As it is probable that the materials of the Gilgamesh epic, the great
mythological poem of Babylonia, originally belong to the older epoch
of Babylonian mythology, it is fitting that it should be described
and considered before passing to the later developments of Chaldean
religion.
The Gilgamesh epic ranks with the Babylonian myth of creation as one
of the greatest literary productions of ancient Babylonia. The main
element in its composition is a conglomeration of mythic matter, drawn
from various sources, with perhaps a substratum of historic fact,
the whole being woven into a continuous narrative around the central
figure of Gilgamesh, prince of Erech. It is not possible at present
to fix the date when the epic was first written. Our knowledge of it
is gleaned chiefly from mutilated fragments belonging to the library
of Assur-bani-pal, but from internal and other evidence we gather
that some at least of the traditions embodied in the epic are of
much greater antiquity than his reign. Thus a tablet dated 2100 B.C.
contains a variant of the deluge story inserted in the XIth tablet
of the Gilgamesh epic. Probably this and other portions of the epic
existed in oral tradition before they were committed to writing--that
is, in the remote Sumerian period.
Assur-bani-pal was an enthusiastic and practical patron of literature.
In his great library at Nineveh (the nucleus of which had been taken
from Calah by Sennacherib) he had gathered a vast collection of
volumes, clay tablets, and papyri, most of which had been carried as
spoil from conquered lands. He also employed scribes to copy older
texts, and this is evidently how the existing edition of the Gilgamesh
epic came to be written. From the fragments now in the British Museum
it would seem that at least four copies of the poem were made in
the time of Assur-bani-pal. They were not long permitted to remain
undisturbed. The great Assyrian empire was already declining; ere long
Nineveh was captured and its library scattered, while plundering hordes
burnt the precious rolls of papyrus, and buried the clay tablets in the
debris of the palace which had sheltered them.
There they were destined to lie for over 2000 years, till the
excavations of Sir A. H. Layard, George Smith, and others brought them
to light. It is true that the twelve tablets of the Gilgamesh epic (or
rather, the fragments of them which have so far been discovered) are
much defaced; frequently the entire sense of a passage is obscured by a
gap in the text, and this, when nice mythological elucidations are in
question, is no light matter. Yet to such an extent has the science of
comparative religion progressed in recent years that we are probably
better able to read the true mythological significance of the epic
than were the ancient Babylonians themselves, who saw in it merely an
account of the wanderings and exploits of a national hero.
The epic, which centres round the ancient city of Erech, relates the
adventures of a half-human, half-divine hero, Gilgamesh by name,
who is king over Erech. Two other characters figure prominently in
the narrative--Eabani, who evidently typifies primitive man, and
Ut-Napishtim, the hero of the Babylonian deluge myth. Each of the three
would seem to have been originally the hero of a separate group of
traditions which in time became incorporated, more or less naturally,
with the other two.
The first and most important of the trio, the hero Gilgamesh, may
have been at one time a real personage, though nothing is known of
him historically.[1] Possibly the exploits of some ancient king of
Erech have furnished a basis for the narrative. His name (for a time
provisionally read _Gisdhubar_, or _Izdubar_, but now known to have
been pronounced _Gilgamesh_[2]) suggests that he was not Babylonian but
Elamite or Kassite in origin, and from indications furnished by the
poem itself we learn that he conquered Erech (or relieved the city from
a besieging force) at the outset of his adventurous career. It has been
suggested also that he was identical with the Biblical Nimrod, like
him a hero of ancient Babylon; but there are no other grounds for the
suggestion.
So much for the historical aspect of Gilgamesh. His mythological
character is more easily established. In this regard he is the
personification of the sun. He represents, in fact, the fusion of a
great national hero with a mythical being. Throughout the epic there
are indications that Gilgamesh is partly divine by nature, though
nothing specific is said on that head. His identity with the solar god
is veiled in the popular narrative, but it is evident that he has some
connexion with the god Shamash, to whom he pays his devotions and who
acts as his patron and protector.
The Birth of Gilgamesh
Among the traditions concerning his birth is one related by Ælian
(_Historia Animalium_, XII, 21) of Gilgamos (Gilgamesh), the grandson
of Sokkaros. Sokkaros, who, according to Berossus, was the first
king to reign in Babylonia after the deluge, was warned by means of
divination that his daughter should bear a son who would deprive him of
his throne. Thinking to frustrate the designs of fate he shut her up
in a tower, where she was closely watched. But in time she bore a son,
and her attendants, knowing how wroth the King would be to learn of the
event, flung the child from the tower. But before he reached the ground
an eagle seized him up and bore him off to a certain garden, where he
was duly found and cared for by a peasant. And when he grew to manhood
he became King of the Babylonians, having, presumably, usurped the
throne of his grandfather.
Here we have a myth obviously of solar significance, conforming in
every particular to a definite type of sun-legend. It cannot have
been by chance that it became attached to the person of Gilgamesh.
Everything in the epic, too, is consonant with the belief that
Gilgamesh is a sun-god--his connexion with Shamash (who may have been
his father in the tradition given by Ælian, as well as the eagle which
saved him from death), the fact that no mention is made of his father
in the poem, though his mother is brought in more than once, and the
assumption throughout the epic that he is more than human.
Given the key to his mythical character it is not hard to perceive
in his adventures the daily (or annual) course of the sun, rising to
its full strength at noonday (or mid-summer), and sinking at length
to the western horizon, to return in due time to the abode of men.
Like all solar deities--like the sun itself--his birth and origin are
wrapped in mystery. He is, indeed, one of the 'fatal children,' like
Sargon, Perseus, or Arthur. When he first appears in the narrative he
is already a full-grown hero, the ruler and (it would seem) oppressor
of Erech. His mother, Rimat-belit, is a priestess in the temple of
Ishtar, and through her he is descended from Ut-Napishtim, a native
of Shurippak, and the hero of the Babylonian flood-legend. Early in
the narrative he is brought into contact with the wild man Eabani,
originally designed for his destruction by the gods, but with whom
he eventually concludes a firm friendship. The pair proceed to do
battle with the monster Khumbaba, whom they overcome, as they do also
the sacred bull sent against them by Anu. Up to the end of the VIth
tablet their conquering and triumphant career is without interruption;
Gilgamesh increases in strength as does the sun approaching the zenith.
At the VIIth tablet, however, his good fortune begins to wane. Eabani
dies, slain doubtless by the wrath of Ishtar, whose love Gilgamesh has
rejected with scorn; and the hero, mourning the death of his friend,
and smitten with fear that he himself will perish in like manner,
decides to go in search of his ancestor, Ut-Napishtim (who, as sole
survivor of the deluge, has received from the gods deification and
immortality), and learn of him the secret of eternal life. His further
adventures have not the triumphal character of his earlier exploits.
Sunwise he journeys to the Mountain of the Sunset, encounters the
scorpion-men, and crosses the Waters of Death. Ut-Napishtim teaches
him the lesson that all men must die (he himself being an exception in
exceptional circumstances), and though he afterwards gives Gilgamesh
an opportunity of eating the plant of life, the opportunity is lost.
However, Ut-Napishtim cures Gilgamesh of a disease which he has
contracted, apparently while crossing the Waters of Death, and he is
finally restored to Erech. In these happenings we see the gradual
sinking of the sun into the underworld by way of the Mountain of the
Sunset. It is impossible for the sun to attain immortality, to remain
for ever in the land of the living; he must traverse the Waters of
Death and sojourn in the underworld. Yet the return of Gilgamesh
to Erech signifies the fresh dawning of the day. It is the eternal
struggle of day and night, summer and winter; darkness may conquer
light, but light will emerge again victorious. The contest is unending.
Some authorities have seen in the division of the epic into twelve
tablets a connexion with the months of the year or the signs of the
zodiac. Such a connexion probably exists, but when we consider that the
artificial division of the epic into tablets scarcely tallies with the
natural divisions of the poem, it seems likely that the astrological
significance of the former was given to the epic by the scribes of
Nineveh, who were evidently at some pains to compress the matter into
twelve tablets. Of the astro-theological significance of the narrative
itself (one of its most important aspects), we shall perhaps be better
able to judge when we have considered it in detail.
Eabani
The most important of the various mythological strata underlying the
Gilgamesh myth is probably that concerning Eabani, who, as has been
said, is a type of primitive man, living among the beasts of the field
as one of themselves. But he is also, according to certain authorities,
a form of the sun-god, even as Gilgamesh himself. Like the hero of
Erech, he rises to the zenith of his powers in a triumphal progress,
then descends into the underworld. He is not lost sight of, however,
but lives in the memory of his friend Gilgamesh; and in the XIIth
tablet he is temporarily brought forth from the underworld (that is,
his ghost, or _utukku_), which in a dim and shadowy fashion may typify
the daily restoration of the sun.
Another important stratum of myth is that which concerns Ut-Napishtim,
the Babylonian Noah; but whereas the myths of Eabani and Gilgamesh,
though still distinguishable, have become thoroughly fused, the deluge
story of which Ut-Napishtim is the hero has been inserted bodily into
the XIth tablet of the epic, being related to Gilgamesh by Ut-Napishtim
himself. When he first appears in the narrative he has the attributes
and powers of a god, having received these for his fidelity to the gods
during the flood, from whose waters he alone of all mankind escaped.
The object of his narrative in the Gilgamesh epic seems to be to point
out to the hero that only the most exceptional circumstances--unique
circumstances, indeed--can save man from his doom.
Other distinct portions of the epic are the battle with the monster
Khumbaba, the episode of Ishtar's love for Gilgamesh, the fight with
the sacred bull of Anu, and the search for the plant of life. These,
whatever their origin, have become naturally incorporated with the
story of Gilgamesh. But besides the various historical and mythical
elements herein presented, there is also a certain amount of Babylonian
religious doctrine, evident to some extent in the XIth tablet (which
points the moral that all men must die), but doubly so in the XIIth
tablet, wherein the shade of Eabani appears to Gilgamesh, relates the
misfortunes of the unburied dead or of those uncared for after death,
and inculcates care for the deceased as the only means whereby they may
evade the grievous woes which threaten them in the underworld.
Let us examine in detail the Gilgamesh epic as we have it in the
broken fragments which remain to us. The Ist and IInd tablets are much
mutilated. A number of fragments are extant which belong to one or
other of these two, but it is not easy to say where the Ist ends and
the IInd begins. One fragment would seem to contain the very beginning
of the Ist tablet--a sort of general preface to the epic, comprising
a list of the advantages to be derived from reading it. After this
comes a fragment whose title to inclusion in the epic is doubtful.
It describes a siege of the city of Erech, but makes no mention of
Gilgamesh. The woeful condition of Erech under the siege is thus
picturesquely detailed: "She asses (tread down) their young, cows (turn
upon) their calves. Men cry aloud like beasts, and maidens mourn like
doves. The gods of strong-walled Erech are changed to flies, and buzz
about the streets. The spirits of strong-walled Erech are changed to
serpents, and glide into holes. For three years the enemy besieged
Erech, and the doors were barred, and the bolts were shot, and Ishtar
did not raise her head against the foe." If this fragment be indeed a
portion of the Gilgamesh epic, we have no means of ascertaining whether
Gilgamesh was the besieger, or the raiser of the siege, or whether he
was concerned in the affair at all.
Gilgamesh as Tyrant
Now we come to the real commencement of the poem, inscribed on a
fragment which some authorities assign to the beginning of the
IInd tablet, but which more probably forms a part of the Ist. In
this portion we find Gilgamesh filling the double rôle of ruler and
oppressor of Erech--the latter evidently not inconsistent with the
character of a hero. There is no mention here of a siege, nor is there
any record of the coming of Gilgamesh, though, as has been indicated,
he probably came as a conqueror. His intolerable tyranny towards the
people of Erech lends colour to this view. He presses the young men
into his service in the building of a great wall, and carries off the
fairest maidens to his court; he "hath not left the son to his father,
nor the maid to the hero, nor the wife to her husband." Finally his
harshness constrained the people to appeal to the gods, and they prayed
the goddess Aruru to create a mighty hero who would champion their
cause, and through fear of whom Gilgamesh should be forced to temper
his severity. The gods themselves added their prayers to those of the
oppressed people, and Aruru at length agreed to create a champion
against Gilgamesh. "Upon hearing these words (so runs the narrative),
Aruru conceived a man (in the image) of Anu in her mind. Aruru washed
her hands, she broke off a piece of clay, she cast it on the ground.
Thus she created Eabani, the hero." When the creation of this champion
was finished his appearance was that of a wild man of the mountains.
"The whole of his body was (covered) with hair, he was clothed with
long hair like a woman. His hair was luxuriant, like that of the
corn-god. He knew (not) the land and the inhabitants thereof, he was
clothed with garments as the god of the field. With the gazelles he
ate herbs, with the beasts he slaked his thirst, with the creatures
of the water his heart rejoiced." In pictorial representations on
cylinder-seals and elsewhere Eabani is depicted as a sort of satyr,
with the head, arms, and body of a man, and the horns, ears, and legs
of a beast. As we have seen, he is a type of beast-man, a sort of
Caliban, ranging with the beasts of the field, utterly ignorant of the
things of civilization.
[Illustration: Assyrian Type of Gilgamesh Found at Khorsabad from
_Religious Belief and Practice in Babylonia and Assyria_, by Professor
Morris Jastrow.--By permission of Messrs G.P. Putnam's Sons.]
The Beguiling of Eabani
The poem goes on to introduce a new character, Tsaidu, the hunter,
apparently designed by the gods to bring about the meeting of Gilgamesh
and Eabani. How he first encounters Eabani is not quite clear from the
mutilated text. One reading has it that the King of Erech, learning
the plan of the gods for his overthrow, sent Tsaidu into the mountains
in search of Eabani, with instructions to entrap him by whatever means
and bring him to Erech. Another reading describes the encounter as
purely accidental. However this may be, Tsaidu returned to Erech and
related to Gilgamesh the story of his encounter, telling him of the
strength and fleetness of the wild man, and his exceeding shyness at
the sight of a human being. By this time it is evident that Gilgamesh
knows or conjectures the purpose for which Eabani is designed, and
intends to frustrate the divine plans by anticipating the meeting
between himself and the wild man. Accordingly he bids Tsaidu return to
the mountains, taking with him Ukhut, one of the sacred women of the
temple of Ishtar. His plan is that Ukhut with her wiles shall persuade
Eabani to return with her to Erech. Thus the hunter and the girl set
out. "They took the straight road, and on the third day they reached
the usual drinking-place of Eabani. Then Tsaidu and the woman placed
themselves in hiding. For one day, for two days, they lurked by the
drinking-place. With the beasts (Eabani) slaked his thirst, with the
creatures of the waters his heart rejoiced. Then Eabani (approached)
..." The scene which follows is described at some length. Ukhut had
no difficulty in enthralling Eabani with the snares of her beauty.
For six days and seven nights he remembered nothing because of his
love for her. When at length he bethought him of his gazelles, his
flocks and herds, he found that they would no longer follow him as
before. So he sat at the feet of Ukhut while she told him of Erech
and its king. "Thou art handsome, O Eabani, thou art like a god. Why
dost thou traverse the plain with the beasts? Come, I will take thee
to strong-walled Erech, to the bright palace, the dwelling of Anu and
Ishtar, to the palace of Gilgamesh, the perfect in strength, who, like
a mountain-bull, wieldeth power over man." Eabani found the prospect
delightful. He longed for the friendship of Gilgamesh, and declared
himself willing to follow the woman to the city of Erech. And so Ukhut,
Eabani, and Tsaidu set out on their journey.
Gilgamesh meets Eabani
The feast of Ishtar was in progress when they reached Erech. Eabani
had conceived the idea that he must do battle with Gilgamesh before
he could claim that hero as a friend, but being warned (whether in a
dream, or by Ukhut, is not clear) that Gilgamesh was stronger than he,
and withal a favourite of the gods, he wisely refrained from combat.
Meanwhile Gilgamesh also had dreamed a dream, which, interpreted by
his mother, Rimat-belit, foretold the coming of Eabani. That part of
the poem which deals with the meeting of Gilgamesh and Eabani is
unfortunately no longer extant, but from the fragments which take up
the broken narrative we gather that they met and became friends.
The portions of the epic next in order appear to belong to the IInd
tablet. In these we find Eabani lamenting the loss of his former
freedom and showering maledictions on the temple-maiden who has lured
him thither. However, Shamash, the sun-god, intervenes (perhaps in
another dream or vision; these play a prominent part in the narrative),
and showing him the benefits he has derived from his sojourn in
the haunts of civilization, endeavours with various promises and
inducements to make him stay in Erech--"Now Gilgamesh, thy friend and
brother, shall give thee a great couch to sleep on, shall give thee a
couch carefully prepared, shall give thee a seat at his left hand, and
the kings of the earth shall kiss thy feet." With this, apparently,
Eabani is satisfied. He ceases to bewail his position at Erech and
accepts his destiny with calmness. In the remaining fragments of the
tablet we find him concerned about another dream or vision; and before
this portion of the epic closes the heroes have planned an expedition
against the monster Khumbaba, guardian of the abode of the goddess
Irnina (a form of Ishtar), in the Forest of Cedars.
In the very mutilated IIIrd tablet the two heroes go to consult the
priestess Rimat-belit, the mother of Gilgamesh, and through her they
ask protection from Shamash in the forthcoming expedition. The old
priestess advises her son and his friend how to proceed, and after
they have gone we see her alone in the temple, her hands raised to the
sun-god, invoking his blessing on Gilgamesh: "Why hast thou troubled
the heart of my son Gilgamesh? Thou hast laid thy hand upon him, and he
goeth away, on a far journey to the dwelling of Khumbaba; he entereth
into a combat (whose issue) he knoweth not; he followeth a road unknown
to him. Till he arrive and till he return, till he reach the Forest of
Cedars, till he hath slain the terrible Khumbaba and rid the land of
all the evil that thou hatest, till the day of his return--let Aya, thy
betrothed, thy splendour, recall him to thee." With this dignified and
beautiful appeal the tablet comes to an end.
The Monster Khumbaba
The IVth tablet is concerned with a description of the monster with
whom the heroes are about to do battle. Khumbaba, whom Bel had
appointed to guard the cedar (_i.e._, one particular cedar which
appears to be of greater height and sanctity than the others), is
a creature of most terrifying aspect, the very presence of whom in
the forest makes those who enter it grow weak and impotent. As the
heroes draw near Eabani complains that his hands are feeble and his
arms without strength, but Gilgamesh speaks words of encouragement
to him. It may be noted, in passing, that the word Khumbaba is of
Elamite origin, a fact which has led certain authorities to identify
the monster with an Elamite dynasty which anciently dominated Erech,
and which came to grief about 2250 B.C. It is difficult, if not
impossible, to establish the connexion between the mythical encounter
and a definite historical event; but it may at least be presumed that
the bestowal of an Elamite designation on the monster argues a certain
enmity between Elam and Babylon.
The next fragments bring us into the Vth tablet. The heroes, having
reached "a verdant mountain," paused to survey the Forest of Cedars.
When they entered the forest the death of Khumbaba was foretold to
one or other, or both of them, in a dream, and they hastened forward
to the combat. Unfortunately the text of the actual encounter has not
been preserved, but we learn from the context that the heroes were
successful in slaying Khumbaba.
Ishtar's Love for Gilgamesh
In the VIth tablet, which relates the story of Ishtar's love for
Gilgamesh, and the slaying of the sacred bull, victory again waits on
the arms of the heroes, but here nevertheless we have the key to the
misfortunes which later befall them. On his return to Erech after the
destruction of Khumbaba, Gilgamesh was loudly acclaimed. Doffing the
soiled and bloodstained garments he had worn during the battle, he
robed himself as befitted a monarch and a conqueror. Ishtar beheld the
King in his regal splendour, the flowers of victory still fresh on his
brow, and her heart went out to him in love. In moving and seductive
terms she besought him to be her bridegroom, promising that if he would
enter her house "in the gloom of the cedar" all manner of good gifts
should be his--his flocks and herds would increase, his horses and oxen
would be without rival, the river Euphrates would kiss his feet, and
kings and princes would bring tribute to him. But Gilgamesh, knowing
something of the past history of this capricious goddess, rejected her
advances with scorn, and began to revile her. He taunted her, too, with
her treatment of former lovers--of Tammuz, the bridegroom of her youth,
to whom she clung weepingly year after year; of Alalu the eagle; of a
lion perfect in might and a horse glorious in battle; of the shepherd
Tabulu and of Isullanu, the gardener of her father. All these she had
mocked and ill-treated in cruel fashion, and Gilgamesh perceived that
like treatment would be meted out to him should he accept the proffered
love of the goddess. The deity was greatly enraged at the repulse, and
mounted up to heaven: "Moreover Ishtar went before Anu (her father),
before Anu she went and she (said): 'O my father, Gilgamesh has kept
watch on me; Gilgamesh has counted my garlands, my garlands and my
girdles.'" Underlying the story of Ishtar's love for Gilgamesh there
is evidently a nature-myth of some sort, perhaps a spring-tide myth;
Gilgamesh, the sun-god, or a hero who has taken over his attributes,
is wooed by Ishtar, the goddess of fertility, the great mother-goddess
who presides over spring vegetation. In the recital of her former
love-affairs we find mention of the Tammuz myth, in which Ishtar slew
her consort Tammuz, and other mythological fragments. It is possible
also that there is an astrological significance in this part of the
narrative.
The Bull of Anu
To resume the tale: In her wrath and humiliation Ishtar appealed to
her father and mother, Anu and Anatu, and begged the former to create
a mighty bull and send it against Gilgamesh. Anu at first demurred,
declaring that if he did so it would result in seven years' sterility
on the earth; but finally he consented, and a great bull, Alu, was
sent to do battle with Gilgamesh. The portion of the text which deals
with the combat is much mutilated, but it appears that the conflict
was hot and sustained, the celestial animal finally succumbing to a
sword-thrust from Gilgamesh. Ishtar looks on in impotent anger. "Then
Ishtar went up on to the wall of strong-walled Erech; she mounted to
the top and she uttered a curse, (saying), 'Cursed be Gilgamesh, who
has provoked me to anger, and has slain the bull from heaven.'" Then
Eabani incurs the anger of the deity--"When Eabani heard these words of
Ishtar, he tore out the entrails of the bull, and he cast them before
her, saying, 'As for thee, I will conquer thee, and I will do to thee
even as I have done to him.'" Ishtar was beside herself with rage.
Gilgamesh and his companion dedicated the great horns of the bull to
the sun-god, and having washed their hands in the river Euphrates,
returned once more to Erech. As the triumphal procession passed through
the city the people came out of their houses to do honour to the
heroes. The remainder of the tablet is concerned with a great banquet
given by Gilgamesh to celebrate his victory over the bull Alu, and with
further visions of Eabani.
The VIIth and VIIIth tablets are extremely fragmentary, and so much of
the text as is preserved is open to various readings. It is possible
that to the VIIth tablet belongs a description of the underworld given
to Eabani in a dream by the temple-maiden Ukhut, whom he had cursed
in a previous tablet, and who had since died. The description answers
to that given in another ancient text--the myth of Ishtar's descent
into Hades--and evidently embodies the popular belief concerning the
underworld. "Come, descend with me to the house of darkness, the abode
of Irkalla, to the house whence the enterer goes not forth, to the path
whose way has no return, to the house whose dwellers are deprived of
light, where dust is their nourishment and earth their good. They are
clothed, like the birds, in a garment of feathers; they see not the
light, they dwell in darkness."
The Death of Eabani
This sinister vision appears to have been a presage of Eabani's death.
Shortly afterwards he fell ill and died at the end of twelve days. The
manner of his death is uncertain. One reading of the mutilated text
represents Eabani as being wounded, perhaps in battle, and succumbing
to the effects of the wound. But another makes him say to his friend
Gilgamesh, "I have been cursed, my friend, I shall not die as one who
has been slain in battle." The breaks in the text are responsible for
the divergence. The latter reading is probably the correct one; Eabani
has grievously offended Ishtar, the all-powerful, and the curse which
has smitten him to the earth is probably hers. In modern folk-lore
phraseology he died of ju-ju. The death of the hero brings the VIIIth
tablet to a close.
In the IXth tablet we find Gilgamesh mourning the loss of his friend.
The Quest of Gilgamesh
On the heart of Gilgamesh, likewise, the fear of death had taken hold,
and he determined to go in search of his ancestor, Ut-Napishtim,
who might be able to show him a way of escape. Straightway putting
his determination into effect, Gilgamesh set out for the abode of
Ut-Napishtim. On the way he had to pass through mountain gorges, made
terrible by the presence of wild beasts. From the power of these he
was delivered by Sin, the moon-god, who enabled him to traverse the
mountain passes in safety.
At length he came to a mountain higher than the rest, the entrance to
which was guarded by scorpion-men. This was Mashu, the Mountain of
the Sunset, which lies on the western horizon, between the earth and
the underworld. "Then he came to the mountain of Mashu, the portals
of which are guarded every day by monsters; their backs mount up to
the ramparts of heaven, and their foreparts reach down beneath Aralu.
Scorpion-men guard the gate (of Mashu); they strike terror into men,
and it is death to behold them. Their splendour is great, for it
overwhelms the mountains; from sunrise to sunset they guard the sun.
Gilgamesh beheld them, and his face grew dark with fear and terror, and
the wildness of their aspect robbed him of his senses." On approaching
the entrance to the mountain Gilgamesh found his way barred by these
scorpion-men, who, perceiving the strain of divinity in him, did not
blast him with their glance, but questioned him regarding his purpose
in drawing near the mountain of Mashu. When Gilgamesh had replied to
their queries, telling them how he wished to reach the abode of his
ancestor, Ut-Napishtim, and there learn the secret of perpetual life
and youthfulness, the scorpion-men advised him to turn back. Before
him, they said, lay the region of thick darkness; for twelve _kasbu_
(twenty-four hours) he would have to journey through the thick darkness
ere he again emerged into the light of day. And so they refused to let
him pass. But Gilgamesh implored, "with tears," says the narrative, and
at length the monsters consented to admit him. Having passed the gate
of the Mountain of the Sunset (by virtue of his character as a solar
deity) Gilgamesh traversed the region of thick darkness during the
space of twelve _kasbu_. Toward the end of that period the darkness
became ever less pronounced; finally it was broad day, and Gilgamesh
found himself in a beautiful garden or park studded with trees, among
which was the tree of the gods, thus charmingly depicted in the
text--"Precious stones it bore as fruit, branches hung from it which
were beautiful to behold. The top of the tree was lapis-lazuli, and it
was laden with fruit which dazzled the eye of him that beheld." Having
paused to admire the beauty of the scene, Gilgamesh bent his steps
shoreward.
The Xth tablet describes the hero's encounter with the sea-goddess
Sabitu, who, on the approach of one "who had the appearance of a god,
in whose body was grief, and who looked as though he had made a long
journey," retired into her palace and fastened the door. But Gilgamesh,
knowing that her help was necessary to bring him to the dwelling of
Ut-Napishtim, told her of his quest, and in despair threatened to
break down the door unless she opened to him. At last Sabitu consented
to listen to him whilst he asked the way to Ut-Napishtim. Like the
scorpion-men, the sea-goddess perceived that Gilgamesh was not to be
turned aside from his quest, so at last she bade him go to Adad-Ea,
Ut-Napishtim's ferryman, without whose aid, she said, it would be
futile to persist further in his mission. Adad-Ea, likewise, being
consulted by Gilgamesh, advised him to desist, but the hero, pursuing
his plan of intimidation, began to smash the ferryman's boat with his
axe, whereupon Adad-Ea was obliged to yield. He sent his would-be
passenger into the forest for a new rudder, and after that the two
sailed away.
Gilgamesh and Ut-Napishtim
Ut-Napishtim was indeed surprised when he beheld Gilgamesh approaching
the strand. The hero had meanwhile contracted a grievous illness, so
that he was unable to leave the boat; but he addressed his queries
concerning perpetual life to the deified Ut-Napishtim, who stood on the
shore. The hero of the flood was exceeding sorrowful, and explained
that death is the common lot of mankind, "nor is it given to man to
know the hour when the hand of death will fall upon him--the Annunaki,
the great gods, decree fate, and with them Mammetum, the maker of
destiny, and they determine death and life, but the days of death are
not known."
The narrative is continued without interruption into the XIth tablet.
Gilgamesh listened with pardonable scepticism to the platitudes of his
ancestor. "'I behold thee, Ut-Napishtim, thy appearance differs not
from mine, thou art like unto me, thou art not otherwise than I am;
thou art like unto me, thy heart is stout for the battle ... how hast
thou entered the assembly of the gods; how hast thou found life?'"
The Deluge Myth
In reply Ut-Napishtim introduces the story of the Babylonian deluge,
which, told as it is without interruption, forms a separate and
complete narrative, and is in itself a myth of exceptional interest.
Presumably the warning of the deluge came to Ut-Napishtim in a vision.
The voice of the god said: 'Thou man of Shurippak, son of Ubara-Tutu,
pull down thy house, build a ship, forsake thy possessions, take heed
for thy life! Abandon thy goods, save thy life, and bring up living
seed of every kind into the ship.' The ship itself was to be carefully
planned and built according to Ea's instructions. When the god had
spoken Ut-Napishtim promised obedience to the divine command. But he
was still perplexed as to how he should answer the people when they
asked the reason for his preparations. Ea therefore instructed him
how he should make reply, 'Bel hath cast me forth, for he hateth me.'
The purpose of this reply seems clear, though the remaining few lines
of it are rather broken. Ea intends that Ut-Napishtim shall disarm
the suspicions of the people by declaring that the object of his
shipbuilding and his subsequent departure is to escape the wrath of
Bel, which he is to depict as falling on him alone. He must prophesy
the coming of the rain, but must represent it, not as a devastating
flood, but rather as a mark of the prosperity which Bel will grant to
the people of Shurippak, perhaps by reason of his (Ut-Napishtim's)
departure therefrom.
The Babylonian Ark
Ut-Napishtim employed many people in the construction of the ship.
During four days he gathered the material and built the ship; on the
fifth he laid it down; on the sixth he loaded it; and by the seventh
day it was finished. On a hull 120 cubits wide was constructed a great
deck-house 120 cubits high, divided into six stories, each of which
was divided in turn into nine rooms. The outside of the ship was made
water-tight with bitumen, and the inside with pitch. To signalise the
completion of his vessel, Ut-Napishtim gave a great feast, like that
which was wont to be held on New Year's Day; oxen were slaughtered and
great quantities of wine and oil provided. According to the command
of Ea, Ut-Napishtim brought into the ship all his possessions, his
silver and his gold,[3] living seed of every kind, all his family and
household, the cattle and beasts of the field, the handicraftsmen, all
that was his.
A heavy rain at eventide was the sign for Ut-Napishtim to enter the
ship and fasten the door. All night long it rained, and with the early
dawn "there came up from the horizon a black cloud. Ramman in the midst
thereof thundered, and Nabu and Marduk went before, they passed like
messengers over mountain and plain. Uragal parted the anchor-cable.
There went Ninib, and he made the storm to burst. The Annunaki carried
flaming torches, and with the brightness thereof they lit up the earth.
The whirlwind of Ramman mounted up into the heavens, and all light was
turned into darkness." During a whole day darkness and chaos appear to
have reigned on the earth. Men could no longer behold each other. The
very gods in heaven were afraid and crouched "like hounds," weeping,
and lamenting their share in the destruction of mankind. For six days
and nights the tempest raged, but on the seventh day the rain ceased
and the floods began to abate. Then, says Ut-Napishtim--"I looked upon
the sea and cried aloud, for all mankind was turned back into clay. In
place of the fields a swamp lay before me. I opened the window and the
light fell upon my cheek, I bowed myself down, I sat down, I wept; over
my cheek flowed my tears. I looked upon the world, and behold all was
sea."
The Bird Messengers
At length the ship came to rest on the summit of Mount Nitsir. There
are various readings of this portion of the text, thus: "After twelve
(days) the land appeared;" or "At the distance of twelve (kasbu) the
land appeared;" or "Twelve (cubits) above the water the land appeared."
However this may be, the ship remained for six days on the mountain,
and on the seventh Ut-Napishtim sent out a dove. But the dove found no
resting-place, and so she returned. Then he sent out a swallow, which
also returned, having found no spot whereon to rest. Finally a raven
was sent forth, and as by this time the waters had begun to abate, the
bird drew near to the ship "wading and croaking," but did not enter the
vessel. Then Ut-Napishtim brought his household and all his possessions
into the open air, and made an offering to the gods of reed, and
cedar-wood, and incense. The fragrant odour of the incense came up to
the gods, and they gathered, "like flies," says the narrative, around
the sacrifice. Among the company was Ishtar, the Lady of the Gods, who
lifted up the necklace which Anu had given her, saying: "What gods
these are! By the jewels of lapis-lazuli which are upon my neck I will
not forget! These days I have set in my memory, never will I forget
them! Let the gods come to the offering, but Bel shall not come to
the offering since he refused to ask counsel and sent the deluge, and
handed over my people unto destruction."
[Illustration: Ut-Napishtim makes Offering to the Gods Alan Stewart.--By
permission of Messrs. Hutchinson and Co.]
The god Bel was very wroth when he discovered that a mortal man had
survived the deluge, and vowed that Ut-Napishtim should perish. But Ea
defended his action in having saved his favourite from destruction,
pointing out that Bel had refused to take counsel when he planned a
universal disaster, and advising him in future to visit the sin on
the sinner and not to punish the entire human race. Finally Bel was
mollified. He approached the ship (into which it would appear that the
remnants of the human race had retired during the altercation) and led
Ut-Napishtim and his wife into the open, where he bestowed on them his
blessing. "Then they took me," says Ut-Napishtim, "and afar off, at the
mouth of the rivers, they made me to dwell."
Such is the story of the deluge which Ut-Napishtim told to Gilgamesh.
No cause is assigned for the destruction of the human race other
than the enmity which seems to have existed between man and the
gods--particularly the warrior-god Bel. But it appears from the latter
part of the narrative that in the assembly of the gods the majority
contemplated only the destruction of the city of Shurippak, and not
that of the entire human family. It has been suggested, indeed, that
the story as it is here given is compounded of two separate myths, one
relating to a universal catastrophe, perhaps a mythological type of a
periodic inundation, and the other dealing with a local disaster such
as might have been occasioned by a phenomenal overflow of the Euphrates.
The antiquity of the legend and its original character are clearly
shown by comparison with another version of the myth, inscribed on a
tablet found at Abu-Habbah (the ancient site of Sippar) and dated in
the twenty-first century before our era. Notwithstanding the imperfect
preservation of this text it is possible to perceive in it many
points of resemblance to the Gilgamesh variant. Berossus also quotes
a version of the deluge myth in his history, substituting Chronos
for Ea, King Xisuthros for Ut-Napishtim, and the city of Sippar for
that of Shurippak. In this version immortality is bestowed not only
on the hero and his wife, but also on his daughter and his pilot. One
writer ingeniously identifies these latter with Sabitu and Adad-Ea
respectively.
To return to the epic: The recital of Ut-Napishtim served its primary
purpose in the narrative by proving to Gilgamesh that his case was
not that of his deified ancestor. Meanwhile the hero had remained in
the boat, too ill to come ashore; now Ut-Napishtim took pity on him
and promised to restore him to health, first of all bidding him sleep
during six days and seven nights. Gilgamesh listened to his ancestor's
advice, and by and by "sleep, like a tempest, breathed upon him."
Ut-Napishtim's wife, beholding the sleeping hero, was likewise moved
with compassion, and asked her husband to send the traveller safely
home. He in turn bade his wife compound a magic preparation, containing
seven ingredients, and administer it to Gilgamesh while he slept. This
was done, and an enchantment thus put upon the hero. When he awoke (on
the seventh day) he renewed his importunate request for the secret
of perpetual life. His host sent him to a spring of water where he
might bathe his sores and be healed; and having tested the efficacy
of the magic waters Gilgamesh returned once more to his ancestor's
dwelling, doubtless to persist in his quest for life. Notwithstanding
that Ut-Napishtim had already declared it impossible for Gilgamesh to
attain immortality, he now directed him (apparently at the instance
of his wife) to the place where he would find the plant of life, and
instructed Adad-Ea to conduct him thither. The magic plant, which
bestowed immortality and eternal youth on him who ate of it, appears
to have been a weed, a creeping plant, with thorns which pricked the
hands of the gatherer; and, curiously enough, Gilgamesh seems to have
sought it at the bottom of the sea. At length the plant was found,
and the hero declared his intention of carrying it with him to Erech.
And so he set out on the return journey, accompanied by the faithful
ferryman not only on the first, and watery, stage of his travels, but
also overland to the city of Erech itself. When they had journeyed
twenty _kasbu_ they left an offering (presumably for the dead), and
when they had journeyed thirty _kasbu_, they repeated a funeral chant.
The narrative goes on: "Gilgamesh saw a well of fresh water, he went
down to it and offered a libation. A serpent smelled the odour of the
plant, advanced ... and carried off the plant. Gilgamesh sat down and
wept, the tears ran down his cheeks." He lamented bitterly the loss
of the precious plant, seemingly predicted to him when he made his
offering at the end of twenty _kasbu_. At length they reached Erech,
when Gilgamesh sent Adad-Ea to enquire concerning the building of
the city walls, a proceeding which has possibly some mythological
significance.
The XIIth tablet opens with the lament of Gilgamesh for his friend
Eabani, whose loss he has not ceased to deplore. "Thou canst no longer
stretch thy bow upon the earth; and those who were slain with the bow
are round about thee. Thou canst no longer bear a sceptre in thy hand;
and the spirits of the dead have taken thee captive. Thou canst no
longer wear shoes upon thy feet; thou canst no longer raise thy war-cry
on the earth. No more dost thou kiss thy wife whom thou didst love;
no more dost thou smite thy wife whom thou didst hate. No more dost
thou kiss thy daughter whom thou didst love; no more dost thou smite
thy daughter whom thou didst hate. The sorrow of the underworld hath
taken hold upon thee."[4] Gilgamesh went from temple to temple, making
offerings and desiring the gods to restore Eabani to him; to Ninsum he
went, to Bel, and to Sin, the moon-god, but they heeded him not. At
length he cried to Ea, who took compassion on him and persuaded Nergal
to bring the shade of Eabani from the underworld. A hole was opened in
the earth and the spirit of the dead man issued therefrom like a breath
of wind. Gilgamesh addressed Eabani thus: "Tell me, my friend, tell me,
my friend; the law of the earth which thou hast seen, tell me." Eabani
answered him: "I cannot tell thee, my friend, I cannot tell thee." But
afterwards, having bidden Gilgamesh "sit down and weep," he proceeded
to tell him of the conditions which prevailed in the underworld,
contrasting the lot of the warrior duly buried with that of a person
whose corpse is cast uncared for into the fields. "On a couch he lieth,
and drinketh pure water, the man who was slain in battle--thou and I
have oft seen such an one--his father and his mother (support) his
head, and his wife (kneeleth) at his side. But the man whose corpse is
cast upon the field--thou and I have oft seen such an one--his spirit
resteth not in the earth. The man whose spirit has none to care for
it--thou and I have oft seen such an one--the dregs of the vessel, the
leavings of the feast, and that which is cast out upon the streets, are
his food." Upon this solemn note the epic closes.
The doctrine of the necessity for ministering to the dead is here
enunciated in no uncertain fashion. Unless their bodies are decently
buried and offerings of food and drink made at their graves, their
lives in the otherworld must be abjectly miserable. The manner in
which they meet their end is likewise taken into account, and warriors
who have fallen on the field of battle are pre-eminently fortunate.
Eabani is evidently one of the 'happy' spirits; his ghost is designated
_utukku_, a name applied not only to the fortunate dead, but likewise
to a class of beneficent supernatural beings. The term _edimmu_, on
the other hand, designates a species of malevolent being as well
as the errant and even vampirish spirits of the unhappy dead. The
due observance of funeral and commemorative rites is thus a matter
which touches the interests not only of the deceased but also of his
relatives and friends.
We have seen from the foregoing that the epic of Gilgamesh is partly
historical, partly mythological. Around the figure of a great national
hero myths have grown and twined with the passing of the generations,
and these have in time become woven into a connected narrative,
setting forth a myth which corresponds to the daily or annual course
of the sun. Within this may be discerned other myths and fragments of
myths--solar, seasonal, and diluvian.
But there is in the epic another important element which has already
been referred to--the astro-theological. The zodiacal significance
of the division of the epic into twelve tablets may be set aside,
since, as has been indicated, the significance is in all probability
a superficial one merely, added to the poem by the scribes of
Assur-bani-pal, and not forming an integral part of it. At the same
time it is not hard to divide the epic naturally into twelve episodes,
thus: (1) Gilgamesh's oppression of Erech; (2) the seduction of
Eabani; (3) the slaying of the monster Khumbaba; (4) the wooing of
Ishtar; (5) the fight with the sacred bull; (6) Eabani's death; (7)
Gilgamesh's journey to the Mountain of the Sunset; (8) his wanderings
in the region of thick darkness; (9) the crossing of the waters of
death; (10) the deluge-story; (11) the plant of life; (12) the return
of Eabani's spirit. Throughout the epic there are indications of a
correspondence between the exploits of the hero and the movements of
heavenly bodies. It is possible, for instance, that Gilgamesh and his
friend Eabani had some relation to the sign Gemini, also associated
in ancient Chaldean mythology with two forms of the solar deity, even
as were the hero and his friend. The sign Leo recalls the slaying of
Khumbaba, the allegorical victory of light over darkness, represented
on monuments by the figure of a lion (symbol of fire) fighting with a
bull. Following the sign of Leo, the wooing of the hero by the goddess
Ishtar falls naturally into the sign of Virgo, the virgin. The sign of
Taurus is represented by the slaying of the celestial bull, Alu, by
Gilgamesh. The journey of the hero to Mashu and his encounter with the
scorpion-men at the gate of the sunset are, of course, mythological
representations of the sign of Scorpio, as are also his wanderings
in the region of thick darkness. It is noticeable in this respect
that Babylonian astrology often doubled the eighth sign (Scorpio) to
provide a seventh; it is therefore not unlikely that this sign should
correspond with two distinct episodes in the poem. The first of these
episodes is associated with Scorpio by virtue of the introduction of
scorpion-men; and the second, on the assumption that the scorpion is
symbolical of darkness. Perhaps the sea-goddess Sabitu is associated
astrologically with the fish-tailed goat which is the conventional
representation of Capricornus. Then the placing of the deluge-story
in the XIth tablet, corresponding with the eleventh sign of the
zodiac, Aquarius, the water-bearer, is evidently in keeping with the
astrological aspect of the epic. Chaldean mythology connected the rainy
eleventh month with the deluge, just as the first month of spring was
associated mythologically with the creation. The healing of Gilgamesh's
sickness by Ut-Napishtim may possibly symbolise the revival of the
sun after leaving the winter solstice. Lastly, the sign of Pisces,
the twelfth sign of the zodiac, corresponding to the return of Eabani
from the underworld, and perhaps also to the restoration of Gilgamesh
to Erech, is emblematic of life after death, and of the resumption of
ordinary conditions after the deluge. It has been suggested, though
without any very definite basis, that the epic was first put together
before the zodiac was divided into twelve--that is, more than two
thousand years before the Christian era. Its antiquity, however, rests
on other grounds than these. In later times the Babylonian astrological
system became very complicated and important, and so lent its colour to
the epic that, whatever the original plan of that work may have been,
its astral significance became at length its most popular aspect.
[1] That is, we have no definite historical notices concerning him, but
we may infer from internal evidence in his saga that he possesses a
certain amount of historicity.
[2] By the discovery by Mr T. Pinches in a lexicographical tablet that
Gisdhubar=Gilgamesh.
[3] The inconsistency in details is caused by the composite nature of
the tale, which is drawn from two different tablets.
[4] These remarks are perhaps not to be taken literally of Eabani. They
represent the entirely formal manner in which any deceased Babylonian
was addressed.