Today's Topics: 

Atrahasis

In the Dalley text, on page 2 of the introduction, we learn that the name Atrahasis has parallels in the surrounding cultures.  In Babylonia, the survivor of the flood story is a man named Utnapishtim, whom we will see in the story of Gilgamesh.  In Hebrew, we would pronounce this name "Noah."  Stephanie Dalley, your translator for these readings, further suggests that the name Odysseus ("the wanderer," the hero of The Odyssey) derives his name as well from the abbreviation of Utnapishtim, Udzi (Odyssey).  All of these stories, and dozens that are similar, seem to suggest that flood stories were popular and pervasive in this place in the world, and most of it undoubtedly survived in oral form rather than written.  Since merchants and other travelers shared these tales far and wide, there is little doubt that the creation tales and flood narratives from the Near East bear resemblance to each other.

Tablet I of Atrahasis begins with the Anunnaki (the eldest creator gods) pawning off their labor to the lesser gods (the Igigi), who complain about their work being too difficult, digging endless canals and trenches.  This is a scene that we have seen twice now -- once in The Epic of Creation and also in Enki and Ninmah. This argument will encourage the gods to create mankind so that we may do this work ("bear the yoke of the gods," much like a work animal), while giving these gods a rest. On page 10 the Igigi set their wooden farming tools on fire, and on page 11 they knock on Ellil's door, demanding an explanation.  Ellil is frightened by the demands of his own children, so he calls together his fellow gods Anu and Enki to settle the disputes.  By page 12 we find that the Igigi have "declared war" on the Anunnaki.  On page 13, Ellil decides that mankind should be created to ease the burden of the gods' work, but in order for this to occur, one of the gods must sacrifice his body.  This god will be Ilawela (NOTE: some versions of this text list the name as Geshtu-e), a god of intelligence, whose blood will be mixed with fertile clay from the riverbanks.  The Mother Goddess will combine the clay and blood to form mankind, a beautiful melding of the male/female forces.

Be aware that the Mother Goddess goes by several different names, including Ninhursag, Mami, Nintu, etc.  They are all the same, but these names reflect different duties that they perform.  Nintu, for instance, means "birth lady," and this name will be used when we see Ninhursag create.  She will be referred to as Mami when she plays the role of comforter and decision-maker, and this may indeed be the place where people began saying the word "Mommy." Notice, however, that Mami needs Enki's permission before creating human beings.

By pages 16-17, Mami is mixing the clay and the blood, ultimately creating seven male and female humans simultaneously.  Several references are made to the rituals of childbirth, especially those involving a newly stamped brick.  Apparently the bricks used at the time used to puff out in the middle when they cured (dried), thus resembling a pregnant woman's belly.  Interestingly, Mami dictates on page 17 that mothers should cut their own umbilical cords, perhaps to suggest that a mother, not the midwife, should determine for herself when she is ready to "let go" of her child into the world. 

You should also notice that Mami creates seven pairs of humans, allowing us once again to see the number 7 used symbolically in mythology, best illustrated in the 7-day week. Why is the number 7 so important to early cultures?  The answer is to be found in astronomy.  The Mesopotamians were avid astronomers, and the wise men of the villages would be charged with watching the night sky for changes that might offer clues to the future.  When looking at the night sky over the course of a night, you will see that the stars rotate around the axis point of the earth (in the northern sky).

Not only does the moon officially change its phase every seven days (new moon, half moon waxing, full moon, and half moon waning), but the ancient astronomers could not figure out why the stars in the sky stay "fixed," while seven other objects changed their locations constantly (the sun, moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn). When the ancient astronomers wanted to remember how these seven lights moved over the course of a year, they invented stories about them and gave these lights names and personalities.  Since the ancients did not have paper to sketch out these planetary movements, creating stories about their journeys became the methods of recalling major conjunctions and oddities, such as eclipses.

Once they are created, the humans assume the labors of the gods.  However, this causes them to make a lot of noise (due to the banging and pounding of their labors), which makes Ellil very frustrated and annoyed.  After 600 years have passed since the creation of human beings, Ellil decides to send the šuruppu-disease to Earth (a water-borne illness), causing the people to become sick and die.

Interestingly enough, different versions of these stories suggest different explanations for the "noise" that the first humans generated.  In this story, the noise seems to refer to the general chaos of overpopulated villages, abuzz with activity, much as we saw in The Cursing of Agade, where the merchants and customers stood elbow-to-elbow in the market square.  In other stories, the gods destroy the humans because they are sinful (Genesis) or because they blaspheme the gods (from an Egyptian story called "The Destruction of Mankind," which we will read later).  Still other versions suggest that the "noise" made by the people is the din of carousing and partying people, irresponsible and disrespectful. No matter what the reasons, these early cultures were aware of the fleeting nature of life -- here today, gone tomorrow.  Since mankind inherited the labors of the gods, I would tend to believe that their noise is created out of their the work (digging canals with their tools clanging on rocks, etc.).

Atrahasis will become a hero to his people.  Because he had communicated intimately with Enki for many years, Atrahasis can ask special favors of the great god.  Bear in mind that the Sumerians believed in "personal" gods who could assist individuals (sort of like guardian angels in Christianity).  Each person would have a patron god: a warrior might pray to Ellil, a new mother to Ninhursag, etc.  Atrahasis prays to Enki (Ea in other parts of the story) on pages 18-19, asking Enki what he can do to relieve the people of their terrible diseases.  On page 19, Enki advises Atrahasis to pray (and offer sacrifices to) Namtara, the "decider of fate," and gatekeeper to the Underworld (you may refer to this character, loosely, as "the devil" of "The Grim Reaper").  We saw this character in Nergal and Ereshkigal and Enlil and Ninlil, but he was called Namtar).

After building a great temple to Namtara and offering sacrifices, Namtara is shamed by the outpouring of love and removes his "hand" -- that is, he removes the violence that was caused by his own hands (or the hands of the Anunnaki collectively).  By praying and sacrificing to the gods who are harming you, you can shame them into better behavior -- killing them with kindness, which is what Jesus would later teach his followers to do.  Therefore, if the devil has been troubling you, then treat him kindly!  Please remember that I use that term "devil" very loosely.  Remember that gods and demons are often interchangeable in mythology, since the good works done to one person are viewed as evil works to someone else (sort of like terrorists vs. freedom fighters).

In Tablet II, 600 more years have passed, but Ellil is still angry at the "noise" of the humans' labor.  He decides to send down five additional curses on humanity, beginning with a drought on page 20.  By removing the rainwater, the crops dry up and the people begin to suffer and die.  This may have succeeded in killing all of humanity, except that Enki advises Atrahasis to rebel against the gods and offering more sacrifices to Adad, the god of the storms.  Sure enough, Adad becomes touched by the generosity of the people, and he eventually brings the rain once again.  This, of course, infuriates Ellil so much that he tries again to kill mankind through starvation (page 22).  This time, the effects are even worse than before, causing death and illness across Mesopotamia.

Ellil does not stop there, however, since he also curses mankind a fourth time (with more disease, on page 23).  By the time we arrive on page 24, Ellil further punishes the people with additional drought and starvation, and by page 25 we see a six-year drought that has so harmed the people that they begin resorting to slavery and cannibalism ("They served up a daughter for a meal," page 26).  Clearly, this depicts a desperate society that is struggling for survival in a very harsh and unpredictable environment.  Remember that the forces of Nature are out of our control, symbolized by the gods.

By page 27, Ellil is furious that his droughts and diseases have not reduced the number of human beings (and therefore the noise too!).  His advisors suggest reversing his strategy -- bring down a flood rather than a drought!  However, which god is in charge of supplying the flood waters?  Enki, amongst others, since Enki is the god of the sweet waters.  The problem is that Enki does not want to destroy the people that he helped to make.  Enki and Ellil get into a great verbal fight over this, ending with Enki agreeing to bring the flood waters (although he will find a way to help the people too!).  Enki makes a vow not to inform the people of their doom (directly), but Enki has a crafty plan.

Why does Enki go along with the plan and assume a vow of secrecy about the flood?  Well, imagine the Anunnaki as a version of our Supreme Court.  Typically, the court renders divided opinions (split decisions).  Many issues are decided on 5-4 margins, where five justices in the majority overrule the other four dissenters.  T he judges in the minority opinion, however, must abide by the new law, even though they voted against it.  After all, the law is the law.  Enki and Nintu would be considered in the minority, since most of the gods favored the idea of killing the people, so these few must go along with the plan against their will.

At the start of Tablet III, on the bottom of page 29, Enki speaks to the "wall" of Atrahasis' "reed hut," which will be heard by Atrahasis in a dream.  This indirect method of relaying the information allows Enki to retain his pact with his brother deities, but also allows humans one last fighting chance against their heavenly tormentors.  Enki tells the wall to demolish the reed hut and to build a boat, collect samples of the living beings, and to sail away to safety.  Although no dimensions are mentioned nor specific types of animals recalled, this story is the precursor to the more familiar story of Noah in Genesis 6-9.  Unlike the Bible story, however, Atrahasis involves his whole family and community, so there could have been dozens or hundreds of human occupants aboard the boat.  The members of the community, even the children, help him build his ship of multiple levels (see page 30).

Notice that Enki's behavior is very sly and sneaky.  This is typically the attribute of the feminine forces (not women, remember).  Since Enki is a water deity, and since water is mostly a feminine concept since it flows freely without inhibition, Enki (a male god) retains the attributes of the feminine forces.  Perhaps the most familiar character acting this way is the serpent in the Garden of Eden, who slyly tempts Eve into eating the forbidden fruit.  We will look at this story later in the semester, and we'll see that the words used to describe the serpent include "cunning," "crafty," "sly," etc.  The serpent will play the feminine roles, and Eve (a female) will naturally slip into this mentality.  Enki does the same here -- talking to a "wall" during a man's "dream" is technically not breaking Enki's vow of silence that he promised to the other gods (or is it?).  Watch for gods that play sneaky roles in order to get what they want.  Most times, when the gods break these rules, they usually are doing it to benefit humanity, not to destroy it. 

By page 31, the storm arrives, rages for seven days, and then subsides.  By page 32, however, Mami (Ninhursag) is furious with Ellil for destroying their creations.  The "gap of about 58 lines" can be filled in by references other versions of the story: Atrahasis' boat lands in an unspecified location, at which point he exits his boat and offers a sacrifice to the gods who "smelt the fragrance" and gathered "like flies over the offering."  This line can be found in Genesis as well, almost word for word, and it suggests that these gods must be worshipped and brought food and water sacrifices, for they are parched and famished after living for an entire week without any worship from the humans.  The Anunnaki are desperately hungry and thirsty by the seventh day because they depend on these sacrifices in order to survive.  (This makes Ellil's decision to destroy mankind quite puzzling.) 

The line in Genesis depicting Yahweh gathering around Noah's sacrifice "like flies" originates with the story Atrahasis.  Why would God be viewed as a fly?  Well, much like the birds, flies are also considered to be divine entities.  The fly represented death, as well as bravery in battle.  The Mesopotamians often made jewelry in the shape of flies (often dragonflies), and adorned it with the beautiful blue stone, called lapis lazuli.  Often, the great gods were depicted with wings, much like Marduk on the cover of your Dalley text.

Believe it or not, Ellil is one of these gods enjoying the wafts of the sacrifice, which makes Mami furious at him.  She scolds him for wishing to destroy the humans while he is eager to receive their offerings!  After some arguing amongst each other, Ellil figures out that Enki must be to "blame" for relaying the plan to the people below, and he makes his feelings known to the sweet waters god, who replies that he did what he did "in defiance of you [Ellil]," suggesting that the older gods have lost touch with their creations, forcing the newer gods to take aggressive action to replace the old-fashioned ideals of their elders.

In the end, the gods agree that total destruction of mankind is not in their best interests, but neither is limitless birthing of children.  A compromise is reached where one-third of the parents are allowed full childbearing privileges, one-third will struggle with their conceptions, and one-third will remain barren, thus slowing the pace of human regeneration.  Interestingly, scientists have concluded that, even 21st century America, one out of four couples will not be physically able to conceive or birth children successfully.  This shows me that the Sumerians were excellent observers of their societies, and that these stories help us to arrive at explanations as to why certain things occur in our lives while others do not.  Thus, we see the value of the myth to a culture.

Lugal-e (The Exploits of Nintura)

This story tells the tale of the god Nintura who defeated the Asag, basically the demon of the mountain. We have already seen why the mountains are so vilified by the Mesopotamians, having been invaded by the Gutians and other peoples who went to war over resources in Mesopotamia. This myth explains how Nintura, with the aid of his battle axe, Shar-ur, defeated the mountain and recycled its remains and separated its stones into two categories: the useful and unuseful stones.

The opening incantation to this myth provides a clear vision of the male-dominated mentality of this tale. Look for the following key words in the opening lines of the story that represent a clear affiliation with the masculine: "king," "superior," "all alone," "deluge," "Hero," and "Lord." Notice that Nintura is "reaping like barley the necks of the insubordinate." Instead of associating with fertility or birth, we now see an affinity with the harvest (or death). By focusing on the destructive aspects of the cycle of life, we see that people are most able to control death, as Nature appears to keep the mysteries of birth and life out of our complete control. Nintura can kill the mountain, which Nature somehow failed to destroy.

The story tells of the chaos created by the mountain (or the people from the hills). The other gods run away, fearing the power of Asag, but Nintura will heroically enter the battle by himself, separating his identity from the others. Battling against the "rain of coals and flaming fires," Nintura plays the role of the hero, bringing order to a world filled with chaos. Nintura will soon be called "Lord," much like Marduk was, suggesting that the Babylonians were searching for more powerful hero figures, and perhaps suggesting a slow shift toward monotheism, where the disparate gods were combined to generate newer gods with greater powers that could be projected onto other societies, striking fear into the hearts of the enemies.

Interestingly enough, Shar-ur had been the one to suggest this action to Nintura, perhaps eliminating any blame from him for the destruction that he may cause. This reminds me of a 9th century French national epic, called The Song of Roland. In this story, a Christian knight, Roland, serves his king Charlemagne as the French battle with the Moors (Muslims) from Northern Africa who have swept across Spain en route to France. Since the Moors are Muslim and the French Christian, we can see a battle of religions depicted here. The point of this example is that Roland slaughters the Muslim invaders to glorify his god. Yet, Christianity teaches us to avoid killing and judging others, so how does Roland justify his murder? Well, his sword has a name too, and it is the conduit of God's power. In other words, God controls the sword blade, not Roland, so Roland can be absolved of all wrongdoing. Whether this is political spin doctoring or simply backdoor justification used to kill Muslims is your guess.

Later in the story we begin seeing many references to the war as a "deluge" and a "flood." I have found that many references to floods in this literature appear to be metaphors for wars or battles. Sometimes it is difficult to separate the two and interpret the stories correctly. Perhaps many of the tales of the Great Flood really refer to fighting rather than flooding. This becomes evident when Enlil grants Nintura permission to attack Asag, calling Nintura "the Deluge," describing later how Nintura "yelled like a storm." You'll see these references everywhere.

As an interesting side note, I briefly explained a philosophy that Campbell and Moyers discuss on pages 98-99 in The Power of Myth.  It is the concept of the "I" and "Thou," promoted by 20th century Jewish philosopher Martin Buber.  Buber's theories explain that people make connections to their world in both personal and impersonal ways. 

Image three concentric circles (three circles drawn inside each other).  The center circle represents the "I," which is a person's mind and body, and it represents the psychological center of one's universe.  As children, we look at the world as something that revolves around us, and therefore we start out as egocentric beings ("It's all about me ...").  However, we soon learn that we live in a large world, but these objects that surround us may or may not be close to us.  The second circle that surrounds the "I" is called the "Thou," which is simply the old spelling for the word "you" used in the Middle Ages (such as you would see in the King James Bible from 1611).  Things that fall into this circle are the things that we treasure and value.  In other words, they are extensions of ourselves, and so we willingly accept them and care for them.  These may include people (families and friends) as well as objects (your car, cell phone, clothes, etc.).  Anything that you care about can be called a "Thou."  The outer circle, however, is the largest, and it represents the things that mean nothing to us, represented by the third person pronoun "It."

To provide a few examples, just look at how people operate in the world.  I onle was stopped at a traffic light when I noticed that the car in front of me had a bumper sticker that read "Love Your Mother Earth," a common environmental message. However, while the light was red, the driver opened his door and emptied his ashtray on the pavement. Someone who tosses his cigarette butts out of his car window is treating the earth as an "It."  However, campers who meticulously clean up their campsite and leave it as they found it are said to treat the earth as a "Thou." 

I also recalled a time when I was a young boy when I had a small stuffed animal, a puppy dog, that I inherited when I was 7 or 8 years old. My grandmother bought it for my 3-year-old sister, although she somehow didn't want it for her own. so I took possession of it since my grandmother appeared hurt by my sister's rejection of the gift.  I kept this stuffed animal beside my pillow in my bed, as many kids do.  One morning, I awoke to find the stuffed dog missing.  I looked around and found it on the floor beside my bed, face down.  Immediately, I felt a rush or adrenaline and an outpouring of compassion for the poor little stuffed doggie that must have been "hurt" by the fall.  However, upon thinking through this further, I questioned why I had so much compassion for a piece of cotton and polyester.  Whatever the reason, I "loved" this little toy, and therefore treated it as a "Thou," not an "It."  Why id this important?  Because, in myths, all things are to be treated as a "Thou," not an "It." 

In The Epic of Creation, w hen Marduk cuts Tiamat's body up, he is not doing this out of anger, spite, or hatred.  Rather, he is playing his role as a shaper of the world, while Tiamat willingly accepts her transformation from primeval ocean to the greater environment of the earth. Essentially, however, he treats her as an "It." In mythology, the gods do not die, but rather are recycled into different forms, so there appears to be no personal sympathy for retaining Tiamat in her present form.  Their demises are not brought upon them by personal acts, but rather natural cycles and changes. Look at whether characters treat each other as "Thous" or "Its" in ther Age of Aries.

Notice also that Nintura sees Asag as more of an "It" than a "Thou." Look at this description of the enemy: "It is a blister whose smell is foul, like mucus that comes from the nose." We find in the next sentence that the Asag's "words are devious," suggesting that the LAW has been ignored, which is a reference to society, not Nature. One student pointed out today that "devious" and "deviate" come from the same root word, and this suggests further that the Law is the stable force in Babylon that the Asag does not follow. Therefore he should be punished, and Nintura "pounded the Asag like roasted barley" and did something horrifying to "its genitals." Not only are the impersonal pronouns used, but Nintura also seems to be slaying the crops in this metaphor, perhaps indicating the dominance of society over Nature.

After Nintura defeats the mountain, drought occurs, and Nintura must collect the broken rocks and create dams and sluices for the water to flow properly. Notice that Nature isn't capable of arranging itself to provide life. We need the representative of the law to do this for us since Nature has failed us once again. Clearly, we can detect the bias here in favor of the kings and his power over those pesky Nature deities.

Perhaps one of the most interesting parts of this story appears in the section entitled "The Fixing of Destinies." Here we see a reference to Ninmah (the young Ninhursag) who seems to be granted her powers only from her son, Nintura. After he had destroyed the mountain, he fixes new destinies to its crumbled pieces. He separated the good rocks (the useful ones that could be made into tools and jewelry) from the bad ones, crushing the useless rocks into powder. Since "Ninhursag" means "Mountain Lady," I wonder if defeating the mountain might be a metaphor for defeating the Earth Mother.

Ninmah is referred to as the mother of Nintura, but she now takes orders from him. Instead of having woman be the symbol of fertility and life, that mantle has now been passed onto Nintura, the male who has "life-giving looks." Apparently Nintura alone can decide when life is created. He assigns his mother Ninmah a new identity (Ninhursag) and he allows her to become a birth mother because of his grace alone. "So be it," he says, "I have given you great powers," as if she could not conceive unless she had received his permission. Later, she is referred to as a "maiden," which implies virginity (although she is his mother). To rub this in further, we see Aruru enter in the next paragraph as a separate character. However, Aruru is simply another name for Ninmah or Ninhursag. They are the same characters, but they have been broken down here due to Nintura's wishes.

Some students viewed Nintura's treatment of Ninhursag positively, suggesting that he is honoring her by giving her a clean slate and a new identity, perhaps for sticking by his side when most of the other gods left him to fight the Asag alone. This is certainly a valid interpretation, although I presented the opposite view earlier because I find it to be more consistent with the mentality of the unit.

The rest of the story shows Nintura separating the dozens of rocks into categories as he fixes their destinies for the times to come. I have no idea what each of the Mesopotamian names are for the various rocks, and you will not be responsible for knowing this either on any quiz or test.

Anzu

This story is a parallel to Lugal-e that is described above. We have seen this occur before: one basic storyline is repeated in different tales, probably due to the extent of the oral traditions into different regions of the near East, where these plot lines are adapted to local legends and interests.

In this story, Anzu plays the role of the evil enemy of the gods. We originally saw Anzu as one of the three creatures in Inanna's Huluppu-tree and also as the eagle in Etana. Initially described in glowing terms because of his divine ancestors, Anzu soon turns against Ellil, who had placed Anzu as the gatekeeper to his temple, Duranki. While on the job one day, Anzu notices how easy it is for him to steal the Tablet of Destinies from Duranki. Remember that this Tablet is the new name for the Holy me, and it is the same one that Marduk had to reclaim from Qingu in The Epic of Creation. Since the Babylonians were a law-oriented society, and since the laws were written down, the Tablet becomes the symbol for all written law, which the kings claimed came from the gods, such as Shamash.

After the theft, Ellil asks three other warrior gods to step up and attack Anzu, but all three refuse: Adad (also known as Ishkur), Gerra (a war god), and Shara (the eldest son of Inanna). Only Nintura accepts the challenge, which is usually the first phase of heroism: accepting the adventure.

Nintura arms himself with seven winds, again showing a reference to the magic number of the gods. We will see another interpretation of this next week in Gilgamesh. He will need these weapons to go against a hideous creature that is a combination of a dragon's head, bird's body, and lion's claws. You can see a picture of this scene in the first few pages of the Dalley text (Nintura graces the cover of the book without Anzu). Notice Nintura's royal garments, variety of weapons strapped to his shoulders, and his muscular calves. He is clearly the right "man" for the job. Also, notice that Nintura, a god, is depicted in attractive human terms, while Anzu is a disgusting combination of terror-laden animals.

The battle is depicted once again in terms of a storm, as we saw in the earlier story. In this version, however, Nintura's weapons are afraid of Anzu and they refuse to enter the fray, unlike Shar-ur from the Lugal-e story above.

The battle is mostly uneventful, but notice that Nintura defeats Anzu by clipping off his wings, much the same method that is used in Etana, when the serpent was instructed by Shamash to bite off the evil eagle's wings to facilitate his new growth and rebirth. In this version, however, there is no rebirth awaiting Anzu -- just his defeat. The Tablet of Destinies is returned to Ellil, and Nintura becomes the hero for the day.

Announcements:

Your grades are now posted. I will post new updates after I complete new sets of quizzes and tests.

We will have our second test in two weeks on March 3rd. I will provide a study guide for the test on the World Lit Info page by Monday 20 February. I will also announce additional office hours next week as well.

Again, if you know that you will miss the March 3rd class, please make an arrangement to take the test before the break.

The withdrawal deadline is also March 3rd, so be aware that the midpoint of the semester is fast approaching.

Also, the coursepackets are arriving soon! I will announce when they become available, and I expect the price to be around $60. After Spring Break, I will not be posting any further documents from the coursepacket.

Due Next Time:

 

The Epic of Gilgamesh, I-VIII (Dalley, 39-95); READING GUIDE (222-233)

The Power of Myth, chapter 5 (Campbell, 151-206)

Quiz 6

Gilgamesh Notes (218-219)

Epic Conventions (220)

Numerical Symbolism in Gilgamesh (221)

Comparing the Floods of Gilgamesh and Genesis (239-240)

Gilgamesh and Huwawa (Version A) (241-247)

Gilgamesh and Huwawa (Version B) (248-250)

 

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