Amber and the Color of Ambrosia

Throughout history, languages have always been in conversation with one another. Through trade, travel, pilgrimage, conquering or being conquered, expulsion from your home country, education, religion, poetry, and literature, or even simply by being a member of the republic of letters. 

When a civilization collapses and a new language is born, it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Language always evolves based on the cognitive connections, through knowledge, beliefs, perceptions, and imagination, of the people who speak it. 

As a historian, I’m intrigued by that journey. It reveals how connected the world has always been. And we cannot discount the power of the human imagination.

A Tale of Two Ambers

In this newsletter, I’m going to track the story of two substances which could not be more different, but somehow, seemingly through a linguistic fluke, are related: 

• Amber, (also ambre jaune, yellow amber) the yellow-orange petrified resin which was highlighted in the movie Jurassic Park.
• Ambergris, a random byproduct of the sperm whale, worth more than its weight in gold. Renowned for its scent, it was used in perfumes until viable synthetic alternatives were created.

One very simple way to tell the references apart is:

• Everything about the color / look, is about amber.
• Everything about taste / smell is about ambergris.

Confused

At the very least, people have been confused by the ambers for nearly a millennia. And it should be quite difficult to get them confused. Resin-based amber is a somewhat translucent yellow-orange color, and ambergris is a gray or black. And yet, people would still get them confused, and weird mistranslations.

Ambrae Historiam (History of Amber) by Justus Fidus Klobius in 1666 includes 18 descriptions by various ancient and medieval authors about what amber is. Suffice it to say that they are mostly referring to very different things. (This reminds me of the time I researched how many different roots were referred to as "carrots" by different people.)

Part of the confusion, no doubt, stems from the fact that by the time ambergris arrives on land, it can resemble any number of other substances. When fresh, it is black and viscous, but over time at sea it hardens and takes on lighter hues of brown, gray, or white....

Even the term ambergris is the result of a misunderstanding. The word is derived from the old French term ambre gris, meaning gray amber, distinguishing the substance from amber resin—fossilized tree sap that was also used in fragrances and found on beaches. Beyond this, the two substances bear no relation. Still, the misnomer corrected an even earlier error: amber resin likely took its name from ambar, the Arabic word for ambergris.

Arabic society, which embraced ambergris as a medicine at least as early as the ninth century, and later as a perfume ingredient, introduced the substance to the West; ambergris became widespread in both cultures throughout the Middle Ages. During the Black Death, the bubonic plague pandemic that swept across Europe in the mid-14th century, wealthy citizens hung spherical containers known as pomanders filled with ambergris and other fragrant materials from their necks or belts in the misguided belief that the plague was caused by bad odors. Three hundred years later, King Charles II of Britain is said to have enjoyed eating ambergris with eggs. And ambergris is listed as an ingredient in the world’s earliest known recipe for ice cream and in a 17th-century recipe for punch. Even today, visitors to the kinds of cocktail bars found hidden behind bookcases will occasionally be served expensive ambergris-laced cocktails.
"A Brief, Fascinating History of Ambergris", Mark Wilding, Smithsonian Magazine / Hakai, 09/02/2021 (emphasis added)

Mistranslations would have people using the words “amber greece” (as in the amber from Greece) or “amber grease” (as in greasy amber), both of which added more confusion to the people’s understanding of the substance.

Perplexed

Moses Maimonides was a 12th century rabbi, philosopher, doctor, and more. He was born in Córdoba, al-Andalus (modern day Spain), expelled for not converting to Islam, and moved to Morocco and Egypt.

One of the philosophical works he wrote was called "The Guide for the Perplexed" in Judeo-Arabic, which was translated to Hebrew by Ibn Tibbon who had also translated Aristotle. In 1963, it was translated to English by Shlomo Pines (with an introduction by Leo Strauss).

In book III, section 12, Pines translated:

Regarding musk, amber, rubies, and emeralds, I do not think that anyone of sound intellect can believe that man has strong need for them unless it be for medical treatment; and even in such cases, they and other similar things can be replaced by numerous herbs and earths.

Ibn Tibbon's Hebrew reads:

המוסק והענבר והאודם והברקת

My translation being:

Musk, 'inbar (ambergris), rouge / blush, and polish/shine

Upon reading 'inbar as amber and not ambergris, Pines (and an earlier 1903 translation by Friedlander) chose to translate the following two substances as precious stones, as opposed to the more contextual and logical, cosmetics. Maimonides is talking about how man does not need to use perfumes and makeup.

A similar mistake is repeated, in another of Maimonides works, the Mishnah Torah, where it is obvious that the translator assumed an ingredient in the incense (which we'll see below) is somehow the fossilized resin amber, and not the fragrant ambergris. 

Amber Herring (Wrong Explanation)

Many will explain the similarity of names as the following:

The Arabic word for ambergris is ‘anbar, which is the word the French and other Europeans borrowed in the Middle Ages to describe the substance. When they discovered the petrified resin amber, the French used the word “ambre gris” or gray amber to describe the sweet-smelling byproduct of the sperm whale, and “ambre jaune” or yellow amber to describe the petrified resin.

As Wilding wrote above, people even thought the petrified resin was named after the Arabic word.

Problems with the Amber Herring

There are several problems with this explanation. 

1. where did the Arabic word come from? The word ‘inbar, while it obviously has the meaning of amber, has not etymological reason to have that meaning. The meaning is more connected to storehouse or granary.
2. If ambergris was truly first, why would you ever call petrified resin amber? The substances cannot be more different.
3. The petrified resin had existed and been used for millennia. It was not a new discovery. In Greek, it was called elektra and in Latin had the names electrum and succinum (among others). Succinum conveys the flowing nature of sap or resin. Pliny writes about it extensively in his Natural History (book 37), without using the word amber or ambra to describe it. 

Etymology

We’ll see how the answer is that they do, in fact, share an original etymology from the Greek ambrosia, or the food of the gods. 

• The Arabic is from the Middle Persian ‘mbl, which likely borrowed the concept from the Greek ἀμβροσία (ambrosia) when describing the divine scent of the sperm whale byproduct.
• Ambrosia was highly associated with honey, in taste, look, and viscosity. The color “amber”, synonymous with “honey-colored”, likely preceded the association with either petrified resin or sperm whale byproduct.
• The petrified resin previously known as Electrum, then likely got its name from its color, especially after electricus was borrowed to describe electricity, because amber (fossilized resin) was able to hold a charge.

In fact, in William Gilbert's 1600 De Magnete (On the Magnet), in which he describes static electricity, he repeatedly refers to succinum to describe the golden substance which was able to hold a charge, which he would call electricus, inspired by Elektra. For Gilbert, this was more connected with the acts of the gods, not the food or drink they ate, and therefore never mentions ambra or amber in his work.

Entomology

Gilbert does, however, mention that the Arabic word to describe the material was Carab. The Arabic carab / qarib is borrowed from Greek κάραβος (karabos) for beetle, and the related 'aqrab is borrowed from the Greek σκορπίος (scorpios) for scorpion.

The word scarab has a similar etymology, through Latin and French. It is related to amber, because scarab beetles were often made from amber in antiquity.

In his 1983 "Egyptian-type Documents: From the Mediterranean Littoral of the Iberian Peninsula Before the Roman Conquest", researcher Josep Padró i Parcerisa included:

It is interesting to note here that scarabs and other objects of amber are almost unknown in Carthage and that this can be said in general also of the Punic world, whereas they are very abundant in the Etruscan world, as for instance in Vetulonia.

He also mentioned in a footnote:

Variety of yellow amber relatively frequent in the Iberian Peninsula from the Bronze Age onwards... This variety of amber seems to originate in the Mediterranean area.

The Color Amber

Why should the fossilized resin be described as amber?
Because its color is amber.

Shadow and Light

The first thing one notices is ambra mimics the word umbra or shadow we know from another piece, the brief history of shade. 

I’ve noticed that in English, at least, especially with light words, the lower the vowel is, the darker the word is. Eg: gleam => glam => glimmer => glum => gloom.

In Latin: umbra means a shadow and imber means rain or a stormcloud. Ambra could logically follow to be something describing diffused light. To the listener, it would be very apparent that the word ambra is a lighter color than umber, yet not completely transparent.

European Nectar

In Greek mythology, the gods had two foods, which often became conflated: ambrosia and nectar. Etymologically, ambrosia is directly related to immortality. But as you go through various Greek and Latin writers, it becomes clear that many thought ambrosia and nectar to be related to honey. Even St. Ambrose has a story from is childhood about being fed honey by bees. 

It follows that the color of honey could be described as “ambra” or “amber”, from “ambrosia”. Part of the way that language works is that people would have to understand what you mean. If one were to say that her hair was the color of ambrosia, and it was commonly understood that ambrosia was related to honey, then it would be clear that her hair was an amber-honey-golden color.

That would indicate that amber was a color description of the succinum or the elektra, not the other way around. It was like calling a sapphire “blue” or an emerald “green”.

Butter, Beer, and other Amber Things

After having this theory, I discovered Ludovici Billaine's 1677 Glossarium which quotes a 14th century dictionary by Johannes de Janua that explicitly connects amber to ambrosia. The dictionary does separate between ambar and ambra, but in its selected quotes doesn't make a distinction.

Ambra, species valde cara, & dicitur ab ambrosia. 

Amber, a very expensive (dear) species, and called it because of ambrosia.

He also quotes a 13th century French bishop Jacques de Vitry who wrote about the Crusades.

Magnam partem delitiarum Ægypti in auro & argento, perlis & pomis ambra, filis aureis, & c.

A great part of the delights of Egypt in gold and silver, pearls and amber, gold threads, &c.

It should be noted that pomis ambra could also be translated as "amber fruits", like golden apples, but in this case I'm assuming that they are balls of amber.

But it goes further back than that.

Under the word Ambra, he quotes the one of the first 7th century CE Anglo-Saxon law texts, by Ine, King of Wessex in 694 CE. In it is mentioned:

• ambra cervisia Walisca - Welsh amber beer
• ambra butyri - amber butter

Many things that may be considered golden could also be considered amber, and we know that golden butter exists. This shows that people had been using amber as a color-word since before al-Andalus was founded.

Heavenly Scents

Greek

Antiquity had an heavenly scent, and that was that of the ambrosia and nectar, the food and drinks of the gods, which would strengthen their ichor.

We see ambrosia's scent in Homer's Odyssey 4:435-445:

She meanwhile had plunged beneath the broad bosom of the sea, and had brought forth from the deep the skins of four seals... Then would our ambush have proved most terrible, for terribly did the deadly stench of the brine-bred seals distress us—who would lay him down by a beast of the sea?—but she of herself delivered us, and devised a great boon; she brought and placed ambrosia of a very sweet fragrance beneath each man's nose, and destroyed the stench of the beast. 

Biblical / Rabbinic

While discussing the calculations of the incense for the temple, the Talmud (bKeritot 6a / jYoma 4:5) includes an Aramaic term kipat ha-yarden or Jordanian Kifa (or Qafra). According to Maimonides which could be translated as ‘inbar, or ambergris.

It should be reminded that the incense for the temple was so incredibly fragrant, it was sacred and one was prohibited to recreate it for personal use, under the threat of death according to Exodus 30:37-38.

But it is in the Talmud that we can get our first indication of the negative-association with ambrosia. In both the Jerusalem and Babylonian versions, we see that “if he added honey, it is invalidated.”

It is easy to assume that the reason for the prohibition of honey was somehow due to altering its sweetness. But it's not random. It needed to be prohibited in the post-Greek era to ensure that people would not attempt to connect the holy incense and the pagan ambrosia.

Ambrosia

The obsession with ambrosia seems to have reached a peak in the 18th century, with the Marquis de Pompignan and his essay "Sur Le Nectar et Sur L'Ambrosie"("On Nectar and Ambrosia").

After suggesting that some people even thought that ambrosia was actually made from opium, de Pompignan writes:

On n'est pas mieux instruit de ce qu'étoient l'Ambrosie & le Nectar. Mais cette incertitude même laisse à notre imagination la liberté de concevoir & de se représenter dans cet aliment céleste tout ce qu'il y a de beau, de desirable & de bon.

We are no better informed of what Ambrosia & Nectar were. But this very uncertainty gives our imagination the freedom to conceive and represent ourselves in this celestial food everything that is beautiful, desirable and good.

And that is what happened with the heavenly scent of ambergris and with anything that looked like honey.

Amber Rosa

Not only was amber borrowed from ambrosia (both via the Persian for the scent and the Latin for the color), the relationship between amber and ambrosia was hinted to regularly.

Fluid Ambrosia

Many perfumes and salves were created with a combination of ambergris and rose. That said, it is likely that the scents naturally complimented each other, and it could also be argued that both substances were symbolically connected with the concept of love.

Literary Ambrosia

William Shakespeare had his color-forward epic poem “Venus and Adonis” originally printed in 1593, the first of any of his works. It’s important because in 1593, the theatres were closed because of the plague, so Shakespeare isolated and decided to write an epic poem. (What else is one to do during isolation?)

In 1599, John Weever wrote a sonnet “Ad Gulielmum Shakespeare” (“to William Shakespeare”) which included a reference to the latter’s “Venus and Adonis”.

Honie-tongued Shakespeare, when I saw thine issue,
I swore Apollo got them and none other,
Their rosie-tainted features cloth’d in tissue,
Some heaven-born goddess said to be their mother;
Rose-cheek’d Adonis with his amber tresses,
Faire fire-hot Venus charming him to love her;

It should be noted that in the actual epic poem, Adonis’ hair color was not specified, but for Weever, the connection between honey, amber (as color of blond hair), and rose, was quite obvious.

Conclusion

This is a story about how ambrosia went from being a Greek myth through Persian for fragrance and through Latin for color, and arriving with nearly the same word "amber" to describe two very different things.

Part of why I find the story of "amber" so intriguing is because once people knew the Greek myth, no matter what language they were speaking, they could reference the story, and people would understand.

Some Ambrosia for Thought

The connection between roses, honey, fragrance, and sweetness does give a new context to the words Shakespeare put in the mouth of Juliet:

What's in a name? That which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II