by these names. Thus the earliest immigrants had names ending with –anum, whereas the names beginning about the middle of the Isin-Larsa period belong to a different dialect. There are no inscriptions in the language(s), and no version of it was ever adopted as a language of rule. When the Amorites wrote they wrote in Akkadian. Identification of Amorite persons by their names alone, however, is rather risky, since it was not unusual for names to be taken from languages other than one’s own. Thus Akkadians are known who had Amorite names and vice versa.

The earliest mention of this people is in a tablet from Šurrupak dated to about the middle of the 3^rd M BC on which a person is described as MAR.TU. The first evidence of the Amorites as a large-scale nuisance appears in a date formula of Šar-kali-šarri, fifth king of Akkad, where he describes a defeat of these people at Mount Basor (now Jebel Bišri.) Soon they became a constant threat to the settled peoples requiring frequent repulsion. By the time of the Ur III kings it was even felt necessary to build a wall to keep them out. This project of Šulgi completed by Šu-Sin was, of course, a failure. Mesopotamia is too open for such walls to be effective, and the semi-nomads are too well-motivated by desire for the wealth of the settled lands to be so easily deterred. It is likely that the constant influx of these tribally organized persons into the Land and the establishment (however fleetingly) of areas in which the writ of their chieftains ran supreme contributed to the collapse of the Ur III state. Certainly, by the time that Ur III was in process of collapse, much of the blame was placed on these intruding Amorites. A letter[4] to Ibbi-Sin from Išbi-Erra complains that:

Now the Martu – all of them – have entered the midst of the land (Sumer) (and) have seized the great fortresses one after the other. Because of the Martu, I am not able to transport (?) that grain; they are too strong for me, and I am immobilized.

As Ur fell, it was necessary for an accommodation to be made with the intruders, so that at Ešnunna, for example, Bilalama felt it appropriate to contract a marriage with a daughter of Abda-El, a chieftain of the Amorites (rabian amurrim,) and for Ušušum, son of Abda-El, to marry one of his cousins. It is precisely by such marriages that the Amorites might be introduced to polite society, just as the myth tells us that the god Martu was introduced to the Sumerian pantheon, overcoming his barbaric non-city ways.[5]

The influx continued unabated during the years that followed the fall of Ur, and the influence of the Amorite tribesmen grew, for within a century we find that cities such as Larsa, Kiš, Babylon, Sippar, Marad, and Uruk were in their power and that the Amorites had established themselves as a significant element of the settled population. We now find many names that we recognise as Amorite and we do not find people being distinguished as Amorite as if that was somehow unusual. On the other hand, there is not much else than the name which marks someone as being Amorite: those who had settled into city life were apparently integrated into the Sumero-Akkadian world as completely as the Akkadians themselves had been into the Sumerian.

Notwithstanding this apparent integration, however, the Amorites continued to be aware of their own descent and to appeal to it as a special form of bond. The rulers, in particular, would use this supposed link to reach across the city boundaries in ways that the Sumerians could not. Thus, for example, Anam of Uruk could appeal to Sin-muballit of Babylon for assistance as a fellow member of the Amnanu-Yah?ruru tribe.

[1] p. 3.10

[2] Whiting, pp. 1231 ff.

[3] Gadd:B, pp. 33 ff.

[4] p. 16.4

[5] p. 4.33

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Notes on the Social Structure of Third Millenium BC Sumer

March 10, 2015 – 9:37 pm

 

The People (sag-giga)

The principal identity of the people seems to have been with the city itself. One sign of this is the tendency to take names incorporating the name of the city.[1] There is no evidence that alternative identities actually opposed to the city played any significant role in Sumerian history. The idea that there might have been a ‘racial’ distinction felt between semitic-speaking Akkadians and their Sumerian compatriots was once conjectured, but is not now credited. There is no evidence at all of such super-city identities as the oligarchs and democrats in the Greek cities, with the dire effects that that often had. On the other hand, they were always keen to distinguish themselves from the (semi-)nomads that surrounded the civilised areas and frequently appeared within it. (The myth of the Marriage of Martu gives evidence of their attitude.) There were, however, many other normal divisions that might appear within the city population itself. These divisions do not seem, for the most part, to imply inimical relations more than usual.

Kin

Tribe

If the Sumerians had ever been organised tribally those structures had disappeared over the millennia of their urban existence leaving no trace. We can be fairly confident, however, that nomadic peoples who settled in the cities would retain some degree of tribal identity at least. This would especially be the case in the north of the land where the Semitic and recently nomadic element was significant and where the pressure to conform to Sumerian norms would have been less.

Clan

The evidence of land sale practices from this period, and also as seen on the Akkadian ‘Obelisk of Maništusu’, suggests that the extended and augmented family was an important economic unit. This implies, of course, that it was also an important social division. The evaluation of the precise degree of its importance in this period depends largely upon whether we accept that housing enclosures seen in the north were standard in the south. The evidence for this is not very strong, and it does not improve as we look into later periods. Records of house sales in Shuruppak may suggest that neighbours were relatives, while studies of documents found in adjoining houses in OB Ur suggest quite the contrary.[2] If it is accepted then it is likely that the population of the city was sharply divided into family communes or hierarchical extended families. This has been argued for by Diakonoff[3], and Jacobsen has even suggested that the institution of lu-gal is a development of the rôle of the clan head and that the é-gal is a bloated version of his extended household.[4]

Associated with the family core in such an organisation of society would also be a more or less extensive periphery of dependants. This would include cadet members of the family, slaves, retainers, persons of no family who would seek incorporation as a form of social insurance, and many others. Not all of these would need to be living in the actual enclosure.

Family

As with us, the nuclear family appears to be the basic social unit. Men and women at this time were more approximately equal than at almost any other time in the history of this area. Men were the heads of their families but women had property and business rights, and could qualify as witnesses.[5] Marriage was theoretically a business arrangement by the parents involving a money gift, the ni-mi-usa, to the bride’s father to cover the cost of the wedding.[6] It could also involve a written contract. This aspect of marriage may lie behind the proverb ‘A joyful heart – the bride; a sorrowful heart – the groom.’[7] Nevertheless, the tone of the literature in general suggests that marriages were also contracted for reasons of the heart. The tales of Inanna show two lovers determining their own marriage and a proverb also states ‘For his pleasure – marriage; on thinking it over – divorce.’[8] Divorce seems to have been relatively easy and equitable. Children are, of course, supposed to be absolutely submissive, but isn’t this always the case – and literature indicates that it was no more realistic an ideal then than in most other times.[9] Wet nursing and adoption were common.[10]

Imrua

There is an institution of im-ru-a which we hear mentioned but not explained.[11] A tablet of ED Shuruppak, for example, speaks of 539 boys from 7 imru, and Gudea of Lagash began the E-ninnu temple with labourers from 3 imrua. In the Lagash case the imru were all represented by a standard (šu-nir) named after a major deity: Ningirsu – ‘the king smiting the foreign land’, Nanshe – ‘the pure bow of the ship’, Inanna – ‘the rosette’. Such a scheme of names may indicate that these groups were associated with the temples of those gods, and organised through them; but the term seems to mean ‘family,’ so it may have referred to a clan organization within the city.

Classes

The population of the city seems to have become much more stratified in this period. We have seen this reflected in house sizes, records of indebtedness, and, most strikingly, in the Royal cemetery at Ur. The researches of Diakonoff[12] indicate that the population was divided into four categories; nobility, commoners, clients, and slaves. Others are inclined to see the distinction as a gradation of liberties and to use the vocabulary of free, semi-free and slave. In any case, these distinctions were not those drawn by the Sumerians themselves, and we sometimes have difficulty matching their vocabulary to our functional vocabulary. Partly this is because the meanings of the relevant Sumerian terms changed over time, and partly because our main clue to class differences below the nobility is in the different kinds of ration schedules that are applied by the temple or palace to their workers according to their status.

First Class

The nobles and commoners of the first division are the free people of the second. At most times the greater part of the population of the Land were formally free. There seems to have been no other distinction between nobility and commoner except wealth. Kramer suggests that the two groups were the source of members for the assemblies of ‘old men’ and ‘young men’ respectively, but this is merely a guess. In any case, to be free is not to be without formalised obligations to the society: taxes had to be paid and there were doubtless other duties required. Amongst the classes that we hear of as free are the officials and the engar (peasants.)

Most free citizens were eligible for corvée for the temple or palace, for which they received rations and sometime special supplements according to the standard ration system originally established for the temple. But these rations, even when supplemented, could surely not have sufficed for a healthy diet, since, as we have seen, the food rations were mostly cereals. We must assume that the recipients of these rations, and the citizenry in general, also had other sources of food and goods. Unfortunately we know almost nothing of this domestic economy.

We do know that essential to the status of freedom was the ability to provide for oneself (and family.) Thus for most of the period, free citizens must have had access to the usufruct of the land, whether as a rent or as a freehold farmer. Other possibilities are, of course, craft industries or trade or employment as an official with whatever recompense that brought. It was not until Ur III that we begin to see hired labour, lú-hun-ga, working for wages, á.

Second Class

The clients were of three sorts:

• Higher dependents of the temple, like administrators and some craftsmen.
• Lower dependents of the temple who were much more numerous.
• Dependents of the nobility.

The typical terms at this time for adult serfs were guruš for the males and gemé for the females. They were generally occupied in the agricultural or manufacturing sectors. They formed the personnel (gìr-s?-ga) of households – be they temple, palace, or private – which might specialise in certain industries, such as weaving, milling, etc. Those who specialised in certain crafts were the giš-kin-ti of that household, working in special workshops, and we know that they could follow various trades, such as smith, carpenter, leather-worker, reed-mat maker, upholsterer, mason, potter, fuller, shipwright, and so on.[13]

In ED Lagash a dependent class existed called the lu-kur-dab-ba. Of this class a subset were eligible for corvée or military service. These were called the šub-lugal, ‘royal subjects’. This class seems to have been very extensive and included most of the able-bodied population. State service was required in monthly turns, though in times of stress the working period scould be extended. It was performed under institutional control in groups of 10 (or multiples thereof.) Workers were then said to be ‘serving their turn’ (erín bala guba,) and while they were so employed they would receive a ration. When the workers of this class were ‘sitting out their turn’ (bala tuša) they received á, a wage.[14]

In the early period the term erín was applied to generally foreign male prisoners of war who survived their capture and were then set to work alongside the native guruš in the agricultural sector.[15] By the time of Ur III the term was used more generally to refer to the class formerly known as šub-lugal. In references to the erín class, their dual soldier/worker role is emphasised by the coincidence of terms for their organization: for example, nubanda as captain or overseer, and ugula as sergeant or foreman.[16]

Others sections of the dependent class worked for rations for greater parts of the year. The distinctions here are as yet unclear, but we see evidence that there were two kinds of personnel working for any household: those like the male igi-nu-du₈ or the íl, who were rationed each month of the year, and those who were not.[17]

Third Class

Slavery existed but seems to have had no great effect upon the economy or political structure.[18] In fact, the prevalence of slavery is much debated. Male slaves were arád and females were gemé, but female serfs were also called gemé. Thus many apparent references to female slaves may only refer to serfs.[19] The inscriptional etymology of gemé (from ‘mountain’ + ‘woman’) suggests that they were very often prisoners of war. The slaves arád and sag also seem to have been booty of war whose status, however, seems often to have been merely temporary until they could be properly integrated into their new homeland.[20] In other cases we know that slavery could be the result of one’s own indebtedness or of having been sold off by one’s guardian to repay their debts: children could be sold into slavery by their parents, or mothers could be sold by their sons. This seems to account for about 2/5 of the slaves known, and would become more prevalent in the age that followed Ur III. Slaves might be marked by a special hair style – perhaps a tonsure – or by a fetter if working outside. [21]

Slaves are known to have been held in private houses where they did domestic chores for the family, but they played a more economically significant role in the larger institutions attached to the temple or palace where more tractable females were employed in quite large numbers. At many periods it was possible for slaves to accumulate the price of their release, so some personal space was allowed to them. Indeed, the fact that the relationship of the ruler to the god, and of the people to the god, and so on was taken to be a trope expressing their mutual obligations, indicates that the life prospects of a slave were not as dire as the term suggests to us today.[22] Slaves had no actual rights to good treatment by their owners, but nothing is said of brutality being used on them. Most male prisoners of war were, unfortunately, either killed on the battlefield or blinded to make them harmless. Such men could still be useful as drawers of water or as workers in orchards apparently, but they could hardly aspire to an independent life. With that exception then, slavery for most seems to have been merely an unpleasant stage in one’s life with independence by manumission or by self-purchase at the end of it. Perhaps for this reason, we hear of few cases of slaves running away.

 

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[1] vdMieroop:C, p. 43.
[2] Postgate, p. 91; vdMieroop:C, p. 105.
[3] Maisels, p. 191 (ref. to Diakonoff:RDS, p. 179.)
[4] Maisels, p. 158 (ref. to Jacobsen:EPD.)
[5] Kramer:S, p. 78.
[6] Hawkes:FGC, p. 207.
[7] Kramer:HBS, p. 124.
[8] Kramer:HBS, p. 124.
[9] Kramer:HBS, ch. 3.
[10] Hawkes:FGC, p. 212.
[11] Postgate, p. 80; vdMieroop:C, p. 105.
[12] Kramer:S, pp. 78 f. (ref. to Diakonoff:SSS.)
[13] Gelb:RS, p. 242.
[14] Maisels, p. 146 (ref. to Maekawa.)
[15] Maisels, p. 150 (ref. to Gelb:PW, 94-6, 83.)
[16] Maisels, p. 146 n. 4 (ref. to Gelb:PW, 84.)
[17] Gelb:RS, p. 241.
[18] Redman, p. 303; Oppenheim, p. 74.
[19] Maisels, p. 149 (ref. to Gelb:TS, p. 92.)
[20] Maisels, p. 149 (ref. to Gelb:PW, p. 91.)
[21] Saggs, pp. 169f.
[22] Oppenheim, p. 75.

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