The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria

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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.