Time and Calendars in Mesopotamia

Stefania Ermidoro – June 2021

The idea of time in ancient Mesopotamia
Lunar and solar calendars
Ideal and centralized calendars
Calendars and myths
Time and rituals in first millennium Assyria
The nature of hollow months
Conclusions

The idea of time in ancient Mesopotamia

“Time” as such did not exist in ancient Mesopotamian society, unless a meaning was attributed to it. It is remarkable to note the Akkadian lexicon included terms for year (šattu), month (arhu), day (ūmu) and night (mūšu) or even for eternity (dārâtu); other words referred to part of the day, such as morning (šērētu), afternoon (muṣlalu), evening (līlâtu). There were technical terms such as “intercalary/hollow” (diri) or reference to literary genres such as hemerologies (uttuku) and almanacs (mešhī ša kašādi ša bibbī). It is remarkable, however, that no Akkadian word is known that exactly conveys our modern terms for “calendar”, nor for the entire category for “time” (see also Buccellati 2014).

Lunar and solar calendars

In many ancient civilizations, time was computed on the basis of physical and perceptible phaenomena, mostly related to the cycles and movements of celestial bodies. The moon, in particular, always appeared as the easiest and the most reliable element to follow, because of its easily observable and regular cycle.
Throughout Mesopotamian history, a lunar calendar was chiefly used: months began when the new moon appeared on the horizon, and continued for 29 or 30 days until the moon was not visible any more (cf. Stern 2012). Such system, however, could hardly be integrated with the solar calendar and the two soon turned out to be clearly out of phase: indeed, the average lunar year consists of 354.37 days – it is thus ca. 11 days shorter than an ordinary solar year, which counts 365.25 days.

For societies that give predominance to the lunar cycle for the fixing of the month-length, three options are available to correct the discrepancies between lunar and solar years:

1) abandon the observation of the moon to establish the length of each month;

2) make periodic adjustments to maintain the synchrony between months and seasons;

3) accept that months will move freely through the seasons.

As highlighted by Buccellati (§2.12 and §9.3), Ancient Near Eastern cultures celebrated seasonal-agricultural holidays: thus, they could not allow the dates of their festivals to lose their accordance with the seasons of the year. To solve this problem, they adopted the second solution and introduced hollow months – either on an ad hoc basis or, especially starting from the first millennium onward, following a regular pattern. For example, in the Neo-Assyrian period, the intercalated (i.e. hollow) month was usually either the twelfth (Addāru) or the sixth (Ulūlu), thus allowing for the first of Nisannu and Tešritu (the first and seventh months) to return to be aligned with the first new moon after the equinoxes.

Ideal and centralized calendars

As acknowledged by Buccellati in “When on High…” §22.5, the observation of the sky with the consequent fixation of a calendar impacted on several aspects of the Mesopotamian social life, and the coordination of the administrative and cultic calendar was of the outmost importance for the central state. It is not surprising to see that a political meaning was attributed to the marking of time throughout the entire Mesopotamian history. The very adoption of the Standard Calendar, by the mid-second millennium BC, was a political act (see Cohen 2015, pp. 379-447, esp. pp. 385f): a multiplicity of calendars signified a multiplicity of autonomies, and this could not be accepted in a society in which one central force has assumed control over a vast territory.

In the religious realm, knowing the exact date was not only crucial for being sure that a ritual was performed in the proper day but also to plan the preparation of the cultic meals and the offering of perishable goods such as fruit and vegetables, that had to be collected with a good timing.

All the more so, foreseeing the movements of the celestial bodies in order to calculate in advance the length of the months and the arrangement of the year soon became substantial for the first millennium BC societies of the Near East: it is likely that such practical reasons fostered the development of mathematical and astronomical calculation whose aim was to decrease the role of observation thus reducing the risk of human errors (see also Buccellati “When on High…” §9.3).

Calendars and myths

Just as what happened for many other aspects of their culture, men of ancient Mesopotamia questioned themselves about the origin and provenance of their calendars, and projected them into a mythical time (Verderame 2006-2008). The pre-eminence of the moon in the determination of the beginning of a month is attested in Sumerian literature, in particular in hymns written for the moon-god Nanna which clearly expressed his role. See, for example, A šir-namgala to Nanna (Nanna L), 1-5 and 18-19 (ETCSL c.4.13.12):

“Princely son, respected one in heaven spreading amply over the high mountains, rising high as he casts a glowing radiance, majestic …, his head reaching the sky, fixing the new moon and the months, shining forth, Nanna! (…) Nanna, dragon of heaven and earth, standing …, fixing the months and the new moon, sets the year in its place.”

Interestingly, no similar reference to the fixing of the day or of the year can be found in the contemporary Sumerian hymns to the Sun-god, Utu, that are known so far.

Nanna’s predominant role is confirmed also in the later Akkadian literature. In the Enūma Eliš, it is described how Marduk, after having gained control of the entire Cosmos, brings order to the heavens and to the celestial bodies: at first, he places the stars in the firmament assigning them a fixed pattern that indicates to men the cycle of the year (all the following translations follow Lambert 2013).

     He fashioned heavenly stations for the great gods,
     and set up constellations, the patterns of the stars.
     He appointed the year, marked off divisions,
     and set up three stars each for twelve months (Enūma Eliš V, 1-4)

     Then, Marduk fixes an astral body whose specific task is to regularise the passing of time within a month, i.e. the moon:

     He created Nannar, entrusting to him the night.
     He appointed him as the jewel of the night to fix the days,
     and month by month without ceasing he elevated him with a crown,
     (saying): “Shine over the land at the beginning of the month,
     resplendent with horns to fix the calling of days.
     On the seventh day the crown will be half size,
     on the fifteenth day, halfway through each month, stand in opposition (Enūma Eliš V, 12-18)

     Finally, he fixes Šamaš, in the sky, to regulate the day — but note how the role of the sun’s role appears to be always linked to the path of the moon:

     When Šamaš [sees] you [i.e. Nanna] on the horizon,
     diminish in all the proper stages and shine backwards.
     On the 29th day, draw near to the path of Šamaš,
     … […] the 30th day, stand in conjunction and rival Šamaš (Enūma Eliš V, 19-22)

It is noteworthy that the god Marduk, who in this passage of the poem embodies the new champion of the entire divine assembly, fixes the calendar himself. This passage of Enūma Eliš, thus, implicitly proves that mastering over time is one of the characteristics that makes a leader efficient, benevolent and, above all, successful.

Time and rituals in first millennium Assyria

In the ancient Near Eastern culture, in order to be considered as proper (and thus efficient), rituals must adhere to a well-established and shared set of rules which instructed men with the correct words, gestures, places and timing to observe. In the highly structured Neo-Assyrian society, the king took advantage of such ritualized events, to reaffirm his power by playing the role of the only one who could safeguard the universal order and allocate wealth under the protection of the gods (Ermidoro 2017).

Thus, for example, when hollow months happened, the king was asked to decide whether religious ceremonies should take place in the “regular” month or in the intercalary one, with the consequent rescheduling of the ritual. A useful example which provides insights into how intercalation was perceived by Assyrian astrologers may be found in a passage from a letter written by the court astronomer Balasî to the king Assurbanipal in 667 BCE:

Let them intercalate a month; all the stars of the sky have fallen behind. Addāru (XII) must not pass unfavorably; let them intercalate! (SAA 8, 98, r.8)

Balasî’s justification for the need of one intercalary month was that the lunar calendar had gone too much ahead of the sidereal one, so that stars that normally would rise in the month Ṭebētu (X) had “fallen behind” and were instead appearing in the month Šabāṭu (XI). Intercalating was the only way of amending such situation. Then, the statement “Addāru must not pass unluckily” seems to imply that it was considered inauspicious to let the year end at a “wrong” time. An inadequate communication on calendar-related matters could cause confusion in the clergy across the Assyrian empire: thus, in the sixth month of 670 BCE, the chief exorcist Marduk-šākin-šumi wrote to Esarhaddon after being informed about the royal decision of inserting an intercalary Ulūlu (VI), asking when the ceremonies for Bēl in Babylon should take place:

     [Concerni]ng the intercalation [of] the year [about which the k]ing said as follows: “Let us add an intercalary Ulūlu (VI)!” — the matter is (now) settled. [May the kin]g,
     my lord, live forever on account of that!
     [The king, my lo]rd, knows that Bel is dressed (for the festival) [on the 7]th of Tishri (VII); on the 8th day the gate (of the temple) is kept open, and the procession of
     Bel sets out as in the month Nisa[n (I).
     [The cerem]onies of the city of Der are conducted in the same way. [In fa]ct, [the king], my lord, should (now) decide what t[o d]o (with these ceremonies) [and send
     word] (about it). (SAA 10, 25, 15-r.8)

Esarhaddon decided that the festival should be performed in the intercalary Ulūlu, and he sent instructions to Babylon. Communication however was too slow: the cultic personnel, not having received an answer at the outset of the regular Ulūlu, had decided to begin the ceremonies for Bēl which had therefore to be abruptly interrupted:

     As to what the king, my lord, wrote to me: “The month Ulūlu (VI) is intercalary; do not perform the ceremonies this month” —
     Ammu-salam entered Babylon on the evening of the 6th day; the god Nabû had come before him, on the 3rd. The gate was kept open before Bel and Nabû on the
     4th, the 5th and the 6th, and sacrifices were performed.
     When I saw the king my lord’s sealed order, I issued the order: the rest of the ceremonies of Ulūlu (VI) will be performed in the coming month, as the king, my lord,
     wrote to me. (SAA 10, 357, 8-r.6)

The nature of hollow months

Intercalary months, then, aimed to “correct” the discrepancy between the solar and the lunar cycle. This is what Buccellati recognizes as one of the peculiarities of the ancient Mesopotamian contept of time in §22.5, namely the ability not only to recognize the cyclicality of the calendar but also to control and overcome it. He applies it in particular to the celebration of the New Year and indeed, as mentioned above, in first millennium BC intercalary months were mostly added to ensure the correct identification of the end point of the year, and the “synchronization” of calendars, religious festivals and seasons.

An -emic approach to the ancient Mesopotamian sources reveals that an alteration of the predetermined time did not necessarily or inevitably lead to misfortune. An analysis of the hemerological texts (i.e. texts which listed the favourable or unfavourable nature of each day of the year) shows that intercalary months had the same, if not an even larger, amount of lucky days than their regular counterparts.

A tablet from Seleucid Uruk that reports the 56th table of the astrological series Enuma Anu Enlil seems to confirm a predominant favourable nature of the intercalary months when compared to the regular months: there, the same natural phenomenon is interpreted as a negative omen during the regular Addāru – while it is a positive sign for the corresponding intercalary month:

(If) in Šabāṭu (XI) a planet rises: the heart of the land will become good; the land will expand. (If) in Addāru (XII) a planet rises: epidemic of the best of the livestock.
(If) in intercalary Addāru (XIIb) a planet rises: the land will see justice (TCL 6, 16, ll. 17-18)

Conclusions

In ancient Mesopotamia, there was a tight bond between calendars, knowledge and power. Astrologers could not and did not want to separate their interpretation of the astral bodies from the world and the life they lived on a daily basis (see Buccellati, §9.3: “These harmonic convergences over time on the one hand, and as spatial configurations on the other, are of great importance, because they testify to a capacity not only for primary observation, but also for secondary classification, which can only be ascribed to practitioners who were well trained and excellent connoisseurs of a tradition of impressive complexity and depth. Astrology is therefore a most transparent mirror of what conceptual foundation there may have been for Mesopotamian polytheism”).

In first-millennium Assyria in particular, the sky was the “material support” upon which the supernal entities wrote their signs and conveyed their message: thus, constellations were referred to as “heavenly writing” (šiṭir šamê) or “writing of the firmament” (šiṭir burūmê) (Rochberg 2004). Mastering such language and being able to read and interpret that particular writing was a source of power for all those who were involved in such process: scholars gained power from their correct observations and predictions, while the king could boast a special role having received the divine endorsement for his acts, thus harmonising his power within the rhythm of the entire cosmos.

A change in ideology is attested in the Late-Babylonian period, when a mathematically-calculated system of dealing with the length of months was introduced: such change denoted a process towards rationalisation and scientific reasoning. The successive adherence on astronomical predictions instead of on the king’s decision-making power shows a shift in the royal ideology: the establishment of a calendar was taken aside from the human control and became somehow a more “objective” matter.