1) Achilles slaying Penthesilea, black-figure amphora, Attica, 540 – 530 BCE, British Museum, London 2) Gilgamesh and Enkidu slaying Humbaba, Carchemish, 750-700 BCE, Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, Ankara

Following today’s lecture, there were a couple of questions about Gilgamesh’s ancestry and how we are meant to identify with his struggles. Here’s my response:

Let’s first consider the mixed parentage of Gilgamesh. He is the son of king Lugalbanda of Uruk and his wife, the goddess Ninsun. Ninsun is more of a demi-goddess who lives on earth compared to the likes of Ishtar who flits between celestial realms in the blink of an eye and has the power to raise a zombie apocalypse.

So what exactly does the text mean when it describes Gilgamesh as two-thirds god? Now this figure is more symbolic than real. If you recall, I mentioned that the Mesopotamians used 60 as their base number for counting – which is why we still account for time in multiples of 60. The sexagesimal system of counting also survives in geometry – 360 degrees to a circle. In Mesopotamian tradition, every god was associated with a particular number – Ishtar with 15, Shamash the sun-god with 20 and Ea, the god of wisdom, with 40. Now let’s recall the base-number 60 – 2/3s of which is 40! So what we have here is an intelligently encrypted and roundabout way of saying that Gilgamesh is wise/ has acquired wisdom (cf. tablet 1.1-2 “was wise in all matters … came to grasp all wisdom in the world”). The Mesopotamians often delighted in word puzzles like this – and it also fits the temperament of Ea, the god of wisdom, who lives hidden in a watery abyss called the apsû or nagbu (“the Deep”/ “totality”/ “underground water”). In fact, the very opening lines of the epic also invoke the realm of Ea and Gilgamesh’s acquisition of wisdom – “He who saw the Deep”.

Heroes in epic traditions are typically meant to be exceptional – in martial prowess, beauty and social position – this makes their learning/ maturation process all the more special as they often come across as haughty or ignorant at the start of the narrative (they seem perfect – but actually they’re not!). This is not unique to the Gilgamesh tradition – think, for example, of the many Greek heroes who also have divine ancestry. Achilles in the Iliad is the son of king Peleus and Thetis, a minor sea goddess – much like Gilgamesh!

Are we meant to identify with Gilgamesh? In some ways, yes! We’re not hypermuscular kings fighting monstrous creatures (although some monsters are metaphorical and Humbaba could easily be read as Nature personified). While he is larger than life and semi-divine, Gilgamesh’s dilemmas are very much human. We recognise throughout the story, individual and collective human struggles albeit magnified to heroic proportions. Gilgamesh is Everyman, his fear of mortality is one we can identify with. The king who triumphed over humans and monsters could not prevent his friend from dying (well, he could barely conquer sleep), and he must now face the inevitability of his own death. Superhuman efforts often yield comical results; superhuman strength does not lead to success. Gilgamesh eventually learns that the tranquillity of routine life is better than the grind of heroic life. The epic urges all of us, not just Gilgamesh, to learn that wisdom and legacy lie in recognising mortality and living life to its fullest within civilisational norms.