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Abel — Description

So here's a curious question: why does Steve shit on Cain's offering? The Bible just sorta leaves the issue completely unaddressed. Abel just seems to get whatever he wants while Cain is left out to dry, just told to “do better”. Don't get me wrong, I still think there's narrative value in it being left unsaid. Cain's frustration with not even being told why everyone hates him makes for a juicy turn-to-the-Dark-Side origin story. Hypothetically though, there is an objectively correct answer out there right? Much as I'd love to interview Steve directly for his side of the story, he is notorious for never picking up his goddamn phone when I call, so instead let's do as we must always resort to: crack open our reconstructionist's toolbox and examine the broader cultural context from which the 10th century BCE writers of Genesis were pulling their worldview from and see if we can't glean this long misplaced author's intention.
Though not necessarily a direct descendant of any of the stories we're about to go into, the Cain and Abel story as it's preserved in Genesis 4 sits comfortably at the table within a larger genre of Mesopotamian literature referred to in scholarship as the “Disputations”. In a Sumerian context, this curriculum consists of six major poems which I can only think to describe as the 4000 year old equivalent to Epic Rap Battles of History. They weren't so much “myths” in the sense of a fleshed-out narrative designed to explain the world, more so these were verbal smackdowns between two nonhuman entities or abstract concepts trying to prove that they are the superior influence on human agricultural society. They're also short and fragmentary, our oldest snippets coming to us on clay shards from the temple library at Nippur in the 18th century BCE, so around the time Hammurabi was plucking eyes for eyes. Obviously if we've let the arguments get to a point where we need a giant rock with laws on it in the first place, then we should get the pedantic shit resolved while we're at it!
The first of these Sumerian diss tracks I present to the court is the conniption between the Hoe and the Plough (stop giggling). It boils down to an argument between utility and productivity, the Hoe opening by remarking on the plough's inability to dam leaks or shovel earth, or to make the bricks that house gods and men alike. The Plough, the hoe supposes, offers nothing useful beyond sticking its stupid face in the dirt and dragging trenches through it. The Plough meanwhile is a pompous asshole who flaunts its high status as advanced, expensive equipment in the king's garage, who lays the foundations of entire oceans of golden grain before which all livestock bow their heads and bend their knees. Hoe throws it right back in Plough's face by pointing out that the Plough can only accomplish this Herculean feat with the support of an entire parade of men and oxen, and that's assuming of course it doesn't break down again. No one's ever been stuck with their hoe in the shop, afterall. Anyone can grab a hoe and make a good living by it! By this point, the supreme god Enlil has noticed how heated things are getting and intervenes. Kids kids he says! We love you both equally! Hoe is objectively better though, lmao. And the debate was settled.
The next debacle comes with a little bit more lore, setting the scene at a time when the sky god An first Zeus-ed out the rest of the pantheon. Among these divine descendants are the sisters Lahar, meaning “ewe”, and Ezina-Kusu, which I… think means something like “barley-corn”. These two are often just referred to as undeified “sheep and grain" when referring to this poem but I think that's overly cautious and boring as sin. The Anunnaki (the seven big kid gods in Mesopotamian mythology) got the first fill of the sisters’ bounties, but found it lacking in sustenance, so Enki proposes they chuck their table scraps to those scrounging little catarrhines down on Earth so that at least someone could extract some value out of it. Honestly this arrangement actually turned out best for everybody! Lahar and Erizu-Kusu moved down to earth with their flocks and fields, and the humans instantly got down on their knees and worshipped them, grateful to now have grass that tastes good! These sisters out here just living up their best cottage core selves, I love these girls.
One day, though, they partied too hardie, quote: “They drank sweet wine, they enjoyed sweet beer. When they had drunk sweet wine and enjoyed sweet beer, they started a quarrel concerning the arable fields, they began a debate in the dining hall.” It's such an abrupt yet poetic transition into a drunken night out, I love it. Ezina-Kusu takes the rather bold route of simply starting the conversation with a rather direct “I'm better than you, prove me wrong”. Lahar, catty bitch, goes “uhhhhh, wool is literally the robes and waterskins of kings and holy men, what you got?”. Ezina-Kusu though is a fun drunk and snorts “I'm the one feeding people's families and your sheep. I'm beer, I’m bread, and at least I'm not afraid of thunderstorms ;3”. I… think Lahar then calls Ezina-Kusu a horsefucker, and I like to imagine the sudden gaps in the stone tablet that follow are actually just her drunken stammering. Lahar calls her whipped, Ezina-Kusu calls her… well… a sheep, everyone's getting really emotional, so in comes daddy Enlil to say no no no girls you should be sisters, I don't have a favorite! But then Enki next to him just sorta snark-snorts and says “I do, it's Ezina-Kusu, she's just objectively better”. Hurtful I'm sure, but it did at least resolve the issue long enough to pass out and not remember anything about last night.
The opening of this next one is fucking hilarious cause it reads like Good Morning USA. Enlil wakes up bright and fuckin early one morning and decides you know what, fuck it, just this once today I'm gonna craft best gosh darnedest day for the Universe ever! On this docket is apparently… uh… “plowing” a mountain so good it sounds like a herd of bulls roaring across the hills. This seemingly consensual copulation produced the twin boys Enten (“Winter”) and Emesh (“Summer”). I think it's important to note here that the ancient Sumerians didn't distinguish autumn or spring, just half the year it was cold, half the year it was hot, just like my beloved arch nemesis, the state of Indiana. Enlil destined Enten with the purpose of censusing the newborn life procreated during Emesh's distribution of abundance, and one day both boys wanted to present a gift of their respective resources to their father. For some inexplicable reason which I'm assuming is related to testosterone, Enten decides to taunt his brother by calling him “the duly-appointed labourer who will never rest from his toil, a hired man who has to return to the fields of the Land for his own sustenance!” Emesh retorts that summer foraging may be rough livin’ but at least he doesn't have to work to survive, notice how they don't put fences up to keep me out. Enten is like well I wouldn't have to work so hard when it gets cold if you'd just do some goddamn farm work for once in your life. He also tells Emesh he's hot and muggy and full of bugs, which is also why I hate summer. Emesh scoffs that Mr. Fuckin Snow-In over here is one to talk, which is also why I hate winter. By this point Enten is bragging about getting tail with Ezina and tossing the judgment call to Enlil. Enlil rules that winter is the superior character for his labors, and the boys, surprisingly mature about it, shake hands and apologize as untarnished brothers.
I'm gonna skip the other three debates because they don't really relate to the same agricultural themes we're working with here, but for the curious they are Bird and Fish, Copper and Silver, and Date Palm and Tamarisk. There's a seventh story that often gets lumped in which is probably the closest parallel we're gonna get to the Cain and Abel narrative. Utu, the sun god, takes a stroll with his sister Inanna (better known by her Akkadian equivalent, Ishtar) to discuss a marriage that's been arranged between her and Dumuzid, the shepherd god. Inanna isn't particularly pleased by this decision, she had the hots instead for Enkimdu, the farmer god, but Utu and Dumuzid plead their case: for all the pretty clothes Enkimdu can buy for her, Dumuzid can offer her the sheep whose wool makes those very garments. For all of Enkimdu's beer, Dumuzid can raise her fresh, nourishing milk, and for all his bread, he can offer a selection of cheese. Inanna evidently is more of a dairy lady, because she's ultimately persuaded that Dumuzid is actually a pretty cool dude, and he plows better than Enkimdu ever could, wacka wacka. To Enkimdu's credit, after the decision is finalized, he meets with Dumuzid in private and shakes hands with him like hey man, it's her choice, not mine, and if you make her happy, then I'm happy for you. You'll notice no one dies in these stories, Cain and Abel are rather unique in that regard.
That's probably to be expected, honestly. After reading through these precursor stories, I'm generally aligned with the rest of scholarship that none of them are necessarily the “original” that the Bible based its version off of. Keep in mind that Genesis and these Sumerian tablets are about as separated in time from each other as Harry Potter is from Beowulf. Technically the same cultural sphere, yes, but the past was a different country even in the past. As a writer though, I think there's some interesting inferences we can apply to Cain and Abel. I like the idea that Abel isn't just stupid and lazy, though he is also that, he's specifically chosen a lifestyle of survival which, in Cain's mind, doesn't have to be. Abel is rough, ditzy, and reactionary. When the seasons turn cold, he sustains himself off of Cain's harvest as if he wouldn't have plenty of his own if he just put in the effort all year round. Cain meanwhile is letting his obsession with control consume him, convinced that he can make the earth yield to him anything their family could possibly desire if only they systematize it and keep up with it dammit. Steve loves them both, I well and truly believe he does, but Steve's greatest character flaw is that he doesn't know how to love his kids. He just wants everyone to get along and be happy with what they have, because his favorite son is now lurking around outside of Eden just waiting for the monkeys to show even the smallest emotional vulnerability to exploit and corrupt. I think what he's stumbling to say to Cain in Genesis 4 is look man, I just like milk and meat better than beer and bread, it's not against you personally and you can't let this one incident be what destroys your humanity. Of course, it hasn't been just one incident, Cain knows in his tired, blackening heart, but I've already covered that, and you know where this story ultimately ends…
Design notes, not much to say here that wasn't said in the Cain post. I'm a big fan of Genesis Rabbah's assertion that because Cain “rose up” to kill Abel, that means that even though Abel is younger, he's still physically taller. Idk I guess I had always grown up being taught this story with greater focus on the “killing Abel is bad and Abel shouldn't have been killed” angle. I never stopped to consider that actually no, in all the source material, Abel is a fucking punk, and even I want to punch him in the face. Does that make it right? No of course not, but he was asking for it. Not intentionally, I don't think. I well and truly believe Abel had no clue he was in danger when he poked all his brother's buttons, and the fact that he's a fuckin lanky ass string bean just kinda builds on that false sense of security. I'm reminded of a story about my grandfather and his twin brother, they both told it the same: they were boys doing boy things in the backyard, my great-uncle did some stupid boy thing and started running off. My grandfather was apparently so pissed that he chucked a hammer into the back of his brother's noggin like a goddamn tomahawk. My great-uncle planked, and my grandfather ran the fuck away from home cause if he'd killed his brother his old man was going to beat his ass. He didn't, for the record, my great-uncle had that Wolverine invincibility that children seem to have. That scar now is about the farthest thing from an unpleasant memory he has, because it's a memory of a time his brother and him had laughed about later. I think the Cain and Abel story is best explained in these terms, that gut-wrenching realization that your outburst did go too far this time. What do you do when you can't take it back?