not a fount of wisdom? Then spew us some wisdom.”
For a fleeting moment, the futility of his office flashed through Enoch’s mind. He took his religious and political responsibility seriously , so seriously that he had adopted the Shinarian name Utuabzu in honor of Utu. Yet, increasingly, it seemed clear that the Rephaim were not so serious in their respect of the office or of his skills.
The city’s governance was a typical Mesopotamian oligarchy modeled after the divine council of gods. Sippar’s patron deity was Utu, the sun god. Enmeduranki was nominally the governing ruler, the priest-king, created in the image of the gods. He carried out the combined duties of both religious observance and government on behalf of the deity. He had a council of elders of the city with whom he counseled, but he held closest his personal apkallu wisdom sages.
Enoch, as sage counselor to the priest-king, was required to command a wide breadth of knowledge. He had trained in the sciences of both heavens and earth. He was shaman, diviner, scribe, and poet all in one. But it seemed to him that the most important office he held was as bard, the carrier of the culture’s stories. All the laws, governance, religious beliefs and values of a people flowed downstream from the culture embodied in the songs and epics of the poet. Hearts and souls are moved by story and he who controls the cultural narrative controls the people.
The world of storytelling was changing dramatically around Enoch. The new visual communication called “cuneiform” was overtaking the traditional oral recitation of verse. Scribes created cuneiform as a codified physical expression of language, using utensils to make impressions on clay tablets. The scribes wanted to keep a tangible account of personal and public wealth that could not be challenged with verbal lies or faulty memory. Using handheld styluses, they could list objects owned by the ruler and how many he possessed. It had started out as pictographs of cows, gold, wheat, wood, and other belongings. It had evolved into an abstract system of symbols that could be rapidly copied or communicated in a legal dispute.
E ventually the scribes saw other uses for this thing called writing. They experimented with ways of inscribing their oral epics and myths onto the clay. Writing could record what was said by the poet or sage. That record would be preserved unchanged through the years. It was a kind of magic that most sages hated because they feared it would soften their minds. After all, that which was recorded on clay did not need to be held in the memory. But Enoch was fascinated with writing. He wanted to adapt it into a tool for transmitting the dream visions he received from the deity.
“Well? The Anzu got your tongue?” Yahipan growled with biting sarcasm.
Enoch’s stories would not be appreciated today. Today, all that mattered was the original use of writing for accounting records.
“Forgive me, Yahipan,” said Enoch.
“Would you be pleased with a bloodbath?” said Yahipan.
“By no means, my lord,” said Enoch. “I am a man of peace and piety. I deplore violence, and I have sought to encourage the people to submit to the rule of the priest-king and your majesties.”
In truth, Enoch detested these Rephaim with all his being. They exploited the citizens with their tyrannical control and redistribution of wealth and food. But he was also a pacifist. He believed in submission to authority and would never encourage civil disobedience, let alone an uprising. Violence only led to more violence. He believed he should trust the gods and accept their decrees with steadfast faith.
“In my lowly opinion, it seems evident that both the Nephilim and the citizenry have become dependent upon the government to care for them. It is most natural then for them to not care for themselves and to become hostile when their subsidies are taken away. Unfortunately, it seems to me that we are not up against a
Patria L. Dunn (Patria Dunn-Rowe)