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The Epic of Gilgamesh

An epic is a long narrated poem that tells the great deeds of a hero, who represents his country’s values. See the coursepacket for a list of 16 typical epic conventions that define the genre.  The Epic of Gilgamesh will convey some moral truths about the human journey of life.

We discussed how Gilgamesh is a man who acts mostly like a god (he is described as being 2/3 god and 1/3 man, which is technically impossible on a family tree).  Actually, The Epic of Gilgamesh is one of many stories that simply retells the tale of the moving planets in the sky.  The character Gilgamesh is actually a personification of the planet Mercury – “the messenger” (Greek Hermes).  Early astronomers didn’t have paper or PDAs to record their data, so they memorized the locations of the stars and put them into story form.  Gilgamesh is 2/3 god for a simple astronomical reason -- the Mercury travels through the night sky in many locations throughout the year, but it only visits (passes through) 8 of the 12 constellations of the Zodiac (or 2/3 of the heavenly (or godly) bodies). 

This metaphor tells us that Gilgamesh is a character who is out of balance.  He is the typical alpha male, using his strength and appetites to rule his life.  He is described like a bull -- powerful, male, virile, and unstoppable.  He stays up all night, knocks down walls, makes love to everyone’s daughters, and is mostly out of control.  As the king of the city of Uruk, his subjects know that they can’t live with him ... and they can’t live without him.  The people pray to the gods for some relief.

NOTE: If you have read this story before, you may have read it in the popular prose version by translator N. K. Sandars.  This prose version uses some different tablets than the Dalley version, which is far more authentic and updated (although harder to read).  In Dalley's version, Ishhara, goddess of marriage and childbirth, is being prepared to marry Gilgamesh to provide a balance in his life. In the Sandars version, the people of Uruk attempt to marry him to the Goddess of Love (Ishtar).

Relief comes in the form of a newly created entity --  Enkidu.  Enkidu was created much like Adam (or sometimes Eve) in the Genesis story -- from the clay of the earth (plus water and a Divine Will by Aruru, a creator goddess whom we have seen before as the goddess Ninhursag).  At first he is an unpolished person, an incomplete, undeveloped character.  He is described as an animal (hairy and wild), and he protects these animals from humans.  Since this doesn’t serve the people well, Enkidu is viewed as a force of destruction and chaos (much like the serpent in Eden).

Once Enkidu is created, he protects the animals.  One day, a hunter (trapper) examines his traps, only to find that someone has been releasing the animals that he had caught.  As the days pass by, the hunter grows more frustrated, and he asks the elders of Uruk and the gods for some relief.  The culprit is Enkidu, our jungle boy, who has been protecting the animals in every way possible.  In fact, he is called “murderous” on page 55, although no references are made to Enkidu killing anything.  Why do the people of Uruk call him names?  Perhaps this is what we do when we wish to be superior to something or someone, or it could be that the people knew nothing about Enkidu, causing them to fear for the worst.  Enkidu’s releasing of the animals from the traps might create more hunger amongst the humans, but I hardly would call this “murder.”  What we begin to see here is society’s misunderstanding of nature.  We mock that which we don’t understand.

The elders of Uruk send a special intermediary, a priestess, who is known as a “divine harlot.”  Her name is Shamhat, and she is the sacred prostitute that will change Enkidu into a man.  Much like Adam and Eve, Enkidu learns what nakedness means, and he willingly throws himself on Shamhat.  For the next 7 days, Enkidu becomes “cultured” by this woman, whose special spiritual powers from Ishtar allow her to reform Enkidu into a more refined human being.  Once the week is over, however, all the animals of the forest run and hide from him.  Although he physically looks the same, nature knows that his inner nature has changed.  He has changed teams, so to speak, and Enkidu now casts his lot with society rather than nature.

Do not be disturbed by the character Shamhat in the story.  The ancient cultures often had sacred priestesses who advised the kings and queens about spiritual matters.  If a young man displayed too much ignorance, or if the need arose where boys needed to quickly become men (such as in times of war), the king would often offer his sacred harlot to “culture” these young men.  Being a woman, the priestess would have an understanding of the sacred knowledge of life, since woman is more closely connected to the earth and the wisdom of the feminine forces of nature.  When the young man would conjugate his relationship with this priestess, he would be said to have “known” her, gaining wisdom of manhood in the process.  This is where the word “know” originated (“know” is the Biblical word for “sex”).  You can now see how the ancients saw a connection between wisdom and woman, and woman with growth and development.

Gaining knowledge, however, always comes with a price. Once Enkidu has transformed himself into a man from beast, he is rejected by nature (the animals) and must leave that Eden behind him by joining with other people (Gilgamesh).  Enkidu, however, is considered to have “grown weak, for wisdom was within him” (this phrasing can be found in the N. K. Sandars version, which you do not have).  Let’s think this through.  Whereas most of us have been taught that the attainment of wisdom makes us stronger, Enkidu sees this differently.  Enkidu realizes his weaknesses once he accepts his invitation into the world of dualities.  Gaining knowledge, then experience, we can attain wisdom, which is the combination of these two qualities.  We become different people, and, in this scene, Enkidu becomes “twice born.”  We become more responsible ... and more afraid.

What did we fear as babies?  Nothing except that which directly threatens us in our immediate surroundings.  We were not conscious of good and evil as tiny children.  Once Enkidu becomes cultured, he is rejected by the animals who understand nature on a different plane.  As we grow from little kids to adults, we confront many mysteries along the way.  Once we understand what death is, for example, we become wiser, BUT knowledge of death simply gives us one more thing to worry about, thus making us weaker.  The extra knowledge also gives us extra burdens, more things to worry about.  Attaining a college degree will make you worry about the world more.  A more ignorant person won’t bother with the details about world poverty, preemptive war, avian flu epidemics, or global warming.  If you want to reduce your worries, then stop learning NOW!

The arrival of Enkidu is portended in two dreams that Gilgamesh has.  One shows a falling star that lands in Uruk, but Gilgamesh cannot lift it.  His mother Ninsun (Gilgamesh’s divine mother, the goddess of wisdom, in the form of a sacred cow) interprets his dream to mean that a companion will soon arrive to become Gilgamesh’s shadow and mirror image.  Gilgamesh has another dream where a copper axe falls into his lap.  Again, Ninsun explains that the axe is Enkidu.  Since an axe is a tool used to cut down trees, Gilgamesh understands that he will be able to cut down pine trees with the help of Enkidu so that he can build a large wooden fortress around his city.

Enkidu arrives in Uruk to compete with Gilgamesh.  At the moment when Gilgamesh is about to enter the house of his bride’s father, Enkidu arrives and blocks Gilgamesh from entering the door.  They wrestle, but in the process they discover that each man complements the other, thus making them “whole.”  Do not look at this too literally.  Metaphorically, however, each of their characteristics helps to place the other’s traits into a better and healthier balance.  Notice that Gilgamesh and Enkidu form a complete person by unifying their dual natures -- Enkidu represents nature (feminine force) while Gilgamesh represents civilization (male force).  Enkidu becomes the yin to Gilgamesh’s yang.

I also reviewed a short poem that will appear in your coursepacket called “Essay on Man,” written by 18 century Rationalist poet Alexander Pope, who attempts to place mankind's study of himself into a favorable light.  In this poem, Pope uses the image of an isthmus to illustrate our conflicts with duality.  An isthmus is a narrow strip of land, bound on two sides by water, and connects two larger pieces of land.  If a person were to be placed on the isthmus, he/she would be torn between the two possible directions, limited to a choice between dualities.  Is a human more like God or more like a beast?  Should we value our minds or bodies more?  Is society more important than Nature?  Here is the poem:

 

"Essay on Man"

Epistle II - Of the Nature and State of Man with Respect to Himself, as an Individual

KNOW then thyself, presume not God to scan,

The proper study of mankind is man.

Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state,

A being darkly wise, and rudely great:

With too much knowledge for the sceptic side,

With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,

He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;

In doubt to deem himself a God, or beast;

In doubt his mind or body to prefer;

Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err;

Alike in ignorance, his reason such,

Whether he thinks too little or too much:

Chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd;

Still by himself abus'd or disabus'd;

Created half to rise, and half to fall;

Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;

Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd:

The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

Pope mentions that mankind is a great "riddle of the world" because we cannot make up our minds about our own natures.  One duality is God/beast.  Well, are we gods?  Well, we can build things, we can fly in airplanes, and we can talk in virtual reality.  However, we also have animalistic desires, we act for ourselves rather than our societies, and we ultimately face the fate of everything in Nature -- death.  So, we are not completely gods nor beasts, but we share the qualities of each.  Pope continues his list by mentioning many other aspects of our dual nature (mind/body, thought/passion, rise/fall, action/rest, truth/error, etc.).  Pope's thesis is that we are stuck in the middle because we share the natures of both sides of the duality.  Once we lean in one direction, we begin to deny ourselves of the necessity to experience the other side as well. In Gilgamesh, we see the main character as a pure representation of the masculine side (the side that represents strength, society, God).

Enkidu is created to give Gilgamesh some balance, and so we can place Enkidu on the other side of the isthmus, on the feminine side that reflects nature.  The intention of creating a mirror image of Gilgamesh is to help Gilgamesh wander further over to the feminine side, with the best case scenario being a meeting in the middle between both characters.  However, we will see soon that Enkidu is summoned to the masculine side after his conversion into “profound Enkidu” by Shamhat, but Gilgamesh will not be affected at all.  He will remain in the camp of the masculine, and this will be the main problem that he must overcome throughout the story – understanding the other side (nature, death, femininity, etc.).

Interestingly, after the fight is over, Enkidu breaks down crying.  He begins talking about a creature named Humbaba, the keeper of the Pine Forest of Lebanon.  Rumor tells the people of Uruk that this beast is the “terror of people” whose “breath is death.”  Again, what you don’t understand might seem to be scary.  Certainly, no one has been able to defeat Humbaba, and no one has challenged this creature and lived to tell about it.  Although this inspires Gilgamesh to give it a try, Enkidu’s reaction is to cry.  Why?

Besides suffering with emotion for failing to defeat Gilgamesh, Enkidu is now viewing the world through a very different filter than he did before.  Earlier, as a fully vetted member of Nature, Enkidu cohabited with all the creatures of the wild, including the scary ones, such as lions, bulls, etc.  Suddenly, now that he has shifted his bias toward society and away from Nature, he is starting to confront the same fears as the people of Uruk do -- the fear of the unknown, or the fear of that which is different from the self.  Now that Enkidu is a “man,” he has learned to fear Nature, since Nature is more powerful than himself.

A small child doesn't think twice about sticking his head into the tiger cage to "pet the kitty cat."  The parents, however, know better than to trust a tiger, so they will discourage the child from approaching the tiger cage, for fear of the real possibility of their child becoming a snack.  A child must test her limits, and the only way to learn is through experience (remember that Campbell tells us that people seek the experience of being alive).  Now that Enkidu has developed into an adult mindset, he now knows what he didn't know before -- that Nature can kill you, especially at the moment of death!

Gilgamesh, however, gets this great idea to leave a legacy, and he will do so by building a wall around Uruk.  Since there is no hardwood in the Tigris River valley, due to deforestation and competition for resources, our two heroes must travel on a dangerous journey to Lebanon to acquire the wood from the pine forest (the Sandars translation refers to the "Cedar" forest, but Dalley explains in a footnote that new discoveries reveal that the wood from many archaeological digs is pine, not cedar).  The problem exists in the character of Humbaba, the keeper of the forest, and a monster with the giant tusk, described by Gilgamesh as "evil." 

Although everyone counsels Gilgamesh against this journey, he rationalizes it as a "win/win" situation -- if he successfully returns with the lumber, then he is a hero; if he dies while fighting, then he still becomes a hero and leaves a memorable legacy as a brave warrior.  On page 141, Campbell informs us that some people need a war to feel truly alive.  In fact, many of us press our limits and and participate in risky behaviors because these things make us feel alive, while ironically placing us close to the hands of death.  Those of us who like driving too fast, jumping out of airplanes, or riding roller coasters are acting a lot like Gilgamesh did.  

This leads us to a few points about heroes and heroism. Although many students would define a hero as a character who performs deeds of bravery and strength, there is a more appropriate literary definition of heroism that Campbell discusses extensively in chapter 5 of The Power of Myth. Let's explore the different aspects of heroism.

First of all, Campbell discusses the formula for the hero's journey, summed up on pages 166-167 in The Power of Myth:

1. DEPARTURE -- the hero leaves his home or his earlier state of being, either to recover something lost or to gain something new
2. FILFILLMENT -- he undertakes an adventure that tests his mettle and challenges his character
3. RETURN -- he returns to his community or his home a changed person, using his new knowledge to assist and improve his people

A hero does not have to kill a monster to be tabbed as a hero. In fact, Campbell discusses that many of the great religious figures fall into this definition of heroism, including Moses, Buddha, and Jesus. All of these men left their people, experienced an amazing transformation, and returned to improve their societies and transform their futures. And a hero doesn't need to be man. Although most traditional heroes are male, many great heroines exist as well, including Isis, a tirelessly driven goddess in Egypt. Campbell even explains that a mother is a hero when she gives birth, and that "everyone is a hero in birth" (152-153). Most heroes were created in societies promoting male domination, and this is a product of the Age of Aries ("I Am") and afterward. After all, societies need heroes, not Nature.

In addition, the hero undertakes different types of experiences, performing distinct types of deeds and quests. On page 152, Campbell addresses the two types of heroic deed: the physical deed and the spiritual deed. Although a character's deed may be both simultaneously, you should notice that the actions that the character uses address two different types of conflict: the external and internal conflicts. A hero who kills a monster (such as Beowulf slaying Grendel, the dragon) performs a physical deed, but a hero who discovers his true purpose in life (Harry Potter) performs spiritual deeds that improve his psyche or mind.

Furthermore, the hero must undergo his quest either voluntarily or involuntarily, as Campbell explains on pages 157-158. Campbell uses the situation of the military draft during the Vietnam era as an example of an involuntary quest. The soldier didn't plan to do this, but now he's there on the battlefield, forced to perform as a hero. Arthur's Knights of the Round Table voluntarily searched for the Holy Grail, through God's inspiration. Typically, the quest must be categorized as either one or the other: voluntary or involuntary.

Back to the Gilgamesh story, Enkidu is adopted by Ninsun, Gilgamesh's mother, who asks Enkidu to look out for her son.  Now that these characters are "brothers," they should help each other to stay out of trouble.  Enkidu, however, instructs the elders to dissuade Gilgamesh from taking this trip on page 63, calling it a journey "not to be undertaken."  Gilgamesh, however, asks his mom, Ninsun, for advice, and she laments to Shamash that her son has a restless heart.  Ninsun, Shamash, and the city elders instruct Enkidu to be the leader on the journey, to guide Gilgamesh into the forest, and to bring him back alive.  After all, Enkidu knows the paths and the dangers of the forest, so he should lead Gilgamesh.  The problems occur on the journey when Enkidu slowly relinquishes power back to Gilgamesh, who has rarely followed the lead of others.

Remember that an epic is a long narrated poem that tells the great deeds of a hero, who represents his country's values.  The Epic of Gilgamesh conveys some essential truths about the human journey of life.  Notice that Gilgamesh and Enkidu should form a complete person by unifying their dual natures -- Enkidu represents nature (feminine force) while Gilgamesh represents civilization (male force).  Enkidu is created to become the yin to Gilgamesh's yang.  As long as these sides remain in balance and true to their origins, order will be maintained.  Otherwise, chaos will reign supreme.  Unfortunately, that's exactly what happens next ....

Tablet IV begins with a description of the travelers riding upstream to Lebanon.  The trip takes from "the new moon to the full moon," implying a 14-15-day journey, plus 3 additional days (for a total of 17-18 travel days).  The changes in the moon are symbolic.  The full moon would have signified the height of danger and evil, since the moon represents the dark side of life.  A new moon (invisible to the eye) would have indicated the most auspicious interpretations.  Therefore, as the two warriors travel upstream, the moon grows bigger and bigger, representing that bad days are approaching quickly.

Gilgamesh has several dreams in this story, but three important dreams occur and are translated by Enkidu.  The first dream shows a mountain toppling onto the plains at Gilgamesh's feet, and Enkidu says that this represents the fall of Humbaba and victory in battle.  The second dream is not attainable from the broken text, but other translations discuss Gilgamesh battling with a bull, and Enkidu interprets this to mean that Shamash, the sun god (symbolized as a bull), will protect Gilgamesh on the trip.  It also likely foreshadows their battle with the Great Bull of Heaven after they return from Lebanon. Gilgamesh's third dream, however, is a nightmare, and Gilgamesh is afraid of it.  He dreams of death and destruction, and his world burning down to ashes. 

This interpretation makes Enkidu become paralyzed with fear. Enkidu sees these events as bad omens, and begins to find a way out of the war with Humbaba.  But Gilgamesh takes Enkidu by the hand and assumes the lead (which goes against the advice of the elders and priests of Uruk).  Humbaba is quickly approaching, and Enkidu becomes scared.  The actions of both characters now will be made through fear, which is always leads to dangerous consequences.  Humbaba towers over the two warriors, and he threatens to break their necks and eat them for a snack (and he wonders if their puny bodies can satisfy his stomach!).

Gilgamesh reassures Enkidu that they have the protection of Shamash, the sun god, who conjures up the 13 winds that restrain Humbaba because they blow at him from different directions.  Pay attention to the numbers in this part of the story.  Notice that Shamash tells the characters on page 73 that "Humbaba will not be clothed in seven cloaks," suggesting that Humbaba will only have seven forms of godly power to work with (these powers were called the holy me in the Inanna stories).  If you recall, the number 7 represents the seven moving lights in the sky that apparently follow more roving patterns than do the more distant (or "fixed") stars on the firmament, so divinities often held power in multiples of seven.  Do you recall that Inanna carried seven holy me with her when she ventured into the underworld, depicted as seven garments that were removed as she passed through the seven gates of the Underworld? 

Picture this battle between Gilgamesh and Humbaba as two forces fighting against each other, such as society vs. Nature.  If Humbaba has seven me, and Humbaba represents Nature, then the opposite force to Nature must naturally contain the same amount of power, since the two sides of a duality balance themselves out.  Therefore, we can assume that society will also carry seven types of power into the battle.  Shamash says to Gilgamesh that Humbaba will be "wearing only one; six are taken off" (page 73), implying that Shamash will remove six of Humbaba's powers so that he can use them against the monster. 

Therefore, by stealing six me from Humbaba, and adding them to Gilgamesh's own pool of seven me, Gilgamesh and Enkidu can attack Humbaba with 13 total me versus Humbaba's remaining one. These become manifested in the 13 winds that Shamash conjures up that hold Humbaba in a state of suspended animation.  Why does Humbaba still have one left?  Because he can't be powerless, especially as a representative of the ugly side of Nature.  The number 13 is also derived from basic geometry and mathematical calculations, including the 12 constellations of the Zodiac plus the sun equals 13 as well.  This is mirrored in Buddha and his twelve disciples, Jesus with his twelve apostles, etc.  This number represents power, whether you consider it to be lucky or otherwise.    

Enkidu regains some of his confidence, and perhaps follows Gilgamesh's lead too much.  He becomes more "masculine," much like Gilgamesh, and eventually suggests that the two of them should slay the giant.  They have to act fast, because Humbaba's henchmen have started to emerge from the deep woods with weapons.  Gilgamesh is confused and wonders where to begin.  Enkidu uses his new skills of reason to suggest that they should kill Humbaba for two reasons: 1) Ellil (who supports Humbaba) will soon return, causing their job to become harder an more dangerous; and 2) he reasons that, by killing the mother hen (Humbaba), the chicks (Humbaba's army) will scatter in fear after losing their commander.

I often make an allusion here to William Shakespeare's tragedy Julius Caesar, where the same logic backfired on the protagonist.  If you have read this play in high school, you would know that Caesar had grown too powerful, causing two characters by the names of Cassius and Brutus to plot a conspiracy against Caesar.  While discussing their game plan, both characters argued about their methods.  Cassius wants to kill Caesar as well as his close advisors, including the fast-rising Mark Antony.  Brutus wanted to execute Caesar too, but did not want to be tagged as a mass murderer, claiming that the conspirators should act like "sacrificers, not butchers."  Brutus argues that if they kill the head (Caesar), then they do not have to "hack the limbs" (Mark Antony).  Brutus gets his way -- they kill the dictator alone, but this allows Antony to assume the leadership role vacated by Caesar.  Antony ended up being far more brutal than Caesar ever was, and the conspirators met their bloody deaths as a result.  Enkidu uses the metaphor of the chickens, rather than the head and limbs, but it's the same message, and it may contain similar logical flaws.

Here's where the problems begin.  Was Humbaba really evil?  He certainly had a reputation, but, metaphorically, he really just  represents Nature itself.  Specifically, Humbaba represents the ugly, fearful side of nature.  Have you ever seen a dead animal splattered across the road?  That's Humbaba.  Ever been chased by an angry dog?  Humbaba again.  Ever have a wasp nest in your garage?  Yup, that's Humbaba too.  He represents the ugliest and most frightening aspects of Nature -- the things that we wished that we could do without, such as death.  Humbaba's face is depicted as an ugly, contorted mass of intestines, with fissures, nooks, and crannies pock-marking his large head.  He is supposed to be reprehensible to look at, especially since he represents the dark sides of Nature.  I have included his picture in your reading guide (and it's only a face that a mother could love!).

Once bound by the 13 winds, Humbaba starts to bargain with Gilgamesh and Enkidu.  He offers them lumber of any variety, and says that he will personally deliver the very best that the forest can offer.  Why the sudden change in temperament?  Isn't this a typical human reaction when facing an obstacle?  If we can't beat 'em, join 'em?  Does Humbaba forget his real nature?

Ironically, Enkidu forgets his own nature (and his past connection to it), and instead replaces these perspectives with the far more male dominant ones of his king.  In essence, both characters are now of one mind, and they no longer create a balance between the Divine and Nature (or Civilization vs. Nature, as their original union represented).  Now that Humbaba is dead, the gods decide that someone must pay for exploiting and abusing nature for mankind's selfish gain.  Someone will have to die, and that character will be ... Enkidu.

After defeating Humbaba, floating the timber downstream, and building the protective wall around Uruk, the goddess of love and war, Ishtar (Inanna), decides to make Gilgamesh her consort.  However, he flatly turns her down, mostly due to her reputation.  She has destroyed the lives of many men, including Dumuzi, and has reduced them to nothingness.  The section describes six total husbands of Ishtar who have all met grim fates, including the bird whose wing was broken, the lion cast into the lion pit, and the shepherd who was changed into a wolf, amongst others.

Although we can understand Gilgamesh's decision to reject Ishtar, notice that he once again fights against the feminine forces (first Nature, now the Nature Goddess).  Ishtar is the Goddess of both love and war (among other things, including procreation, fertility, etc.).  Why do love and war walk hand-in-hand?  Perhaps we fight for that which we love the most.  Just watch two guys fight over a girl (or two girls over a guy).  We would not fight a war unless we love someone (or something) enough to take action.  Also, by rejecting Ishtar's treatment of Dumuzi, Gilgamesh once again proves that he is NOT viewing the world in balance, since he ignores the female metaphors (through a man's eye, Dumuzi was killed by Inanna, but a feminine perspective recognizes and admires the changes that he has gone through).

After Gilgamesh's refusal, Ishtar complains to her father, Anu, and seeks his help to destroy Gilgamesh.  Anu grants his daughter the Great Bull of Heaven to corrupt the land as a punishment for Gilgamesh's and Enkidu's actions.   She is allowed to send down to earth the Bull of Heaven, which symbolizes a seven-year drought.  However, Gilgamesh and Enkidu each defeat this beast, sending the other gods into confusion.  The bull and cow are common fertility symbols, and they usually represent life, not death.  However, remember that this bull belongs to "heaven."  Recall from the Adapa story that the Sumerians used the same word to mean both "heaven" and "death," meaning that this particular bull will represent heaven/death.  In other words, he represents drought.  Imagine a bull standing in the desert sands, snorting and kicking up dust clouds (drought).

How can these mortals dictate to Nature what will be?  Notice that Gilgamesh seems to be attacking women and the female forces very consistently.  Even Enkidu becomes more brash, yelling insults toward Ishtar.  At one point, Enkidu rips off one of the legs of the Bull and tosses it up into the heavens as an insult to Ishtar.  This part of the story explains to the children of Mesopotamia why one leg in the constellation Taurus (the Bull) hangs lower than the other one (remember that this epic recalls a narrative version of the stars).

At this point, we should notice that Nature (woman) has been defeated at every turn -- Enkidu has been transformed from nature to civilized, Humbaba was executed, trees were cut down, and the Great Bull of Heaven was slaughtered in front of the gods.  Therefore, a good question to ask here is, "What has Gilgamesh learned?"  If he was supposed to warm up to the side of Nature, it obviously didn't work, since Gilgamesh is more steadfast in his masculinity than ever before.

This is the place where we ended our look at Gilgamesh for the day. We will complete our examination of this story next Friday before we take the test. As a service to my Friday students, the following summary of the conclusion of Gilgamesh is provided to give you some insight into the ending before you come to class on Friday. Again, we will discuss the following in class next time, but here is your sneak preview:

Enkidu has two frightening dreams.  The first shows the great gods discussing what they should do about Enkidu.  They decide that either he or Gilgamesh must die.  They choose Enkidu, partly because he has deviated from his nature (plus, Gilgamesh helps to glorify the gods by building temples, etc.).  When he tells Gilgamesh his dream, Gilgamesh becomes emotional and denies Enkidu's interpretations.  That's when Enkidu begins to insult those characters who helped him to attain his lofty presence.  He first curses the hunter, since the hunter was the one who brought Shamhat to the woods.  Next he blames this sacred prostitute for culturing him.  He curses their futures, praying for destruction and pain in the lives of these people.

Shamash, the sun god, then intervenes and tells Enkidu to grow up and accept his fate.  After all, because of the hunter and the harlot, Enkidu was able to experience things that he never would have been able to do before, such as wear royal clothes, eat excellently prepared food, seek human companionship with Gilgamesh, attain the status of a hero for successfully bringing the pine lumber to Uruk, etc.  Really, Enkidu has lived a good and meaningful life (albeit a short one), but now is his time to die.  We are all given the gift of life from the gods -- without asking for it -- so we have nothing to complain about.

Enkidu's second dream takes him into the Underworld, where he describes the dusty dim nature of the time spent beyond life on earth. Tables XII at the end of the epic explores this idea further, although no real action takes place to discuss. We have already seen the Underworld, so we can overlook the twelfth tablet in our discussion of Gilgamesh.

Look at Gilgamesh as being on the side of civilization, and look at Enkidu on the side of Nature.  When Enkidu is transformed into a civilized man by Shamhat, he rejects his Nature side, crossing the isthmus into the opposite realm (remember the isthmus reference from the Alexander Pope poem Essay on Man).  This is why he is out of balance, and why he must die rather than Gilgamesh.

By killing Humbaba, Enkidu has effectively killed his own essence and heritage.  In the process, he has assumed more of Gilgamesh's mannerisms and outlooks on life.  Originally, Enkidu was created help balance Gilgamesh, but by the middle of the story, both Gilgamesh and Enkidu are firmly on the side of society.  Also, since Humbaba has now been killed, what remains on the other side of the duality?  Not much, which is why the gods must balance this out before society overtakes Nature completely, which would kill both sides in the process.  Maybe we learn that we can never run away from our God-given attributes, lest we violate the beauty of our intended place on the spectrum.  Perhaps the Parable of the Talents applies here too.

Maybe this episode of Enkidu's death explains that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Mess with Nature ... and she'll mess with you too!  When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh sees himself lying there.  He mourns for a week. He bolts the door, trashes his home, pulls out his hair, and grieves over the decaying body of his friend. 

This is a good place to introduce one final concept regarding the hero's journey: the difference between the false journey and the proper journey. Often, we travel down a path in life that we think is appropriate, but we may later find out that it was the wrong path to take, and that we may have wasted our time by traveling down the wrong road. For example, a student may pursue a degree in a field, only to determine after receiving his diploma that he really should have majored in something else. It's not that the false journey is a complete waste, but it may delay our ability to achieve our true calling in life.

Gilgamesh has realized that killing Humbaba has its consequences, and that Enkidu's death is a direct result of Gilgamesh's arrogance and ambitions. Had they not bothered Humbaba, Enkidu would have still been alive. After realizing this terrible turn of events, Gilgamesh will now devote his life to his more proper journey -- the search for the power to bring his friend back from the dead.  This journey is really his most important one, since he must learn the lessons of life that have not yet sunken in. Gilgamesh must set forth on the journey that he should have been on all along -- the quest for eternal life -- the ultimate spiritual journey.  He now embarks on a more dangerous journey to the other side of the world to talk with the only man who was granted eternal life -- Utnapishtim, the Faraway ("He who saw everything," also known to us as Atrahasis or Noah).

Having undergone the loss of his companion, Gilgamesh is clearly distraught.  He is unkempt, dirty, and haggard looking, wearing torn lion skins and walking around in a daze.  Finally, he is able to feel the pain of someone else -- Enkidu.  Joseph Campbell discusses that the word "compassion" perfectly applies here.  The etymology of this word is simple: "com" means "with," and "passion" means "suffering," which we will see more clearly in the Eastern unit.  Therefore, "compassion" really means "to suffer with someone else."  In other words, you feel their pain, and you cry when they cry too.  Before, Gilgamesh only looked out for himself, but now he has a new, painful realization about life and death that he had to learn through the tragedy of Enkidu's passing.

To begin his journey, he suits up his armor and heads eastward, since the East represents life and birth (the West represents death, given that the sun "dies" each day by thrusting itself into the Western grave).  When he reaches the tunnel, he takes a brief nap to energize himself for the journey.  When he awakens, he sees two lions playing nearby.  Perhaps out of jealousy (or even pure masculine aggression), Gilgamesh slaughters these animals (ironically, the symbol of Ishtar is also the lion, suggesting that Gilgamesh is also displaying his rejection of feminine qualities here too).  Gilgamesh seems angry at Nature for allowing death to be a part of life.  His grief is deep, and he is not thinking rationally.  Since Enkidu's death, Gilgamesh is once again out of balance, allowing his angry masculine side dominate his character.  It appears to be easier to bring everyone else down with you when you are having a bad day than it is to lift yourself up.

Gilgamesh then approaches the mouth of the tunnel, but it is guarded by two Scorpion-Men (intermediaries).  These characters are also universal, used in Egyptian lore, amongst others.  They are the solar guardians of the East, preventing people from traveling into the world of eternal light (the east, the sun, etc.).  Gilgamesh, however, convinces these dark forces that he should be allowed to embark on this once-in-a-lifetime quest, and he enters the mouth of the cave.  His status as a man who is 2/3 god perhaps gives him this privilege.

By traveling through the mountain tunnel, Gilgamesh learns that from darkness comes the light.  Much like traveling through a birth canal, Gilgamesh exits through the other side where he comes to the land east of Eden (the great garden), a landscape laden with bejeweled fruit and spiky plants made from gemstones.  He has arrived at the other side of the world, where nobody lives except Utnapishtim and several assistants.  Gilgamesh is their first visitor, and he meets several characters who all tell him the same message: you will not find that which you are seeking (eternal life).

The first is Siduri, the divine wine maker, who hides in her house and locks her doors when she sees this dirty, tattered, frazzled man emerge from the mountain.  He approaches her door, tells his heroic stories, and asks her where he can find "The Far-Away," Utnapishtim, the survivor of the Great Flood.  Siduri's status as a maker of wine evokes the imagery of blood and water, both essential liquids of human life.  Perhaps Gilgamesh has come to the right place. However, Siduri tells Gilgamesh to go back home and live each day to the fullest, but he is stubborn, as we have seen him act throughout. 

Siduri tells Gilgamesh that he will not succeed in his journey to find eternal life. If you were to flip to pages 149-151 in the Dalley text, you will see that Gilgamesh has been told this many times in the story: "You will not find the eternal life you seek." He hears this from the elders of Uruk, the Scorpion Men guarding the mountain tunnel, Shamash the sun god, and now Siduri. He will continue to hear the same mantra from Urshanabi and Utnapishtim as well. She then sends Gilgamesh down the shoreline to meet a ferryman, Urshanabi, who has a magic boat than may be able to transport Gilgamesh to the Land of the Far-Away. 

He hikes his way to Urshanabi to explain his situation and to ask the ferryman for a ride to the land of Utnapishtim.  However, upon his arrival, Gilgamesh breaks Urshanabi's boat and its accompanying "things of stone." He also knocks Urshanabi upside the head in the scrum.  Is he simply frustrated?  Does he not trust what he sees anymore?  The stunned ferryman gladly agrees to transport Gilgamesh to the distant land, but first tells our hero that he has a lot of work to do building another boat. Although the boat can be rebuilt, the "things of stone" cannot be repaired (Dalley 102). These stones were magic charms that propelled the boat over the "lethal water," or the still Water of Death that surrounds the dry land, peaked by the mountain, in the Babylonian diagram of the universe. Urshanabi also instructs Gilgamesh to cut down 300 pine poles and to add "knobs" to them.  But why?

The two figures begin their water journey, which will include passing over poison waters. This has become more difficult without the use of the magic stones. Since the lethal waters cannot be touched, they won't be able to use oars, since the water would splash upward with each stoke. Since the waters circle the mountain of the Underworld, they represent the opposite of life, which is often symbolized by "wind" (also referred to as "spirit" or "life"). With no wind over the waters, they cannot use a sail either. Without the "things of stone," Gilgamesh will be forced to propel the boat across the gloomy waters for an entire month by pushing off the bottom of the waters using his 30-meter-long pine poles, being careful to discard them into the deadly waters after each stroke. He needs to continue propelling the boat in this fashion, being careful to avoid exhausting the supply of poles. 

When he runs out of poles in the middle of the sea of death, he must get creative.  Standing at the prow of the boat, arms extended, he removes his lion skins and uses them as a makeshift sail.  It somehow works, and he arrives in the land of the Far-Away after a month's journey over the treacherous sea.  When Utnapishtim looks out of his window, he can't believe his eyes that he is seeing a visitor to his home -- no one had ever visited before!

When he finally arrives at the land of the "Far-Away" (Utnapishtim), he again learns the same message -- gods live forever, but people don't.   Several characters repeat the same message to Gilgamesh: "There is no permanence," and "that which you seek you shall not find."  The holy counselors of Uruk told him this, as did the Scorpion-Men, Shamash the Sun God, Siduri (the Divine Wine Maker), Urshanabi (the ferryman), and Utnapishtim (the wisest man).  They explain to Gilgamesh that the gods, upon inventing eternal life, only granted that lot to themselves.  To people, we were granted the "gift" of death, as the days of life are numbered, but the days of death are not.  Perhaps this forces us to recognize each day as a treasure.  Each day should be filled to the fullest, with singing, dancing, and feasting (says Siduri).  Dwell more on life than on death; otherwise, your life will become death as well.

When Gilgamesh arrives at Utnapishtim's land, he becomes the first visitor to this location.  Utnapishtim's wife looks out her window, sees a strange and haggard man approaching, and tells her husband that they have company!  Once again, Gilgamesh tells his heroic tales and explains his mission.  Utnapishtim cuts him off at one point and asks Gilgamesh why he continues to grieve, especially knowing that each day spent in sadness is one fewer happy day left in life.  He essentially tells Gilgamesh to stop using his living days to dwell on his eventual death.  This is when Utnapishtim tells Gilgamesh his story of surviving the Great Flood by heeding Ea's commands spoken through his reed hut wall in a dream (see the Atrahasis story). 

Gilgamesh insists, so he is put to the test -- an attempt to stay awake for a week.  If Gilgamesh really thinks that he deserves eternal life, then he surely can stay awake for a measly week!  However, he cannot even stay awake for a minute longer, since he is so worn out.  Instead, he sleeps for a week straight after falling asleep in the middle of a conversation!  Utnapishtim's wife encourages Utnapishtim to wake the sleeping man, but Utnapishtim knows that "Man behaves badly" (116).  He suggests instead that they allow Gilgamesh to sleep, while Utnapishtim's wife bakes a loaf of bread each day and places it around Gilgamesh's head.

When Gilgamesh first awakens, he doesn't believe that he slept a wink, picking up his conversation where he had left off.  Utnapishtim stops Gil's ramblings and forces him to look at the evidence that surrounds his head -- seven loaves of bread, each in a different state of decay.  Like the bread, Gilgamesh is mortal.  Only now has he has learned his lesson.  He resigns himself to his fate, and boards the boat once again to journey back homeward.

Just then, Utnapishtim's wife scolds her husband for being a bad host, telling Utnapishtim that he has failed to give his guest a parting gift.  Unable to figure out what to give this Sumerian king, Utnapishtim offers the only gift that he has -- wisdom.  He instructs Gilgamesh how to find the Flower of Immortality at the bottom of the ocean.  Excited at the prospects, Gilgamesh ties two stones to his feet, sinks to the ocean floor (the Apsu), finds the flower, pulls it by the stem (which pricks his hands), cuts the stones free, and ascends to the surface.  Gilgamesh has found what he had been looking for -- the magic flower of immortality!  He jumps for joy in his victory!  He explains that he will offer this potion to his subjects in Uruk, starting with the oldest citizens.  Perhaps he can bring Enkidu back to life after all!

However, even though he finds this flower, he will not retain it in his possession for very long. After sailing to an island to fetch some water and to clean themselves up, Gilgamesh places this special flower on the sandy beach, but it is soon snatched away by a serpent.  The snake grabs the flower, sloughs off its skin, and slithers back into the ocean, taking the flower away forever, since mankind has not been allotted eternal life.  Notice that these three symbols are all representative of the feminine forces -- the flower, the snake, and the water.  Ultimately, Gilgamesh has to learn to accept the feminine forces so that he can live his limited life in greater balance.  In fact, this is why the serpent steals the flower -- because death is a necessary side of the life/death duality.  Without death, life is impossible to define.  Both are understood only in the contexts of each other.

The serpent here is not evil at all.  Universally speaking, the serpent has been looked at by nearly every culture as a symbol of life, displayed by the action of shedding its old skin, rebirthing into a new (and better) creature.  The snake looks like the male sex organ, but acts like the feminine forces (slithering).  Also, its tongue appears to be like fire (masculine force), while its body undulates like water (feminine force).  The snake embodies the perfect balance of these symbols of life.  The serpent keeps Gilgamesh in balance by ensuring his death.

Frustrated, tired, and dejected, Gilgamesh resigns himself to a failed journey, and he asks Urshanabi to take him home.  When Gilgamesh arrives back home in Uruk, we see him become a different man.  He is proud of his accomplishments on earth, but is no longer arrogant about them.  He realizes that his life has been filled with greatness, and that he will always be remembered.  Perhaps this is our form of immortality.  Humans do not get to live eternally (this culture did not believe in the afterlife, unlike the Egyptians), so we must perform great deeds that will be remembered for years to come.  This is called our legacy.

There is another twist at the end of this story, but I'll save that revelation for class.

Announcements:

The coursepackets have arrived in the KSU Bookstore! Please read the following information about acquiring them: Message about Coursepackets.

Also, our next test is next Friday, March 3. Please print the study guide and let me know what questions you may have. Again, if you know that you will miss the March 3rd class, please make an arrangement to take the test before the break.

I will again offer extended office hours leading up to the test.

Updated grades are also posted. Click back to the Class Info page to see them.

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

Due Next Time:

 

TEST 2: The Age of Aries (Here is the Study Guide)

The Epic of Gilgamesh, VII-XI (Dalley, 83-120); READING GUIDE (232-238)

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

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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