GILGAMESH: The primordial human story
Understanding a story like this one may be
a matter of asking the right questions.
Not every modern reader finds this ancient story accessible. Some begin reading Gilgamesh expecting only the key ingredients of an epic. Then they become confused by all the other things happening in the story which seem to be distractions. Others expect Gilgamesh to fit a narrow model of the "hero with a thousand faces," to repeat the title of Joseph Campbell's first book. Then they're disappointed by his unheroic characteristics, as well as confused by the obscurity of his motives and goals.
Whatever the reason, a not-uncommon student comment, on reading the Gilgamesh, is "What the heck is this story about?" To see why it isn't clear, let's examine some of the specific confusions in the first three parts of the story, pages 61-96 in the Penguin Classics edition and pages 799-815 in the old anthology (Western Literature in a World Context), for those of you who have that.
The first unclear issue is the question of Gilgamesh's greatness. Why are we even telling a story about this particular king? When you look at the prologue on page 61 (799 in the old book), you get the impression that people thought King Gilgamesh was great just because he was the only guy they knew who had traveled anywhere outside the neighborhood. Then you get the impression that they thought he was wise just because he knew one good story about an earlier time. When you hear that he was two-thirds god and one-third man, you may ask, "How does anyone know this?" as well as, "Why would the gods make him this way?" By the end of the third paragraph it becomes clear that he was a builder who "put Uruk on the map," so to speak. Yet the story you're about to hear has nothing to do with these real achievements, and takes place before King Gilgamesh develops the slightest interest in pursuing such civil works.
In fact, the Gilgamesh you meet in Chapter I ("The Coming of
Enkidu", page 62) is a tyrant who has taken the city of
And what sense can we make of the gods' compliance? Enkidu, the creature they create, is apparently something like the infamous Bearded Lady of Victorian circus sideshows, covered with hair from head to toe like an ape, yet with the beautiful hair (on his head) of an attractive woman (top of page 63). Moreover, he lives with the animals and eats grass. It also seems that until he later meets a prostitute Gilgamesh sends to entrap him (bottom of page 63 or bottom of page 800), he doesn't know anything of human speech or behavior.
At the bottom of page 64 (or top of page 801), we see that Enkidu is not only an oddity to begin with. He also undergoes some very odd changes when the prostitute seduces him with the aim of bringing him inside the human fold. Sex with the prostitute makes him forget his beloved animal friends. Yet that forgetfulness somehow makes him wise even though we'd ordinarily think forgetfulness would make you stupid. Even more oddly, acquiring wisdom somehow makes him weak, even though we ordinarily see wisdom as a source of strength. (Near the top of page 65: “Enkidu was grown weak, for wisdom was in him, and the thoughts of a man were in his heart.”) By the time we get to the middle of page 65 (or page 801), we've become so absorbed by the oddness of Enkidu's story that we may have forgotten all about Gilgamesh.
Then we're abruptly reminded that who Enkidu is in his own right hardly matters, since the gods created him as the source of a lesson for this other guy Gilgamesh, whom we don't even like. Yet Enkidu isn't exactly the solution the people of Uruk asked for, either. They asked for a peer and an equal who'd put Gilgamesh in his place, or at least keep him busy. This Enkidu is told that he can never equal Gilgamesh. So why have the gods created him? Do they care what the people want or not?
As if there hasn't been enough confusion already, Gilgamesh recounts two dreams (pages 66 & 67, or near the bottom of page 801) that are obviously coded messages about his relationship with Enkidu and their entertwined destinies. But the dreams are dense with obscure and seemingly inconsistent imagery. (For example, how can Enkidu be both a meteor and an axe? And how can an axe attract Gilgamesh the way a beautiful woman would attract him? What could statements like these possibly mean?)
If weird dreams aren't enough of a distraction, there's the obviously symbolic initiation Enkidu undergoes on page 67 (802). Here the harlot sent by Gilgamesh demands that Enkidu shed his animal self by embracing the luxuries of a rather decadent wealthy court civilization. Enkidu accepts this requirement as "good advice." But if you're a careful reader, you probably won't be too sure. And if you have the feeling that the original tellers of this tale also weren't sure this was "good advice," you're probably right. After all, once Enkidu has accepted this initiation into court life, he has irrevocably set foot on the path that will lead to his destruction. And when he's finally dying on pages 90-93 (page 812), he curses the harlot who brought him to Gilgamesh's civilization in the first place. Moreover, long before that happens, Gilgamesh himself lectures Enkidu on the evils of city life, which make men weak (see page 72, or the second paragraph on page 804).
Also perplexing--for many reasons--is the main body paragraph on page 68 (the second indented paragraph on page 802). The most obvious confusion here is about why Enkidu cares what Gilgamesh is doing to his people. (After all, Enkidu is a wild man being introduced to civilization for the first time; five minutes ago, he didn't want to understand or be part of this whole mess.) The second confusion is about exactly what Enkidu's motive for challenging Gilgamesh is. Is Enkidu a champion of social justice? The sort of guy we expected the gods to send in answer to the prayers of the Urukians? Or is he thrilled at the prospect of bullying the Urukians himself in Gilgamesh's place, as might be suggested by his boast, "I have come to change the old order, for I am the strongest here"?
Moreover, what's the meaning of the passage quoted below:
"Gilgamesh the king is about to celebrate marriage with the Queen of Love, and he still demands to be first with the bride, the king to be first and the husband to follow, for that was ordained by the gods from his birth…But now the drum rolls for the choice of the bride and the city groans" (middle of page 68). Evidently the bride(s) Gilgamesh insists on kidnapping are substitutes for the female he's supposed to marry, an entirely different being called the Queen of Love. But who's the Queen of Love, and why is Gilgamesh avoiding the ritual he's supposed to celebrate with her?
AN ASIDE: Let me just tell you who the Queen of Love is. She's a goddess. Her name is Ishtar. And you learn more about her in upcoming scenes, beginning on pages 85-88 (or page 810). More on this question in a minute.
In chapter 2, "The Forest Journey," there are other oddities that defeat many readers' expectations. For example, Gilgamesh and Enkidu undertake a clearly dangerous expedition to a place called the Country of the Living (page 70). (Why is it called that, since everything about the place smacks of death?) You'd think that such a dangerous mission would have a clear purpose or goal, or at least a consistent reason would be given for undertaking it. Yet this is not the case. First we hear that the purpose of the adventure is to build up Enkidu's muscles, which have grown flabby in court. Then we hear that the purpose is to make Gilgamesh famous for doing some dangerous thing. Then we hear that the purpose is to conquer evil. (This is a worthier goal than the first two, yet it's listed third, almost as an afterthought.)
Also odd is the series of role reversals Gilgamesh and Enkidu display on pages 70-84 (or pages 803-809). First one is brave and the other cowardly; then the second is brave and the first is cowardly. First one is wise and the other foolish; then the second is wise and the first is foolish. We might ordinarily assume that Gilgamesh's reputation as a hero rests on the character and wisdom he displays at this point, on what looks like his great adventure. Yet clearly this must not be the case. Otherwise the tellers of the tale wouldn't go out of their way to make him look first good (by comparison to Enkidu), then bad.
We also don't expect the villain, a monstrous beast, to be given a rather
eloquent human voice with which he pleads for his life (page 83, or pages
808-9). By the time we've heard both the pleas of Humbaba and the objections of
Enkidu, we no longer know whose side the gods are on or whether they want
Humbaba dead or alive. In fact, it's difficult to figure out exactly what
Humbaba represents or is, except perhaps by noting that killing him is somehow
linked to clearing the forest. But is clearing the forest a good thing or a bad
thing? From the actions of Shamash on page 81 (or 808), it would appear that
the gods want Humbaba destroyed by men, which means that they want the
Chapter 3's title begins with two names, Ishtar and Gilgamesh. From the middle of page 68 (or the second indented paragraph on page 802), you learn that the people of Uruk expect Gilgamesh to ceremonially marry somebody called the Queen of Love. Remember her? Her name is Ishtar. And Gilgamesh explains exactly why he doesn't want to marry her on pages 85-87 (or page 810 in the old book). Apparently it has something to do with the ways she finds of disposing of former lovers, and the fact that all her lovers soon become former lovers. However badly Ishtar has behaved, though, most modern readers are shocked to hear a mere mortal like Gilgamesh speak so rudely to such a powerful goddess. Haven't we all assumed that ancient man feared his gods even more than we fear any God we worship today? So why does Gilgamesh expect to get away with this behavior, and what might that tell us about his character? Is it part of his greatness that he defies the gods? Or is it just another character flaw?
But then again, we could also ask who Ishtar really is. She's the Queen of Love. But who is the Queen of Love really? And how much power does she actually have? At first, she begs her father Anu to give her the Bull of Heaven, a second monster she hopes to use to terrorize Gilgamesh as a payback for his insults (page 87). But her begging soon (in the same sentence) turns to threats against Anu himself, as if she were actually more powerful than the god she's pleading with for help.
Subsequent developments soon have us asking not only which gods are most powerful, but whether the gods are really more powerful than their own monsters, or than men, or at any rate some men. The Bull of Heaven need only snort to open wide the jaws of the earth to swallow a hundred men. (Perhaps he represented a real historical earthquake?) But despite his power, dispatching him is a piece of cake for two heroes like Gilgamesh and Enkidu. (Could the king's prayers have appeared to stop the earthquake, and could this have been the beginning of his reputation for greatness?)
Whatever real or half-real events might have inspired this story, what can we make of Enkidu's reaction to Ishtar's threats? He throws a roasted leg of the Bull of Heaven in her face. (If this happened in reality, it probably involved throwing a communal sacrifice in the face of a priestess of Ishtar in the middle of a sacred ceremony. This would be equivalent to assaulting the goddess herself, and is just as shocking.)
Gilgamesh concludes the first part of the epic by mourning the loss of a companion the gods originally sent to "put him in his place." At this point (the end of chapter 3), we should begin to see that the story does have structure and does make sense. Irony functions here as it would in a modern story--or in any story. That is, Enkidu fulfills the purpose of the gods and achieves the goals of the people of Uruk, but in the opposite way from the way we initially expected him to. Instead of defeating Gilgamesh or humbling him outright, Enkidu humbles him by forcing him to recognize that even god-kings need love. Needing and experiencing love, they are as vulnerable as the most cowardly slave to the only real terror man faces--death.
What I hope to illustrate here is that careful readers confront paradoxes and complications in a text. They ask questions about whatever doesn't make sense to them. But they don't just stop at that point and throw up their hands and say, "Geez, this is stupid! This doesn't make sense!" They look for answers to the questions they ask.
When dealing with a complicated story we know only in fragments, we can do this by looking at isolated scenes individually and trying to find parallels in other traditions of a similar period. We can also examine several possible interpretations of symbols before trying to conclude which one best fits the text.
Some answers to a few of the questions we
asked.
It isn't the purpose of a study guide to answer all the questions you have about a story. If it were, there wouldn't be anything left for you to think about. The main purpose of a study guide is to pose questions, not answer them. But a secondary purpose is to organize those questions, or suggest where similarities among questions point to an emerging pattern of underlying concerns.
In the case of the Gilgamesh, one of the most frustrating problems a reader faces in understanding the point of the story lies with the constant ambiguity of judgment about the characters' actions. Look at how many questions we asked highlight this ambiguity of judgment about right and wrong, or good and bad.
Let me make one suggestion that might be helpful. Rather than becoming frustrated because the story refuses to answer these questions, we could try a new hypothesis. We could ask if the refusal to answer these questions is itself the point of the story. Certainly the emerging pattern makes that hypothesis plausible.
In that case, though, what's the story about? Well, it could be about the
confusion these people feel about the events of their recent history,
especially their new technological and political achievements. Let's take just
one of these questions. Is it a good or a bad thing to level the
Is this a question worth asking? Is it an old one? Is the answer clear? Is
it no longer of interest? What if for the words "
Broad plot summary and basic questions.
Although this version of the Gilgamesh is more elaborate than some earlier editions I've taught in the past, readers of simpler translations have also sometimes been puzzled by this story. When I talked to these students, I discovered that many times their problem was not what they thought it was. Their real problem was not that they didn't understand what they were supposed to understand. Instead, they mistakenly believed they didn't understand the story because after putting it down, they couldn't immediately answer questions that you aren't supposed to be able to answer without a lot of reflection. The answers aren't supposed to be simple or clear.
Some things are clear about the story and others are not. Below is a plot summary to help you see which is which. It describes the broad features of the plot that are evident in many different translations, including this one, while leaving out some of the complex details of this particular version. At the conclusion of the plot summary, there are a few basic questions designed to focus your attention on some of the large questions that are intentionally left unanswered by the text. These are the kinds of questions all readers are meant to try to answer for themselves.
You should be able to understand that this is the story of a friendship between two men, one of whom dies, causing the other great grief. One of the men, Gilgamesh, is a great prince who's related to the gods, although not himself a full-fledged god. The other man is named Enkidu. He's a rude country peasant--unwashed, untutored--who was a hermit living alone in the wild, and who was thus thought of as a kind of animal. Enkidu wins the admiration of Gilgamesh in part because he's the only man who has ever stood up to the prince before. (Apparently Enkidu is only able to do this because he's so naïve and has such a poor understanding of the power politics of a working human society.) Gilgamesh then gets his goddess mother Ninsun to adopt Enkidu as a kind of second son, and Enkidu lives at the palace and becomes Gilgamesh's friend and (in effect) brother.
For a time they're happy. However, eventually Gilgamesh gets bored and challenges Enkidu to an adventure. They're to kill Humbaba (also sometimes written Huwawa), a monster who lives in a wild primeval forest. At first Enkidu doesn't want to go. The reason is that he understands that one or both of them could die, whereas Gilgamesh, who is in some ways very immature, doesn't understand this. He feels invulnerable, as if princes don't die like ordinary people do. However, Gilgamesh convinces Enkidu to go on the journey. Once the journey to kill Humbaba is underway, though, our two heroes alternate between fear and bravery. Sometimes it's Gilgamesh who's the brave one pressing forward, and sometimes it's Enkidu who's brave. Sometimes it's Gilgamesh who's pulling back and trembling in his boots, and sometimes it's Enkidu.
Ultimately they kill Humbaba, largely due to Enkidu's caution and intelligence. But in the process they become arrogant, leading to an act of outrage against a goddess, Ishtar. She demands that they be punished, and the gods together decree that Enkidu must die. As a result, he develops some kind of infection from a wound he has received in the battle against Humbaba. We'd say such a death was "of natural causes," but the ancient Sumerians would have seen it as divine punishment for defying the gods.
The rest of the story is about Gilgamesh's attempt to cope with the loss of the only person who ever touched his heart--the one person he, in his selfishness, ever loved. He decides to go on a quest to see the one man whom the gods decreed should never die, a man named Utnapishtim, who bears a resemblance to the character Noah in the Bible and the Quran. Like Noah, Utnapishtim is reputed to be the sole survivor, with his family, of an ancient flood that destroyed the human race. Unlike Noah, Utnapishtim was granted eternal life. Gilgamesh wants Utnapishtim to give him the secret of eternal life, both for Enkidu's sake and for his own sake.
After various adventures Gilgamesh persuades Utnapishtim to give him the secret of eternal life, even though Utnapishtim has found him unworthy of this prize because of his weak character. But on the way back to his home in Uruk, Gilgamesh is careless and loses the sacred plant Utnapishtim has given him. A snake makes off with the plant while Gilgamesh is taking a nap. Gilgamesh doesn't consider returning to Utnapishtim to ask for more help, maybe because there's only one plant of eternal life or because he assumes that's the case, or maybe because he doesn't believe Utnapishtim will give him a third chance after he's failed two character tests. Instead Gilgamesh goes home to Uruk and resolves to be a better king to his people, maybe the kind of king Enkidu would have been.
Some factual details about ancient Sumeria, especially about the duties of kings, shed light on the story. The historical Gilgamesh was a real king who lends his name to this story. He was one of the most powerful and longest reigning of the Sumerian en kings. The en kings of Sumeria were hereditary rulers who were believed to govern the land in two ways. They governed on the one hand with real military power and on the other hand with magical power. Real military power was established by building "the great walls of Uruk", mentioned in the story, and by amassing an army capable of defeating that of any neighboring city in the region. Magical power was established by remaining in the good graces of the notoriously fickle goddess Ishtar.
In addition to being the Queen of Love, Ishtar was also (quite logically) the goddess of fertility. Every year during his reign, an en king invited Ishtar to share his love in a sacred ceremony. This probably involved public intercourse with a priestess dressed as Ishtar, likely on an altar or pedestal of some kind, with varying degrees of audience participation. A king's success at retaining the favor of Ishtar was judged by the success of the crops and the birth rates of people and animals for that particular year, assuming that a year began and ended with this annual ritual. If an en king was scorned by Ishtar--that is, if he was unfortunate enough to experience a drought, flood, or famine that year--the likely penalty was execution.
You don't really have to know this to know why Gilgamesh didn't much care for Ishtar. But it does give a certain resonance to this quote from page 68 (802 in the old book): "Gilgamesh the king is about to celebrate marriage with the Queen of Love, and he still demands to be first with the bride." Because of the potential consequences of the symbolic yearly marriage to Ishtar, first participation in this event was probably a rite of passage for a young king. Maybe it indicated that he was ready to stop sowing the wild oats of a privileged prince and assume the mantle of adult kingship, with all of its uncomfortable implications.
Some interesting questions.
Here are some puzzling questions that any reader would do well to ask:
In addition, I developed a list of ten questions that draw attention to the story's real concerns, even though the story only asks these questions indirectly.
Gilgamesh and Joseph Campbell
In the video I use to introduce this class, Joseph Campbell describes some common motifs of the great hero stories, many of which are ancient epics, like the Gilgamesh. It may not be necessary to point out how Gilgamesh uses these motifs. But in case it helps:
The Gilgamesh makes use of these and other motifs to achieve a number of different ends. Clearly it talks about whether or not life can have a purpose, and if so, what that purpose might be. But it may have an even more fundamental subject. Can it be an accident that the story is about an unbreakable bond between two men, both of whom are only half-human?
In the study guide to Monkey, I suggest that a reader may need to combine all the spiritual travelers on the road to the West to get one human being. The story then provides a working map of the human character. Would that trick work with Gilgamesh and Enkidu as well?
Motifs of Gilgamesh in other stories.