1.1 At the Beginning

One of the oldest religious texts of ancient Mesopotamia is the Song of Praise to Nintu and her Temple at Keš, often abbreviated as the Keš Hymn.⁵ Its main protagonist, Nintu, is a mother goddess, or goddess of birth and city deity of Keš. This city is located about 40 km east of Nippur.⁶ The centre of Keš is Nintu’s temple; the city of Keš and the associated city-state are understood in antiquity as the land belonging to Nintu’s temple.⁷ The praise song to the sanctuary of Keš exists in many different copies that fall into two groups; one dates to the 26th century BC, the other to the 18th/17th centuries BC.

Formally, the song of praise has 131 lines and is divided into stanzas, or “houses,” according to their Sumerian designation. But these stanzas or “houses” perhaps also correspond to houses of the sanctuary, which the song of praise concerns. It is therefore possible that it was sung in the context of an (annual)⁸ pilgrimage.⁹ Each stanza closes with a refrain.

The beginning of the praise song does not consist of hymnic invocations. Rather, the beginning tells a story, which could be described as a frame story for the praise song; but that would be inadequate in view of the outstanding event with which we are dealing. In this initial story there are three important protagonists, namely three deities. In addition to the city goddess Nintu, Enlil, the god over the entire land of Sumer, appears, and Nissaba, the goddess of writing, enters the scene as well. The song of praise begins with this story:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Keš Hymn 1–8, transliteration plus literal translation; for a freer translation, see below.¹²

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A first challenge in the comprehension of this text involves the understanding of who is actually designated by the first words of this song and who is acting at the beginning. In other words, who or what makes Enlil come out of which temple? It is obvious, if a god comes out of a temple and this temple is not specified further, then that the temple must be his own. Therefore, Enlil must here be understood as coming from his own temple. This temple of Enlil is located in Nippur. It remains unclear, however, who is responsible for Enlil coming out of his temple. The verb form indicates that the cause for this comes from something that is not understood as a person in Sumerian, though this matter is revisited below.

The fact that one does not immediately know who is meant is typical of the style of Sumerian literary texts. In the beginning, one senses something like a hidden secret. Tension arises. The second line then specifies that it is Enlil, the state god over all of Sumer, who is being led out of a temple. This is formally repetitive, so it has something typically hymnal about it. Certainly, we are missing a dimension here that originally made the fascination of this repetitive-variant opening even more gripping, namely, the musical arrangement. It is, after all, the beginning of a praise song.¹³

Even though the section is formally designed in a hymn-like praising manner, this does not say anything about the narrative material processed here. In terms of content, a narrative is presented here. This narration continues in this way: Enlil directs his gaze at the mountains. Under this gaze, the mountains rise, i.e., they arise in this moment, donned with their terrible aura which distinguishes them as sacred places. All four regions of the world (that is, the whole world) appear green for Enlil as if it were a garden. Such a sequence of actions reveals that it is itself a part of a creation myth.¹⁴

It is still unclear on whose initiative Enlil comes out of his temple. But now an essential protagonist is added: the city of Keš. The city of Keš crowns itself with a crown (literally, with a turban called men in Sumerian). The crown of a city is to be understood as the temple of the city deity.¹⁵ Crowned by this temple, Keš now towers over all mountains and mountain countries. That city thus belongs to these “mountains,” not unlike someone who stands out above others who are quite similar (a primus inter pares). With this statement, it is possible to find the solution to the initially unclear protagonist of the non-person class (the important “something” of lines 1–3) in this narrative: It is the city of Keš. This city plays an important role in this song. One may wonder why in a primordial event a city plays such a decisive role. For this, one must know that city and temple in Mesopotamia belong together like two sides of a single coin, since city and temple form the possession of the respective city deity, whereby the temple serves as a house and the city or city state functions as its grounds.¹⁶ The temple and city of Keš are a major theme of the song, with Keš being important from the very beginning of the text.

The description of the events is arranged in an extremely abbreviated style, complicating considerably the text’s understanding. The problem can be partially remedied by an edition that, in addition to the basic literal translation (for which see above), elaborates a second, freely paraphrased translation in which the essential information which was clear to the original contemporaries of the text is incorporated and which, at the same time, aims for the most accurate possible wording in the target language. In other words, it is an appealing translation. In the case at hand, this free translation, combined with a free transcription that treats Sumerian as a language (not just a sequence of cuneiform signs)¹⁷ reads as follows:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Keš Hymn 1–8, transcription plus free translation according to the sense. For a literal translation see above.

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After this insight into the origin of the world, a section follows that will become important for the topic of the origin of writing and for the search for sacred texts:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Keš Hymn 9–12, transliteration plus free translation²⁰

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What happens here can be summarised as follows: The state god Enlil begins to sing. He sings the song of praise to Keš. He is not alone with Nintu, the ruler of Keš, but in addition Nissaba is present, the goddess of the grain and the art of writing. Nissaba in this context is the one able to write (we will come back to this topic later in §1.4). Therefore, she masters the art of tying the song of praise that Enlil sings, as one ties a net, by taking a writing tablet in her hand and writing down on it this song of Enlil. The following lines are therefore to be understood as a quotation of the actual praise song to Nintu and Keš.

The Song of Praise to Nintu and her Temple at Keš, thus consists of three parts:

1. The god Enlil sings a praise song to Keš (1–9).

2. The goddess Nissaba writes down the song of Enlil (10–2).

3. Content of Enlil’s song of praise to Keš (13–129).

Another part will come to light later (§1.3).

1.2 The Creation Myth Enlil Activates the Temple of Keš²¹

We are here on the trail of a myth that takes us into the beginnings of the world. From our reconstruction we can deduce that only a single temple at the beginning of the world is here imagined. This temple belongs to the state god Enlil. This temple will be Enlil’s temple in Nippur. The city of Keš appears as another protagonist, and it causes Enlil to come out of his temple. Upon a closer look it is surprising that a city is able to cause the powerful state god to come out of his temple. Since Keš belongs to the goddess of its city, Nintu, the actions of Keš can only be understood as an act on behalf of, and as a representative of, the goddess of the city of Keš.²² In other words, it is ultimately Nintu herself who causes Enlil to come out of his temple (§1.3 will show why this fact is so discreetly stated). Enlil comes out and looks at the mountains. Now something amazing happens: the mountains rise. They come into being and the land becomes green. The statement proves to be polysemous. On the one hand, it can be understood literally: the mountains rise, the land becomes green. It may be imagined that mountains here refer to those bordering Mesopotamia, especially the Zagros in the east. However, one wonders whether this interpretation already captures the entire meaning of the statement. Should the creation myth here refer almost exclusively to the peripheral areas of the country, which actually do not belong to Sumer? And how would the city of Keš then fit in this overall picture? Besides this literal reading there is another meaning, according to which the mountains and the world’s greening are to be understood as metaphors. Accordingly, mountains here may refer to Mesopotamia’s temples, which are regarded as temple mountains.²³ That these mountains rise and become green means that the temples arise and flourish, and, with them, their respective cities.²⁴ In this respect it is important that these mountains are said to radiate a terrible aura. This statement can be understood succinctly if we recall standard Mesopotamian ritual lore in which mountains with aura are cities with their temples, which have been given their functions by powerful rituals. In this initial world a single “mountain” stands out above all others, namely, the city of Keš.²⁵

Myths are not to be confused with texts, but are narrative materials concretised in texts and other media.²⁶ Such narrative materials are not directly tangible but rather must be reconstructed on the basis of their media concretisations. This is accomplished by Hylistics,²⁷ a methodology developed in the context of Göttingen myth research groups that operates on the basis of the smallest action-bearing units, the hylemes.²⁸ By way of the Hylistic methodology of myth research, the myth processed in this text can be reconstructed with maximum precision. The first step strives to offer the most accurate translation possible, and then elaborates the hylemes in it. In order to develop a Hylistic reconstruction, the researcher must transparently break down the content of a text (or other media concretion). For this purpose metaphorically stylised statements are transferred into their intended meaning, while implicit statements are supplemented (and noted as such).

If we relate the various pieces of information at the beginning of the text of the Keš Hymn to each other, it becomes clear that the narrative behind the text is much more complex than is first apparent. What follows from the fact that Enlil focuses his gaze on the temples and their cities? In connection to the other described significant events at the beginning of the world no purely coincidental observation, without further function, can be given here. That Enlil’s gaze must serve one or more functions also follows from the fact that this occurs as a result of the previously mentioned action steps. Nintu apparently induces Keš to lead Enlil out of his temple in Nippur so that he may fix his gaze on the temples and their cities. Enlil’s gaze must therefore be meaningful. It is obvious that the events that occur directly afterwards are meant as a result of Enlil’s gaze. The following hylemes therefore do not occur “coincidentally” at the same time as Enlil’s gaze. Coincidences do not exist in myths, which are, after all, characterised precisely by their transcending approach to reality.²⁹ Rather, the rising and towering of the temples and their radiation of terrible aura must be the intended effect of Enlil’s look, just as the prospering of the world and the crowning of Keš by a temple. Precisely, then, it must be said that Enlil brings about all this by his gaze. With the benefit of this clarification, the beginning of the Keš Hymn can now be analysed as follows:

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Preliminary sequence of hylemes in Keš hymn 1–8, in the order of the text

Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

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The entire text thus focuses on the urban level of interpretation. The myth of the origin of the mountains is not continued. It is only touched upon. A manifestation of mythic narrative material that is only incompletely evoked can be called a myth fragment. Of the myth fragment present here, there are at least enough hylemes visible to be able to assign them to a specific myth. This myth can be determined as Enlil Creates the World with its Mountains. The fragment of this myth presented in the Keš Hymn consists of the following hylemes:

This myth shimmers in the background of the other myths like a kind of “companion myth.” But other myths about the temples and cities are the focus of the song of praise. For the reconstruction of these, more information in the following line is available. The line speaks about Enlil, who sings a song of praise to Keš. This praise song – as is appreciable from broader research on rituals, is anything but a purely formal ceremonial act in which grandiose speeches are made about something that is already concluded.³⁰ The singing of a divine praise song constitutes a form of transformation: through it power is transferred and a new state is created, a being with new abilities.³¹ In other words, if the god does not sing this song and if no other functionally corresponding divine action takes place, then the temple of Keš cannot enter into its powerful mode of being, it cannot function, and thereby the whole city is unable to flourish. The praise song, thus, bears an extremely important function for the goddess Nintu and for her city.

It must now be clarified how this statement is to be inserted chronologically into the sequence of events, i.e., into the hyleme sequence. In the pure text reading one is easily led by the textual arrangement. This would mean that the following larger sections (represented in the form of hyperhylemes) would follow each other (for a correct representation see below):

Enlil’s praise song seems to hang in the air: one does not know how it comes about and what, if any, are its consequences. But what was true in the case of Enlil’s gaze holds here as well: if such a song coming from the highest god were truly of no consequence, it would not be reported in a myth about origin and development. Enlil’s song of praise must, therefore, have substantial consequences. Yet these are not recognisable at first sight. With the appropriate methodology, however, it becomes clear that problems in understanding these issues arise from the differences between the text and the narrative material. While the sequence of events can be arranged arbitrarily on the text level, the Hylistic reconstruction yields the narrative material in its chronological order (note that this narrative material is different from story and plot!).³²

The problem with Enlil’s seemingly superfluous song arises from the arrangement of events in the text, and these need not follow the chronological order of events. (One cannot speak two things at the same time, even though different actions can very well happen simultaneously; and poetic language can change the order for rhetorical or aesthetic reasons.) Therefore, in order to reconstruct the myth, it is necessary to think about how this chronology can be restored. These considerations lead to the following insight into the course of events:

1. It remains unclear why Keš is to be regarded higher than all other temples/cities.

2. The praise song of Enlil must have consequences.

3. The content of the song of praise, presented in the following text (13–129), has to be added to the analysis; this song refers specifically to Keš and its temple.

4. Two different effects of Enlil’s actions can therefore be distinguished. While his gaze has effects on the world in general (the uplifting of cities, their aura, their flourishing), Enlil’s praise song is aimed exclusively at Keš.

5. Taken together, (1) to (4) lead to the conclusion that Enlil’s song is the reason that Keš gets more powerful than all other temples/cities.

The outcome of these considerations, namely the implicit hylemes and implicit hyleme components resulting from this evaluation, have to be included in the reconstruction of the myth. In chronological order, this appears in the following excerpt from the myth that we can call Enlil Activates the Temple of Nintu in Keš through his Song of Praise (for an overview of the entire myth see §1.3):

As will be shown below, more information can be gained about this myth.

1.3 The Cryptic End of the Text

How does the end of the text relate to the end of the myth? The penultimate stanza shows Nintu, the mistress of the temple and the city, sitting and drinking wine and beer (120–1). This suggests a lavish feast. But Nintu cannot possibly be celebrating alone, in the presence of only her priests. From other myths about temple construction and temple activation, the necessary cultural knowledge can be gained to understand that such an assumption would be mistaken. Where gods build temples and put them to their function by activating rituals, a feast follows at the end, in which the gods celebrate together. On the mythic level this is best seen in Lagas (traditionally Lagaš)³⁴, where the city god invites the highest gods of the land to his new temple to feast with them (Gudea Cylinders).³⁵ We find an analogous sequence of events in the case of Marduk at Babylon: after having defeated the enemies and having built his temple, the other gods feast with him in his new temple.³⁶ The ritual enactment of this myth is celebrated at the New Year Festival at Babylon, known in sources from the first Millennium: gods manifested in their statues travel to Babylon to celebrate the festival with Marduk.³⁷ A modified form is shown in the tradition concerning Enki’s temple activation in the praise song with the modern title Enki’s Journey to Nippur, which, more appropriately, should be designated The Consecration of Enki’s Temple.³⁸ As with Nin-ĝirsu in Lagas, one would expect the feast to take place in Enki’s new temple, Eridu, though instead the feast takes place in Nippur. As in many other mythical traditions, we find here a layer aiming to profile the god Enlil as the highest god. The Enki-myth is thus adapted to the primacy of Enlil. Important for our reconstruction of the narrative materials in the Keš Hymn is the fact that in The Consecration of Enki’s Temple the activation of the temple also ends with a feast of the gods. In the Keš Hymn, the mention of Nintu’s feast analogously points to such a festival: this feast is a feast of the gods as well.

However, the seventh stanza also speaks of priests. How are these priests to be understood when it comes to a feast of gods? To answer this question, we need to examine Mesopotamian ideas about how rituals work. In doing so, it becomes clear: Mythical and ritual representation are here intertwined³⁹: during the ritual, certain priests embody deities. This is made explicit in the song: “The high priests of the temple are the Anuna gods” (105). The reference to these priests as a manifestation of the Anuna gods (just as the ritual expert is during the ritual the “statue” of a god, i.e. the god’s real embodiment, see §4.3) is one of the indicators that this song is rooted in the cultic sphere, i.e. that it does not only narrate about a feast of Nintu but that on this occasion the priests are the embodiment of the gods and the priestly actions are the embodiment of divine actions. One believed that the divine actions recounted in the myth of transforming the house into a powerful temple⁴⁰ occur during the ritual. This intertwining of myth and ritual defines the feast: The feast is experienced as a confirmation that the divine actions of primeval times, of which the myth tells, will take place in the “here and now” of the ritual.

The end of the myth can thus be extended by further hylemes (for a further specification see below).

But where are the highest deities, including Enlil, Enki, and others at this festival? In other city-states, the newly installed temple is celebrated not just by the family and court of the city deity. These may be named in advance (so in the Gudea Cylinders, where the court deities enter the temple with Nin-ĝirsu), but the feast proper is celebrated by the city deity with other city deities. A deviation from this practice would be especially strange in the case of the Keš Hymn. After all, Enlil should not be absent from the feast, since he sang the praise song for Nintu. It would not be surprising if the myth remained fragmentary in this point, as is often the case. However, remains of the continuation of the older myth version (and of its concretion in the cyclically repeated ritual) are still detectable, and these may be traced through a new analysis of the end of the text.

A new challenge arises here. The four lines of the concluding stanza (before the refrain) and thus the end of the text have so far remained incomprehensible.⁴¹ This is problematic insofar as these lines are particularly important, which can be seen in their positioning at the end of the text as well as in the manifold repetitions in them. That the lines resist understanding is due to the ambiguity of the Sumerian language, to the terse brevity of the formulations, and to the fact that positive and negative statements are combined here so that they appear nonsensical. In the jungle of these possibilities, the myth reconstruction we have done can now provide firm ground for dealing with these difficulties. According to this reconstruction, gods from outside Keš are expected to come to celebrate with Nintu. If we take this hypothesis seriously in view of the ambiguous text, then the difficult lines can be understood: they describe an invitation to the gods! “To the city, to the city” the gods shall come, “to the temple of Keš” they shall come, “to the hero of Keš, Ašgi (Nintu’s son),” and to the “mistress of Keš, Nintu” they shall come!

Now the problem remains how the combination of positive and negative statements about approaching or not approaching could be understood. The verbal forms are strong prohibitions, or firm, negated assurances about the future. They refer to ordinary people (lu2), who do not belong to the group of priests working at the temple. These ordinary people must not and will not approach the celebrating deities under any circumstances (na-te). Even the closer definition of such people by participial forms fits the context sketched here: “A person who has approached will by no means approach” must refer to humans who have approached the city or the temple but who will by no means approach the banquet of the deities taking place inside the temple. Thus, the statement is to be translated as: “Even if anyone (a human) had approached (the city), he will definitely not approach (the banquet of the gods in the cella)!” The new translation of the concluding stanza therefore reads:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Keš Hymn 126–129

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The conclusion of the text is complex because it intertwines two statements. It is an invitation to Enlil and other high gods to come to Keš from their cities for the festival. At the same time this invitation is combined with the assurance that no unauthorised person will disturb the festival of the gods. The interweaving of these statements over four lines has the effect that both – the coming of the gods and the staying away of the people – seem to be connected like prerequisite and consequence. The fact that the ordinary people are kept away and cannot disturb the festival under any circumstances shows that everything is ready for the coming of the gods.

Let us recall again that all this is an event which takes place within the myth in the beginnings of the world. In this context, such statements mean first-time determinations. The gods are to come to Nintu’s temple for the first time. Humans must not disturb this divine gathering under any circumstances.

The reconstruction of the narrative material can be deduced from the end of the text even more. Of course, one must assume that the gods will accept this so insistently presented invitation. In the myth, this action is to be completed accordingly. Also on the ritual level the addition is to be made. The gods from other cities will arrive on this solemn invitation in Keš at the temple, e.g., in the form of their statues. Thus, the time when the song will be performed can be determined: it serves the solemn reception of the gods during the annual festival of the temple consecration.⁴⁴

The reconstruction of the entire myth, as presented in the Keš Hymn, based on all hylemes and adjusted in terms of material chronology, thus reads as follows:

1.4 Power Struggles. The Myth Nintu activates her temple

This overview of the myth Enlil Activates the Temple of Nintu in Keš through his Song of Praise sheds light on something striking, even surprising. If Nintu has such a great power that the most powerful temple far and wide belongs to her, why does she need another god to activate this temple? We will tackle with this problem in this section.

At the end of the text we find a subscript containing a final praise. This concluding praise at the end of the song is not addressed to Keš (contrary to what the modern title Keš Hymn may suggest); nor is it addressed to Enlil. Surprisingly, the praise is addressed to Nintu, the mistress of Keš, and Ašgi, her son.⁴⁶ Ašgi is praised because he has built the temple. Nintu is praised because she has done something that is usually understood as an expression of flattery, or typical female expression. The Sumerian phrase is mim du₁₁.g. But whom should Nintu have flattered? Nothing of this is told in the text. And why should her flattery be given as a reason for praise, parallel to the building of the temple? This would mean that her flattery would be given the same rank as the construction of the temple! The sense of mim du₁₁.g is crucial to the understanding of what is at issue. The phrase occurs frequently in Sumerian religious and literary⁴⁷ texts. Word field analyses show that the expression does not refer to flattery but rather denotes powerful speech acts in the form of ritual singing. Such ritual singing activates and transforms the entity to which it is addressed, with the result that this entity is endowed with the powers evoked in the song.⁴⁸ In the present case, Nintu’s action (mim du₁₁.g) means that she has evoked the powers of her temple in a song, thereby activating the temple and endowing it with its powerful way of being. The subscript of the Keš Hymn can thus be understood as:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Keš Hymn l. 130–31

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Like all other statements that belong to the narrative material, these are also to be considered in the reconstruction of our myth. Hyleme analysis of these two lines shows the following, chronologically ordered sequence of events:

If one places these hylemes beside the myth sequence from the myth Enlil Activates the Temple of Nintu in Keš by his Praise Song reconstructed above, then a problem emerges: if Nintu activates the temple or the city, why does it still need Enlil to be active with exactly the same goal? This sounds as unlikely as the idea that activation by only one of the two gods would be incomplete. Quite obviously, both statements do not fit together. The problem is not isolated. There are other statements that do not fit together properly or are formulated in a conspicuously strange way. Briefly summarised, the following inconsistencies, discrepancies and other conspicuous features emerge when comparing the narrative first part with the closing praise of the Keš Hymn:

Inconsistencies, Discrepancies, etc. in the Keš Hymn

1. At the beginning Enlil sings his song of praise, at the end Nintu sings her song. Both songs serve the purpose of activating the temple of Keš. Why is there not only one activation by one god? Why do the two statements stand unconnected to each other? Why are the statements separated by the entire text?

2. Why does Enlil activate the temple of Nintu? Why doesn’t Nintu activate her own temple?

3. Why does Enlil’s temple (surely meant: in Nippur) already exist at a time when quite obviously no other temples (“mountains”) exist at all?

4. Why does Enlil raise Keš above all other cities? Is Keš also supposed to be higher than his own city Nippur? How can such a goal correspond to the intentions attributed to the god Enlil?

Such inconsistencies, discrepancies and similar peculiarities are typical for myths. These phenomena can be evaluated by means of the methodological tool of stratification analysis.⁵⁰ Accordingly, the stronger the evidence, the more likely this indicates that we are dealing with a typical myth with evolved layers. In the present case, the fault lines indicate that not only one version of the myth of the activation of the temple of Keš has been handed down, but that at least two different traditions are linked in the Keš Hymn. According to one version, Enlil is the protagonist who sings his song as part of an activation ritual for Keš. According to the other version, it is not Enlil but rather the city’s own deity who sings to activate her temple. The version with Enlil is narratively broader, while the version with Nintu becomes recognisable as only a small myth fragment behind the text’s end. But even this myth fragment gives a view of the rest of a myth, which is to be determined as Nintu Activates Her Temple by Her Praise Song.

Continuing the stratification-analytical procedure, it is now necessary to clarify how the relationship between the two versions is to be evaluated. In the one case, a city goddess equips her own temple with the necessary functions through her praise song. In the other, a superior state god appears to accomplish this task. Many problems appear in the version with Enlil (see above). This version, with its external activation, proves to be far more complex than the version with the activation by the city deity. The Nintu version without Enlil is very simple and easy to understand. Here Nintu acts together with her son Ašgi. And from this perspective, Keš is, of course, the most significant among all the cities. This Nintu version without Enlil, therefore, preserves an older version of the Myth of the Activation of the Temple of Keš. This older version is limited to the perspective of the city of Keš. From this local perspective, Keš is the most important place in the world.

Only by the subordination of traditions of originally independent cities under Enlil of Nippur does a more complex myth evolve, combining the older Nintu version with the later Enlil version. The development must have taken place when Enlil and Nippur were promoted to supraregional rank, i.e., in the course of the first half of the 3rd millennium BC.⁵¹ The Nintu version must be older.

Even in this composite myth, which integrates Keš into a larger picture of various city-states over which the god Enlil presides from his city Nippur, the importance of Keš is still preserved. But at the same time this status is kept in check by the statement that Keš could only achieve its high rank through Enlil’s favor. In the end, a kind of balance is reached: Nintu’s temple is still of the highest rank, but the most powerful of the gods is clearly Enlil. And since the temple’s rank is only reached through Enlil, his position is elevated over that of Nintu.⁵²

Even in this later Nippur version, in which the activation of the temple is no longer solely attributed to the owner of the temple Nintu but rather to the superior state god Enlil, Nintu is still involved in the events. Her city of Keš, and thus indirectly she herself, are credited with persuading Enlil to activate her temple through his praise song in the first place. This event marks the beginning of the text; and it is emphasised by a threefold repetition: Keš – in other words: Nintu – is (still) the decisive force that provides the impetus for her temple to be installed in its essential functions. And yet Nintu is relegated here as a protagonist, so that even her name no longer appears in the initial lines of the text. Only indirectly, through her city of Keš, is she still present.

Whoever transfers power to the temple through the ritual song has the supreme power and thus stands in the preeminent position. A struggle for interpretive power, whether between Nintu and Enlil or between the temples and priesthoods of both deities and their cities is recognisable here, behind the scene, as it were.⁵³ Although the later Nippur version appearing in the preserved texts ascribes the decisive power primarily to Enlil, it is nevertheless intent on a certain balance: Nintu likewise comes to an important role that cannot (and should not) be concealed. Therefore, a myth fragment that refers to the older version of the myth of the temple’s activation is preserved at the end of the text, in the subscript praising Nintu. Moreover, the beginning of the text shows indirectly that Enlil’s powerful action is at Nintu’s initiative. The powers of the two gods thus appear in a balance in the praise song’s creation.⁵⁴ The comparison of the two versions and the finely elaborated design of the later Nippur version make it clear that the creation of such a praise song is no trivial matter, but rather something that engaged the authors considerably. As shall be seen, this is due to the fact that such texts are perceived as sacred texts, with great significance.

1.5 Stratified Myths

The phenomenon that myths and their textual manifestations so often contain tensions and inconsistencies gains a significant explanation by these results. Myths are alive in a culture as long as their outcome corresponds to actual realities of life. The telling of myths is a way of coping with these realities, both cognitively and affectively.⁵⁵ For this reason those myths that are handed down over centuries must be adapted again and again to the prevailing circumstances and convictions. Tensions arise necessarily in those cultures that understand mythical narrative materials (as incorporated into the Keš Hymn) as creations and revelations of deities. On the one hand, one is obliged to keep the divine word and divine revelation unchanged and intact, and, on the other, one meets the necessity to adapt the mythical traditions to contemporary convictions, especially with regard to the hierarchies among the gods and the demands of the deities. Quite often the solution for such tensions between traditions of different ages and actualities (and correspondingly between traditions from different places) was to combine the one with the other. They told a myth in a version adapted to current beliefs, but still retained at least parts of the old traditional versions. This way of solving problems had a great advantage: one could assume that this would increase the chance of not offending less prominent but still powerful deities.

In this way, layers (strata) were created as in the Keš Hymn, whose original version is handed down in the last two lines of the text (§1.4); in this version, the son of the city goddess builds the temple and the city goddess herself activates her temple through her praise song, thereby enabling it to perform the powerful tasks mentioned in the song. The rest of the song, however, describes these events as brought about by Enlil and his song of praise to the temple of Nintu (§1.2). Here a new layer was built over the original one. In the meantime, this supraregional state god has become so important that he is given priority over other gods and their deeds, presumably originally only in Enlil’s cult centre of Nippur. That myths and other traditions are adapted to the prevailing circumstances is to be expected as long as such narrative materials play a vital role in the life of the people, e.g. in their rituals. The peculiarity lies in the fact that the older layers are often not thrown overboard. Another reason for this is that these myths are not attributed to one’s own inventiveness but are believed to have been revealed by the gods (see §1.6–1.7, §3–5, and §6.3).

1.6 The First Myth of the Creation of Writing

In the following, we will deal with another protagonist who appears in the narrative material of the Keš Hymn, namely Nissaba. Here, too, there is a peculiar detail in the wording: the description of what Nissaba does is not directly understandable. In order to understand what is happening here, one must know something about the typical style of ancient Near Eastern and especially Sumerian texts. These texts usually describe only the major lines, extremely concisely. These contain nothing that is superfluous, only the essentials appear. Enlil sings the song of praise: one statement, one line. However, the description of what Nissaba does is different:

Thus, unlike Enlil, whose action (namely, singing) is described in one line, the statement that Nissaba writes down the song is carried out in three lines which contain five statements. Within these five statements there is also an ornamental repetition (“while she took this, while she took this tablet”). This statement is thus intensely repetitive, and hymn-like in design, like the beginning of the text, which was intended to highlight Enlil’s role (§1.2).

Another observation accords with this reading: the analysis of the sentence structure shows that the statement about Enlil’s singing is referred to as a background action. Enlil’s singing is morphologically subordinated (za₃-mim am₃-ma-ab-be₂). Grammatically, it is possible to detect the target phrase of the passage (a phrase without subordinating prefix). This occurs in the sentence, “Nissaba was the only one who knew how to write.” And a further target phrase follows: “There was a writing tablet.” The length of the section about Nissaba, the repetition of the phrase about writing, and its formulation as a target phrase all indicate that something of paramount importance is at stake here. The particular design raises the question: Why is this statement about Nissaba’s writing so important?

If we recall the context of this writing, we find that it is taking place at the creation of the world: the mountains come into being, the temples come into being. At this early point in time when mountains, temples, and cities are created, when Enlil creates his song for Keš, there is only one answer to the question why the narration of Nissaba’s writing is so strongly highlighted: This must be the first time when someone writes! This is the exact meaning of the phrase “Nissaba was the only one who knew how to write”: The weight of writing, which is expressed in the formal arrangement of the text, only makes sense if Nissaba’s writing is to be understood as the first instance of writing. The art of writing is highlighted since it is understood as something that has never existed before. In many myths a kind of creation is described. It is typical of myth that something that happens for the first time need not be explicitly marked as such – people knew it anyway.⁵⁶ To the experts who sung the praise song and to those who wrote it down, the myth was of course well known – why should one therefore lose words around self-evident things? Building on these findings, that is, in a combined approach of word research, grammar research, and contextual, culture-based semantic research, we can now translate the original Sumerian text more precisely:

Here, too, it turns out that the text arranges the narrative material in a special, complex way by positioning results prior to the actions from which they follow. The hyleme analysis reconstructs the myth in its chronological order:

The myth reconstructed from both parts (1–9 and 9–13) can thus be summarised as follows: at the time when the first mountains (i.e., temples and their cities) come into being (§1.2), Nissaba creates writing and the first writing tablet to write down the praise song on the temple of Keš. The figurative phrase that the song is tightly woven or tied like the knots of a net, corresponds to the image behind the English and German word “text,” which goes back to Latin textus, “(woven, tied) fabric,” from texere “to plait, weave”; the metaphor is much older going back to Sumerian (zu₂ keše₂-d/r)⁵⁷ and Akkadian (kaṣāru),⁵⁸ both meaning “to tie, to knot.” The cultural background of the image in the Keš Hymn could be the early clay tablets, which were covered by a net of boxes, the precursors of the later lines.⁵⁹ The words were then placed in these boxes in the form of the characters, apparently paying particular attention to their visually aesthetic distribution.⁶⁰

Here, for the first time, a myth about the invention of writing from the very culture that invented writing is revealed. The invention of writing is attributed a high importance here. One tablet notes appropriately also a final praise on the goddess of writing, Nissaba.⁶¹ We already know a Sumerian narrative about the origin of writing, but this narrative, however, is a historicising legend.⁶² Up until now no myth about the origin of writing was known.⁶³ Now, however, a first such myth appears in the Keš Hymn, in the version of the 18th/17th centuries (and probably also the 26th century version, from the time when the first literary-ritual⁶⁴ texts were written down,⁶⁵ was understood in the same way)⁶⁶. This is the myth Nissaba Creates Writing for the Sacred Song of Enlil. The implications of this are far-reaching, and it is not yet possible to consider them in full. But already here it can be stated that according to this myth, writing arises during the unfolding of the world, and it arises as a creative achievement of the goddess Nissaba. Thus, in the original perspective of the Sumerians who composed this myth, the origin of writing does not take place in the service of economy and administration (that would be a modern historical view),⁶⁷ nor also in the service of royal claim to power against foreign countries,⁶⁸ but rather in the service of the gods. The goddess writes down what the god sings specifically for the purpose of perpetuating the song of praise to Keš. The song of the highest god is important because it forms the central part of an effective ritual activating the temple.⁶⁹ The creation of the text and the creation of writing occur in order to make a praise song created by gods durable so it can be secured for its use in an important ritual.

1.7 The Creation of the First Sacred Text

The transcription of Enlil’s song in the Keš Hymn is singled out by the myth Nissaba Creates Writing for the Praise Song of Enlil as something unique. This can only be understood if what is being inscribed is truly outstanding. Enlil’s song and, with it, the Keš Hymn itself must have been perceived as particularly precious. As we have seen, and as the following sections will make clearer, this hits the mark. From an emic perspective, such a song possesses power that changes reality; in the case of the Keš Hymn insofar as it is only the singing of the song that turns a particular building into a functional temple of Nintu, which can itself exercise power.

The text, transmitted orally and in writing, originates from the gods and thus stands in special proximity to them. Entities that belong to the sphere of the gods in such a way are marked in different religions by special terms that express sacredness. In Mesopotamia, several designations are found for it. The corresponding terms originate mostly from the word field of light phenomena and are associated with rays, shine, or aura.⁷⁰ One such term is “radiant song” (ser₃ ku₃.g),⁷¹ which is functionally a counterpart to what we call “sacred text” (§3). A radiant song has an aura like those that emanate from gods themselves; that is, such a song itself bears sacred character and belongs to the gods. It is quite possible that people in Mesopotamia referred to the Praise Song to Nintu and Her Temple at Keš as such a “radiant song.” Be that as it may, in this song a different procedure is adopted, one which shows that the song was considered a sacred text. It is the myth that frames the song of praise and tells of the text’s creation and preservation by the gods that marks it as sacred. A mythical text of this kind is immediately understood to be sacred, and in a more powerful way than the simple designation of “sacred” is able to convey. The gods thus create the song in two ways: in the first place by its singing and in the second by the invention of writing, by which it will be recorded forever. The myth thus makes it clear that the Keš Hymn is a sacred text from the perspective of the Sumerians themselves. It may also be said here that according to Mesopotamian perception this sacred text was not merely created by gods; it was also intended for the sake of gods.⁷²

Our myth about the creation of writing is therefore simultaneously also a myth about the first sacred text. The impression by Nissaba of the song on the first clay tablet implies that it (and the original text it records) was the one from which all further tablets were copied. The preserved tablets written by scribes in the 18th and 17th centuries were thus understood to be copies of the original text written by the goddess of writing who had created the tablet at the beginning of the world. Concerning the Keš Hymn it may thus be stated that from the ancient perspective this song of praise was a text that was bequeathed orally by the gods and then fixed in writing. In its fixed written form this song of Enlil could now be passed on. The written text was thus a means of transmitting divine revelation. According to this thinking the praise song was even regarded as a “divine text,” i.e., as a text that was a repository for effective divine power. In today’s terminology, the term “sacred text” offers the closest correspondence to this.

4.1 Divine Words in the Praise Song to Našše (Nanše A)

In the Praise Song to the Goddess Našše, there is another important piece of information regarding how one is to deal with these sacred texts. Here falls the reference that these must be repeated word for word. One reads that no one may add anything, not even anything that is whispered, to the text’s precise “wording of the words” (ka enim-ma).⁸⁵ Since the text includes ample abbreviations, rendering it almost incomprehensible, I offer here my translation, with numerous parenthetical notes for its proper understanding (references to the literal expression are in the footnotes):

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Song of Praise to Našše (Nanše A) 131–35⁹⁴

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This passage shows that it is crucial to observe the exact wording of the words (ka enim-ma) of sacred texts, since these words are the words created by gods, in this case the ritual god, Enki (§3). A text consisting of these words coming from Enki is most powerful; it is a sacred text! Therefore no one will add anything to them, not even the slightest whisper. The indicative formulation, “no one will add,” stands here for the strongest form of the prohibition and makes perfectly clear: the sacred texts must be carried out exactly and quite precisely as they are believed to have been handed down from the gods. Only then can they function in the right way.

4.2 Divine Words in the Praise Song to Lugalbanda (Lugalbanda Epic)

The meaning “wording of the words” is also shown in a section of the Praise Song to the Deified Ruler Lugalbanda (Lugalbanda-Epic), in which the power of the sun god Utu is described. Here it is said that the sun god has powerful words and songs that only he knows, but the other high gods do not. These powerful texts, which he himself may sing, write, or dictate to others, are essential for the preservation of the entire cosmos:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

Lugalbanda Praise Song / Lugalbanda in the Mountains / Lugalbanda I 413–17¹⁰⁰

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It is hardly possible to emphasise more how important the sacred texts and their ritual words are: these words are, as it is said here, “energetic” or “effective” (zi.d). What is meant is that these words have power to change something – exactly what is expected from powerful rituals. The words belong to songs or other ritual spells. The inside of such songs is powerful. Since the Great Gods (Anuna) do not know these powerful words the power of Utu who knows these words is all the greater! And not only that: Utu puts these words in the right order, so that these words form the powerfully working ritual spells. The order of the ritual words is decisive for heaven and earth (to which also the underworld belongs), i.e., for the whole world.

4.3 The Subscript ka enim-ma as a Marker of Divine Words

The term “wording of the words” (ka enim-ma) is preserved as a fixed term on hundreds¹⁰¹ of tablets from the 2nd and 1st millennia, which contain ritual texts consisting of ritual spells and ritual actions.¹⁰² The term designates the words on these tablets that are to be spoken during the performance of the respective ritual, i.e., the ritual spells. At the same time, it delimits them from the actions, which are to be accomplished in this ritual. These are noted in a separate passage following the ritual spells.

The results of the previous sections make it possible to grasp the specific meaning of this note “wording of words” (ka enim-ma): as has been shown in the evaluation of the Praise Song to the Goddess Našše (§4.1) and the Praise Song to Lugalbanda (§4.2), “wording of the words” is a concise term for the content of those texts that originate from a deity and are to be transmitted verbatim. In other words, the term “wording of the words” becomes relevant when it comes to an original Mesopotamian perspective on sacred texts. The result of the combined analyses of myths about sacred texts and close textual reading and new translations is that the term “wording of the words” is abbreviated and, in the cases mentioned, stands for “wording of the words (of the sacred text)” or, closer to the Mesopotamian meaning, “wording of the words (of a deity)”, i.e., divine wordings.

From the synopsis of these findings the conclusion arises that the texts provided with the subscript “wording of the words” are also to be understood as sacred texts that reproduce the “wording of the words” of a deity. What this means is startling: all such ritual spells were considered to be sacred texts! In other words, people’s lives were thus filled with spells that were attributed to deities. No wonder people attributed power to them and were in anticipation of the impact they would have.

This result is surprising in terms of scope. In terms of content, the outcome does not stand alone, but can be deepened by other statements: Explicit evidence of the idea that rituals literally originate from the gods is found in various ritual spells, when the ritual expert states that the ritual spell does not originate from him, but is rather the property of the gods.¹⁰³ For example:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

From a Ritual to remedy impotence (ša₃ zi-ga/ nīš libbi), LKA 97, 2, 21–22a¹⁰⁴

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Corresponding statements can be found in similar formulations in other rituals, e.g., in a Ritual Spell for Calming a Crying Infant:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

From a Ritual text for Calming an Infant, VAT 8896, KAR 114 Rs. 1–4¹⁰⁵

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Here, on the one hand, it is Ea and Ea’s son Asalluḫi, known like Ea as a ritual god, and on the other hand it is the healing gods Damu and Gula and the ritual goddess Nin-girima, known from ancient times (the 3rd millennium), who recite ritual spells themselves and allow the human ritual expert to get to know them.

Other sources for the divine origin of sacred texts may be found elsewhere. Rituals used by the ritual expert (āšipu; mašmaššu) are attributed to the ritual god Enki/Ea according to a famous text. This is the Catalogue of Texts and Authors; its four manuscripts known so far date to the first half of the 1st millennium.¹⁰⁶ In this same Catalogue, other texts are also attributed to certain people, and in some cases their professions are also mentioned. It is notable that the professions mentioned there (those preserved in the text) belong to the context of the religious experts.¹⁰⁷ Mention is thus made of lament singers (kalû), ritual experts (āšipu / mašmaššu) and diviners (bārû). The fact that such powerful texts are transmitted on the one hand by gods and on the other by humans can be understood if one takes into account this very Mesopotamian idea that priestesses, priests, and ritual experts act as embodiment and representative of gods when performing their specific tasks. A perfect testimony of the last point appears in the following text¹⁰⁸:

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Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

From the ritual series Bīt Mēseri 2, 226¹⁰⁹

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The ritual expert is a “statue of Marduk,” which means that he is a manifestation of the god, not unlike the statue itself, in which the god is imagined present.¹¹⁰

Even in such cases, therefore, the origin of the ritual spells is – from an original perspective – divine: for ancient Mesopotamia, sacred texts are not man-made but divine texts.

6.1 Methodological Basics: The Three Pillars of Translation

The paper has made clear how basic philological and Hylistic research go hand in hand, both in order to understand texts and myths i.e., to be able to translate the texts and to reconstruct the narrative materials correctly. The tools of narrative material research (Hylistics) have enabled the reconstruction of various myths, including the first MYTH ABOUT THE ORIGIN OF WRITING. Methodologically, this effort has shown the great difference between a text translation and a myth reconstruction. But the two endeavours are most intricately intertwined. The basic reading or translation of a text does not promise an automatic understanding of its content. At the same time, it becomes clear that one cannot translate texts properly when one does not understand their content properly. The process of translation succeeds only in interaction with such semantic analysis. The reconstruction of narrative material (i.e. content) is thus a necessary methodological tool that must complement the other analyses so that a text may be correctly translated. We may regard of these activities as the three pillars of translation: analyses of grammar, vocabulary, and semantics. For the first time, systematic methodological tools for determining the semantics of narrative texts are available in the form of hyleme analyses.

In order to understand how hyleme analysis (i.e. semantic analysis or content analysis) works, a comparison with grammar analysis is useful. Just as grammar analysis reveals information about hidden morphemes (e.g. of a Sumerian text), which is necessary for the translation of a text, hyleme analysis reveals information about hidden hylemes, which is necessary for the reconstruction of the narrative materials incorporated in a text, i.e. the semantics and content of a narrative text (which in itself is a prerequisite for translating such a text). Hyleme analysis turns out to be the tool for semantic analysis. Just as grammar analysis helps to make texts translatable, such semantic analysis makes the semantics of texts reconstructable (and thus their texts translatable). On this basis, meaningful narrative reconstructions and translations of difficult texts become possible. Decisions are no longer made “from the gut,” but on the basis of scientifically discussable principles. As a result, as grammar analysis is necessary for a sound translation of a text, so hyleme analysis is necessary for a sound reconstruction of a myth (or other narrative materials) and for a sound translation of its text.

An example of how precise hyleme analysis can help to find the translation of a difficult text passage is the end of the Keš Hymn, made possible in the context of myth reconstruction (§1.3).

6.2 Genre and the Threefold Profile of Texts

The study of the Keš Hymn has provided important insights into the field of genre studies. Time and again, the question whether a text should be attributed to the genre of literary or religious texts or whether it can even be called a myth has been debated. Such discussions, however, will never result in meaningful insights since the “labels” (literary, religious, mythic) belong to different categories. For instance, to label a text “myth” is misleading as it is not the text itself that is mythic, but its content. Sometimes, it belongs to another sort of narrative material altogether, such as legend, fairy tale, historical report, etc. Most often, at least in Mesopotamian texts, several narratives are incorporated into the content of a single text. Thus, for example, in the Keš hymn we have identified at least two myths. Whereas the content may be mythic, the form can be literary (and thus further subdivided by genre, as hymnic literature, prose etc.) or non-literary. Such a mythic, literary text often belongs to yet another category – ritual texts or, in broader terms, religious texts. These categories refer to the function of the text.

Therefore, rather than defining a text in terms of only a single genre, it is better to define it in terms of a threefold profile, as the following table shows:

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The threefold profile of texts

Citation: Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 22, 2 (2022) ; 10.1163/15692124-12341333

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Defining a text profile in this threefold manner avoids the confusion of categories: Text cannot be equated with myth, since myth belongs to the group of narrative materials and is therefore about context; literary form does not exclude ritual function. Such an analysis of the textual profile is important for understanding and communicating what kind of text we are dealing with.

6.3 Mythical Insights Into the Creation of Sacred Texts

Traces of mythical traditions in Sumerian texts of the 3rd and 2nd millennium BC have for the first time provided substantial insights into how the origin and transmission of sacred texts were imagined in ancient Mesopotamia. Through methods of narrative research (Hylistics), myths and myth fragments have been reconstructed, showing that it is deities such as Enlil or Nintu (§1), Enki (§3, §4.1), or Utu (§4.2) who are credited with the creation of such sacred texts through singing and speaking. Their powerful songs and spells are used in rituals to achieve the most important goals for Mesopotamia, such as the functioning of temples, and thus the prosperity of the city-state.

The Hylistic reconstruction reveals the first known myth about the creation of a sacred text, which has been handed down in the Keš Hymn in versions of the 26th and 18th/17th centuries. It is the myth Enlil Creates the Sacred Song for Keš. Enlil’s singing activates the temple of Keš, i.e., he puts it to its tasks. It should be noted that the sacred text is created here in oral form (§1.2).

The evaluation of the stratigraphic evidence has also provided insights into other myth versions: for example, the myth of Enlil’s Creation of a Sacred Song for Keš proves to be an innovation over an earlier myth about Nintu’s Creation of a Sacred Song for Keš that attributed the creation of the sacred text for Keš to its city goddess (§1.4–1.5).

6.4 The First Myth about the Origin of Writing

This myth about the creation of the sacred text is connected in the version reported in the Keš Hymn with another myth: the myth about the origin of writing. This other is the myth Nissaba Creates Writing for the Sacred Song of Enlil (§1.6). It is the first myth we know about the origin of writing from the perspective of the inventors of cuneiform writing! The term “invention,” however, is somewhat misleading in terms of gaining the most historically accurate possible approximation to the ideas of the Mesopotamians. Divine action here is creative action at the beginning of the world. Therefore, we are dealing here with an act of creation. It is not about “finding” or “inventing”, but about creating. The Mesopotamian perspective anchors the creation of writing at the beginning of the world.

6.5 Oral Creation and Written Preservation of Sacred Texts

From the Keš Hymn and its basis, the myths about the origin of a sacred text and the origin of writing, significant new insights have emerged into the original Mesopotamian perspectives on the formation of sacred texts and of their writing, as well as their evaluation (§1):

1. The emergence of a sacred text is not at the will of man, but owes itself to the creative action of the gods (e.g., Enlil).

2. The creation of a sacred text happens orally, within the framework of the performance of this text (a song or spell). A written version does not yet exist. The scenario is thus fundamentally different from what is usually imagined by analogy with today’s practices (where author equals writer).

3. The creation of writing is temporally subordinated to the oral creation of the sacred text.

4. The creation of writing by Nissaba is hierarchically subordinated to the oral creation of the sacred text by Enlil.

5. The oral creation of sacred texts therefore has the highest priority.

6. Writing is used for the preservation of sacred texts.

7. Analyses of textual design show that the oral creation of sacred texts has the higher rank, but that one formally highlights their preservation through writing as an innovative event.

8. The origin of the sacred texts and the origin of their preservation through writing both lie in divine acts of creation.

6.6 More Myth Fragments about Nissaba

These concrete statements based on the myths in the Keš Hymn can be regarded as prototypical and can thus be generalised as insights into Mesopotamian conceptions of the world, as has been shown by research into further texts and myths. Thus, the meaning of the subscript about the praise of the scribe goddess Nissaba has been clarified as an allusion to myths about the creation of writing and ritual writings (§1.6). Nissaba is praised for recording the divine words in writing and thus preserving the sacred texts (which, from an emic perspective, start from Nissaba and enter then the chain of tradition).

6.7 Sacred Texts with Divine Aura

Deities not only create and store the sacred texts; deities also bring the divine spells and rituals – in oral or written form – from distant cosmic realms to their city and temple, as exemplified in the myth Našše Brings the Sacred Texts of Enki to Her City (§3, 4.1). Deities, partly manifested in priestesses, priests or ritual experts, reveal these gods’ words. Therefore, these words of the gods have such a great power that in Mesopotamian perspective they are not only considered as “sacred texts,” but even as numinous entities with divine radiance (as, e.g., in ser₃ ku₃.g). Therefore, no one is allowed to change the wording of these texts. Research on this major topic is still in its infancy; further studies will follow.¹²⁸

The exact wording in which the myth Našše Brings the Sacred Texts of Enki to Her City is handed down in the Song of Praise to Našše (Nanše A) proves to be a heuristic key to the understanding of the designation of ritual spells, which is best attested in the 2nd and 1st millennium. This designation (ka enim-ma “wording of the words”) thus reveals itself as a marker of words of the gods, i.e., sacred texts (§4.3).

6.8 Mesopotamia: Religion of Sacred Texts

The phenomenon of sacred texts proves surprisingly alive in Mesopotamia: it is not a marginal phenomenon, but one of central importance. The discovery of the oldest sacred texts of mankind and the oldest reflections on their origin shows the priority of the oral creation and performance of such ritual songs and spells. The discovery of the first myth about the creation of writing reveals that the descendants of its inventors understood this world-shaking invention in its innovative potential as a product of divine creative power at the beginning of the world.

The results have implications for the classification of Mesopotamian religion in the overall context of religions. Mesopotamian religion is, in original perspective, based heavily on orally and written¹²⁹ sacred texts – different from what had been thought until now. In reality, Mesopotamia is the first known religion with sacred texts.¹³⁰

6.9 News about the Origin of Writing: Writing of the Gods vs. Administrative Tool

For the scientific reconstruction of which phenomena contributed to the emergence of writing, a more complex scenario is emerging than previously envisioned. According to today’s historical reconstruction, writing was invented in Mesopotamia for the purpose of administration in the metropolis of Uruk, which had become too complex due to its sheer size. The newly reconstructed Myth of the Invention of Writing by Nissaba (§1.6), which is also alluded to in the subscripts of other texts praising Nissaba (§2), shows that according to ancient Mesopotamian ritual texts the primary and decisive function of the invention of writing was not seen in overcoming economic challenges, but in coping with ritual tasks. One imagined that certain gods who were engaged in permanently securing powerful rituals, as well as their important praise songs, invented writing and gave it to humans so that their human protégés could continue to perform the rituals as authentically as possible for the gods – so it was told in myths. The gods were seen as manifest in the priestesses and priests who were responsible for the performance of sacred texts in rituals (§4.3). It was these persons who held key positions in early Mesopotamian society.

These findings have a major impact on the historical understanding of the emergence of writing. The fundamental respect of the Mesopotamians for the correct transmission of the powerful words of the gods in order to perform their rituals correctly is to be seen as an essential impulse for the more differentiated formation of a complex writing system.¹³¹ And even the preliminary stages of writing – it would be almost surprising if the Mesopotamians perceived them as serving only the needs of a complex economy, and not as linked to the needs of the gods. Economic-administrative requirements, serving the aim of providing for the gods in temple households,¹³² may have led to the development of cuneiform characters, but only at a rudimentary level. The Mesopotamian ability to invent a comprehensive reproduction of language in writing, i.e. to write concrete and even abstract content with a rich vocabulary and grammatical elements and with a complex syntax, first appears not in the economic-administrative texts of the Uruk period, but in the religious-literary texts of the subsequent centuries.¹³³

The myth Nissaba creates writing for the sacred song of Enlil can serve as a model that it was precisely the cultic and ritual needs that generated the desire to preserve divine spells and songs that, according to the evidence presented here, played an essential role in the development of a rudimentary script into a full script – a script in the true sense of the word.