Prophecy in Clay: The Construction of Prophetic Identities in the Royal Archives of Mari

Abstract

The prophetic texts from Mari represent the earliest written testimony of the prophetic phenomenon in the Ancient Near East. Approximately sixty-five clay tablets—out of the more than eighteen thousand unearthed at Tell Hariri (Syria)—attest to the prophetic activity of various men and women who received divine revelations primarily intended for the king. However, a detailed reading of the texts reveals that there is no single term used to identify prophetic agents, inviting reflection on the diversity of roles and functions within this phenomenon. Why, then, do scholars refer to them collectively as “prophetic agents” (a term that, moreover, carries a strong biblical resonance)? Can we discern in their actions the counterpart or the very essence of the prophets of Israel? This article explores, based on the original Akkadian texts, the multiple identities of the prophets of Mari through an analysis of the terms employed, their etymology, and their occurrence in Old Babylonian sources. Furthermore, since these individuals are recipients of divine revelation, the study also includes those men and women who bear witness to revelatory dreams. Finally, it raises the question of whether these prophets and their practices can be regarded as precursors to the biblical prophets, given the striking similarities in their behavior and message. This study thus provides grounds to speak of a continuum of prophetic phenomena throughout the biblical Near East.

1. Introduction

The oldest corpus of prophetic texts known to us are those discovered in 1933 in the city of Mari (Tell Hariri), located along the middle course of the Euphrates River. Archaeologists unearthed the ruins of the palace of Zimri-Lim (c. 1775–1761 BCE), destroyed by Ḫammu-rabi in 1761 BCE, together with its fascinating royal archive (Margueron 2004). Among the approximately fifteen-thousand tablets brought to light, about sixty are known as “prophetic letters,” which quickly drew the attention of biblical scholars because they describe a phenomenon similar to that found in the Hebrew Bible (Nissinen 2017). In addition to these “letters,” the Mari corpus includes other documents that mention prophetic figures as well as the royal administrative records that provide a contextual framework for these texts.

The “letters” contain divine messages delivered to certain individuals who were to convey them to a third party, most often the king. These individuals, whom we generically refer to as “prophets,” received oracles through dreams, visions, or inner revelation. In most cases, the message was transmitted to royal officials or governors stationed throughout the kingdom, who were responsible for putting it into writing and delivering it to the palace. These were brief messages, closely tied to the historical circumstances of the moment (threats, alliances with other kingdoms, and so forth).

One striking fact that emerges from reading the prophetic letters is that there is no single word used to designate the mediator of revelation. It is noteworthy that each type of prophet displays distinctive features; however, when it comes to receiving messages, pronouncing them, and transmitting them to the king, the differences diminish. Although the letters offer few descriptions or allusions to the personality of the prophetic figures, a careful reading allows us to glimpse certain traits that characterize these men and women who served as mediators of the divine. In what follows, we will focus on several aspects that can be formulated as characteristics or features of the prophets and their actions, and we will point—though without developing the idea fully—to the continuity of prophecy in the biblical tradition.

The texts from Mari were published in the Archives Royales de Mari (ARM) series and in Florilegium Marianum (FM). Most of the prophetic texts are found in (Durand 1988, pp. 377–463). With minor variations in the number of texts included, they are available in other editions (Cagni 1995; Roberts 2002, pp. 157–253; Nissinen 2019, nos. 1–50). The rest of the Mari documentation, not limited to the prophetic letters, is highly valuable for contextual analysis (Heimpel 2003; Sasson 2015). An updated version of the texts is accessible through the Archibab database (https://www.archibab.fr/home, accessed on 29 October 2025).

2. The Prophetic Figures

2.1. The muḫḫûm/muḫḫūtum

Among the various types of prophets that appear in the Mari texts, muḫḫûm (feminine form: muḫḫūtum) is the most frequent. Morphologically, the term muḫḫûm is a verbal adjective of the D-stem system, often used for illnesses and bodily defects, derived from the verb maḫûm, which means “to enter into a trance/ecstasy” or “to rave.”1 The term is usually translated as “ecstatic,” as can be inferred from its root. In addition to the texts from Mari, the word is attested over a wide chronological range—from the Ur III period (reign of Amar-Sin, 2046–2038 BCE), throughout the Old Babylonian period (2000–1600 BCE), the Neo-Assyrian period (1000–612 BCE), and the Neo-Babylonian period (1000–539 BCE) (Parpola 1997, pp. xlv–xlvi).

In the bilingual Mesopotamian lexical lists, muḫḫûm/muḫḫūtum (Old Babylonian) and maḫḫû/maḫḫūtu (Neo-Assyrian) appear with their Sumerian correlate lú-gub-ba, and almost always in association with other figures linked to temple cultic activity, including singers (kalûm) and lamentation chanters (munambûm), high priests (šangammāḫum), ecstatics (zabbum), “man-woman” figures (kurgarrûm, assinnum), as well as various craftsmen (Nissinen 2017, p. 60).

In the prophetic letters of Mari, the verb is sometimes used to describe the behavior of certain prophets before they begin to speak. However, the use of the verbal adjective muḫḫûm would appear to indicate a permanent state of altered consciousness. In other words, the muḫḫûm would resemble a mentally unbalanced person, a “fou de dieu” (Durand 2008, p. 443), whose madness, nevertheless, was considered a divine gift worthy of attention.

The presence of muḫḫûm is attested in six letters,2 of women muḫḫūtum in four letters,3 and of a group of muḫḫū in the plural.4 Most of them are associated with Dagan, but we also know of a muḫḫūtum from the temple of Annunitum (ARM 26 237:22), another muḫḫūtum of Istar of Bisra (M.7160), and muḫḫū of Ami (ARM 27 32:7) and of Addu (FM 3 303:5). Only one of them is named in the letters: Hubatum (ARM 26 200:5), as well as two muḫḫū who appear in a dream, Hadnu-El and Iddin-kubi (ARM 26 227:7–8).

Several muḫḫū are, in one way or another, associated with cult and therefore with the temple. At times their messages are transmitted by a priest (ARM 26 200; ARM 26 201), which suggests that the words were uttered in the sanctuary. In other cases, the sender explicitly states: “I heard the words [that in the temple of Dagan] were spoken” (ARM 26 202:7–8) or “a muḫḫūtum in the temple of Annunitum rose up (tebûm) and thus declared” (ARM 26 237:22–23). The letter ARM 26 227 narrates a dream in which two muḫḫū entered the sanctuary of the god Abba and stood “beside” (ana lētim) the image, speaking from there. In several instances their messages concern cultic actions that the king must perform (ARM 26 220; ARM 26 221), or it is explicitly stated that they belong to a temple, as in the case of the group of muḫḫū from the temple of Ami (ARM 27 32:6–7). A muḫḫûm who transmits the message of Dagan during a siskur sacrifice demands “pure waters” from the king, apparently a request first and foremost of the deity, but also of the prophet himself, insofar as it concerned the purity of the sanctuary, where he likely resided (ARM 26 215:18–21).

Although the oracle could reach the muḫḫûm in the temple, where a priest or official would hear it and send it to the king, in other cases the prophet himself traveled, “sent” by the deity (ARM 26 221:9–14).

As for the unusual or deviant conduct that characterizes the muḫḫûm, the letters offer several illustrative examples. In one, a muḫḫûm performs a symbolic action of striking impact: he commands the governor to bring a lamb and, before the gate, in a public space, devours it (akālum), “while the lamb is still alive.” The act is accompanied by words that serve to announce the coming disaster: “a devouring (ukultum) is going to take place” (ARM 26 206:9–18). The gesture, clearly strange, recalls the symbolic actions of certain prophets of Israel (Isa 20:1–6; Jer 27–28; Ezek 2:8–3:3; 4:1–13, among others).

Another example of this peculiar behavior has been seen in the disheveled style of hair, based on the case of a muḫḫûm of whom it is said that he took a “fleece” (etqum) of his hair instead of the usual “lock” (šartum) (ARM 26 215:23). In another letter, a muḫḫûm “came completely unhinged” (ARM 26 221bis:13–14), or speaks by shouting (ARM 26 202:14b–16). A peculiar episode of muḫḫū behavior is narrated in ARM 27 32, where some muḫḫū of the god Ami of Hubsalum “plundered four Yamutbalian men.”

The ecstatic phenomenon has been seen as closely linked to prophecy, even among the prophets of Israel (André 1982; Nissinen 2017, pp. 183–91). Many of the behaviors and attitudes of biblical prophets can only be understood in light of divine possession of the prophet’s person. In the Bible, this is often expressed by the phrase “the hand of God” (יד־יהוה) upon the prophet (Ezek 1:3; 3:14,22; 8:1; 33:22; 37:1; 40:1; 1 Kgs 18:46; 2 Kgs 3:15; Isa 8:11; Jer 15:17). The ecstatic quality of the prophet seems to lie behind the root נבא, though not so much in the noun נביא, which denotes one who is called by God or who speaks in God’s name. It does not always express possession or ecstatic experience, but in some cases such behavior seems evident (Num 11:24–30; 1 Sam 10:5–6,10,13; 18:10; 19:20,21,23–24; 1 Kgs 18:29; 22:10).

Based on what has been said so far, we may conclude that the muḫḫûm was a type of prophet—male or female—exhibiting certain eccentric behaviors, who could receive and communicate divine messages in states of ecstasy. Such episodes could occur in the temple, where he seems to have carried out his activity, but he might also go forth and travel to deliver the message to its recipient. He acts individually but also in groups. With the caution demanded by the scarcity and ambiguity of the sources, we may affirm that, beyond terminology, the experience of ecstatic possession associated with prophecy appears to have a continuous presence—from the texts of Mari, through the figures of the muḫḫûm and muḫḫūtum, through Neo-Assyrian prophecy (via the raggimu: Parpola 1997, pp. xlv–xlvi; Nissinen 2017, pp. 171–200), among the prophets of Israel, and even among the earliest Christians (1 Cor 14:4).

2.2. The āpilum/āpiltum

The figure of the āpilum (feminine form: āpiltum) is the most representative of the prophetic phenomenon in Mari. The term āpilum appears in the lexical lists of Ebla (26th century BCE) as the equivalent of the Sumerian eme-bala, which can be translated as “interpreter” or “spokesperson” (Merlo 2004, pp. 324–25); in three administrative texts from Nuzi (15th–14th centuries BCE); and in a Middle Babylonian oracle from Assur (between the 15th and 11th centuries BCE) (Lion 2000, pp. 23–24). The word apillû (written both syllabically as a-pil-lu-ú and logographically as a.bil) also appears in lexical lists and omen texts, cited alongside lú-gub-ba, that is, maḫḫûm, possibly referring to the same term (Stökl 2012, pp. 39–42).

The noun āpilum is the G-stem participle of the root ’pl, which means “to answer” or “to respond”.5 Therefore, most scholars translate it as “responder,” that is, one who brings the response of the gods to human inquiries (Charpin 2002, p. 8; Durand 2008, pp. 420–22). However, according to the texts, the message is not always the result of a formal inquiry. For this reason, some prefer the translation “interpreter” (Moran 1993, p. 254; van der Toorn 1998, p. 60) or even “spokesperson” (Stökl 2012, p. 39), referring to someone sent with a message and acting as an emissary.

The prophetic letters of Mari mention the āpilum twelve times,6 āpiltum twice,7 and the plural āpilū once.8 Several of these figures are known by name: Abiya (FM 7 133:3), Isi-ahu (ARM 26 195:6), Lupāhum (ARM 26 199:5), Quisti-Dirītum (ARM 26 198:5), Atamrum (ARM 26 414:29), and the woman āpiltum Innibana (ARM 26 204:4).

Two letters (FM 6 1 and ARM 26 223), which likely refer to the same event involving an āpilum, date from the reign of Yasmah-Addu (1792–1775 BCE). The remaining attestations of āpilum/āpiltum belong to the reign of Zimri-Lim (1775–1762 BCE), and all the messages are addressed to him. Geographically, the activity of āpilum/āpiltum is attested not only in cities of the Mari kingdom (such as Tuttul, Terqa, and probably the capital itself, as well as Hisamta and Dir), but also in the kingdom of Yamhad (two āpilū in the city of Kallassu, FM 7 138; and an āpilum of Addu of Aleppo, Abiya, FM 7 133), Andarig (Atamrum, āpilum of Samas, ARM 26 414), and Babylon (an āpilum of Marduk, ARM 26 371).

It is possible that the āpilum maintained a more direct relationship with the king, although he does not appear to have been part of the palace staff. It is highly probable that many prophetic messages from the āpilū reached the king directly by oral transmission and were therefore not preserved in writing. This is evident in letter ARM 26 371, where Yarīm-Addu, the representative of Zimri-Lim in Babylon, recounts how an āpilum of Marduk approached the palace gate—first that of Hammu-rabi, then of Isme-Dagan—and proclaimed his message. When the king was not in residence, palace personnel recorded the message in writing to be sent to the king. This is the case in letter ARM 26 208, where the āpilum Quisti-Dirītum delivers his message to Sibtu, wife of Zimri-Lim, during the king’s absence.

As seen above, the āpilum sometimes went to the palace to deliver his message; however, in most cases, he pronounced it in the temple at the moment he received it. It was then that the attending priest or officials took note and transmitted it to the king. This shows that, in many cases, the āpilum received the divine oracle in a cultic context, primarily within the temple, even during a sacrifice: “Furthermore, on the day of the siskur-re sacrifice in the temple of Nin-hursaga, an āpilum of Nin-hursaga rose up and thus declared” (ARM 26 219:4′–6′; see also ARM 26 195:5–7; ARM 26 209:6). Another indication of this cultic setting is the use of verbs describing the prophet’s action: tebûm (“to rise”) and qabûm or dabābum (“to speak”). These verbs occur in the letters that explicitly show the oracle taking place in the temple or during a sacrificial ritual (ARM 26 219; ARM 26 195; ARM 26 209).

In about half of the cases, however, the āpilum himself carries the message to its destination, with no indication of where the revelation occurred. In such instances, the verbs describing the prophet’s activity are alākum + qabûm, “to go” and “to speak”.9 Similarly, the āpilum Lupahum (ARM 26 199:6) and the āpilum of Marduk, who “stood” (izuzzum) before the gates of the palaces of Hammu-rabi and Isme-Dagan in Babylon to cry out his message (ARM 371:10,19–20), personally deliver their oracles.

Several scholars have endeavored to delineate the differences between the āpilum/āpiltum and the muḫḫûm/muḫḫūtum. Based on the limited evidence, their conduct appears quite similar. It is possible that the ecstatic experience was more closely associated with the muḫḫûm/muḫḫūtum than with the āpilum/āpiltum, at least according to the letters. More frequently, the āpilum/āpiltum appears closer to the king and the royal court, whereas the muḫḫûm is more closely tied to the temple. For this reason, some authors have described the āpilum/āpiltum as “personnages officiels” (Durand 2008, p. 422), while the muḫḫûm/muḫḫūtum would be a “lay prophet” (Stökl 2012, p. 37) or “francs-tireurs” (Durand 2008, p. 422). In any case, both belong to a category of divine mediators who enjoyed prestige in Mari’s society, and whose words were regarded and recorded in a similar manner.

2.3. The qammatum

The prophetic letters record oracular messages from a woman identified as a qammatum, whose characteristics resemble those of other prophetic figures. The term appears three times in the prophetic texts from Mari and nowhere else in the cuneiform literature to date.

In the first edition of text ARM X 80, Dossin normalized the term in line 6 as qamātum and left it untranslated (Dossin 1978). In his commentary, he suggested that it might derive from the verb qâmun and could thus be translated as “a woman who rises” or “who is prominent.” He also noted the possibility of reading the second sign as ba (very similar to ma), producing qa-¡ba!-tum, that is, “a woman who speaks” or “who calls,” derived from the verb qabûm (“to speak”), an appropriate designation for an oracular role. However, the reading of ARM 26 203, with the doubling of the consonant m, [ša ^míqa]-am-ma-[tim] (line 12′), clarified the issue: the correct form is qammatum. The term may therefore derive from the verb qamāmun, “to wear a particular hairstyle.” The noun qimmatum denotes both “human hair” and “the foliage of a tree.” In lexical lists, the logogram corresponding to qamāmun is munus-suḫur-lá, which is associated with the term kezertum, a woman so named because of her distinctive hairstyle. Perhaps a striking coiffure—or an intentionally disheveled one (Heimpel 2003, p. 252)—was the most notable characteristic of these priestesses, whose exact function remains uncertain.

Turning now to the prophetic texts themselves, we observe an intriguing note concerning the qammatum. Both Inib-sina, sister of Zimri-Lim (ARM 26 197), and the governor Sammetar (ARM 26 199) report to the king the message of a qammatum. In it, she employs an enigmatic phrase: “Under the straw runs the water.” The contents of the letters, written during Zimri-Lim’s fifth regnal year, amid negotiations for peace with Ibal-pi-El of Eshnunna, seek to dissuade Zimri-Lim from concluding such an alliance. As Sammetar indicates (ARM 26 199:53–54), the message was delivered to the priestess Inib-sina, who in turn relayed it to Zimri-Lim (this corresponds to ARM 26 197). Even more interesting is that the same phrase also appears in a letter from Kanisan (ARM 26 202:10–11), according to a message sent by his father, Kibri-Dagan, governor of Terqa. He claims to have heard the message personally, from the mouth of a muḫḫûm, perhaps in the temple of Dagan (as reconstructed from the partially damaged lines 6–7). Thus, the same message from the same deity—Dagan of Terqa—reaches us through three distinct channels. It is therefore understandable that some scholars have proposed reading qammatum as the proper name of the muḫḫûm referred to by Kibri-Dagan in letter ARM 26 202 (Huffmon 1968, p. 115). This proposal can, however, be challenged, since the term is preceded by the sign diš (f. ištēt, “one”), which indicates a numerical designation. Moreover, in both cases, the noun is followed by the genitive phrase “ša Dagan of Terqa,” a construction that typically follows various prophetic titles.

As noted, the qammatum is presented in a manner similar to other prophets. In two letters her divine affiliation, ša Dagan of Terqa, is attested, and in letter ARM 26 203 the unnamed sender sends to the king a lock of hair and the hem of the qammatum’s mantle for verification, as is customary with other prophets. Likewise, she is described as “going” (alākum) and delivering messages to the governor (ARM 26 199:43) and to the priestess Inib-sina (ARM 26 197:8).

It is noteworthy that the qammatum on two occasions receives a reward for her actions. Sammetar reports that she herself requested it: “One ordinary garment (laḫarûm) and a nose ring” (ARM 26 199:51). In another letter, following a complaint about the cold in the temple, she is given “a large garment (uṭba [‘big’]) and [a] regular outfit” (ARM 26 203:14′–15′).

2.4. The assinnum

Another figure who delivers divine messages in the prophetic letters from Mari is the assinnum. Perhaps due to the multiple occurrences of the term outside the prophetic corpus, a rather inconsistent profile of the assinnum has emerged over time (Zsolnay 2013, pp. 81–99; Nissinen and Svärd 2018, pp. 373–411).

The assinnum appears in epigraphic records from Sumerian times through the Neo-Assyrian period. The cuneiform sign ur-sal already indicates its ambiguous nature: “man-woman” or, literally, “dog-woman.” Ancient myths have also contributed to shaping the characteristics of the assinnum. Thus, in the myth The Descent of Ishtar to the Underworld, in the Assyrian version, Ea creates the assinnum who must descend to the underworld to recover the body of Ištar (in the Sumerian version he creates the kurgarrû and kalaturru—the young kulu’u). The assinnum, described as “a man dressed as a woman,” seduces Ereškigal in order to achieve his goal. In the Erra Epic, a text from the first millennium BCE, both the kurgarrû and the assinnum are described as “those whom Ištar had transformed from men into women to demonstrate the compassion of the people.”

The primary context of the assinnum’s activity is the cult of Ištar, where he participates alongside other figures such as the kurgarrû or sinnišānu (“the one who is like a woman”), performing an androgynous role that includes cross-dressing, ritual dancing, battle scenes, healing acts, and lamentation chants (Maul 1992, pp. 150–54). In some dances they carried ritual weapons, not only as props for the dramatization of combat but also as instruments used in self-mutilation rituals. In this way, they shared in Ištar’s suffering in the underworld, thereby beginning their own path toward salvation. In some cases, the assinnum is associated with homosexual behavior and even placed within the sphere of shamanism.

Regarding its role in worship, some scholars associate the assinnum’s “third-gender” identity with its transgressive character (Peled 2014), while others overlook the sexual aspect and emphasize the assinnum’s “warrior” nature (Stökl 2012). It is also possible that, within cultic contexts, the assinnum fulfilled the same function as in The Descent of Ishtar to the Underworld, bringing a person back from illness to health. Such a role may have been intended to express total identification with the goddess herself (Nissinen 2017, p. 58).

Beyond the debate over the identity and nature of the assinnum, it is certain that in the prophetic letters from Mari this figure assumes the role of prophet, as a transmitter of the divine word, in a manner like the others. Two assinnū are mentioned in the prophetic corpus, each with a proper name: Selebum (ARM 26 197; ARM 26 213; and likely the same individual in ARM 26 198) and Ili-haznaya (ARM 26 212). Both are associated with the goddess Anunitum, a local manifestation of Ištar: “Ili-haznaya, assinnum of Anunitum” (ARM 26 212:5–6), and Selebum, who speaks from “the temple of Anunitum” (ARM 26 213:5) and about his own situation (ARM 26 198:5′).

Another feature shared with other prophetic figures is the delivery of the oracle. Selebum is said to have “entered into a trance” (immaḫu) in the temple of Anunitum (ARM 26 213:7), in the same way as Irra-gamil (ARM 26 222) and Ahatum in the temple of Anunitum (ARM 26 214). Sibtu, for her part, reports that the assinnum Ili-haznaya “came” (alākum) to her with a message concerning Hammu-rabi (ARM 26 212:6). The message of Selebum is faithfully received and transmitted, as shown in the letters: Inib-sina writes to the king that the oracle communicated to her by Selebum (nadānum) she has “written down” (šapārum) (ARM 26 197:5), and in ARM 26 198:1″ she states: “I have written according to what was spoken by (ana pī) Selebum.” Moreover, the assinnum speaks in the name of the goddess, as his discourse demonstrates: “Thus (says) Annunitum” (umma DN) (ARM 26 213:7). There is no doubt that the assinnum’s words originate from the deity, as Sibtu affirms at the end of her letter when referring to the prophetic message: “(…) the message of Ili-haznaya that Annunitum sent to me through him” (ARM 26 212:11′).

The contents of the messages delivered by the assinnū, likely issued in a context of war and threat to the king, are not innovative but align closely with those conveyed by other prophets. Thus, Ili-haznaya warns of danger from Hammu-rabi (ARM 26 212), as do the āpilū of Dagan of Tuttul and Belet-ekalim (ARM 26 209), or a woman speaking in the name of Dagan (ARM 26 210). The complaints made by Selebum regarding the temple and his personal condition (ARM 26 198) resemble those voiced by the āpilū of Aleppo (FM 7 138) or the muḫḫûm of Dagan requesting pure water (ARM 26 215). In addition, as with other prophetic figures, Sibtu takes from Selebum a lock of hair and the hem of his mantle (ARM 26 213:24).

2.5. The nabī

We find the plural term nabī (lúna-bi-i-meš), from the singular nabûm, only once in the prophetic texts of Mari (ARM 26 216). The word is a passive participle of the Akkadian verb nabû, meaning “to name” or “to call,” and is therefore usually translated as “the one who is called.”

The mention of the nabī in letter ARM 26 216 may be the earliest attestation of this technical term in Akkadian. It also appears, however, in Emar with the same form, which has led some to believe that it may belong to the specific terminology of the Hanû people (Fleming 1993a).

To grasp the meaning of the term in Mari and the role it plays in the context of prophecy, we must look closely at the only testimony available. The prophetic letter in which the term occurs was sent by Tebi-gerisu, a high palace official during the last years of Yasmah-Addu and the early years of Zimri-Lim. Tebi-gerisu states that the day after arriving where Asmad was, “I gathered the nabī of the Hanû. I ordered a divinatory ritual (têrtum) to be performed for the health of my lord” (ARM 26 216: 7–9). As Durand (2008, p. 434), has noted, the expression têrtum epēšum (“to make an omen”) denotes the divinatory practice of examining the entrails of animals (extispicy) and is characteristic of the bārûm (from the verb barûm, “to see”), not of prophets. It seems that Tebi-gerisu gathered the nabī with the intention of provoking an omen concerning the king, that is, what could be considered a “provoked prophecy.” Moreover, Tebi-gerisu poses the question (lines 10–13) using the well-known formula typical of binary-response hepatoscopic consultations: šumma + the possible use of the optative in the main clause: “Would it be that my lord, when he performs his ablution and remains for seven days in the surroundings (of the city), will return to the city safely?” (ARM 26 216: 10–13).

The loss of approximately eight subsequent lines makes it difficult to fully understand the consultation. When the text resumes, it is likely that Tebi-gerisu himself provides the answer to the inquiry, elaborated personally and addressed directly to the king, as indicated by the first-person suffixes. The text, however, remains obscure. From its reading it cannot be clearly inferred that the omens were produced by the nabī, nor, if they participated, in what way they received the divine message.

It is possible that the activity of the nabī was originally more closely linked to divination, and that the term later came to denote prophets. In this sense, as Sasson (1994, p. 311) points out, it is not surprising to find in 1 Sam 9:9 the narrator’s comment: “Formerly, in Israel, a prophet (nābî’) was called a seer (rō’ê).”

The term is closely related to the Hebrew נָבִיא (nābî’) (Fleming 1993b; Huehnergard 1999). It is, by far, the most frequently used word in the Bible to refer to a prophet: more than fifty figures in the Hebrew Bible bear this title or act according to it. Outside the Bible, it appears only twice, in the so-called “Lachish Letters,” dating to the 7th century BCE. The word is interpreted as a nominal qaṭīl form derived from the Semitic root nby/nb’, in a passive sense, meaning “the one who has been called.” However, the Hebrew verb, which occurs only in the nif‘al and hitpa‘el stems, means “to act as a prophet” and often describes ecstatic or extravagant behavior (1 Sam 10:5; Jer 14:14; 29:26; Ez 13:17).

Scholars have long debated the origin of the term and its relation to the nabī of Mari. Yet, a merely philological approach would be too limited. Indeed, the biblical prophets share many features with those referred to as “prophets” in Mari. The biblical figure of the nābî’ emphasizes the transmission of a divine message but cannot be confined to a single role. Although the nābî’ in the Hebrew Bible are never depicted practicing the technical divination that required special training—such as extispicy, augury, or astrology—some prophets do interpret signs (Dt 13:2–6; 2 Kgs 20:8–11 = Isa 38:7–8) or perform healing rituals, as in the case of Isaiah instructing King Hezekiah to apply a poultice of figs to heal his ulcer (2 Kgs 20:1–7 = Isa 38:21) or Elijah commanding Naaman to wash seven times in the Jordan to be cured (2 Kgs 5). In this way, prophets mediate divine assistance not only through words. The activity of the biblical nābî’ is at times closely associated with dreams (Dt 13:2; 1 Sam 28:6, 15; Jer 23:25–28; 29:9) and visions (Ez 12:27; Lam 2:9, 14). Not all their words seem inspired by God, and often they act as leaders or judges rather than as “prophets” in the strict sense.

2.6. Others Figures

In the prophetic letters, we also find oracular manifestations delivered by individuals who bear no specific title, sometimes deliberately so (ARM 26 210; ARM 26 214), and in other cases perhaps due to the fragmentary state of the texts (ARM 26 211; ARM 26 217).

In the first letter (ARM 26 210), Governor Kibri-Dagan informs Zimri-Lim of the arrival of “a woman, the wife of a free man” (1 mí dam lú), introducing her words with the customary formula: “Thus she spoke to me.” The woman claims to have been “sent by Dagan,” bearing a message intended to reassure the king in the face of Hammu-rabi’s threats. The sender provides no further information about the identity of this “messenger,” nor does he send a lock of her hair or a fringe from her garment. Nevertheless, he transmits the message to the king as he has done with others.

In another case (ARM 26 214), it is Sibtu, the wife of Zimri-Lim, who informs the king that, in the temple of Anunitum, a certain “Ahatum, servant (mí tur) of Dagan-Malik,” “fell into ecstasy” and “thus spoke.” The queen receives the message from the priest Ahum, who appears to have heard it in the temple. As previously noted, Irra-gamil (ARM 26 222) also “fell into ecstasy,” and from other administrative texts we know that he bore the title muḫḫûm of Nergal. Likewise, Selebum is said to have “fallen into ecstasy” (ARM 26 213), although the same letter does not identify him as an assinnum. What we observe in all three cases in which the prophet “fell into ecstasy” is that their title is never mentioned. In each case, only their personal name is given, which must have been sufficient for identification. In both instances, Sibtu also sends the lock of hair and the fringe of the garment (ARM 26 213: 24; ARM 26 214: 21–22).

In two additional letters, we know only the messages of certain women, but the poor preservation of the tablets prevents us from determining the kind of prophetesses they were (ARM 26 211 and ARM 26 217).

We know that there were women who participated in the cult and received remuneration, even if they are not easily identifiable by a specific title. In a text recording payment to various individuals, alongside a muḫḫûm appears a “madwoman” (lillatum) named Yadida, who also receives an “ordinary garment.” It is possible that she was an ecstatic prophetess (ARM 21 333). Considering, however, the two certain testimonies (ARM 26 210 and ARM 26 214), we may conclude that “non-professional” or “lay prophets” (Stökl 2012, pp. 62–63), women connected to a male figure, appear acting as prophets in Mari.

In the Bible, too, we find accounts of women prophets such as Miriam, the sister of Aaron (Ex 15:20), Deborah (Judg 4:4), Huldah (2 Kgs 22:14–20; 2 Chr 34:22), Noadiah (Neh 6:14), and the unnamed prophetess mentioned in Isa 8:3. The Gospel of Luke refers to the prophetess Anna (Lk 2:36–38), and it is said that Philip’s daughters possessed the gift of prophecy (Acts 21:9). As in letter ARM 26 210, two of these women are described as married: Deborah, wife of Lappidoth, and Huldah, wife of Shallum.

2.7. Dreams Seers

Under the general category of “letters,” we also find in the Mari corpus communications from the gods conveyed through dreams. As previously noted, this represents another means of divine communication with humans, transmitted and regarded in a manner analogous to prophetic messages (Pongratz-Leisten 1999, pp. 96–127; Noegel 2007). There are twenty-one letters of this type, most of them easily recognizable using the term šuttum (“dream,” pl. šunātum) and by verbs associated with visionary experience (amārum, naṭālum, and the less frequent ṣalālum).

Dreams in the biblical and ancient Near Eastern world are not reflections of the unconscious but rather a medium employed by the divine to transmit messages. According to J.-M. Durand, dreams are to the state of sleep what prophecies are to the state of wakefulness; thus, in most cases, we may properly speak of “prophetic dreams” or prophéties rêvées (Durand 2008, p. 455). The dreams of the king or of those in his immediate circle could easily become matters of state. Nor were the dreams of other individuals entirely ignored; however, only those whose messages were deemed potentially important for the king or his immediate entourage were written down and reported to the authorities.

When dreams are considered in analogy with prophecy, we observe that—whereas for the recipients of prophetic revelation there exists a specific terminology (muḫḫûm, āpilum, assinnum, qammatum, nabī), denoting what we might call “professionals,” both male and female—no such specialized title exists for the dream seers. In other words, there was no “professional dreamer.” It is, however, common for the sender to specify the name of the dreamer. Moreover, the texts never indicate that dream seers received any form of reward, unlike prophets.

Despite this, dreams and oracles share several common features. In both, the divine sender is explicitly mentioned, and sometimes the recipient expresses hesitation about communicating the message. Like prophetic oracles, dream messages are ultimately addressed to the king, and in both cases their divine origin is acknowledged. The dream seers often receive their revelations within the temple; a setting also associated with prophetic activity. The transmission of dreams follows a communicative pattern like that of prophetic messages, with the difference that dreams must be reported by the dreamer, whereas spoken oracles could be heard by third parties. As with prophecies, most dreams were probably spontaneous, though there also existed the possibility of inducing them a practice known as “dream incubation.”

Among the male dreamers, the king himself, Zimri-Lim, may appear as one. In letter ARM 26 225, the sender—whose name is lost—reports the result of the diviners’ consultation (dumu-meš máš-šu-gíd-gíd) concerning a dream that the king had sent to be interpreted (lines 7–12). This is likely also the case in letter ARM 26 224, where the king, apparently traveling, has sent a dream (šuttum) for interpretation.

At times, the dreamer is identified simply as a man (lú). In letter ARM 26 226, although the dream’s content is almost entirely lost, the sender concludes by stating that, “from the man who saw the dream” (anumma ša lú āmir šuttim), he is sending a lock of hair and the fringe of his garment so that the dream may be verified. Two letters from the governor of Terqa, Kibri-Dagan, report dreams of two anonymous men. In ARM 26 234, the name may have appeared in the now illegible lines of the tablet. This letter is particularly interesting, as it recounts that the dreamer had the same dream on two consecutive nights, concerning a ruined house that was not to be rebuilt. On the first day he “told it to no one” (line 6′), and after the second dream, he fell ill (line 18′). Kibri-Dagan transmits to the king not only the dream message itself but also the account of these circumstances, along with the fringe of the garment and a lock of the dreamer’s hair. In another letter (ARM 26 235), Kibri-Dagan reports a dream seen by a man (lú), conveyed to him by the priest (sanga) Aḫum.

In five cases, the senders provide the personal names of the dreamers: Nanna-lu-til (ARM 26 228), Malik-Dagan (ARM 26 233), Iddin-ili (ARM 26 238), Asqudum (ARM 26 82), and Yasaddel (ARM 33 55). Sender and dreamer appear to coincide in ARM 33 132, where Sumu-ḫadu recounts his own dream.

Among female dreamers, four stand out as personally communicating their dreams to the king: Zunana, of whom only the name is known (ARM 26 232); Addu-duri, the mother of Zimri-Lim, who reports two dreams of her own (ARM 26 237); Princess Simatum, daughter of Zimri-Lim, who writes to her father with her dream (ARM 26 236); and Timlu, servant of the queen mother, who recounts a dream to her mistress (ARM 26 240). Other female dreamers known by name include Ayala (ARM 26 229) and Kakka-lidi (ARM 26 236).

From this survey of the “dream seers,” we may conclude that they were non-specialists whose dreams were nonetheless considered bearers of divine messages, even though such revelations required verification, a task never performed by the dreamer but by interpreters or diviners. These interpreters include both men and women, some of whom were closely connected to the king himself.

The tradition of paying attention to dream seers continues in the Bible (Rofé 1995, pp. 88–90). Various figures receive divine messages in dreams: God appears and speaks to Abimelech (Gen 20:3); Jacob sees and converses with the angel of God (Gen 31:10–11); and Solomon, at the sanctuary of Gibeon, speaks with Yahweh in a dream during the night. Though not all dreamers are prophets, the author of Numbers presents dreaming as a typical mode of prophetic revelation, to highlight Yahweh’s unique relationship with Moses: “If there is a prophet among you, I, the Lord, make myself known to him in a vision; I speak with him in a dream. Not so with my servant Moses; he is faithful in all my house.” (Num 12:6–7).

3. Aspects of the Prophetic Figure

The portrait of the prophet’s personality must be completed with more than a mere description of their titles, as we have done thus far. Unlike the prophetic texts of the Bible, the Old Babylonian prophetic letters lack vocation narratives, prophet-centered accounts, or first-person testimonies. To gain a deeper understanding of these figures, we must examine in the letters those recurring and significant aspects that may shed light on the identity and mode of action of those called prophets.

3.1. The Prophet’s Relationship with God

The most distinctive feature of all those whom we call “prophets,” and the foundation of their authority, lies in their relationship with the divine. As mediators between the gods and humankind, prophets must have cultivated an intimacy with the divine world. It is not easy to discern this relationship in the prophetic letters, since the texts are often terse; yet this closeness is reflected in four situations in which we encounter the prophet: their presence in the divine council, their presence in the temple, their dialogue with the deity, and their divine affiliation.

3.1.1. Presence in the Divine Council

In several prophetic letters, the prophet’s message comes after deliberation within an assembly or “divine council.” The motif of the “divine assembly” or “divine council,” which governs earthly affairs, appears frequently in Ugaritic, Aramaic, Egyptian, and Mesopotamian sources, and particularly in prophetic texts (Cassin 1974, pp. 111–18; Nissinen 2002). In Mesopotamian theological thought, it is the puḫrum—the assembly of the gods—that determines the fate of cities. Likewise, political and military conflicts are decided through divine intervention and adjudicated in this celestial council.

In one letter, unfortunately fragmentary, it appears that a prophet—perhaps through a dream—was granted access to the meeting of the divine council. There, the god Dagan (representing Mari) summons the god Tispak (representing Ešnunna) to communicate his verdict: “Your day has passed. You will face your day as Ekallatum did” (ARM 26 196: 2′–10′). Later, the god Yakrub-El, acting as messenger of the goddess Hanat, urges Dagan not to neglect the execution of the sentence. Although the letter does not state it explicitly, the prophet or seer seems to have entered the divine council and witnessed firsthand Dagan’s decision concerning Mari’s fate in relation to Ešnunna.

In another letter, within the very account of the divine assembly, the narrator’s voice can be heard—almost certainly that of a prophet—declaring: “What Asumum said, I did not hear” (ARM 26 208: 9′–10′). In this case, it is the god Ea, associated with “the secrets of the gods” and with wisdom, who convenes the divine family to swear an oath “by the life of the god” in favor of Mari and its king. Once again, the favorable oracle reaches the king thanks to the prophet’s proximity to the gods in the divine council.

Finally, in a letter from the goddess Kititum to King Ibal-pi-El of Ešnunna (FLP 1674)—a text that must have involved some kind of prophet, though unnamed—the goddess declares herself to be knowledgeable of the “secrets of the gods” (niṣrētum ša dinger-meš), which she transmits to the king. The expression “secrets of the gods” has been interpreted as an allusion to the “divine council” (Lenzi 2008, pp. 61–64). Indeed, secrecy, restricted access, and the centrality of divination are hallmarks of the divine assembly, as also attested in mythological texts, divine epithets, and divinatory rituals.

This type of vision reflects a supramundane reality perceived as a prefiguration of future events in the earthly realm. In Burke O. Long’s (1976) typology of prophetic vision reports, the first type, the “oracle-vision,” consists of brief accounts in which the prophet and the deity engage in dialogue. A second type, the “dramatic word-vision,” involves dialogue and interaction among divine figures, sometimes including direct divine speech. This latter form seems to correspond to the cases found in the three letters mentioned above.

This subgenre has been associated with other fragments of Akkadian texts and considered an Amorite antecedent of the later apocalyptic genre (Hallo 1966; Bodi 2010). Indeed, it shares several motifs that would later be developed in Jewish apocalyptic literature, especially in the biblical book of Ezekiel and, as an intermediate stage, in the Erra Epic of the ninth century BCE.

Israelite religion, situated within the same broader tradition, incorporated the motif of the divine council into its theological worldview and expressed it through various idioms (Mullen 1980; Neef 1994, pp. 13–17): notably “the council of Yahweh” (sôd YHWH) in Jer 23:18, 22 and Ps 25:14; and “the divine assembly” (ʿădat-ʾēl) in Ps 82:1. Related expressions include “assembly of the holy ones” (qahal qedôšîm, Ps 89:6), “sons of the gods” (benê ʾēlîm, Ps 29:1; 89:7; Job 1:6; 2:1), “all the gods” (kol-ʾēlîm, Ps 97:7), or simply “gods” (ʾĕlōhîm, Ps 82:1, 6). In the Bible, too, Yahweh appears presiding over the assembly, dispensing justice: “God stands in the divine assembly; among the gods he renders judgment” (Ps 82:1).

The prophets of Israel likewise appear as witnesses to the deliberations of the divine council. A paradigmatic instance is King Ahab’s consultation with the prophet Micaiah son of Imlah. In a vision, the prophet beholds the heavenly scene of Yahweh seated upon his throne, surrounded by his council, deliberating on Ahab’s fate (1 Kgs 22:19–22).

Both in the texts from Mari and in the Bible, the gods are portrayed as taking sides in earthly affairs and determining human destiny. Yet their will is communicated through mediators. The prophet’s presence in the “council” signifies not only divine authority over the world but also the divine origin of the prophetic word, genuine and authoritative precisely because it proceeds from nearness to the deity.

3.1.2. Presence in the Temple

Over the years of research on prophecy at Mari, several scholars have emphasized the participation of prophets in the cult. Some have even suggested that prophecy at Mari should be understood primarily as a form of cultic prophecy (van der Toorn 1998, p. 58). However, the fact that many prophetic messages were delivered in temples should not lead us to equate these figures too hastily with the so-called “cultic prophets,” a category developed by biblical scholars of the last century to describe certain prophets in the Hebrew Bible. Beyond that debate, what concerns us here is the prophet’s proximity to the divine.

Temples were the privileged locations of divine presence, the dwelling places of the gods par excellence. As noted above, it is quite possible that some individuals who acted as prophets belonged to the temple personnel. Several letters explicitly mention the temple as the setting for prophetic revelation10 or for sacrificial rituals, which almost certainly took place within temple precincts.11

A further indication of the prophet’s closeness to the divinity lies in the posture adopted when standing before the divine image to speak. Such a posture signifies that the prophet positions himself in the immediate presence of the deity, lending his mouth to convey the message that the inert statue cannot articulate. In letter ARM 26 227, two muḫḫū appear in a dream and, standing “beside” or “before” (ana lētum) the god Abba, address a group of women. In ARM 26 215, it is stated explicitly that a muḫḫûm rose and spoke “before Dagan” (igi Dagan). In another dream, within the sacred precinct of Dagan’s stelae, an old man prostrates himself before Itur-Mer (šukênum + [igi] DN) in the presence of other divine statues and receives the god’s communication (ARM 26 230). Another example is the man from Sakka, Malik-Dagan, who prostrates himself before Dagan (šukênum + ana DN), whereupon “Dagan opened his mouth and spoke” (ARM 26 233).

Two idiomatic expressions found in separate letters further emphasize the prophet’s intimacy with the deity by focusing on “the mouth” as the point of contact. In ARM 26 230, the god Itur-Mer urges the addressee to “listen from the lip of the gods” (šapat di$\tilde{\mathrm{g}}$ir-meš šimênim) or possibly to “listen from the lip of the old man” (šapat lú.šu.gi šimênim), depending on how the damaged line is reconstructed. The expression “to listen from the lips of” serves, like ina pîm šemûm, to denote a personal and direct interaction between speaker and hearer. In ARM 26 233, responding to the man’s prostration, Dagan “opened his mouth and spoke,” as the text reports: “Dagan opened his mouth and spoke to me thus” (Dagan pîšu iptēma kīam iqbêm ummāmi).

3.1.3. Dialogue with God

The prophet’s closeness to the divinity becomes most evident in certain letters where we hear the prophet’s own voice engaged in direct dialogue with the deity. This is the case in the Old Babylonian Prophecy from Uruk, where an anonymous prophet converses with Ištar/Nanaya: “These are the words that Ištar has spoken to me” (Nissinen 2019, pp. 229–30). The prophet concludes by exhorting the king to “keep my words in your hand” and to fulfill the “will of the goddess” (ṣibut di$\tilde{\mathrm{g}}$ir). It is made explicit that the prophet’s words are the words of the goddess herself, who speaks through his mouth.

Naturally, this dialogue is particularly notable when the prophet is present or acts to “consult” or interpret the divine message. The āpilum Lupahum “verifies before Dagan” a message from the king (ARM 26 199); Queen Sibtu interrogates the deity through some type of prophetic intermediary, thereby establishing a dialogue with the divine (ARM 26 207; ARM 26 212); and Tebi-gerisu consults the nabī of the Hanû people (ARM 26 216).

The prophet’s close relationship with the deity is further demonstrated when he acts as intermediary in the epistolary exchange between the king and the divine realm—either transmitting the king’s message to the god (ARM 26 191; ARM 1 3) or conveying to the king the god’s message (ARM 26 192; ARM 26 193; FLP 1674; FLP 2064)—although in these instances the prophetic figure is not explicitly mentioned.

In dream contexts, dialogue with the divine is even more frequent (Butler 1998, pp. 17–18): an old man exchanges words with Itur-Mer (ARM 26 230); the god Dagan converses with the prophet Malik-Dagan (ARM 26 233); and Zunana, in a dream, is questioned by Dagan (ARM 26 232), all within the setting of the temple. Possibly within a similar visionary or dream context, an anonymous letter-writer records an exchange with Dagan that seems to contain ritual instructions for warfare (ARM 26 205).

Biblical prophets are likewise recognized by their intimacy with Yahweh. It is God who places His word in the prophet’s mouth: “The word that God puts in my mouth, that I will speak” (Num 22:38); or “Behold, I have put My words in your mouth” (Jer 1:9). To them the people and kings come to consult Yahweh on various matters. Thus, the kings of Israel and Judah inquire of their prophets about the success of an attack on Ramoth-Gilead (1 Kgs 22:6–18), and even a foreign monarch, Ben-Hadad of Aram, turns to the prophet Elisha to ask Yahweh about his health (2 Kgs 8:7–14).

The prophet’s role as intermediary between king and deity, with a written message serving as the medium—as in letter ARM 26 191—finds a biblical parallel in 2 Kgs 19:10–19. Just as Zimri-Lim presents his supplication before the god River, King Hezekiah lays before Yahweh the threatening letter sent by the Assyrian king Sennacherib during the siege of Jerusalem in 705 BCE. Similarly, the dialogue between the prophet Jeremiah and Yahweh within the context of a liturgy of lamentation (Jer 14:11–14) is particularly noteworthy.

Patriarchs and prophets alike receive revelations in dreams and sometimes engage in dialogue with the deity or a divine agent. Through such a dream dialogue, the prophet Samuel comes to know the Lord and learns his calling (1 Sam 3:1–14), while Jacob converses with the Angel of the Lord during his flight from Laban’s household (Gen 31:11–13). The prophet Daniel, likewise, seeks interpretation for his vision within the dream itself by questioning one of the figures present in the scene (Dan 7:15–17).

3.1.4. Divine Affiliation

Prophets usually appear associated with specific deities (or temples). In some cases, this is explicitly indicated through a formula of divine affiliation or belonging: “PN, prophet of DN” (PN muḫḫûm ša DN). Thus, we find mention of a muḫḫûm of Dagan (ARM 26 206:5; ARM 26 220:16–17; ARM 26 221:9), or, in the plural, muḫḫū of Dagan (ARM 26 243:13), of Ami (ARM 27 32:3′–4′), or of Addu (FM 3 303:5). A muḫḫūtum of Ištar of Bisra is likewise recorded (M. 7160:11–12).

Several texts specify the affiliation of an otherwise anonymous āpilum with a particular deity: Addu, lord of Kallasu (FM 7 133:31); Addu, lord of Aleppo (FM 7 133:46, 60); Dagan of Tuttul (ARM 26 209:6); Belet-ekalim (ARM 26 209:15); Nin-hursaga (ARM 26 219:5′); and Marduk (ARM 26 371:9). Others identify both name and deity: Abiya, of Addu, lord of Aleppo (FM 7 133:3); Atamrum, of Šamaš (ARM 26 194:2; ARM 26 414:29–30); Lupahum, of Dagan (ARM 26 199:5); and Quisti-Diritum, of the goddess Diritum (ARM 26 208:6). Similarly, the qammatum appears twice affiliated with Dagan of Terqa (ARM 26 197:6–7; ARM 26 199:42), and the assinnum Ili-haznaya is linked to the goddess Anunitum (ARM 26 212:5–6).

In other instances, only the temple of the deity from which the message is delivered is mentioned,12 or the deity is simply referred to within the prophet’s discourse.13 Notably, no such divine affiliation ever appears in connection with the dream seers.

3.2. The Prophet as Envoy

The study of the prophetic texts from Mari has highlighted the prophet’s awareness of being “sent,” a feature that is also characteristic of biblical prophecy (Malamat 1966, p. 209). However, some scholars have cautioned against overemphasizing this aspect (Moran 1969, p. 26).

The expression “DN išpuranni” (“DN has sent me”) appears in three letters of Kibri-Dagan. The first occurs in the mouth of a woman, the wife of a free man, speaking on behalf of Dagan: “Dagan has sent me. Write to your lord so that he may not be troubled, and the land may not be troubled” (ARM 26 210:11–14). The other two occur in the mouths of muḫḫū of Dagan: “Concerning the performance of the pagrā’um sacrifices, Dagan has sent me. Write to your lord” (ARM 26 220:18–20); and “The god has sent me. Hurry and write to the king” (ARM 26 221:13–15).

In the context of a dream, the god Dagan himself addresses the dreamer in the first person: “Now go, I am sending you. You yourself shall speak thus to Zimri-Lim” (ARM 26 233:32–33).

As Huffmon (2000, p. 56), has noted, sometimes not only the prophet but also the message itself is described as being sent. In a letter from Queen Sibtu, partially reconstructed, she reports that the assinnum Ili-haznaya arrived bearing a message sent by the goddess Anunitum: “[Inside the temple of Anunitum] [a message concerning Babylon] was sent by him [to my lord] [(saying) the following:]” (ARM 26 212:7–11). In the dream of Timlu, which she herself recounts to Addu-duri, the expression appears in the opening formula of her report: “I saw a dream concerning you. [And in] my dream Belet-ekalim [thus] sent me [(to say to you) as follows]” (ARM 26 240:9–12).

In the Bible, the awareness of being sent is expressed through various “sending formulas,” composed of the verb šālaḥ (“to send”) together with the sender (Yahweh) and the envoy (the prophet) (Richter 1970, pp. 156–58; Schmidt 1982). In many cases, the verb hālak (“to go”) accompanies it, as in the Akkadian alākum (Bretón 1987, pp. 105–15). The use of the formula in the Bible often serves to legitimize the prophet’s mission as authentic. It is possible that a similar function was intended in the Mari texts, though to a lesser extent, since no polemic against “false prophets” exists there as in the biblical tradition. In both corpora, however, the formula primarily serves to emphasize the sender of the message.

The prophet, following the model of diplomatic correspondence of the period, is the šiprum—the envoy—of the deity, bearing a divine message for the king (Durand 1997, p. 119). In the letters, its use serves, on the one hand, to underline the divine response to situations of anxiety or danger affecting the king or the nation (ARM 26 210; ARM 26 233; ARM 26 212), and, on the other, to remind the king of his obligation toward the god through the faithful performance of cultic rites (ARM 26 220; ARM 26 221).

3.3. Between Obligation and Hesitation in Transmission

As we have seen, the prophet perceives himself as being sent by the deity to deliver a message to the king. Just as a royal messenger bears the “duty to report,” the prophet bears the “duty to prophesy.” Several letters attest to the prophet’s determination to fulfill this mission.

Laum, most likely the governor of Qattunan during the reign of Yasmah-Addu, informs the king of the āpilum’s persistence: “Concerning the small boats of [Dagan], the āpilum stood up and spoke verbally once and twice to Binum and to the servants who dwell in Terqa in the following manner” (FM 6 1:5–9).

In some cases, the prophet’s insistence may be motivated by the king’s negligence in performing his religious duties, as seems to be the case with Zimri-Lim toward the goddess Nin-hursaga. The āpilum echoes the deity’s own insistence: “Furthermore, on the day of the sacrifice in the temple of Nin-hursaga, an āpilum of Nin-hursaga arose and declared thus: ‘Once, twice, and even three times I made my request known before Zimri-Lim, but he granted me nothing [ … ]’” (ARM 26 219:4′–9′).

At times, the negligence of those responsible for carrying out the divine order leads the prophet to utter threats. Such is the case of the muḫḫûm who pressures the governor of Terqa, Kibri-Dagan, to build a new gate—possibly for the city (ARM 26 221bis)—or of the muḫḫū who demand the reconstruction of the house of Sammetar (ARM 26 243).

Other letters reveal certain hesitations on the part of the prophet or seer in conveying the divine message. The most striking example is that of Hammi-sagis, who confides to Zimri-Lim’s secretary, Ṣunuhra-Halu, his doubts about whether it is appropriate to report an unfavorable dream to the king: “But I say to myself: Should I repeat my dream?” (M. 7160:8–9).

Indeed, when the divine message is unfavorable, fear troubles not only the seer but also those around the king. Kibri-Dagan receives from the priest Aḫum an account of a dream foretelling military disaster for Zimri-Lim: the enemy army has entered the cities of Mari, Terqa, and Saggaratum. The governor himself remarks: “[Aḫum] has repeated this dream to me. He has placed the responsibility upon me, saying: ‘Write to the king’” (ARM 26 235:16–18).

This inner tension within the prophet—between the duty to convey the divine word and the risks entailed in doing so—reaches its most dramatic expression in biblical prophecy, where the texts are more inclined to reveal the prophet’s inner struggle. In the biblical tradition, God “imposes Himself,” provoking within the prophet an involuntary and often painful reaction. The case of Jeremiah is paradigmatic in this regard (Jer 11:18–12:6; 15:10–21; 17:14–18; 18:18–23; 20:7–18).

3.4. The Rejection of the Prophet’s Word

Given the nature of the prophetic letters, it seems clear that the prophets’ messages were heard and preserved. However, this does not necessarily mean that their words were always welcome—still less that they were obeyed. In this regard, the case of the peace treaty between King Zimri-Lim and Ibal-pi-El of Ešnunna, dated to the fifth year of Zimri-Lim’s reign, is particularly illustrative. Several prophetic messages advised against concluding the treaty; nevertheless, Zimri-Lim chose to follow his own political strategy rather than heed the prophets’ warnings (see ARM 26 197; ARM 26 199; ARM 26 202).

A more explicit case of rejection is that of the āpilum of Marduk, who speaks before the gates of Hammu-rabi’s palace and before the residence of Išme-Dagan in Babylon. His speech, which criticized both Hammu-rabi—for supporting Išme-Dagan—and Išme-Dagan himself—for “purchasing” peace with Elam using Marduk’s treasures—was met with silence. The response to both addresses is recorded identically: “No one said anything to him” (ARM 26 371:17, 33).

Rejection of the prophet’s word is even more frequent in the Bible. A clear example appears in the case of the prophet Amos, whose denunciations of false confidence in the temple provoke the hostility of the priests, who complain to King Jeroboam in an attempt to silence him: “Amos has conspired against you in the midst of the house of Israel; the land is not able to bear all his words” (Amos 7:10).

3.5. Payment to the Prophet

Like any envoy, the prophet receives compensation upon delivering the message. While a few prophetic letters allow us to infer such a practice, the clearest evidence comes from administrative texts—specifically, palace lists—which provide more detailed information about the prophet’s remuneration (Nissinen 2017, pp. 63–68).

From one administrative text we learn that the āpilum Lupahum received one shekel of silver as payment for his mission (M.11436), and on another occasion an ass from the booty of Ida-Maras (A.3796). Another āpilum of Dagan, named Qisātum, is mentioned in an administrative document as receiving “two bronze spears” (ARM XXV 15:7–8). Ishi-Dagan, āpilum of Dagan, is recorded as receiving a silver ring (T 82:2–4). A particularly significant administrative text (ARM XXV 142) includes the prophet in a list of “messengers” who receive their reward.

At times, it is the prophet himself who requests payment, most often in the form of garments or textiles. This may be the case with the qammatum of Dagan of Terqa, who “requested an ordinary garment (laḫarum) and a nose ring (ṣerretum), and I gave them to her” (ARM 26 199:51–52), or with the muḫḫûm of Saggaratum who, after performing the symbolic gesture and pronouncing his oracle, asks the governor for a garment (ARM 26 206:23–27).

Two main explanations have been proposed for this practice of compensating prophets. Those who regard prophets as part of the temple personnel interpret such payments as cultic allocations reflecting their material dependence on the royal court (Malamat 1989a, pp. 85–86). Others, however, view these tributes not merely as remuneration for cultic service but as payment for their role as messengers (mār šiprim), equivalent to the standard fee for a royal courier (Gordon 1993, pp. 74–75). As we have seen, the documents do not always make this distinction, and it would be unwise to insist upon it too rigidly. In any case, both prophets and diviners received compensation for their messages.

This practice is likewise attested in the Bible (1 Sam 9:7–8; 1 Kgs 14:3; 2 Kgs 5:4; 2 Kgs 8:8), though in later periods it came to be criticized (Mic 3:11) (Malamat 1989b; Barstad 2005, pp. 27–28).

3.6. Individual and Collective Activity

Most prophetic messages—and, of course, the dreams—are reported by a single individual. Nevertheless, there are several references to different categories of prophets in the plural, though it is not always easy to determine in each case whether they act collectively or individually.

Perhaps the most illustrative case is that of the consultation or “provoked prophecy” reported by Tebi-gerisu. In his letter, he states that he gathered the nabī of the Hanû people to perform an omen concerning the king’s health (ARM 26 216). It is very likely that this refers to a group of prophets acting collectively, since Tebi-gerisu makes only a single consultation, although several lines of the letter are missing. The consultation that Queen Sibtu conducts with “a man and a woman,” having them drink a potion (ARM 26 207), may fall into the same category. It is worth noting that the oracular responses in that letter are expressed in the plural: “thus (they) answered” (line 19); “he made them speak shrewdly” (line 36).

The prophetic figure most frequently appearing in the plural is the muḫḫûm. Concerning the house of Sammetar, a group of muḫḫū continually admonishes the governor not to rebuild it (ARM 26 243:7, 13). In the curious event narrated in ARM 27 32, we find them acting together, though with purposes different from prophecy. It is possible that the ritual of Ištar at Mari should also be counted among the testimonies of collective ecstatic activity—specifically involving women, muḫḫātum. Although the text is fragmentary, we read: “When, before her, the musicians have entered, the muḫḫātum do not […] and the mu[sicians…]. When [the muḫḫātum] remain in balance” (FM 3 3:4′–9′).

We may also mention the only instance in which the āpilum appears in the plural. In the letter of Nur-Sin, after transmitting the oracle of Addu, lord of Kallasu, he concludes: “This is what the āpilū declared” (FM 7 133:29).

The sources at our disposal are too limited to draw definitive conclusions. However, it can be affirmed that the prophets of Mari—who, for the most part, operated in close connection with the temples—shared their activity with other prophets and various cultic personnel. This suggests that they belonged to a broader community, even while maintaining their individuality (Stökl 2012, pp. 67, 207–9).

The phenomenon of prophetic collectives is also attested in the Bible (Num 11:25–27; 1 Sam 19:20–24; and the various groups of prophets in the cycles of Elijah and Elisha, 1 Kgs 17–2 Kgs 10) (Lemaire 1993, pp. 39–56).

4. Conclusions

The study of the prophetic texts from Mari reveals the existence of a complex and plural phenomenon, long preceding Israelite prophecy, and offering crucial insights for understanding the genesis and development of prophetic discourse in the biblical Near East. Far from constituting a homogeneous block, the corpus of letters and records from Mari discloses a network of mediators of the divine who operate in diverse contexts—cultic, oneiric, political, and domestic—whose authority rests on the direct experience of the divine word. In this sense, rather than speaking of a single “type” of prophet, we should speak of a constellation of prophetic identities.

The muḫḫûm/muḫḫūtum, characterized by ecstatic trance and proximity to the temple, represents the most charismatic and liminal dimension of the prophetic phenomenon. Their activity, marked by symbolic gestures and altered states of consciousness, anticipates certain behaviors of the ecstatic prophets of Israel, such as Saul or Elisha, in whom divine possession is expressed through the body. In contrast, the āpilum/āpiltum embodies a more institutional form of mediation, linked to the royal court and political discourse, yet equally recognized as a bearer of the divine voice. In both cases, the prophet emerges as a liminal agent between divinity and kingship, bridging the divine and human spheres.

Other titles, such as qammatum and assinnum, demonstrate that the prophetic phenomenon cannot be reduced to fixed categories. The qammatū, with their distinctly feminine and ritual character, broaden the range of sacred mediations and reveal that the divine word could erupt through women of varied social status—including priestesses and wives of free men. The assinnum, for its part, introduces an element of ritual and gendered ambiguity that resists rigid definitions of prophecy, situating itself at the intersection of the sacred, the performative, and the transgressive. Finally, the presence of the nabī demonstrates the permeability between the language of divination and that of divine inspiration. Although in Mari the nabī appear connected with divinatory practices, their participation in consultations concerning royal destiny anticipates the intercessory and revelatory role of the Israelite nābî’.

Taken together, these testimonies depict the prophet as a relational and multifaceted subject, whose identity is not defined by social status or priestly office, but by the capacity to be overtaken by the divine word. This mediation involves both reception and transmission: prophets “hear” and “speak,” they “go” and are “sent.” The alternation of these verbs reflects a dynamic conception of revelation, in which the message is not a static content but an event. In this regard, the sending formulas of Mari (“Dagan has sent me,” “Anunitum has sent me”) find a clear echo in the biblical prophetic commissions (“Yahweh has sent me”), underscoring not only a linguistic but also a theological continuity: the prophet is always the bearer of an alien word—the voice of the Other.

Comparison with biblical prophecy reveals both continuities and transformations. In Mari, revelation unfolds within the spheres of cult and politics: oracles respond to wartime crises, alliances, or ritual negligence. In the Bible, although prophets retain their role as divine envoys before political power, revelation assumes an unprecedented ethical and theological dimension. The “prophet of Yahweh” speaks not merely for a national deity, but for a God who demands justice and faithfulness beyond all boundaries. Yet this evolution does not erase the shared roots: both the prophets of Mari and those of Israel share the awareness of being instruments of a word that breaks into history, and both partake in the same imaginative world of possession, commission, and sacred mediation. The continuity between Mari and the Bible should not be understood as one of direct dependence, but rather as the legacy of a shared cultural and theological horizon in which divine communication is conceived as a living word—one that can be heard and transmitted.

As M. Nissinen (2017, p. 46) states, referring to the study of extra-biblical prophetic material, “The comparative work done so far between biblical, Near Eastern, and Greek prophecy has already changed the scholarly concept of prophecy, and this is the best motivation for continuing doing it. It is to be expected that a comprehensive view on the ancient Eastern Mediterranean material will improve our understanding of the prophetic phenomenon in each individual case, not by way of sweeping generalizations but by way of identifying a common category. This requires a detailed analysis of each particular source; however, looking at only one material without a broader context may result in a distorted picture of the material itself. Therefore, it is also necessary to look at several materials from a distance, asking “how am I to apply what the one thing shows me to the case of two things?” (Wittgenstein) Perhaps we learn to ask new questions when looking at one material in the light of the other, whether or not there is any kind of historical causality between them.”

In conclusion, we have attempted to conduct this analysis based on the Old-Babylonian prophecy, aware that the same should be done with the Neo-Assyrian prophecy, which is closer in time to the biblical one. However, the Mari texts already force us to rethink the history of prophecy not as a linear sequence, but as a cultural and religious continuum. From the muḫḫū and āpilū of Mari to the nābî’ of Israel, the prophet appears as a polyphonic figure who takes on different forms depending on the historical and theological context yet retains a common core: the experience of the divine word as a mandate. Biblical prophecy does not emerge in a vacuum; it is inscribed within a broader tradition of sacred mediations. This genealogy does not diminish the uniqueness of biblical prophecy—with its later scribal developments and reinterpretations—but rather situates it within a larger history of revelation, in which the divine word continues to make its way through human voices willing to be possessed, interpreted, and transformed by it.