The Epic of Gilgamesh
The Mesopotamians lived in a world that, at first glance, reminds one of the Ancient Greeks. There is the same interaction with a plethora of gods who guide men, but often remain indifferent to them. There is the same acceptance of hierarchy, kingship, and the priestly class as the natural social order and analogues to the Divine order. There is the same surprising acceptance of combat and violence, and a taste for heroics. And there is the same world order that seems both naively straightforward and surprisingly cruel.
Such is the case with The Epic of Gilgamesh, a story that was first recorded in Sumerian before 2,000 BC and in the most familiar Akkadian version about 1,000 years later, and which records the story of a quite likely real King from around 2600 BCE. And what a King! King Gilgamesh of Uruk was a huge and beautiful warrior who led the construction of the city walls; no small feat in Ancient Mesopotamia. We can assume this meant the use of conscripted labor from the community and he soon earned a reputation for tyranny among his people. In desperation, they appealed to the gods to get him off their back. This, then, is an ancient story about good government, as well as a lesson for humanity on how to live in the world. It suggests that the key to being both a good king and a good man is to have a sense of limits.
In order to occupy him, the goddess Aruru decided to create a companion for Gilgamesh; from clay, she sculpted the wild-man Enkidu. Also huge and covered with hair, Enkidu lives in the woods and represents the first narrative of wild humanity being tamed by civilization. In this case, he’s civilized by the harlot Shamat who risks life and limb to couple with him. They have sex for seven days and seven nights and Enkidu is left physically weakened but has been given the gift of reason. I love that sex brings enlightenment in the epic!
In a somewhat similar story, friendship makes Gilgamesh a good king. Enkidu and Gilgamesh don’t exactly “hit it off” at first; Enkidu is shocked to hear that Gilgamesh has been going to the wedding parties of his citizens, in order to exploit his right as king to schtup the bride before the groom (it’s good to be the King of Ur, apparently), and chivalrously takes off to fight him. They clash, but as soon as it is decided that Gilgamesh is the alpha male, they become buddies. Much like Patroclus and Achilles, the two warriors develop an intense comradeship greater than any other relationship in the story. Harlots aside, Gilgamesh and Enkidu are emotionally devoted to one another.
The two heroes have great adventures together, defeating the ogre of the cedar woods, Humbaba, and slaying the Bull of Heaven, sent after Gilgamesh rejected the sexual advances of the Goddess Ishtar. As punishment, the gods kill Enkidu, taking him to a bleak Netherworld. In general, the gods live askance to humanity in the story, occupying palace-like temples and being treated as royalty. Many scholars believe that the gods really were thought to be living in the temples and were regularly offered food, a tradition that survived in Mesopotamia until the coming of Islam. But the gods play less of a role in this story than they would in religious scriptures, or in the Greek myths. They seem more like bystanders than central figures here.
Instead of a story about gods, the epic is more the story of human mortality and weakness. Gilgamesh is devastated by the death of Enkidu and rails against the unfairness of it all. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows how unjust and inexplicable death is, how permanent and unyielding. The real success of the story, and probably why it’s endured so long, is that, for all of its strangeness and its extinct gods and goddesses, it’s basically a story of friendship, love, and loss. Gilgamesh stays with his dead friend, grieving bitterly, until the maggots come forth from the body. Then, he sets out to find a way out of dying.
Gilgamesh sets out to find the legendary Utnapishtim and his wife, a couple who survived the Great Flood by building an ark and taking aboard animals of every species, before finally landing on the Mountain of Nimush and waiting until a bird returned with sign of dry land; in exchange, the gods granted him immortality. One might recognize (and many have recognized) the similarities to the Biblical story of Noah. It seems most likely that variations of the story existed for centuries, most likely referring to an actual flood in the region. There are also similarities to the Odyssey; for example, Gilgamesh sails to the edge of the world to cross into the underworld like Odysseus. Greek scholar Ioannis Kakridis has argued, convincingly I think, that Gilgamesh was a source for Homer’s epic.
Gilgamesh fails at every chance he gets to find immortality; a doomed quest for human beings. This is seemingly the lesson of the story, and is charmingly summed up by a tavern-keeper who accompanies Gilgamesh on the quest, but tells him that only the gods can live forever; instead of following this insane quest, “let your belly be full, enjoy yourself always by day and by night! Make merry each day, dance and play by night! Gaze on the child who holds your hand, let your wife enjoy your repeated embrace!” It’s not bad advice.
It’s hard not to sympathize with Gilgamesh. Animals fear pain, but cannot conceptualize that they will one day cease to exist. Only humans live with this steady knowing. There is something about mortality that seems very unfair- both random & meaningless, and completely egalitarian in its reach. Gilgamesh eventually realizes that he will not be granted immortality and resigns himself to his eventual demise. In the end, I think it is the experience of loving another person and coming to terms with the limits of human life that make him a good king. As the story ends, we are reminded that he built the walls of Uruk, a task that will live on long after him.
Update: Brad DeLong has a neat post excerpting the tavern-keeper passage we’ve celebrated in the comments. I would recommend reading that after this.
Endnotes:
1. I’m a bit shagged out from work today, so this is really a bit thin. Feel free to suggest any necessary corrections.
2. And tune in next time, canon fans, for Hesiod’s Theogony, a virtual salmagundi of divinities.
In order to occupy him, the goddess Aruru decided to create a companion for Gilgamesh; from clay, she sculpted the wild-man Enkidu. Also huge and covered with hair, Enkidu lives in the woods and represents the first narrative of wild humanity being tamed by civilization. In this case, he’s civilized by the harlot Shamat who risks life and limb to couple with him. They have sex for seven days and seven nights and Enkidu is left physically weakened but has been given the gift of reason. I love that sex brings enlightenment in the epic!
I don’t think we’re talking about sex leading to enlightenment as much as a degenerate coming to terms with society by being loved. It seems to me that the harlot (a somewhat degrading term for her line of work, as she does not merely perform sexual favours) is asked to empathize with Enkidu rather than passively let him desecrate her:
She was not restrained, but took his energy.
She spread out her robe and he lay upon her,
she performed for the primitive the task of womankind.
Still, there is none of the shame and taboo that surrounds sex in the modern age.
Go up on the wall of Uruk and walk around,
examine its foundation, inspect its brickwork thoroughly.
Is not the brick structure made of kiln-fired brick,
and did not the Seven Sages themselves lay out its plans?
I love the genuine wonder and admiration for the gifts of civilization on display here. It’s as if these people realized the extent to which they had freed themselves from the life cycle that had held thousands of generations before them captive.
In terms of modern relevance, I chuckled at this bit where the young trapper is describing Enkidu:
He filled in the pits that I had dug,
wrenched out my traps that I had spread,
released from my grasp the wild animals.
He does not let me make my rounds in the wilderness!”
Ah, the first environmentalist…
For the work of primitive court intellectuals, this is surprisingly immersive. I would not have expected such a thing to appeal to me, but it does.
It makes me wonder: how many such treasures have we lost because they did not accord with the whims of bronze-age bureaucrats?Report
I think that’s what it is- maybe we’d call it “sex positive” now! The attitude of the story strikes me as being that there’s something noble about our common humanity. In a sense, I think Gilgamesh has to come to terms with being human- which is definitely hard- but it also seems to celebrate human nature in the end. A line that I found especially charming was the barkeep’s suggestion to Gilgamesh that it feels good to bathe and he should just enjoy doing that.Report
I remember reading Gligamesh as a kid in primary school. (It may very well have been some abridged version) I remember one part where after Enkidu had died, Gilgamesh had a dream where he sees Enkidu, but no Enkidu has become a monster with talons and a beak and feathers.
What struck me was the injustice of the whole thing. I dont remember Enkidu doing anything that deserved that. (Which is probably one reason why I never re-read Gilgamesh. That itself is one squick no 8year old has to endure)Report
No, I don’t think he did anything to deserve it. It’s especially tough because he just recently became civilized, so there’s still much that’s childlike about Enkidu. It’s really easy to see why Gilgamesh rages against the dying of his light!Report
For me there is another layer to the story of Gilgamesh which could have been explored in your review, and it is that Enkidu was created not only as Gilgamesh’s complete opposite in every way (dark, hairy and wild where Giggamesh was fair, smooth of skin and cultivated etc), but to serve as Gilgamesh’s ALTER EGO! On all their exploits Gilgamesh and Enkidu ‘debate’ with each other and no matter what one says, be it positive or negative, the other finds an argument for or against which symbolizes the inner struggle of all humans (as much then as today), to do what their conscience dictates — for better, for worse, be it right or wrong. For example: With the killing of Humbaba there’s a whole dialogue as to whether they should or shouldn’t and for every ‘pro’ or ‘con’ that one of them comes up with, the other finds the counter-argument. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh feels the loss of his friend and Alter Ego most keenly but finally he is forced to stand alone, be his own conscience, make his own judgements, conquer his morbid fear of death and — being only a demi-god — come to terms with his own mortality. As the result of having lived this intimate relationship with his Alter Ego, Gilgamesh reforms his tyranical ways and ultimately becomes a better and much revered king! Antonia S-C.Report
This is a great comment! I was busy thinking of Enkidu as the beloved Other and didn’t think of this. Thank you for adding another wrinkle to our understanding.Report
What I love about all of these is the whole “why is the world the way it is?” thing.
Genesis, the Bhagavad Gita, Gilgamesh… they all explain things from the trivial (so, like, why do women hate snakes?) to the Big Questions (so, like, why do we spend so much time killing each other?)
We have people who sit down and explain “this is the way the world works, and here’s why”.
My problem with Hinduism/Buddhism is the whole “the point is to stop existing” thing. Yes, you have to do what you have to do and you want to become enlightened but learn detatchment because the point is, eventually, to escape the cycle of re-incarnation.
Judaism, by contrast, came out and said, like, in the first couple of verses “this is Good”. Creation is *GOOD*. Light, water, night/day, animals, even Man! GOOD! By the time we get to Jesus, we can even live *FOREVER*. Existence itself is a positive good! It’s so awesome, we never want to stop! At the very least, it’s better than having flaming pineapples shoved up your nose for all eternity which is the other option.
Both of those views strike me as missing a great many somethings (yes, I know I grossly oversimplified) that Gilgamesh happens to catch:
Hey. We’re only here for a minute. Enjoy it. We have food, and nice clothing, and women and children (be nice to them!). This is what you get.
I suppose that all of these things are Rorschach tests and, yeah, I just described what I see rather than what’s actually there and I’m sure that others could just as easily oversimplify with their own interpretations to make Hinduism make the most sense (or Christianity).
Yet Gilgamesh does, it seems to me, the best job of explaining why things are the way they are.
Because this is what we get. Try to enjoy it. (Be nice to them.)Report
*claps!*Report
(Reader, I married him.)Report
There’s definitely something to be said for marrying someone who is so entertaining.Report
And we all thank you for that my dear lady. Someone had to. (I jest, I jest)Report
I usually find the minor rules amusing. It might not be appropriate but one of my favorite Biblical rules is the one about not eating owls. Given the time and the place it was probably good advice to give the Israelites. I also liked the rule (I think in Deuteronomy) that, if two men are fighting, and the wife of one man grabs his genitals to stop the fight, you must cut off her hand and show her no mercy. Danged if I can think of a modern application for that one.
The larger rules are, I think, why ancient wisdom literature still speaks to us. Because death is still something that sucks and we have to come to grips with, however we do it. I too like the advice to enjoy your time here and know your limitations.Report