 

Fate and Authority in Mesopotamian

Literature and the Iliad
Angus M. Bowie

In Iliad , when Zeus suggests that he might save his son Sarpedon,
Hera replies (.–):
Dread son of Kronos, what a thing that is to say! Do you intend to rescue
from woeful death a mortal man long ago destined to his fate? Do it, but
not all of us other gods will be pleased with you.
When Zeus orders the gods to keep out of the battle in Iliad , he
threatens any who disobey with dread punishment and boasts of his power
over them (.–):
If all of you, gods and goddesses, were to hang a golden chain from heaven
and take hold of it, you would not drag from heaven to earth Zeus the
highest counsellor, not even if you were to make a great effort. But
whenever I really wanted to pull on it myself, I would draw you up along
with the earth and sea; then I would tie the chain about the pinnacle of
Olympus and everything would be left in mid-air. So far am I above gods
and men.
In these two passages the relationship between Zeus and fate, and the
question of Zeus’s authority amongst the gods, are brought starkly to the
fore. Both topics have been much discussed, and it is the purpose of this
chapter to conduct a cross-cultural comparison of the Iliad’s ideas on them
with what is to be found in Mesopotamian literature, in order to gain some
new perspectives on how the two traditions treat these questions. This is,
then, a simple exercise in ‘comparative religion’ with a relatively narrow
scope. No claims are made therefore about the genealogical or historical
relationships between the two, and there is no intention to attempt to give
a full account of the problems of the concept of ‘fate’ or of its operation in


Quotations are according to the Oxford Classical Texts; translations are my own.

For a book-length application of this method, see Haubold a. A small number of comparative
remarks will also be made about Hittite ideas of fate.


  . 
the two cultures. Something similar could have been achieved by compar-
ing Homer with other Greek writers, but a specific cross-cultural approach,
whilst being more manageable, offers a greater disparity of material and
may therefore illuminate in unexpected ways, giving a clearer sense of what
is distinctive in the Homeric treatment. There is of course an artificiality
in comparing a poem which, while it has a long tradition behind it, dates
from a particular time and context, with evidence from a highly disparate
set of periods, places and genres, but the nature of the material available to
us makes it hard to avoid this if one wishes to pursue a comparison of
this kind.
We shall discuss fate first and then authority.

Fate

Mesopotamia
In discussing the Mesopotamian material, I shall for convenience concen-
trate largely on Sumerian literature, noting some Akkadian equivalences
since, apart from some significant differences to be noted below, there is a
close correspondence between Sumerian and Akkadian texts, which share,
for instance, a common eulogistic phraseology.
The Sumerian word for ‘fate’ is ‘nam-tar’, literally ‘a destiny decided’;
the Akkadian šīmtu is a feminine noun from the verb šiāmu, ‘to deter-
mine’. This idea of determination is central to the operation of fate.
The notion that gods, either individually or in groups, determine fates
is a regular refrain throughout Sumerian literature. This power lies


In making this comparison between ‘Greece’ and ‘the Near East’ I am not implying that these are
entirely separate entities, nor that either of them forms a block with unchanging geopolitical and
chronological boundaries: against such ideas and the casual (or indeed any) use of the term ‘Near
East’, see van Dongen . For convenience too I use ‘epic’ very loosely.

Unless indicated, Mesopotamian texts are Sumerian. Texts and translations are conveniently
available in the ETCSL, whence the numerical references are taken. A selection of the texts is also
available in Black et al. . Translations of Akkadian texts (which are identified as such) are from
Foster , except where otherwise indicated. I am very grateful indeed to Christopher Metcalf for
help with bibliography on Near Eastern matters.

The relationships between Sumerian and Akkadian literature are highly complex; for a brief
exposition, see Foster : –. On the rhetoric of the eulogies, see Metcalf a.

See, e.g., Lämmerhirt and Zgoll : –. Hittite NAM-aš and GUL/gul-šu-u-wa-ar similarly
indicate the ‘determining’ of fate, see Schwemer : , Waal  (on the reading of the Hittite
word and signs). Latin fatum, from fari ‘say’, is thus closer to this concept in origin than it is to Greek
moira (see below), though in use it is similar to that of moira.

See Lambert , Oppenheim , Rochberg-Halton , Drewnowska and Sandowicz ,
Lämmerhirt and Zgoll  (with further bibliography in –), Steinkeller a.
 Fate and Authority 
particularly in the hands of the main gods, such as An and Enlil, but other
gods have it in hymns in their honour, especially Inana, who ‘rivals great
An . . . He dare not proceed against her command. Without Inana
great An makes no decisions, and Enlil determines no destinies.’
Fates are naturally decreed at the start of events or lives: before the gods
were created, there were no fates decreed (Enūma eliš  –, ed. Lambert
), sunrise is ‘where the fates are decided’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxvi ). The
idea of building a temple for Ningirsu is conceived ‘on the day when
in heaven and earth the fates had been decided’, and a ‘fated brick’ is
moulded for the purpose. When great gods or kings are born, a fate is
decreed for them: Ninurta’s mother tells Enlil to ‘decide a great fate for
the son who is your avenger!’ (Lipit-Eštar D, –), and King Sin-iqišam is
an ‘exalted lord, for whom a favourable destiny was determined while he
was still in the good womb!’ Other entities, too, have their fates given
them: Enki determines those of the cities of Sumer, Urim and Meluḫ a
(Enki and the World Order, –). After a crucial battle, Ninurta
determines the future fates for mountains and stones (Lugale, –).
A fly helps Inana, and ‘young lady Inana decreed the destiny of the fly: “in
the beer-house, may . . .. . . bronze vessels . . .. . . for you”’ (Inana’s Descent
to the Netherworld, –). Plants (Enki and Ninhursaga, –) and
rivers (Lugalbanda and the Anzud-bird, –) too receive their fates. The
decreeing of fate is thus a way in which gods maintain orderly control of
the universe.
A fate can be created for specific circumstances, as Marduk demands
before fighting Tiamat and Qingu: ‘convene an assembly, and proclaim for
me an exalted destiny’ (Enūma eliš  ). Conversely, a good fate can be a
reward for exceptional service. Nam-zid-tara, a gudu-priest, is rewarded by
Enlil for a clever response (Enlil and Nam-zid-tara, –), and king Šulgi
as one who ‘fitted out the holy barge’ (Šulgi R, –); in myth the Anzud


Inana C, –; cf. –, –, –. So Nergal is told in Šu-ilīšu A, – ‘you are the
junior Enlil! It is in your power to determine destinies.’ Cf. also Ištar, Inana’s Akkadian equivalent,
in Hymn to Ištar,  (Foster : ): ‘she grasps in her hand the destinies of all that exists’; see vii–
x for her importance; Great Prayer to Ištar, – (Foster : ). See also Metcalf a:
– (esp. f.).

Gudea Cyl. A i –; cf. Enki and the World Order, –.

Gudea Cyl. A i –, v –, vi –, etc.; cf. The Lament for Nibru, –, Enki and Ninmah,
–.

Sîn-iqīšam A –. A more disabused view is taken in The Instructions of Šuruppag, : ‘The wet-
nurses in the women’s quarters determine the fate of their lord.’

See also the recently published Old Babylonian Sumerian version of Adapa, where Enki decrees the
destiny of the South Wind (Cavigneaux : , line ; the text actually attributes the decreeing
to the wind, which must be a small slip), and Cavigneaux’s note ad loc. ().
  . 
bird offers Lugalbanda the choice of a fate for his generous treatment of his
nest (Lugalbanda and the Anzud bird, –). A bad fate may be a
punishment, as the male prostitute finds in the Akkadian Descent of Ištar
to the Netherworld (–). In one case, a fate accompanies death: ‘May
Nanna decree your fate on the day of sleep’ (An Elegy on the Death of
Nannaya, –). In hymns and prayers, the emphasis naturally tends to
be on good fates, but in the Akkadian Epic of Gilgameš, a gloomier view
of human fate is found, in the idea that ‘the doom of mortals’ is death at
a time the gods will not disclose.
It is regularly stated that fate is unchangeable. When the flood is
decreed, ‘a decision that the seed of mankind is to be destroyed has been
made. The verdict, the word of the divine assembly, cannot be revoked.
The order announced by An and Enlil cannot be overturned’ (The Flood
Story, C–). Ninurta’s orders are ‘unalterable, his allotted fates are
faithfully executed’ (Lugale, –), his ‘fixing of destinies cannot be upset’
(Ur-Ninurta C, –), and Enlil is one ‘whose utterances cannot be over-
turned! Nunamnir, whose decisions cannot be altered’ (Būr-Suen B, –).
Mortals also fail to have fate changed, as in the case of King Naram-Suen
who, when faced with the destruction of Agade, ‘in order to change what
had been inflicted (?) on him, tried to alter Enlil’s pronouncement’ (Cursing
of Agade, –): he failed.
However, there are cases where fate is changed, notably in the cases of
the destruction of cities. The most striking example is the Lament for
Sumer and Urim. This begins with the lines (–, ):
To overturn the appointed times, to obliterate the divine plans, the storms
gather to strike like a flood. An, Enlil, Enki and Ninḫ ursaĝa have decided
its fate – to overturn the divine powers of Sumer, to lock up the favourable
reign in its home, to destroy the city.
The new fates replace the earlier, and the new fate is unchangeable: ‘its fate
cannot be changed. Who can overturn it? It is the command of An and
Enlil. Who can oppose it?’ (–). This change is explained later (–):
Urim was indeed given kingship but it was not given an eternal reign. From
time immemorial, since the Land was founded, until people multiplied,
who has ever seen a reign of kingship that would take precedence for ever?
The reign of its kingship had been long indeed but had to exhaust itself.


Such speculation on fate is not in fact a regular feature of Mesopotamian epic.

Cf. SBV  , , –.
 Fate and Authority 
Similarly, but more pointedly, the chaos that ensued after the death of
Ur-Nammu is explained as follows: ‘because An had altered his holy words
completely, . . . and because, deceitfully, Enlil had completely changed the
fate he decreed’ (Ur-Namma A, –). Inana’s complaints are to no avail:
‘“if there are divine ordinances imposed on the Land, but they are not
observed, there will be no abundance at the gods’ place of sunrise”’
(–); she can only compensate him with fame in future. In some
cases, after the destruction, fate can again be changed to a better future, as
in the case of The Lament for Nibru (–):
Enlil who has decreed your fate has said, ‘My city, you have placated my
sacred heart towards you.’ He has returned to you! . . . True city, he has
decreed your great fate and made your reign long!
What is noticeable here is that fate is a rather abstract entity. It has no
corporeal existence. In part, this is to do with the nature of much of the
evidence: in works whose purpose is to praise gods, it is natural that they
should be represented as in control, rather than relying on, say, old ladies
with spindles. More popular literature presents a slightly different picture,
as in the proverb, ‘Fate is a dog – well able to bite. Like dirty rags, it clings,
saying: “Who is my man? Let him know it.”’
Fate does have a physical, though not anthropomorphised, existence
in the few references to it as inscribed on tablets. An writes a tablet for
king Šulgi (Šulgi D, –), and such references occur particularly (and
naturally) in connection with Nisaba, goddess of accounting and scribal
education, and with her husband Haia, ‘who holds the great tablets . . .


For fame as part of fate after death, cf. also Ur-Namma A, –, Inana and Šu-kale-tuda,
–, and the Akkadian Adapa and the South Wind fr. D  (Foster : ).

That the idea of changing fate was not necessarily viewed as problematic can be seen from the remark
made by a scribe to a pupil in E-dub-ba-a C: ‘Nisaba has placed in your hand the honour of being a
teacher. For her, the fate determined for you will be changed and so you will be generously blessed’
(–).

The Fates are, however, personified in an Akkadian hymn marking the restoration of Ištar’s cult-
objects, in a list of gods who rejoice: ‘May the Fates, goddesses of the land, be glad’ (Foster :
, line ).

Proverbs: Collection  + : ; cf. ‘Fate is a cloth stretched out in the desert for a man. Fate is a raging
storm blowing over the Land’ (–).

Though note the ‘fate demon’ in A Man and his God – ‘he eradicated the fate demon which
had been lodged in his body’; cf. –, –.

Though the Hittite root gulš- means literally ‘inscribe’, there are no certain instances of written
tablets of fate in Hittite sources, though there is one reference in a Hurrian text to the ‘tablet of life’;
see Schwemer : .

E.g., Enlil-bāni A, – ‘Nisaba . . . has placed his (?) name on the tablet of life.’ Cf. also Gudea
Cyl. A iv –v ; Nisaba A, –; The Keš temple hymn, –. In the account of Sargon II’s eighth
campaign, the month of July ‘determines the plans of the human denizens of this world’ and these
  . 
palace archivist of heaven and earth, who keeps count of every single
assignment, who holds a holy reed-stylus and covers the great tablets of
destiny with writing!’ (Rīm-Sîn B, –).
In three cases, narratives rather than hymns or eulogies, the physicality
of the tablet takes on a major importance, in the form of the ‘tablet of
destiny’. There is only one actual description of this artefact, on an
inscription of Sennacherib:
The Tablet of Destinies, the bond of supreme power, dominion over the
gods and underworld . . . the link of the Canopy of Anu and Gansir which
Aššur, king of the gods, took in his hand and held at his breast – a
representation of his form, the replica of his proper appearance, is depicted
on it: he grasps in his hand the leashes of the great heavens.
The tablet thus symbolises the holding together of the universe and gives
the supreme deity the means to exercise his power.
In the Sumerian Ninurta and the Turtle and the Akkadian Enūma eliš
and Anzu, possession of this tablet is crucial to that exercise of power. It
seems that it is important for the good order of the universe that the tablet
is in the correct hands; when it is usurped, it offers great power to its
possessor, but that is overcome by the decreeing of a special fate in the
second text and a stratagem in the third.
In the humorous Sumerian poem Ninurta and the Turtle, the fragmen-
tary text begins with the Anzud chick explaining to Ninurta that ‘I let the
divine powers go out of my hand . . . This tablet of destinies returned to
the abzu. I was stripped of the divine powers’ (B –). The beneficiary is
Enki, ensconced in the abzu, who is unwilling to lose the tablet, and so
pays Ninurta great honours. Ninurta is not satisfied and ‘sets his sights on
the whole world’; Enki fathoms Ninurta’s plan and sets about foiling it,
which is where the turtle comes in, though the ending is lost (B –).
Possession of the tablet of destiny plays an important role in Enūma eliš,
in that Marduk’s triumph is crowned by taking it from Tiamat’s champion
Qingu: ‘the tablet of destinies which Qingu had taken and carried, / He

are inscribed by Ninšiku ‘on a hoary tablet’ (Foster : , line ). See also Focke : –
on this topos.

On this tablet and its relationship to power, see esp. Lawson : –. Comparable perhaps is
Inana’s collection and transporting in the Boat of Heaven of the ‘divine powers’ (the ‘me’) given her
by Enki (Inana and Enki, F–).

See George ; the translation is his.

For other references to this tablet, cf., e.g., the Babylonian myth of the Twenty-one ‘Poultices’ (LKA
 obv. –, quoted by Lawson : ), Erra   (Foster : ), and in the human
sphere, Marduk’s prophecy concerning Nebuchadnezzar I: ‘I delivered all lands (into his power) . . .
I gave him the [tablet?] of destinies’ (Foster : ).
 Fate and Authority 
took charge of it as a trophy(?) and presented it to Anu’ ( –). It is in
Anzu however that its powers are most strikingly seen. When the Igigi
bring news of the birth of the spectacular bird Anzu, Enlil appoints him
guardian of the entrance to his chamber (Late Version  ). However,
Anzu is fascinated by Enlil’s ‘lordly crown, his divine apparel, / . . . the
tablet of destinies in his hands’, which Enlil puts aside as he bathes
( –). Anzu then decides ( –):
I myself will take the gods’ tablet of destinies,
Then I will gather to myself the responsibilities of all the gods,
I shall have the throne for myself,
I will take power over authority.
I will be commander of each and every Igigi-god.
The power of the tablet is then displayed by the result of the theft ( –):
Awful silence spread, deathly stillness spread.
Their father and counsellor Enlil was speechless.
The cella was stripped of its divine splendour.
When attempts to find a champion to tackle Anzu fail, the great mother
goddess Bēlet-ilī agrees to send her husband Ninurta, son of Enlil. It is her
fundamental structure of authority, underpinned by the tablet, that is
threatened ( –):
I made all the Anunna gods,
To my brother I [. . .] supremacy,
I assigned kingship of heaven to Anu.
Anzu has thrown into confusion the kingship I appointed,
The tablet of destinies, . . . Anzu . . . has taken control.
In the ensuing battle, the power of the tablet is further made manifest.
Ninurta shoots an arrow, but it returns ( –):
Because he held the tablet of destinies of the gods in his hand,
The bowstring brought forth arrows,
but they did not approach his body.
Battle dies down, attack was held back,
The fighting stopped,
within the mountain they did not conquer Anzu.
Encouraged by advice from Ea however, Ninurta is finally victorious, and
the return of the tablet is the key feature, as Ea says to Dagan ( –):


Whether Ea speaks or Enlil is uncertain.
  . 
‘The warrior Ninurta took control
of the tablet of the gods’ destinies for his own hands.
Send to him, let him come to you.
Let him place the tablet of destinies in your lap.’
In Sumerian and Akkadian literature, therefore, fate is something which
the gods control by decree and through which they maintain order in
the universe. It can be awarded for merit and, though often said for
eulogistic reasons to be unchangeable, can be altered to maintain that
order. In a few cases it is represented by a tablet, possession of which is
crucial to power. It is mentioned much more often in prayers and hymns
than in epic.

Iliad
The Sumerian and Akkadian words for ‘fate’ pointed up a central feature
of fate’s role in the world, and the Greek terminology highlights a major
difference between the two systems. Mesopotamian ‘fate’ was essentially
a matter of ‘decree’. In Greek, the main words, moira, moros, are from
(s)meiromai ‘to receive as one’s share (meros)’; aisa, essentially a synonym
for moira, is from a root * hei- ‘give, take’ (cf. ainumai, aiteo) and so again
comes to mean ‘part’; the less common potmos ‘that which falls out’ is
from pipto ‘fall’. The idea of fate being determined by someone is not
absent in the Iliad, but it is much more attenuated; fate is something
which people have as their lot, but where it comes from is far from clear.


The idea that fate can be changed by appropriate actions by mortals is central to
Mesopotamian divination.

On fate in Homer, see, e.g., Nägelsbach : – (useful collection of relevant passages),
Bianchi , Pötscher , Ramat , Dietrich , Nilsson : –; Allan  (esp.
on the relationships with Near Eastern literature), Scodel  (on the metapoetics of fate); LfgrE s.
vv. μοῖρα, μόρος, αἶσα and πότμος.

See Chantraine : s.v. .–.

See Dietrich : –, and West :  on IE words for fate meaning ‘turn out, happen’.
A further term, κήρ, plays less of a role. It comes closest to ‘fate’ in .– ‘since hateful ker has
engulfed me, which took possession of me at birth’, but more usually it refers to death or the agents
of death (e.g., Il. .); it is personified on Achilles’ shield (.–); see generally Dietrich
: –, who overstates its impersonality. Homer’s picture of the keres is very different from
the extravagant description in [Hes.] Sc. –.

The idea of fate as a portion appears in various Indo-European traditions: as well as Lachesis, related
to λάχος ‘portion’, cf. the Latin Morta, one of the Parcae, and the Gaulish goddesses of abundance
Canti-smerta and Ro-smerta both from *smer-, and Old English meotod, Old Saxon metud, Norse
miǫtuðr all from *med- in the sense ‘measure’; see West : –, and Chantraine : s.v.
..
 Fate and Authority 
Since the world of the Iliad is not a literate one, the absence of
reference to physical tablets of fate is not surprising. There are however
more significant differences between the traditions. In Homer, gods,
individually or together, do not create fates in the apparently free way
that Mesopotamian gods regularly do, especially in hymns. There are
only two examples where they might seem to create fates: the words of
Menelaus about his duel with Paris, ‘let him die, for whichever of us fate
and death have been prepared (τέτυκται)’ (.), and the similar ones of
Achilles comparing his fate with Heracles’, ‘if a similar fate really has been
prepared for me’ (.). Here, however, the verb is in the impersonal
passive, and ‘fate has been prepared’ effectively means little more than ‘it is
fate that he die’ (μοῖρα [ἐστί] θανεῖν, e.g., ., .).
The idea of a fate being given at birth, which is a notable feature of the
Mesopotamian evidence, is also very rare. There are again but two cases.
Hera says that she and other gods have come down to protect Achilles, but
that (.–):
later he will undergo what Aisa spun with her thread for him at his birth,
when his mother bore him . . .
Hecuba uses very similar language of Hector (.–). No-one says,
as for instance does Pindar to Zeus about the newly-founded city of Aetna,
‘I ask you to grant to the children of the Aetnaeans a fate of good
governance (μοῖραν εὔνομον) for a long time’ (N. .–).
If the Homeric gods do not control fates as do the Mesopotamian
gods, Homeric fate itself appears to be more active – ‘appears’ because,
though ‘fate’ is often the subject of a verb, we are almost never dealing with

Though NB the ‘baleful signs’ (σήματα λυγρά) carried by Bellerophon (., , ) and
perhaps the marks made on the lots drawn for the duel with Hector: ‘each marked his lot with a
sign’ (ἐσημήναντο, .).

The contrast between literate recording of fate and its retention in the minds of the gods mirrors a
fundamental difference between Mesopotamian and Greek concepts of literature, which in the
former is something that is composed and recorded in writing in order to be performed, whereas the
Greeks depended on memory and the Muses: see Metcalf a: –.

It is to some extent a matter of genre, but in general the Mesopotamian fates tend to be good,
whereas those in Homer tend to be uncertain or presumed to be bad, being regularly called, e.g.,
κραταιή (‘powerful’), ὀλόη (‘destructive’), κακή (‘evil’), or δυσώνυμος (‘ill-named’, so ‘hateful’; see
Dietrich : –); in thirty of forty-seven instances in the Iliad, moira is associated with death
(Dietrich : ).

This is, however, also a feature of Hittite theology, where the GUL-š-/Gulša- ‘fate goddesses’
number a man’s days; Išduštaja and Papaja do the spinning; see Gurney : , Schwemer :
–, Waal .

For fate and spinning in Indo-European tradition, see West : –.

This is not explicitly stated in the Iliad, but see Od. .– ‘nor can the gods ward off death from a
man, dear to them though he is, when the dread fate (moira) of woeful death seizes him’.
  . 
living beings. The Fates never actually appear in the narrative (with
spindles or otherwise), as opposed to in the mouths of characters. The
situation is very different from that obtaining in Hesiod (Th. –):
the Moirai, to whom Zeus has given most honour, Clotho, Lachesis and
Atropos, who grant to mortal men the possession of good or evil.
Νor does any god have any direct dealings with them, in the way, say,
that Apollo goes to negotiate with them over the fate of Croesus (Hdt.
..–). Gods sometimes know what is fated, but we are never told
how.
The Moirai occur in the plural only once, in a rather general remark
by Apollo that ‘the Moirai have given mankind a heart that can bear
trouble’ (.), which does not really touch on their powers over events.
When ‘fate’ occurs with other similar abstractions, an element of person-
ification could be involved, as in Agamemnon’s putting the blame on
‘Zeus, Moira and the Fury that walks in darkness’ (.), and Xanthus’
putting it on ‘the great god and mighty Moira’ (.). Here it is notable
that fate is just one actant among a number and not necessarily the main
one. In, e.g., . ‘death and moira overtook him’, or . ‘near him
stood death and mighty moira’, it would be harder to claim personification
rather than a façon de parler. Even in dramatic phrases like ‘mighty moira
drove him to face god-like Sarpedon’ (..) or ‘destructive moira bound
Hector to stay there’ (.), it is not certain whether this is a colloquialism
or a theological statement.
Aisa cuts even less of an actual figure than Moira. It is three times the
subject of the phrase ‘(it is) fate’ (., ., .), and its spinning
is referred to once (.–; quoted above). Characters may be assured
(.) or assure themselves (.) that things that are not aisa will not
happen, but it is a less concrete concept than moira. Moros is very like aisa,
and potmos () is entirely an abstract idea, which one ‘meets’ (.) or
‘laments’ (.).


Cf. Nilsson : , discussing the Greek words for ‘fate’: ‘es kann keine persönliche, konkrete
Göttin sein, die mit solchen Wörtern bezeichnet wird’.

See further note  below.

On Moira in Homer, see Dietrich : –; on moros, –.

Cf. Ares’ almost casual reference to fate, when insisting on avenging the death of his son: ‘though it
be my moira to lie struck by Zeus’s thunderbolt’ (.–).

Cf. also ., . and ..

On Aisa in Homer, see Bianchi , Dietrich : –.
 Fate and Authority 
So, generally, gods (), Homer () and characters () attribute
actions to fate, but it is rare that they attribute great importance to it, as
opposed to blaming it for their misfortunes. It is here that Homer differs
considerably from Mesopotamian literature.
This brings us to the question of the changing of fate, which occurred in
special circumstances in Mesopotamia. In Greece, things are more com-
plicated. There are a number of places where the gods are keen to keep
fated events on track. For instance, three times Apollo acts to prevent
Aeneas (.–) and Troy (., , .–) from suffering
‘beyond what was moros / aisa’ (ὑπὲρ μόρον / αἶσαν), i.e., before their
allotted time, and Poseidon stops Aeneas risking his life ‘beyond fate’
(ὑπὲρ μόρον). Here there is no sense that the gods could actually change
fate, simply that they are required to preserve what is destined.
The possibility of changing fate is, however, raised on three occasions
which each have the same structure and nearly the same wording. We
started this chapter with Hera’s complaint about Zeus’s suggestion that
Sarpedon be saved, and when Zeus later suggests saving Hector, Athene
replies with almost exactly the same words, that a man πάλαι πεπρωμένον
αἴσῃ (‘long ago destined to his fate’) must die (.–). When in
Book  Zeus suggests saving Troy, Hera reacts in the same way, though
this time fate is not specifically mentioned (.–).
It is clear from Hera’s and Athene’s words that Zeus could change fate at
these moments: note especially the curt imperative ‘do it’ (ἔρδε). However,
he does not. There has been much discussion of why precisely he does
not, but the preservation of fate does not seem to be the only or even the
most important consideration. Though in two cases fate is mentioned in
the emphatically pleonastic phrase ‘long ago destined to his fate’, other
considerations are given at least as much prominence. If, in the case of
Hector, Athene mentions only the fact that his death is fated, in the other


Contrast, for instance, the fragment attributed to Archilochus (fr.  IEG), ‘Chance and Moira
grant everything to a man, Pericles.’

Cf. also . (Athene at the Greek flight to the ships), .– (Zeus starting the Theomachia
for fear Achilles may sack Troy). These passages raise the broader question of whether the other
gods have a similar knowledge of fate to Zeus. The number of cases where they evince such
knowledge is limited, which may be significant, and no other god makes the kind of authoritative
statement about the future that Zeus does at .–. Apollo and Poseidon clearly know
something of what is planned, but how much more they know is not clear. It is notable too that
humans also claim such knowledge, as Agamemnon (.–), Hector (.–) and Helenus
(.–).

For πεπρωμένος elsewhere, cf. only ὁμῇ πεπρωμένον αἴσῃ (‘who was allotted a similar portion’,
.) of Poseidon, and Achilles on himself and Patroclus, ἄμφω γὰρ πέπρωται ὁμοίην γαῖαν
ἐρεῦσαι (‘for it is fated that we both redden the same earth’, .).
  . 
two episodes other considerations have a major role. In the case of
Sarpedon, the reference to fate is followed by an understated threat of
the gods’ displeasure and, by implication, the possible implications for
Zeus’s authority (.–):
Τake care that some other god too may wish to send his beloved son from
the mighty battle, because many sons of the immortals are fighting around
the great city of Priam, whom you will annoy greatly.
When Zeus suggests that Troy itself be saved, Hera responds (.–):
Dread son of Kronos, what a thing to say! How can you want to make my
labours in vain and fruitless, and the sweat I sweated in my efforts? My pair
of horses were worn out as I gathered my people.
Here, at what is a much more crucial moment involving the whole city
rather than a single man, it is notable that she makes no reference to
fate, but again brings up considerations concerned with the relationships
between Zeus and the other gods, especially herself, and about her own
status and importance. Ever in Zeus’s mind must be the time that the
main anti-Trojan trio wanted to tie him up and salvation came only
through Thetis’ bringing of Briareus (.–). This is not to deny
that the fact that the deaths of Sarpedon and Hector are fated was a
determinant in Zeus’s decision-making, but it is notable that neither he
nor Hera nor Athene (nor indeed Homer) places the main emphasis on it.
From these three episodes, it is clear that Zeus has the possibility of
changing fate, but the text avoids strong suggestions that he does not
change it simply because the deaths are fated: displeasure amongst the
gods is what the text foregrounds. Zeus appears to be ambivalent about
the changing of fate. In each case, there are reasons for doing so: Troy
surpasses all cities in its generosity to the gods (.–), Hector was a
diligent sacrificer (.–) and Sarpedon is his son and ‘dearest of men’
(.). These considerations must weigh heavily: what more can men
do to please the gods than sacrifice generously? However, considerations of
the reactions of other gods ultimately weigh more heavily. His ambivalence
is best summed up by his own paradoxical remark to Hera when acqui-
escing in her desire for the destruction of Troy: ‘I have granted you this
willingly with a heart that is unwilling’ (ἑκὼν ἀέκοντί γε θυμῷ, .). This
is very different from the power the Mesopotamian gods exercise in


A similar argument is used by Athene to Ares, when he wants to re-enter the battlefield despite
Zeus’s forbidding it (.–).
 Fate and Authority 
deciding or changing fates or the great powers given by possession of the
tablet of destinies.
Fate is important in the Iliad, therefore, but the facts that its efficacy is
not foregrounded in the way that it can be in Mesopotamian texts, and
that Zeus seems moved more by considerations of maintaining his power,
suggest that divine authority is more of a concern to him. To this we
now turn.

Authority

Mesopotamia
The question of Zeus’s relationship with fate is part of the wider question
of the nature and extent of his power as chief of the gods. For insights into
this, we can turn to the Akkadian flood story, Atrahasīs. This poem
provides us with two depictions of Enlil’s use of his divine authority when
challenged, which take rather different courses. In the conflict with the
Igigi, he seems, if not always strong and stable, to operate a relatively
collegial system, and the problem reaches a relatively speedy resolution. In
dealing with noisy humanity, however, he is much more autocratic, causes
dissatisfaction amongst the gods and eventually is outwitted by Enki.
The tone of the two parts is also very different; the first has elements
of humour, the second is more full of sound and fury signifying death
and destruction.
In the first part, we find the Igigi hard at work (OBV  –):
The Igigi-gods were digging watercourses,
The waterways of the gods, the life of the land,
The Igigi-gods dug the Tigris river,
And the Euphrates thereafter.
After , years, they are naturally somewhat fed up with this, and ‘were
complaining, denouncing, / Muttering down in the ditch’ ( –).
Deciding to depose Enlil, they burn their tools and surround his house.
Enlil is rather unprepared for this, does not realise he is surrounded and
has to be roused from bed by Nusku. To confront the Igigi, he cautiously
positions the armed Nusku in front of himself, who expresses surprise at
his master’s fear: ‘My lord, your face is gone as pale as sallow as tamarisk! /


It is different too from the idea found in the Mahābhārata that fate and the will of the gods are one
and the same thing, which is also not the case in Mesopotamia. See, e.g., Johnson : xix–xxiii.

See Lambert and Millard .
  . 
Your own offspring! Why did you fear?’ ( –). Nusku suggests seeking
the help of Anu and Enki, but Enlil is uncertain what to do until Anu
suggests they find out who is responsible for the revolt. When he learns
that absolutely all the Igigi have joined in the revolt, Enlil weeps, but
immediately, and for the first time, takes the initiative, instructing Anu to
have the Anunnaki choose a god for destruction. This is done, but
Anu expresses sympathy for the Igigi and the neglect of them by the gods
( –):
What do we denounce them for?
Their forced labour was heavy, their misery too much.
Every day the Earth was . . .
The outcry was loud, we could hear their clamour.
The womb goddess is then charged with creating mankind, in which she is
helped by Enki, with rules set down covering the future birth of children.
Throughout this episode, then, we have a sense of Enlil not really being
in charge of or on top of things and rather dependent on the advice of
Nusku, Anu and Enki. On the other hand, there is a sense not only of
unity of purpose amongst the Anunnaki in the face of the Igigi’s revolt,
but also of the justness of the latter’s complaint and the need to address it.
The creation of mankind then seems to bring the problem to a satisfactory
close, at the cost of one god, of whom a ghost is made: ‘lest he be
forgotten, let the spirit remain’ ( ).
The second episode begins and ends in a similar fashion to the first, and
contains episodes of a similar structure, suggesting the two are comple-
mentary. It begins with problems with the humans, not revolting this time
like the Igigi but merely being vexatious, and there is again a slight element
of comedy about it ( –):
Twelve hundred years had not gone by,
The land had grown numerous, the peoples had increased,
The land was bellowing like a bull.
The gods became disturbed by their uproar,
Enlil heard their clamour.
He said to the great gods,
‘The clamour of humankind has become burdensome to me,
I am losing sleep to their uproar.
[ ] let there be ague . . .’
Desiring to protect the humans, Enki advises the mortal Atrahasis that
they should honour only Namtar, the god responsible for the disease
( –). Namtar is eventually shamed into stopping it: ‘he was shamed
 Fate and Authority 
by the gift and withdrew his hand. The ague left them’ ( –). The
solution is eventually found in a set of rules, again created by Enki with the
help of the womb goddess, which will lay down laws not about birth rites
but restrictions at birth on the size of the human population. A difference
from the first part is immediately noticeable, however, in that this time
Enlil is in no doubt about whether he is to resort to violence; he needs no
help or advice but immediately condemns the humans to destruction.
This pattern is repeated  years later, when Enlil again immediately
demands a famine, and Enki advises the same trick, this time involving
the god Adad. Gaps in the text obscure what happens next, but things
have clearly escalated. Dissent amongst the gods becomes clear, with Enki
and Enlil falling out. The gods demand that Enki create a flood, but he
refuses. Tablet  ends with someone saying explicitly ‘The gods com-
manded annihilation, Enlil committed the evil deed against the peoples’
( viii –).
The difficulties of this ‘evil deed’ become clear in the flood. Humans are
destroyed but the gods suffer too. Mami apportions blame ( –):
Where has Anu gone to, the chief decision-maker,
Whose sons, the gods, heeded his command?
He who irrationally brought about the flood,
And relegated the peoples to catastrophe?
The other gods join in her misery. The unwisdom of killing the humans
has become clear: no sacrificial food. After another long gap, the gods have
been given food, but even here there is dissention, as Enlil and Anu,
showing no remorse, avail themselves of the offerings ( v –):
Nintu arose to rail against all of them,
‘Where has Anu come to, the chief-decision-maker?
Has Enlil drawn nigh the incense?
They who irrationally brought about the flood,
And relegated the people to catastrophe?’
Furthermore ( vi –):
(Enlil) was filled with anger at the Igigi-gods.
‘All we great Anunna gods
Resolved together on an oath.’
Anu divines that Enki was to blame, but he is unrepentant: ‘I did it indeed
for your sakes! I am responsible for safeguarding life’ ( vi –).
There are gaps in the text, but some idea of what happened may be
given by the fact that two lines preserved of Enki’s speech are very close to
  . 
a line in what he says in the Akkadian Epic of Gilgameš after its account of
the Flood (SBV  –):
‘You, the sage of the gods, the hero,
how could you lack counsel and bring on the Deluge?
On him who transgresses, inflict his crime! . . .
Instead of your causing the Deluge,
a wolf could have risen, and diminished the people.’
This advice is taken, which suggests that harmony was finally restored
by a compromise, and Enlil, no doubt accepting Enki’s criticisms and
his justifications of his opposition to him, has Enki and Nintu/Mami
in the assembly of gods reach an agreement on controlling the
human population.
The effect of Enlil’s (and Anu’s) autocratic response to the problem of
human noise was thus turmoil in heaven and earth, and recriminations in
heaven. Autocratic responses, without the sanction of the other gods leads
to chaos, both amongst the gods, who suffer greatly in the flood, and the
humans, who are nearly annihilated. It is striking that neither Enlil nor
Anu seems to have any shame. Notable too is the complaint, twice made
by Mami/Nintu, that Enlil did not deliberate, an especial flaw in the
‘counsellor of the gods’. The contrast with the first episode involving
the Igigi underscores the message, as does the parallelism between the two
episodes. The poem is a remarkable demonstration of the importance of a
harmony in the universe, in which the importance of the role and rights,
not just of more minor deities but also of the human race, is acknowl-
edged. Unwisdom in the deployment of authority by the most powerful
gods, without consultation of or agreement with their fellow-deities, leads
to general distress and destruction, which only the intelligence and
cunning of a god like Enki prevents from being terminal for all.

Iliad
Atrahasīs thus allows us to reflect on Zeus’s apparently surprising willing-
ness not to exercise his authority on a number of occasions. We have
discussed above the three cases where Zeus suggests that a fated outcome
should be put off. In the case of Sarpedon, he merely indicates his
uncertainty: ‘my heart tends in two directions as I ponder this’ (.).
However, with Troy he is careful to involve the other gods in the decision-

 
The translation is from George : . Moran : .
 Fate and Authority 
making, ‘let us consider how these matters shall be’ (.), and with
Hector he goes one step further and hands the decision to them, ‘but
come, gods, consider and deliberate’ (.). In each case, Zeus gets a
very negative answer and he backs away from his original suggestion.
In the second passage with which this chapter began, we have the most
strident instance of Zeus’s attempt to impose his authority, but it is
striking how this attempt falls flat at the first sign of opposition. Athene
acknowledges his power and promises they will not join the battle, but
(.–):
‘We will give useful suggestions to the Argives so that they do not all perish
because of your anger.’ Cloud-gathering Zeus, smiling at her, answered,
‘Take heart, my child, Trito-born; I am not speaking seriously, and I want
to be nice to you.’
Zeus has in the past used physical strength to impose his authority, as
Hephaestus (.–) and Sleep (.–) recount and Zeus reminds
Hera (.–), but at this crucial moment such tactics seem to offer no
advantage in the politics of Olympus, and it is not many lines before Hera
and Athene are in their chariot on the way to the battlefield in despite of
Zeus’s warnings, and it is only the threat of a thunderbolt and maiming
that brings them grudgingly back into line (.–). But even here
Zeus shows a clear understanding of the situation he is in. At the end of his
speech, he explains the aim of his threats (.–):
So that grey-eyed Athene may know when it is her father she is fighting.
But I am not so angry or indignant with Hera, because it is always her way
to frustrate my commands.
His resignation before and acquiescence in Hera’s relentless opposition to
Troy stands out.
It may be in the same spirit that, after he has awoken from the sleep
after his tricking by Hera, he speaks threateningly to her of how he dealt
with her the last time she crossed him, and then, after Hera has rather
unconvincingly sworn she has done nothing wrong, sets out the events that
will occur ‘until the Achaeans capture steep Troy through the designs of
Athene’ (.–). At the same time, he recalls another determinant of his
actions, his promise to Thetis, and forcefully restates his position on
fulfilling that promise (.–; cf. .–). Once again, he is having
to negotiate between what the three most powerful gods want and what he
has committed himself to. In this he is successful, in that Hera goes back to
Olympus to warn the other gods (albeit grudgingly) against transgressing
Zeus’s commands (.–), a message which is reinforced when
  . 
Athene has to persuade Ares not to re-enter the battle because of the death
of his son – even this is not reason enough to go against Zeus (.–).
Hera and Athene may here act grudgingly, but Zeus has given them what
they want. Iris is sent to bring Poseidon back from the battle whither he
went when Zeus’s attention was elsewhere (.–), and Apollo is told to
go and revive the wounded Hector (.–). Everyone on Olympus
now has what they want (though there are elements in the form of the
deaths of children which Zeus and Thetis could wish away), and from now
on divine intervention in the battle is restricted to events which do not
threaten either the giving of honour to Achilles or the fall of Troy. Apollo
prepares the death of Patroclus (.–), and Poseidon saves Aeneas
(.–) and Apollo Hector (.–). Even Zeus’s suggestions
about saving Sarpedon and Hector involve individuals not, as in Book ,
the whole city of Troy. Having tried to keep the gods out of the battle
for so long, Zeus finally encourages them to fight amongst themselves in
the Theomachia (.–), but the ensuing combats, with their strong
burlesque elements, seen for instance in Athene’s treatment of Ares
(.–) or Poseidon’s almost weary suggestion to Apollo that they
should fight for form’s sake (.–), seem to reinforce the idea that
matters are now settled as far as the gods are concerned.
The contrast between Zeus’s threatening outbursts in Iliad  and 
points to a development in his strategy. It has become clear that Hera and
Athene, and indeed Poseidon, are not going to back down from their
insistence on a Greek victory. He must balance his desire to give honour to
Achilles, as he is bound to do by Thetis’ preservation of his power in the past,
with the need to acquiesce in what the most powerful among the other gods
wish, whatever his doubts about it. Zeus’s wisdom here is also visible when
one compares it to the disastrous consequences of the insistence on getting
their own way of the key human actors, Agamemnon, Achilles and Hector.

All in all, therefore, comparison with the many Mesopotamian hymns

and prayers and stories like Anzu shows how fate is less central to power in
the Iliad than in the Mesopotamian epic. There are no tablets or other
tokens possession of which gives Zeus power in the world; there is no sense
that Zeus controls things because he is in control of fate; fates are not
decreed in special circumstances, such as in return for good deeds for the


There is not the same closeness which is expressed in Hes. Th. –, where Thetis bears the
Moirai to Zeus, ‘to whom he granted the greatest honour (timē)’: Zeus here takes over the parentage
of the Moirai, though earlier they were the daughters of Night ().
 Fate and Authority 
gods. That Zeus could change major aspects of fate is clear from the
exchanges with Hera and Athene, but circumstances are always such
that he does not.
Comparison with Atrahasīs reinforces the wisdom of the use by the
leading god or gods of consultation and a tactical response to the demands
of other deities: the autocratic behaviour of Enlil leads to disaster for the
universe as a whole, and only Enki’s interventions bring about resolution.
No such mediator is required by Zeus, who is on his own as far as tactics
are concerned: unlike Hera and Athene, the pro-Trojan gods make little or
no attempt to sway him to their aim of saving Troy. Ultimately, of all the
main leaders in the Iliad it is the diplomatic Zeus who comes through
with his authority intact, even if what happens causes him great pain.


Cf. also his intervention to make Patroclus forget Achilles’ words of warning, which brings about
Patroclus’ end before his time (.–).

For a more detailed analysis of Zeus’s navigation of the politics of Olympus, see Elmer :
–.