Psalm 104 and Its Parallels in Pharaoh Akhenaten’s Hymn

For recent literary analyses, Yair Hoffman, “תהילים קד: עיון ספרותי,” in Sha‘arei Talmon: Studies in the Bible, Qumran, and the Ancient Near East Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon (ed. Emanuel Tov and Michael Fishbane with the assistance of Weston W. Fields: Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), 31-42; Adele Berlin, “The Wisdom of Creation in Psalm 104,” in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients; Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. Ronald L. Troxel, Kelvin G. Friebel and Dennis R. Magary; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 71-83; Robert Alter, “The Glory of Creation in Psalm 104,” in Biblical Poetry and the Art of Close Reading (ed. J. Blake Couey and Elaine T. James; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 49-60.

This particular theme also appears in a ninth-century Aramean inscription from Tell Fakhariya about Hadad (=Baʿal), the god of thunder, described as:

גוגל שמין וארק מהנחת עסר ונתן רעי ומשקי למת כלן ... גוגל נהר כלם מעדן מת כלן.

Controller of heaven and earth, who rains down wealth and provides well-watered pasture for the entire land … controller of all rivers, who makes the whole land luxuriant.

The translation, especially the word מעדן “make luxuriant,” follows the analysis of Jonas C. Greenfield, “A Touch of Eden,” in Orientalia J. Duchesne-Guillemin emerito oblata (Acta Iranica 29; Leiden: Brill, 1984), 219–224, reprinted in Greenfield, ‘Al Kanfei Yonah: Collected Studies of Jonas C. Greenfield on Semitic Philology, ed. Michael Stone, Shalom Paul, Avital Pinnick (Leiden and Jerusalem: Brill and Magnes, 2001), 750–755.

Within Psalms, related themes are addressed in Psalms 8, 19, 33, 74, 89, 136, 139, and 148. Intriguingly, the provision of fresh water is never detailed in Genesis 1, where only salt water is discussed; in Genesis 2, we read that at the beginning there was no herbage because of the lack of rain, but this is never rectified. The existence of the four rivers emanating from Eden, however, does indicate the existence of nourishing water in the world.

The interpretation of the last words, לעם לציים, is difficult. I follow Löw’s suggestion of re-reading it לעלמצי ים, and reconstructing a noun עמלץ, which refers to an unidentified large sea creature. For bibliography, see Noga Ayali-Darshan, “The Question of the Order of Job 26,7-13 and the Cosmogonic Tradition of Zaphon,” Zeitschrift für die alttestemantliche Wissenschaft 126 (2014), 405-406 n. 15, and for the adoption of the word עמלץ in modern Hebrew, see Zipora and David Talshir, “ברייה ושמה עמלץ,” Lešonenu la-‘Am 43 (1992), 47-52, with references.

See also Jeremiah 31:34, Psalm 19:1–7, 136:8–9.

The name Akh-en-Aten means “effective for the Aten.” His given name was Amunhotep, but he changed it to an Atenist name as part of his religious revolution.

For a robust defense of this claim, see William Propp, “Monotheism and ‘Moses’: The Problem of Early Israelite Religion,” Ugarit-Forschungen 31 (1999), 537-575, and see also James K. Hoffmeier, Akhenaten and the Origins of Monotheism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015).

The Hymn opens with a praise for the beauty of the sun (Jan Assman’s trans.):

^1–5 Beautifully you rise in heaven’s lightland, living Aten, who allots life. You have dawned on the eastern horizon and have filled every land with your beauty.

^6–12 You are beauteous, great, radiant, high over every land; Your rays embrace the lands to the limit of all you have made. Being Re, you reach their limits and bend them down for the son whom you love (=Pharaoh Akhenaten). Though you are far, your rays are on earth; though one sees you, your strides are hidden.

The Hymn continues by singling out birds:

^{Aten Hymn 34–38} Birds fly from their nests, their wings raised in adoration of your ka (“vital force”), all flocks frisk on their feet, all that fly up and alight, they live when you dawn for them.

While this section in the psalm doesn’t mention birds, they are referenced twice elsewhere as making their nests in trees, in verses 12 and 17. (The comparison of birds with ka may be a play on the Hieroglyphic sign for ka, which is two arms sticking up, like what two wings pointing upwards would look like.)

James H. Breasted, A History of Egypt, From the Earliest Times to the Persian Conquest (New York: Scribners Sons, 1905), 331-334.

Of course, the Psalmist is likely monotheistic as well. For a discussion of monotheism in the Bible, see Kenneth Seeskin, “When Did the Bible Become Monotheistic?” TheTorah (2019).

This seems self-evident to me, but has been debated endlessly over the past century. For recent clear presentations that to my mind ought to leave no doubt, see Paul E. Dion, “YH-WH as Storm-god and Sun-god: The Double Legacy of Egypt and Canaan as Reflected in Psalm 104,” Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 103 (1991), 43-71, and John Day, “Psalm 104 and Akhenaten’s Hymn to the Sun,” in Jewish and Christian Approaches to the Psalms: Conflict and Convergence (ed. Susan Gillingham; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 211-228.

Dion, “YH-WH as Storm-god and Sun-god,” 59. Actually, comparisons never do speak for themselves, and analysis is always needed to unpack their historical and ideological significances.

For a traditionalist’s reflections on this, C. S. Lewis’s comments in Reflections on the Psalms (San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1958), 86-89, are particularly interesting:

Whatever was true in Akhenaten’s creed came to him, in some mode or other, as all truth comes to all men, from God. There is no reason why traditions descending from Akhenaten should not have been among the instruments which God used in making Himself known to Moses.

Lewis’s discussion concludes with a parenthetic comment:

Meanwhile, what gentle heart can leave the topic without a prayer that this lonely king, crank and doctrinaire though perhaps he was, has long seen and now enjoys the truth which so far transcends his own glimpse of it?

Who Ay was exactly is something of a mystery. He is identified as it-ntr “the father of the god.” He can’t have been Akhenaten’s father, of course, so perhaps he was Nefertiti’s father? There was also a pharaoh named Ay who reigned briefly about a decade after the death of Akhenaten; it is probable, but not certain, that this was the same person. See Aidan Dodson, Amarna Sunset: Nefertiti, Tutankhamun, Ay, Horemheb, and the Egyptian Counter-Reformation (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2009), 95.

Later monotheists, too, thought that there was some attraction to worshiping the sun. According to the Qur’ān (6:78), “When [Abraham] saw the sun rising in splendor, he said: ‘This is my Lord!; This is the greatest!’” But there is, of course, a problem; as the verse continues, “But when the sun set, [Abraham] said: ‘O my people! I am free of giving partners to Allah.’” This is part of a story of Abraham’s pseudo-rationalistic discovery of the one true god through his study of nature. Very similar stories are found in late midrashim, as well, and is it difficult to trace the origins of the story, whether in Jewish or Muslim sources. For sources and bibliography, see Shosh Ben-Ari, “The Stories about Abraham in Islam: A Geographical Approach,” Arabica 54 (2007), 536 n. 17.

Editor’s note: For more on ma‘at, see Jan Assmann, “Pharaoh's Divine Role in Maintaining Ma'at (Order)” TheTorah (2016).

Orly Goldwasser, “The Essence of Amarna Monotheism,” in in.t Dr.w —Festschrift für Friedrich Junge (ed. H. Sternberg & G. Moers; Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 2006), 267-279.

For any monotheist, there is a dilemma. The more that one emphasizes the oneness of god, the less room there is for difference among people, and the more than one emphasizes one group being closer to god, the less universal god really is. So “chosenness” and “universalism” are in a dance in which each wants to shine but has to make room for the other.

It is worth wondering whether there is a correlation between Akhenaten’s theological universalism and the political worldview evident in the diplomatic correspondence preserved in the letters found in his palace at Amarna. These letters show that the Egyptian king treated other “great powers” as his diplomatic equals, as members of a “club” of great powers who call each other “brother.” See Raymond Westbrook, “Babylonian Diplomacy in the Amarna Letters,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 120 (2000), 377-382, and the essays in Amarna Diplomacy: The Beginnings of International Relations (ed. Raymond Cohen and Raymond Westbrook; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002). Could it be that this ideology is the other side of the theological coin of universalism for Akhenaten? Egypt cannot be ontologically different from the rest of the world if the Aten rules all nations equally, and thus when it comes to politics, it is not “Egypt and the rest,” but a fraternity of equals. For a different way of seeing a correlation between Akhenaten theology and his foreign policy, see Breasted, A History of Egypt, 359.

Sigmund Freud, Moses and Monotheism (tr. Katherine Jones; New York: Vintage, 1939). For a nearly instantaneous critical response, see Trude Weiss Rosmarin, The Hebrew Moses: An Answer to Sigmund Freud (New York: The Jewish Book Club, 1939). The literature is voluminous; particularly illuminating discussions include Yosef H. Yerushalmi, Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1991); Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); and Richard J. Bernstein, Freud and the Legacy of Moses (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). For a biblicist who takes a version of Freud’s hypothesis seriously, see William H. C. Propp, “Monotheism and ‘Moses’: The Problem of Early Israelite Religion,” Ugarit Forschungen 31 (1999), 537-575.

The text is translated in William L. Moran, The Amarna Letters (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), 233-235. An important discussion of the style, contents, and context of the letters from Abi-Milku is Luis Robert Siddall, “The Amarna Letters from Tyre as a Source for Understanding Atenism and Imperial Administration,” Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 2 (2010), 24-35.

The Akkadian here, ša iddin rigmašu, means literally, “who gave his voice,” and this is how it is translated by Siddall (27); Moran (233) has “who gave forth his cry.” It is clearly parallel to Biblical Hebrew נתן קולו, found in prose in Gen 45:2; Exod 9:23; 2 Chron 24:9; and in poetry, 2 Sam 22:14; Jer 12:8; 22:20; 48:34; Joel 4:16; Amos 1:2; Habakkuk 3:10; Lam 2:7; and most importantly, Psalm 104:12.

The name means “the Nubian” and is the origin for the Hebrew name Phinehas (Phineas).

Translation from William J. Murnane, Texts from the Amarna Period in Egypt (WAW 5; ed. Edmund S. Meltzer; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), 55.

For blending of cultures evident in the psalm, see especially Dion, “YH-WH as Storm-god and Sun-god.”

The Hebrew word חַטָּאִים means “sinners,” the plural of חַטָּא “sinner.” This should not be confused with חֲטָאִים, “sins,” the plural of חֵטְא “sin.” These words are (intentionally?) confused by Beruriah in b. Berakhot 10a , but note that the Talmud both before and after that story glosses this phrase with מפלתן של רשעים.

For a performance in English, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWdIzA1SuC0.

Editor’s note: The custom is not Talmudic. Tractate Sopherim ch. 18, which lists the songs of the day for all the days of the week plus festivals, does not mention any specific psalm for Rosh Chodesh. (While it lists ברכי נפשי as one of two Psalms for Yom Kippur [p. 323, Higger ed.], this is generally understood as a reference to Psalm 103.) The custom seems to have developed in Spain. The earliest mention is in the Sefer HaManhig of R. Elazar ben Natan of Lunel, known as Even HaYarchi (ca.1155–ca.1215), who writes in his “Laws of Prayer” (pp. 107–108 in Mossad HaRav Kook ed.):

ראיתי מנהג טוב בטוליטול' ובסביבותי' לומ' אחר התפי' מזמורים לפי עניין הימים, בחול... ובר"ח ברכי נפשי את יי' וגומ' דכתי' ביה עשה ירח למועדי' ויצירת בראשית,

I have seen a good custom in Toledo and its suburbs to say, following the prayer service, psalms that are relevant to the day. On a regular weekday…. On Rosh Chodesh, “Let my soul praise the LORD, etc.” because it has the verse (19) “He made the moon to mark the seasons” and a description of creation.

The custom is also mentioned by R. Jacob ben Asher (1269–1343), who moved from Germany to Spain. In his Arbaʿah Turim (or Tur), in the laws of Rosh Chodesh (OḤ 123), he writes:

ונוהגין בספרד לומר מזמור ברכי נפשי לפי שיש בו עשה ירח למועדים

The custom in Spain is to say the psalm “Let my soul bless” because it has [the verse] “He made the moon to mark the seasons.”

In his book on prayer, R. David Abudarham (14^th cent.) of Seville lists it as part of the service on Rosh Chodesh (p. 197 in the standard printing), and the custom is mentioned by R. Joseph Karo in the Shulchan Arukh (OH 123:3). Some Ashkenazi communities did not adopt it at first, as noted by the Polish R. Abraham Gombiner (ca. 1635–1682) in his Magen Avraham commentary on the Shulchan Arukh (ad loc., §5):

ובקצת מקומות אין נוהגין כן.

In some places, this is not the custom.

Nevertheless, the Vilna Gaon or Gr”a (R. Elijah, 1720–1797) adopted the practice in his Siddur, and goes so far as to claim that it should replace the regular Song of the Day (Maaseh Rav §157):

אין אומרים שיר של יומו, ואומרים במקומו בב' ימים דר"ח ברכי נפשי (מזמור ק"ד) שהוא שר של ראש חודש.

Don’t say the regular song of the day, and say in its place on both days of Rosh Chodesh “Let my soul bless” (Ps 104), since this is the song of Rosh Chodesh.

It is now a common practice, even in Ashkenazi synagogues, to recite Psalm 104 as an extra song of the day.