It is natural, therefore, to find that what may be called the great national epic of the Babylonians was of a religious character. The interpretation given to the traditions of the past was religious. The distant past blended with the phenomena of nature in such a way as to form a strange combination of poetry and realism. But thanks to this combination, which is essentially a process of the popular mind, the production that we are about to consider brings us much closer to the popular phases of the Babylonian religion than does the cosmology or the zodiacal system.

After all, a nation is much more interested in its heroes and in its own beginnings, than in the beginnings of things in general. Some speculation regarding the origin of the universe is perhaps inevitable the moment that the spirit of inquiry arises, but these speculations are soon entrusted into the hands of a minority,—the thinkers, the priests, the astronomers,—who elaborate a system that gradually separates itself from popular thought and exercises little influence upon the development of religious ideas among the masses.

The Book of Genesis passes rapidly over the creation of stars, plants, and animals, as though anxious to reach the history of man, and when it comes to the traditions regarding the ancestors of the Hebrews, the details are dwelt upon at length and pictured with a loving hand. Similarly among the Babylonians, there is a freshness about the story of the adventures of a great hero of the past that presents a contrast to the rather abstruse speculations embodied in the creation epic. In this story, in which a variety of ancient traditions have been combined, there is comparatively little trace of the scholastic spirit, and although, as we shall see, the story has been given its final shape under the same influences that determined the other branches of religious literature, the form has not obscured the popular character of the material out of which the story has been constructed.

The name of the hero of the story was for a long time a puzzle to scholars. Written invariably in ideographic fashion, the provisional reading Izdubar[845] was the only safe recourse until a few years ago, when Pinches discovered in a lexicographical tablet the equation

Izdubar = Gilgamesh.[846]

The equation proved that the Babylonians and Assyrians identified the hero with a legendary king, Gilgamos, who is mentioned by Aelian.[847] To be sure, what Aelian tells of this hero is not found in the Izdubar epic, and appears to have originally been recounted of another legendary personage, Etana.[848] There is therefore a reasonable doubt whether the identification made by Babylonian scholars represents an old tradition or is merely a late conjecture arising at a time when the traditions of Izdubar were confused with those of Etana. Still, since Etana appears to be a phonetic reading and can be explained etymologically in a satisfactory manner, the presumption is in favor of connecting Gilgamesh with the hero of the great epic. For the present, therefore, we may accept the identification and assume that in Aelian, as well as in the sources whence he drew his information, Izdubar-Gilgamesh has been confused with Etana.[849]

The ideographic form of the name is preceded invariably by the determinative for deity, but the three elements composing the name, iz, du, and bar, are exceedingly obscure. The first element is a very common determinative, preceding objects made of wood or any hard substance. The word for weapon is always written with this determinative; and since Izdubar is essentially a warrior, one should expect dubar to represent some kind of a weapon that he carries. On seal cylinders Gilgamesh appears armed with a large lance.[850] However this may be, Jeremias' proposition to render the name as "divine judge of earthly affairs"[851] is untenable, and the same may be said of other conjectures.

The fact that the name is written with the determinative for deity must not lead us to a purely mythical interpretation of the epic. There was a strong tendency in Babylonia to regard the early kings as gods. Dungi and Gudea, who are far from being the earliest rulers in the Euphrates Valley, appear in tablets with the determinative for deity attached to their names,[852] and it would be natural, therefore, that a hero belonging to a remote period should likewise be deified. There can be no doubt that there is a historical background to the Gilgamesh epic, and there is equally no reason to question the existence of an ancient king or hero who bore the name Gilgamesh. The deification of the hero superinduced the introduction of mythical elements. It was an easy process also, that led to tales which arose as popular symbols of occurrences in nature, being likewise brought into connection with a hero, who was at the same time a god.

The Gilgamesh epic thus takes shape as a compound of faint historical tradition and of nature myths. The deified hero becomes more particularly a solar deity. The popularity of the hero-god is attested by the introduction of his name in incantations,[853] and by special hymns being composed in his honor. One of these hymns,[854] of a penitential character, is interesting as illustrating the survival of the recollection of his human origin. Gilgamesh is addressed by a penitent, who seeks healing from disease:

O Gilgamesh, great king, judge of the Anunnaki, Prince, great oracle[855] of mankind, Overseer of all regions, ruler of the world, lord of what is on earth, Thou dost judge and, like a god, thou givest decisions,[856] Thou art established on the earth, thou fulfillest judgment, Thy judgment is unchangeable, thy [command is not revoked], Thou dost inquire, thou commandest, thou judgest, thou seest, and thou directest. Shamash has entrusted into thy hand sceptre and decision.

It will be observed that Gilgamesh is appealed to as a 'king' and 'prince.' His dominion is the earth, and the emphasis placed upon this circumstance is significant. In accord with this peculiar province of the god, the hymn continues:

Kings, chiefs, and princes bow before thee, Thou seest their laws, thou presidest over their decisions.

At the same time, his dependence upon Shamash is emphasized. As a minor solar deity, he receives his powers from the great judge Shamash. This double character of Gilgamesh furnishes the key to the interpretation of the epic in which he is the central figure.

The poem in its final shape comprised twelve tablets of about three thousand lines. Unfortunately only about half of the epic has been found up to the present time. The numerous fragments represent at least four distinct copies, all belonging to the library of Ashurbanabal. To Professor Paul Haupt we are indebted for a practically complete publication of the fragments of the epic;[857] and it is likewise owing, chiefly, to Professor Haupt that the sequence in the incidents of the epic as well as the general interpretation of the composition has been established.[858]

The center of action in the first tablets of the series and in the oldest portions of the epic is the ancient city Uruk, or Erech, in southern Babylonia, invariably spoken of as Uruk supuri, that is, the 'walled' or fortified Uruk. A special significance attaches to this epithet. It was the characteristic of every ancient town, for reasons which Ihering has brilliantly set forth,[859] to be walled.[860] The designation of Uruk as 'walled,' therefore, stamps it as a city, but that the term was added, also points to the great antiquity of the place,—to a period when towns as distinguished from mere agricultural villages were sufficiently rare to warrant some special nomenclature. From other sources the great age of Uruk is confirmed, and Hilprecht[861] is of the opinion that it was the capitol of a kingdom contemporaneous with the earliest period of Babylonian history. A lexicographical tablet[862] informs us that Uruk was specially well fortified. It was known as the place of seven walls and, in view of the cosmic significance of the number seven among the Babylonians, Jensen supposes[863] that the city's walls are an imitation of the seven concentric zones into which the world was divided. However this may be, a city so ancient and so well fortified must have played a most important part in old Babylonian history, second only in importance, if not equal, to Nippur. The continued influence of the Ishtar or Nana cult of Erech also illustrates the significance of the place. It is natural, therefore, to find traditions surviving of the history of the place.

The first tablet of the Gilgamesh epic contains such a reminiscence. The city is hard pressed by an enemy. The misfortune appears to be sent as a punishment for some offence.[864] Everything is in a state of confusion. Asses and cows destroy their young. Men weep and women sigh. The gods and spirits of "walled Uruk" have become hostile forces. For three years the enemy lays siege to the place. The gates of the city remain closed. Who the enemy is we are not told, and such is the fragmentary condition of the tablet that we are left to conjecture the outcome of the city's distress.

In the second tablet, Gilgamesh is introduced as a hero of superior strength and in control of Uruk. Is he the savior of the city or its conqueror? One is inclined to assume the latter, for the inhabitants of Uruk are represented as complaining that Gilgamesh has taken away the sons and daughters of the place. From a passage in a subsequent tablet it appears that Uruk is not the native place of the hero, but Marada.[865] Moreover, the name Gilgamesh is not Babylonian, so that the present evidence speaks in favor of regarding the first episode in the epic as a reminiscence of the extension of Gilgamesh's dominion by the conquest of Uruk. When this event took place we have no means of determining with even a remote degree of probability. The representation of Gilgamesh on very ancient seal cylinders[866] warrants us in passing beyond the third millennium, but more than this can hardly be said.

Gilgamesh is a hero of irresistible power. The inhabitants of Uruk appeal for help to Aruru, who has created Gilgamesh:

He has no rival.... Thy inhabitants [appeal for aid?]. Gilgamesh does not leave a son to his father. Day and night,... He, the ruler of walled Uruk,... He, their ruler,... The strong, the preeminent, the cunning,... Gilgamesh does not leave the virgin to [her mother], The daughter to her warrior, the wife to her husband. The gods [of heaven] hear their cry. They cry aloud to Aruru, "Thou hast created him, Now create a rival (?) to him, equal to taking up the fight against him (?)."

So much at least is clear from the badly mutilated lines that Gilgamesh has played sad havoc with the inhabitants of Uruk. In personal combat, as it would appear, he has triumphed over the warriors of the place. The son is taken away from his father, the virgins are taken captive, warriors and husbands are snatched from those dear to them. Aruru is here appealed to as the creator of mankind.[867] She who has created the hero is asked to produce some one who can successfully resist Gilgamesh. Aruru proceeds to do so.

Aruru, upon hearing this, forms a man of Anu.[868] Aruru washes her hands, takes a bit of clay, and throws it on the ground. She creates Eabani, a hero, a lofty offspring, the possession of Ninib.[869]

This creature Eabani is described as having a body covered with hair. He has long flowing locks and lives with the animals about him.

Eating herbs with gazelles, Drinking from a trough with cattle, Sporting with the creatures of the waters.

The description evidently recalls man living in a savage state, and, to judge from illustrations of Eabani on seal cylinders, the mythological fancy of the period when strange monsters existed of hybrid formation, half-man, half-beast, has influenced the conception of this strange creature who is to combat the invincible Gilgamesh. But Gilgamesh frustrates the plan. He sends a messenger known as Sadu, that is, 'the hunter,' and described as a "wicked man," to ensnare Eabani.[870] For three days in succession, the hunter sees Eabani drinking at the trough with the cattle, but is unable to catch him. The sight of this 'wild man of the woods' frightens the hunter. He returns to Gilgamesh for further instructions.

Gilgamesh spoke to the hunter:

Go, hunter mine, and take with thee Ukhat When the cattle comes to the trough, Let her tear off her dress and disclose her nakedness. He[871] will see her and approach her. His cattle, which grew up on his field, will forsake him.

Ukhatu is a name for a harlot devoted to the worship of Ishtar. Other names for such devotees are Kharimtu[872] and Kizritu.[873] Elsewhere the city Uruk is called "the dwelling of Anu and Ishtar, the city of the Kizreti, Ukhati, and Kharimati"[874] and in a subsequent tablet of the Gilgamesh epic[875] these three classes of harlots are introduced as the attendants of Ishtar, obedient to her call. The conclusion is therefore justified that Uruk was one of the centers—perhaps the center—of the obscene rites to which Herodotus[876] has several references. Several other incidental allusions in cuneiform literature to the sacred prostitution carried on at Babylonian temples confirm Herodotus' statement in general,[877] although the rite never assumed the large proportions that he reports.

On the other hand, Herodotus does not appear to have understood the religious significance of the custom that he designates as 'shameful.' The name given to the harlot among Babylonians and Hebrews,[878] Kadishtu or K'desha, that is, 'the sacred one,' is sufficient evidence that, at its origin, the rite was not the product of obscene tendencies, but due to naive conceptions connected with the worship of Ishtar as the goddess of fertility.

The introduction of Ukhat, however, as an aid to carry out the designs of Gilgamesh is devoid of religious significance, and one is inclined to regard the Eabani episode, or at least certain portions of it, as having had at one time an existence quite independent of Gilgamesh's adventures. The description of Eabani is, as we have seen, based upon mythological ideas. The creation of Eabani recalls the Biblical tradition of the formation of the first man, and Ukhat appears to be the Babylonian equivalent to the Biblical Eve, who through her charms entices Eabani away from the gazelles and cattle,[879] and brings him to Uruk, the symbol of civilized existence.

It is significant that in the Biblical narrative, the sexual instinct and the beginnings of culture as symbolized by the tree of knowledge are closely associated. According to rabbinical traditions, the serpent is the symbol of the sexual passion.[880]

Eve obtains control of Adam with the aid of this passion. In the episode of Eabani, Ukhat, and the hunter—who, be it noted, plays the part of the tempter—we seem to have an ancient legend forming part of some tradition regarding the beginnings of man's history, and which has been brought into connection with the Gilgamesh epic,—when and how, it is impossible, of course, to say.

The hunter follows the instructions of Gilgamesh. Eabani falls a victim to Ukhat's attractions.

Ukhat exposed her breast, revealed her nakedness, took off her clothing. Unabashed she enticed him.

The details of the meeting are described with a frank simplicity that points again to the antiquity of the legend.

For six days and seven nights Eabani enjoyed the love of Ukhat. After he had satiated himself with her charms, He turned his countenance to his cattle. The reposing gazelles saw Eabani, The cattle of the field turned away from him. Eabani was startled and grew faint, His limbs grew stiff as his cattle ran off.

But Ukhat has gained control of him. He gives up the thought of gazelles and cattle, and returns to enjoy the love of Ukhat. His senses return,

And he again turns in love, enthralled at the feet of the harlot, Looks up into her face and listens as the woman speaks to him. The woman[881] speaks to Eabani: "Lofty art thou, Eabani, like to a god. Why dost thou lie with the beasts? Come, I will bring thee to walled Uruk, To the glorious house,[882] the dwelling of Anu and Ishtar, To the seat of Gilgamesh, perfect in power, Surpassing men in strength, like a mountain bull."

It would appear from these lines that previous to the coming of Ukhat, Eabani had satisfied his desire on the beasts. In Ukhat, however, he found a worthier mate, and he accordingly abandons his former associates to cling to her.

He yields and obeys her command. In the wisdom of his heart he recognized a companion.[883]

In the continuation of the story Eabani becomes the companion of Gilgamesh, but I venture to think that the title was transferred in the development of the epic from Ukhat, to whom it originally belonged. It is she who awakens in Eabani a sense of dignity which made him superior to the animals. The word translated 'companion'[884] may be appropriately applied to Ukhat. Eabani clings to her, as Adam does to Eve after she 'is brought'[885] to him. Ukhat becomes Eabani's 'companion,' just as Eve becomes the 'helpmate' of Adam.

These considerations strengthen the supposition that the Eabani-Ukhat episode is quite distinct from the career of Gilgamesh. Had the epic originated in Babylon or Nippur, Eabani and Ukhat would have been brought to Babylon or Nippur. As it is, Eabani asks Ukhat to conduct him

To the glorious dwelling, the sacred seat of Anu and Ishtar, To the seat of Gilgamesh, perfect in power, Surpassing men in strength like a mountain bull.

Unfortunately, the tablet at this point is defective,[886] and the following three tablets are represented by small fragments only, from which it is exceedingly difficult to determine more than the general course of the narrative.

Ukhat and Eabani proceed to Uruk. There is an interesting reference to 'a festival' and to festive garments,[887] but whether, as would appear, Ukhat and Eabani are the ones who clothe themselves[888] upon reaching Uruk or whether, as Jeremias believes, a festival was being celebrated at the place it is impossible to say. Eabani is warned in a dream not to undertake a test of strength with Gilgamesh,[889]

Whose power is stronger than thine, Who rests not, ... neither by day or night. O Eabani, change thy ... Shamash loves Gilgamesh, Anu, Bel, and Ea have given him wisdom. Before thou comest from the mountain Gilgamesh in Uruk will see thy dream.[890]

Dreams play an important part in the epic. They constitute the regular means of communication between man and the gods, so regular that at times the compilers of the epic do not find it necessary to specify the fact, but take it for granted. To Gilgamesh, Eabani's coming is revealed and he asks his mother Aruru to interpret the dream.

The third and fourth tablets take us back to the history of Uruk. Gilgamesh, aided by his patron Shamash, succeeds in gaining Eabani as a 'companion' in a contest that is to be waged against Khumbaba, who threatens Uruk. The name of this enemy is Elamitic, and it has been customary to refer the campaign against him to the tradition recorded by Berosus of a native uprising against Elamitic rule, which took place about 2400 B.C.[891] It must be said, however, that there is no satisfactory evidence for this supposition. Elam, lying to the east of the Euphrates, was at all times a serious menace to Babylonia. Hostilities with Elam are frequent before and after the days of Hammurabi. If Gilgamesh, as seems certain, is a Cassite,[892] the conflict between him and Khumbaba would represent a rivalry among Cassitic or Elamitic hordes for the possession of Uruk and of the surrounding district. While the Cassites do not come to the front till the eighteenth century, at which time the center of their kingdom is Nippur, there is every reason to believe that they were settled in the Euphrates Valley long before that period. The course of conquest—as of civilization in Babylonia—being from the south to the north, we would be justified in looking for the Cassites in Uruk before they extended their dominion to Nippur. At all events, the conflict between Gilgamesh and Khumbaba must be referred to a much more ancient period than the rise of the city of Babylon as a political center.

Shamash and Gilgamesh promise Eabani royal honors if he will join friendship with them.

Come, and on a great couch, On a fine couch he[893] will place thee. He will give thee a seat to the left. The rulers of the earth will kiss thy feet. All the people of Uruk will crouch before thee.

Eabani consents, and in company with Gilgamesh proceeds to the fortress of Khumbaba. It is a long and hard road that they have to travel. The terror inspired by Khumbaba is compared to that aroused by a violent storm, but Gilgamesh receives assurances, in no less than three dreams, that he will come forth unharmed out of the ordeal.

The fortress of Khumbaba is situated in a grove of wonderful grandeur, in the midst of which there is a large cedar, affording shade and diffusing a sweet odor. The description reminds one forcibly of the garden of Eden, and the question suggests itself whether in this episode of the Gilgamesh epic, we have not again a composite production due to the combination of Gilgamesh's adventures with the traditions regarding Eabani. Unfortunately the description of the contest with Khumbaba is missing. There is a reference to the tyrant's death,[894] but that is all. In the sixth tablet, Gilgamesh is celebrated as the victor and not Eabani. We may conclude, therefore, that the episode belongs originally to Gilgamesh's career, and that Eabani has been introduced into it. On the other hand, for Eabani to be placed in a beautiful garden would be a natural consequence of his deserting the gazelles and cattle,—the reward, as it were, of his clinging to Ukhat. Separating the composite elements of the epic in this way, we have as distinct episodes in Gilgamesh's career, the conquest of Uruk and of other places,[895] and his successful campaign against Khumbaba. With this story there has been combined a popular tradition of man's early savage state, his departure from this condition through the sexual passion aroused by Ukhat, who becomes his 'companion,' and with whom or through whom he is led to a beautiful garden as a habitation.

The sixth tablet introduces a third element into the epic,—a mythological one. The goddess Ishtar pleads for the love of Gilgamesh. She is attracted to him by his achievements and his personality. The tablet begins with a description of the celebration of Gilgamesh's victory. The hero exchanges his blood-stained clothes for white garments, polishes his weapons, and places a crown on his head.

To secure the grace of Gilgamesh, the exalted Ishtar raises her eyes. Come, Gilgamesh, be my husband, Thy love[896] grant me as a gift, Be thou my husband and I will be thy wife I will place thee on a chariot of lapis lazuli and gold, With wheels of gold and horns of sapphire (?) Drawn by great ... steeds (?). With sweet odor of cedars enter our house. Upon entering our house, ... will kiss thy feet. Kings, lords, and princes will be submissive to thee, Products of mountain and land, they will bring as tribute to thee.

Ishtar appears here as the goddess of love and fertility. As such she promises Gilgamesh also abundance of herds. But Gilgamesh rejects the offer, giving as his reason the sad fate encountered by these who were victims of Ishtar's love:

Tammuz, the consort of thy youth (?), Thou causest to weep every year. The bright-colored allallu bird thou didst love. Thou didst crush him and break his pinions. In the woods he stands and laments, "O my pinions!" Thou didst love a lion of perfect strength, Seven and seven times[897] thou didst bury him in the corners (?), Thou didst love a horse superior in the fray, With whip and spur[898] thou didst urge him on, Thou didst force him on for seven double hours,[899] Thou didst force him on when wearied and thirsty; His mother Silili thou madest weep.

In this way Gilgamesh proceeds to upbraid the goddess, instancing, in addition, her cruel treatment of a shepherd, and apparently also of a giant, whom she changed to a dwarf. The allusions, while obscure, are all of a mythological character. The weeping of Tammuz symbolizes the decay of vegetation after the summer season. The misfortunes that afflict the bird, lion, and horse similarly indicate the loss of beauty and strength, which is the universal fate of those who once enjoyed those attributes. Ishtar, as the great mother, produces life and strength, but she is unable to make life and strength permanent. Popular belief makes her responsible for decay and death, since life and fertility appear to be in her hand. Gilgamesh, as a popular hero, is brought into association by popular traditions with Ishtar, as he is brought into relationships with Eabani and Ukhat. A factor in this association was the necessity of accounting for Gilgamesh's death. As a hero, the favorite of the gods and invincible in battle, he ought to enjoy the privilege of the gods—immortality. The question had to be answered how he came to forego this distinction. The insult he offers to Ishtar is the answer to this question. Knowing that Ishtar, although the giver of life, does not grant a continuance of it, he who is produced by Aruru will have nothing to do with the great goddess. But his refusal leads to a dire punishment, more disastrous even than the alliance with Ishtar, which would have culminated in his being eventually shorn of his strength.

Ishtar, determined that Gilgamesh should not escape her, flies in rage to her father Anu, the god of heaven, and tells of the manner in which she has been treated. Anu comforts her. Yielding to Ishtar's request he creates a divine bull, known as Alu, i.e., the strong or supreme one,[900] who is to destroy Gilgamesh. At this point in the narrative Eabani is again introduced. Gilgamesh and Eabani together proceed to the contest with the bull, as they formerly proceeded against Khumbaba. On seal cylinders this fight is frequently pictured.[901] In agreement with the description in the narrative, Eabani takes hold of the tail of the animal, while Gilgamesh despatches him by driving a spear into the bull's heart. Ishtar's plan is thus frustrated.

Ishtar mounts the wall of walled Uruk. In violent rage she pronounces a curse: "Cursed be Gilgamesh, who has enraged me, Who has killed the divine bull."

Eabani adds insult to injury by challenging the goddess.

Eabani, upon hearing these words of Ishtar, Takes the carcass (?) of the divine bull and throws it into her face. Woe to thee! I will subdue thee, I will do to thee as I have done to him.[902]

The mythological motives that prompted the introduction of Ishtar into this tablet now become apparent. The division of the epic into twelve parts is due to scholastic influences. It is certainly not accidental that the calendar also consists of twelve months. While it is by no means the case that each tablet corresponds to some month, still in the case of the sixth and, as we shall see, in the case of the seventh and eleventh tablets, this correspondence is certain. The sixth month is designated as the month of the "Mission of Ishtar." What this mission is we shall see in a subsequent chapter.[903] In this month was celebrated a festival to Tammuz, the young bridegroom of Ishtar, who is slain by the goddess. The prophet Ezekiel gives us a picture of the weeping for Tammuz,[904] which formed the chief ceremony of the day.

It is this character of the month that accounts not only for the introduction of the Ishtar episode in the sixth tablet, but which finds further illustrations in the mourning which Ishtar and her attendants indulge in after the death of the divine bull.

Ishtar assembled the Kizreti, Ukhalti and Kharimati. Over the carcass of Alu they raised a lamentation.

These three classes of sacred prostitutes have already been dwelt upon.[905] With more material at our disposal regarding the cult of Ishtar or Nana of Erech, we would be in a position to specify the character of the rites performed at this temple. The statements of Herodotus and of other writers suffice, however, to show that the three terms represent classes of priestesses attached to the temple. In this respect the Ishtar cult of Erech was not unique, for we have references to priestesses elsewhere. However, the function of the priestess in religious history differs materially from that of the priest. She is not a mediator between the god and his subjects, nor is she a representative of the deity. It is as a 'witch,' that by virtue of the association of ideas above set forth,[906] she is able to determine the intentions of the gods. Her power to do harm is supplemented by her ability to furnish oracles. In this capacity we have already come across her,[907] and we may assume that giving oracles constituted a chief function of the priestess in Babylonia. It was furthermore natural to conclude that as a 'witch' and 'oracle-giver,' the priestess belonged to the deity from whom she derived her power. When we come to the cult of a goddess like Ishtar, who is the symbol of fertility, observances that illustrated this central notion would naturally form an ingredient part of that 'sympathetic magic,'—the imitation of an action in order to produce the reality—which dominates so large a proportion of early religious ceremonialism. Among many nations the mysterious aspects of woman's fertility lead to rites that by a perversion of their original import appear to be obscene.[908] In the reference to the three classes of sacred prostitutes, we have an evidence that the Babylonian worship formed no exception to the rule. But with this proposition that the prostitutes were priestesses attached to the Ishtar cult and who look part in ceremonies intended to symbolize fertility, we must for the present rest content.

Gilgamesh, secure in his victory, proceeds to offer the horns of the divine bull to his patron Lugal-Marada, the 'king' of Marad, and who appears to be identical with Shamash himself. The offering is accompanied by gifts to the sanctuary of precious stones and oil. There is general rejoicing.

The episode of Gilgamesh's contest with the bull also belongs to the mythological phases of the epic. The bull is in Babylonian mythology[909] as among other nations a symbol of the storm. It is in his role as a solar deity that Gilgamesh triumphs over the storm sent by Anu, that is, from on high. In the following chapter, we will come across another form of this same myth suggested evidently, as was the fight of Marduk with Tiamat, by the annual storms raging in Babylonia. Gilgamesh triumphs as does Marduk, but when once the summer solstice, which represents the sun's triumph, is past, the decline of the sun's strength begins to set in. This is indicated by the subsequent course of the narrative.

The scene of rejoicing at Gilgamesh's triumph is changed to one of sadness. Eabani is snatched away from Gilgamesh. The few fragments of the seventh and eighth tablets do not suffice for determining exactly in what way this happened, but Ishtar is evidently the cause of the misfortune. A fatal illness, it would seem, seizes hold of Eabani,—whether as the result of a further contest or directly sent, it is impossible to say. For twelve days he lingers and then is taken away. As usual, the catastrophe is foreseen in dreams. For a third time[910] he sees a vision of fire and lightning, which forebodes the end.

The fragmentary condition of the epic at this point is particularly unfortunate. There is a reference to Nippur,[911] of which it would be important to know the purpose.

The relationship between Gilgamesh and Eabani would be much clearer if the seventh and eighth tablets were preserved in good condition. The disappearance of Eabani before the end of the epic confirms, however, the view here maintained, that the career of Eabani was originally quite independent of Gilgamesh's adventures. His death is as superfluous as is his association with Eabani. In all critical moments Gilgamesh appears to stand alone. He conquers Uruk, and it is he who celebrates the victory of the divine bull. The subsequent course of the narrative after Eabani's death, except for the frequent mention of Gilgamesh's lament for his companion, proceeds undisturbed. Moreover, Eabani's punishment appears to be identical with that meted out to Gilgamesh. The latter is also stricken with disease, but in his case, the disease has a meaning that fits in with the mythological phases of the epic. The seventh month—the one following the summer solstice—marks the beginning of a turning-point in the year. As the year advances, vegetation diminishes, and the conclusion was naturally drawn that the sun upon whom vegetation depended had lost some of his force. This loss of strength is pictured as a disease with which the sun is afflicted. In this way, the seventh tablet—and possibly also the eighth—continues the nature myth embodied in the sixth.

Haupt has ingeniously conjectured that the sickness which affects Gilgamesh is of a venereal character. The hero wanders about in search of healing. His suffering is increased by his deep sorrow over the loss of his 'companion.' The death of Eabani presages his own destruction, and he dreads the dreary fate in store for him. The ninth tablet introduces us to this situation.

Gilgamesh weeps for his companion Eabani. In distress he is stretched out on the ground.[912] 'I will not die like Eabani. Sorrow has entered my body. Through fear of death, I lie stretched out on the ground.'

He determines to seek out a mysterious personage, whom he calls Parnapishtim,[913] the son of Kidin-Marduk.[914] This personage has in some way escaped the fate of mankind and enjoys immortal life. He is called the "distant one." His dwelling is far off, "at the confluence of the streams." The road to the place is full of dangers, but Gilgamesh, undaunted, undertakes the journey. The hero himself furnishes the description.

I came to a glen at night, Lions I saw and was afraid. I raised my head and prayed to Sin. To the leader (?) of the gods my prayer came. [He heard my prayer (?)], and was gracious to me.

On many seal cylinders and on monuments, Gilgamesh is pictured in the act of fighting with or strangling a lion. In the preserved portions of the epic no reference to this contest has been found.[915] We should look for it at this point of the narrative. The following lines contain a reference to weapons,—ax and sword,—and in so far justify the supposition that some contest takes place. But the text is too mutilated to warrant further conjectures. After escaping from the danger occasioned by the lions, Gilgamesh comes to the mountain Mashu, which is described as a place of terrors, the entrance to which is guarded by 'scorpion-men.'

He reached the mountain Mashu, Whose exit is daily guarded, ... Whose back extends to the dam of heaven, And whose breast[916] reaches to Aralu;[917] Scorpion-men guard its gate, Of terror-inspiring aspect, whose appearance is deadly, Of awful splendor, shattering mountains. At sunrise and sunset they keep guard over the sun.

It will be recalled that the earth is pictured by the Babylonians as a mountain. The description of Mashu is dependent upon this conception. The mountain seems to be coextensive with the earth. The dam of heaven is the point near which the sun rises, and if the scorpion-men guard the sun at sunrise and sunset, the mountain must extend across to the gate through which the sun passes at night to dip into the great Apsu.[918]

Aralu is situated under the earth, and Mashu, reaching down to Aralu, must be again coextensive with the earth in this direction. The description of Mashu accordingly is a reflex of the cosmological conceptions developed in Babylonia. The scorpion-men pictured on seal cylinders[919] belong to the mythical monsters, half-man, half-beast, with which the world was peopled at the beginning of things. However, there is also an historical background to the description. The name Mashu appears in texts as the Arabian desert to the west and southwest of the Euphrates Valley.[920] It is called a land of dryness, where neither birds nor gazelles nor wild asses are found. Even the bold Assyrian armies hesitated before passing through this region. In the light of the early relationships between Babylonia and Arabia,[921] this reference to Mashu may embody a tradition of some expedition to Southern Arabia.[922] Beyond Mashu lay a great sea,—perhaps the Arabian Sea,—which Gilgamesh is obliged to cross ere he reaches his goal.

Gilgamesh is terrified at the sight of these scorpion-men but the latter have received notice of his coming and permit him to pass through the gate.

A scorpion-man addresses his wife: "He who comes to us is of divine appearance."

The wife of the scorpion-man agrees that Gilgamesh is in part divine, but she adds that in part he is human. In further conversation, the scorpion-man announces that it is by express command of the gods that Gilgamesh has come to the mountain. Gilgamesh approaches and tells the scorpion-man of his purpose. The hero, recovering his courage, is not held back by the description that the scorpion-man gives him of the dangers that beset the one who ventures to enter the dreadful district. The gate is opened and the journey begins.

He gropes his way for one double hour, With dense darkness enclosing him on all sides. He gropes his way for two double hours, With dense darkness enclosing him on all sides.

After traversing a distance of twenty-four hours' march, Gilgamesh beholds a tree of splendid appearance, decorated with precious stones and bearing beautiful fruit. Finally he reaches the sea, where the maiden Sabitum has her palace and throne. Upon seeing the hero, the maiden locks the gates of her palace and will not permit Gilgamesh to pass across the sea. Gilgamesh pleads with Sabitum, tells of the loss of his friend Eabani, 'who has become dust,'[923] and whose fate he does not wish to share.

Gilgamesh speaks to Sabitum: "[Now] Sabitum, which is the way to Parnapishtim? If it is possible, let me cross the ocean. If it is not possible, let me stretch myself on the ground."[924] Sabitum speaks to Gilgamesh: "O Gilgamesh! there has never been a ferry, And no one has ever crossed the ocean. Shamash, the hero, has crossed it, but except Shamash, who can cross it? Difficult is the passage, very difficult the path. Impassible (?) the waters of death that are guarded by a bolt. How canst thou, O Gilgamesh, traverse the ocean? And after thou hast crossed the waters of death, what wilt thou do?"

Sabitum then tells Gilgamesh that there is one possibility of his accomplishing his task. If Ardi-Ea,[925] the ferryman[926] of Parnapishtim, will take Gilgamesh across, well and good; if not, he must abandon all hope.

The ocean, though not expressly called Apsu, is evidently identical with the great body of waters supposed to both surround the earth and to flow beneath it.[927] The reference to 'the waters of death' thus becomes clear. The gathering-place of the dead being under the earth, near to the Apsu, the great 'Okeanos' forms a means of approach to the nether world. It is into this ocean, forming part of the Apsu, that the sun dips at evening and through which it passes during the night. The scene between Gilgamesh and Sabitum accordingly is suggested, in part, by the same cosmological conceptions that condition the description of the mountain Mashu.

Sabitum herself is a figure that still awaits satisfactory explanation. She is called the goddess Siduri.[928] The name of this goddess is found as an element in proper names, but of her traits we know nothing. Sabitum appears originally to have been a term descriptive of her, and Hommel[929] may be right in explaining the name as 'the one from Sabu,'[930] and in taking the latter as the name of a district in Arabia. It is tempting to think of the famous Saba in Southern Arabia. Obedient to the advice of Sabitum, Gilgamesh tells Ardi-Ea his story and also his desire.

Now Ardi-Ea, which is the way to [Parnapishtim?]. If it is possible, let me cross the ocean, And if not possible, let me lie outstretched on the ground.

Ardi-Ea consents, and tells Gilgamesh to take his ax, to go into the woods, and to cut down a large pole that may serve as a rudder.

Gilgamesh, upon hearing this, Takes an ax in his hand, ... Goes to the wood and makes a rudder five gar[931] long. Gilgamesh and Ardi-Ea mount the ship.

...

The ship tosses from side to side. After a course of one month and fifteen days, on the third day[932] Ardi-Ea reaches the waters of death.

This appears to be the most dangerous part of the voyage. Ardi-Ea urges Gilgamesh to cling to the rudder, and counts the strokes he is to take.[933] The waters are not extensive, for only twelve strokes are enumerated; but the current is so strong that it is with the utmost difficulty that Gilgamesh succeeds in passing through them. At last, Gilgamesh is face to face with Parnapishtim. The latter is astonished to see a living person come across the waters. Gilgamesh addresses Parnapishtim from the ship, recounts his deeds, among which we distinguish[934] the killing of a panther, of Alu, of the divine bull, and of Khumbaba. The death of Eabani is also dwelt upon, and then Gilgamesh pleads with Parnapishtim, tells him of the long, difficult way that he has traveled, and of all that he has encountered on the road.

Difficult lands I passed through, All seas I crossed.

Parnapishtim expresses his sympathy:

Gilgamesh has filled his heart with woe, But neither gods nor men [can help him (?)].

Parnapishtim thereupon addresses Gilgamesh, showing him how impossible it is for any mortal to escape death. The inexorable law will prevail as long as 'houses continue to be built,' as long as 'friendships' and 'hostilities' prevail, as long 'as the waters fill (?) the sea.' The Anunnaki, the great gods, and the goddess Mammitum, the creators of everything

Determine death and life. No one knows the days of death.[935]

At this point Gilgamesh propounds a most natural question: How comes it, if what Parnapishtim says is true, that the latter is alive, while possessing all the traits of a human being? The eleventh tablet of the epic begins:

Gilgamesh speaks to him, to Parnapishtim, the far-removed: "I gaze at thee in amazement, Parnapishtim. Thy appearance is normal. As I am, so art thou. Thy entire nature[936] is normal. As I am, so art thou. Thou art completely equipped for the fray.[937] Armor[938] (?) thou hast placed upon thee. Tell me how thou didst come to obtain eternal life among the gods."

In reply, Parnapishtim tells the story of his escape from the common fate of mankind. The story is a long one and has no connection with the career of Gilgamesh. It embodies a recollection of a rain-storm that once visited a city, causing a general destruction, but from which Parnapishtim and his family miraculously escaped. The main purport of the tale is not to emphasize this miracle, but the far greater one that, after having been saved from the catastrophe, Parnapishtim should also have been granted immortal life. The moral, however, is that the exception proves the rule. With this tradition of the destruction of a certain place, there has been combined a nature myth symbolizing the annual overflow of the Euphrates, and the temporary disappearance of all land that this inundation brought about, prior to the elaborate canal system that was developed in the valley. It is the same myth that we have come across in the creation epic and which, as we have seen, was instrumental in moulding the advanced cosmological conceptions of the Babylonians.

In Parnapishtim's tale, the myth is given a more popular form. There is no attempt made to impart a scholastic interpretation to it. In keeping with what we have seen to be the general character of the Gilgamesh epic, the episode introduced at this point embodies popular traditions and, on the whole, popular conceptions. The spirit of the whole epic is the same that we find in the Thousand and One Nights or in the Arabian romance of Antar.

The oriental love of story-telling has produced the Gilgamesh epic and, like a true story, it grows in length, the oftener it is told. Gilgamesh is merely a peg upon which various current traditions and myths are hung. Hence the combination of Gilgamesh's adventures with those of Eabani, and hence also the association of Gilgamesh with Parnapishtim. A trace, perhaps, of scholastic influence may be seen in the purport of Parnapishtim's narrative to prove the hopelessness of man's securing immortality; and yet, while the theology of the schools may thus have had some share in giving to the tale of Parnapishtim its present shape, the problem presented by Gilgamesh's adventures is a popular rather than a scholastic one. Even to the primitive mind, for whom life rather than death constitutes the great mystery to be solved, the question would suggest itself whether death is an absolutely necessary phase through which man must pass. The sun, moon, and stars do not die, the streams have perpetual life; and since all manifestations of life were looked at from one point of view, why should not man also remain alive? Beyond some touches in the narrative, we may, therefore, regard Parnapishtim's story, together with the 'lesson' it teaches, as an interesting trace of the early theology as it took shape in the popular mind. What adds interest to the story that Parnapishtim tells, is its close resemblance to the Biblical story of the Deluge. It also recalls the destruction of Sodom, and we shall have occasion[939] to show the significance of these points of contact. Bearing in mind the independent character of the Parnapishtim episode, and the motives that led to its being incorporated in the adventures of Gilgamesh, we may proceed with our analysis of this interesting eleventh tablet. Thanks to the labors of Haupt, the numerous fragments of it representing several copies, have been pieced together so as to form an almost complete text.[940] In reply to Gilgamesh's queries,

Parnapishtim spoke to Gilgamesh: "I will tell thee, Gilgamesh, the secret story, And the secret of the gods I will tell thee. The city Shurippak, a city which, as thou knowest, Lies on the Euphrates, That city was old,[941] for the gods thereof, Decided to bring a rainstorm upon it. All of the great gods, Anu, their father, Their counsellor, the warrior Bel, The herald Ninib, Their leader En-nugi, The lord of unsearchable wisdom, Ea, was with them, To proclaim their resolve to the reed-huts. Reed-hut, reed-hut, wall, wall! Reed-hut, hear! Wall, give ear!"

The ordinary houses of Babylonia were constructed of reeds, while the temples and palaces were built of hard-baked clay. "Reed-hut" and "clay structure," thus embracing the architecture of the country, are poetically used to designate the inhabitants of Shurippak. The address to the huts and structures has been appropriately compared by Professor Haupt to the opening words of Isaiah's prophecies.[942]

Hear, Heavens! and give ear, Earth!

Ea's words are intended as a warning to the people of Shurippak. The warning comes appropriately from Ea as the god of humanity, who according to some traditions is also the creator of mankind, and who is the teacher and protector of mankind. Opposed to Ea is Bel, the old Bel of Nippur, who is represented as favoring the destruction of humanity. The story in this way reflects a rivalry between the Ea and Bel cults.

Of Shurippak, against which the anger of the gods is enkindled, we unfortunately know nothing,[943] but it is fair to assume that there was an ancient city of that name, and which was destroyed by an overflow of the Euphrates during the rainy season. The city need not necessarily have been one of much importance. Its sad fate would naturally have impressed itself upon the memory of the people, and given rise to legends precisely as the disappearance of Sodom[944] or of the destruction of the tribes of Ad and Thamud gave rise to fantastic stories among Hebrews and Arabs respectively.[945]

Ea, not content with the general warning, sends a special message to Parnapishtim, one of the inhabitants of Shurippak.

O man of Shurippak, son of Kidin-Marduk![946] Erect a structure,[947] build a ship, Abandon your goods, look after the souls,[948] Throw aside your possessions, and save your life, Load the ship with all kinds of living things.

The god then tells Parnapishtim in what manner to build the ship. Its dimensions should be carefully measured. Its breadth and depth should be equal, and when it is finished, Parnapishtim is to float it. The warning from Ea comes to him in a dream, as we learn from a subsequent part of the story. Parnapishtim does not deem it necessary to dwell upon this, for it is only through dreams that the gods communicate with kings and heroes.

Parnapishtim declares his readiness to obey the orders of Ea, but like Moses upon receiving the command of Yahwe, he asks what he should say when people question him.

What shall I answer the city, the people, and the elders?

Ea replies:

Thus answer and speak to them: Bel has cast me out in his hatred, So that I can no longer dwell in your city. On Bel's territory I dare no longer show my face; Therefore, I go to the 'deep' to dwell with Ea my lord.

Bel's domain is the earth, while Ea controls the watery elements. Bel's hostility to mankind is limited to the inhabitants of the dry land. The moment that Parnapishtim enters Ea's domain he is safe. The answer thus not only furnishes the real motive for the building of the ship, but further illustrates the purport of the narrative in its present form. It is a glorification of Ea at the expense of Bel, and it is not difficult to detect the thought underlying the story that the evils afflicting mankind on earth are due to the hostility of the 'chief demon,'[949] who becomes the controller of the earth and of the atmosphere immediately above the earth. Ea's answer is not intended to be equivocal, for he further orders Parnapishtim to announce to his fellow-citizens the coming destruction.

Over you a rainstorm will come, Men, birds, and beasts will perish.

The following line[950] is defective, but it appears to except from the general destruction the fish as the inhabitants of the domain controlled by Ea. The time when the catastrophe is to take place is vaguely indicated.

When Shamash will bring on the time, then the lord of the whirlstorm Will cause destruction to rain upon you in the evening.

The 'lord of the whirlstorm' is Ramman, and the reference to this deity specifies the manner in which the catastrophe will be brought about. As in the Biblical story, 'the windows of heaven are to be opened,' the rains will come down, driven by the winds that are to be let loose. It has been supposed that because the ship of Parnapishtim drifts to the north that the storm came from the south.[951] No stress, however, is laid upon the question of direction in the Babylonian narrative. The phenomenon of a whirlstorm with rain is of ordinary occurrence; its violence alone makes it an exceptional event, but—be it noted—not a miraculous one. Nor are we justified in attributing the deluge to the rush of waters from the Persian Gulf, for this sheet of water is particularly sacred to Ea as the beginning of the "great deep." It would be an insult to Ea's dignity to suppose that he is unable to govern his own territory. The catastrophe comes from above, from Ramman and his associates who act at the instigation of the belligerent Bel.

Parnapishtim begins at once to build the ship. He gathers his material, and on the fifth day is ready to construct the hull. The ship resembles the ordinary craft still used on the Euphrates. It is a flat-bottomed skiff with upturned edges. On this shell the real 'house'[952] of Parnapishtim is placed. The structure is accurately described. Its height is one hundred and twenty cubits, and its breadth is the same, in accordance with the express orders given by Ea. No less than six floors are erected, one above the other.

Then I built six stories,[953] So that the whole consisted of seven apartments. The interior[954] I divided into nine parts.

The structure may properly be called a 'house boat,' and its elaborate character appears from the fact that it contains no less than sixty-three compartments. Parnapishtim carefully provides plugs to fill out all crevices, and furthermore smears a large quantity of bitumen without and within.

I provided a pole,[955] and all that was necessary, Six sar[956] of bitumen[957] I smeared on the outside,[958] Three sar of pitch [I smeared] on the inside.

He also has a large quantity of oil placed on the boat, oxen, jars filled with mead[959] oil, and wine for a festival, which he institutes at the completion of the structure. The preparations are on a large scale, as for the great New Year's Day celebrated in Babylonia. The ship is launched, and, if Professor Haupt is correct in his interpretation, the ship took water to the extent of two-thirds of its height.

The side of the ship dipped two-thirds into water.

Parnapishtim now proceeds to take his family and chattels on board.

All that I had, I loaded on the ship. With all the silver that I had, I loaded it, With all the gold that I had, I loaded it, With living creatures of all kinds I loaded it. I brought on board my whole family and household, Cattle of the field, beasts of the field, workmen,—all this I took on board.

Parnapishtim is ready to enter the ship, but he waits until the time fixed for the storm arrives.

When the time came For the lord of the whirlstorm to rain down destruction, I gazed at the earth, I was terrified at its sight, I entered the ship, and closed the door. To the captain of the ship, to Puzur-Shadurabu,[960] the sailor, I entrusted the structure[961] with all its contents.

The description of the storm follows, in diction at once impressive and forcible.

Upon the first appearance of dawn, There arose from the horizon dark clouds, Within which Ramman caused his thunder to resound. Nabu and Sharru[962] marched at the front, The destroyers passed across mountains and land, Dibbarra[963] lets loose the....[964] Ninib advances in furious hostility. The Anunnaki raise torches, Whose sheen illumines the universe, As Ramman's whirlwind sweeps the heavens, And all light is changed to darkness.

The destructive elements, thunder, lightning, storm, rain, are thus let loose. The dreadful storm lasts for seven days. The terror of men and gods is splendidly portrayed.

Brother does not look after brother, Men care not for another. In the heavens, Even the gods are terrified at the storm. They take refuge in the heaven of Anu.[965] The gods cowered like dogs at the edge of the heavens.

With this description the climax in the narrative is reached. The reaction begins. Ishtar is the first to bewail the destruction that has been brought about, and her example is followed by others of the gods.

Ishtar groans like a woman in throes, The lofty goddess cries with loud voice, The world of old has become a mass of clay.[966]

Ishtar appears here in the role of the mother of mankind. She feels that she has none but herself to blame for the catastrophe, for, as one of the great gods, she must have been present at the council when the storm was decided on, and must have countenanced it. She therefore reproaches herself:

That I should have assented[967] to this evil among the gods! That when I assented to this evil, I was for the destruction of my own creatures![968] What I created, where is it? Like so many fish, it[969] fills the sea.

From the words of Ishtar it would appear that the storm had assumed larger dimensions than the gods, or at least than some of them, had anticipated. At the beginning of the episode, Shurippak alone is mentioned, and Ishtar apparently wishes to say that when she agreed to the bringing on of the storm, she was not aware that she was decreeing the destruction of all mankind. It is evident that two distinct traditions have been welded together in the present form of the Babylonian document, one recalling the destruction of a single city, the other embodying in mythological form the destructive rains of Babylonia that were wont to annually flood the entire country before the canal system was perfected.

Some particularly destructive season may have formed an additional factor in the combination of the traditions. At all events, the storm appears to have got beyond the control of the gods, and none but Bel approves of the widespread havoc that has been wrought. It is no unusual phenomenon in ancient religions to find the gods powerless to control occurrences that they themselves produced. The Anunnaki—even more directly implicated than Ishtar in bringing on the catastrophe—join the goddess in her lament at the complete destruction wrought.

The gods, together with the Anunnaki, wept with her. The gods, in their depression, sat down to weep, Pressed their lips together, were overwhelmed with grief (?). The storm could no longer be quieted. For six days and nights Wind, rain-storm, hurricane swept along; When the seventh day arrived, the storm began to moderate, Which had waged a contest like a great host. The sea quieted down, wind and rain-storm ceased.

Parnapishtim then gazes at the destruction.

Bitterly weeping I looked at the sea, For all mankind had been turned to clay.[970] In place of dams, everything had become a marsh. I opened a hole so as to let the light fall upon my face, And dumbfounded, I sat down and wept. Tears flowed down my face. I looked in all directions,—naught but sea.

But soon the waters began to diminish.

After twelve double hours[971] an island appeared, The ship approached the mountain Nisir.

The name given to the first promontory to appear is significant. Nisir signifies 'protection' or 'salvation.' The houseboat clings to this spot.

At this mountain, the mountain Nisir, the boat stuck fast.

For six days the boat remains in the same position. At the beginning of the seventh day, Parnapishtim endeavors to ascertain whether the waters have abated sufficiently to permit him to leave the boat.

When the seventh day approached I sent forth a dove. The dove flew about But, finding no resting place, returned; Then I sent forth a swallow. The swallow flew about But, finding no resting place, returned; Then I sent forth a raven. The raven flew off, and, seeing that the waters had decreased, Cautiously[972] (?) waded in the mud, but did not return.

Parnapishtim is satisfied, leaves the ship, and brings a sacrifice to the gods on the top of the mountain. In seven large bowls he places calamus, cedarwood, and incense.

The gods inhaled the odor, The gods inhaled the sweet odor, The gods gathered like flies around the sacrificer.

A solemn scene ensues. Ishtar, the 'mistress of the gods,' swears by the necklace given to her by her father, Anu, that she will never forget these days.

Let the gods come to the sacrifice,[973] But Bel must not come to the sacrifice; Since, without consultation,[974] he caused the rain-storm, And handed over my creation[975] to destruction.

Bel thus appears to be the one who alone knew of the extent which the destruction was destined to reach. The annihilation of all mankind was his work, undertaken without consulting his associates. The latter were aware only of the intended destruction of a single place,—Shurippak.

At this moment Bel approaches. He does not deny his deed, but is enraged that the planned destruction should not have been complete, since Parnapishtim and his household have escaped.

As Bel approached And saw the ship, he was enraged, Filled with anger against the gods—the Igigi. 'What person has escaped (?)? No one was to survive the destruction.'

Ninib reveals the fact of Ea's interference:

Ninib opened his mouth and spoke, spoke to the belligerent Bel: "Who but Ea could have done this? For is it not Ea who knows all arts?"

Ea appeals to Bel:

Ea opened his mouth and spoke, spoke to the belligerent Bel: "Thou art the belligerent leader of the gods, But why didst thou, without consultation, bring on the rainstorm? Punish the sinner for his sins, Punish the evil-doer for his evil deeds, But be merciful so as not to root out completely, Be considerate not to destroy everything."

The terrors inspired by the deluge are well portrayed in the continuation of Ea's speech. He tells Bel that he should have brought on anything but a deluge.

Instead of bringing on a deluge, Let lions come and diminish mankind.[976] Instead of bringing on a deluge, Let tigers come and diminish mankind. Instead of bringing on a deluge, Let famine come and smite the land. Instead of bringing on a deluge, Let pestilence[977] come and waste the land.

Ea then confesses that through his instigation Parnapishtim was saved.

While I did not reveal the decision of the great gods, I sent Adra-Khasis[978] a dream which told him of the decision of the gods.

It is a misconception to regard this answer of the god as equivocal. Ea means to say that he did not interfere with the divine decree. He simply told Parnapishtim to build a ship, leaving to the latter to divine the reason. Ea, it is true, tells Parnapishtim of Bel's hatred, but he does not reveal the secret of the gods. After Ea's effective speech Bel is reconciled, and the scene closes dramatically, as follows:

Bel came to his senses, Stepped on board of the ship, Took me by the hand and lifted me up, Brought up my wife, and caused her to kneel at my side, Turned towards us, stepped between us, and blessed us. 'Hitherto Parnapishtim was human,[979] But now Parnapishtim and his wife shall be gods like us.[980] Parnapishtim shall dwell in the distance, at the confluence of the streams.' Then they took me and placed me in the distance, at the confluence of the streams.

The streams are, according to Haupt,[981] the four rivers—Euphrates, Tigris, Karun, and Kercha, which at one time emptied their waters independently into the Persian Gulf. Parnapishtim's dwelling-place is identical with the traditional Paradise of the Babylonians and Hebrews.

It will be proper before leaving the subject, to dwell briefly upon the points of contact between this Babylonian tale and the Biblical narrative of the Deluge. The source of the tradition must be sought in the Euphrates Valley. The ark of Noah can only be understood in the light of methods of navigation prevailing in Babylonia; and it is in Babylonia, and not Palestine, that the phenomenon was annually seen of large portions of land disappearing from view.

The Babylonian tale is to be differentiated, as already suggested, into two parts,—the destruction of Shurippak and the annual phenomenon of the overflow of the Euphrates. The combination of these two elements results in the impression conveyed by Parnapishtim's narrative that the rain-storm took on larger dimensions than was originally anticipated by the gods. The Biblical narrative is based upon this combination, but discarding those portions of the tale which are of purely local interest makes the story of a deluge, a medium for illustrating the favor shown by Yahwe towards the righteous man, as represented by Noah. The Biblical narrative ends, as does the Babylonian counterpart, with the assurance that a deluge will not sweep over the earth again; but viewed from a monotheistic aspect, this promise is interpreted as signifying the establishment of eternal laws,—a thought that is wholly foreign to the purpose of the Babylonian narrative.

The slight variations between the Biblical and Babylonian narratives, and upon which it is needless to dwell, justify the conclusion that the Hebrew story is not directly borrowed from the Babylonian version.[982] The divergences are just of the character that will arise through the independent development and the independent interpretation of a common tradition. The destruction of Shurippak has a Biblical parallel in the destruction of Sodom[983] and of the surrounding district. Sodom, like Shurippak, is a city full of wickedness. Lot and his household are saved through direct intervention, just as Parnapishtim and his family escape through the intervention of Ea. Moreover, there are traces in the Sodom narrative of a tradition which once gave a larger character to it, involving the destruction of all mankind,[984] much as the destruction of Shurippak is enlarged by Babylonian traditions into a general annihilation of mankind. It is to be noted, too, that no emphasis is laid upon Lot's piety, and in this respect, as in others, Parnapishtim bears more resemblance to Lot than to Noah.

The hostility between Bel and Ea, which we have seen plays a part in the Babylonian narrative, belongs to the larger mythological element in the episode, not to the specific Shurippak incident. Bel, as the god whose dominion includes the atmosphere above the earth, controls the 'upper waters.' At his instigation these waters descend and bring destruction with them. But Ea's dominion—the 'deep' and the streams—are beneficent powers. The descent of the upper waters is in the nature of an attack upon Ea's kingdom. It is through Ea that the mischief produced by Bel is again made good. Such a conception falls within the domain of popular mythology. An ancient rivalry between Nippur, the seat of Bel and Eridu (or some other seat of Ea worship), may also have entered as a factor, if not in giving rise to the story, at least in maintaining it. If this be so, the story would belong to a period earlier than Hammurabi,[985] since with the ascendancy of Babylon and of Marduk, the general tendency of religious thought is towards imbuing the gods with a kindly spirit towards one another, joining issues, as in the creation epic, for the glorification of Marduk. The absence of Marduk from the deluge story is another indication of the antiquity of the tradition.

Coming back now to the epic, Parnapishtim, whose sympathy has been aroused by the sight of Gilgamesh, makes an attempt to heal the hero of his illness.

The life that thou seekest, thou wilt obtain. Now sleep!

Gilgamesh falls into a heavy stupor, and continues in this state for six days and seven nights. An interesting dialogue ensues between Parnapishtim and his wife.

Parnapishtim says to his wife: "Look at the man whose desire is life. Sleep has fallen upon him like a storm." Says the wife to Parnapishtim: "Transform him, let the man eat of the charm-root,[986] Let him return, restored in health, on the road that he came. Through the gage let him pass out, back to his country." Parnapishtim says to his wife: "The torture of the man pains thee. Cook the food[987] for him and place it at his head."

It is interesting to note that the woman appears as the exorciser of the disease. The wife of Parnapishtim—whose name is not mentioned as little as is the wife of Noah or Lot—proceeds to prepare the magic food. A plant of some kind is taken and elaborately treated.

While he[988] slept on board of his ship, She cooked the food and placed it at his head. While he[988] slept on board of his vessel, Firstly, his food ... ; Secondly, it was peeled; Thirdly, moistened; Fourthly, his bowl (?) was cleansed; Fifthly, Shiba[989] was added; Sixthly, it was cooked; Seventhly, of a sudden the man was transformed and ate the magic food.[990]

Gilgamesh awakes and asks what has been done to him. Parnapishtim tells him. But Gilgamesh is not completely healed. His body is still covered with sores. The magic potion must be followed by immersion into the fountain of life. Parnapishtim instructs Ardi-Ea to convey Gilgamesh to this fountain. He speaks to the ferryman.

The man whom thou hast brought is covered with sores. The eruption on his skin has destroyed the beauty of his body. Take him, O Ardi-Ea, to the place of purification, To wash his sores in the water, that he may become white as snow. Let the ocean carry off the eruption on his skin, That his body may become pure.[991] Let his turban be renewed and the garment that covers his nakedness.

Ardi-Ea carries out these instructions and Gilgamesh at last is healed. The hero is now ready to return to his land. But though returning in restored health, he is not proof against death. Parnapishtim, at the suggestion of his wife, reveals the 'secret of life' to Gilgamesh just before the latter's departure. The ship is brought nearer to the shore, and Parnapishtim tells Gilgamesh of a plant that wounds as a thistle, but which possesses wonderful power. Gilgamesh departs on the ship, and with the help of Ardi-Ea finds this plant, which is called 'the restoration of old age to youth.' It is a long journey to the place. The plant grows at the side or at the bottom of a fountain. Gilgamesh secures it, but scarcely have his hands grasped the plant when it slips out of his hand and is snatched away by a demon that takes on the form of a serpent. All is lost! Gilgamesh sits down and weeps bitter tears. He pours out his woe to Ardi-Ea, but there is nothing left except to return to Uruk. He reaches the city in safely. His mission—the search for immortality—has failed. Though healed from his disease, the fate of mankind—old age and death—is in store for him. With the return to Uruk the eleventh tablet ends. It but remains, before passing on, to note that the narrative of the deluge in this tablet is connected with the character of the eleventh month, which is called the 'month of rain.' We may conclude from this that the mythological element in the story—the annual overflow—predominates the local incident of the destruction of Shurippak. Gilgamesh, we must bear in mind, has nothing to do with either the local tale or the myth, except to give to both an interpretation that was originally foreign to the composite narrative.

In the twelfth tablet—which is in large part obscure—we find Gilgamesh wandering from one temple to the other, from the temple of Bel to that of Ea, lamenting for Eabani, and asking, again and again, what has become of his companion. What has been his fate since he was taken away from the land of the living? The hero, now convinced, as it seems, that death will come to him, and reconciled in a measure to his fate, seeks to learn another secret,—the secret of existence after death. He appeals to the gods of the nether world to grant him at least a sight of Eabani. Nergal, the chief of this pantheon, consents.

... he opened the earth, And the spirit[992] of Eabani He caused to rise up like a wind.

Gilgamesh puts his question to Eabani:

Tell me, my companion, tell me, my companion, The nature of the land which thou hast experienced, oh! tell me.

Eabani replies:

I cannot tell thee, my friend, I cannot tell thee!

He seems to feel that Gilgamesh could not endure the description. The life after death, as will be shown in a subsequent chapter, is not pictured by the Babylonians as joyous. Eabani reveals glimpses of the sad conditions that prevail there. It is the domain of the terrible Allatu, and Etana[993] is named among those who dwell in this region. Eabani bewails his fate.[994] He curses Ukhat, whom, together with Sadu, he holds responsible for having brought death upon him. In Genesis, it will be recalled, death likewise is viewed as the consequence of Adam's yielding to the allurements of Eve. Special significance, too, attaches to the further parallel to be drawn between Adam's punishment and Eabani's fate.

Dust thou art, and unto dust shall thou return

applies to Eabani as well as to Adam. He was formed of clay, as we have seen,[995] and when he dies he is 'turned to clay.'[996] Still the fortunes awaiting those who die are not alike. Those who die in battle seem to enjoy special privileges, provided, however, they are properly buried and there is some one to make them comfortable in their last hour and to look after them when dead. Such persons are happy in comparison with the fate in store for those who are neglected by the living. The one who is properly cared for, who

On a soft couch rests, Drinking pure water, Who dies in battle, as you and I have seen,[997] His father and mother supporting his head, His wife[998] ... at his side,—

the spirit of such a one is at rest. The circumstances attending death presage in a measure the individual's life after death.

But he whose corpse remains in the field, As you and I have seen, His spirit[999] has no rest in the earth. The one whose spirit is not cared for by any one, As you and I have seen, He is consumed by gnawing hunger, by a longing for food. What is left on the street he is obliged to eat.[1000]

To be left unburied was the greatest misfortune that could happen to a dead person.

With this sentiment the epic closes. Gilgamesh must rest content with the unsatisfactory consolation that Eabani offers him. Man must die, and Gilgamesh cannot escape the universal fate. Let him hope for and, if possible, provide for proper burial when death does overtake him. He will then, at least, not suffer the pangs of hunger in the world of spirits to which he must go.

The twelfth tablet exhibits somewhat more traces of the theology of the schools than the others. Eabani's speech, while conveying sentiments that thoroughly represent the popular beliefs of Babylonia, is couched in terms that give to the address the character of a formal declaration of doctrines. The conjuring up of the spirit of Eabani is also a feature that appears to be due to theological influences, and the whole episode of Gilgamesh's wandering from place to place seeking for information appears to be a 'doublet' suggested by the hero's wanderings, as narrated in the ninth and tenth tablets.

The problem propounded in the earlier tablets—the search for immortality—is, as has been shown, a perfectly natural one and of popular origin, but the problem with which Gilgamesh wrestles in the twelfth tablet,—the secret of the life after death,—while suggested by the other, belongs rather to the domain of theological and mystic speculation. This aspect of the twelfth tablet is borne out also by the fact that the problem is not solved. The epic ends as unsatisfactorily as the Book of Job or Ecclesiastes. There is a tone of despair in the final speech of Eabani, which savors of the schools of advanced thought in Babylonia. For the problem of immortality, a definite solution at least is offered. Man can reach old age; he may be snatched for a time from the grasp of death, as Gilgamesh was through the efforts of Parnapishtim, but he only deludes himself by indulging in hopes of immortal life. 'Man must die' is the refrain that rings in our ears. The plant of 'eternal youth' slips out of one's hand at the very moment that one believes to have secured it.

The Gilgamesh epic, as we have it, thus turns out to be a composite production. Gilgamesh, a popular hero of antiquity, becomes a medium for the perpetuation of various popular traditions and myths. The adventures of his career are combined with the early history of man. Of actual deeds performed by Gilgamesh, and which belong to Gilgamesh's career as a hero, warrior, and ruler, we have only four,—the conquest of Erech, his victory over Khumbaba, the killing of the divine bull, and the strangling of the lion.[1001] The story of Eabani, Ukhat, and Sadu is independent of Gilgamesh's career, and so also is the story of his wanderings to Mashu and his encounter with Parnapishtim. Gilgamesh is brought into association with Eabani by what may be called, a natural process of assimilation. The life of the hero is placed back at the beginning of things, and in this way Gilgamesh is brought into direct contact with legends of man's early fortunes, with ancient historical reminiscences, as well as with nature-myths that symbolize the change of seasons and the annual inundations.

Popular philosophy also enters into the life of the hero. Regarded as a god and yet of human origin, Gilgamesh becomes an appropriate illustration for determining the line that marks off man's career from the indefinite extension of activity that is a trait of the gods. Gilgamesh revolts against the universal law of decay and is punished. He is relieved from suffering, but cannot escape the doom of death. The sixth tablet marks an important division in the epic. The Ishtar and Sabitum episodes and the narrative of Parnapishtim—itself a compound of two independent tales, one semi-historical, the other a nature-myth—represent accretions that may refer to a time when Gilgamesh had become little more than a name,—a type of mankind in general. Finally, scholastic speculation takes hold of Gilgamesh, and makes him the medium for illustrating another and more advanced problem that is of intense interest to mankind,—the secret of death. Death is inevitable, but what does death mean? The problem is not solved. The close of the eleventh tablet suggests that Gilgamesh will die. The twelfth tablet adds nothing to the situation—except a moral. Proper burial is essential to the comparative well-being of the dead.

The fact that Gilgamesh is viewed as a type in the latter half of this remarkable specimen of Babylonian literature justifies us in speaking of it, under proper qualification, as a 'national epic.' But it must be remembered that Gilgamesh himself belongs to a section of Babylonia only, and not to the whole of it; and it is rather curious that one, of whom it can be said with certainty that he is not even a native of Babylonia, should become the personage to whom popular fancy was pleased to attach traditions and myths that are distinctively Babylonian in character and origin.

The story of Gilgamesh was carried beyond the confines of Babylonia.[1002] Gilgamesh, to be sure, is not identical with the Biblical Nimrod,[1003] but the Gilgamesh story has evidently influenced the description given in the tenth chapter of Genesis of Nimrod, who is viewed as the type of Babylonian power and of the extension of Babylonian culture to the north.

The Gilgamesh epic is not a solar myth, as was once supposed,[1004] nor is the Biblical story of Samson a pure myth, but Gilgamesh becomes a solar deity, and it is hardly accidental that Samson, or to give the Hebrew form of the name, Shimshon, is a variant form of Shamash[1005]—the name of the sun in Babylonian and Hebrew. The Biblical Samson appears to be modelled upon the character of Gilgamesh. Both are heroes, both conquerors, both strangle a lion, and both are wooed by a woman, the one by Delila, the other by Ishtar, and both through a woman are shorn of their strength. The historical traits are of course different. As for the relationships of the Gilgamesh epic to the Hercules story, the authority of Wilamowitz-Moellendorf[1006] is against an oriental origin of the Greek tale, and yet such parallels as Hercules' fight with a lion, his conquest of death, his journey and search for immortality (which in contrast to Gilgamesh he secures), certainly point to an influence exercised by the oriental tale upon the Greek story. It is not surprising that the elements contributed through this influence have been so modified in the process of adaptation to the purely Greek elements of the Hercules story, and, above all, to the Greek spirit, as to obscure their eastern origin.[1007] Most curious as illustrating the continued popularity of the Gilgamesh story in the Orient is the incorporation of portions of the epic in the career of Alexander the Great.[1008] In Greek, Syriac, and Rabbinical writings, Alexander is depicted as wandering through a region[1009] of darkness and terror in search of the 'water of life.' He encounters strange beings, reaches the sea, but, like Gilgamesh, fails to secure immortality. Such were the profound changes wrought by Alexander's conquests that popular fancy, guided by a correct instinct of appreciation of his career, converted the historical Alexander into a legendary hero of vast dimensions.[1010] The process that produced the Gilgamesh epic is repeated, only on a larger scale, in the case of Alexander. Not one country, but the entire ancient culture world,—Babylonia, Persia, Egypt, Arabia, Judea, and Syria,—combine to form the legendary Alexander. Each country contributes its share of popular legends, myths, and traditions. Babylonia offers as her tribute the exploits of Gilgamesh, which it transfers in part to Alexander. The national hero becomes the type of the 'great man,' and as with new conditions, a new favorite, representative of the new era, arises to take the place of an older one, the old is made to survive in the new. Gilgamesh lives again in Alexander, just as traits of the legendary Alexander pass down to subsequent heroes.

FOOTNOTES:

[844] See above, pp. 245-247.

[845] Or Gishdubar or Gishtubar.

[846] Babylonian and Oriental Record, iv. 264. For previous readings of the name, see Jeremias' article on 'Izdubar' in Roscher's Ausfuehrliches Lexicon der Griechischen und Roemischen Mythologie, ii. col. 773, 774.

[847] Historia Animalum, xii. 21.

[848] See p. 524.

[849] In the Oriental legends of Alexander the Great, this confusion is further illustrated. To Alexander are attached stories belonging to both Izdubar and Etana. See Meissner's Alexander and Gilgamos, pp. 13-17 (Leipzig, 1894).

[850] See, e.g., Perrot and Chiplez, History of Art in Babylonia and Assyria, i. 84.

[851] Article 'Izdubar,' col. 776; see Delitzsch, Handwoerterbuch, p. 678. Hommel (e.g., Altisraelitische Ueberlieferung, p. 39) regards Gilgamesh as a contraction from Gibil (the fire-god) and Gam (or Gab), together with ish, an 'Elamitic' ending. If the name is Elamitic, one should hardly expect a Babylonian deity entering as one of the elements.

[852] See above, p. 167.

[853] See above, p. 284.

[854] Haupt's Das Babylonische Nimrodepos, p. 93.

[855] Lit., 'he who is applied to for giving a decision.'

[856] Ta-par-ra-as.

[857] Das Babylonische Nimrodepos (Leipzig, 1884-91). This edition includes all but the twelfth tablet, which was published by Haupt in the Beitraege zur Assyriologie, i. 48-79. For other publications of Haupt on the Gilgamesh epic, see the Bibliography, Sec. 6. The identification with the Biblical Nimrod is now definitely abandoned by scholars, though the picture drawn of Nimrod is influenced by the traditions regarding Gilgamesh. See p. 515.

[858] The best general work on the epic (based on Haupt's edition) is A. Jeremias' Izdubar-Nimrod (Leipzig, 1891), a reprint with additions, of his article on 'Izdubar' in Roscher's Ausfuehrliches Lexicon der Griechischen und Roemischen Mythologie ii.

[859] Vorgeschichte der Indo-Europaer, p. 112.

[860] The words for 'city' in the Semitic languages embody this idea.

[861] Old Babylonian Inscription, i. 2, p. 48.

[862] IIR. 50, 55-57; VR. 41, 17, 18. An interesting reference to the wall of Frech occurs Hilprecht, ib. i. 1, no. 26.

[863] Kosmologie, p. 172.

[864] Jeremias' Izdubar-Nimrod, p. 15, conjectures that the death of the king has evoked distress, but that is highly improbable. That the fragment under consideration belongs to the beginning of the epic is tolerably certain, though not absolutely so.

[865] Sixth tablet, l. 192. He brings offerings to Lugal-Marada, i.e., the king of Marada—a solar deity. See p. 486.