THE PHOENICIAN CHAMELEON

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THE PHOENICIAN CHAMELEON

Phoenician cultural identity in the Hellenistic period

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2 | T h e P h o e n i c i a n c h a m e l e o n

LIST OF FIGURES

FIGURE 1: Map of ancient Phoenicia ... 4

FIGURE 2: Yehawmilk stele (fifth century BCE) ... 20

FIGURE 3: Vase from Sidon (fourth century BCE) ... 25

FIGURE 4: Silver didrachm from Tyre (fourth century BCE) ... 26

FIGURE 5: Gold dareikos from the Achaemenid empire (fifth century BCE) ... 27

FIGURE 6: Silver half shekel from Tyre (second century BCE) ... 34

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INTRODUCTION:

RECOGNISING THE HELLENISTIC PHOENICIAN

The Phoenicians have always been renowned for being the people who along with the Greeks sailed the seas to establish multiple colonies all over the Mediterranean. Their maritime skills were cherished at home and praised by their neighbours.1_{Much later, their prestige was still recognised,} as modern scholars sought to find out more about the accomplishments of this seafaring nation.2 The latter, however, often focussed on the Phoenician heydays, which they believed to have been in the period when they were still competing with the Greeks for hegemony in the Mediterranean. When the Greeks took control over Phoenician territory at the end of the fourth century BCE, many of these scholars seemed to have lost much of their interest in the Phoenicians, as the region became, in their opinion, to an increasing extent Hellenised.3

In recent times, however, the cultural development of the region in the Hellenistic age has been under increased scrutiny,4 and different concepts have been borrowed from the scholarship on cultural interaction to understand the transformations in terms less biased than Hellenisation. The cults of Sidon and Tyre, the most famous cities of ancient Phoenicia, have been studied in this more nuanced way, leading to conclusions that allowed for the Phoenician culture to be much more alive even after many elements of Hellenic culture were added to the Levantine landscape. Yet, a lot more remains to be discussed. Although less impressive for this region than for Greece and Egypt, for example, the remaining evidence allows us to study more aspects of Phoenician culture that can give us hints on its cultural transformation, which have not been discussed in much detail before. Indeed, whereas the main city cults of Tyre and Sidon in the Hellenistic age have received some attention,5 the festivals the Phoenicians celebrated in the same period have only been mentioned in passing, even though such public manifestations were rather important for the formation and maintenance of cultural identity,6 and could therefore serve as an indicator of cultural change. What is more,

1

IAG 41; Str. 16.2.23; Hdt. 1.143.1, 3.19.2-3. 2

See, for example, Baramki (1961); Harden (1962); Moscati (1968); Gubel (1986); Markoe (2000).

3

On such views, see, for example, Harden (1962), 56; Jidejian (1968), 10; Elayi (1980), 28; Grainger (1991), 51.

4

Nitschke (2011; 2013); Bonnet (2013). Another contribution of Bonnet (2015), an extensive work on religious developments in Hellenistic Phoenicia, unfortunately came out too late to be included in much detail.

5

For the cult of Tyrian Milqart in the Hellenistic period, see Bonnet (1988); Nitschke (2013). For the Sidonian cult of Ešmun, see Lipinski (1973); Bonnet (2013).

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although often studied on the spot,7 the Phoenicians who resided in the diaspora in the Hellenistic period have never been explicitly related to the developments that took place in the homeland. Therefore, it is these aspects of Phoenician culture in the Hellenistic period that will be central in this thesis, with the main question being: to what extent could the Phoenician culture still be regarded as

Phoenician in the Hellenistic period? The other side of the question obviously is the extent to which

the Phoenicians between the coming of Alexander and the beginning of the Roman period had integrated Hellenic and perhaps other cultural elements into their society.

Both questions are hard to answer without a proper framework. For that reason, the first chapter will be concerned with the earlier scholarship in the field of cultural interaction both in the Hellenistic Near East in general and in Phoenicia. Moreover, this chapter will also deal with several theories that have been introduced to explain these cultural encounters, as they might shed some light on the way the Phoenicians interacted with their environment. As some of these theories have already been proposed in the case of some of the Phoenician cults of the Hellenistic period, these will be discussed in some detail in the second chapter, along with cultic aspects which have been less studied in modern scholarship. Besides cults in Hellenistic Phoenicia itself, those include pre-Hellenistic external influences in the Phoenician cults, the Phoenician cults practiced abroad, and the way in which nomenclature could be linked to cultural transformation. While studying these topics, the question will be consistently asked what they could tell us about Phoenician identity and to what extent they had been subject to transformations in the Hellenistic period.

Those questions are again the core of the research in the third and fourth chapter. As concerns the Hellenistic festival, the celebrations before the introduction of Hellenic elements are discussed first, after which the focus will shift towards the continuity as well as the changes that affected these festivals. Among these alterations were the addition of Greek agones, which had been unknown to the Levantine environment before.8 Having discussed the religious transformations and continuity, in the last chapter the attention is shifted from the Phoenician coast to the Aegean trading ports with significant Phoenician populations. In this part, the central question will be to what extent Phoenicians in a more secular manifestation were making use of Greek habits and whether they were able to preserve native traditions. By combining the religious and the more ‘secular’ aspects, I try to give a satisfying view on the way the Hellenistic Phoenicians behaved in a world which at first sight seemed to have been increasingly Greek. Before doing so, however, let us first turn to what has been written before on the cultural encounters that took place in the Near East after the region was incorporated into Alexander’s empire.

7

Bruneau (1970); Baslez (1977; 1986); Lipinski (2004), 145-88

8_{Boutros (1981) has argued against this view, but has received very little support, partly due to its}

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CHAPTER 1:

FROM TOTAL ACCULTURATION TO MAINTENANCE OF TRADITIONS

Hellenistic Phoenicia in modern scholarship

In the past two centuries many authors have shun their light on the Hellenistic East, bringing with them a lot of different views. As the study of Hellenistic Phoenicia has been majorly influenced by broader trends in historiography on the Hellenistic East in general, I will briefly address these trends in this section before turning to the question of how the Phoenicians of the Hellenistic age have been perceived in modern scholarship.9 Afterwards, recent theories which might be useful for this thesis will be discussed in more detail.10 It should be argued, however, that even though many of such theories might be of some guidance in studying Hellenistic Phoenicia, none of them are able to give a full explanation on how the region developed culturally, and we should thus be aware to maintain such theories under continuous examination.11

1.1 Droysen’s legacy: Phoenicia and the Hellenistic East in modern historiography

When in the nineteenth century Johann Gustav Droysen was among the first to study the period after Alexander the Great’s conquests, he found a world that he described as being majorly influenced by Greek culture.12 With a major interest in how the ancient world moved towards Christianity, he coined the term ‘Hellenismus’ to refer to the period between classical Greece and the rise of Christianity, a term which was probably derived from Greek ῾Ελληνισμός as found in 2 Maccabees.13 Although the main purpose of Droysen would have been to use the term in a political

9

For a more extensive overview on modern historiography of the Hellenistic East, see Nitschke (2007), 1-17; Rossi (2011), 1-9; as concerns the study of Hellenistic Phoenicia, see Nitschke (2007), 18-29; idem (2011), 85.

10_{For an overview on theories on cultural interaction, see: Wallace-Hadrill, (2008), 11-38.}

11

Rossi (2011), 5-6.

12

Droysen (1833); see also Momigliano (1970).

13_{2 Macc. 4.13; ἦν δ᾿ οὕτως ἀκμή τις ῾Ελληνισμοῦ καὶ πρόσβασις ἀλλοφυλισμοῦ διὰ τὴν τοῦ ἀσεβοῦς καὶ οὐκ}

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sense,14 subsequent research often placed Hellenism in a cultural context when discussing the environment in which Droysen had seen a Verschmelzung, a mixture of cultures. The fact that we still refer to the period between the advent of Alexander and the Roman conquest of the East as ‘Hellenistic’, not only reveals a legacy which Droysen left behind, but is also rather typical for the way the impact of the Macedonian conquest on the regions east of the Mediterranean was perceived in the twentieth century. Indeed, the idea that a dominant Greek culture made sure local traditions were soon neglected and abandoned has long been deeply rooted in modern scholarship.

Colonialism has played an important role in the adaptation of this idea. From the turn of the twentieth century onwards, such sentiments could be found in British scholarship, in which a western ideal of a civilizing coloniser is well-attested. The works of Edwyn Bevan, William Tarn, and Michael Rostovtzeff all more or less equally demonstrate how, to put it in Tarn and Griffiths’ words, ‘the Seleucids [...] strove, not without success, to raise the civilisation level of half a continent’.15 Hellenism was proposed here as a way to cultivate the uncivilised inhabitants of the Near East. Unsurprisingly, after the Europeans countries had lost most of their colonial possessions, this was also reflected in historiography. Especially French scholars, such as Claire Préaux and Pierre Briant, began to regard the Macedonian rulers as similar to the western coloniser.16 In their view, the Greco-Macedonian elites exploited the Near Eastern masses, of which only a small very Hellenised segment was collaborating with the ‘colonising’ monarchs.

However, this view was soon abandoned, as many scholars realised that the Hellenistic world could not simply be translated in modern colonialist terms.17 Rather, a more nuanced direction was often preferred, which, for example, was expressed by Susan Sherwin-White and Amélie Kuhrt in their works on the Seleucid kingdom.18 In an attempt to tackle the traditional Greco-centric bias,19 they took a multidisciplinary approach, while scrutinising each region within the Seleucid realm, rather than emphasising the better documented western part. Their approach included acknowledging the persistence of multiculturalism within the empire, which was a legacy the Seleucids owed to the policy of their Achaemenid predecessors.20

What is more, along with the recognition of the ‘Other’, as expressed by Edward Saïd in his influential work Orientalism,21 came an increased attention to the culture and agency of the until then often overlooked local populations. Part of this trend was an increasing unease with

14

Momigliano (1970), 151.

15

Tarn and Griffith (1952), 209; Bevan (1902); Rostovtzeff (1957).

16

Préaux (1978); Briant (1978) The latter even spoke of a certain ‘apartheid’ in the Seleucid realm (p. 89).

17

Rossi (2011), 2.

18_{Sherwin-White and Kuhrt (1987; 1993).}

19

Idem (1987), ix. The works in which they encountered such traditional bias included Walbank (1981; 1984).

20_{Idem (1993), 147-9; Sherwin-White (1987), 5.}

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centric terms such as Hellenisation, leading to the introduction of several concepts which gave more responsibility to the ones culturally affected by Greek rule. In fact, in recent years, theories of Richard White, Homni Bhabha, Jane Webster, and Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, which will discussed in more detail below, have had a positive effect on scholarship on the Hellenistic East.22 Much more than before, studies concerning the region that stretches from modern Turkey to India have paid attention to local nuances, without losing attention to intraregional phenomena.23_{However, the} tendency to treat the Hellenistic East as a somewhat monolithic entity rather than to focus on each region separately can still be found in contemporary studies.24 Therefore, emphasis on the importance of regarding each area on its own still remains important, since reactions towards Greek culture as well as policies of Hellenistic monarchs differed greatly per region and in most instances even per city. One of the areas which traditionally has always been regarded as highly Hellenised, is Phoenicia, the scholarship on which did not remain unaffected by the trends of the last decades.

1.2 Renan’s legacy: the historiography surrounding Hellenistic Phoenicia

Studies concerned with Phoenicia in the Hellenistic period have followed a similar historiographical trend as the one mentioned above. One of the first to study the Lebanese coast in detail in the nineteenth century was Ernest Renan, whose Mission de Phénicie has been highly influential for the study of the Phoenician world. Renan shared Droysen’s opinion that the Hellenistic East had witnessed a major Hellenising tendency after Alexander.25_{Many of his compatriots followed in} Renan’s footsteps, and, therefore, it has been mainly Francophone scholarship taking the lead in studying the coastal strip directly east of the Mediterranean.26 What is more, Renan was not only influential in studying the Phoenician coast, his ideas on cultural transformation during the Hellenistic period have also held sway for most of the twentieth century. In fact, many scholars shared his opinion that after the advent of Alexander, Phoenicia was Hellenised to such an extent that some could state as much as that soon ‘there was no longer a Phoenician nation’.27 It is therefore no surprise to find that many historians dealing with the long history of Phoenicia end their historical survey by stating that, from the beginning of the fourth century onwards, the cities along

22

White (1991); Webster (2001); Bhabha (2004); Wallace-Hadrill (2008).

23

Among which are the works of Freyne (2001); Mairs (2011); Andrade (2013).

24

See, for example, the contributions of Groß-Albenhausen and Bringmann in Kah and Scholz (2004).

25_{Renan (1864), 398. Also see Pommier (1965).}

26

See, for example, the works of Dunand (1937-1939; 1950-1958; 1962), Elayi (1987; 1989) and Bonnet (1988; 2010; 2013), as well as the Studia Phoenicia-series (1983-...).

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the Lebanese coast lost both their independence and their cultural heritage due to Greek interference.28

However, during the last decades, the idea of total Hellenisation of the Phoenician coastal cities has gradually been abandoned. As early as 1983, Fergus Millar argued that despite their strong sense of Hellenisation, the Phoenicians still showed continuity with their own past in their language, cults and ‘continuous historical consciousness’.29_{Moreover, five years later, Corinne Bonnet, when} dealing with the cult of Milqart,30 stated that while the syncretism of Greek Herakles and Phoenician Milqart seems to have been total as concerns its visual aspects, ‘l’image n’en est pas le fondement’.31 Their suggestions were not immediately picked up, however, given the fact that many historians studying Hellenistic Phoenicia in the 1990s and the early 2000s still spoke of a fully Hellenised region.32 Yet, as with the study of the Hellenistic East in general, the growing call for scrutinising the regions from a local perspective also had its influence on the studies concerned with the Phoenician coast. To an increasing extent, the idea of the loss of a distinct Phoenician identity as a consequence of a Hellenising tendency is now abandoned. Rather than fully embracing Greek culture and neglecting own traditions, in the last couple of years it has been argued more and more that the Phoenicians of the Hellenistic age were actively participating in a broader international environment, whilst at the same time they managed to maintain their own customs. As concerns visual culture, for example, Jessica Nitschke challenged the often held assumption that from the beginning of the Hellenistic period, Phoenician art and architecture was to a serious extent Hellenised.33 By discussing the remains at the Hellenistic sanctuary complex at Umm el’-Amed and combining this with the evidence from other areas in Phoenicia, she argued that Hellenistic Phoenician art and architecture was no less Phoenician than in previous ages.34 Nitschke demonstrated that in both constructions and smaller archaeological finds Hellenic elements were combined with both Egyptian and traditional Phoenician elements, with the latter two even exceeding the amount of Greek aspects.35 Thus, she concluded, as we do not call Phoenician art, for example, ‘Egyptianised’ in this age nor in previous

28_{Moscati (1968), 26; Jidejian (1968; 1969; 1971; 1973; 1980); Bondi (1988).}

29

Millar (1983), 66.

30

By preferring Milqart above Melqart as the way of writing the name of the Ba’al of Tyre, I have chosen in this thesis to follow Lightfoot (2003), 294, who argued that the spelling Melqart is influenced by Hebrew pronunciation rather than Phoenician.

31

Bonnet (1988), 415.

32

Grainger (1991); Markoe (2000); Burstein (2003).

33

Nitschke (2011), such stances can for example be witnessed in Baramki (1961), 34; 102-3; Markoe (2000), 151-2.

34

The complex at Umm el-‘Amed will also be discussed in the next chapter.

35_{Nitschke (2011), 88-98. Grainger (1991), 81-2, also discussed the many Phoenician aspects of this temple}

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times when Egyptian culture was even more dominant in the Levant, there is little need to call the material evidence of Umm el-‘Amed Hellenised.36

Due to recent contributions such as those of Nitschke and Corinne Bonnet, whose article will be discussed in more detail below,37 much progress has been made in revealing the persisting distinctness of Phoenician culture. Nevertheless, much more could be scrutinised which has not been studied in much detail before. One of the most remarkable gaps in the scholarship on Hellenistic Phoenicia is the lack of publications which relate the Phoenician diaspora to their homeland. Of course, if we think of the Phoenician communities which had settled centuries before, such as those on Cyprus and in the western Mediterranean, it may be argued that because of their long presence at their new homes, it would be hard to distinguish Phoenician peculiarities from those of locals and Greeks. Indeed, as direct links with their land of origin had probably been quite few by the Hellenistic period, cultural changes occurring in Hellenist Phoenicia itself would probably have influenced these regions to a negligible degree.38 The settling history was much shorter, however, for the Phoenicians who, from the fourth century onwards, came to Athens as well as to Greek islands such as Delos, Rhodes and Cos. Being temporary residents or settlers who had only just left their homes, they probably brought many of the developments at the homeland to their new environment. Moreover, we are quite well able to study the behaviour, cults and customs of the Phoenicians of these diaspora, since they have left their traces in both archaeology and epigraphy. Especially for Hellenistic Delos, we possess quite a large corpus of inscriptions from Phoenician merchants.

Yet, in modern scholarship links between the Phoenicians abroad and Phoenicia itself have only been mentioned in passing.39 As for the Poseidoniasts, the Berytian merchant association to which we will return in more detail in the following chapters, their clubhouse, the society itself and their inscriptions have been discussed by many,40 but almost never in relation to the land of origin of the association members. Hence, to unravel the identity of the Hellenistic Phoenician, it might be useful to compare the extent to which the Phoenicians living abroad adapted to their changing environment differed from to that of those who stayed at home. However, terms such as ‘identity’ and ‘cultural interaction’ could only be applied if we give them proper definitions. And as we have seen in the abovementioned sections, there have been some developments in the approach to cultural change in the Hellenistic East. In fact, this debate is still ongoing as scholars struggle to find the right concepts.

36

Nitschke (2011), 98-100.

37

Bonnet (2013).

38_{For a survey on the Phoenicians on Cyprus, see Smith (2008); for Phoenician identity in the western}

Mediterranean, see Quinn (2011).

39_{Bonnet (1988), 371-3; Grainger (1991), 208-9; Rauh (1993), 44-5.}

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12 | T h e P h o e n i c i a n c h a m e l e o n 1.3 From hybridity to bilingualism: theories on identity and cultural interaction

With the waning of colonialism and as a result of the impact of Saïd’s Orientalism, multiple theories have been applied concerning the cultural consequences of the Greco-Macedonian conquest on the various regions. The concept of Hellenisation, which long dominated the field in Hellenistic studies, is currently to an increasing extent abandoned due to the power-laden as well as Greco-centric content of the term. Although certainly explaining part of the cultural developments,41 the concept fails to cover the full extent of transitions taking place in the East. It is for this reason that theories which lay more emphasis on the input of local culture are nowadays much more preferred.

Let us start with the notion of identity, a term which needs some definition as it is far from clear-cut. The starting point is of course to recognise that identity differs per person. For every individual, whether in antiquity or in modern times, identity is based on an own sense of belonging, which never fully corresponds one on one with that of another individual. However, although we should definitely keep in mind that, for example, every Tyrian would have experienced his or her identity in a different way, such a broad definition would not work when discussing the extent to which identity was affected. And even though this thesis is to a large degree meant as a survey on what it actually meant to be Phoenician and to what extent identity differed in Hellenistic Phoenicia, we should have a starting point in some sort of ‘communal’ identity, a feeling of belonging which is shared by multiple people. A useful notion to start with in this respect would be that of ‘ethnic identity’, which Siân Jones defined as ‘that aspect of a person’s self-conceptualization which results from identifications with a broader group in opposition to others on the basis of perceived culturation, differentiation and/or common descent’.42 Since the society under scrutiny was a multicultural one, as we will see in more detail throughout this thesis, the term ‘ethnic’ has in later works often been replaced by ‘cultural’ to allow for the ability to express multiple identities at once.43 In both cases, however, we should agree with Jonathan Hall that these ‘socially constructed and subjectively perceived’ notions of identity are far from static as they are constantly redefined when interacting with other identities. Furthermore, Hall argues, individuals do not necessarily act as member of such groups, unless they are confronted with a dominant group and, as a consequence, their own identity is threatened.44 Although the definition is still rather broad, it allows us to explore the expression of multiple identities, without losing the idea of studying a society rather than a

41_{Sartre (2003), 268-9.}

42

Jones (1997), xii.

43_{Hall (2002); Versluys (2008), 343.}

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social, religious or professional group within a society. Having discussed identity, theories on cultural transformations which confronted and altered such identities still need to be discussed. However, whereas discussions regarding the definition of identity are quite few, cultural change has been under a lot of debate.

A popular concept in both the fields of ancient history and classical archaeology has been Homi Bhabha’s ‘hybridity’.45_{The term denounces the binary oppositions which dominated western} thinking, and instead refers to a situation in which two or more groups in a colonial context consciously choose to mingle segments from different cultures, thereby forming new cultural expressions. Hybridity has its origins in biology, but unlike its biological counterpart, the cultural concept is not sterile at all as it serves as the basis of cultural transformation.46 Bhabha used this term when describing the dominant colonialist discourse of the twentieth century, and the concept was thus mainly used in a colonial context. It is therefore little wonder that ancient historians and classical archaeologists mainly used this concept when referring to the cultural alterations that were a consequence of the contact between Greek or Phoenician colonists and local peoples in the archaic period.47

When dealing with Hellenistic Phoenicia, the concept of hybridity might be somewhat more problematic. As a matter of fact, we can hardly speak of a colonial situation comparable to the circumstances of earlier Greek and Phoenician colonial enterprises. It might be true that Greeks had a permanent presence in at least some parts of Phoenicia, thereby playing at least a minor role in promoting aspects of Hellenic culture. However, what makes the situation in Phoenicia so peculiar, is that Greek cultural influences were already known before Alexander, which makes it quite different from colonial contexts, which presumes a situation in which two cultures were largely unknown to one another. Yet, it was mainly in the Hellenistic period that, at least in visual culture, aspects of Greek culture were most readily implemented in Phoenician practices,48 so we should perhaps not rule out the notion of a ‘hybrid’ culture altogether.

Indeed, a point of criticism concerning hybridity is that it implies two more or less pure cultures, which is rather problematic if we assume that culture should be seen as a continuous process rather than as static and monolithic.49 Moreover, if we simply deprive hybridity from its colonial connotations, it would make it just a fashionable synonym of fusion rather than a useful

45

Bhabha (2004), especially 102-22; 171-97; see also Van Dommelen (2005); Mairs (2011); McWilliams (2013).

46

Rossi (2011), Mairs (2011), 178.

47

Van Dommelen (2005).

48_{See, for example, Lembke (2004); Nitschke (2011, 2013).}

49

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term on itself.50 The more active ´hybridisation´ has been proposed by some scholars to tackle this difficulty, since this notion far more accounts for the idea of culture as a process.51 Rather than suggesting the emergence of a new cultural phenomenon as a result of the collision of two or several pure cultures, this interpretation would allow for the development of hybrid practices which are formed on cultural traditions which are themselves formed on the basis of earlier hybridisation. Having lost its colonial connotations as well as the notion of pureness, the term ‘hybrid’ can now be related to Phoenicia of the Hellenistic age. In fact, if we revisit the material evidence discussed in the earlier mentioned article of Nitschke, it might be coined hybrid. Nevertheless, we should be aware of the fact that the material cultures from which the several aspects had been borrowed (i.e. that of the Phoenicians, the Egyptians and the Greeks) were themselves continuously confronted with hybridisation.

However, the question remains to what extent the term hybridisation is applicable to the domains of religion, festivals and associations. As we should not put all of our eggs in one basket, it might be useful to explore some other proposed theories as well. As a matter of fact, hybridity and hybridisation form just a small segment of a whole range of terms introduced in an attempt to explain cultural interaction. Many of those are often hard to relate to the study of cultural transformations in Hellenistic Phoenician society, due to the fact that they only cover a small segment or are based on evidence which for the Levantine coast is often missing. ‘Métissage’ for example, is used in a context of the emergence of new identities due to intermarriage of people of various origins.52 We may assume that such mingling of people from different cultural backgrounds also occurred in Phoenicia, and this would certainly have left traces in Hellenistic Phoenician society.53 As we lack evidence on intermarriage for the Phoenician cities, however, such traces would be impossible to find, which makes this concept rather hard to work with.

Moreover, a term such as creolisation might also be quite hard to use when studying Phoenician society, despite the fact that it already has been introduced to the studies of ancient history by Jane Webster.54 The concept stems from linguistics, and was – again – first used in a colonial setting to describe the formation of cultural identity in the colonial Caribbean.55 As it is mainly applicable to linguistic developments, it would be quite hard to translate it to a societal context which is needed if we want to come to meaningful conclusions about the situation of Hellenistic Phoenicia. When deriving it from its original context of developments in language in a 50 Mairs (2011), 186. 51 Van Dommelen (2005), 117. 52 Vasconcelos (1997); Rossi (2011).

53_{Indeed, it was a phenomenon which took place in the Hellenistic East, such as Mairs (2011), 179-82, showed}

for regions such as Egypt and Bactria.

54_{Webster (2001); Palmié (2006).}

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colonial context, the term becomes little more than yet another synonym of ‘hybridisation’. This is for example demonstrated by the fact that creolisation has met with similar criticism as hybridity in that the ‘natural’ languages from which creole languages had been created were in fact themselves products of creolisation, which, in turn, makes naming languages creole rather insignificant.56

Another term closely connected to hybridity, and which has also been under some debate, is the concept of ‘syncretism’, mainly used in the studies of religious interaction.57_{Rather than} regarding the members of the Greek pantheon as dangerous false gods, the Phoenicians embraced many Hellenic perceptions of the divine as manifestations of their own gods. This will be discussed in more detail in the second chapter, but what suffices now are the explanations given for these strategies. Irad Malkin, for example, interestingly understood them in Saussurian terms by describing religion itself as langue and the several names and characteristics of the deities as parole.58 By doing so, he furthered the idea of syncretism as the intermediate between langue and parole. As a matter of fact, syncretism is often coined to describe the religious environment of the Hellenistic period.59 The term was most often used in the way described by Leopold and Jensen: ‘the negotiation and interaction of new elements into a particular group or domain that stem from ‘essentially’ different groups or domains’.60

Yet, in scholarship on the Hellenistic East the term has met with some critique due to the fact that its use has been rather power-laden.61 Indeed, the concept can be used more easily in a quite neutral sense in the colonial encounters of the archaic period, when hybrid cultural practices arose from the contact between Greeks and Phoenicians through assimilation, of which the development of the practices surrounding the worship of Herakles and Milqart at Sicily is an interesting example.62 Here the cultural borrowings were mutual not only because of an apparent balance of power, but the more so because both cultures were both new to the environment and were not confronted with an intrusion of cultural influences at home. When we consider religious transformations for Hellenistic Phoenicia, however, we cannot escape the observation that the cultural adaptation was rather one sided, as neither are Greeks recorded worshipping Milqart or Astarte, nor do Phoenician practices seem to have been integrated into Greek worship during the Hellenistic period. Indeed, in this instance religious developments took place in the homeland of one of both parties as a consequence of the increasing political as well as cultural dominance of the other. Consequently, the use of

56

Friedman (1995), 82-4.

57

General works on this concept include Stewart and Shaw (1994); Leopold and Jensen (2004); Winkelaar (2011).

58

See Malkin (2004), 350.

59_{See for example the titles of the Works of Kraeling (1927) and Grant (1953).}

60

Leopold and Jensen (2004), 3-4.

61_{Moyer (2011), 151.}

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syncretism has the danger of facing the same problem as we encountered before for Hellenisation, namely to lay too much emphasis on the Greek dominance thereby neglecting local agency. However, as Ian Moyer demonstrated for the development of Greco-Egyptian Sarapis, if we allow for syncretism to be a dynamic process with active agents instead of a static movement towards an increasing unified world in which the participants are rather passive, the concept could still work even in a Hellenistic context.63_{However, merely calling a religious phenomenon syncretic does not} teach us much, as it does not answer the more significant questions of why and to what extent this happened.

In this respect, the concept of ‘middle ground’ may be useful, a term originally proposed by Richard White, 64 and already applied quite successfully to Hellenistic Phoenicia. What makes this theory so appealing is the absence of power in the encounter. Rather than dealing with the binary opposition of the subaltern colonised and a dominant coloniser, ‘those who operated on the middle ground had, of necessity, to attempt to understand the world and the reasoning of others and to assimilate enough of that reasoning to put it to their own purposes’.65 In other words, cultural interaction and the innovations that followed from such encounters took place on the basis of negotiation rather than domination. The term was soon recognised as a useful notion when studying the ancient world, such as seen in the works of Carla Antonaccio and Irad Malkin, who applied it to early Greek colonial enterprises, from which a new culture arose in the colonised regions that was neither entirely native nor completely brought by the colonists.66

Picking up such preceding work, Jessica Nitschke and Corinne Bonnet subsequently brought the middle ground theory to the Phoenician cities of the Hellenistic period.67 Whereas Nitschke merely presented the term to describe the changing appearance of Tyrian Milqart, which will be discussed in more detail in the next chapter, Bonnet tried to detect the reasons behind such adaptation strategies. Whilst she especially focussed on developments in the Sidonian cult of Ešmun, Bonnet argued that rather than merely the result of Greek domination, the Hellenisation of Phoenician cults was for a large part the consequence of Phoenician agency. As for the Sidonian cult of Ešmun, she demonstrated that the increasing identification with Asklepios was a conscious Phoenician strategy in order to share in the broader network of Asklepieia and the pilgrimage surrounding such sanctuaries.68 Individuals such as Diotimos of Sidon, who will be discussed in more

63

Moyer (2011), 142-207, especially 144-53. Moyer borrowed the idea of a dynamic syncretism from Stewart and Shaw (1994), 6-7.

64

White (1991), especially ix-xi; 50-92.

65

Ibidem, 52.

66_{Antonaccio (2007), 201-2; Malkin (2011), 45-7.}

67

Nitschke (2013), Bonnet (2013). Bonnet’s most recent work (see n. 4) also includes a chapter concerned with the concept of middle ground and its application to the Phoenician coast, see Bonnet (2015), 367-411.

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detail in the chapter on Phoenician festivals, made sure the connection between the two cultural traditions was established by manoeuvring the Phoenician cities into Greek mythology.69

What Bonnet did not mention and what is often forgotten in general by historians borrowing the term, however, is that in its original usage by White, the concept of middle ground is twofold. As a matter of fact, it implies both a physical space in which two or more cultures meet, and a more abstract space in which cultural interaction takes place.70_{It is true, of course, that the physical} situation of White’s pays d’en haut cannot be directly translated to that of Hellenistic Phoenicia, as the manner of contact was rather different. Indeed, around the Great Lakes in Northern America the middle ground was an area which lay in between two groups with distinct cultural traditions who had a rather direct relationship, as they literally lived within a few kilometres. As mentioned before, the situation for Phoenicia was not quite like that, as the Greek conquest was not accompanied by large scale colonisation in the Phoenician region on the part of the Greeks.

As we shall see in much more detail later on, Phoenicia was in its own way a physical middle ground. The coastal strip was situated right in the middle of the contact zone between three spheres of influence, each of which had their own cultural input. 71 From the east the Assyrians, Babylonians and Achaemenids had majorly influenced Phoenicia, and such eastern influences probably even had a much older tradition. From the south, the Egyptian culture had a permanent cultural effect on Phoenician customs, which continued under the Ptolemies. Finally, from both the north and the west the most recent cultural incentives penetrated the Levantine coast, which came from Aegean Greece, Cyprus and Asia Minor, the latter of which had a long tradition of close cultural contact with Hellenic culture. Moreover, the settlement of the Seleucid monarchs in northern Syria would also have contributed to the impact of Hellenic customs on Phoenicia. It will be demonstrated in the next chapters that, while already being a middle ground in preceding periods when Phoenician, Egyptian and Mesopotamian traditions went hand in hand, Hellenistic Phoenicia witnessed another development in a similar way when Hellenic culture became more dominant. Indeed, it gradually became a cultural factor to be reckoned with.

However, not every aspect of cultural transformation calls for a concept trying to explain a certain fusion of traditions. In fact, the emergence of Greek institutions which had not been known before along the Levantine coast, such as the gymnasium and the ephebeia, asks for a theory that is far more concerned with the ability to incorporate such new phenomena into new frameworks. Such a theory can be found in Andrew Wallace-Hadrill’s ‘bilingualism’, a notion applied to the Roman

69

Ibidem, 50-2.

70_{See Mairs (2011), 177-8; 186, who lays emphasis on the fact that in many studies the physical aspect of}

White’s theory is neglected.

71_{Lembke (2004) demonstrated the several influences when she discussed the material culture of Marathos, a}

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empire that assumes the existence of multiple and overlapping identities, rather than defining identity as monolithic.72 In the opinion of Wallace-Hadrill, people have the ability to consciously ‘code-switch’ between different systems, which thus gives room to a situation in which multiple culture systems could coexist.73 This concept was translated to the Hellenistic East by Rachel Mairs, when she discussed Ai Khanoum, a town with a remarkable degree of Greek influence despite being located as far east as modern day Afghanistan.74_{Mairs noted that the citizens of this Bactrian town} apparently saw no problem in venerating local gods whilst at the same time frequenting Greek institutions such as the theatre and the gymnasium.75 Again, it would be quite impossible to directly apply this situation to that of the cities in Hellenistic Phoenicia, because, contrary to Ai Khanoum, the latter obviously were no Alexandrian foundations. Still, as will be further highlighted in later chapters, the emergence of Greek institutions in Phoenician society will surely have led to situations comparable to the case of Bactrian Ai Khanoum.

In sum, there have been many suggestions to regard cultural interaction in particular ways. We should of course be aware of not ‘becoming all too comfortable with [such theoretical frameworks] and considering that by naming something we have understood it’.76 Indeed, what all the proposed theories have in common, is that they suit best to the situations for which they have been suggested by the authors who first applied them. Therefore, I agree with Mairs that we should not feel obliged to pick one of such models as the perfect model, as each of them has its own pros and cons. We should not disregard local circumstances and peculiarities, as it is such local contexts that determine which of the models serves best to explain what actually took place.77 This could of course imply the application of several of those models. For example, the code-switching approach of Wallace-Hadrill does not altogether rule out that one of the cultural ‘languages’ was actually a hybrid one. Therefore, in the following chapters, I will make use of several of these models in an attempt to find out how and to what extent Phoenician identity was transformed during the period between Alexander’s conquest and the beginning of Roman dominance in the Levant.

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CHAPTER 2:

CHANGING COATS, KEEPING CUSTOMS

Phoenician cults in the Hellenistic period

One of the principal pitfalls in the scholarship on Hellenistic Phoenicia has always been the relative lack of archaeological as well as literary evidence. This is mainly caused by the fact that the Phoenician cities have been largely overbuilt in later times and by the apparent disinterest of Greek and Roman writers in the Levantine region. However, there is one domain that has been slightly less affected by this tendency, and has therefore been studied more extensively: Phoenician cults. Indeed, the more nuanced picture on Phoenician culture as mentioned in the previous chapter has mainly been expressed in case studies on cults practised at the Levantine coast, which were affected by Greek habits.78 Before scrutinising less well surveyed aspects of Phoenician culture – festivals and expression of identity in associations – it will prove useful to first have a closer look at such religious developments, as here Hellenistic cultural interaction is rather well attested. What is more, the main focus in recent scholarship has been on the cults of specific cities, often without attention to their representatives abroad. Hence, in this chapter a more general picture of Hellenistic Phoenician cults will be discussed, in which the primary question is to what extent the Phoenician cults maintained their pre-Hellenistic form. To answer this question, four aspects are discussed, the former logically being the cults venerated along the Phoenician coast before the intrusion of Hellenic elements. The subchapter that follows is concerned with the Hellenistic cults in the Phoenician cities themselves, after which the veneration abroad is highlighted. This chapter concludes with a discussion of the nomenclature, as many Phoenician names do reveal useful hints to native customs. We should be wary, however, not to overgeneralise the presented religious behaviour at the Phoenician coast, as each city had its own cultic peculiarities and the embrace of Hellenic customs will have differed per city. Nevertheless, as will be shown in the subsequent section, the various cults of the Phoenician cities show multiple similarities which made them distinct from their Jewish, Ituraean and Syrian neighbours, so there is no reason to rule out the notion of a ‘Phoenician religion’ altogether.

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Figure 2: Yehawmilk stele (the fifth century BCE) Source: http://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/yehawmilk-stele

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21 | T h e P h o e n i c i a n c h a m e l e o n 2.1 The Near Eastern legacy: Phoenician religion and external influences before Alexander

The cults of the Phoenician cities were of immemorial antiquity, and the Greeks were certainly not the first to have made their impact on the region. In fact, its location as well as its relative lack of strength in manpower had made the Phoenician coastal strip an interesting target for the vast armies of the Hittites, Egyptians, Assyrians, Babylonians and Achaemenids.79_{The influence of these peoples} was not merely political, they also left cultural traces behind. Consequently, when Alexander’s troops conquered the Levant, they encountered cults which differed significantly from those of Ugarit, the ancient Phoenician city that was destroyed by the Sea People at the end of the second millennium BCE and that has left behind evidence of older Phoenician traditions.80 The extent to which this had happened is unfortunately hard to establish, because – as mentioned before – the evidence we have is both scarce and badly divided over time and space. However, the available evidence that will be presented in this section does reveal a religion which was quite sensitive to external influences, whilst at the same time it ascertained its distinctness.

Among the main sources for studying the period which separated ancient Ugarit and the advent of the Hellenistic empires are the inscriptions the Phoenician kings left behind. As a matter of fact, although Phoenician society as a whole seems to have had no epigraphic tradition comparable to that of the Greeks, the kings took all possible opportunities to express their power as well as their legitimacy. An important role in this respect was played by divine figures. For example, from an inscription from Byblos, which dates from the tenth century BCE, we know that the reign of king Yehimilk was watched over by Ba’al Šamim and Ba’alat Gebal, the Lady of Byblos.81 The fact that this text was part of a building inscription is telling for the context in which we should place this piece of evidence. As a matter of fact, in an era in which the military power of the Phoenician kings was rather limited due to the presence of stronger powers in the region such as the Assyrians, a useful way to still be able to express royal legitimacy was through building and renovating local constructions. By doing so, the Phoenician kings followed a tradition that had been peculiar to Near Eastern kings for ages.82 Indeed, this custom was embraced by the Assyrians, Babylonians and Achaemenids, who ruled over the Levant for most of the period from the eleventh until the fourth

79

See Van de Mieroop (2007) for a comprehensive overview on the Near East in the pre-Hellenistic period.

80

See Cornelius (2004) for religious life in Ugarit.

81

KAI 4; ANET 653; Dunand (1937-9), xxxi.

82_{See, for example, the thirteenth century BCE inscription of the Assyrian king Adad-nirari I, in which part of}

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century BCE.83 This continuity found resonance in Phoenicia, as we find another example of an inscription in which building activities are mentioned in the fifth century BCE.84 In this sepulchral inscription, Ešmunazar II, king of Sidon, is praised for his additions to the sanctuaries of Astarte at Sidon ‘by the Sea’ as well as in Šamem-Addirim. Moreover, this inscription also tells us that members of the royal family had an important religious function, because Amo’aštart, the mother of the king, is referred to as ‘priestess of Astarte’. Again, this practice was not unfamiliar in the ancient Near East, as Mesopotamian kings equally often had their kin enrolled in religious functions.85

The five centuries that separated the inscriptions of Yehimilk and Ešmunazar II had, however, also witnessed several transformations in the religious sphere. In fact, from a Byblian inscription roughly contemporary to that of Ešmunazar, we hear king Yehawmilk refer only to his ‘mistress, the Lady of Byblos’,86 whereas Yehimilk still had Ba’al Šamim figure prominently in his dedication. As Yehimilk’s successors also dedicated solely to Ba’alat Gebal, we might assume that she had become increasingly linked to the Byblian dynasty.87 This tendency seemed to have been broader in Phoenicia, as in Sidon a similar development could be witnessed, as Ešmun increasingly became the deity who assured the reign and legitimacy of the Sidonian king from at least the fifth century BCE onwards.88 In Tyre this was no less the case, on which we will see more in the next chapter, since this development has much to do with the egersis, the Tyrian festival of Milqart.

That we should not understand the Phoenician gods as mere dynastic deities becomes clear from a treaty between King Esarhaddon of Assyria and Ba’al, king of Tyre, which was signed in the first half of the seventh century BCE, and formally recognised Ba’al’s vassal status to the Assyrian king.89 In this quite extensive, but sometimes rather fragmentary document, we witness several aspects of Phoenician religion, as the gods related to Tyre are mentioned after the Assyrian deities are mentioned. In fact, we learn that three Ba’als – Ba’al Šamim, Ba’al Malage and Ba’al Saphon – are invoked to punish the violator of the treaty by way of natural disaster, which make it quite likely that these deities were somehow related to natural forces.90 Such deities were quite common in

83

We have already seen the inscription of Adad-Nirari above (n. 81). Examples for the Neo-Babylonian empire include the buildings inscriptions of the Neo-Babylonian kings Nabopolassar and Nebuchadnezzar, see Langdon (1905). As concerns the inscriptions of Cyrus at Pasargadae and those of Darius at Susa and Persepolis, see Weissbach (1911).

84_{KAI 14; ANET 662.}

85

Well-known examples include Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon of Akkad (third millennium BCE), Adad-guppi, mother of the last Neo-Babylonian king Nabonidus (first millennium BCE). Both women were priestesses of Sin.

86

CIS i.1; ANET 656.

87

KAI 5 (Abiba’al), 6 (Eliba’al), 7 (Sepitba’al); Elayi (1986), 250-1.

88

Whereas in KAI 14, Ešmunazor II still made a dedication to multiple deities, his successors Bodaštart (KAI 15) and Ba’alšillem (KAI 16) dedicated only to Ešmun, who was called ‘LY, ‘his god’, and ‘DNY, ‘his lord’. Also see Elayi (1986), 251.

89

AfO 9, no. 69; ANET 533. Also see Bonnet (1988), 40-2.

90_{Bonnet (1988), 40. For an overview on the different uses of Ba’al, see Lipinski (1995), 79-90; 168-70; 243-64;}

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Phoenicia’s environment. As a matter of fact, we know from their mythology that the Hittites venerated a sky god named Anu.91 If we may assume that Philo of Byblos’ Phoenician history from the second century CE was indeed largely based on ancient Phoenician mythology, we find an interesting parallel.92 Indeed, in both mythologies we see the sky god being deposed and castrated by his son.93 A similar scene, albeit without the castration, can be witnessed in the Babylonian Enuma Eliš, in which the sky god Apsu is deposed by Ea.94_{Following such parallels, we may assume that} Phoenician mythology had developed upon a theme that was rather common in the environment in which the Phoenician cities actively manoeuvred.95

Turning back to the treaty between Esarhaddon and Ba’al of Tyre, it could be seen that the abilities of two other deities were likewise called upon in case of violation of the treaty. As a matter of fact, the transgressor was warned that Milqart and Ešmun would ‘deliver your land to destruction, your people to be deported; from your land’. Furthermore, food, clothes and oil were also said to disappear at the hands of these divine figures, thereby indicating that these deities were concerned with the well-being of not only the king and his family, but of the whole population of Tyre.96 This role as general benefactor is all the more attested when we take a closer look to the etymology of both deities. In fact, the name of Milqart is not the ‘real’ name of the deity but instead a contraction of the words MLK (king) and QRT (city). Although, this does indeed indicate a royal status of the deity, it refers at the same time to the fact that he was the king of the whole city. This is further attested in the name B’L SR, a different title for this god, which can best be translated as ‘Lord of Tyre’.97

As concerns Ešmun, his name stems from the word SˇMN, which means ‘oil’, and thus serves as a clear indication of the abilities of this deity.98 Indeed, this liquid was used to treat illnesses and, as it is a product of the earth, it is also a reference to Ešmun’s fertility traits, which will also reappear in the following chapter, as it were these characteristics which were most prominent in Phoenician celebrations. The presence of Ešmun in the Esarhaddon treaty is also interesting in a different way. In fact, whereas the three ‘natural’ Ba’als are attested in multiple Phoenician cities, Milqart and Ešmun most often appear only in relation to respectively Tyre and Sidon, the cities they were believed to protect. As Bonnet has argued before, Ešmun’s inclusion in a treaty between Esarhaddon and Tyre

91

KUB 33.120; ANET 120-1.

92

For a convincing defence of this argument, see Baumgarten (1981), who relates Philo’s work to ancient Ugaritic remains.

93

Ph.Bybl. in Eus. PE 1.10.29; KUB 33.120; ANET 120-1.

94

Enuma Eliš 1.59-70; Lambert (2013), 45-60.

95_{Baumgarten (1981), 238-40.}

96

Bonnet (1988), 41.

97_{KAI 47; Elayi (1986), 251; Freyne (2001), 187.}

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might well be a consequence of an earlier Sidonian uprising against the Assyrian occupation.99 As Tyre was Sidon’s main rival, such a link of its main deity to their greatest nemesis must have been regarded as a major humiliation.

Tyre and Sidon were not the only cities which had their own Ba’als. We already saw the Ba’al of Byblos, but there is also evidence on a Berytian Ba’al, the Ba’al of Arados and Ba’al Hammon. This phenomenon of each city and its surroundings being protected by a particular deity was not unique to Phoenicia. Indeed, it was an ancient belief, which could be traced back to Mesopotamia of the third millennium BCE, that each city housed one or multiple gods. So for Babylon Marduk was the famous patron god and the deity Aššur was thought to protect and reside in the eponymous capital of the Assyrians. Next to such tutelary Ba’als, each city also venerated a female consort of these male deities.100 The consort of the Phoenician Ba’als was in each case Astarte, although in Byblos, as we have seen, she was mainly referred to as Ba’alat Gebal.101 Astarte is in the Esarhaddon treaty attributed with warlike traits,102 but she also seems to have played a major role in the fertility ceremonies to which we will return in the next chapter. Although the precise etymology of her name, which in Phoenician was ‘ŠTRT, is disputed, the fact that her name is quite similar to that of the Mesopotamian fertility goddess Ištar is rather revealing.103 Indeed, in a seventh century BCE inscription of Assurbanipal we see that Ištar had multiple manifestations, as she was believed to house in both Nineveh and Arbela.104 Since Astarte was said to be the consort of the Ba’als of every

99

Bonnet (1988), 41-2.

100

There has also been considerable discussion on whether such divine couples were in fact triads, with some scholars arguing that in Sidon, for example, Ešmun was venerated as a young god next to the usual city Ba’al and Astarte. Brigitte Soyez (1986) has convincingly argued that at least in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, the Phoenicians venerated a divine dyad. This conclusion is strengthened by the observations of Monika Trümper (2002), 310-27, who demonstrated that the sanctuary of the Berytian Poseidoniasts at Delos originally only had two cult cellae, which each housed one deity, the Ba’al of Berytos and probably Astarte. It was only in a later construction phase that two other cellae were added. However, we should not rule out the possibility that in earlier times there had indeed been a divine triad. So we could agree with Robert du Mesnil du Buisson (1973), 32-48, that Milqart was preceded as principal god by Ba’al Šamim, who in earlier times had been part of the triad along with Milqart and Astarte. Moreover, the fact that Ba’al Šamim also disappears from Byblian royal inscriptions by the tenth century BCE (KAI 4, 5, 6), makes it quite likely that the Tyrian case this was part a broader development. However, as the Esarhaddon treaty showed, Ba’al Šamim did not entirely disappear in Phoenician worship. For scholars supporting the idea of a Phoenician triad, see Seyrig (1954), 87; Baslez (1977), 76-7; Sartre (2003), 287. Other scholars claiming the existence of a divine couple include Bruneau (1978), 190; Clifford (1990), 62; Bonnet (2013), 44.

101

That this Ba’alat Gebal can be equated to Astarte might be indicated from the fact that the goddess depicted on late Hellenistic Byblian coins bears resemblance with the Astarte figure on other Phoenician coins, see BMC Phoenicia, 97 no. 3. Moreover, we also have evidence of the existence of an Astarte throne, a typical Phoenician cult object, in Byblos, see Metzger (1985), no. 1199. Finally, the early identification of Isis with this Ba’alat Gebal, which we witness in the iconography on the stele of Yehawmilk, is another indication, as the identification of Isis and Astarte is omnipresent in the ancient Mediterranean, as is for example attested in ID 2101, 2130; POxy. xi 1380.116.

102

AfO 9, no. 69; ANET 533.

103_{Lipinski (1995), 130.}

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city, we may argue that in Phoenicia this belief was equally present. In fact, a hymn to Isis from Oxyrhynchus explicitly links the Egyptian goddess to Astarte of Sidon.105

The latter example demonstrates that the cults of the Phoenicians were not only similar to, but also affected by, traditions of their northern and eastern neighbours in Anatolia and Mesopotamia. Indeed, we have plenty of evidence that Egyptian influences were just as important to the region. Especially Byblos seems to have had major cultic links with their southern neighbours, which probably derives from the early identification of the Ba’al of Byblos with Egyptian Osiris.106 This is, for example, attested in the considerable amount of Osirian-styled statues found in the city.107 That this Egyptian influence was of lasting influence can be witnessed in the fact that the Ba’alat Gebal depicted in the abovementioned Yehawmilk inscription from the fifth century BCE (fig. 2) shows clear Egyptian iconography.108 Egyptian elements are also present on a fourth century BCE vase from Sidon, at which two priests of what is presumably the Tyrian egersis are seen wearing the pschent,

Figure 3: Vase from Sidon (fourth century BCE) Source: Barnett (1969), plate 4.

105

POxy. xi 1380.116; Rigsby (1996), 491.

106_{This also explains the role of Byblos in Plu. Isid. 15-6, when Osiris’ corpse drifted in the vicinity of the}

Phoenician city before it was returned to Egypt by Isis. Also see Lightfoot (2003), 313.

107_{Dunand (1954), nos. 7048, 7190, 7919; Lemaire (1986), 95.}

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the typical Egyptian hat (fig. 3, no. 2).109 Moreover, André Lemaire has shown that the Egyptian deities Amon, Bastet, Isis, and Osiris are quite well-attested in early first millennium BCE Phoenician nomenclature.110 What is more, at least some of these deities even seem to have had their own cults, as excavations at Byblos have shown the existence of a sanctuary which has Egyptian characteristics.111

Less to do with the Phoenician cults, but worth mentioning due to its contribution to the image of Phoenicia as a region in which influences from all directions were integrated in local culture, is another element of the Yehawmilk inscription. As a matter of fact, the picture painted by this example is even more complicated by the fact that the king is depicted wearing a Persian garb, thereby clearly attesting the wide range of cultural expressions at a Phoenician’s disposal.112 Indeed, just as the Assyrian and Babylonian kings were influential in the fact that Phoenician kings attempted to imitate some of their habits, Achaemenid rule certainly did not pass by unnoticed either. Elements of Achaemenid art and architecture are quite well attested at the Phoenician coast, 113 among which are the bull protomes found in the sanctuary of Ešmun at Sidon.114 Moreover, the apadana, the impressive audience hall which we might consider as one of the main characteristics of Achaemenid architecture, found its way into the Milkaštart temple at Umm el-‘Amed.115 An Achaemenid element

109

Barnett (1969), pl. iv, nos. 1-4; Bonnet (1988), 79.

110 Lemaire (1986), 87-98. 111 Ibidem, 95; Woolley (1921), 200-1. 112 Montet (1928-1929), 5; Jidejian (1968), 97.

113_{For a general overview on Achaemenid art and architecture, see Schmandt-Besserat (1980); Root (1995),}

2615-37.

114_{Stucky (2005), 109-11.}

115_{Nitschke (2011), 90.}

Figure 4: Silver didrachm from Tyre (fourth century BCE)

Source: http://www.wildwinds.com/coins/greece/phoenicia/tyre/BMC_029bis.jpg

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Figure 5: Gold dareikos from the Achaemenid empire (fifth century BCE) Source: http://wildwinds.com/coins/sg/sg4679.jpg

Last consulted on 1 July 2015

in a Phoenician context that does might have something to do with Phoenician cults can be seen on Tyrian coins from the fourth century BCE (fig. 4).116 Here we see a figure rather similar to the depiction of the Achaemenid king on the Persian dareikos (fig. 5).117 The depicted figure has been slightly altered, however, and it might therefore be an implicit reference to Tyre’s principal deity Milqart as well. Indeed, as Jessica Nitschke demonstrated recently, the use of the bow, used in Achaemenid iconography as a royal symbol, perfectly fits the status of king-god of the ‘Lord of Tyre’.118

It is with this significant range of external influences in both cults and material culture in mind that we should regard the early Greek influences. Probably the earliest Phoenicians to bring such cultural incentives to the Levantine coast were those residing at Cyprus. They had been in contact with the Greek colonists on the island from a very early age, as is attested in the fact that we already have a bilingual Greek-Phoenician inscription in the seventh century BCE.119 It therefore barely comes as a surprise that from an early age identification took place of the own gods in foreign deities. Indeed, we see already at the beginning of the Hellenistic period that at Sarepta – near Sidon – a

116

BMC Phoenicia, pl. xxix, nos. 5-8.

117

BMC Persia, pl. XXIV nos. 1-28.

118_{Nitschke (2013), 262-4. Moreover, the seahorse on which the figure is mounted might be a symbol of Tyre‘s}

maritime status.

119_{Masson and Sznycer (1972), 88-91 and pl. vii; Lipinski (2004), 55; Steele (2013), 202. For a concise general}

THE PHOENICIAN CHAMELEON