The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria

M >> Morris Jastrow >> The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria

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His eyes saw the mark of rulership,
The crown of his[1072] sovereignty, the garment of his[1072] divinity.
Zu saw the divine tablets of fate.
He looked at the father of the gods, the god of Dur-an-ki,[1073]
Desire for rulership seizes hold of his heart.[1074]
'I will take the tablets of the gods
And decree the decisions [of all the gods.]
I will establish my throne, I will proclaim laws.
I will give all orders to all the Igigi.'

Zu proceeds to the dwelling-place of En-lil and waits for a favorable
moment to make an attack.

His heart was bent on the contest.
With his gaze directed toward the entrance of the dwelling,[1075] he
awaits for the beginning of day.
As En-lil poured forth the brilliant waters,
Took his seat on his throne and put on his crown,
He[1076] snatched the tablets of fate out of his hands,
Seized the authority--the promulgation of laws.
Thereupon Zu flew off and hid himself in his mountain.

On seal cylinders a god is frequently pictured pouring forth streams of
water from jars placed on his shoulders. This is generally the sun-god,
but the symbol also seems to belong to other deities[1077] and is
appropriate to Bel of Nippur, who as the god of the atmosphere above the
earth, controls the upper waters. As long as these are poured out by
him, they are beneficent; but once beyond his control, the blessing of
rain is turned into the curse of a deluge and storm, flooding the fields
and sweeping away the habitations of men. This misfortune happens when
Zu robs En-lil of the tablets by means of which law and order are
established. En-lil is powerless. The bold act of Zu causes
consternation among the gods. Anu calls upon some one to pursue Zu and
capture him. The bird dwells in an inaccessible recess in the mountains,
and the gods are afraid to approach his nest. The scene that ensues
reminds us of the episode of the creation epic, where Anshar calls upon
Anu, Bel, and Ea in turn to subdue Tiamat.

Anu opens his mouth and speaks,
Addressing the gods his children:
'Who will force Zu to submit
And thus make his name great among the inhabitants of the whole
world?'

Ramman the storm-god _par excellence_ is first called upon by the
assembled gods:

'Ramman the chief,' they cried, 'the son of Anu.'
Anu communicated to him[1078] the order.[1079]
'Go, my son Ramman, conqueror who yields to no one,
Subdue Zu with thy weapon,[1080]
That thy name be glorified in the assembly of the great gods.
Thou shall be without a rival among the gods thy brothers.'

Anu furthermore promises Ramman that if he triumphs, lofty shrines will
be erected in his honor in many cities.

'Temples will be built in thy honor,
In all quarters of the world thy cities[1081] will be situated,
Thy cities[1082] will reach up to Ekur.[1083]
Show thyself strong among the gods, so that thy name be powerful.'

Ramman, however, is afraid of the contest.

Ramman answered the speech,
Addressing his father Anu:
'My father, who can proceed to the inaccessible mountain?
Who is there like Zu among the gods, thy children?'

He furthermore pleads that Zu, who has the tablets of fate in his hands,
is invincible. He has the power to decree the fates of the gods, and all
must bow to his will. At this point, unfortunately, the text becomes
defective. Anu calls upon two other gods to take up the contest with Zu.
The name of one of these is altogether lost; the second is called
Bar,[1084] and is designated as an offspring of Ishtar. Both these
deities decline, answering Anu in precisely the same manner as Ramman.
What finally happens we are left to conjecture. Harper[1085] supposes
that Shamash is finally called upon by Anu and accepts the challenge. He
bases this opinion upon the passage in the Dibbarra legend[1086] where
the serpent, appealing to Shamash, extols the sun-god's power by
declaring that even Zu could not escape the net of Shamash. There are,
however, grave objections to this view. In the first place, the passage
in question occurs in a defective part of the text, and Harper
himself[1087] is not certain of the restoration that he proposes.[1088]
Secondly, if Shamash conquers Zu, we should expect the sun-god to have
the tablets of fate in his possession. Such, however, is not the case,
and the only god besides En-lil who is represented in the religious
literature of the Babylonians as holding the tablets is Marduk.
Moreover, in a hymn to Marduk, which Harper himself quotes,[1089] the
bird Zu is referred to as among the evil forces captured by Marduk. In
view of this, there seems no reason to question that, in the present
form of the Zu myth, Marduk was introduced as the hero, precisely as, in
the present form of the Tiamat episode, Marduk successfully carries out
a deed from which the other gods shrink in fear. The theological purport
of the myth thus becomes clear. It is to account for the fact that
Marduk holds the tablets which were originally in the hands of En-lil.
Marduk supplants the old Bel. In the Tiamat episode his name is
substituted for that of En-lil, and the latter is represented as giving
his consent to the transfer of his name to the god of Babylon. In the Zu
myth, En-lil's claim to the supreme control of the laws and fate of the
universe is freely acknowledged, but, En-lil being unable to resist the
attack of Zu, it was left for Marduk to capture the bird and thus
acquire by his own efforts what the old Bel had lost through lack of
strength. Babylon replaces Nippur as the center of power in the
Euphrates Valley, and the god of Babylon, naturally, was imbued by his
worshippers with prerogatives that originally belonged to the rival god
of Nippur.[1090]

If this view is correct, Harper's interpretation must be abandoned. The
Zu myth does not represent, as he supposes, an attack upon Marduk as the
symbol of the early morning sun, but upon En-lil, the Bel of Nippur, as
the one who, by virtue of having the tablets of fate in his possession,
controls the laws of the universe and fixes the fate of the gods and of
mankind. The annual rain-storm passing apparently beyond the control of
the gods is viewed as a revolt against En-lil's authority. It is left
for Marduk to reestablish order, and in return, he retains control of
the precious tablets. That the conception of Marduk as a solar deity
constitutes a factor in the myth is not, of course, to be denied,
precisely as in the Tiamat myth, the solar character of Marduk plays an
important part. The sun triumphs over the storms. Rain and wind are
obliged at last to yield their authority to the former. But for the
theologians of Babylon, the position of Marduk as the head of the
pantheon was a much more important factor. The myth served to show how
Marduk came to supplant the role of the old Bel of Nippur.

Viewed in this light, the Zu myth appears in more senses than one as a
pendant to the Marduk-Tiamat episode. Not only do both symbolize the
same natural phenomenon, but in both, Bel of Nippur was originally the
central figure of the pantheon, and in both Marduk replaces Bel. The Zu
myth is made to account in a somewhat more respectful, conciliatory
manner for the position of Marduk as the head of the pantheon. Instead
of setting aside En-lil altogether, as was done by the compilers of the
Tiamat myth, Marduk conquers for himself the supremacy that his
followers claimed for him. The contradictions between the two myths need
not disturb us. As variant versions of a tale intended to account for
one and the same fact,--the supremacy of Marduk,--they may well have
arisen even in the same place. Such inconsistencies as the assumption,
in the Zu version of the nature myth, that En-lil is the original
establisher of order in the world, as against the Tiamat version where
Marduk snatches the tablets of fate directly from Kingu, are inevitable
when stories that arose among the people are taken in hand by
theologians and modified and adapted to serve doctrines developed under
scholastic influences.

The Adapa Legend.

The myths and legends that we have so far considered--including the
creation and Gilgamesh epics--will have illustrated two important
points: firstly, the manner in which historical occurrences were clothed
in mythical form and interwoven with purely legendary tales, and,
secondly, the way in which nature myths were treated to teach certain
doctrines. The story of Gilgamesh is an illustration of the hopelessness
of a mortal's attempt to secure the kind of immortal life which is the
prerogative of the gods. Popular tales, illustrative of the climatic
conditions of Babylonia, serve as a means of unfolding a doctrine of
evolution and of impressing upon the people a theological system of
beliefs regarding the relationship of the gods to one another. A
collection of war-songs is given a semi-mythical form, and the original
purport of the collection is modified to serve as a talisman against
misfortunes. In the case of these legends it is necessary and, as we
have seen, also possible to distinguish between their original and
present form and to separate the story, as in the case of the Gilgamesh
epic, into its component parts.

The legend that we are about to consider proves that this process of the
adaptation of popular myths begins at a very early period. The text was
found on the cuneiform tablets discovered at El-Amarna in Egypt.[1091]
Since the El-Amarna tablets date from the fifteenth century B.C., we
have a proof of the compilation of the legend in question at this date.
The legend is again suggested by the storms which visited Babylonia, but
instead of a pure nature-myth, we have a tale which concerns the
relationship between the gods and mankind. In its present form, it is an
object lesson dealing with the same problem that we came across in the
Gilgamesh epic and that we will meet again in another form,--the problem
of immortality.

The beginning of the story, as in the case of the Zu myth, is missing,
but we are in a position to restore at least the general context. A
fisherman, Adapa, is engaged in plying his trade when a storm arises.
Adapa is designated as the son of Ea. The place where he is fishing is
spoken of as 'the sea.' The Persian Gulf is meant, and this body of
water (as the beginning of the great Okeanos) being sacred to Ea,[1092]
the description of Adapa as the son of Ea is a way of conveying the idea
that, like Parnapishtim, he stands under the protection of Ea. The
story, like most legends, assumes a period of close intercourse between
gods and men, a time when the relationship involved in being 'a son of a
god' had a literal force which was lost to a more advanced generation.
Adapa, accordingly, is portrayed as fishing for the 'house of his lord,'
_i.e._, for Ea. When the storm breaks loose the fisherman, though a
mortal, subdues the fierce element. The storm comes from the south, the
direction from which the most destructive winds came to Babylonia. The
south wind is pictured, as in the Zu myth, under the form of a bird. The
wind sweeps Adapa into the waters, but, since this element is controlled
by Adapa's father,--the god Ea,--Adapa succeeds in mastering the south
wind, and, as we learn from the course of the narrative, in breaking the
wings of the storm-bird. When the tablet becomes intelligible we find
Adapa engaged in this contest with the south wind.[1093]

The south wind blew and drove him[1094] under the water. Into
the dwelling-place[1095] [of the fish] it engulfs him. 'O south
wind, thou hast overwhelmed me with thy cruelty (?). Thy wings I
will break.'

Adapa's threat is carried out.

Even as he spoke the wings of the south wind were broken. For
seven days the south wind did not blow across the land.

Seven is to be interpreted as a round number, as in the Deluge story,
and indicates a rather long, though indefinite, period. Anu, the god of
heaven, is astonished at this long-continued disappearance of the south
wind, and asks a messenger of his, who is called the god Ilabrat, for
the cause. Anu inquires:

"Why has the south wind not blown for seven days across the
land?" His messenger Ilabrat answered him: "My lord! Adapa, the
son of Ea, has broken the wings of the south wind."

Of this god Ilabrat nothing is known. The interpretation of his name is
doubtful.[1096] He probably is one of the numerous local gods who was
absorbed by some more powerful one and who thus came to have a position
of inferior rank in the pantheon.

Anu, upon hearing the news, is enraged, and cries for 'help' against an
interference in his domain. He denounces Adapa in solemn assembly, and
demands his presence of Ea, in whose domain Adapa has taken refuge. The
text at this point is defective, but one can gather that Ea, who
constitutes himself Adapa's protector, warns the latter, as he warned
Parnapishtim. He advises him to present himself at the throne of Anu for
trial, and to secure the intervention of two gods, Tammuz and Gishzida,
who are stationed at the gate of heaven, Anu's dwelling-place. To
accomplish this, Adapa is to clothe himself in garments of mourning, and
when the doorkeepers ask him the reason for his mourning, he is to
answer:

... Two gods have disappeared from our earth, therefore do I
appear thus.

And when he is asked:

"Who are the two gods who have disappeared from the earth?"

Tammuz and Gishzida will look at one another; they will sigh and
speak a favorable word before Anu, and the glorious countenance
of Anu they will show thee.

Tammuz and Gishzida will know that they are meant. The mourning of Adapa
will be regarded as a sign of reverence for the two gods, whose sympathy
and good-will will thus be secured.

The introduction of Tammuz and Gishzida introduces a widely spread
nature-myth into the story. Gishzida is identical with Nin-gishzida, a
solar deity whom we came across in the old Babylonian pantheon.[1097]
Tammuz similarly is a solar deity. Both represent local solar cults. At
a later period, Nin-gishzida is entirely absorbed by Ninib, but the
Adapa legend affords us a glimpse of the god still occupying an
independent, though already inferior, position. The Babylonian
calendar[1098] designates the fifth month as sacred to Gishzida, while
the fourth month is named for Tammuz. The two deities, therefore, take
their place in the systematized pantheon as symbolical of the phases of
the sun peculiar to its approach to the summer solstice. The
disappearance of the two gods signifies the decline of the year after
the summer solstice. Of Tammuz, the popular myth related that it was
Ishtar,[1099] represented as his consort, who carried him off. Since the
disappearance of Gishzida embodies precisely the same idea as that of
Tammuz, it was natural that the story should in time have been told only
of the one. The annual mourning for Tammuz was maintained in Babylonia
to a very late period. The Adapa legend shows us that at one time the
festival was celebrated in honor of the two related deities. The Tammuz
festival was celebrated just before the summer solstice set in, so that
the mourning was followed immediately by rejoicing at the reappearance
of the god whose coming heralded the culmination of vegetation.

The destructive storms take place during the winter, when Tammuz and
Gishzida have disappeared. Adapa's mourning is thus an indication of the
season of the year when his encounter with the south wind took place.
Since Adapa succeeds in overcoming the destructive wind, the wintry
season has passed by. Summer is approaching. The time for celebrating
both the fast and the festival of the two solar deities has arrived.
Tammuz and Gishzida, the gods of spring, accordingly stand at Adapa's
side, ready to plead his cause before Anu. So much being clear, we may
advance a step further in the interpretation of the legend. By the side
of Tammuz and Gishzida, there is still a third solar deity who belongs
to the spring of the year,--Marduk, who, by virtue of his later position
as the head of the pantheon, sets aside his two fellows and becomes the
solar god of spring _par excellence_. Marduk, it will be recalled, is
commonly designated as the son of Ea,[1100] and we have seen that, apart
from political considerations, the sun rising out of the ocean--the
domain of Ea--was a factor in this association. Adapa dwells at the sea,
and is forced into the ocean by the south wind, in the same way that the
sun dips into the great 'Okeanos' every evening. The identification of
Adapa with Marduk[1101] thus becomes apparent, and as a matter of fact
the Babylonian scribes of later times[1102] accepted this
identification.

The basis of the Adapa legend is, therefore, the nature-myth of the
annual fight of the sun with the violent elements of nature. At the same
time, other ideas have been introduced into it, and Adapa himself, while
playing the role of Marduk, is yet not entirely confounded with this
god. His name is never written with the determinative for deity.
Moreover, the nature-myth is soon lost sight of, in order to make room
for an entirely different order of ideas. The real purport of the legend
in its present form is foreshadowed by the further advice that Ea offers
to Adapa:

When thou comest before Anu they will offer thee food of death.
Do not eat. They will offer thee waters of death. Do not drink.
They will offer thee a garment. Put it on. They will offer thee
oil. Anoint thyself. The order that I give thee do not neglect.
The word that I speak to thee take to heart. The messenger of
Anu approached.[1103] 'Adapa has broken the wings of the south
wind. Deliver him into my hands....'

Ea obeys the order, delivers up Adapa, and everything happens as was
foretold.

Upon mounting to heaven and on his approach to the gate of Anu,
Tammuz and Gishzida were stationed at the gate of Anu. They saw
Adapa and cried 'Help,[1104] Lord! Why art thou thus attired?
For whom hast thou put on mourning?'[1105]

Adapa replies:

'Two gods have disappeared from the earth, therefore do I wear a
mourning garment.'

'Who are the two gods who have disappeared from the earth?'

Tammuz and Gishzida looked at one another, broke out in lament.
'O Adapa! Step before King Anu.' As he approached, Anu saw him
and cried out to him:

'Come, Adapa, why hast thou broken the wings of the south wind?'

Adapa answered Anu: 'My lord! For the house of my lord[1106] I
was fishing in the midst of the sea. The waters lay still around
me, when the south wind began to blow and forced me underneath.
Into the dwelling of the fish it drove me. In the anger of my
heart [I broke the wings of the south wind].'

Tammuz and Gishzida thereupon intercede with Anu on behalf of Adapa, and
succeed in appeasing the god's wrath. If the story ended here, we would
have a pure nature-myth--the same myth in a different form that we
encountered in the Creation epic, in the Deluge story, and in the Zu
legend. Adapa would be merely a designation of Marduk and nothing more.
The sun triumphs over the storms, and the only objectionable feature in
the tale--to a Babylonian--would be the degradation involved in obliging
Marduk to secure the intercession of other gods. But this feature of
itself suggests that the nature-myth has been embodied in the legend,
but does not constitute the whole of it. A second element and one
entirely independent in its character has been added to the myth.

Anu is appeased, but he is astonished at Ea's patronage of Adapa, as a
result of which a mortal has actually appeared in a place set aside for
the gods.

Why did Ea permit an impure mortal to see the interior of heaven
and earth? He made him great and gave him fame.[1107]

The privilege accorded to Adapa appears to alarm the gods. As among the
Greeks and other nations, so also the Babylonian deities were not free
from jealousy at the power and achievements of humanity. Adapa, having
viewed the secrets of heaven and earth, there was nothing left for the
gods but to admit him into their circle. The narrative accordingly
continues:

'Now what shall we grant him? Offer him food of life, that he
may eat of it.' They brought it to him, but he did not eat.
Waters of life they brought him, but he did not drink. A garment
they brought him. He put it on. Oil they brought him. He
anointed himself.

Adapa follows the instructions of Ea, but the latter, it will be
recalled, tells Adapa that food and water of _death_ will be offered
him. It is Ea, therefore, who, although the god of humanity, and who,
moreover, according to the tradition involved in the Adapa legend, is
the creator of mankind, who prevents his creatures from gaining
immortality. The situation is very much the same that we find in the
third chapter of Genesis, when God, who creates man, takes precautions
lest mortals eat of the tree of life and 'live forever.' The problem
presented by the Hebrew and Babylonian stories is the same: why should
not man, who is descended from the gods, who is created in the likeness
of a god, who by virtue of his intellect can peer into the secrets of
heaven and earth, who stands superior to the rest of creation, who, to
use the psalmist's figure, is only 'a scale lower than god,' why should
he not be like the gods and live forever? The Hebrew legend solves the
problem in a franker way than does the Babylonian. God, while as anxious
as Ea to keep man from eating of the tree of life, cautions Adam against
the act, whereas Ea practises a deception in order to prevent man from
eating. That in both tales eternal life is contained in food points
again (as we have found to be the case with the Biblical narratives of
Creation and of the Deluge) to a common source for the two traditions.
Similarly the phrase 'waters of life' is a figure of speech of frequent
occurrence in Biblical literature in both the Old and the New
Testaments. It is no argument against a common source for the Hebrew and
Babylonian stories explaining how man came to forego immortality, that
the waters of life should be found in the one and not in the other. If
we assume with Gunkel[1108] that the stories embodied in the first
chapters of Genesis were long current among the Hebrews before they were
given a permanent form, the adaptation of old traditions to an entirely
new order of beliefs involves a casting aside of features that could not
be used and a discarding of such as seemed superfluous. The striking
departures in the case of the Hebrew legends from their Babylonian
counterparts are as full of significance as the striking agreements
between the two. The departures and agreements must both be accounted
for. For both there are reasons. So, to emphasize only one point, in a
monotheistic solution of the problem under consideration, there was no
place for any conflict among the gods. In Genesis God simply wills that
man should not eat of the tree of life. In the Adapa legend the gods,
including Anu, are willing to grant a mortal the food and water of life,
simply because they believe that Ea, the creator of man, wishes him to
have it. Accordingly, Anu and his associates are represented at the
close of the legend as being grieved that Adapa should have foregone the
privilege.

Anu looked at him[1109] and lamented over him. 'Come, Adapa, why
didst thou not eat and not drink? Now thou canst not live.'

Adapa replies, unconscious of the deception practised on him:

'Ea, my lord, commanded me not to eat and not to drink.'

Adapa returns to the earth. What his subsequent fate is we do not know,
for the tablet here comes to an end. It is possible that he learns what
Ea has done, and that the god gives him the reason for the deception
practised. A scene of this kind could not find a place in the Hebrew
version that emphasizes the supreme authority of a power besides whom
none other was recognized. God acts alone.

Adam, it will be recalled, after eating of the fruit of the tree of
knowledge, makes a garment for himself. There can be no doubt that there
is a close connection between this tradition and the feature in the
Adapa legend, where Adapa, who has been shown the 'secrets of heaven and
earth,'--that is, has acquired knowledge,--is commanded by Ea to put on
the garment that is offered him. The anointing oneself with oil, though
an essential part of the toilet in the ancient and modern Orient, was
discarded in the Hebrew tale as a superfluous feature. The idea conveyed
by the use of oil was the same as the one indicated in clothing one's
nakedness. Both are symbols of civilization which man is permitted to
attain, but his development stops there. He cannot secure eternal life.

On the other hand, in comparing the Hebrew and Babylonian versions of
the problem of knowledge and immortality, one cannot help being struck
by the pessimistic tone of the former as against the more consolatory
spirit of the latter. God does not want man to attain even
knowledge.[1110] He secures it in disobedience to the divine will,
whereas Ea willingly grants him the knowledge of all there is in heaven
and earth. In this way the Hebrew and Babylonian mind, each developed
the common tradition in its own way.