https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5674-703X
Abstract. The article presents the ways customary law could be gradually changed in the ancient Near East. They included working with existing institutions while modifying their consequences as well as their scope of application with tools such as legal fiction. However, the conservative nature of the ancient oriental culture, as well as that of the scribal education made any sudden, radical modification impossible, and even if a new contract type was created, it would keep the pretense of following a long-established practice.
Keywords: ancient Near East, ancient Near Eastern law, scribes, legal fiction, sham transaction.
Streszczenie. Artykuł przedstawia sposoby stopniowej zmiany prawa zwyczajowego na starożytnym Bliskim Wschodzie. Dla osiągnięcia tego celu wykorzystywano istniejące instytucje prawne, modyfikując ich zakres zastosowania oraz skutki. Konserwatywny charakter zarówno bliskowschodniej kultury, jak i edukacji pisarskiej uniemożliwiał jednak jakiekolwiek nagłe, radykalne zmiany. Nawet jeśli powstawał nowy typ umowy, zachowywano przynajmniej pozory dostosowania go do powszechnie stosowanej praktyki.
Słowa kluczowe: starożytny Bliski Wschód, prawo starożytnego Bliskiego Wschodu, pisarze, fikcja prawna, czynność pozorna.
Due to the predominantly oral character of the ancient Near Eastern civilization, written law is hardly more than an accident in its history (Lafont 2000, 49). On the other hand, documents of legal practice such as contracts, testaments, or trial records, are numerous enough to become an important source of knowledge for a legal historian, however scattered and incomplete it might be. Some of them explicitly mention unwritten customary law, obviously known to the parties, using expressions such as “according to (the custom of) the city.”[1] Similar references may also be found, albeit rarely, in royal acts.[2]
Customary law is usually defined as “consisting of customs that are accepted as legal requirements or obligatory rules of conduct” (Garner 2009, 443). In other words, it is a durable, abided-by practice, generally recognized as binding.[4] By definition, such law is not enacted in any way; on the contrary, it develops slowly through time, and both its author and its “date of birth” usually remain unknown (Fuller 1968, 71). Moreover, it tends to be transmitted orally rather than put into writing, which often makes it difficult to trace and study.
At some point, almost every aspect of customary law has been intensely debated. Relevant for the present study is especially the problem of its flexibility vs. stiffness. The proponents of the former argue that since it is a direct product of a specific community, it reflects accurately its values and convictions and can easily change as they do. Conversely, statutory law permanently plays catch-up with the economic and social reality, never being up to date (Opałek, Wróblewski 1971, 227). However, according to a second theory, the opposite is true. Statutory law is general enough to adapt to new circumstances, and may be quickly amended if needed, whereas customary legal rules are conservative by definition and very slow to alter, reinforcing in turn the most conservative characteristics of the society (Petrażycki 1938, 380–383).
The question arises, which of those two characteristics applies to the customary law of the ancient Near East. Prima facie, the answer may seem obvious, given the well-known conservatism of the ancient oriental culture (Leick 2010, passim)[5], as well as the notorious continuity of the legal tradition combined with a centuries long lifespan of legal formularies. All of the above points heavily towards the prevalence of the second one, but a closer look at the changes occurring through time in the ancient oriental law proves it to be only partly the case.
Theoretically, to change an outdated or impractical customary legal rule, it would be necessary either to alter the established practice, or to create a new one, which is obviously a long and difficult process. A royal intervention could be an answer, but that would certainly be neither easy nor quick to obtain. In the ancient Near East, the king rarely interfered in matters of civil or penal law other than in his capacity as supreme judge. Such interventions were usually carried out by means of mišaru-edicts, i.e., decrees annulling debts incurred under duress and their consequences, or of rescripts, that is answers to queries from officials and magistrates regarding particularly difficult legal matters (Janssen 1991, 4–10; Lafont 1994, 22–27).[6] Examples of more extensive activity, in the form of the so-called law codes, are few and far between. Moreover, their provisions were probably subsidiary only, applied either in lack of a relevant customary norm or if directly asked for by one of the parties (Lafont 2000, 49).[7] Therefore, other solutions had to be sought.
The economic development itself could be enough to render legal changes necessary. Sale is a case in point. It is generally agreed that it developed first as a cash transaction, that is a real contract, concluded at the moment of the performance by one of the parties; the other one should follow immediately. However, already at the end of the third millennium such a construction was insufficient, since credited payment and delayed delivery of purchased goods became frequent. It was therefore necessary to find a way to register this kind of agreement while staying within the frame of a real contract. Of course, not all sales were put to writing, the default form of legal transactions being oral, in the presence of witnesses. Only the sales of more valuable items, such as boats, animals, slaves, and real property, would be documented on clay tablets and kept in house archives, mostly for evidentiary purposes. At the same time, precisely in the case of those costly goods a sale on credit could be needed, and in fact it did happen quite often. The main legal problem was how to reconcile a delayed payment with the idea of a cash transaction, and the answer entailed the drafting of two documents – a usual sale contract complete with a fictitious price receipt in its operative section, followed by a debt note for the unpaid part of the price. This combination proved so useful that it would be in use nearly till the end of the era of cuneiform laws in the second half of the first millennium.
A different solution was found for fungibles. Due to the very character of such goods, no need arose for an evidentiary document except in case of delayed payment or delivery. Then, there was no written sale contract at all, but a debt note for the purchase price or for the sold commodities was issued instead.[8]
Adoption[9] created a legitimate filiation, and therefore it was a means for childless people to acquire an heir, all the easier to resort to as no constraints like the modern ones applied. It was possible to adopt an adult as well as a child, and adoption being a purely private act, the child’s welfare was a consideration only for its parents, if at all. However, other uses of this institution may also be distinguished in legal texts from various periods, some of them becoming equally or even more widespread.
First, it was applied to gain a carer for one’s old age, even if the adopter already had children. The adoptee would in turn gain the right to inherit the adopter’s estate. A care contract, even combined with a testamentary provision, would not be enough, as it was impossible to effectively bequeath one’s estate to a stranger. Adoption solved that problem, turning the potential caregiver into the owner’s son or daughter (Westbrook 2002, 52–53), and thus circumventing the restrictions on the disposition of property and allowing the adopter to give them property either immediately or mortis causa. The oldest example of such a practice comes from the end of the third millennium (Ur III time).[10] Later, the Old Babylonian (first half of the second mill.) priestesses of Šamaš, the nadītus, who were prohibited from both marrying and having children, often adopted a younger nadītu to care for them in their old age in exchange for inheritance (Harris 1975, 309). Similar contracts were concluded also by lay persons, but in those, the inheritance was often transmitted to the adoptee immediately, whereas the adopter was entitled to specified rations of food and other commodities.[11] In the next period, people from Assyria, Emar, or Nuzi, either childless or distrustful of their own children for some reason, would adopt someone (usually a man) to support them, naming the adoptee one of their heirs in return. Should the latter fail to fulfill his obligation, fines were imposed and/or the adoption was to be annulled.[12] Finally, a few similar documents may be found in the Neo-Babylonian period. In VS 5 47, dating from the third year of Cambyses (527 B.C.E.) from Babylon, one Gimillu adopted (ana mārūti leqȗ) Iddin-Nabu and gave him a part (?) of his possessions in the form of various debt notes, while retaining for life the right to the interest. In exchange, he was to receive yearly rations of specified foodstuffs. Another tablet, unfortunately very damaged and conjecturally restored by Wunsch, records the adoption of Suqaja by Nabu-šuma-ukīn and his wife Zunnaja. The adoptee pays them 20 shekels of silver and is supposed to care for them till their death (akalu kurummāti [inamdaššunu] – [he will give them] their bread and subsistence; Wunsch 2003, no. 43). In exchange, he will take part in the division of the inheritance as a younger son (tardēnnu).
For a real estate owner without enough income to maintain his family, adoption could also be a way out in a difficult financial situation. A property sale would provide some money, but it would not last forever, and the same was true for a mortgage secured loan. On the other hand, it was possible to adopt either the original creditor or another person who agreed to pay off the owner’s debt, in exchange for future inheritance. Even if the estate were transferred to the adoptee in advance as his inheritance share, the adoption obligated him to take care of the adopter. In case of non-performance, it could be cancelled. Examples come, among others, from Ur III and Old Babylonian Mesopotamia (e.g., Owen 1982, no. 131 and BE 6/2 28 respectively) as well as from the second millennium Syria. In the Ur III text, the adoptee repays the adopter’s debt and swears to give him specified yearly rations of foodstuffs and wool. In exchange, he receives the adopter’s house as a gift, whereas the latter’s daughter and her husband give up claims thereto. In BE 6/2 28, the adoptee also pays off the adopter’s debt, and is to receive an inheritance share equal to the one of the biological son of the adopter. Moreover, both sons will support the latter with specified food and commodities rations.
The weaker economic position of the adopter notwithstanding, the cancellation was a real sanction, as shown by two documents from Emar, RE 10 and 13. In the first one, Hemiya adopts a man who paid off his debts, and bequeaths him all his estate, provided the adoptee takes care of him and his wife till their deaths. In the second text, Hemiya explains that the adoptee failed to take care of him, and the adoption is annulled. Obviously, some documents from this group, as well as from the previous one, combine both purposes, providing a carer and solving financial difficulties of the protagonist.
This use of adoption partly falls under the previous category, though developed further. It could become a sham transaction pure and simple, concealing a real estate sale if a straightforward one was forbidden or if its durability could be endangered. A case in point are the so-called sale-adoptions from Nuzi[13], a large group of tablets from the second half of the second millennium, with the heading ţuppi marūti – “tablet of adoption” (lit. sonship). However, those “adoptions” fail to mention any obligation typical of this contract type, such as the duty of care,[14] emphasizing instead that the adopter gives away his property to the adoptee as the latter’s inheritance share and receives a substantial gift (qištu) in exchange.[15] One of the prominent inhabitants of Nuzi, Tehip-tilla, was adopted more than a hundred times, thus assembling a significant real estate portfolio. The reason for this subterfuge is not entirely clear. According to the widest accepted hypothesis, it was a manner of circumventing a prohibition on real estate sales, introduced sometime before the beginning of Nuzi archives. Recently, however, another explanation was offered, linking sale-adoptions to mīšaru-edicts. The former would be a way to escape the effects of the latter, since a mīšaru annulled property alienations concluded under economic duress while restoring familial rights. Therefore, an adoption with an inheritance advance would not be questioned, whereas an outright sale had all the chances to be declared void after the edict was issued.[16] The Nuzi material is also noteworthy in that it allows for a reconstruction of the evolution of the sale-adoption formulary, the earliest examples being barely concealed sales. One such tablet, IM 70764 (Fadhil 1981) could be easily taken for a normal sale document, if not for the heading ţuppi marūti. Moreover, as noted by Fincke, the few extant mentions of a price (šīmu) and other elements of a typical sale formulary may be found only in the oldest documents (Fincke 2010). Therefore, it seems that the legal construction of sale-adoption developed gradually, thus allowing, as hypothesized by von Dassow, to escape the disadvantageous (for the buyer/creditor) consequences of mīšaru edicts (von Dasow 2018).
If a girl’s father was unable to give her a dowry valuable enough, a desirable but reluctant groom (or his family) could be encouraged by the perspective of a substantial inheritance. However, marriage itself did not create a legal bond strong enough for a stranger to be able to inherit patrimonial estate, hence the adoption.[17]
Yet another possibility was to use adoption to reorganize the family, especially succession-wise, and to protect one’s children from legal claims by relatives. The most extreme example may be found in a document from the Syrian city of Emar, where after the death of his father, a man adopts his stepmother as his mother and his brothers as sons.[18]
Another tool utilized in attempts to first circumvent and then gradually change a problematic legal custom was legal fiction. Apart from adoption, which is in itself based on legal fiction, it seems to have been favored especially by inhabitants of northern Mesopotamia and Syria. Documents of practice, mostly coming from Emar and Nuzi, two towns situated on the opposite ends of the ancient oriental world, show a widespread use thereof in a private context, without any interference from the authorities (Fijałkowska 2017, 119–122).
Usually, after the death of the head of the household the estate would be divided among his heirs, most often his sons, who should also take care of the surviving widow and of the daughters of the de cuius. This could, however, prove problematic for various reasons. If the widow was the stepmother rather than mother of the successors, they could try to avoid the maintenance duty. The latter could also become difficult to fulfill due to the fragmentation of the property. In Emar, the testator could prevent the estate division by installing his wife as “father and mother of the house” (ana abi u ummi ša bīti šakānu), thus creating a fiction of his still living by her agency. The widow would take over her husband’s prerogatives, which in turn would force the grown-up children to obey her and would prohibit them from requiring their inheritance shares. A counterpart to this provision may be found in Nuzi texts in the form of bestowing abbūtu, the fatherhood of the estate, upon the widow (Paradise 1972, 198–220), as well as in an Old Assyrian testament (i.e., from the first half of the second millennium; see Michel 2000).[19]
Another common problem was the lack of male offspring, potentially resulting in the end of the family line, and, by the same token, of the cult of familial gods and ancestors. In Emar, in order to avoid such a disastrous outcome, a father could legally broaden the gender of his daughter or granddaughter, declaring her “male and female” (ana sinništi u zikri šakānu/epēšu). It did not affect her capacity to marry and have legitimate children; on the contrary, it seems to have made it possible for her children to belong to her father’s family rather than to her husband’s.[20] At the same time, it enabled her to perform the worship and secured her inheritance rights, probably competing with the rights of her paternal uncles.[21]
According to Emarite customary law, the eldest son was entitled to a bigger (probably double) inheritance share. Apparently, the head of the family was not allowed to change it outright, but once again legal fiction came to the rescue, making it possible to declare all sons of the same age or to alter the order of seniority.[22] Finally, to disinherit a son, the testator had to declare him “no longer his son.”[23]
In most cases, it is impossible to follow the evolution of the practices described above due to insufficient sources. With the notable exception of the sale-adoptions from Nuzi, usually only the results of the process may be observed. However, the basic modus operandi seems to be always the same, starting with the need to achieve a purpose forbidden or at least not recognized by the law. Then, an appropriate legal tool had to be chosen, one that would result in a transaction at least outwardly in accordance with the rules in force. The possibilities were quite various, but usually entailed working with an already existing institution, either broadening its scope by adding new elements or using it for purposes other than the original one. It can only be surmised that the subsequent popularity or lack thereof of a particular solution depended on many factors, such as a persistent need for it due to economic and/or social circumstances on the one hand, and its acceptability in the legal system on the other hand.[24] One that fared very well was definitely sale on credit, widespread all over the Near East through two millennia in the aforementioned form; although the formularies would change, the principle of combining a sale document with a debt note did not. The same is true for adoption used for economic motives, allowing the adopter to avoid financial difficulties, and enabling the adoptee to acquire real estate or temple prebends he would not be able to buy or otherwise obtain outright for various reasons. Meanwhile, the practice of concealing a real estate sale under the guise of adoption apparently remained limited to only one town for ca. 5 generations, and then mostly vanished, never becoming widespread anywhere else. It is also noteworthy that as far as the geographical distribution of tools used to circumvent and then change the law is concerned, a clear pattern may be distinguished. Whereas the modifications of sale or adoption were common to nearly all ancient oriental legal systems, the use of more extravagant solutions, such as legally changing one’s gender by means of legal fiction, seems to have been limited to the north, and especially to the more peripheral parts thereof, such as Emar, Nuzi, or the merchants’ colonies in Anatolia. However, the reasons for such a development remain unclear.
Once the intended purpose was achieved, the process was complete, and no need was felt for further changes. Therefore, another question arises. Why stop halfway at the stage when it became obvious that a woman could, in fact, inherit, as well as perform the familial cult, or that sale on credit was an essential part of the economic and legal turnover? Why not drop the pretense and simply draft a sale document stating that the price was credited, thus acknowledging the new legal reality? The answer, as I see it, arises from the very nature of the Mesopotamian culture and society, one of its main characteristics being conservatism. It was also a trait of the scribes who wrote legal documents, their education relying on carefully constructed curricula, drawing on texts sometimes a thousand or more years old (Gesche 2001, 213–218). Moreover, too obvious an innovation could put in danger the contract it concerned, since nobody would be able to predict the course of events in case of a litigation questioning its validity. So why change something that worked? A partial alteration shaped upon the practice to date and seemingly respecting all the traditional prohibitions was the safest way to proceed, and what is more, the most comfortable one for the scribes due to their background (Fijałkowska 2017, 121–125). This in turn resulted in creating the impression of very conservative legal systems, ones with contract formularies and transaction principles easily traced hundreds of years back. However, this impression is only partly correct. The innovations and changes had to occur, necessary as they were to adapt the legal practices to a changing reality, but at the same time, an appearance of immutability would be maintained as much as possible, for both practical and cultural reasons. Furthermore, this apparent conservatism seems to have been stronger in Mesopotamia proper, whereas more peripheral regions yielded testimonies of ingenious and rather bold legal reasoning, often going far beyond the safest method of cautiously reshaping existing institutions. The use of legal fiction in Emar and Nuzi is a case in point. Finally, if one can judge by the situation in Nuzi, it did not have to take very long for a new legal practice to emerge; a few decades could be enough.
Therefore, the tentative answer to the question asked at the beginning of this paper is ambiguous. The ancient oriental legal systems reflected the culture and society that created them, and since this culture was conservative and reluctant towards change, the law displayed similar characteristics. At the same time, both the culture and the society did change over time, and so did customary law, sometimes rather quickly for a premodern society, proving to be quite flexible when needed, even if change was neither straightforward nor obvious or even openly recognized.
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Contracts with a sustenance obligation (specified or not) in exchange for inheritance as well as adoptions where the “inheritance share” is given immediately to the adoptee in exchange for specific contributions may be found in Nuzi, as exemplified by HSS V 60 (for the former) and JEN 59 (for the latter). In Emar, only the former version was known, and the sustenance obligation is never specified.
HSS V 60 (translation after Stohlman 1972, 127–130): Tablet of adoption (litt. tablet of sonship – ţuppi marūti) of Ehel-Tešup son of Puhiya. He adopted Zigi son of Akkuia. All my fields, my buildings, my earnings, my servants, my išten.nig I have given to Zigi. If Ehel-Tešup has a son, he will receive the double share and Zigi will be the secondary heir. If Ehel-Tešup does not have sons, then Zigi will be the heir. Another strange son beside Zigi, Ehel-Tešup may not adopt. As long as Ehel-Tešup lives, Zigi will honour him (palāhu). He will clothe him with clothes. Whoever among them breaks the contract will pay one mina of silver and one mina of gold […].
JEN 59 (translation after Stohlman 1972, 117–118): Tablet of adoption of Hanatu son of Kuššiya. He adopted Hutiya his companion. Thus says Hanatu: All the fields and buildings, everything of my inheritance share which Kušiya my father gave to me, I now remove my foot and give them to Hutiya. As long as Hanatu lives, Hutiya will honour him (palāhu). Year by year Hutiya will provide Hanatu with one şubātu-garment for his clothing, five imeru of barley and two imeru of wheat for his food. When Hanatu dies, Hutiya will mourn for him and bury him. Thus says Hanatu: The tablet of my will I have given to Hutiya. Whoever among them breaks the contract will pay two mina of silver and two mina of gold […].
For the meaning of the expression “remove one’s feet” as concerning the transfer of ownership see Malul 1988, 381–391.
PdA 67 (Emar): Imut-hamadi son of Abdi said as follows: Now I made [Ibni-Dagan], a man from the land of Hatti, into my son (ana marūti epēšu). As long as Imut-hamadi [his father] and Te’e his mother are alive, Ibni-Dagan our son will honour us (palāhu). If he honours us, when our fate takes us away, all my sons will divide [my house]. The gods belong to the main house. And if in future Ibni-Dagan says to Imut-hamadi, his father, and Te’e, his mother: You are not my father and my mother, he will give 60 shekels of silver to Imut-hamadi and he will go wherever he wishes. And if Imut-hamadi says to Ibni-Dagan his son: You are not our son, they will give him 60 shekels of silver. (Ibni-Dagan) will go wherever he wishes […].
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