Eabani adds insult to injury by challenging the goddess.

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.

These three classes of sacred prostitutes have already been dwelt upon.[905] With more material at our disposal regarding the cult of Ishtar or Nanâ 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 rôle 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 Tiâmat, 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.

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.

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.'

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]

Aralû is situated under the earth, and Mashu, reaching down to Aralû, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Alû, 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.

Parnapishtim expresses his sympathy:

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

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:

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,

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]

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.

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.

Ea replies:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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 appears here in the rôle 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:

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.

Parnapishtim then gazes at the destruction.

But soon the waters began to diminish.

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