conscious star stuff

You have to understand the past to understand the present.

-Carl Sagan

Ancient literature is a field that has many things to teach us.  By studying the first texts that humans ever wrote we can gain valuable insights into the origins of written language and its subsequent evolution and ramification.  We can know, for example, about the different physical media and storytelling techniques that have been used and consequently -as with written language itself- we can begin to create a genealogy of sorts of the different literary genres.  It also opens up a window into the plethora of social systems, religious beliefs and human values maintained by different ancient civilizations.  I believe, however, that the most valuable contribution bestowed upon us by ancient texts like The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Book of the Dead or The Mahabharata is that it opens up our eyes to a series of facts that at first sight don’t appear to be intuitive, given the vast differences between ancient and modern cultures.  That we know and comprehend these facts is of the utmost importance to our development as human beings, both individually and collectively.  To illustrate my point, I will focus on two literary works that I believe speak for themselves: The Epic of Gilgamesh (Sumeria, 2.500 BCE) and The Book of the Dead (Egypt, 1.500 BCE).

When we read The Epic of Gilgamesh and observe the original media in which it was written, we are able to learn a great deal about the people that conceived it.  Through its many lines, we know that a king that went by the name of Gilgamesh probably existed and ruled over the ancient city of Uruk; we know that they were polytheists and that they believed that the reason for their existence was to perform mundane tasks for the gods that created them out of clay; we can deduct that at least some of them were literate and that they created the cuneiform system of writing by using a blunt stylus to leave wedge-shaped marks on tablets made of clay. We can learn similar things from the Egyptian Book of the Dead as well. We know that they had a very extense pantheon of human/animal hybrid gods that were responsible for natural phenomena; we know that they invented a paper-like substance from the pith of local plants called papyrus as a medium in which to write; we also know that they had a highly elaborate logographic and pictographic system of writing known as hieroglyphs; and we can infer that they were quite anxious to put their thoughts into writing by looking at how prominent hieroglyphs are throughout Egyptian art and architecture.

A deeper analysis, however, reveals the different sort of facts -alluded to earlier- that I believe to be more important because it provides interesting insights into our psychology and therefore improve our understanding of ourselves.  This is the case of the role that our ability -unique or not- among sentient beings (1), to be aware of our own mortality plays in our lives.  When we read about Gilgamesh’s lengthy and perilous quest for immortality and the numerous spells in place to successfully face the weighing of the heart in front of the gods of the underworld and acquire Osiris’ approval to carry on in the afterlife, we realize that the same fears and struggles that our ancestors had -probably ever since we evolved traits like language and intellect- are with us still, dozens of centuries later, and that our comforting tales have remained essentially the same.  Especially those related to death.

The Epic of Gilgamesh explains death away as the will of the gods (2) and many of the specific aspects of mortality were a source of great angst and despair, for the belief of the times was that when death came, all souls go to a dark and horrifying place where “dust is their drink and their food is clay” (3).  The unsettling feeling that we get from knowing we will eventually perish combined with the belief in a dantesque place were we dwell for all eternity is reflected in the part of the story in which Gilgamesh witnesess the death of Enkidu, his companion.  He goes into a state that we would now describe as of great depression, not out of grief for his friend, but out of the realization that he was going to suffer the same tragic end.  His life becomes so unbearable that he decides to go on a journey of epic proportions in search of immortality.  He faces giant scorpions, crosses lands of absolute darkness and dangerous waters that kill immediately upon contact.  He finally reaches a man called Utnapishtim, the only man ever to become immortal.  According to the story, Utnapishtim is the lone survivor, along with his wife, of an attempt of the gods to destroy the world.  He is warned by the god Ea, who instructs him to build a large ark and to gather all living beings inside.  Sounds very familiar, doesn’t it?  Yes, this seems to be the origin of the well-known Jewish myth of Noah’s Ark, an example of how stories are constantly adapted and retold in later cultures (4).  (This will be evident again in the egyptian weighing of the heart myth).  Gilgamesh’s quest ends unsuccessfully, a reflection of how futile it is to try to beat death.  Utnapishtim agrees to concede him immortality if he passes a test: he must stay awake for seven days. Gilgamesh falls asleep almost immediately and as a consolation prize he is given a plant that restores youth to those who eat from it.  Gilgamesh can’t catch a break though.  On his way back he stops to take a nap and a snake eats the plant (5), leaving him with nothing else but resignation and memories of glories of years past.  This is symbolized at the end of the story when Gilgamesh returns to Uruk and admires the walls and the foundations of his great city along with a lapis lazuli stone in which the adventures of the great king are carved for posterity.

The Book of the Dead, on the other hand, despite explaining death away in the same way as the Sumerians did by claiming divine authority, drives away from the angst and despair of Gilgamesh by offering a light at the end of the tunnel.  Egyptians no longer search for immortality, they now look forward to an afterlife of continuous happiness and everlasting bliss.  The common belief is now that upon death, Anubis guides our spirit through the underworld to appear before Osiris’s court.  Here, Anubis proceeds to take out our heart and places it on one of the two plates in a balance.  The other plate contains the feather of Maat -symbol of truth, eternal justice, morality and cosmic order- and serves as a reference to weigh our lives against.  A jury composed of the gods of the underworld asks a series of questions and our heart increases or decreases in size according to our answers.  These are written down and taken to Osiris who passes judgment.  If he decides favorably, then our spirit travels back to join our mummified body and can now enter Aaru (6) -the Egyptian paradise- to live forever.  On the other hand, if Osiris decides that we have led unworthy lives, our heart is thrown to Ammit -a creature with the head of a crocodile, the mane and body of a lion and the legs of a hippo- who devours it.  This was known as the “second death”, and meant the definitive end of one’s existence.  This again sounds eerily familiar, doesn’t it?  Yes, this is the origin of the belief of reward with eternal, blissful life to those who lead good lives and devote themselves to the gods.  This belief was later adopted by the Jewish people and remains very popular today through the influence of the Abrahamic religions.

As we can see, both works transmit a very different message.  The Epic of Gilgameshseems to tell us that fighting against death is an exercise in futility and we should just accept it and live our Earthly lives no matter how horrifying it may be.  The Book of the Dead -and Egyptian mythology in general- attempts to deal with fear of death by inventing an exciting life after the first one.  All negative aspects of life go away and are replaced by profound states of happiness and bliss.  Ironically, if Egyptian paradise is seen as an attempt to comfort its people and calm the angst produced by a view of death as eternal torture, its effect seems to be practically the same.  Egyptians were obsessed with death and many of them dedicated their whole lives to prepare for the afterlife and gain the favor of the gods.  This, in itself, is a source of continuous angst and despair.  The certainty that death equates to mental and physical sodomy is now replaced by new disturbing thoughts.  ”Am I really doing the will of the gods?”, “Do the gods have me in their grace?”, “If I die today, will I go to paradise or cease to exist forever?”, “Are my loved ones going to die forever?”.

Almost two thousand years later after the Sumerian and Egyptian civilizations came to an end and despite of how much we know now through the study of nature, these conceptions and questions are still a big part of our modern culture and continue to be the source of great anxiety. That is precisely why the study of ancient texts that deal with death like The Epic of Gilgamesh and The Book of the Dead, is very valuable to us.  They help us realize that many things that we just assume to be true or unquestionable are probably false; that what we think of as highly original or unique is really a modification of someone else’s myths; and that faith in very unlikely things about the nature of reality has always been present, although the character’s names are different.  By learning about the human condition and striving each day towards a better understanding of how the universe really works, we can dominate our fears.  Studying ancient literature can help us with the former, and that is where its true value lies.  What the authors of all those stories could not do for their own people, they are doing for us now, thousands of years later. In a strange and ironic way, they did achieve immortality.

Notes:

1. I have always felt that asserting that human beings are the only animals with awareness of their own mortality lacks a solid foundation and given the millions of years of evolutionary history that we share, assuming it is just absurd.  Two recent papers were published that might aid to shed some light on this difficult subject:

Dora Biro, Tatyana Humle, Kathelijne Koops, Claudia Sousa, Misato Hayashi and Tetsuro Matsuzawa. Chimpanzee mothers at Bossou, Guinea carry the mummified remains of their dead infants. Current Biology, 2010; 20 (8): R351-R352 DOI:10.1016/j.cub.2010.02.031

James R. Anderson, Alasdair Gillies, Louise C. Lock. Pan thanatology. Current Biology, 2010; 20 (8): R349-R351 DOI: 10.1016/j.cub.2010.02.010

A good analysis of both papers can be read here:

http://whyevolutionistrue.wordpress.com/2010/04/30/do-chimps-know-death/

2. From Tablet X:

“The life you seek you will never find

when the gods created mankind

death they dispensed to mankind

life they kept for themselves.”

3. From Tablet VII:

“Seizing me, he led me down to the House of Darkness,

the dwelling of Irkalla,

to the house where those who enter do not come out,

along the road of no return,

to the house where those who dwell, do without light,

where dirt is their drink, their food is of clay,

where, like a bird, they wear garments of feathers,

and light cannot be seen, they dwell in the dark,

and upon the door and bolt, there lies dust.

4. A detailed comparison an be found here:

http://www.livius.org/fa-fn/flood/flood6-parallels.html

Author Mark Isaak compiled an extensive and detailed list of flood myths from different cultures around the globe which can be viewed here:

http://home.earthlink.net/~misaak/floods.htm

5. Could this be the explanation the Sumerians came up with for why snakes shed their skin?

6. This ritual is described in great detail on Chapter 125 of The Book of The Dead.