Epic of Gilgamesh: Anonymous 2000 BC

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Editor: Sara Constantakis
Date: 2011
Epics for Students
From: Epics for Students(Vol. 1. 2nd ed.)
Publisher: Gale, part of Cengage Group
Document Type: Character overview; Critical essay; Work overview; Plot summary
Pages: 34
Content Level: (Level 4)

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Epic of Gilgamesh: Anonymous 2000 BC

Although more than four thousand years old and written originally on tablets of clay, the Epic of Gilgamesh continues to fascinate contemporary readers with its account of Gilgamesh, ruler of Uruk; his companion, the “wild man” Enkidu; and their exploits together. Generally recognized as the earliest epic cycle yet known-prior to even the Iliad or the Odyssey—the Epic of Gilgamesh was discovered and translated by British Assyrologist George Smith in the late nineteenth century. The Epic of Gilgamesh initially caught the attention of Biblical critics for its episode of the “Mesopotamian Noah,” that is, the character Utnapishtim, who, like his later Biblical counterpart, was advised by the gods to build a great boat to avoid an imminent, disastrous flood. Equally fascinating for the window this epic opens to the ancient and far-removed Sumerian and Babylonian cultures, Gilgamesh's conflict with the gods, struggles against the forces of nature, and recognition of his own mortality mirrors the always contemporary endeavor to find one's place both in society and in the cosmos.

At the same time the Epic of Gilgamesh addresses these important metaphysical themes, it is also a story of two friends, Gilgamesh and Enkidu, and their devotion to one another even after death. All in all, the Epic of Gilgamesh contains everything readers have come to expect from great epic literature: fantastic geographies, exotic characters, exhausting quests, difficult journeys, heroic battles, and supernatural beings. It is, above all, Page 154  |  Top of Articlethe gripping story of an epic hero who is driven to meet his destiny and who rises to every challenge with high courage and fierce determination.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

The Epic of Gilgamesh is not the product of a single author in the modern sense but was the progressive creation of several ancient Near Eastern cultures, specifically the cultures of Mesopotamia, the land between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. Originally an oral composition recited by communal storytellers, perhaps priests, to a listening audience, portions of the Epic of Gilgamesh were likely recited for many generations before being recorded by scribes in an archaic form of writing called cuneiform. Scribes wrote the ancient oral stories onto clay tablets with a sharply pointed, triangular stick, and the tablets telling the Gilgamesh story were kept in royal libraries. The most famous royal library was that of Ashurbanipal, king of Babylon during the seventh century BCE, but portions of the Epic of Gilgamesh, from very different time periods, have also been found. The individual stories of the Gilgamesh cycle were first written in cuneiform by ancient Sumerian scribes about four thousand years ago. The story passed from the Sumerians through succeeding civilizations to the Babylonians, who added to or otherwise adapted the Gilgamesh stories to their own culture until a so-called Standard Version of the Epic of Gilgamesh coalesced about 1500 BCE.

The Epic of Gilgamesh was then lost for thousands of years beneath the sand and rubble of the ancient Near East until archaeologists began to excavate and discover the ancient tablets during the nineteenth century. English translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh, which began in the 1880s with George Smith, is the product of many scholars' work and many years of archaeological investigation, historical inquiry, and linguistic research. Even with all of this academic reconstruction, Assyrologists cannot be completely sure of all the details of the Epic of Gilgamesh. Some portions of the story are missing, lost in the broken off sections of cuneiform tablets. Aspects of the ancient languages involved are so obscure and foreign that scholars cannot be sure of an exact translation. At many points, the extant work is at best a reconstruction of what the story said originally, but as new tablets are discovered, knowledge of the Epic of Gilgamesh increases.

Originally, the Epic of Gilgamesh was written as poetry, but not in the kind of rhyming verse that typifies English verse. The style was closer to the alliterative tradition of a poem such as Beowulf. One available and easily read translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh is the 1972 Penguin Classic paperback version by N. K. Sandars, but many other editions are also available. Sandars' translation has turned the poetic form of the so-called Standard, or Babylonian, Version of the Epic of Gilgamesh into a narrative form. Moreover, the Epic of Gilgamesh probably appeared originally as five or six separate Sumerian stories that were adapted by later cultures, especially the Babylonians. The current translation has divided the original story found in twelve tablets into eight sections: seven chapters and a prologue. Therefore, the Epic of Gilgamesh has been transformed once again in language, style, and structure for contemporary readers.

PLOT SUMMARY

Prologue

The Prologue to the Epic of Gilgamesh establishes Gilgamesh's stature as the special creation of the gods: He is two-thirds divine and one-third human. The strongest and wisest of all humans, he is also the renowned builder and king of the great city of Uruk. The Prologue sets the story in the distant past, in “the days before the flood,” when Gilgamesh himself etched the whole story in stone.

1. The Coming of Enkidu

Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, is the strongest of all men, but he is not a kind ruler. He takes advantage of his people. So the people of Uruk describe his abuses to Anu, god of Uruk, who asks Aruru, goddess of creation, to create an equal, “his second self” to oppose Gilgamesh and leave them at peace. Aruru creates Enkidu out of the raw stuff of nature. Enkidu is a fearfully strong, uncultured “wild man” with long hair and coarse features who runs with the beasts and eats grass. A trapper sees Enkidu at a watering hole for three straight days, and the trapper, amazed and dumbfounded, tells his father about the wild man who disrupts his snares. The father advises the son to find Gilgamesh, who gives him a “harlot” or temple courtesan to tame the wild man. The woman embraces Enkidu, cleans and clothes him, and teaches him civilized behavior. As a result, Enkidu becomes a Page 155  |  Top of Articleman. When Enkidu is brought to Uruk, Gilgamesh aborts his impending marriage to Ishtar, the goddess of love and war, and meets Enkidu, who has challenged him, in the street. They fight, and after Gilgamesh throws Enkidu, they embrace and become friends.

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MEDIA ADAPTATIONS

  • Czech musician Bohuslav Martinu composed the choral piece Epic of Gilgamesh, which was first performed in 1955. Martinu's work is often performed and widely available in recorder formats. A 2009 reissue of a 1989 performance of his Epic of Gilgamesh, conducted by Zdenek Kosler and performed by the Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra, is available on compact disc from Marco-Polo.
  • The opera Gilgamesh was written by Serbian director and librettist Arsenije Milosevic and composed by Croatian-Italian musician Rudolf Brucci. It premiered November 2, 1986, at the Serbian National Theatre in Novi Sad.
  • Shotaro Ishinomori penned the story that inspired the anime series Gilgamesh, directed by Masahiko Murata. Set in the present, rather than the past, the series is influenced by the original epic. It first aired on television in 2003 and 2004 and is available on DVD from ADV Films.
  • An e-book of the Old Babylonian version of the Epic of Gilgamesh is available online from the Project Gutenberg.
  • An unabridged audio book adaptation of Stephen Mitchell's Gilgamesh: A New English Version is available on compact disc or download from Recorded Books. Produced in 2004, it is narrated by George Guidall.
  • Adapa Films created a dramatization titled Epic of Gilgamesh: Tablet XI. Following the events of the eleventh tablet, Utnapishtim regales Gilgamesh with the story of the flood that he alone survived. Filmed in Akkadian with English subtitles, this movie is available online on DVD from the Adapa Films. NO production date was available at the online source, http://offlinenetworks.com/adapa .

2. The Forest Journey

Enlil, father of the gods, establishes Gilgamesh's destiny to be king and achieve great feats, but Enkidu is “oppressed by [the] idleness” of living in Uruk. In order to establish his eternal reputation, to “leave behind me a name that endures,” Gilgamesh proposes to travel with Enkidu to the Land of the Cedars and kill its guardian, the fearsome giant Humbaba. Gilgamesh prepares for the journey both by making a sacrifice to Shamash, who gives him the natural elements as allies; by forging a set of formidable weapons, including an axe, bow, and shield; and by seeking the intervention of his mother Ninsun, who adopts Enkidu as her own. Now brothers as well as companions, Gilgamesh and Enkidu begin their journey. On the way, Gilgamesh has three dreams, which though frightening portend a successful end to his quest. Humbaba, the guardian of the cedars, can hear an animal stir from many miles away, and he has seven fearsome “splendors” as weapons. After they arrive at the grove, Gilgamesh and Enkidu send Humbaba into a rage by cutting down one of the sacred trees. After a fierce battle, Gilgamesh defeats Humbaba, who begs for his life. Gilgamesh nearly relents, saving Humbaba momentarily, but acting on Enkidu's strong warning, Gilgamesh cuts off the giant's head. They present Humbaba's head to Enlil, who rages at them for their actions and disburses Humbaba's seven auras across creation.

3. Ishtar and Gilgamesh, and the Death of Enkidu

After Gilgamesh slays Humbaba, Ishtar calls Gilgamesh back to be her groom by promising him many expensive gifts. Gilgamesh now flatly refuses her offer because of her “abominable behaviour,” for he knows how badly Ishtar has treated her previous lovers, turning many of them from men into animals. Ishtar bristles at Gilgamesh's charges and urges her parents Anu and Antum to set loose the Bull of Heaven upon the city of Uruk and its ruler, Gilgamesh. Ishtar unleashes the great bull against Gilgamesh, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu together slay the bull, proving again their great prowess. Afterward, Enkidu has a dream in which a council of the gods has decreed that Enkidu must die for their Page 156  |  Top of Articledeeds. Enkidu falls ill and curses the trapper and courtesan who brought him to Uruk, but Shamash reminds him how much good came from the trapper's and harlot's action. Enkidu has a second dream about the underworld and its inhabitants, which Gilgamesh interprets as an omen of death. Enkidu languishes ill for days before he dies, and Gilgamesh, who mourns for seven days, offers a moving lament and builds a noble statue in tribute to his friend.

4. The Search for Everlasting Life

In his despair, Gilgamesh begins a lengthy quest to find the answer to life's mysteries, especially the mystery of eternal life. He decides to seek out Utnapishtim “the Faraway,” his ancient ancestor who “has entered the assembly of the gods” and received everlasting life. Sick at heart for the death of Enkidu and realizing more acutely his own mortality, Gilgamesh pushes on through the great mountains of Mashu, gate to the afterlife where the sun sets, where he defeats a band of lions. He then encounters the frightful Scorpion-Demon and his mate who guard Mashu and persuades them to let him enter. Gilgamesh travels through twelve leagues of darkness (twenty four hours) until he enters the garden of the gods. There, in turn, he meets Shamash, the sun god, who discourages his quest; Siduri, goddess of wine and the vines, who encourages him to “dance and be merry, feast and rejoice” and finally Urshanabi, the ferryman of Utnapishtim, who at first tells him his quest is futile but then takes him across the sea of death to Utnapishtim. On the other side of the sea, Gilgamesh recounts to Utnapishtim his journey, Enkidu's death, and his quest for eternal life. In response to Gilgamesh's questioning about his search for eternal life, Utnapishtim replies flatly, “There is no permanence.” Disheartened, Gilgamesh persists until Utnapishtim agrees to tell Gilgamesh “a mystery,” the story of how he gained immortality.

5. The Story of the Flood

In the ancient city of Shurrupak on the Euphrates River, according to the Utnapishtim's tale, the clamor of humanity rises up to the gods and disturbs their peace. Enlil calls for the gods “to exterminate mankind.” The council of the gods agrees, but Ea warns Utnapishtim secretly in a dream that a flood is coming. To protect her favorite, Ea tells Utnapishtim to build a boat and “take up into the boat the seed of all living creatures.” It takes Utnapishtim seven days to build a boat of seven decks, and after loading it full of his family, wealth, kin, and craftsmen, he rides out a seven-day storm. On the seventh day, the boat runs aground and Utnapishtim releases three birds in succession: the dove and swallow return, but the raven does not, indicating the presence of dry land. After Utnapishtim makes a sacrifice, over which the gods “gathered like flies,” Ishtar presents her opulent necklace as a remembrance of the disaster, and Enlil makes restitution for his rash act by giving Utnapishtim and his wife immortality.

6. The Return

Utnapishtim puts Gilgamesh's desire for eternal life to the test: “only prevail against sleep for six days and seven nights.” Gilgamesh, however, quickly falls asleep as the result of his exertions. To prove that Gilgamesh has slept, Utnapishtim has his wife bake a loaf of bread for each of the seven days Gilgamesh sleeps. After Utnapishtim wakes Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh sees the proof and despairs, realizing more clearly than ever that “death inhabits my room.” Utnapishtim then curses Urshanabi for bringing Gilgamesh to him and commands Urshanabi to bathe and dress Gilgamesh, who is covered in grime and clothed in skins. Utnapishtim's wife asks Utnapishtim not to send Gilgamesh away empty handed. In response, Utnapishtim reveals the location to a secret underwater plant that will “restore his lost youth to a man.” Gilgamesh harvests the plant and proposes to take it back to Uruk with him, but when Gilgamesh stops at an oasis to bathe, a serpent from the well steals and eats the plant, sloughs off its skin, and disappears again. Gilgamesh bewails the loss-his last chance for immortality-and returns to Uruk. At Uruk, Gilgamesh engraves his exploits in stone to testify to his greatness.

7. Death of Gilgamesh

Gilgamesh has fulfilled his destiny to be king, but his dream of eternal life eludes him. The narration concludes with a lament on Gilgamesh's mortality, a description of the funerary ritual, and a paean of praise to Gilgamesh; his family, his servants, the city of Uruk, and the pantheon of gods all mourn his loss.

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CHARACTERS

Adad

Adad is a storm god who endows Gilgamesh with courage at his birth.

Antum

Antum is the wife of Anu, the sky god or god of the heavens, and mother of Ishtar. Ishtar complains to her parents Anu and Antum when Gilgamesh refuses her offer of marriage and describes how she has abused her previous lovers.

Anu

Anu is god of the firmament, the patron god of Uruk, husband of Antum, and father of Ishtar. The Epic of Gilgamesh opens with a description of “the temple of blessed Eanna for the god of the firmament Anu.” Gilgamesh dreams of a falling meteor, which portends Enkidu's arrival and calls it “the stuff of Anu.”

Anunnaki

The Anunnaki are gods of the underworld, also known as the seven judges of hell. Their sacred dwellings are in the Forest of Cedars, guarded by Humbaba. They also appear in Utnapishtim's account of the great flood as forerunners of the storm.

Aruru

Aruru is the goddess of creation, or Mother Goddess, who fashions Enkidu from clay.

Aya

Aya is the goddess of the dawn and wife of the sun god Shamash.

Belit-Sheri

Belit-Sheri is the “recorder of the gods” and scribe of the underworld who “keeps the book of death.” She appears in Enkidu's dream of the afterlife.

Dumuzi

See Tammuz

Ea

Ea, called “the wise,” is god of the sweet waters and of the arts. He breaks rank with the council of the gods and warns Utnapishtim of the impending flood. Ea is the Akkadian version of the older, Sumerian god Enki.

Endukagga

Endukagga is a god who governs in the underworld, along with Nindukugga.

Enki

See Ea

Enkidu

Enkidu is Gilgamesh's “second self” and faithful companion. Aruru fashions Enkidu from clay in the image of Anu. Enkidu is a “wild,” primitive, uncivilized man who has both the hardened physique and virtue of Ninurta, the god of war; the long hair of Ninursa, goddess of corn; and the hairy body of Samuqan, god of cattle.

Ennugi

Ennugi is the “watcher over canals” and god of irrigation.

Ereshkigal

Ereshkigal is the queen of the underworld, who appears in Enkidu's dream of the afterlife. She is the wife of Nergal. Ereshkigal was also known as Irkalla, another name for the underworld.

Gilgamesh

Gilgamesh is the protagonist or main character of the Epic of Gilgamesh. An historical figure who ruled Uruk around 2700 BCE, Gilgamesh is the child of Lugulbanda, a divine king, and Ninsun. Gilgamesh is the semi-divine king of Uruk; the special charge of Shamash, the sun god; sometime consort of Ishtar, goddess of love and war; and builder of the mighty city of Uruk and its great temple Eanna. Originally the subject of at least five Sumerian myths, Gilgamesh becomes the main character in a Babylonian revision of those earlier stories. In later myths he is a judge of the underworld and is sometimes called its king. The epic narrates the transformation of Gilgamesh from a selfish and thoughtless young ruler into a wise and well-loved king and reveals Gilgamesh's gradual understanding of his own mortality.

Hanish

Hanish is the herald of storms and bad weather.

He appears with Shullat at the beginning of the storm in Utnapishtim's story of the flood.

Harlot

The harlot is a temple courtesan in the cult of Ishtar at the great temple Eanna. The harlot is the woman Gilgamesh sends back with the trapper to Page 158  |  Top of Articlepacify Enkidu. She initiates Enkidu into the ways of sex and culture, teaching him to eat, drink, and clothe himself. After her ministrations, Enkidu is unable to return to the wilderness. She then takes Enkidu to Uruk where he challenges Gilgamesh.

Humbaba

Humbaba is a fearsome monster appointed by Enlil to protect the Forest of Cedars. In a fierce battle, Gilgamesh and Enkidu ultimately kill Humbaba and cut down the sacred cedars.

Irkalla

See Ereshkigal

Ishtar

Ishtar is the goddess of love and war and daughter of Anu and Antum. She is the patroness of Uruk, Gilgamesh's home city. She is fickle and at times spiteful, as demonstrated in her treatment of her former lovers and her wrath at Uruk after Gilgamesh spurns her advances. She inhabits Eanna, Uruk's fabulous temple, or ziggurat.

Ishullana

Ishullana is Anu's gardener, whom Ishtar loved and then turned into a blind mole after he rejected her.

Ki

See Ninhursag

Lugulbanda

Lugulbanda is one of the ancient kings of Uruk and Gilgamesh's guardian god and progenitor.

Lugulbanda is the subject of his own epic cycle.

Mammetum

Mammetum is the “mother of destinies.” Utnapishtim reveals that Mammetum, with the Anunnaki, “together … decree the fates of men. Life and death they allot but the day of death they do not disclose.”

Man-Scorpion

Described as “half man and half dragon,” the Man-Scorpion and his mate are guardians of Mashu, the mountains of the rising and setting sun. They let Gilgamesh pass through to the garden of the gods.

Namtar

Namtar, the god of death, is the servant of Ereshkigal, queen of the underworld.

Nergal

Nergal is an underworld god and husband of Ereshkigal. During Utnapishtim's flood, “Nergal pulled out the dams of the nether waters.”

Neti

Neti is gatekeeper of the underworld and servant of Ereshkigal.

Nindukugga

Nindukugga is a god who governs the underworld with Endukagga.

Ningal

Ningal is mother of the sun god, Shamash, and wife of the moon god Sin.

Ningizzida

Ningizzida is the god of the serpent and lord of the tree of life.

Ningursu

See Ninurta

Ninhursag

Ninhursag is the goddess of growth and vegetation, and mother of Enlil. She is known by many other names, including Ki, Ninki, and Ninmah.

Ninki

See Ninhursag

Ninlil

Ninlil is the wife of Enlil and goddess of heaven, earth, and air or spirit.

Ninsun

The goddess Ninsun, called “the well-beloved and wise,” is mother of Gilgamesh and wife of Lugulbanda. Prior to Gilgamesh and Enkidu's trip to kill Humbaba, Ninsun adopts Enkidu as her own, gives him a sacred necklace, and entrusts Gilgamesh's safety to him.

Ninurta

Ninurta is a warrior god and god of wells and canals. In the story of Utnapishtim, Ninurta is one of those who caused the flood with Nergal. He is also known as Ningursu.

Nisaba

Nisaba is the goddess of corn. She gives Enkidu his long, flowing hair.

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Puzur-Amurri

Puzur-Amurri is the steersman and navigator of Utnapishtim's great boat during the flood.

Samuqan

Samuqan is the god of cattle and of herds. He gives Enkidu his rough, hair-covered hide.

Scorpion-Demon

See Man-Scorpion

Shamash

One of the chief gods, Shamash is the sun god, law-giver, and judge who is evoked in blessing and protection throughout the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Shullat

Shullat is a minor god under Shamash who works with Hanish to herald bad weather, as happened at the beginning of the great flood.

Shulpae

Shulpae is god of the feast. Sacrifices are made to Shulpae at funerals.

Siduri

Siduri is goddess of the vine, who at first bars Gilgamesh from passage through the garden of the gods, but then tells him, “When the gods created man they allotted to him death, but they retained life in their own keeping.”

Sillah

Sillah is the mother of one of Ishtar's lovers.

Sin

Sin is the moon god, to whom Gilgamesh prays as he travels through dark mountain passes populated by lions on his way to Mashu.

Tammuz

Tammuz is the god of shepherds, sheepfolds, and vegetation. He is one of Ishtar's consorts. In older, Sumerian times, he was known as Dumuzi.

Trapper

The trapper is the first person to encounter Enkidu, who had sabotaged his traps. Enkidu later curses the trapper for introducing him to civilization and its difficulties.

Ubara-Tutu

Ubara-Tutu is the ancient king of Shurrupak and Utnapishtim's father.

Urshanabi

Urshanabi is the boatman who takes Gilgamesh over the waters of death to Utnapishtim. Utnapishtim curses Urshanabi for bringing a mortal to him across the sea of death. After he helps Gilgamesh back to health and vigor, Urshanabi returns with Gilgamesh to Uruk.

Utnapishtim

Favored by the god Ea, Utnapishtim is warned of Enlil's plan to destroy humanity through a flood. Utnapishtim, at Ea's command, builds a huge square boat, seven decks high and one-hundred twenty cubits per side, in seven days. He seals it with pitch, stores away supplies, and rides out the seven-day storm in it.

Vampire-Demon

The vampire-demon is a supernatural being who appears in Enkidu's dream of the underworld. In the dream, he attacks and smothers Enkidu.

THEMES

Heroism

Heroes are courageous and often act selflessly or for the greater good; however, mythologist Joseph Campbell defines a hero not by valor but by the steps of a hero's journey. This journey is described in Campbell's book The Hero With a Thousand Faces. The Epic of Gilgamesh is a hero's journey, beginning with Gilgamesh's reluctance to act, as seen in his boredom, his abuse of his people, and the need for the divine to intercede. Enkidu not only aids Gilgamesh throughout his journey but also functionally completes him as a person. Despite Gilgamesh's growth as a hero by Campbell's definition, he is still selfish throughout, as shown in the adventure to the Forest of the Cedars, a sacred place that Gilgamesh nonetheless pillages for wood and self-aggrandizement. Enkidu's death deeply affects Gilgamesh. Wracked with grief, Gilgamesh travels to the underworld in search of immortality for himself. He fails to achieve his goal but is told repeatedly by characters such as the goddess Siduri and by Utnapishtim that mortality has its own virtues, which he should appreciate. Whether Gilgamesh is able to enjoy the remainder of his mortal days is not recorded in this epic, but the completion of his journey, by Campbell's definition, occurs when he returns to Uruk and has his adventures carved

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TOPICS FOR FURTHER STUDY

  • Compare and contrast an episode in N. K. Sandars' narrative version of the Epic of Gilgamesh with David Ferry's poetic version or one of the versions that follow the original twelve-tablet structure of the story. How do the versions differ in their use of language and their organization on the page? Do they differ in their symbolic or thematic emphases?Write a comparative essay explaining the similarities and differences.
  • Locate the five independent myths of the Sumerian song-cycle featuring Gilgamesh (“Gilgamesh and Agga of Kish” “Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living” “Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven” “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld” and “The Death of Gilgamesh”) in James Pritchard's, Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Choose one, read it carefully, and see if you can identify which portion(s) or details of the Sumerian myth have been incorporated into the Babylonian Standard Version and which have been excluded. Compose an electronic presentation to share with your class that details the transformation of this story.
  • Many contemporary movies feature a hero and a counterpart or buddy. Often these two characters are as different as Gilgamesh and Enkidu, but together they make a complete team. Select a current “buddy movie” and, using the Epic of Gilgamesh as a guide, analyze the epic qualities of that movie. Consider how the buddies are alike or different, how they react to the opposite sex, what quest they set out to achieve, and what great enemy or evil they face. With a partner, prepare a dramatic presentation that gives your findings from this examination.
  • Drawing on other subjects of study such as biology, geography, art, archaeology, and history, create a collage showing the elements of ancient Mesopotamian life depicted in the Epic of Gilgamesh or a diorama (picture box) of an ancient ziggurat or temple. Reconstruct the architecture of the time; the different people who inhabited the cities; the jobs they performed; the crops they grew; the crafts they made; and clothing they wore.
  • Research the hero's journey as described by mythologist Joseph Campbell in his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Campbell's hero's journey was a strong influence on the 1977 film Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope but has its roots in myths about heroes such as the Epic of Gilgamesh. How many elements of the hero's journey are present in the film? How many elements are present in the epic? Which do you think is a better story and why, based on the hero's journey? Give a five-minute presentation to your class, with examples and visual aids.

upon a stone, therefore bringing this appreciation of the human experience back to the people.

Culture and Nature

The internal balance between physical and spiritual journeys in the Epic of Gilgamesh is matched by the contrast in the two main characters, Gilgamesh and Enkidu. As the epic opens, Gilgamesh embodies both the arrogance and the cultivation of high Sumerian culture. He is the king and epitomizes power, he is physically gifted and beautiful, but he is also haughty and abusive: He deflowers the maidens of his kingdom for his own pleasure and he presses the young men into his service.

By contrast, when he enters the story, Enkidu personifies the coarse physicality and vitality of the natural world: He is immensely strong, he lives and runs with the wild beasts, and he destroys the traps set by hunters. At a crucial early juncture in Page 161  |  Top of Articlethe epic, Gilgamesh, having heard about this “wild man,” sends a courtesan to Enkidu. She transforms Enkidu's wildness through her sexual charms, and she teaches him table manners and correct behavior. Afterwards, the wild animals run away from Enkidu. The courtesan thereby brings Enkidu into the civilized world. Together, Gilgamesh, the cultivated ruler, and Enkidu, the civilized wild man, bond as complementary friends, and they begin a series of exploits to conquer Humbaba, that other forest creature, and the Bull of Heaven, the embodiment of natural disaster.

Identity and Relationship

As the semi-divine creation of Shamash, the sun god, who gives him physical beauty, and Adad, the storm god, who gives him great courage, Gilgamesh is at the top of the social hierarchy. As king of Uruk, Gilgamesh has access to all the riches and pleasures his society can provide. In his lofty station, Gilgamesh has no need or desire for a relationship with others, for he seems to be complete in himself. However, Gilgamesh is also unsettled and “a man of many moods,” an arrogant ruler who mistreats his people. He is, in other words, incomplete, lacking an ingredient essential to being fully human. The people of Uruk complain to Anu, god of Uruk, to intervene on their behalf, and Aruru, the goddess of creation, responds by creating Enkidu. Enkidu requires the moderating influences of civilization to become fully human. Incomplete when separated, but together and fulfilled in close relationship, Gilgamesh and Enkidu establish their true identities. Their identities are fulfilled through their relationship. Enkidu perishes before the end of the tale, and Gilgamesh is haunted by the death of his friend. This death is the catalyst for Gilgamesh's search for immortality. Thus, Gilgamesh carries the legacy of his friend back to Uruk, where he dies a well-loved king.

Humanity and Divinity

Human interaction with the gods, and the gods' intervention in human events, is a standard hallmark of epic literature, and the Epic of Gilgamesh is no exception. From beginning to end of the tale, the supernatural world intersects the physical plane. Persons, places, and all manner of things are closely associated with patron deities. The interplay of humanity and divinity is closely allied to the question of identity and relationship throughout the epic. Characters take on the attributes of deities associated with them. Gilgamesh is a mixture of both human and divine, but emphasizing the divine. Enkidu incarnates precisely the opposite proportions, favoring the human. At the same time that the epic invokes the gods throughout the narrative, they seem distant from the action, interfering only when pressed or perturbed. The gods are also clearly anthropomorphic, quite human in their petty jealousy, bickering, and irritation with irascible humans.


Drawing of a carved image of Gilgamesh Drawing of a carved image of Gilgamesh Mary Evans Picture Library/Alamy

Mortality and Immortality

During the course of the epic, Gilgamesh, as king of Uruk, progresses from the highest social station to the lowest example of a human being-pale, starved, and clothed in skins during his encounter with Utnapishtim. The crux of this journey is the death of Gilgamesh's beloved comrade, Enkidu. During the first half of the tale, Gilgamesh and Enkidu bring death to all enemies in their quest to establish their eternal reputations; during the second half, Gilgamesh lives with the haunting memory of Enkidu's death. As Gilgamesh tells Utnapishtim: “Because of my brother I am afraid of death; because of my brother I stray through the wilderness. His fate lies heavy upon me. How can I be silent, how can I rest? He is dust and I Page 162  |  Top of Articleshall die also and be laid in the earth forever.” Having turned to great exploits, huge building projects, and epic journeys to secure his fame, Gilgamesh must die, but his memory lives on in the story of his life. The gods do not give Gilgamesh immortality, but the legends of his life are preserved on the stone tablets of his epic adventure.

STYLE

Epic Literature

In A Glossary of Literary Terms, literary scholar M. H. Abrams lists five essential characteristics of epic literature: (1) a hero of national and/or cosmic importance; (2) an expansive setting, perhaps even worldwide; (3) superhuman deeds; (4) supernatural forces and deities take part in events; and (5) the language of a ceremonial performance, much elevated over ordinary speech. The Epic of Gilgamesh has each of these characteristics.

First, Gilgamesh, as ruler of Uruk and son of a goddess, is a figure of national importance. It is interesting that he is, nonetheless, incomplete without his friend Enkidu, who seems to be of no cosmic or national significance except as Gilgamesh's friend. Their relationship may have had meaning to the Sumerian, Assyrian, and Babylonian audiences that modern readers cannot grasp.

Second, the scope of this story begins and ends at the great city of Uruk in Mesopotamia, the land between two rivers and traditionally known as the cradle of civilization. Uruk was the first city built by humankind. Gilgamesh and Enkidu also travel to the Forest of the Cedars, a holy place, and later Gilgamesh journeys to the land of the dead. The setting of this epic is grand, sweeping, and aweinspiring to listeners.

Third, Gilgamesh and Enkidu, his adopted brother, are the strongest of men. When they fight, walls shake. Only they are capable of taking on the terrible monster Humbaba, who guards the Forest of the Cedars, but their success requires both wits and strength. They also kill the Bull of Heaven to prevent drought, and Gilgamesh conquers many wild animals in the lands at the end of the world, where he begins his journey to the underworld realm. Through these feats, Gilgamesh is shown to be the most powerful man.

Fourth, the gods are involved throughout this tale. Gilgamesh's mother is the goddess Ninlil, whom he goes to for dream interpretations and to ask her to name his friend Enkidu as her son so that they may be brothers. Enkidu is fashioned from clay by the goddess Aruru to be Gilgamesh's match and distract him from tormenting the people of Uruk. Gilgamesh's patron deity is the sun god Shamash, whom he appeals to for help. Enlil, a major deity in the Babylonian pantheon, intervenes after Gilgamesh and Enkidu kill Humbaba, dispersing Humbaba's auras to the rest of creation.

Fifth, the Epic of Gilgamesh is structured in a formal way that betrays its origins as a oral performance piece. The elevated, formal language and repeated formulaic phrases are characteristic of epic literature. In fact, the dialogue sounds stilted and rehearsed, as if read for a formal occasion. During chapter 2, “The Forest Journey,” Gilgamesh calls out for assistance: “By the life of my mother Ninsun who gave me birth, and by the life of my father, divine Lugulbanda, let me live to be the wonder of my mother, as when she nursed me on her lap.” These formal invocations of deity give the task an elevated stature and a sense of being a holy mission that Gilgamesh undertakes for his city and his divine heritage. In a later example, as he faces Humbaba in battle, Gilgamesh beseeches his patron god: “O glorious Shamash, I have followed the road you commanded but now if you send no succor how shall I escape?” The use of “apostrophe,” a figure of speech denoted by “O,” indicates a formal invocation of a person or personification who is not present.

Another important element of the elevated style of the Epic of Gilgamesh is its inclusion of “laments,” the formal poems of praise and songs of grief that the living give on behalf of the dead. The finest example in the poem is Gilgamesh's lament for Enkidu, which begins:

Hear me, great ones of Uruk, I weep for Enkidu, my friend. Bitterly moaning like a woman mourning I weep for my brother. You were the axe at my side, My hand's strength, the sword in my belt, the shield before me, A glorious robe, my fairest ornament, an evil Fate has robbed me.

Gilgamesh's heart-felt lament concludes with the mournful lines, “What is this sleep which holds you now?/You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me.” Nearly all of these formal speeches also serve to summarize or rehearse the characters' attitudes or even the action in the story up to that point in the narrative.

Orality and Performance

One of the key attributes of the Epic of Gilgamesh is the sense of breathless immediacy of the Page 163  |  Top of Articlestory. The epic achieves this effect by placing the story in a setting that simulates the oral performance in which the story was originally performed. The opening lines provide a sense that this is not an ancient story, but one just occurring. The narrative first-person speaker of the Prologue places the reader at Uruk's city walls and erases the distance between that ancient time and the present time of telling the story, inviting the hearer (and reader) to feel present to the action. These walls, the narrative voice proclaims, are those of the great Gilgamesh and now I will tell you his story. This sense of immediacy continues throughout the epic.

In medias res

Traditionally, epics begin in medias res or “in the middle of things.” Although this characteristic was originally applied to Greek and Roman epics such as the Odyssey and the Iliad, it is equally true of the Epic of Gilgamesh. The story begins not at the beginning of Gilgamesh's life, but somewhere in the middle. He is initially portrayed as a young, hot-headed king, heedless of the effect of actions and desires on the wellbeing of his people. One of the effects of this technique is to allow the reader to gauge the extent of Gilgamesh's development as a character.

Epithet

Another feature of the epic style is the use of epithets, usually adjectives or adjective phrases that reveal the attributes or personality of people, places, and things in the story: “strong-walled Uruk,” “Humbaba whose name is ‘Hugeness,”’ “Shamash the Protector,” and Utnapishtim “the Faraway.” Epic epithets provide tags the assist the memory of the listener or reader. They also assist in recitation during a performance, serving as tags designed to move the speaker along easily.

Repetition

A characteristic of the epic that is closely related to its often formal, even stilted language, is its strategic use of repetition at various levels. There is hardly a moment, event, or speech that does not have a counterpart somewhere else in the tale.

Commonly called parallelism and antitheses, these contrasting and equivalent elements highlight comparison and/or contrast between paired elements. The repetitious elements can be examined in terms of structure, events, speeches, and numbers.

First, the epic has two parts, balanced structurally. The pivot of the story is Enkidu's death. In the first half, Gilgamesh travels out into the Forest of the Cedars to slay Humbaba; in the second half he journeys into the realm of the gods to find Utnapishtim. Gilgamesh's early successes and personal glory contrast with his subsequent frustrations and hardships. Enkidu's physical presence if the first half contrasts with his palpable absence in the second half.

Repetition of events is seen in the first section: Gilgamesh and Enkidu are mirror images of one another; they slay two semi-divine monsters, Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven; and Gilgamesh has a series of dreams, matched by Enkidu's dreams later in the section. Events in the second half of the epic are often repetitions of earlier affairs, as when Gilgamesh's twelve-league journey through the Mashu's darkness pales in comparison to his one-hundred and twenty pole voyage across the waters of death. Finally, events in the second half mirror those in the first: Enkidu's funeral and Gilgamesh's lament for his dead friend are matched by Gilgamesh's funeral and Uruk's praise for its dead king, and Gilgamesh's voyage to find Utnapishtim parallels the earlier journey to the Cedar Forest.

Parts of a speech may be repeated from one character to the next or more tellingly, the entire speech may be repeated several times throughout a portion of the epic. The most significant instance of this technique occurs in chapter 4, “The Search for Everlasting Life.” In his journey from the Country of the Living to the abode of the gods, Gilgamesh encounters Siduri, goddess of the vine and of wine; Urshanabi, “the ferryman of Utnapishtim” who takes him across the waters of death; and finally Utnapishtim himself, the immortal human. Each encounter has the same structure.

Repetition of numbers come in patterns of two (two halves to the story or two carefully balanced main characters) or three (Gilgamesh's series of three dreams or the three quests of the tale) are well-known characteristics of epics. Seven is a symbolic number, sometimes in combination with two and three. Generally considered to be a perfect number or number of completion or wholeness, seven appears throughout the tale: the “seven sages” laid the foundations of Uruk; Enlil gives Humbaba “sevenfold terrors,” or auras, with which to guard the forest; the gate of Uruk has seven bolts; and during the climactic battle with Humbaba, the giant unleashes the “seven splendors” against the pair of warriors; they fell “seven cedars” to provoke Humbaba's wrath, and they Page 164  |  Top of Articlekill the giant with three blows to the neck, severing his head. This symbolic numerology continues especially in the story of the flood.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT

Development of the Epic

The Epic of Gilgamesh is the product of several civilizations of ancient Mesopotamia, those citystates of the Tigris-Euphrates river valley, in present-day Iraq. These cultures are, in turn, the Sumerians, the Akkadians or Babylonians, and the Assyrians. Scholars of the ancient Near East have determined that the Epic of Gilgamesh probably began as five separate Sumerian Gilgamesh stories (called “Gilgamesh and Agga of Kish;” “Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living;” “Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven;” “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld;” and “The Death of Gilgamesh.”). According to Jeffrey H. Tigay, who has written about the historical development of the epic in his The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic, estimates that the ancient oral tales about Gilgamesh probably were first written down, in cuneiform, about 2500 BCE by Sumerian scribes, although the earliest copies date from about 2100 BCE or about five hundred years after the historical Gilgamesh ruled Uruk.

These separate Sumerian tales were drawn together by a later Akkadian author (or authors) who adapted elements of the early stories into a more unified and complete epic. By this time the Epic of Gilgamesh had been widely circulated throughout the ancient Near East, with copies being found as far away as modern-day Palestine and Turkey. The Epic of Gilgamesh underwent other minor changes until it became formalized in a Standard Version, according to tradition, by the scribe Sinleqqiunninni around 1300 BCE. This is the most completely preserved version of the Epic of Gilgamesh, which archaeologists discovered in Ashurbanipal's library in Nineveh (685–27 BCE). This Standard Version is the basis for the translation by N. K. Sandars. However, the text will continue to evolve as archaeological discoveries are made and as scholars understand more fully the language, culture, and history of these ancient cultures and documents.

Events Historical and Mythological

The Epic of Gilgamesh is marked by both by the threat and the promise of its historical and physical setting. According to the famous Sumerian king list, Gilgamesh was an historical figure who reigned around 2700 BCE. He is called “the divine Gilgamesh … [who] ruled 126 years,” according to the “Sumerian King-List,” translated by A. Leo Oppenheimer and published in Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Although it is impossible to know exactly, events like Gilgamesh's journey to the Forest of Cedars to defeat Humbaba may reflect the historical Uruk's trade relations, need for natural resources, and later struggles with neighboring city-states over vital resources such as wood.

Other details of daily life emerge from the story of Enkidu's gradual humanization at the hands of the temple harlot: “This transformation is achieved by eating bread, drinking beer, anointing oneself, and clothing oneself…. Bread, beer, oil, and clothing are the staples which were distributed as daily rations by the central institutions, such as the temple or palace, to a large segment of the population; these rations were their only means of subsistence,” writes Johannes Renger in his essay “Mesopotamian Epic Literature,” published in Heroic Epic and Saga. Furthermore, the cultures of the Tigris-Euphrates river valley depended upon the rivers for the rich soil that sustained local agriculture; at the same time the rivers brought life, frequent floods also wrecked havoc upon their cities and people. The Epic of Gilgamesh reveals these horrors, for Gilgamesh himself remarks that he looked over the wall and saw bodies floating in the river. Even the gods are affected, for Ishtar cries out like a woman in labor when she sees her people floating in the ocean “like the spawn of fish” during Utnapishtim's flood. Likewise, Ishtar's Bull of Heaven represents another of the ancient world's great fears: drought, famine, and natural disaster. Anu reminds Ishtar, “If I do what you desire there will be seven years of drought throughout Uruk when corn will be seedless husks.” Thus, the ancient Mesopotamians were caught between the bounty of their river valley and the misery caused by its floods and droughts.

Finally, the Epic of Gilgamesh does not encompass all the stories recorded about Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh himself is placed in the pantheons of gods as “an underworld deity, a judge there and sometimes called its king. His statues or figurines appear in burial rites for the dead, and his cult [official worship] was especially important in the month of Ab (July-August), when nature itself, as it were, expired,” writes William L. Moran in the introduction to David Ferry's Gilgamesh: A New Rendering in English Verse.

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COMPARE & CONTRAST

  • 2000 BCE: People of ancient Mesopotamia invent a writing system (cuneiform), use the wheel for transportation, and are skilled metalworkers. They produce crops in irrigated fields. They construct monumental buildings whose remains are visible after four thousand or more years.
    Today: Modern society, sometimes referred to as the Information Age, is characterized by rapid technological change, creating a global village, in which travel to or communication with any part of the world (or even beyond Earth) is possible within hours or even minutes. Increased human intervention in natural processes solves problems and creates them. Agribusiness greatly increases food production and wreaks havoc with ecosystems. Genetic engineering creates new organisms, and extinction rates soar among various species because of global climate change.
  • 2000 BCE: The society of ancient Mesopotamia, is highly stratified and dominated mostly by men. The priestly caste and ruling elite control power and wealth. Power is concentrated in individual city-states rather than larger administrative units and wielded by a divinely instituted monarchy. Status is determined by birth, with little chance for advancement or education. Warfare is limited in scope and localized in space.
    Today: Developed countries in the West have international power and wealth and consume most of the world's resources. Populations in developing countries in the East and in Africa struggle with extreme poverty and lower life expectancy. Most power is wielded by men, and church and state are separate in many western countries.
  • 2000 BCE: The economy of ancient Mesopotamia is agrarian, based on domesticated livestock and on the yearly cycles of flood and soil replenishment. Food supply is highly susceptible to ecological disruptions, such as drought or salinization of the soil.
    Industry includes traditional crafts, textiles, and large-scale building projects of lumber and baked brick. During this time, the first large-scale urban centers develop, such as Uruk, with populations near 50,000.
    Today: Modern economy is industrial and commercial. Even agriculture is big business. Risk of famine is curbed by chemical and genetic interventions, although longterm health concerns are voiced. The biggest metropolitan areas, such as Shanghai, New York City, and Mexico City exceed 20 million people.

The World's First City

Uruk, the world's first city, grew out of two small, agricultural settlements founded during the fifth millennium BCE that merged during the fourth millennium BCE and was able to exert military and political influence on the surrounding countryside and its settlements. This urbanization was a catalyst for stratified society and the comparable growth of other settlements into urban centers. The world's first cities were characterized by centralized distribution of goods; specialized production; large-scale architecture, such as the protective wall around Uruk, which required labor organization to achieve; and social stratification, which by the time of Gilgamesh's rule circa 2700 BCE was firmly inherited rather than achieved. Occupation of Uruk peaked around 2900 BCE, then fell off until it was abandoned in the mid-seventh century CE. The prevailing theory surrounding Uruk's decline is that the Euphrates River shifted its course from northeast to southwest of the city, perhaps flooding it for a period of time.

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Ishtar seeks to seduce Gilgamesh, but he rejects her, knowing the evil fate which befell her previous lovers. Ishtar seeks to seduce Gilgamesh, but he rejects her, knowing the evil fate which befell her previous lovers. Mary Evans Picture Library/Alamy

CRITICAL OVERVIEW

History and Recovery of the Epic of Gilgamesh

The critical reception of the Epic of Gilgamesh parallels the history of ancient Near Eastern archaeology between 1850 and the early 2000s. The Epic of Gilgamesh first came to light in tablets from the palace library of Ashurbanipal, king of Assyria (685–27 BCE), in Nineveh. The Epic of Gilgamesh is comprised of twelve fragmented clay tablets inscribed in cuneiform. Since that initial discovery, portions of the tale have surfaced throughout the region, from different time periods and in several different languages. By comparing the differences among the tablets and between various versions of the story, scholars have been able to reconstruct the history of the epic's composition. This history is complex and may not ever be fully known; however, it seems Mohave four main phases: the period of oral composition and circulation; the Sumerian tales of Gilgamesh; the Akkadian and Babylonian epics; and the Standard Version.

First, the historical Gilgamesh ruled Uruk, in southern Mesopotamia, around 2700 BCE, and a variety of historical artifacts confirm his existence. As is the custom of traditional cultures, stories of the king's exploits circulated among the populace and were repeated orally before being written down, probably about 2500 BCE.

Second, the Sumerians inscribed into clay tablets at least five separate Gilgamesh stories, the earliest of which among those known tablets dates from around 2100 BCE. These stories are known as “Gilgamesh and Agga of Kish” “Gilgamesh and the Land of the Living” “Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven” “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld” and “The Death of Gilgamesh.” It is important to note that these stories have little in common with each other except for having the same main character. They were not joined as a whole, nor did they share an overriding theme.

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Third, these separate Sumerian stories became the raw material for the Babylonian (or Akkadian) Epic of Gilgamesh, composed about 1700 BCE. The Babylonian transcribers combined aspects of the earlier Sumerian stories to create the unified story of Gilgamesh's search for the meaning of life and his struggle against death. This Babylonian version also introduced several important changes, including transforming Enkidu from Gilgamesh's servant, as he is in the Sumerian tales, to an equal and companion; adding the hymn-like Prologue and conclusion and increasing the use of formulaic sayings and set-pieces; and incorporating the ancient legend of Utnapishtim and the great flood. The Babylonian version became known throughout the ancient Near East in a variety of languages.

Finally, the Epic of Gilgamesh became fixed in the so-called Standard Version, attributed to the author Sinleqqiunninni, who lived about 1300 BCE. This Standard Version is the one that was found in Ashurbanipal's library.

Utnapishtim: The Mesopotamian Noah

Although at its discovery the Epic of Gilgamesh was immediately recognized for its literary and historical value, it gained widespread attention for its account of Utnapishtim and the flood. The story of the flood is found in Tablet XI of the Epic of Gilgamesh and is itself derived from an earlier story, “The Myth of Atrahasis.” What most intrigued readers were the parallels between Utnapishtim and the Old Testament story of Noah and the Flood, found in Genesis 6:1–9:18. What shocked them even more is that the Utnapishtim episode predates, or is earlier than, the biblical account of Noah and the ark. Alexander Heidel, in The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels, explores the correlations between Noah's story and that of Utnapishtim. For example, Heidel points out that an assembly of gods directs Utnapishtim to build his boat, but only a single deity directs Noah to build his. Also according to the Old Testament, Noah is selected because he is righteous, unlike all other wicked people, by the judgmental god of monotheistic Judaism. Another difference is that the boat built by Utnapishtim is square with seven decks, which mirrors the design of the Mesopotamian ziggurat (step-temple). Whereas Noah's boat is more realistically boatshaped (long and narrow) and has three decks and a door. In the Utnapishtim version the storm lasts seven days; in the Noah story the storm lasts forty days.

New Interpretations

In 2004, Stephen Mitchell published Gilgamesh: A New English Version to critical favor and some controversy. Mitchell, an acclaimed translator specializing in epics, crafted a version of this ancient tale (using extant English translations) that brings it to life for the general reader. He compared the different accounts of the Epic of Gilgamesh to synthesize his own and used his imagination to fill in where clay tablets left the story incomplete. In a similar vein but with a different result, British poet Derrek Hines wrote a postmodern version of the epic in his book Gilgamesh, also published in 2004. Hines takes even more liberties with the narrative, introducing modern elements in an effort to make the ancient story feel as alive for twenty-first century readers as it once did for third millennium BCE listeners.

CRITICISM

Daniel T. Kline

Kline holds a PhD in Middle English literature from Indiana University and is an associate professor of English at University of Alaska Anchorage. In the following essay, he traces the action of the epic and the development of Gilgamesh as a character.

In essence, the Epic of Gilgamesh is a story about Gilgamesh's search for identity and meaning, and readers of his story-both ancient and modern-have seen in Gilgamesh something of their own experience. These issues of identity and meaning are both personal and intimately related: If I know who I am, I can make better sense of the world inch live; and if I can make better sense of my world, perhaps I can live a better, more satisfying life. Through its characters, themes, events, and structure, the story itself serves as a lens through which the reader may carefully examine his or her own experience. Although the specific historical, cultural, and social circumstances of the modern world differ vastly from the time of the epic, Gilgamesh's quest to know himself and his world remains current to twenty-first century readers.

Gilgamesh's journey into self-knowledge and the meaning of life can be viewed as a progression through a series of relationships, specifically his relationship to himself (the individual realm), to others (the social realm), to his kingdom (the political realm), and to the gods (the super natural realm). Gilgamesh's experiences in

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WHAT DO I READ NEXT?

  • Samuel Noah Kramer's History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-Nine Firsts in Man's Recorded History (1981) discusses a variety of Sumerian innovations-common cultural, historical, scientific, and social trends or events that were first recorded in Sumer, including schools, pharmaceuticals, lullabies, and aquariums.
  • Gilgamesh the King (1984), a novel by Robert Silverberg, brings to life the semi-legendary figure of Gilgamesh and ancient Mesopotamia. Silverberg takes a realistic approach in his depiction of events from the Epic of Gilgamesh.
  • City of Thieves (2008) by David Benioff, like the Epic of Gilgamesh, is a coming-of-age buddy story about two teenage Russian boys who use their wits to survive in Leningrad during the World War II Nazi occupation.
  • Kathleen Benner Duble's 2008 novel Quest for readers is grade seven and higher tells the story of Henry Hudson's final and fatal attempt to find the Northwest Passage. Duble uses four voices to tell this story: Hudson's seventeen-year-old son John, who went along on his father's ship Discovery; eight-year-old son Richard, left behind with his mother in London; Isabella Digges, who is secretly in love with John and keeps a journal while he is away; and Seth Syms, who also takes the voyage. The narrative viewpoints weave together, bringing to life a fascinating historical quest, which ended tragically.

each of these realms accumulate throughout the epic and shape his development as a character.

THE INDIVIDUAL REALM: GILGAMESH'S RELATIONSHIP TO HIMSELF

Gilgamesh's self-understanding develops gradually. As the epic opens, the Prologue outlines all of the hero's extraordinary qualities. He is all

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“IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE STORY, GILGAMESH BEGINS AS A RUTHLESS PRINCE AND ENDS AS GRIEVING FRIEND. THE SECOND HALF REVERSES THE FIRST. GILGAMESH BEGINS AS A HAGGARD, WILD WANDERER AND RETURNS WITH A NEW COMPANION.”

knowing, wise, and experienced; he is beautiful, courageous, and powerful; and he is a noble king and extraordinary builder. As testimony to Gilgamesh's greatness, the narrator points to the great temple Eanna and the walls surrounding Uruk itself. No “man alive can equal” Gilgamesh's great ziggurat (or temple). Nearly 5,000 years later, the narrator's verse is still true. The remains of the Uruk's great wall and temple still stand in present-day Warka (the biblical Erech) in the Iraqi desert as the confirmation of Gilgamesh's political ambition and devotion to Anu and Ishtar.

After the Prologue, the epic recounts Gilgamesh's heroic deeds, but the hero we find at first does not measure up to these lofty ideals. The most significant detail the Prologue gives is that Gilgamesh is semi-divine: “Two thirds they [the gods] made him god and one third man.” Rather than giving Gilgamesh a higher sense of purpose or calling as a king, his partial divinity seems to have unsettled him and given him the hallmark quality of an epic hero: pride or hubris. Thus, the reader is faced with a contradiction at the very outset of the epic: In contrast to the glowing testimony of the Prologue, the young ruler of Uruk is arrogant, cruel, and heedless of the consequences of his actions. The reader is left with the tantalizing problem that motivates the rest of the action: What happens to transform this cruel young ruler into a wise and celebrated king?

The opening moments of the epic make clear that Gilgamesh's self-understanding affects his relationships to others; that is, his pride in his semi-divine status elevates him above everyone else, convinces him that he needs no one else, and leads him to think only of himself and his selfish needs. Because he is so full of hubris and Page 169  |  Top of Articlehis abuses are so great, Gilgamesh even destroys the social and familial bonds of his subjects, isolating them from one another: “No son is left with his father, … His lust leaves no virgin to her lover, neither the warrior's daughter nor the wife of the noble.” Gilgamesh is not “a shepherd to his people,” as he should be. Sheep were an important commodity in the ancient world, and the shepherd occupied an important place in the society, for the shepherd not only cared for the sheep, he or she kept the sheep together in a flock, kept headstrong sheep from going astray, and protected them for dangerous predators. In short, the shepherd and sheep formed a close-knit social bond. Gilgamesh, however, has become the predator rather than the protector.

THE SOCIAL REALM: GILGAMESH'S RELATIONSHIP TO OTHERS

Gilgamesh's pride and isolation threaten to rip his city apart, and as a last resort, his people cry out to the gods for help: “You made him, O Aruru, now create his equal; let it be as like him as his own reflection, his second self, stormy heart for stormy heart. Let them contend together and leave Uruk in quiet.” Notice that their solution to Gilgamesh's abuse is to ask the gods to give him a companion and an equal-someone with whom he can have a relationship. By giving Gilgamesh a shadow self, someone to match his strength and passions, Gilgamesh can then leave the city and its families in peace. Although Gilgamesh's contact with the social world begins with just one other person, its effect changes Gilgamesh permanently and the rest of his story.

Gilgamesh's mirror image is, of course, Enkidu. Gilgamesh and Enkidu are antithetical in many ways. On one hand, Gilgamesh is the highest product of civilized society. He is a semi-divine king who lives in a palace and indulges himself in fine food and sensuality. On the other, Enkidu represents the basic attributes of the natural world. He is fashioned from clay, is enormously strong, and has never encountered the opposite sex; he runs with the wild animals, frees them from the hunter's snare, and eats wild grasses. The Epic of Gilgamesh says simply that Enkidu “was innocent of mankind; he knew nothing of the cultivated land.” While Enkidu lives off the land and what it provides naturally, Gilgamesh and the archaic Sumerian civilization thrives because of its ability to control nature-or at least harness it-by domesticating herd animals, by cultivating crops in the rich soil, by directing the river through irrigation and channels. Enkidu, who needs the cultivating influence of civilization, represents natural man or pre-civilized humanity, while Gilgamesh embodies his civilization's highest cultural attainments.

In addition, the companion's relationships to women are also different but strangely parallel. After Gilgamesh dreams of Enkidu's arrival and hears from the trapper about the wild man who runs with the animals, Gilgamesh sends a temple harlot to initiate Enkidu into civilized society. The harlot “taught him the woman's art,” and in addition to her sexual lessons, the harlot instructs Enkidu in the proper way to eat bread, drink wine, clothe himself, and bathe and anoint himself with oil and perfume. After Enkidu embraces the harlot and her civilization, he is forever changed, and when he attempted to return to the mountains, “when the wild creatures saw him they fled. Enkidu would have followed, but his body was bound as though with cord, his knees gave way when he started to run.” Enkidu's wildness literally has been harnessed by the bonds of civilization. At the same time Enkidu joins with the harlot, Gilgamesh carries out his sacred duty as king to unite with Uruk's ruling goddess. The Epic of Gilgamesh here likely reflects an early stage of Sumerian development when the king embodied both the priestly and political functions. Representing the lowest scale of human development, Enkidu enters the human community through the ministrations of a temple prostitute in Ishtar's sacred service.

Representing the highest pinnacle of human attainment, Gilgamesh joins with Uruk's divine patroness, Ishtar.

It is important to recognize that when Gilgamesh and Enkidu meet, fight, and become bound companions, their relationships to women in the story-whether divine or common women-virtually disappear. In his dreams of the meteor and the axe, Gilgamesh repeatedly emphasizes that he is drawn to these objects “and to me its attraction was like the love of a woman.” Each time Ninsun interprets the dreams for her son Gilgamesh, she also repeats that “you will love him as a woman and he will never forsake you.” Contemporary readers are often uncomfortable with erotic language that is applied to samesex relationships, and too often they see the strong bonds between men only in stereotypical terms such as homosexual. However, social scientists and literary critics use the term homosocial to denote the intense personal bonds between men. Homosocial also indicates the kind of behavior,

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social codes, and activities that unite groups of men, and this heroic code often arises in the context of athletic competition, warfare, or survival.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu are united in this kind of homosocial bond, for they are faithful to one another, they are united in their dangerous quests and battles, and their relationships to others pale in comparison to their connection to each other. After their fierce struggle in the streets of Uruk, “where they grappled, holding each other like bulls,” shattering the door posts and shaking the temple walls,” Gilgamesh abandons Ishtar, and Enkidu leaves the temple harlot. Gilgamesh, once united to the divine goddess, and Enkidu, once coupled to the lowly temple courtesan, “embraced and their friendship was sealed.” Gilgamesh's relationship to Enkidu frees Uruk from the abuse of its king, and together, Gilgamesh and Enkidu make a complete package. Ninsun completes their union by adopting Enkidu as her own child, thus making him Gilgamesh's brother.

THE POLITICAL REALM: GILGAMESH'S RELATIONSHIP TO HIS KINGDOM

After Gilgamesh finds a companion, someone whom he can accept as an equal, his attitude toward the people of Uruk changes. He muse then face two superhuman threats to his kingdom: Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven. Gilgamesh's campaign against Humbaba, the giant who protects the Cedar Forest, activates Gilgamesh's renewed sense of self and his new relationship to Enkidu and also reinvigorates his sense of kingship. Until their journey into the forest, Gilgamesh and Enkidu had grown complacent in Uruk. Once active and vital, Enkidu became weak and was “oppressed by idleness.” Gilgamesh also seeks new adventure, for he says, “I have not established my name stamped on bricks as my destiny decreed.” In terms of the heroic code, only a battle in a distant and threatening place against a formidable and evil foe can secure Gilgamesh's lasting reputation and quench his thirst for esteem.

However, Gilgamesh's personal quest for everlasting fame is at the same time a royal mission to free the land of evil: “Because of the evil that is in the land, we will go to the forest and destroy the evil; for in the forest lives Humbaba whose name is ‘Hugeness,’ a ferocious giant.” Humbaba represents wild and destructive nature apart from any civilizing tendencies, for as Humbaba says as he begs for his life, “I have never known a mother, no, nor a father who reared me. I was born of the mountain.”

Now, Gilgamesh's desires are no longer at odds with Uruk's needs. In contrast to his earlier abuse of his people, Gilgamesh, now a true shepherd to his people, seeks to protect Uruk from Humbaba's evil and secure the vital natural resources Uruk needs to thrive. Some scholars see in Gilgamesh's journey to the Cedar Forest the historical echo of the cities of southern Mesopotamia infiltrating the more mountainous north and west for the lumber and minerals necessary to support their thriving economies. In fact, the cedar timbers are used to create one of Uruk's monumental city gates, “Seventy-two cubits high and twenty-four wide, the pivot and the ferrule and the jamb are perfect. A master craftsman from Nippur has made you.” The gates of ancient cities served a dual purpose: In their size and strength they offered the city protection from invaders, and in their craft and beauty they advertised their city's wealth much in the same way a modern corporate tower might celebrate a company's affluence and status. The forest he protects thus provides the raw materials for Uruk's protection. Ancient cities such as Uruk needed to harness both forest and flood in order to survive, and Humbaba's defeat marks both Gilgamesh's prowess and Uruk's prosperity.

Although Gilgamesh and Enkidu defeat Humbaba, the fearsome giant of the forest, their success triggers another fateful test: the Bull of Heaven. Gilgamesh and Enkidu return to Uruk, and Ishtar wants Gilgamesh as her lover. However, much in the same way Enkidu could not return to the embrace of the wild, so Gilgamesh cannot return the embrace of the goddess. Gilgamesh recognizes that Ishtar uses and discards her human lovers much in the same way he used and dishonored the women of Uruk, and he pointedly asks Ishtar, “And if you and I should be lovers, should not I be served in the same fashion as all these others whom you loved once?” In other words, his renewed sense of relationship with others has shaped his view of himself, and he is no longer willing to treat others badly or be abused himself.

In her rage at being turned down by a lesser being, Ishtar persuades Anu and Antum, her parents, to unleash the Bull of Heaven upon Uruk. Much in the same way that Humbaba embodied both the promise of mountain riches and the danger lurking in the deep forest, the Bull of Heaven personifies the threat of prolonged drought and famine or natural disaster. Anu reminds Ishtar that “If I do what you desire there will be seven years of drought throughout Uruk when corn will be seedless husks.” Ishtar intends the Bull of Heaven to punish both Page 171  |  Top of ArticleGilgamesh and Enkidu, but it is let loose upon Uruk. The Bull goes first to the river, where “with his first snorts cracks opened in the earth and a hundred young men fell down to earth.” With the Bull's second snort, two hundred fall to their deaths, and with his third, Enkidu is struck a blow. It is difficult not to see in the Bull of Heaven's snorts the rumbling destruction of an earthquake, which would devastate Uruk's mud-brick walls and open up crevasses in the earth. But Gilgamesh and Enkidu work together to defeat this threat and this latest venture becomes their greatest glory. Thus Gilgamesh's great victories yield the double benefit of bringing him glory and his city peace and prosperity.

DEATH AND THE SUPERNATURAL REALM: GILGAMESH'S RELATIONSHIP TO THE GODS

Unfortunately, Gilgamesh's remarkable triumph against Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven also enrage some members of the heavenly pantheon, and Enkidu has a dream that a council of the gods has decreed that “Because they have killed the Bull of Heaven, and because they have killed Humbaba who guarded the Cedar Mountain one of the two must die.” The gods choose Enkidu to die, and his last words to Gilgamesh reflect the heroic code around which their relationship has revolved: “My friend, the great goddess cursed me and I must die in shame. I shall not die like a man fallen in battle; I feared to fall, but happy is the man who falls in the battle, for I must die in shame.” The true warrior dies with his comrades in battle, not in bed, but Enkidu's death brings Gilgamesh face-to face with his most difficult challenge: the fact of his own mortality. Together, Gilgamesh and Enkidu have done everything in their power to establish their reputations, their “names,” but at Enkidu's death Gilgamesh realizes that even their heroic exploits do not hold the key to happiness, eternal life, or even ultimate meaning. In Enkidu's death, Gilgamesh faces his own destiny, for as Gilgamesh dreamed and Enkidu interpreted, “The father of the gods has given you kingship, such is your destiny [but] everlasting life is not your destiny.” In his rage and grief, Gilgamesh laments the passing of his friend and faces life again alone.

Although Gilgamesh is isolated after Enkidu's death, he is not the same person he was at the beginning of the epic. His relationship to Enkidu has changed him irreversibly, for although death separates Gilgamesh and Enkidu physically, it seems that Gilgamesh carries Enkidu's memory with him throughout the rest of the tale. Often, when critics talk about the central theme of the Epic of Gilgamesh, they describe it in abstract terms: the theme of mortality or the awareness of death. Yet Gilgamesh's understanding of his mortality emerges from a concrete and personal loss. His best friend has died and left the great hero fearful and that life-changing event sends him into an even more desperate quest for the answer to life's ultimate question: what will become of me?

Gilgamesh recognizes his own fate in his friend's death, and this awareness spurs him on to the ends of the earth to find Utnapishtim: “Despair is in my heart. What my brother is b', that shall I be when I am dead. Because I am afraid of death I will go as best I can to find Utnapishtim whom they call the faraway, for he has entered the assembly of the gods.”

During Gilgamesh's search for Utnapishtim, the hero changes both emotionally and physically in ways that contrast with his earlier elevated status. First, the great hero who defeated Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven is truly fearful for the first time in the tale. He is just as tentative and unsure after Enkidu's death as he was arrogant and abusive before Enkidu's coming. Second, he changes physically to the point that he appears to be a wild man just like Enkidu had been previously. He roams the wilderness dressed in skins, just a haggard shadow of his former self. Furthermore, Gilgamesh's journey into the supernatural to find Utnapishtim and conquer death parallels his earlier quest into the natural world of the Cedar Forest to locate Humbaba and conquer evil.

The earlier quest tested his divinity; this final quest tests his humanity. After passing through a great darkness into the garden of the gods, Gilgamesh encounters three supernatural beings in succession before reaching Utnapishtim. Shamash, appalled at Gilgamesh's appearance, tells him, “You will never find the life for which you are searching.” Alongside the great sea of death, Siduri, goddess of wine, tells him to abandon his search and advises him instead to eat, drink, and be merry while he can. Urshanabi, Utnapishtim's boatman, at first refuses to take Gilgamesh to Utnapishtim, but after Gilgamesh destroys Urshanabi's sailing gear, the boatman relents. Finally, Gilgamesh confronts Utnapishtim with a single question: “how shall I find the life for which I am searching?” At this moment of completion when Gilgamesh has reached the end of his final quest, Utnapishtim replies: “There is no permanence.” Utnapishtim goes on to explain Page 172  |  Top of Articlethat death is humanity's great equalizer, for everything human will fall eventually and masters as well as servants face the grave.

Each of these four encounters is marked both by repetition and increasing complexity. It is as if the closer Gilgamesh gets to his goal, the more difficult his encounter. First, Shamash simply comments that Gilgamesh will not find what he is looking for. Next, Siduri supports her contention with illustrations from everyday life. Third, Urshanabi has to contend with the angry hero and give him the means to cross the waters of death to Utnapishtim. Finally, Utnapishtim answers Gilgamesh's query and goes on to tell the story of the great flood and how he became immortal.

At the same time, Gilgamesh's journey into the supernatural follows a numbing repetition. Each deity wonders how Gilgamesh came this way and why he is in a deteriorated state; Gilgamesh responds each time that he is haggard and drawn because of his grief for his companion Enkidu, with whom he conquered Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven; that he fears death; and that he seeks Utnapishtim. These repetitions summarize the action up to this point; psychologically, they recreate the haunting questions that persistently assail someone in grief. In fact, Gilgamesh's description-his “face like the face of one who has made a long journey”—captures the poignant weight of grief and its effects. Thus, readers might view Gilgamesh's journey into the supernatural to find Utnapishtim as a psychological journey through grief toward understanding of and acceptance of mortality and a reconciliation with personal limitations.

Utnapishtim gives Gilgamesh a rather simple test to see if he is worthy of immortality: remain awake for seven days. However, sleep quickly overcomes the hero, and Utnapishtim's wife bakes a loaf of bread for each day Gilgamesh sleeps. In a fascinating sequence, the story describes how the loaves of bread age and decay over seven days, paralleling Enkidu's seven-day spiral of decay “until the worm fastened on him” after his death. The symbolic nature of the decaying bread is not lost on Gilgamesh, for it confirms that “death inhabits my room.”

After Gilgamesh fails the test, the epic presents two strangely parallel scenes. In the first, Utnapishtim gives Urshanabi the charge to “take him to the washing place.” There Urshanabi helps Gilgamesh clean himself up, literally sloughing-off “his skins, which the sea carried away, and showed [again] the beauty of his body.” Despite Gilgamesh's apparent failure, the king of Uruk is once again transformed, and this physical metamorphosis hints toward his awareness of human limitation. Utnapishtim banishes Urshanabi and at the urging of his wife, reveals to Gilgamesh the whereabouts of an underwater plant whose bloom can renew old people to their lost youth. Gilgamesh finds the plant and wants to share its benefits with the people of Uruk, but a snake hiding at the bottom of a well eats the bloom, sheds its skin, and returns to the well, leaving Gilgamesh bereft once again.

Many critics believe that the story ends on a note of loss, for Gilgamesh loses the life-giving plant and returns to Uruk empty-handed. However, the tale provides two more positive images. First, although Gilgamesh does not earn everlasting life, he is physically renewed like the snake that sloughs off its skin. The clothes Utnapishtim gives him “would show no sign of age, but would wear like a new garment till he reached his own city, and his journey was accomplished.” Physical change and decay, like the loaves of bread, is inevitable, but change is not necessarily to be equated with death.

Second, Gilgamesh actually does not return empty-handed. Urshanabi returns to Uruk with him. Here is the beauty of the Epic of Gilgamesh's consistently parallel but antithetical structure. In the first half of the story, Gilgamesh begins as a ruthless prince and ends as grieving friend. The second half reverses the first. Gilgamesh begins as a haggard, wild wanderer and returns with a new companion. Gilgamesh may not have eternal life, the ultimate object of his quest, but he does have understanding and relationships with others, which he lacked at the beginning.

The final chapter, “The Death of Gilgamesh,” completes Gilgamesh's cycle from haughty young king to beloved old ruler. The opening of the tale presents Gilgamesh as selfish and arrogant, using the women of Uruk for his own pleasure and the men for his ambitions. He lives outside meaningful human relationships, and he is completely without companionship except for those he dominates. Gilgamesh is restless and “a man of many moods” until he finds an equal and a companion. Indeed, he is no shepherd to his people. The story's conclusion presents just the opposite. Gilgamesh has fulfilled the destiny that Enlil decreed, and he has achieved great victories. But instead of dying alone on his bed, Gilgamesh is surrounded by love of his family; by his extended household, servants, courtiers, and friends; by the people of Uruk “great and small” and even by a host of gods, including

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Dumuzi the god of shepherds and sheepfolds. All of creation is united in lamentation for Gilgamesh when he dies, and although he does not find eternal life, his story endures, etched in stone and on the page, in the memory of his people and his readers alike.

Source: Daniel T. Klein, Critical Essay on Epic of Gilgamesh, in Epics for Students, 2nd ed., Gale, Cengage Learning, 2011.

Keith Dickson

In the following essay, Dickson discusses the narrative device of switching from the point of view of an observer to that of one of the characters in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

THE TRAPPERS GAZE

One day, across a water-hole, in a wilderness three days' trek from the city, a trapper sees what has not been seen before: a wild man, like a beast-like a god-fallen from heaven, naked, his body rough with matted hair, down on all fours, crouching to lap up the water. This happens for a second day, and also for a third, but in the way in which this story gets told, these three distinct occasions are fused into a single encounter, as if each were identical to the others, as if each happened at one and the same time, or else all were stuck somehow in a kind of recursive and possibly nightmarish loop. The trapper looks, and his gaze for that brief moment could

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“SEEING THE OTHER EVOKES AWARENESS OF ONESELF, AND ESPECIALLY OF ONESELF AS ISOLATED, FINITE, AND IMPERMANENT. SEEING THE OTHER MAKES ONE SEE ONESELF AS MORTAL. THIS IS OF COURSE PRECISELY THE AWARENESS TO WHICH THE HERO GILGAMESH COMES AFTER THE DEATH OF ENKIDU.”

be ours, but what we see most clearly is not what he saw, but how what he saw gives his face in our eyes a different and yet still recognizable look: It is the look of “one who has travelled distant roads” (Gilgamesh I 113–21):

A hunter, a trapper-man, came face to face with him by the water-hole.

One day, a second and a third, he came face to face with him by the water-hole.

The hunter saw him and his expression froze, [he <Enkidu>] and his herds-he went back to his lair.

[He <the hunter> was] troubled, he grew still, he grew silent, his mood [was unhappy,] his face clouded over.

There [was] sorrow in his heart, his face was like [one who has travelled] distant [roads].

An odd shift thus occurs, a kind of narrative bait-and-switch. The fact that the verbs in this passage are all preterit and that the narrated action has already taken place does not change the fact that in the narration of the story-whether we are reading it, or else hearing it told-we are implicitly invited to look at Enkidu with or through the trapper's eyes. This is encouraged by the formulaic looping of the action (“one day, a second, and a third …”) that sets up the scene (I 115) by heightening suspense. The narrative leads us twice to the same brink of direct encounter, only to draw back on each occasion and then return to that brink a third time, thereby generating expectation of something that will happen or be seen. What we are shown, however, is not the face of the wild man-which we have already seen “for ourselves,” after all (I 105–12)—but instead the face of the one through whose eyes we expected to look, with the Page 174  |  Top of Articleresult that the reputed viewer now becomes the object of the view. We see the trapper when he has seen Enkidu “face to face” (I 114, 115).

What is the significance of this shift? At least two questions are involved here, which the present essay aims to explore. One is perhaps existential, and the other has to do with what narratologists generally call “discourse”—“the narrating as opposed to the narrative” (Prince 1987: 21)—or more simply, how the story (whatever its content may be) gets told. Specifically, it is an issue that concerns shifts in “focalization,” namely in the “perspective” or “viewpoint” or “angle of vision” that orients a story's telling. In the passage quoted above, the narrator of the enframing tale makes the trapper the “focalizer” in his encounter with the wild man, and the wild man takes the part of the “focalized,” one the subject of the gaze, and the other its object. Or at least that initially seems to be the case. As we have noted, it is the trapper himself who becomes focalized through his encounter with Enkidu; the seer becomes the seen. Why do we see his face? I propose to address this question first narratologically, in the expectation that the answer will also bear on its existential import.

What can it mean that our view of the wild man in this passage is a refracted one, and this also in two senses of the word? It is refracted first because it represents a different focalization from that of the story's narrator, with whose point of view ours is identical through much of the narrative. This too involves a shift, since in the lines (I 105–12) immediately preceding the passage at issue, we in fact glimpse the beast from the narrator's detached and, for all intents and purposes, omniscient vantage point. From the all-encompassing distance of that view, ranging (in the course of barely 40 lines) from the temples of Uruk to the court of Anu and then down to the wilderness, we are given the sight of an utterly natural being; thick hair on his body, long tresses like those of a woman, the strength of Ninurta within him as he eats grass along with the gazelle and jostles with other beasts at the water-hole. But having seen him thus once, why are we invited to see him twice, so to speak, and from a different perspective? What difference does it make that after the “objective,” narrated vision of the wild man we are manipulated into expecting to look at him again from another point of view?

The switch from seeing through the eyes of the external narrator (“extradiegetically”) to seeing through the eyes of a character embedded in the story (“intradiegetically”) is a narrative device that aims chiefly at generating affect. It does this first by reducing the distance between the viewer and the viewed. Here in the wilderness, the trapper's implicitly far more limited perspective allows us in turn to share in a more naïve and thus more direct vision of what he sees, or at least in the semblance of such a vision. It offers a sight that is apparently less mediated by the narrator's extradiegetic view and also less filtered, perhaps, by the experience of what might even at this early date be conventional representations of wild men. To the extent to which we and the original audience are invited to crouch down and look across the water-hole, we are also encouraged to see as it were directly what it is that crouches on the other side, over there, just opposite us. Rather than maintaining separation, then, the trapper's viewpoint would bring us into dangerous proximity to the beast. This close encounter tends to cancel out the distance of our initial perspective from the safety of the omniscient narrator's viewpoint. As a corollary, the wild man himself would therefore seem less a fictional type-something encountered in stories told by narrators-than an individual in his own right. For Enkidu to be seen intradiegetically gives him greater authenticity, as it were.

Proximity in turn supplies the encounter with the emotional content it initially lacked. To be sure, our embedded gaze is an interrupted one, a kind of narrative feint, a blind alley, in that it never actually reaches its target. We see Enkidu only once, after all, not twice; we never see the beast as the trapper really saw him. Instead, our gaze is deflected onto the trapper's face, where we see not what he saw but instead his own response to the sight. This is a loss, perhaps, but at the same time also a gain. The response in its emotional and existential density is in fact something we could not have seen extradiegetically, from a remote position outside the narrative. Seeing the trapper after he has seen Enkidu lends us a different kind of vision, namely a vision with greater affective depth. Even in the case of an embedded as opposed to an external point of view, vision still remains the most distancing of the senses; it keeps its object at arm's length, and to that extent perhaps controls it better, but at the same time also precludes direct involvement. Note that in the run of lines preceding this encounter (I 105–12), where the perspective is that of the detached narrator, the description is dominated by the sense of sight: body, matted hair, long tresses, coat of hair, grazing, jostling. Only twice is what is narrated an inner state-interestingly, the Page 175  |  Top of Articlebeast's ignorance (I 108) and satisfaction (I 112)—rather than some outward, visible feature.

By contrast, the description of the trapper dwells mostly on inward feelings. All but two of the adjectives attributed to him in lines I 117–21 refer to affective and thus not directly observable states: “troubled, he grew still, he grew silent, ǀ his mood [was unhappy,] … ǀThere [was] sorrow in his heart.” Even the reference to his actual features (“his face clouded over” [I 119]) addresses his appearance as an index of mood. The encounter “face to face” (I 114, 115) exposes the trapper's own face (I 116, 119, 121) not as surface but instead as transparency, allowing us a glimpse into the depth of his heart. Unlike the distancing of sight, emotions are markers of proximity-to the trapper himself, perhaps, as much as to the beast across the water-hole. Through them, we are brought perilously closer to experiencing less Enkidu himself than the significance of an encounter with him.

Through the literary device of embedded (and interrupted) focalization, we gain a kind of affective vision, or better, the vision of an effect. What we see on the surface, the rigidity of the expression, the clouding of the face, reveals what lies within. This device in turn reflexively turns on us too, since by its means we are also implicitly led to reassess our own initial response to our first view of Enkidu just a few lines earlier (I 105–12). How likely is it, after all, that upon that first sight of the wild man our own expressions “froze,” that we “grew still … grew silent,” and that our faces seemed to others like the faces of those who have “travelled distant roads”? The description of the trapper's response, the fact that right after having seen Enkidu we are now directed to look at another who has also just seen him, prescribes specific affective content in response to that sight. It fills in a blind spot in our extradiegetic view of Enkidu. What was missing or indefinite and unspecified in our own experience when we looked from the narrator's viewpoint is now supplied to us when we are asked to look from the viewpoint of the trapper. His response, in a sense, is offered as a template for ours, and possibly even as a mirror. Seeing the trapper after he has seen Enkidu forces us to take a look at ourselves as well.

We see the trapper's expression, then, and not the wild man's face a second time because more than any direct view of Enkidu it measures the magnitude of the latter's strangeness. The trapper's shock reflects the beast's alterity, and we too are encouraged to experience that otherness as shocking. At the same time, we are not brought too close for comfort; the distance is never really collapsed, but on the contrary only preserved by interposing the trapper's face between us and the face of Enkidu. Not only does it preserve that distance, moreover, but the device of deflected focalization at the same time also implicitly augments the danger of encountering Enkidu by protecting us from “directly” experiencing it ourselves. What seems like an impediment may in this respect actually be more like a shield. The trapper is a foil. In his face we see the result of unmediated confrontation with the wild man, confrontation unlike the one enjoyed at the safe and affectless distance of the narrator's gaze. If nothing else, this lets the storyteller maximize the impact of the encounter without having to undertake the task of describing it again, and in such a way (if it were possible) that the audience might react just as the trapper did. More than just a narrative trick, however, the tactic also helps to thematize the issue of the effects, both physical and existential, of confrontations with others, which is one of the abiding themes of Gilgamesh. There is perhaps even a sense in which Enkidu before his “fall” into culture resembles the Medusa of Greek myth, the sight of whose face turns the viewer to stone. The trapper's frozen expression would serve in this case as a kind of reflection that lets us see what ours would have been if we had had the misfortune to look at the creature with our very own eyes.

The passage closes with the formula that strikingly combines outward appearance with inner state to register the full extent of the trapper's reaction (I 121): “his face was like [one who has travelled] distant [roads].” His experience of the wild man transforms him; it alters how he feels (troubled, despondent, sorrowful), and therefore even alters the very look of his face. The simile in the formula is of course partly a simple reference to the physical travails of travel for the Mesopotamians, as for many in the ancient world, always a perilous and exhausting enterprise. Along the “distant path” (III 25) to the Cedar Forest, for instance, Gilgamesh and Enkidu need to dig wells for their water every night (IV 5f., 38f., 83f., 125f., 166f.), at the end of each day's long fifty leagues. On his second journey, the hero must kill lions, both to survive and for his food (IX 15–18), and his passage along the path of the sun, “pitch dark and seemingly interminable” (George 2003: 494), is a grueling and nightmarish race over the course of an entire day. The theme of the journey and its toll is in fact raised in the opening lines of the poem (I 9): Gilgamesh “came a distant road and was weary Page 176  |  Top of Articlebut granted rest.” Here travel figures as a kind of heroic labor in itself, and the journey itself as a narrative structuring device. This is in keeping with what Campbell styles the heroic “monomyth,” in whose terms the hero's story always follows a circular track of Departure and later Return, travel outward to the ends of the known world and then back home again to rest or die.

More than just this, however, the simile also registers the inward effect of travelling “distant roads.” What the trapper feels in Tablet I is less physical weariness than existential fatigue; the sight of the wild man somehow makes him sorrowful and despondent. In a narrative that has much to do with mapping the changes wrought through encounters with others I-of the trapper with Enkidu, Enkidu with Shamhat, Gilgamesh with Enkidu, both heroes with Huwawa, Gilgamesh with Siduri and Utnapishtim-this first encounter in the story is in fact richly prefigurative of others later on. Seeing the other is transformative; it always brings with it a risk of oneself no longer being the same.

Inner changes in Gilgamesh mostly take place precisely in the context of confrontation and distant travel, whether literal-from Uruk to the wilderness, from Uruk to the ends of the earth-or else figurative, as in the case of Enkidu's own passage from nature to culture. In that case too, as in the trapper's face, the change is reflected in how Enkidu appears afterwards, as he sheds the look of the beast and becomes instead groomed and anointed with oil like a man, “like a warrior” (II P 105–11), “like a god” (II P 54). The beginning of his own journey, in the act of sexual initiation by Shamhat, may not cover much physical space, but the ontological distance he traverses is considerable. In turn, the face of Gilgamesh will likewise undergo transformation in the course of his painful quest after Enkidu's death, though there the change takes the form of a kind of disfigurement (X 40–45 ˜ 47–52 ˜ 113–18 ˜ 119–25).

The traveller who leaves his familiar walls to venture into the wild that stretches between one town or city and the next, and especially the traveller who is gone for long and whose journey takes him far afield, returns home to his kin a changed man because of the labor of travel and also because of what he has seen along the way. According to the use of the formula in Tablet I to illuminate the effects of the trapper's encounter with Enkidu, seeing what is other somehow causes a change in the heart that is reflected in the face, thus permanently altering one's outward look. This alteration is presumably commensurate with the strangeness of what gets seen. By analogy, the greater and longer the trek-how much farther one has wandered, amidst how many more dangers, through how many more strange sights, and with what deeper suffering-the more it transfigures the traveller. Perhaps even more significant is the fact that the inner change wrought by travel and encounter with others consistently seems to be that of grief, not joy. Seeing the other causes anguish. Contrast the statement “there [was] sorrow in his heart” (I 120) applied to the trapper after he catches first sight of Enkidu, his gaze traversing the gulf between man of culture and wild man, mortal human and godlike beast, with the reference a few lines earlier (112 ˜ 177; cf. 173) to Enkidu's heart “growing pleased with the water” alongside the beasts. Sorrow will of course inevitably follow Enkidu's transformation, too, though only after a lengthy detour through a failed heroic career (cf. VII 263–67). After the delight he experiences in Shamhat's embrace (I 189–95, 300; P II 135), which even brings on forgetfulness of the wild where he was born (II P 46–50), in the food and drink of his acculturation (II P 100–105), and perhaps also in the quasi-erotic company of Gilgamesh, Enkidu suffers despondency and regret on his deathbed in Tablet VII.

What this suggests is that the sorrow that results from the sight of otherness is a sorrow closely linked to self-consciousness and to awareness of death. Seeing the other evokes awareness of oneself, and especially of oneself as isolated, finite, and impermanent. Seeing the other makes one see oneself as mortal. This is of course precisely the awareness to which the hero Gilgamesh comes after the death of Enkidu. That knowledge impels him on a journey whose transformative effects can also be read in his face. To appreciate the change he undergoes, it will help to see it through yet another focalization.

SIDURIS GAZE

Through veils, she raises her eyes (IX 196) to see a wild creature approach from the garden of jewelled trees. His aspect is frightening; afraid for her life, she quickly withdraws inside her house, bars the door, and goes up to the safety of the roof. Her concern is not baseless, since the creature is violent. He in fact confronts her from outside and threatens to shatter the bolts and smash her gate (X 15–22). Most striking about his appearance is Page 177  |  Top of Articleits fundamentally dual nature: this is a creature divided against itself (X 5–9):

Gilgamesh came wandering, and […:] he was clothed in a pelt, [he was imbued with ] menace.

He had the flesh of the gods in [his body.

] but there was sorrow in [his heart.] His face was like one who had travelled a distant road.

A man dressed like a lion, outwardly a beast since covered by its pelt, he is also a grieving (human) heart covered by the flesh of the gods. This makes for an unsettling combination, and also suggests his own liminal status, his position midway between animal and deity, though this time not as a source of heroic strength but instead an occasion for grief. Mirroring Enkidu's earlier passage, he has exchanged Culture for Nature: His animal skins (cf. XI 250ff.) stand in contrast-as uncouth to refined, savage to civilized-with the hoods and veils in which Siduri is wrapped (X4). A similar contrast presumably holds between his face and hers, since it is implicitly to that difference that her attention is immediately drawn (X 40–45):

“[why are your] cheeks [hollow.] your face sunken, [your mood wretched,] your features wasted?

[(Why) is there sorrow] in your heart, your face like one [who has travelled a distant road?][(Why is it)] your face is burnt [by frost and sunshine,] [and] you roam the wild [got up like a lion?]”

Before looking more closely at the details of this description, whose fourth line echoes and is therefore confirmed by the narrator's extradiegetic use of the same formula at X 9, it will be useful to remember how great a switch in focalization has taken place with respect to the hero's character. Throughout much of Tablets X and XI of Gilga-mesh, it is Gilgamesh himself who is the object of the gaze of others rather than its subject. How he appears to Siduri, Urshanabi, and Utnapishtim receives the greatest emphasis in these episodes, as each of the inhabitants of this realm sees and comments on his troubled looks and desperate, impulsive behavior. Gilgamesh as the object of sight-namely, as focalized-instead of the prime focalizer strongly contrasts with his position at the opening of the narrative, which celebrates more than anything his role as subject, as the master of heroic vision (I 1–7):

[He who saw the Deep, the] foundation of the country, [who knew …, ] was wise in everything!

[Gilgamesh, who] saw the Deep, the foundation of the county, [who] knew [ …, ] was wise in everything!

[ … ] … equally [ …, ] he [learnt ] the totality of wisdom about everything.

He saw the secret and uncovered the hidden.

The One Who Saw has now become the One Who is Seen and, even more tellingly, the one seen not as the acme of heroism or the standard of masculine beauty, but rather the one who is radically and even repellently other, both alien and alienating. It is chiefly his alterity, the degree to which he obviously has no place beside Siduri and in the company of Utnapishtim, despite the strength of his desire to be rid of his mortality, that is the focus of his adventures in these final scenes. No longer the confident hero and arrogant king, the builder of walls and tamer of wastelands, Gilgamesh is now an intruder in a strange world, just as Enkidu too once was: Both of them “savage,” potentially violent, ignorant, and vulnerable. The threat of battery he utters against Siduri (X 15–22) he soon afterwards carries out against the Stone Ones, whoever or whatever they are, smashing them in fury and thereby stupidly depriving himself of the safest means of passage across the Waters of Death (X 92–108).

Once arrived on the opposite shore, he fails the simple test of vigilance he is given the very moment it begins (XI 210f.), like a folktale buffoon, and the plant of rejuvenation too will later elude his grasp (XI 303–7), leaving him only with tears and useless lament (XI 308–14). Gilgamesh is clearly an interloper in this world; he is a clumsy and even pitiful beast. The homology between Gilgamesh among the immortals and prelapsarian Enkidu on the threshold of human culture is a strong one in the narrative. A simple but compelling analogy holds: As was wild man to trapper, so is Gilgamesh to deity: the ontological distance between the terms in each pair is measured by the shock and revulsion caused when beast and hero are the focalized objects of another's view.

The representation of Gilgamesh as a desperate, dangerous creature is thus the effect of a tactic of focalization; it is conditioned mainly by the narrative construction of a series of gazes that make him their object. These are gazes diametrically unlike the ones that earlier construed him as a Page 178  |  Top of Articleparagon of kingship (I 29–62), as an alpha-male conspicuous in strength, grace, and beauty (I 234–39), and as the embodiment of the deeply erotic appeal or kuzbu that drew down Ishtar's longing eye on him (VI 1–9). Here instead he is seen, by Siduri, Urshanabi, Utnapishtim, Utnapishtim's wife, as much if not more than he actively sees others, and the repetition of the formulaic litany of questions (X 40–45 ˜ 115–18 ˜ 213–18) adverting to his face and comportment by each who beholds him, as well as to the disfigurement of his body by matted hair (cf. I 105) and dirty hides (XI 250–58˜ 263–70), only emphasizes his alterity. He is not quite the same species, and inspires in them a mixture of piety, fear, and disgust. In the eyes of Siduri and Utnapishtim, this strange intruder, a jarring bricolage of pelt, divine flesh, and human despair, even verges on the monstrous.

His narcissistic grief has disfigured him far more than the travails of his long journey, the sleeplessness, hunger, and the burning by sun and frost. “His face was like [one who has travelled] distant [roads]” (X 9 ˜ I 121). Like the trapper before him, Gilgamesh has seen something that transfigures him into an emblem of grief, an icon or planned likeness, and also a cautionary sight for all others to see. Similarly, for Gilgamesh too the face is a transparent medium to what lies beneath; it is at one and the same time un visage me duse, frozen expression (I 117; Bottéro 1992: 70), and also a kind of mirror of the heart. The hollow cheeks and sunken countenance, the wasted features are outward signs of the sorrow within, indices of the foreknowledge of death, that “woe in the vitals” (Foster 2001: 74), that sits uneasily within his godlike flesh and underneath the lion's filthy hide. Death is what he has seen-Enkidu's death, and hence his own-and his malaise over that sight is precisely what marks him as an unwelcome alien among the serene population at the ends of the earth.

In the trapper's case, the trajectory of his gaze was first promised but then withdrawn and replaced instead by the sight of his estranged look in response to what he saw across the water-hole that day. This reflexive movement (as I have suggested) might be understood as a kind of prophylaxis, namely as a narrative device disguised as a way of protecting us from the naked sight of primal man, as if it were somehow possible to see him immediately and unfiltered by literary tropes, as the trapper presumably did. What Gilgamesh has seen, on the other hand, though now likewise reflected in his looks, nonetheless stays fully within narrative sight during the final episodes of the story. There is little if any disguise here. Everyone-Siduri, Urshanabi, Utnapishtim, the audience, and most of all Gilgamesh-can see it very clearly: It is death.

The death of Enkidu, it is worth recalling, was initially recounted in small part from the detached and extradiegetic standpoint of the narrator (cf. VII 254–67), but for the most part in the form of an intricate web of embedded focalizations by Enkidu and Gilgamesh, alternately, all weaving almost liturgically in and out of dreams, wakefulness, delusion, and epiphany. On several occasions in Tablet X, that death is retold and therefore also refocalized by Gilgamesh himself, in the formula that constructs his reply to those equally formulaic questions about the devastation others see in his face. Gilgamesh, here both focalizer and narrator, openly tells what he himself has seen (X 57–60 ˜ 134–37 ˜ 234–37:

“[the doom of mankind overtook <Enkidu>,] [for six days and seven nights I wept over him.] [I did not give him up for burial,] [until a maggot fell from his nostril.]”

The sight of that body infested with maggots, the flesh of Enkidu turned into worms' meat and clay (X 68f. ˜ 145f. ˜ 245f.), has become a fixation for Gilgamesh, a nightmare image as it were etched permanently on his retina. This points to another shift in the interplay of seeing and being seen. Here Gilgamesh as The One Who Sees (cf. I 1f.) has not only become instead The One Who Is Seen-the object exposed to the superior and coolly sympathetic gaze of Siduri and Utnapishtim-but also and more critically The One Who Is Bound By What He Has Seen. His focus is fixated. At one time long ago the masterful subject of vision, he is now controlled by his object; the focalizer has come to be dominated by the focalized. Death fills the entire field of his sight, afflicting him with a kind of existential blindness, just as it fills his heart the inconsolable grief that initially makes him deaf to Siduri's measured counsel. The expression on his face, “like [one who has travelled] distant [roads],” is that of despair and desolation in the sight of his own death.

There is perhaps even a subtle switch to be noted here in the sense of the analogy that underlies that formula. In the trapper's case, I have suggested that the reference of the simile “his face was like [one who has travelled] distant [roads]” was more than likely to the traveller come home Page 179  |  Top of Articlephysically altered by what he has seen abroad, as well as by the vastness of space and the exhausting length of the journey undertaken there and back. The mere sight of the natural monster Enkidu-once, twice, three times at the water-hole-transfigures a previously familiar face into an image of despondency. When the same formula is predicated of Gilgamesh in Tablet X, however, the different setting and situation of the episode evoke for it a perceptibly different connotation. What in the trapper's case was figurative is in his instead quite literal: Gilgamesh the distraught hero and roving savage has indeed “[travelled] distant [roads]” to arrive now at the very edge of the known world, the threshold between human and divine space on earth.

Thanks to the shift in focalization, the traveller himself is now the one who is foreign, not the returning son but on the contrary the one who arrives for the first time in a remote and possibly inhospitable new land. There, in the penetrating gaze of all who see him, his appearance is rather an index of the fact that he is indeed a stranger, displaced and disturbing and “[imbued with ] menace” (X 6). Unlike the trapper from the wilderness, the hero Gilgamesh has not returned to his own kin, as he himself perhaps would hope, shocked and tired and visibly estranged by his long trek through this world, but rather (and much more like Enkidu) he is himself the strange one stumbling into a land that can never really be his home.

Source: Keith Dickson, “Looking at the Other in Gilga-mesh,” in Journal of the American Oriental Society, Vol. 127, No. 2, April-June 2007, pp. 171–82.

Thorkild Jacobson

In the following excerpt, Jacobson traces the course of Gilgamesh's quest for immortality.

As the story [of Gilgamesh] begins Gilgamesh shares the heroic values of his times, and his aspirations to immortality take the form of a quest for immortal fame. Death is not yet truly the enemy; it is unavoidable of course but somehow part of the game: a glorious death against a worthy opponent will cause one's name to live forever. In his pursuit of this goal Gilgamesh is extraordinarily successful and scores one gain after another. He fights Enkidu and gains a friend and helper. Together they are strong enough to overcome the famed Huwawa and to treat with disdain the city goddess of Uruk, Ishtar. At that point they have undoubtedly reached the pinnacle of human fame. And at that point their luck changes. In ruthlessly asserting themselves and seeking ever new ways to prove their prowess they have grievously offended the gods, paying no heed to them whatever. Huwawa was the servant of Enlil, appointed by him to guard the cedar forest; their treatment of Ishtar was the height of arrogance. Now the gods' displeasure catches up with them, and Enkidu dies.

When he loses his friend, Gilgamesh for the first time comprehends death in all its stark reality. And with that new comprehension comes the realization that eventually he himself will die. With that all his previous values collapse: an enduring name and immortal fame suddenly mean nothing to him any more. Dread, inconquerable fear of death holds him in its grip; he is obsessed with its terror and the desirability, nay, the necessity of living forever. Real immortality-an impossible goal-is the only thing Gilgamesh can now see.

Here, then, begins a new quest: not for immortality in fame, but for immortality, literally, in the flesh. As with his former quest for fame Gilgamesh's heroic stature and indomitable purpose take him from one success to another. Setting out to find his ancestor, Utnapishtim, in order to learn how to achieve, like him, eternal life, he gains the help of the scorpion man and his wife, Sidûri, the alewife, and Urshanabi. When after great travail he stands before Utnapishtim it is only to have the whole basis for his hopes collapse. The story of the flood shows that the case of Utnapishtim was unique and can never happen again and-to make his point-Utnapishtim's challenging him to resist sleep, proves how utterly impossible is his hope for vigor strong enough to overcome death.

However, at the point of the seemingly total and irreversible failure of his quest, new hope is unexpectedly held out to Gilgamesh. Moved by pity, Utnapishtim's wife asks her husband to give Gilgamesh a parting gift for his journey home, and Utnapishtim reveals a secret. Down in the fresh watery deep grows a plant that will make an oldster into a child again. Gilgamesh dives down and plucks the plant. He has his wish. He holds life in his hand. Any time he grows old he can again return to childhood and begin life anew. Then on the way back there is the inviting pool and the serpent who snatches the plant when he carelessly leaves it on the bank.

Gilgamesh's first quest for immortality in fame defied the gods and brought their retribution on him; this quest for actual immortality is even more deeply defiant; it defies human nature itself, the very condition of being human, finite, mortal. And in the Page 180  |  Top of Articleend it is Gilgamesh's own human nature that reasserts itself; it is a basic human weakness, a moment of carelessness, that defeats him. He has nobody to blame but himself; he has ingloriously blundered. And it is perhaps this very lack of heroic stature in his failure that brings him to his senses. The panic leaves him, he sees himself as pitiful and weeps; then as the irony of the situation strikes him, he can smile at himself. His superhuman efforts have produced an almost comical result. This smile, this saving sense of humor, is the sign that he has, at last, come through. He is finally able to accept reality and with it a new possible scale of value: the immortality he now seeks, in which he now takes pride, is the relative immortality of lasting achievement, as symbolized by the walls of Uruk.

The movement from heroic idealism to the everyday courage of realism illustrated by [the hero of] the Gilgamesh story gains further in depth if one analyzes it not only positively as a quest, but also negatively as a flight, an avoidance. A flight from death rather than a quest for life-but a flight in what terms?

Throughout the epic Gilgamesh appears as young, a mere boy, and he holds on to that status, refusing to exchange it for adulthood as represented by marriage and parenthood. Like Barrie's Peter Pan he will not grow up. His first meeting with Enkidu is a rejection of marriage for a boyhood friendship, and in the episode of the bull of heaven he refuses-almost unnecessarily violently-Ishtar's proposal of marriage. She spells disaster and death to him. So when Enkidu dies, he does not move forward seeking a new companionship in marriage, but backward in an imaginary flight toward the security of childhood. At the gate of the scorpion man he leaves reality; he passes literally “out of this world.” In the encounter with the alewife he again firmly rejects marriage and children as an acceptable goal, and eventually, safely navigating the waters of death, he reaches the ancestors, the father and mother figures of Utnapishtim and his wife, on their island where, as in childhood, age and death do not exist. True to his images, Utnapishtim sternly attempts to make Gilgamesh grow up to responsibility; he proposes an object lesson, the contest with sleep, and is ready to let Gilgamesh face the consequences. The wife of Utnapishtim, as mother, is more indulgent, willing for Gilgamesh to remain a child, and she eventually makes it possible for him to reach his goal with the plant “As Oldster Man Becomes Child.” Gilgamesh is fleeing death by fleeing old age, even

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“TO EAT, TO DRINK, TO BE WELL CLOTHED, AND HAVE LASTING COMPANIONSHIP WERE AMONG THE GIFTS THAT THE GODS GAVE TO MANKIND. BEYOND THAT NOTHING MORE CAN BE OBTAINED. HOW FOOLISH OF GILGAMESH TO WANT MORE.””

maturity; he is reaching back to security in childhood. The loss of the plant stands thus for the loss of the illusion that one can go back to being a child. It brings home the necessity for growing up, for facing and accepting reality. And in the loss Gilgamesh for the first time can take himself less seriously, even smile ruefully at himself; he has at last become mature.

For whose sake, Urshanabi, did my arms tire?

For whose sake has my heart's blood been spent?

I brought no blessing on myself, I did the serpent underground good service!

The Gilgamesh epic is a story about growing up.

Source: Thorkild Jacobson, “Second Millennium Metaphors: ‘And Death the Journey's End,’ The Gilgamesh Epic,” in The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion, Yale University Press, 1976, pp. 193–219.

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SOURCES

Abrams, M. H., Glossary of Literary Terms, 5th ed., Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1988, p. 52.

Campbell, Joseph, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Princeton University Press, 1972.

Heidel, Alexander, The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels, 2nd ed., University of Chicago Press, 1949, pp. 224–69.

May, Herbert G., and Bruce M. Metzger, eds., New Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocrypha, Oxford University Press, 1962.

Moore, Steven, “Carved in Stone,” in Washington Post, November 14, 2004, p. T6.

Moran, William, “Introduction,” in Gilgamesh: A New Rendering in English Verse, translated by David Ferry, Noonday Press, 1992, p. ix.

Olson, Ray, Review of Gilgamesh, in Booklist, Vol. 101, No. 4, October 15, 2004, p. 381.

Oppenheimer, A. Leo, trans., “Sumerian King-List,” in Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, edited by James A. Pritchard, Princeton University Press, 1950, p. 266.

Postgate, J. N., Early Mesopotamia: Society and Economy at the Dawn of History, Routledge, 1992, pp. 22–50.

Renger, Johannes M., “Mesopotamian Epic Literature,” in Heroic Epic and Saga: An Introduction to the World's Great Folk Epics, edited by Felix J. Oinas, Indiana University Press, 1978, p. 44.

Review of Gilgamesh: A New English Version, in Publishers Weekly, Vol. 251, No. 33, August 16, 2004, p. 41.

Sandars, N. K., Epic of Gilgamesh: An English Version with an Introduction, rev. ed., Penguin Books, 1972.

Tigay, Jeffrey H., The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982, pp. 248–50.

FURTHER READING

Dalley, Stephanie, trans., Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, and Others, Oxford World Classics, Oxford University Press, 2009.

This excellent collection includes two versions of the Epic of Gilgamesh as well as the Mesopotamian Page 186  |  Top of Articlecreation epic (the Enuma Elish) and other myths associated with Gilgamesh and ancient Mesopotamian civilization. The literary material follows the cuneiform closely. Scholarly annotations are also included.

Damrosch, David, The Buried Book: The Loss and Rediscovery of the Great “Epic of Gilgamesh,” Henry Holt, 2007.

Damrosch presents an engaging account of how the clay tablets of the Gilgamesh epic were unearthed and sent to England in the mid-nineteenth century, where they were deciphered by Assyrologist George Smith.

Ferry, David, Gilgamesh: A New Rendering in English Verse, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1993.

Ferry's book is a lyrical, evocative transformation of the Epic of Gilgamesh into verse couplets.

Ferry follows the twelve tablet format and includes brief notes at the end of his translation.

This book is a poetic achievement informed by sound scholarship.

Foster, Benjamin R., trans., The Epic of Gilgamesh, edited by Benjamin R. Foster, Norton Critical Edition, Norton, 2001.

Foster, an Assyrologist at Yale University, provides new translations of the Gilgamesh epic and related Sumerian literature. New critical essays by respected scholars such as William Moran and Thorkild Jacobsen are also included.

Katz, Solomon H., and Fritz Maytag, “Brewing an Ancient Beer,” in Archaeology, Vol. 44, No. 4, 1991, pp. 24–27.

Katz's article is part of a debate over whether ancient Mesopotamians first began to gather and domesticate grain for the production of bread or for the production of beer.

Matthews, Roger, The Archaeology of Mesopotamia: Theories and Approaches, Routledge, 2003.

With a fine prose style, Matthews presents this knowledgeable and highly readable study of archeology in ancient Mesopotamia.

Mitchell, Stephen, Gilgamesh: A New English Version, New Press, 2004.

Acclaimed translator, Stephen Mitchell offers a fresh translation of the epic, which he sees as the world's first novel, concerned with the universal theme of growing up.

Pollock, Susan, Ancient Mesopotamia, Cambridge University Press, 1999.

Pollock provides an archaeologist's perspective on the ancient Near East in her description of the homes, daily life, economy, architecture, landscape, and religion of the ancient people who lived between the two rivers.

Rothman, Mitchell S., ed., Uruk Mesopotamia and Its Neighbors: Cross-cultural Interactions and Their Consequences in the Era of State Formation (School of American Research Advanced Seminar), James Currey, 2002.

This collection presents essays by leading experts on the Uruk period who discuss the rise of the Mesopotamian city-state.

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Source Citation

Source Citation   

Gale Document Number: GALE|CX1773100016