A Moral from

                                   The Epic of Gilgamesh

 

                                                                     Malcolm Rae

 

                                                                     Liberal Studies 111, Section 2

 

                                                                     September 19, 2002

 

       The behavior of Gilgamesh is being wild, sorrowful, ambitious, and ultimately kingly. What is especially striking amidst all the restlessness of this tale is that there is a certain kind of general rule of behavior that emerges, a powerful moral. One that is eventually brought to light for Gilgamesh. This moral, to which Gilgamesh provides a moving testimony, is be true to yourself, as far as you understand that self, at whatever the cost, and, in a mature way, regard the world. Gilgamesh's behavior exemplifying this decree is especially notable in some elements of three of his unmatched experiences: in the loss of his best friend Enkidu, at the brink of his quest for eternal life, and in his return to Uruk.

      When Gilgamesh loses his best friend Enkidu he loses a major part of his own wild self and this greatly alters and bewilders him to the point where his mourning becomes so profound and prolonged that he eventually finds himself in the beginning of a deep search for what he believes to be his own true self (as far as he understands it).

"I cry now, Enkidu, like some crazed woman. I howl. I screech for you because you were the axe upon my belt and the bow in my weak hand; the sword within my sheath, the shield that covered me in battle; my happiest robe, the finest  clothes I ever wore, the ones that made me look best in the eyes of the world"(Tablet VIII, Column ii, lines 64-69).

In acknowledging his friend's strengths and confessing his own weaknesses, Gilgamesh here, in comparing Enkidu to his own dependable war tools and his "happiest robe" has come to realize that without his friend he is now completely defenseless and naked, in the worst way - "...in the eyes of the world." His entire sense of self-worth and dignity has now been stripped away. Yet Gilgamesh simply refuses to let go of this worth that he understands. 

       But soon after this, for the first time in his sadness, Gilgamesh appears for a moment to be suddenly angry, and after acknowledging his friend, he asks: "What devil came to take you off from me" (Tablet VIII, Column ii, line 71)? This is a key transition in Gilgamesh's mentality. It is as if he now needs to fight for what he maintains to be that better self. He calls this better self his own "robe." Yet he is now independent and without the help of that worth, and now must begin searching. He is ready to take on a "devil" now, as it were, in revenge for the loss of his better half.

     Gilgamesh, in all his mourning, is in such a state that it is as if it is the end of the world, and he must somehow do something for himself in regards to the loss of his friend. This is because he believes the true part of himself to be only found in his friend. Yet it is his persistence in mourning that does, in a way, help him to prove what is good in himself alone, and not just in his friend. Gilgamesh's extensive mourning for Enkidu does somehow advance him to a better good (this good partly being a venture of his own), although he does now seem somewhat odd in his claims of utmost dependency upon his friend. Nonetheless, such claims are a useful confession to himself. Enkidu is as the good half of Gilgamesh, so Gilgamesh must in some way hold on to, or rediscover, this good that he believes to be true.

     Still in much pain and self-doubt, Gilgamesh decides to remain true to himself (at whatever costs) by demonstrating a determination to persist, largely through the means of his sorrow, in the beginning of a quest of his own, a quest where he eventually attempts to gain immortality. The bliss of killing monsters, going off into the woods, stirring things up, and causing a ruckus with his good buddy are no longer thrills that he can pursue. Yet, although his grief and loss are almost more than he can bear, he must somehow turn them into something useful for himself. At the brink of a new and radical venture, he is now in a sad, yet good, way left to learn (Tablet IX, Column i, lines 1-13). Interestingly, his sadness, fear, and doubt are not really the things that hinder him, but actually the things that help him to be  realistic. For it is his persistent sadness, and fear of a death similar to his friend's, and his self-doubt, which help motivate him to move onward towards something fresh and unfamiliar, even though it takes him considerable time to reach this transition.

     The final moment of truth for Gilgamesh is when he returns to Uruk. Here Gilgamesh says to the boatman: "Rise up now, Urshanabi, and examine Uruk's wall. Study the base, the brick, the old design. Is it as permanent as can be? Does it look like wisdom designed it" (Tablet XI, Column vi, lines 298-302)? Evidently, Gilgamesh is now interested in civilization, as a good king should be. He finally realizes, for the first time in a sensible way, that he really is, in fact, a king. His new apparent interest in the protection (Uruk's wall) of his people is a new and major contrast from his old, wild, venturing self. Now he is interested in the wellness of his people, whereas before he neglected their welfare. Because of this change, now he has become a more respectable king. His final decision to be a mature king is proper, and it is ultimately what makes him famous. Gilgamesh is no longer living as if it is the end of the world and without regard for it. Rather, he is now regarding the world in his decision to act responsibly in it, and it is in this that the world ultimately gives him respect. Because Gilgamesh becomes accountable to the world and not just to himself alone, he finally becomes truly true to himself in the deepest sense.

      So it is apparent that Gilgamesh learned to be true to himself from some valuable, yet costly, experience of his own. Gilgamesh tested what he believed as far as he knew, and although it cost him great pain, his decision to transform this pain into a new venture of his own eventually helps bring him back to what he has been all along. This, of course, is a king - although for the most part he does not realize this in the sense that he should, until the end.


 

 


 

 

                                                                              Cited Work

 

Danny P. Jackson.  The Epic of Gilgamesh.  Bolchazy-carducci Publishers.  Waucinda, Illinois.  1997.

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