VI Legends and Stories
1. In every child’s life there comes a moment when it ceases to take the world and all it holds as a matter of course, when it begins to wonder and to question. The first, the great question naturally is—“Who made it all? The sun, the stars, the sea, the rivers, the flowers, and the trees—whence come they? who made them?” And to this question we are very ready with our answer:—“God made it all. The One, the Almighty God created the world, and all that is in it, by His own sovereign will.” When the child further asks: “How did He do it?” we read to it the story of the Creation which is the beginning of the Bible, our Sacred Book, either without any remarks upon it, or with the warning, that, for a full and proper understanding of it, years are needed and knowledge of many kinds. Now, these same questions have been asked, by children and men, in all ages. Ever since man has existed upon the earth, ever since he began, in the intervals of rest, in the hard labor and struggle for life and limb, for food and warmth, to raise his head and look abroad, and take in the wonders that surrounded him, he has thus pondered and questioned. And to this questioning, each nation, after its own lights, has framed very much the same answer; the same in substance and spirit (because the only possible one), acknowledging the agency of a Divine Power, in filling the world with life, and ordaining the laws of nature,—but often very different in form, since, almost every creed having stopped short of the higher religious conception, that of One Deity, indivisible and all-powerful, the great act was attributed to many gods—“the gods,”—not to God. This of course opened the way to innumerable, more or less ingenious, fancies and vagaries as to the part played in it by this or that particular divinity. Thus all races, nations, even tribes have worked out for themselves their own Cosmogony, i.e., their own ideas on the Origin of the World. The greatest number, not having reached a very high stage of culture or attained literary skill, preserved the teachings of their priests in their memory, and transmitted them orally from father to son; such is the case even now with many more peoples than we think of—with all the native tribes of Africa, the islanders of Australia and the Pacific, and several others. But the nations who advanced intellectually to the front of mankind and influenced the long series of coming races by their thoughts and teachings, recorded in books the conclusions they had arrived at on the great questions which have always stirred the heart and mind of man; these were carefully preserved and recopied from time to time, for the instruction of each rising generation. Thus many great nations of olden times have possessed Sacred Books, which, having been written in remote antiquity by their best and wisest men, were reverenced as something not only holy, but, beyond the unassisted powers of the human intellect, something imparted, revealed directly by the deity itself, and therefore to be accepted, undisputed, as absolute truth. It is clear that it was in the interest of the priests, the keepers and teachers of all religious knowledge, to encourage and maintain in the people at large this unquestioning belief.
2. Of all such books that have become known to us, there are none of greater interest and importance than the sacred books of Ancient Babylonia. Not merely because they are the oldest known, having been treasured in the priestly libraries of Agadê, Sippar, Cutha, etc., at an incredibly early date, but principally because the ancestors of the Hebrews, during their long station in the land of Shinar, learned the legends and stories they contained, and working them over after their own superior religious lights, remodelled them into the narrative which was written down many centuries later as part of the Book of Genesis.
3. The original sacred books were attributed to the god Êa himself, the impersonation of the Divine Intelligence, and the teacher of mankind in the shape of the first Man-Fish, Oannes—(the name being only a Greek corruption of the Accadian Êa-han, “Êa the Fish”)AW So Berosus informs us. After describing Oannes and his proceedings (see p. 185), he adds that “he wrote a Book on the Origin of things and the beginnings of civilization, and gave it to men.” The “origin of things” is the history of the Creation of the world, Cosmogony. Accordingly, this is what Berosus proceeds to expound, quoting directly from the Book, for he begins:—“There was a time, says he, (meaning Oannes) when all was darkness and water.” Then follows a very valuable fragment, but unfortunately only a fragment, one of the few preserved by later Greek writers who quoted the old priest of Babylon for their own purposes, while the work itself was, in some way, destroyed and lost. True, these fragments contain short sketches of several of the most important legends; still, precious as they are, they convey only second-hand information, compiled, indeed, from original sources by a learned and conscientious writer, but for the use of a foreign race, extremely compressed, and, besides, with the names all altered to suit that race’s language. So long as the “original sources” were missing, there was a gap in the study both of the Bible and the religion of Babylon, which no ingenuity could fill. Great, therefore, were the delight and excitement, both of Assyriologists and Bible scholars, when George Smith, while sorting the thousands of tablet-fragments which for years had littered the floor of certain remote chambers of the British Museum, accidentally stumbled on some which were evidently portions of the original sacred legends partly rendered by Berosus. To search for all available fragments of the precious documents and piece them together became the task of Smith’s life. And as nearly all that he found belonged to copies from the Royal Library at Nineveh, it was chiefly in order to enlarge the collection that he undertook his first expedition to the Assyrian mounds, from which he had the good fortune to bring back many missing fragments, belonging also to different copies, so that one frequently completes the other. Thus the oldest Chaldean legends were in a great measure restored to us, though unfortunately very few tablets are in a sufficiently well preserved condition to allow of making out an entirely intelligible and uninterrupted narrative. Not only are many parts still missing altogether, but of those which have been found, pieced and collected, there is not one of which one or more columns have not been injured in such a way that either the beginning or the end of all the lines are gone, or whole lines broken out or erased, with only a few words left here and there. How hopeless the task must sometimes have seemed to the patient workers may be judged from the foregoing specimen pieced together of sixteen bits, which Geo. Smith gives in his book. This is one of the so-called “Deluge-tablets,” i.e., of those which contain the Chaldean version of the story of the Deluge. Luckily more copies have been found of this story than of any of the others, or we should have had to be content still with the short sketch of it given by Berosus.
4. If, therefore, the ancient Babylonian legends of the beginnings of the world will be given here in a connected form, for the sake of convenience and plainness, it must be clearly understood that they were not preserved for us in such a form, but are the result of a long and patient work of research and restoration, a work which still continues; and every year, almost every month, brings to light some new materials, some addition, some correction to the old ones. Yet even as the work now stands, it justifies us in asserting that our knowledge of this marvellous antiquity is fuller and more authentic than that we have of many a period and people not half so remote from us in point of place and distance.
5. The cosmogonic narrative which forms the first part of what Geo. Smith has very aptly called “the Chaldean Genesis” is contained in a number of tablets. As it begins by the words “When above,” they are all numbered as No. 1, or 3, or 5 “of the series When above. The property of Asshurbanipal, king of nations, king of Assyria.” The first lines are intact:—“When the heaven above and the earth below were as yet unnamed,”—(i.e., according to Semitic ideas, did not exist)—Apsu (the “Abyss”) and Mummu-Tiamat (the “billowy Sea”) were the beginning of all things; their waters mingled and flowed together; that was the Primeval Chaos; it contained the germs of life but “the darkness was not lifted” from the waters, and therefore nothing sprouted or grew—(for no growth or life is possible without light). The gods also were not; “they were as yet unnamed and did not rule the destinies.” Then the great gods came into being, and the divine hosts of heaven and earth (the Spirits of Heaven and Earth). “And the days stretched themselves out, and the god Anu (Heaven.)...” Here the text breaks off abruptly; it is probable, however, that it told how, after a long lapse of time, the gods Anu, Êa and Bel, the first and supreme triad, came into being. The next fragment, which is sufficiently well preserved to allow of a connected translation, tells of the establishment of the heavenly bodies: “He” (Anu, whose particular dominion the highest heavens were, hence frequently called “the heaven of Anu”) “he appointed the mansions of the great gods” (signs of the Zodiac), established the stars, ordered the months and the year, and limited the beginning and end thereof; established the planets, so that none should swerve from its allotted track; “he appointed the mansions of Bel and Êa with his own; he also opened the great gates of heaven, fastening their bolts firmly to the right and to the left” (east and west); he made Nannar (the Moon) to shine and allotted the night to him, determining the time of his quarters which measure the days, and saying to him “rise and set, and be subject to this law.” Another tablet, of which only the beginning is intelligible, tells how the gods (in the plural this time) created the living beings which people the earth, the cattle of the field and the city, and the wild beasts of the field, and the things that creep in the field and in the city, in short all the living creatures.
6. There are some tablets which have been supposed to treat of the creation of man and perhaps to give a story of his disobedience and fall, answering to that in Genesis; but unfortunately they are in too mutilated a condition to admit of certainty, and no other copies have as yet come to light. However, the probability that such was really the case is very great, and is much enhanced by a cylinder of very ancient Babylonian workmanship, now in the British Museum, and too important not to be reproduced here. The tree in the middle, the human couple stretching out their hands for the fruit, the serpent standing behind the woman in—one might almost say—a whispering attitude, all this tells its own tale. And the authority of this artistic presentation, which so strangely fits in to fill the blank in the written narrative, is doubled by the fact that the engravings on the cylinders are invariably taken from subjects connected with religion, or at least religious beliefs and traditions. As to the creation of man, we may partly eke out the missing details from the fragment of Berosus already quoted. He there tells us—and so well-informed a writer must have spoken on good authority—that Bel gave his own blood to be kneaded with the clay out of which men were formed, and that is why they are endowed with reason and have a share of the divine nature in them—certainly a most ingenious way of expressing the blending of the earthly and the divine elements which has made human nature so deep and puzzling a problem to the profounder thinkers of all ages.
7. For the rest of the creation, Berosus’ account (quoted from the book said to have been given men by the fabulous Oannes), agrees with what we find in the original texts, even imperfect as we have them. He says that in the midst of Chaos—at the time when all was darkness and water—the principle of life which it contained, restlessly working, but without order, took shape in numberless monstrous formations: there were beings like men, some winged, with two heads, some with the legs and horns of goats, others with the hind part of horses; also bulls with human heads, dogs with four bodies and a fish’s tail, horses with the heads of dogs, in short, every hideous and fantastical combination of animal forms, before the Divine Will had separated them, and sorted them into harmony and order. All these monstrous beings perished the moment Bel separated the heavens from the earth creating light,—for they were births of darkness and lawlessness and could not stand the new reign of light and law and divine reason. In memory of this destruction of the old chaotic world and production of the new, harmonious and beautiful one, the walls of the famous temple of Bel-Mardouk at Babylon were covered with paintings representing the infinite variety of monstrous and mixed shapes with which an exuberant fancy had peopled the primeval chaos; Berosus was a priest of this temple and he speaks of those paintings as still existing. Though nothing has remained of them in the ruins of the temple, we have representations of the same kind on many of the cylinders which, used as seals, did duty both as personal badges—(one is almost tempted to say “coats of arms”)—and as talismans, as proved by the fact of such cylinders being so frequently found on the wrists of the dead in the sepulchres.
8. The remarkable cylinder with the human couple and the serpent leads us to the consideration of a most important object in the ancient Babylonian or Chaldean religion—the Sacred Tree, the Tree of Life. That it was a very holy symbol is clear from its being so continually reproduced on cylinders and on sculptures. In this particular cylinder, rude as the design is, it bears an unmistakable likeness to a real tree—of some coniferous species, cypress or fir. But art soon took hold of it and began to load it with symmetrical embellishments, until it produced a tree of entirely conventional design, as shown by the following specimens, of which the first leans more to the palm, while the second seems rather of the coniferous type. (Figs. No. 63 and 65.) It is probable that such artificial trees, made up of boughs—perhaps of the palm and cypress—tied together and intertwined with ribbons (something like our Maypoles of old), were set up in the temples as reminders of the sacred symbol, and thus gave rise to the fixed type which remains invariable both in such Babylonian works of art as we possess and on the Assyrian sculptures, where the tree, or a portion of it, appears not only in the running ornaments on the walls but on seal cylinders and even in the embroidery on the robes of kings. In the latter case indeed, it is almost certain, from the belief in talismans which the Assyrians had inherited, along with the whole of their religion from the Chaldean mother country, that this ornament was selected not only as appropriate to the sacredness of the royal person, but as a consecration and protection. The holiness of the symbol is further evidenced by the kneeling posture of the animals which sometimes accompany it (see Fig. 22, page 67), and the attitude of adoration of the human figures, or winged spirits attending it, by the prevalence of the sacred number seven in its component parts, and by the fact that it is reproduced on a great many of those glazed earthenware coffins which are so plentiful at Warka (ancient Erech). This latter fact clearly shows that the tree-symbol not only meant life in general, life on earth, but a hope of life eternal, beyond the grave, or why should it have been given to the dead? These coffins at Warka belong, it is true, to a late period, some as late as a couple of hundred years after Christ, but the ancient traditions and their meaning had, beyond a doubt, been preserved. Another significant detail is that the cone is frequently seen in the hands of men or spirits, and always in a way connected with worship or auspicious protection; sometimes it is held to the king’s nostrils by his attendant protecting spirits, (known by their wings); a gesture of unmistakable significancy, since in ancient languages “the breath of the nostrils” is synonymous with “the breath of life.”
9. There can be no association of ideas more natural than that of vegetation, as represented by a tree, with life. By its perpetual growth and development, its wealth of branches and foliage, its blossoming and fruit-bearing, it is a noble and striking illustration of the world in the widest sense—the Universe, the Cosmos, while the sap which courses equally through the trunk and through the veins of the smallest leaflet, drawn by an incomprehensible process through invisible roots from the nourishing earth, still more forcibly suggests that mysterious principle, Life, which we think we understand because we see its effects and feel it in ourselves, but the sources of which will never be reached, as the problem of it will never be solved, either by the prying of experimental science or the musings of contemplative speculation; life eternal, also,—for the workings of nature are eternal,—and the tree that is black and lifeless to-day, we know from long experience is not dead, but will revive in the fulness of time, and bud, and grow and bear again. All these things we know are the effects of laws; but the ancients attributed them to living Powers,—the Chthonic Powers (from the Greek word Chthon, “earth, soil”), which have by some later and dreamy thinkers been called weirdly but not unaptly, “the Mothers,” mysteriously at work in the depths of silence and darkness, unseen, unreachable, and inexhaustibly productive. Of these powers again, what more perfect symbol or representative than the Tree, as standing for vegetation, one for all, the part for the whole? It lies so near that, in later times, it was enlarged, so as to embrace the whole universe, in the majestic conception of the Cosmic Tree which has its roots on earth and heaven for its crown, while its fruit are the golden apples—the stars, and Fire,—the red lightning.
10. All these suggestive and poetical fancies would in themselves suffice to make the tree-symbol a favorite one among so thoughtful and profound a people as the old Chaldeans. But there is something more. It is intimately connected with another tradition, common, in some form or other, to all nations who have attained a sufficiently high grade of culture to make their mark in the world—that of an original ancestral abode, beautiful, happy, and remote, a Paradise. It is usually imagined as a great mountain, watered by springs which become great rivers, bearing one or more trees of wonderful properties and sacred character, and is considered as the principal residence of the gods. Each nation locates it according to its own knowledge of geography and vague, half-obliterated memories. Many texts, both in the old Accadian and the Assyrian languages, abundantly prove that the Chaldean religion preserved a distinct and reverent conception of such a mountain, and placed it in the far north or north-east, calling it the “Father of Countries,” plainly an allusion to the original abode of man—the “Mountain of Countries,” (i.e., “Chief Mountain of the World”) and also Arallu, because there, where the gods dwelt, they also imagined the entrance to the Arali to be the Land of the Dead. There, too, the heroes and great men were to dwell forever after their death. There is the land with a sky of silver, a soil which produces crops without being cultivated, where blessings are for food and rejoicing, which it is hoped the king will obtain as a reward for his piety after having enjoyed all earthly goods during his life.AX In an old Accadian hymn, the sacred mount, which is identical with that imagined as the pillar joining heaven and earth, the pillar around which the heavenly spheres revolve, (see page 153)—is called “the mountain of Bel, in the east, whose double head reaches unto the skies; which is like to a mighty buffalo at rest, whose double horn sparkles as a sunbeam, as a star.” So vivid was the conception in the popular mind, and so great the reverence entertained for it, that it was attempted to reproduce the type of the holy mountain in the palaces of their kings and the temples of their gods. That is one of the reasons why they built both on artificial hills. There is in the British Museum a sculpture from Koyunjik, representing such a temple, or perhaps palace, on the summit of a mound, converted into a garden and watered by a stream which issues from the “hanging garden” on the right, the latter being laid out on a platform of masonry raised on arches; the water was brought up by machinery. It is a perfect specimen of a “Paradise,” as these artificial parks were called by the Greeks, who took the word (meaning “park” or “garden”) from the Persians, who, in their turn, had borrowed the thing from the Assyrians and Babylonians, when they conquered the latter’s empire. The Ziggurat, or pyramidal construction in stages, with the temple or shrine on the top, also owed its peculiar shape to the same original conception: as the gods dwelt on the summit of the Mountain of the World, so their shrines should occupy a position as much like their residence as the feeble means of man would permit. That this is no idle fancy is proved by the very name of “Ziggurat,” which means “mountain peak,” and also by the names of some of these temples: one of the oldest and most famous indeed, in the city of Asshur, was named “the House of the Mountain of Countries.” An excellent representation of a Ziggurat, as it must have looked with its surrounding palm grove by a river, is given us on a sculptured slab, also from Koyunjik. The original is evidently a small one, of probably five stages besides the platform on which it is built, with its two symmetrical paths up the ascent. Some, like the great temple at Ur, had only three stages, others again seven—always one of the three sacred numbers: three, corresponding to the divine Triad; five, to the five planets; seven, to the planets, sun and moon. The famous Temple of the Seven Spheres at Borsip (the Birs-Nimrud), often mentioned already, and rebuilt by Nebuchadnezzar about 600 b.c. from a far older structure, as he explains in his inscription (see p. 72), was probably the most gorgeous, as it was the largest; besides, it is the only one of which we have detailed and reliable descriptions and measurements, which may best be given in this place, almost entirely in the words of George Rawlinson:AY
11. The temple is raised on a platform exceptionally low—only a few feet above the level of the plain; the entire height, including the platform, was 156 feet in a perpendicular line. The stages—of which the four upper were lower than the first three—receded equally on three sides, but doubly as much on the fourth, probably in order to present a more imposing front from the plain, and an easier ascent. “The ornamentation of the edifice was chiefly by means of color. The seven Stages represented the Seven Spheres, in which moved, according to ancient Chaldean astronomy, the seven planets. To each planet fancy, partly grounding itself upon fact, had from of old assigned a peculiar tint or hue. The Sun (Shamash) was golden; the Moon (Sin or Nannar), silver; the distant Saturn (Adar), almost beyond the region of light, was black; Jupiter (Marduk) was orange; the fiery Mars (Nergal) was red; Venus (Ishtar) was a pale yellow; Mercury (Nebo or Nabu, whose shrine stood on the top stage), a deep blue. The seven stages of the tower gave a visible embodiment to these fancies. The basement stage, assigned to Saturn, was blackened by means of a coating of bitumen spread over the face of the masonry; the second stage, assigned to Jupiter, obtained the appropriate orange color by means of a facing of burnt bricks of that hue; the third stage, that of Mars, was made blood-red by the use of half-burnt bricks formed of a bright-red clay; the fourth stage, assigned to the Sun, appears to have been actually covered with thin plates of gold; the fifth, the stage of Venus, received a pale yellow tint from the employment of bricks of that hue; the sixth, the sphere of Mercury, was given an azure tint by vitrifaction, the whole stage having been subjected to an intense heat after it was erected, whereby the bricks composing it were converted into a mass of blue slag; the seventh stage, that of the moon, was probably, like the fourth, coated with actual plates of metal. Thus the building rose up in stripes of varied color, arranged almost as nature’s cunning hand arranges hues in the rainbow, tones of red coming first, succeeded by a broad stripe of yellow, the yellow being followed by blue. Above this the glowing silvery summit melted into the bright sheen of the sky.... The Tower is to be regarded as fronting the north-east, the coolest side, and that least exposed to the sun’s rays from the time that they become oppressive in Babylonia. On this side was the ascent, which consisted probably of a broad staircase extending along the whole front of the building. The side platforms, at any rate of the first and second stages, probably of all, were occupied by a series of chambers.... In these were doubtless lodged the priests and other attendants upon the temple service....”
12. The interest attaching to this temple, wonderful as it is in itself, is greatly enhanced by the circumstance that its ruins have through many centuries been considered as those of the identical Tower of Babel of the Bible. Jewish literary men who travelled over the country in the Middle Ages started this idea, which quickly spread to the West. It is conjectured that it was suggested by the vitrified fragments of the outer coating of the sixth, blue, stage, (that of Mercury or Nebo), the condition of which was attributed to lightning having struck the building.
13. That the Ziggurats of Chaldea should have been used not only as pedestals to uphold shrines, but as observatories by the priestly astronomers and astrologers, was quite in accordance with the strong mixture of star-worship grafted on the older religion, and with the power ascribed to the heavenly bodies over the acts and destinies of men. These constructions, therefore, were fitted for astronomical uses by being very carefully placed with their corners pointing exactly to the four cardinal points—North, South, East and West. Only two exceptions have been found to this rule, one in Babylon, and the Assyrian Ziggurat at Kalah, (Nimrud) explored by Layard, of which the sides, not the corners, face the cardinal points. For the Assyrians, who carried their entire culture and religion northward from their ancient home, also retained this consecrated form of architecture, with the difference that with them the Ziggurats were not temple and observatory in one, but only observatories attached to the temples, which were built on more independent principles and a larger scale, often covering as much ground as a palace.
14. The singular orientation of the Chaldean Ziggurats (subsequently retained by the Assyrians),—i.e., the manner in which they are placed, turned to the cardinal points with their angles, and not with their faces, as are the Egyptian pyramids, with only one exception,—has long been a puzzle which no astronomical considerations were sufficient to solve. But quite lately, in 1883, Mr. Pinches, Geo. Smith’s successor in the British Museum, found a small tablet, giving lists of signs, eclipses, etc., affecting the various countries, and containing the following short geographical notice, in illustration of the position assigned to the cardinal points: “The South is Elam, the North is Accad, the East is Suedin and Gutium, the West is Phœnicia. On the right is Accad, on the left is Elam, in front is Phœnicia, behind are Suedin and Gutium.” In order to appreciate the bearing of this bit of topography on the question in hand, we must examine an ancient map, when we shall at once perceive that the direction given by the tablet to the South (Elam) answers to our South-East; that given to the North (Accad) answers to our North-West; while West (Phœnicia, i.e., the coast-land of the Mediterranean, down almost to Egypt) stands for our South-West, and East (Gutium, the highlands where the Armenian mountains join the Zagros, now Kurdish Mountains,) for our North-East. If we turn the map so that the Persian Gulf shall come in a perpendicular line under Babylon, we shall produce the desired effect, and then it will strike us that the Ziggurats did face the cardinal points, according to Chaldean geography, with their sides, and that the discovery of the small tablet, as was remarked on the production of it, “settles the difficult question of the difference in orientation between the Assyrian and Egyptian monuments.” It was further suggested that “the two systems of cardinal points originated no doubt from two different races, and their determination was due probably to the geographical position of the primitive home of each race.” Now the South-West is called “the front,” “and the migrations of the people therefore must have been from North-East to South-West.”AZ This beautifully tallies with the hypothesis, or conjecture, concerning the direction from which the Shumiro-Accads descended into the lowlands by the Gulf (see pp. 146-8), and, moreover, leads us to the question whether the fact of the great Ziggurat of the Seven Spheres at Borsip facing the North-East with its front may not have some connection with the holiness ascribed to that region as the original home of the race and the seat of that sacred mountain so often mentioned as “the Great Mountain of Countries” (see p. 280), doubly sacred, as the meeting-place of the gods and the place of entrance to the “Arallu” or Lower World.BA
15. It is to be noted that the conception of the divine grove or garden with its sacred tree of life was sometimes separated from that of the holy primeval mountain and transferred by tradition to a more immediate and accessible neighborhood. That the city and district of Babylon may have been the centre of such a tradition is possibly shown by the most ancient Accadian name of the former—Tin-tir-ki meaning “the Place of Life,” while the latter was called Gan-Dunyash or Kar-Dunyash—“the garden of the god Dunyash,” (probably one of the names of the god Êa)—an appellation which this district, although situated in the land of Accad or Upper Chaldea, preserved to the latest times as distinctively its own. Another sacred grove is spoken of as situated in Eridhu. This city, altogether the most ancient we have any mention of, was situated at the then mouth of the Euphrates, in the deepest and flattest of lowlands, a sort of borderland between earth and sea, and therefore very appropriately consecrated to the great spirit of both, the god Êa, the amphibious Oannes. It was so much identified with him, that in the Shumirian hymns and conjurings his son Meridug is often simply invoked as “Son of Eridhu.” It must have been the oldest seat of that spirit-worship and sorcerer-priesthood which we find crystallized in the earliest Shumiro-Accadian sacred books. This prodigious antiquity carries us to something like 5000 years b.c., which explains the fact that the ruins of the place, near the modern Arab village of Abu-Shahrein, are now so far removed from the sea, being a considerable distance even from the junction of the two rivers where they form the Shat-el-arab. The sacred grove of Eridhu is frequently referred to, and that it was connected with the tradition of the tree of life we see from a fragment of a most ancient hymn, which tells of “a black pine, growing at Eridhu, sprung up in a pure place, with roots of lustrous crystal extending downwards, even into the deep, marking the centre of the earth, in the dark forest into the heart whereof man hath not penetrated.” Might not this be the reason why the wood of the pine was so much used in charms and conjuring, as the surest safeguard against evil influences, and its very shadow was held wholesome and sacred? But we return to the legends of the Creation and primeval world.
16. Mummu-Tiamat, the impersonation of chaos, the power of darkness and lawlessness, does not vanish from the scene when Bel puts an end to her reign, destroys, by the sheer force of light and order, her hideous progeny of monsters and frees from her confusion the germs and rudimental forms of life, which, under the new and divine dispensation, are to expand and combine into the beautifully varied, yet harmonious world we live in. Tiamat becomes the sworn enemy of the gods and their creation, the great principle of opposition and destruction. When the missing texts come to light,—if ever they do—it will probably be found that the serpent who tempts the woman in the famous cylinder, is none other than a form of the rebellious and vindictive Tiamat, who is called now a “Dragon,” now “the Great Serpent.” At last the hostility cannot be ignored, and things come to a deadly issue. It is determined in the council of the gods that one of them must fight the wicked dragon; a complete suit of armor is made and exhibited by Anu himself, of which the sickle-shaped sword and the beautifully bent bow are the principal features. It is Bel who dares the venture and goes forth on a matchless war chariot, armed with the sword, and the bow, and his great weapon, the thunderbolt, sending the lightning before him and scattering arrows around. Tiamat, the Dragon of the Sea, came out to meet him, stretching her immense body along, bearing death and destruction, and attended by her followers. The god rushed on the monster with such violence that he threw her down and was already fastening fetters on her limbs, when she uttered a great shout and started up and attacked the righteous leader of the gods, while banners were raised on both sides as at a pitched battle. Meridug drew his sword and wounded her; at the same time a violent wind struck against her face. She opened her jaws to swallow up Meridug, but before she could close them he bade the wind to enter into her body. It entered and filled her with its violence, shook her heart and tore her entrails and subdued her courage. Then the god bound her, and put an end to her works, while her followers stood amazed, then broke their lines and fled, full of fear, seeing that Tiamat, their leader, was conquered. There she lay, her weapons broken, herself like a sword thrown down on the ground, in the dark and bound, conscious of her bondage and in great grief, her might suddenly broken by fear.
17. The battle of Bel-Marduk and the Dragon was a favorite incident in the cycle of Chaldean tradition, if we judge from the number of representations we have of it on Babylonian cylinders, and even on Assyrian wall-sculptures. The texts which relate to it are, however, in a frightful state of mutilation, and only the last fragment, describing the final combat, can be read and translated with anything like completeness. With it ends the series treating of the Cosmogony or Beginnings of the World. But it may be completed by a few more legends of the same primitive character and preserved on detached tablets, in double text, as usual—Accadian and Assyrian. To these belongs a poem narrating the rebellion, already alluded to, (see p. 182,) of the seven evil spirits, originally the messengers and throne-bearers of the gods, and their war against the moon, the whole being evidently a fanciful rendering of an eclipse. “Those wicked gods, the rebel spirits,” of whom one is likened to a leopard, and one to a serpent, and the rest to other animals—suggesting the fanciful shapes of storm-clouds—while one is said to be the raging south wind, began the attack “with evil tempest, baleful wind,” and “from the foundations of the heavens like the lightning they darted.” The lower region of the sky was reduced to its primeval chaos, and the gods sat in anxious council. The moon-god (Sin), the sun-god (Shamash), and the goddess Ishtar had been appointed to sway in close harmony the lower sky and to command the hosts of heaven; but when the moon-god was attacked by the seven spirits of evil, his companions basely forsook him, the sun-god retreating to his place and Ishtar taking refuge in the highest heaven (the heaven of Anu). Nebo is despatched to Êa, who sends his son Meridug with this instruction:—“Go, my son Meridug! The light of the sky, my son, even the moon-god, is grievously darkened in heaven, and in eclipse from heaven is vanishing. Those seven wicked gods, the serpents of death who fear not, are waging unequal war with the laboring moon.” Meridug obeys his father’s bidding, and overthrows the seven powers of darkness.BB
18. There is one more detached legend known from the surviving fragments of Berosus, also supposed to be derived from ancient Accadian texts: it is that of the great tower and the confusion of tongues. One such text has indeed been found by the indefatigable George Smith, but there is just enough left of it to be very tantalizing and very unsatisfactory. The narrative in Berosus amounts to this: that men having grown beyond measure proud and arrogant, so as to deem themselves superior even to the gods, undertook to build an immense tower, to scale the sky; that the gods, offended with this presumption, sent violent winds to overthrow the construction when it had already reached a great height, and at the same time caused men to speak different languages,—probably to sow dissension among them, and prevent their ever again uniting in a common enterprise so daring and impious. The site was identified with that of Babylon itself, and so strong was the belief attaching to the legend that the Jews later on adopted it unchanged, and centuries afterwards, as we saw above, fixed on the ruins of the hugest of all Ziggurats, that of Borsip, as those of the great Tower of the Confusion of Tongues. Certain it is, that the tradition, under all its fanciful apparel, contains a very evident vein of historical fact, since it was indeed from the plains of Chaldea that many of the principal nations of the ancient East, various in race and speech, dispersed to the north, the west, and the south, after having dwelt there for centuries as in a common cradle, side by side, and indeed to a great extent as one people.
Footnotes
AW See Fr. Lenormant, “Die Magie und Wahrsagekunst der Chaldäer,” p. 377.
AX François Lenormant, “Origines de l’Histoire,” Vol. II., p. 130.
AY “Five Monarchies,” Vol. III., pp. 380-387.
AZ See “Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archæology,” Feb., 1883, pp. 74-76, and “Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society,” Vol. XVI., 1884, p. 302.
BA The one exception to the above rule of orientation among the Ziggurats of Chaldea is that of the temple of Bel, in Babylon, (E-Saggila in the old language,) which is oriented in the usual way—its sides facing the real North, South, East and West.
BB See A. H. Sayce, “Babylonian Literature,” p. 35.
VII.
MYTHS.—HEROES AND THE MYTHICAL EPOS.
1. The stories by which a nation attempts to account for the mysteries of creation, to explain the Origin of the World, are called, in scientific language, Cosmogonic Myths. The word Myth is constantly used in conversation, but so loosely and incorrectly, that it is most important once for all to define its proper meaning. It means simply a phenomenon of nature presented not as the result of a law but as the act of divine or at least superhuman persons, good or evil powers—(for instance, the eclipse of the Moon described as the war against the gods of the seven rebellious spirits). Further reading and practice will show that there are many kinds of myths, of various origins; but there is none, which, if properly taken to pieces, thoroughly traced and cornered, will not be covered by this definition. A Myth has also been defined as a legend connected more or less closely with some religious belief, and, in its main outlines, handed down from prehistoric times. There are only two things which can prevent the contemplation of nature and speculation on its mysteries from running into mythology: a knowledge of the physical laws of nature, as supplied by modern experimental science, and a strict, unswerving belief in the unity of God, absolute and undivided, as affirmed and defined by the Hebrews in so many places of their sacred books: “The Lord he is God, there is none else beside him.” “The Lord he is God, in Heaven above and upon the earth beneath there is none else.” “I am the Lord, and there is none else, there is no God beside me.” “I am God and there is none else.” But experimental science is a very modern thing indeed, scarcely a few hundred years old, and Monotheism, until the propagation of Christianity, was professed by only one small nation, the Jews, though the chosen thinkers of other nations have risen to the same conception in many lands and many ages. The great mass of mankind has always believed in the personal individuality of all the forces of nature, i.e., in many gods; everything that went on in the world was to them the manifestation of the feelings, the will, the acts of these gods—hence the myths. The earlier the times, the more unquestioning the belief and, as a necessary consequence, the more exuberant the creation of myths.
2. But gods and spirits are not the only actors in myths. Side by side with its sacred traditions on the Origin of things, every nation treasures fond but vague memories of its own beginnings—vague, both from their remoteness and from their not being fixed in writing, and being therefore liable to the alterations and enlargements which a story invariably undergoes when told many times to and by different people, i.e., when it is transmitted from generation to generation by oral tradition. These memories generally centre around a few great names, the names of the oldest national heroes, of the first rulers, lawgivers and conquerors of the nation, the men who by their genius made it a nation out of a loose collection of tribes or large families, who gave it social order and useful arts, and safety from its neighbors, or, perhaps, freed it from foreign oppressors. In their grateful admiration for these heroes, whose doings naturally became more and more marvellous with each generation that told of them, men could not believe that they should have been mere imperfect mortals like themselves, but insisted on considering them as directly inspired by the deity in some one of the thousand shapes they invested it with, or as half-divine of their own nature. The consciousness of the imperfection inherent to ordinary humanity, and the limited powers awarded to it, has always prompted this explanation of the achievements of extraordinarily gifted individuals, in whatever line of action their exceptional gifts displayed themselves. Besides, if there is something repugnant to human vanity in having to submit to the dictates of superior reason and the rule of superior power as embodied in mere men of flesh and blood, there is on the contrary something very flattering and soothing to that same vanity in the idea of having been specially singled out as the object of the protection and solicitude of the divine powers; this idea at all events takes the galling sting from the constraint of obedience. Hence every nation has very jealously insisted on and devoutly believed in the divine origin of its rulers and the divine institution of its laws and customs. Once it was implicitly admitted that the world teemed with spirits and gods, who, not content with attending to their particular spheres and departments, came and went at their pleasure, had walked the earth and directly interfered with human affairs, there was no reason to disbelieve any occurrence, however marvellous—provided it had happened very, very long ago. (See p. 197.)
3. Thus, in the traditions of every ancient nation, there is a vast and misty tract of time, expressed, if at all, in figures of appalling magnitude—hundreds of thousands, nay, millions of years—between the unpierceable gloom of an eternal past and the broad daylight of remembered, recorded history. There, all is shadowy, gigantic, superhuman. There, gods move, dim yet visible, shrouded in a golden cloud of mystery and awe; there, by their side, loom other shapes, as dim but more familiar, human yet more than human—the Heroes, Fathers of races, founders of nations, the companions, the beloved of gods and goddesses, nay, their own children, mortal themselves, yet doing deeds of daring and might such as only the immortals could inspire and favor, the connecting link between these and ordinary humanity—as that gloaming, uncertain, shifting, but not altogether unreal streak of time is the borderland between Heaven and Earth, the very hot-bed of myth, fiction and romance. For of their favorite heroes, people began to tell the same stories as of their gods, in modified forms, transferred to their own surroundings and familiar scenes. To take one of the most common transformations: if the Sun-god waged war against the demons of darkness and destroyed them in heaven (see p. 171), the hero hunted wild beasts and monsters on earth, of course always victoriously. This one theme could be varied by the national poets in a thousand ways and woven into a thousand different stories, which come with full right under the head of “myths.” Thus arose a number of so-called Heroic Myths, which, by dint of being repeated, settled into a certain defined traditional shape, like the well-known fairy-tales of our nurseries, which are the same everywhere and told in every country with scarcely any changes. As soon as the art of writing came into general use, these favorite and time-honored stories, which the mass of the people probably still received as literal truth, were taken down, and, as the work naturally devolved on priests and clerks, i.e., men of education and more or less literary skill, often themselves poets, they were worked over in the process, connected, and remodelled into a continuous whole. The separate myths, or adventures of one or more particular heroes, formerly recited severally, somewhat after the manner of the old songs and ballads, frequently became so many chapters or books in a long, well-ordered poem, in which they were introduced and distributed, often with consummate art, and told with great poetical beauty. Such poems, of which several have come down to us, are called Epic Poems, or simply Epics. The entire mass of fragmentary materials out of which they are composed in the course of time, blending almost inextricably historical reality with mythical fiction, is the National Epos of a race, its greatest intellectual treasure, from which all its late poetry and much of its political and religious feeling draws its food ever after. A race that has no national epos is one devoid of great memories, incapable of high culture and political development, and no such has taken a place among the leading races of the world. All those that have occupied such a place at any period of the world’s history, have had their Mythic and Heroic Ages, brimful of wonders and fanciful creations.
4. From these remarks it will be clear that the preceding two or three chapters have been treating of what may properly be called the Religious and Cosmogonic Myths of the Shumiro-Accads and the Babylonians. The present chapter will be devoted to their Heroic Myths or Mythic Epos, as embodied in an Epic which has been in great part preserved, and which is the oldest known in the world, dating certainly from 2000 years b.c., and probably more.
5. Of this poem the few fragments we have of Berosus contain no indication. They only tell of a great deluge which took place under the last of that fabulous line of ten kings which is said to have begun 259,000 years after the apparition of the divine Man-Fish, Oannes, and to have reigned in the aggregate a period of 432,000 years. The description has always excited great interest from its extraordinary resemblance to that given by the Bible. Berosus tells how Xisuthros, the last of the ten fabulous kings, had a dream in which the deity announced to him that on a certain day all men should perish in a deluge of waters, and ordered him to take all the sacred writings and bury them at Sippar, the City of the Sun, then to build a ship, provide it with ample stores of food and drink and enter it with his family and his dearest friends, also animals, both birds and quadrupeds of every kind. Xisuthros did as he had been bidden. When the flood began to abate, on the third day after the rain had ceased to fall, he sent out some birds, to see whether they would find any land, but the birds, having found neither food nor place to rest upon, returned to the ship. A few days later, Xisuthros once more sent the birds out; but they again came back to him, this time with muddy feet. On being sent out a third time, they did not return at all. Xisuthros then knew that the land was uncovered; made an opening in the roof of the ship and saw that it was stranded on the top of a mountain. He came out of the ship with his wife, daughter and pilot, built an altar and sacrificed to the gods, after which he disappeared together with these. When his companions came out to seek him they did not see him, but a voice from heaven informed them that he had been translated among the gods to live forever, as a reward for his piety and righteousness. The voice went on to command the survivors to return to Babylonia, unearth the sacred writings and make them known to men. They obeyed and, moreover, built many cities and restored Babylon.
6. However interesting this account, it was received at second-hand and therefore felt to need confirmation and ampler development. Besides which, as it stood, it lacked all indication that could throw light on the important question which of the two traditions—that reproduced by Berosus or the Biblical one—was to be considered as the oldest. Here again it was George Smith who had the good fortune to discover the original narrative (in 1872), while engaged in sifting and sorting the tablet-fragments at the British Museum. This is how it happened:BC—“Smith found one-half of a whitish-yellow clay tablet, which, to all appearance, had been divided on each face into three columns. In the third column of the obverse or front side he read the words: ‘On the mount Nizir the ship stood still. Then I took a dove and let her fly. The dove flew hither and thither, but finding no resting-place, returned to the ship.’ Smith at once knew that he had discovered a fragment of the cuneiform narrative of the Deluge. With indefatigable perseverance he set to work to search the thousands of Assyrian tablet-fragments heaped up in the British Museum, for more pieces. His efforts were crowned with success. He did not indeed find a piece completing the half of the tablet first discovered, but he found instead fragments of two more copies of the narrative, which completed the text in the most felicitous manner and supplied several very important variations of it. One of these duplicates, which has been pieced out of sixteen little bits (see illustration on p. 262), bore the usual inscription at the bottom: ‘The property of Asshurbanipal, King of hosts, King of the land of Asshur,’ and contained the information that the Deluge-narrative was the eleventh tablet of a series, several fragments of which, Smith had already come across. With infinite pains he put all these fragments together and found that the story of the Deluge was only an incident in a great Heroic Epic, a poem written in twelve books, making in all about three thousand lines, which celebrated the deeds of an ancient king of Erech.”
7. Each book or chapter naturally occupied a separate tablet. All are by no means equally well preserved. Some parts, indeed, are missing, while several are so mutilated as to cause serious gaps and breaks in the narrative, and the first tablet has not yet been found at all. Yet, with all these drawbacks it is quite possible to build up a very intelligible outline of the whole story, while the eleventh tablet, owing to various fortunate additions that came to light from time to time, has been restored almost completely.
8. The epic carries us back to the time when Erech was the capital of Shumir, and when the land was under the dominion of the Elamite conquerors, not passive or content, but striving manfully for deliverance. We may imagine the struggle to have been shared and headed by the native kings, whose memory would be gratefully treasured by later generations, and whose exploits would naturally become the theme of household tradition and poets’ recitations. So much for the bare historical groundwork of the poem. It is easily to be distinguished from the rich by-play of fiction and wonderful adventure gradually woven into it from the ample fund of national myths and legends, which have gathered around the name of one hero-king, Gisdhubar or Izdubar,BD said to be a native of the ancient city of Marad and a direct descendant of the last antediluvian king Hâsisadra, the same whom Berosus calls Xisuthros.
9. It is unfortunate that the first tablet and the top part of the second are missing, for thus we lose the opening of the poem, which would probably give us valuable historical indications. What there is of the second tablet shows the city of Erech groaning under the tyranny of the Elamite conquerors. Erech had been governed by the divine Dumuzi, the husband of the goddess Ishtar. He had met an untimely and tragic death, and been succeeded by Ishtar, who had not been able, however, to make a stand against the foreign invaders, or, as the text picturesquely expresses it, “to hold up her head against the foe.” Izdubar, as yet known to fame only as a powerful and indefatigable huntsman, then dwelt at Erech, where he had a singular dream. It seemed to him that the stars of heaven fell down and struck him on the back in their fall, while over him stood a terrible being, with fierce, threatening countenance and claws like a lion’s, the sight of whom paralyzed him with fear.
10. Deeply impressed with this dream, which appeared to him to portend strange things, Izdubar sent forth to all the most famous seers and wise men, promising the most princely rewards to whoever would interpret it for him: he should be ennobled with his family; he should take the high seat of honor at the royal feasts; he should be clothed in jewels and gold; he should have seven beautiful wives and enjoy every kind of distinction. But there was none found of wisdom equal to the task of reading the vision. At length he heard of a wonderful sage, named Êabâni, far-famed for “his wisdom in all things and his knowledge of all that is either visible or concealed,” but who dwelt apart from mankind, in a distant wilderness, in a cave, amidst the beasts of the forest.
“With the gazelles he ate his food at night, with the beasts of the field he associated in the daytime, with the living things of the waters his heart rejoiced.”
This strange being is always represented on the Babylonian cylinders as a Man-Bull, with horns on his head and a bull’s feet and tail. He was not easily accessible, nor to be persuaded to come to Erech, even though the Sun-god, Shamash, himself “opened his lips and spoke to him from heaven,” making great promises on Izdubar’s behalf:—
“They shall clothe thee in royal robes, they shall make thee great; and Izdubar shall become thy friend, and he shall place thee in a luxurious seat at his left hand; the kings of the earth shall kiss thy feet; he shall enrich thee and make the men of Erech keep silence before thee.”
The hermit was proof against ambition and refused to leave his wilderness. Then a follower of Izdubar, Zaidu, the huntsman, was sent to bring him; but he returned alone and reported that, when he had approached the seer’s cave, he had been seized with fear and had not entered it, but had crawled back, climbing the steep bank on his hands and feet.
11. At last Izdubar bethought him to send out Ishtar’s handmaidens, Shamhatu (“Grace”) and Harimtu (“Persuasion”), and they started for the wilderness under the escort of Zaidu. Shamhatu was the first to approach the hermit, but he heeded her little; he turned to her companion, and sat down at her feet; and when Harimtu (“Persuasion”) spoke, bending her face towards him, he listened and was attentive. And she said to him:
“Famous art thou, Êabâni, even like a god; why then associate with the wild things of the desert? Thy place is in the midst of Erech, the great city, in the temple, the seat of Anu and Ishtar, in the palace of Izdubar, the man of might, who towers amidst the leaders as a bull.” “She spoke to him, and before her words the wisdom of his heart fled and vanished.”
He answered:
“I will go to Erech, to the temple, the seat of Anu and Ishtar, to the palace of Izdubar, the man of might, who towers amidst the leaders as a bull. I will meet him and see his might. But I shall bring to Erech a lion—let Izdubar destroy him if he can. He is bred in the wilderness and of great strength.”
So Zaidu and the two women went back to Erech, and Êabâni went with them, leading his lion. The chiefs of the city received him with great honors and gave a splendid entertainment in sign of rejoicing.
12. It is evidently on this occasion that Izdubar conquers the seer’s esteem by fighting and killing the lion, after which the hero and the sage enter into a solemn covenant of friendship. But the third tablet, which contains this part of the story, is so much mutilated as to leave much of the substance to conjecture, while all the details, and the interpretation of the dream which is probably given, are lost. The same is unfortunately the case with the fourth and fifth tablets, from which we can only gather that Izdubar and Êabâni, who have become inseparable, start on an expedition against the Elamite tyrant, Khumbaba, who holds his court in a gloomy forest of cedars and cypresses, enter his palace, fall upon him unawares and kill him, leaving his body to be torn and devoured by the birds of prey, after which exploit Izdubar, as his friend had predicted to him, is proclaimed king in Erech. The sixth tablet is far better preserved, and gives us one of the most interesting incidents almost complete.
13. After Izdubar’s victory, his glory and power were great, and the goddess Ishtar looked on him with favor and wished for his love.
“Izdubar,” she said, “be my husband and I will be thy wife: pledge thy troth to me. Thou shalt drive a chariot of gold and precious stones, thy days shall be marked with conquests; kings, princes and lords shall be subject to thee and kiss thy feet; they shall bring thee tribute from mountain and valley, thy herds and flocks shall multiply doubly, thy mules shall be fleet, and thy oxen strong under the yoke. Thou shalt have no rival.”
But Izdubar, in his pride, rejected the love of the goddess; he insulted her and taunted her with having loved Dumuzi and others before him. Great was the wrath of Ishtar; she ascended to heaven and stood before her father Anu:
“My father, Izdubar has insulted me. Izdubar scorns my beauty and spurns my love.”
She demanded satisfaction, and Anu, at her request, created a monstrous bull, which he sent against the city of Erech. But Izdubar and his friend went out to fight the bull, and killed him. Êabâni took hold of his tail and horns, and Izdubar gave him his deathblow. They drew the heart out of his body and offered it to Shamash. Then Ishtar ascended the wall of the city, and standing there cursed Izdubar. She gathered her handmaidens around her and they raised loud lamentations over the death of the divine bull. But Izdubar called together his people and bade them lift up the body and carry it to the altar of Shamash and lay it before the god. Then they washed their hands in the Euphrates and returned to the city, where they made a feast of rejoicing and revelled deep into the night, while in the streets a proclamation to the people of Erech was called out, which began with the triumphant words:
“Who is skilled among leaders? Who is great among men? Izdubar is skilled among leaders; Izdubar is great among men.”
14. But the vengeance of the offended goddess was not to be so easily defeated. It now fell on the hero in a more direct and personal way. Ishtar’s mother, the goddess Anatu, smote Êabâni with sudden death and Izdubar with a dire disease, a sort of leprosy, it would appear. Mourning for his friend, deprived of strength and tortured with intolerable pains, he saw visions and dreams which oppressed and terrified him, and there was now no wise, familiar voice to soothe and counsel him. At length he decided to consult his ancestor, Hâsisadra, who dwelt far away, “at the mouth of the rivers,” and was immortal, and to ask of him how he might find healing and strength. He started on his way alone and came to a strange country, where he met gigantic, monstrous beings, half men, half scorpions: their feet were below the earth, while their heads touched the gates of heaven; they were the warders of the sun and kept their watch over its rising and setting. They said one to another: “Who is this that comes to us with the mark of the divine wrath on his body?” Izdubar made his person and errand known to them; then they gave him directions how to reach the land of the blessed at the mouth of the rivers, but warned him that the way was long and full of hardships. He set out again and crossed a vast tract of country, where there was nothing but sand, not one cultivated field; and he walked on and on, never looking behind him, until he came to a beautiful grove by the seaside, where the trees bore fruits of emerald and other precious stones; this grove was guarded by two beautiful maidens, Siduri and Sabitu, but they looked with mistrust on the stranger with the mark of the gods on his body, and closed their dwelling against him.
15. And now Izdubar stood by the shore of the Waters of Death, which are wide and deep, and separate the land of the living from that of the blessed and immortal dead. Here he encountered the ferryman Urubêl; to him he opened his heart and spoke of the friend whom he had loved and lost, and Urubêl took him into his ship. For one month and fifteen days they sailed on the Waters of Death, until they reached that distant land by the mouth of the rivers, where Izdubar at length met his renowned ancestor face to face, and, even while he prayed for his advice and assistance, a very natural feeling of curiosity prompted him to ask “how he came to be translated alive into the assembly of the gods.” Hâsisadra, with great complaisance, answered his descendant’s question and gave him a full account of the Deluge and his own share in that event, after which he informed him in what way he could be freed from the curse laid on him by the gods. Then turning to the ferryman:
“Urubêl, the man whom thou hast brought hither, behold, disease has covered his body, sickness has destroyed the strength of his limbs. Take him with thee, Urubêl, and purify him in the waters, that his disease may be changed into beauty, that he may throw off his sickness and the waters carry it away, that health may cover his skin, and the hair of his head be restored and descend in flowing locks down to his garment, that he may go his way and return to his own country.”
16. When all had been done according to Hâsisadra’s instruction, Izdubar, restored to health and vigor, took leave of his ancestor, and entering the ship once more was carried back to the shore of the living by the friendly Urubêl, who accompanied him all the way to Erech. But as they approached the city tears flowed down the hero’s face and his heart was heavy within him for his lost friend, and he once more raised his voice in lamentation for him:
“Thou takest no part in the noble feast; to the assembly they call thee not; thou liftest not the bow from the ground; what is hit by the bow is not for thee; thy hand grasps not the club and strikes not the prey, nor stretches thy foeman dead on the earth. The wife thou lovest thou kissest not; the wife thou hatest thou strikest not. The child thou lovest thou kissest not; the child thou hatest thou strikest not. The might of the earth has swallowed thee. O Darkness, Darkness, Mother Darkness! thou enfoldest him like a mantle; like a deep well thou enclosest him!”
Thus Izdubar mourned for his friend, and went into the temple of Bel, and ceased not from lamenting and crying to the gods, till Êa mercifully inclined to his prayer and sent his son Meridug to bring Êabâni’s spirit out of the dark world of shades into the land of the blessed, there to live forever among the heroes of old, reclining on luxurious couches and drinking the pure water of eternal springs. The poem ends with a vivid description of a warrior’s funeral:
“I see him who has been slain in battle. His father and mother hold his head; his wife weeps over him; his friends stand around; his prey lies on the ground uncovered and unheeded. The vanquished captives follow; the food provided in the tents is consumed.”
17. The incident of the Deluge, which has been merely mentioned above, not to interrupt the narrative by its disproportionate length, (the eleventh tablet being the best preserved of all), is too important not to be given in full.BE
“I will tell thee, Izdubar, how I was saved from the flood,” begins Hâsisadra, in answer to his descendant’s question, “also will I impart to thee the decree of the great gods. Thou knowest Surippak, the city that is by the Euphrates. This city was already very ancient when the gods were moved in their hearts to ordain a great deluge, all of them, their father Anu, their councillor the warlike Bel, their throne-bearer Ninîb, their leader Ennugi. The lord of inscrutable wisdom, the god Êa, was with them and imparted to me their decision. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘and attend! Man of Surippak, son of Ubaratutu,BF go out of thy house and build thee a ship. They are willed to destroy the seed of life; but thou preserve it and bring into the ship seed of every kind of life. The ship which thou shalt build let it be... in length, and... in width and height,[B] and cover it also with a deck.’ When I heard this I spoke to Êa, my lord: ‘If I construct the ship as thou biddest me, O lord, the people and their elders will laugh at me.’ But Êa opened his lips once more and spoke to me his servant: ‘Men have rebelled against me, and I will do judgment on them, high and low. But do thou close the door of the ship when the time comes and I tell thee of it. Then enter the ship and bring into it thy store of grain, all thy property, thy family, thy men-servants and thy women-servants, and also thy next of kin. The cattle of the fields, the wild beasts of the fields, I shall send to thee myself, that they may be safe behind thy door.’—Then I built the ship and provided it with stores of food and drink; I divided the interior into... compartments.BG I saw to the chinks and filled them; I poured bitumen over its outer side and over its inner side. All that I possessed I brought together and stowed it in the ship; all that I had of gold, of silver, of the seed of life of every kind; all my men-servants and my women-servants, the cattle of the field, the wild beasts of the field, and also my nearest friends. Then, when Shamash brought round the appointed time, a voice spoke to me:—‘This evening the heavens will rain destruction, wherefore go thou into the ship and close thy door. The appointed time has come,’ spoke the voice, ’this evening the heavens will rain destruction.’ And greatly I feared the sunset of that day, the day on which I was to begin my voyage. I was sore afraid. Yet I entered into the ship and closed the door behind me, to shut off the ship. And I confided the great ship to the pilot, with all its freight.—Then a great black cloud rises from the depths of the heavens, and Ramân thunders in the midst of it, while Nebo and Nergal encounter each other, and the Throne-bearers walk over mountains and vales. The mighty god of Pestilence lets loose the whirlwinds; Ninîb unceasingly makes the canals to overflow; the Anunnaki bring up floods from the depths of the earth, which quakes at their violence. Ramân’s mass of waters rises even to heaven; light is changed into darkness. Confusion and devastation fills the earth. Brother looks not after brother, men have no thought for one another. In the heavens the very gods are afraid; they seek a refuge in the highest heaven of Anu; as a dog in its lair, the gods crouch by the railing of heaven. Ishtar cries aloud with sorrow: ‘Behold, all is turned into mud, as I foretold to the gods! I prophesied this disaster and the extermination of my creatures—men. But I do not give them birth that they may fill the sea like the brood of fishes.’ Then the gods wept with her and sat lamenting on one spot. For six days and seven nights wind, flood and storm reigned supreme; but at dawn of the seventh day the tempest decreased, the waters, which had battled like a mighty host, abated their violence; the sea retired, and storm and flood both ceased. I steered about the sea, lamenting that the homesteads of men were changed into mud. The corpses drifted about like logs. I opened a port-hole, and when the light of day fell on my face I shivered and sat down and wept. I steered over the countries which now were a terrible sea. Then a piece of land rose out of the waters. The ship steered towards the land Nizir. The mountain of the land Nizir held fast the ship and did not let it go. Thus it was on the first and on the second day, on the third and the fourth, also on the fifth and sixth days. At dawn of the seventh day I took out a dove and sent it forth. The dove went forth to and fro, but found no resting-place and returned. Then I took out a swallow and sent it forth. The swallow went forth, to and fro, but found no resting-place and returned. Then I took out a raven and sent it forth. The raven went forth, and when it saw that the waters had abated, it came near again, cautiously wading through the water, but did not return. Then I let out all the animals, to the four winds of heaven, and offered a sacrifice. I raised an altar on the highest summit of the mountain, placed the sacred vessels on it seven by seven, and spread reeds, cedar-wood and sweet herbs under them. The gods smelled a savor; the gods smelled a sweet savor; like flies they swarmed around the sacrifice. And when the goddess Ishtar came, she spread out on high the great bows of her father Anu:—‘By the necklace of my neck,’ she said, ‘I shall be mindful of these days, never shall I lose the memory of them! May all the gods come to the altar; Bel alone shall not come, for that he controlled not his wrath, and brought on the deluge, and gave up my men to destruction.’ When after that Bel came nigh and saw the ship, he was perplexed, and his heart was filled with anger against the gods and against the spirits of Heaven:—‘Not a soul shall escape,’ he cried; ’not one man shall come alive out of destruction!’ Then the god Ninîb opened his lips and spoke, addressing the warlike Bel:—‘Who but Êa can have done this? Êa knew, and informed him of everything.’ Then Êa opened his lips and spoke, addressing the warlike Bel:—‘Thou art the mighty leader of the gods: but why hast thou acted thus recklessly and brought on this deluge? Let the sinner suffer for his sin and the evil-doer for his misdeeds; but to this man be gracious that he may not be destroyed, and incline towards him favorably, that he may be preserved. And instead of bringing on another deluge, let lions and hyenas come and take from the number of men; send a famine to unpeople the earth; let the god of Pestilence lay men low. I have not imparted to Hâsisadra the decision of the great gods: I only sent him a dream, and he understood the warning.’—Then Bel came to his senses. He entered the ship, took hold of my hand and lifted me up; he also lifted up my wife and laid her hand in mine. Then he turned towards us, stood between us and spoke this blessing on us:—‘Until now Hâsisadra was only human: but now he shall be raised to be equal with the gods, together with his wife. He shall dwell in the distant land, by the mouth of the rivers.’ Then they took me and translated me to the distant land by the mouth of the rivers.”
18. Such is the great Chaldean Epic, the discovery of which produced so profound a sensation, not to say excitement, not only among special scholars, but in the reading world generally, while the full importance of it in the history of human culture cannot yet be realized at this early stage of our historical studies, but will appear more and more clearly as their course takes us to later nations and other lands. We will here linger over the poem only long enough to justify and explain the name given to it in the title of this chapter, of “Mythical Epos.”
19. Were the hero Izdubar a purely human person, it would be a matter of much wonder how the small nucleus of historical fact which the story of his adventures contains should have become entwined and overgrown with such a disproportionate quantity of the most extravagant fiction, oftentimes downright monstrous in its fancifulness. But the story is one far older than that of any mere human hero and relates to one far mightier: it is the story of the Sun in his progress through the year, retracing his career of increasing splendor as the spring advances to midsummer, the height of his power when he reaches the month represented in the Zodiac by the sign of the Lion, then the decay of his strength as he pales and sickens in the autumn, and at last his restoration to youth and vigor after he has passed the Waters of Death—Winter, the death of the year, the season of nature’s deathlike torpor, out of which the sun has not strength sufficient to rouse her, until spring comes back and the circle begins again. An examination of the Accadian calendar, adopted by the more scientifically inclined Semites, shows that the names of most of the months and the signs by which they were represented on the maps of the corresponding constellations of the Zodiac, directly answer to various incidents of the poem, following, too, in the same order, which is that of the respective seasons of the year,—which, be it noted, began with the spring, in the middle of our month of March. If we compare the calendar months with the tablets of the poem we will find that they, in almost every case, correspond. As the first tablet is unfortunately still missing, we cannot judge how far it may have answered to the name of the first month—“the Altar of Bel.” But the second month, called that of “the Propitious Bull,” or the “Friendly Bull,” very well corresponds to the second tablet which ends with Izdubar’s sending for the seer Êabâni, half bull half man, while the name and sign of the third, “the Twins,” clearly alludes to the bond of friendship concluded between the two heroes, who became inseparable. Their victory over the tyrant Khumbaba in the fifth tablet is symbolized by the sign representing the victory of the Lion over the Bull, often abbreviated into that of the Lion alone, a sign plainly enough interpreted by the name “Month of Fire,” so appropriate to the hottest and driest of seasons even in moderate climes—July-August. What makes this interpretation absolutely conclusive is the fact that in the symbolical imagery of all the poetry of the East, the Lion represents the principle of heat, of fire. The seventh tablet, containing the wooing of the hero by the goddess Ishtar, is too plainly reproduced in the name of the corresponding month, “the Month of the Message of Ishtar,” to need explanation. The sign, too, is that of a woman with a bow, the usual mode of representing the goddess. The sign of the eighth month, “the Scorpion,” commemorates the gigantic Warders of the Sun, half men half scorpions, whom Izdubar encounters when he starts on his journey to the land of the dead. The ninth month is called “the Cloudy,” surely a meet name for November-December, and in no way inconsistent with the contents of the ninth tablet, which shows Izdubar navigating the “Waters of Death.” In the tenth month (December-January), the sun reaches his very lowest point, that of the winter solstice with its shortest days, whence the name “Month of the Cavern of the Setting Sun,” and the tenth tablet tells how Izdubar reached the goal of his journey, the land of the illustrious dead, to which his great ancestor has been translated. To the eleventh month, “the Month of the Curse of Rain,” with the sign of the Waterman,—(January-February being in the low lands of the two rivers the time of the most violent and continuous rains)—answers the eleventh tablet with the account of the Deluge. The “Fishes of Êa” accompany the sun in the twelfth month, the last of the dark season, as he emerges, purified and invigorated, to resume his triumphant career with the beginning of the new year. From the context and sequence of the myth, it would appear that the name of the first month, “the Altar of Bel,” must have had something to do with the reconciliation of the god after the Deluge, from which humanity may be said to take a new beginning, which would make the name a most auspicious one for the new year, while the sign—a Ram—might allude to the animal sacrificed on the altar. Each month being placed under the protection of some particular deity it is worthy of notice that Anu and Bel are the patrons of the first month, Êa of the second, (in connection with the wisdom of Êabâni, who is called “the creature of Êa,”) while Ishtar presides over the sixth, (“Message of Ishtar,”) and Ramân, the god of the atmosphere, of rain and storm and thunder, over the eleventh, (“the Curse of Rain”).
20. The solar nature of the adventurous career attributed to the favorite national hero of Chaldea, now universally admitted, was first pointed out by Sir Henry Rawlinson: but it was François Lenormant who followed it out and established it in its details. His conclusions on the subject are given in such clear and forcible language, that it is a pleasure to reproduce them:BH—“1st. The Chaldeans and Babylonians had, concerning the twelve months of the year, myths for the most part belonging to the series of traditions anterior to the separation of the great races of mankind which descended from the highlands of Pamir, since we find analogous myths among the pure Semites and other nations. As early as the time when they dwelt on the plains of the Tigris and Euphrates, they connected these myths with the different epochs of the year, not with a view to agricultural occupations, but in connection with the great periodical phenomena of the atmosphere and the different stations in the sun’s yearly course, as they occurred in that particular region; hence the signs characterizing the twelve solar mansions in the Zodiac and the symbolical names given to the months by the Accads.—2d. It was those myths, strung together in their successive order, which served as foundation to the epic story of Izdubar, the fiery and solar hero, and in the poem which was copied at Erech by Asshurbanipal’s order each of them formed the subject of one of the twelve tablets, making up the number of twelve separate books or chapters answering the twelve months of the year.”—Even though the evidence is apparently so complete as not to need further confirmation, it is curious to note that the signs which compose the name of Izdubar convey the meaning “mass of fire,” while Hâsisadra’s Accadian name means “the sun of life,” “the morning sun,” and his father’s name, Ubaratutu, is translated “the glow of sunset.”
21. George Smith indignantly repudiated this mythic interpretation of the hero’s exploits, and claimed for them a strictly historical character. But we have seen that the two are by no means incompatible, since history, when handed down through centuries by mere oral tradition, is liable to many vicissitudes in the telling and retelling, and people are sure to arrange their favorite and most familiar stories, the mythical signification of which has long been forgotten, around the central figure of the heroes they love best, around the most important but vaguely recollected events in their national life. Hence it came to pass that identically the same stories, with but slight local variations, were told of heroes in different nations and countries; for the stock of original, or, as one may say, primary myths is comparatively small and the same for all, dating back to a time when mankind was not yet divided. In the course of ages and migrations it has been altered, like a rich hereditary robe, to fit and adorn many and very different persons.
22. One of the prettiest, oldest, and most universally favorite solar myths is the one which represents the Sun as a divine being, youthful and of surpassing beauty, beloved by or wedded to an equally powerful goddess, but meeting a premature death by accident and descending into the dark land of shades, from which, however, after a time he returns as glorious and beautiful as before. In this poetical fancy, the land of shades symbolizes the numb and lifeless period of winter as aptly as the Waters of Death in the Izdubar Epic, while the seeming death of the young god answers to the sickening of the hero at that declining season of the year when the sun’s rays lose their vigor and are overcome by the powers of darkness and cold. The goddess who loves the fair young god, and mourns him with passionate grief, until her wailings and prayers recall him from his deathlike trance, is Nature herself, loving, bountiful, ever productive, but pale, and bare, and powerless in her widowhood, while the sun-god, the spring of life whence she draws her very being, lies captive in the bonds of their common foe, grim Winter, which is but a form of Death itself. Their reunion at the god’s resurrection in spring is the great wedding-feast, the revel and holiday-time of the world.
23. This simple and perfectly transparent myth has been worked out more or less elaborately in all the countries of the East, and has found its way in some form or other into all the nations of the three great white races—of Japhet, Shem, and Ham—yet here again the precedence in point of time seems due to the older and more primitive—the Yellow or Turanian race; for the most ancient, and probably original form of it is the one which was inherited by the Semitic settlers of Chaldea from their Shumiro-Accadian predecessors, as shown by the Accadian name of the young solar god, Dumuzi, “the unfortunate husband of the goddess Ishtar,” as he is called in the sixth tablet of the Izdubar epic. The name has been translated “Divine Offspring,” but in later times lost all signification, being corrupted into Tammuz. In some Accadian hymns he is invoked as “the Shepherd, the lord Dumuzi, the lover of Ishtar.” Well could a nomadic and pastoral people poetically liken the sun to a shepherd, whose flocks were the fleecy clouds as they speed across the vast plains of heaven or the bright, innumerable stars. This comparison, as pretty as it is natural, kept its hold in all ages and nations on the popular fancy, which played on it an infinite variety of ingenious changes, but it is only cuneiform science which has proved that it could be traced back to the very earliest race whose culture has left its mark on the world.
24. Of Dumuzi’s tragic death no text deciphered until now unfortunately gives the details. Only the remarkable fragment about the black pine of Eridhu, “marking the centre of the earth, in the dark forest, into the heart whereof man hath not penetrated,” (see p. 287) tantalizingly ends with these suggestive words: “Within it Dumuzi....” Scholars have found reason for conjecturing that this fragment was the beginning of a mythical narrative recounting Dumuzi’s death, which must have been represented as taking place in that dark and sacred forest of Eridhu,—probably through the agency of a wild beast sent against him by a jealous and hostile power, just as the bull created by Anu was sent against Izdubar.BI One thing, however, is sure, that both in the earlier (Turanian) and in the later (Semitic) calendary of Chaldea, there was a month set apart in honor and for the festival of Dumuzi. It was the month of June-July, beginning at the summer solstice, when the days begin to shorten, and the sun to decline towards its lower winter point—a retrograde movement, ingeniously indicated by the Zodiacal sign of that month, the Cancer or Crab. The festival of Dumuzi lasted during the six first days of the month, with processions and ceremonies bearing two distinct characters. The worshippers at first assembled in the guise of mourners, with lamentations and loud wailings, tearing of clothes and of hair, as though celebrating the young god’s funeral, while on the sixth day his resurrection and reunion to Ishtar was commemorated with the noisiest, most extravagant demonstrations of rejoicing. This custom is alluded to in Izdubar’s scornful answer to Ishtar’s love-message, when he says to her: “Thou lovedst Dumuzi, for whom they mourn year after year,” and was witnessed by the Jews when they were carried prisoners to Babylon as late as 600 b.c., as expressly mentioned by Ezekiel, the prophet of the Captivity:—“Then he brought me to the door of the Lord’s house which was towards the north; and behold, there sat the women weeping for Tammuz.” (Ezekiel, iii. 14.)
25. A favorite version of Dumuzi’s resurrection was that which told how Ishtar herself followed him into the Lower World, to claim him from their common foe, and thus yielded herself for a time into the power of her rival, the dread Queen of the Dead, who held her captive, and would not have released her but for the direct interference of the great gods. This was a rich mine of epic material, from which songs and stories must have flowed plentifully. We are lucky enough to possess a short epic on the subject, in one tablet, one of the chief gems of the indefatigable George Smith’s discoveries,—a poem of great literary beauty, and nearly complete to within a few lines of the end, which are badly injured and scarcely legible. It is known under the name of “The Descent of Ishtar,” as it relates only this one incident of the myth. The opening lines are unsurpassed for splendid poetry and sombre grandeur in any, even the most advanced literature.
26. “Towards the land whence there is no return, towards the house of corruption, Ishtar, the daughter of Sin, has turned her mind... towards the dwelling that has an entrance but no exit, towards the road that may be travelled but not retraced, towards the hall from which the light of day is shut out, where hunger feeds on dust and mud, where light is never seen, where the shades of the dead dwell in the dark, clothed with wings like birds. On the lintel of the gate and in the lock dust lies accumulated.—Ishtar, when she reached the land whence there is no return, to the keeper of the gate signified her command: ‘Keeper, open thy gate that I may pass. If thou openest not and I may not enter, I will smite the gate, and break the lock, I will demolish the threshold and enter by force; then will I let loose the dead to return to the earth, that they may live and eat again; I will make the risen dead more numerous than the living.’ The gate-keeper opened his lips and spoke:—‘Be appeased, O Lady, and let me go and report thy name to Allat the Queen.’”
Here follow a few much injured lines, the sense of which could not be restored in its entirety. The substance is that the gate-keeper announces to Allat that her sister Ishtar has come for the Water of Life, which is kept concealed in a distant nook of her dominions, and Allat is greatly disturbed at the news. But Ishtar announces that she comes in sorrow, not enmity:—
“I wish to weep over the heroes who have left their wives. I wish to weep over the wives who have been taken from their husbands’ arms. I wish to weep over the Only Son—(a name of Dumuzi)—who has been taken away before his time.”
Then Allat commands the keeper to open the gates and take Ishtar through the sevenfold enclosure, dealing by her as by all who come to those gates, that is, stripping her of her garments according to ancient custom.
“The keeper went and opened the gate: ‘Enter, O Lady, and may the halls of the Land whence there is no return be gladdened by thy presence.’ At the first gate he bade her enter and laid his hand on her; he took the high headdress from her head: ‘Why, O keeper, takest thou the high headdress from my head?’—‘Enter, O Lady; such is Allat’s command.’”
The same scene is repeated at each of the seven gates; the keeper at each strips Ishtar of some article of her attire—her earrings, her necklace, her jewelled girdle, the bracelets on her arms and the bangles at her ankles, and lastly her long flowing garment. On each occasion the same words are repeated by both. When Ishtar entered the presence of Allat, the queen looked at her and taunted her to her face: then Ishtar could not control her anger and cursed her. Allat turned to her chief minister Namtar, the god of Pestilence—meet servant of the queen of the dead!—who is also the god of Fate, and ordered him to lead Ishtar away and afflict her with sixty dire diseases,—to strike her head and her heart, and her eyes, her hands and her feet, and all her limbs. So the goddess was led away and kept in durance and in misery. Meanwhile her absence was attended with most disastrous consequences to the upper world. With her, life and love had gone out of it; there were no marriages any more, no births, either among men or animals; nature was at a standstill. Great was the commotion among the gods. They sent a messenger to Êa to expose the state of affairs to him, and, as usual, to invoke his advice and assistance. Êa, in his fathomless wisdom, revolved a scheme. He created a phantom, Uddusunamir.
“‘Go,’ he said to him; ‘towards the Land whence there is no return direct thy face; the seven gates of the Arallu will open before thee. Allat shall see thee and rejoice at thy coming, her heart shall grow calm and her wrath shall vanish. Conjure her with the name of the great gods, stiffen thy neck and keep thy mind on the Spring of Life. Let the Lady (Ishtar) gain access to the Spring of Life and drink of its waters.’—Allat, when she heard these things, beat her breast and bit her fingers with rage. Consenting, sore against her will, she spoke:—‘Go, Uddusunamir! May the great jailer place thee in durance! May the foulness of the city ditches be thy food, the waters of the city sewers thy drink! A dark dungeon be thy dwelling, a sharp pole thy seat!’”
Then she ordered Namtar to let Ishtar drink of the Spring of Life and to bear her from her sight. Namtar fulfilled her command and took the goddess through the seven enclosures, at each gate restoring to her the article of her attire that had been taken at her entrance. At the last gate he said to her:
“Thou hast paid no ransom to Allat for thy deliverance; so now return to Dumuzi, the lover of thy youth; sprinkle over him the sacred waters, clothe him in splendid garments, adorn him with gems.”
26. The last lines are so badly mutilated that no efforts have as yet availed to make their sense anything but obscure, and so it must remain, unless new copies come to light. Yet so much is, at all events, evident, that they bore on the reunion of Ishtar and her young lover. The poem is thus complete in itself; but some think that it was introduced into the Izdubar epic as an independent episode, after the fashion of the Deluge narrative, and, if so, it is supposed to have been part of the seventh tablet. Whether such were really the case or no, matters little in comparison with the great importance these two poems possess as being the most ancient presentations, in a finished literary form, of the two most significant and universal nature-myths—the Solar and the Chthonic (see p. 272), the poetical fancies in which primitive mankind clothed the wonders of the heavens and the mystery of the earth, being content to admire and imagine where it could not comprehend and explain. We shall be led back continually to these, in very truth, primary myths, for they not only served as groundwork to much of the most beautiful poetry of the world but suggested some of its loftiest and most cherished religious conceptions.
[* For a metrical version by Prof. Dyer of the story of “Ishtar’s Descent,” see Appendix, p. 367.]
Footnotes
BC Paul Haupt, “Der Keilinschriftliche Sündfluthbericht,” 1881.
BD There are difficulties in the way of reading this name, and scholars are not sure that this is the right pronunciation of it; but they retain it, until some new discovery helps to settle the question.
BE Translated from the German version of Paul Haupt, “Der Keilinschriftliche Sündfluthbericht.”
BF The ninth king in the fabulous list of ten.
BG The figures unfortunately obliterated.
BH “Les Premières Civilisations,” Vol. II., pp. 78 ff.
BI A. H. Sayce, “Babylonian Literature,” p. 39; Fr. Lenormant, “Il Mito di Adone-Tammuz,” pp. 12-13.
VIII.
RELIGION AND MYTHOLOGY.—IDOLATRY AND ANTHROPOMORPHISM.—THE CHALDEAN LEGENDS AND THE BOOK OF GENESIS.—RETROSPECT.
1. In speaking of ancient nations, the words “Religion” and “Mythology” are generally used indiscriminately and convertibly. Yet the conceptions they express are essentially and radically different. The broadest difference, and the one from which all others flow, is that the one—Religion—is a thing of the feelings, while the other—Mythology—is a thing of the imagination. In other words, Religion comes from within—from that consciousness of limited power, that inborn need of superior help and guidance, forbearance and forgiveness, from that longing for absolute goodness and perfection, which make up the distinctively human attribute of “religiosity,” that attribute which, together with the faculty of articulate speech, sets Man apart from and above all the rest of animated creation. (See p. 149.) Mythology, on the other hand, comes wholly from without. It embodies impressions received by the senses from the outer world and transformed by the poetical faculty into images and stories. (See definition of “Myth” on p. 294.) Professor Max Müller of Oxford has been the first, in his standard work “The Science of Language,” clearly to define this radical difference between the two conceptions, which he has never since ceased to sound as a keynote through the long series of his works devoted to the study of the religions and mythologies of various nations. A few illustrations from the one nation with which we have as yet become familiar will help once for all to establish a thorough understanding on this point, most essential as it is to the comprehension of the workings of the human mind and soul throughout the long roll of struggles, errors and triumphs, achievements and failures which we call the history of mankind.
2. There is no need to repeat here instances of the Shumiro-Accadian and Chaldean myths; the last three or four chapters have been filled with them. But the instances of religious feeling, though scattered in the same field, have to be carefully gleaned out and exhibited, for they belong to that undercurrent of the soul which pursues its way unobtrusively and is often apparently lost beneath the brilliant play of poetical fancies. But it is there nevertheless, and every now and then forces its way to the surface shining forth with a startling purity and beauty. When the Accadian poet invokes the Lord “who knows lie from truth,” “who knows the truth that is in the soul of man,” who “maketh lies to vanish,” who “turneth wicked plots to a happy issue”—this is religion, not mythology, for this is not a story, it is the expression of a feeling. That “the Lord” whose divine omniscience and goodness is thus glorified is really the Sun, makes no difference; that is an error of judgment, a want of knowledge, but the religious feeling is splendidly manifest in the invocation. But when, in the same hymn, the Sun is described as “stepping forth from the background of the skies, pushing back the bolts and opening the gate of the brilliant heaven, and raising his head above the land,” etc., (see p. 172) that is only a very beautiful, imaginative description of a glorious natural phenomenon—sunrise; it is magnificent poetry, religious in so far as the sun is considered as a Being, a Divine Person, the object of an intensely devout and grateful feeling; still this is not religion, it is mythology, for it presents a material image to the mind, and one that can be easily turned into narrative, into a story,—which, in fact, suggests a hero, a king, and a story. Take, again, the so-called “Penitential Psalms.” To the specimen given on p. 178, let us add, for greater completeness, the following three remarkable fragments:
“God, my creator, take hold of my arms! Direct the breath of my mouth, my hands direct, O lord of light.”
“Lord, let not thy servant sink! Amidst the tumultuous waters take hold of his hand!”
“He who fears not his God, will be cut off even like a reed. He who honors not his goddess, his bodily strength will waste away; like to a star of heaven, his splendor will pale; he will vanish like to the waters of the night.”
3. All this is religion, of the purest, loftiest kind; fruitful, too, of good, the only real test of true religion. The deep humility, the trustful appeal, the feeling of dependence, the consciousness of weakness, of sin, and the longing for deliverance from them—these are all very different from the pompous phrases of empty praise and sterile admiration; they are things which flow from the heart, not the fancy, which lighten its weight of sorrow and self-reproach, brighten it with hope and good resolutions, in short, make it happier and better—what no mere imaginative poetry, however fine, can do.
4. The radical distinction, then, between religious feeling and the poetical faculty of mythical creation, is easy to establish and follow out. On the other hand, the two are so constantly blended, so almost inextricably interwoven in the sacred poetry of the ancients, in their views of life and the world, and in their worship, that it is no wonder they should be so generally confused. The most correct way of putting the case would be, perhaps, to say that the ancient Religions—meaning by the word the whole body of sacred poetry and legends as well as the national forms of worship—were made up originally in about equal parts of religious feeling and of mythology. In many cases the exuberance of the imagination gained the upper hand, and there was such a riotous growth of mythical imagery and stories that the religious feeling was almost stifled under them. In others, again, the myths themselves suggested religious ideas of the deepest import and loftiest sublimity. Such was particularly the case with the solar and Chthonic Myths—the poetical presentation of the career of the Sun and the Earth—as connected with the doctrine of the soul’s immortality.
5. A curious and significant observation has been made in excavating the most ancient graves in the world, those of the so-called Mound-builders. This name is not that of any particular race or nation, but is given indiscriminately to all those peoples who lived, on any part of the globe, long before the earliest beginnings of even the remotest times which have been made historical by preserved monuments or inscriptions of any kind. All we know of those peoples is that they used to bury their dead—at least those of special renown or high rank—in deep and spacious stone-lined chambers dug in the ground, with a similar gallery leading to them, and covered by a mound of earth, sometimes of gigantic dimensions—a very hill. Hence the name. Of their life, their degree of civilization, what they thought and believed, we have no idea except in so far as the contents of the graves give us some indications. For, like the later, historical races, of which we find the graves in Chaldea and every other country of the ancient world, they used to bury along with the dead a multitude of things: vessels, containing food and drink; weapons, ornaments, household implements. The greater the power or renown of the dead man, the fuller and more luxurious his funeral outfit. It is indeed by no means rare to find the skeleton of a great chief surrounded by those of several women, and, at a respectful distance, more skeletons—evidently those of slaves—whose fractured skulls more than suggest the ghastly custom of killing wives and servants to do honor to an illustrious dead and to keep him company in his narrow underground mansion. Nothing but a belief in the continuation of existence after death could have prompted these practices. For what was the sense of giving him wives and slaves, and domestic articles of all kinds, food and weapons, unless it were for his service and use on his journey to the unknown land where he was to enter on a new stage of existence, which the survivors could not but imagine to be a reproduction, in its simple conditions and needs, of the one he was leaving? There is no race of men, however primitive, however untutored, in which this belief in immortality is not found deeply rooted, positive, unquestioning. The belief is implanted in man by the wish; it answers one of the most imperative, unsilenceable longings of human nature. For, in proportion as life is pleasant and precious, death is hideous and repellent. The idea of utter destruction, of ceasing to be, is intolerable to the mind; indeed, the senses revolt against it, the mind refuses to grasp and admit it. Yet death is very real, and it is inevitable; and all human beings that come into the world have to learn to face the thought of it, and the reality too, in others, before they lie down and accept it for themselves. But what if death be not destruction? If it be but a passage from this into another world,—distant, unknown and perforce mysterious, but certain nevertheless, a world on the threshold of which the earthly body is dropped as an unnecessary garment? Then were death shorn of half its terrors. Indeed, the only unpleasantness about it would be, for him who goes, the momentary pang and the uncertainty as to what he is going to; and, for those who remain, the separation and the loathsome details—the disfigurement, the corruption. But these are soon gotten over, while the separation is only for a time; for all must go the same way, and the late-comers will find, will join their lost ones gone before. Surely it must be so! It were too horrible if it were not; it must be—it is! The process of feeling which arrived at this conclusion and hardened it into absolute faith, is very plain, and we can easily, each of us, reproduce it in our own souls, independently of the teachings we receive from childhood. But the mind is naturally inquiring, and involuntarily the question presents itself: this solution, so beautiful, so acceptable, so universal,—but so abstract—what suggested it? What analogy first led up to it from the material world of the senses? To this question we find no reply in so many words, for it is one of those that go to the very roots of our being, and such generally remain unanswered. But the graves dug by those old Mound-Builders present a singular feature, which almost seems to point to the answer. The tenant of the funereal chamber is most frequently found deposited in a crouching attitude, his back leaning against the stone-lined wall, and with his face turned towards the West, in the direction of the setting sun.... Here, then, is the suggestion, the analogy! The career of the sun is very like that of man. His rising in the east is like the birth of man. During the hours of his power, which we call the Day, he does his allotted work, of giving light and warmth to the world, now riding radiant and triumphant across an azure sky, now obscured by clouds, struggling through mists, or overwhelmed by tempests. How like the vicissitudes that checker the somewhat greater number of hours—or days—of which the sum makes up a human life! Then when his appointed time expires, he sinks down,—lower, lower—and disappears into darkness,—dies. So does man. What is this night, death? Is it destruction, or only a rest, or an absence? It is at all events not destruction. For as surely as we see the sun vanish in the west this evening, feeble and beamless, so surely shall we behold him to-morrow morning rise again in the east, glorious, vigorous and young. What happens to him in the interval? Who knows? Perhaps he sleeps, perhaps he travels through countries we know not of and does other work there; but one thing is sure: that he is not dead, for he will be up again to-morrow. Why should not man, whose career so much resembles the sun’s in other respects, resemble him in this? Let the dead, then, be placed with their faces to the west, in token that theirs is but a setting like the sun’s, to be followed by another rising, a renewed existence, though in another and unknown world.
6. All this is sheer poetry and mythology. But how great its beauty, how obvious its hopeful suggestiveness, if it could appeal to the groping minds of those primitive men, the old Mound-Builders, and there lay the seed of a faith which has been more and more clung to, as mankind progressed in spiritual culture! For all the noblest races have cherished and worked out the myth of the setting sun in the most manifold ways, as the symbol of the soul’s immortality. The poets of ancient India, some three thousand years ago, made the Sun the leader and king of the dead, who, as they said, followed where he had gone first, “showing the way to many.” The Egyptians, perhaps the wisest and most spiritual of all ancient nations, came to make this myth the keystone of their entire religion, and placed all their burying-places in the west, amidst or beyond the Libyan ridge of hills behind which the sun vanished from the eyes of those who dwelt in the valley of the Nile. The Greeks imagined a happy residence for their bravest and wisest, which they called the Islands of the Blest, and placed in the furthest West, amidst the waters of the ocean into which the sun descends for his nightly rest.
7. But the sun’s course is twofold. If it is complete—beginning and ending—within the given number of hours which makes the day, it is repeated on a larger scale through the cycle of months which makes the year. The alternations of youth and age, triumph and decline, power and feebleness, are there represented and are regularly brought around by the different seasons. But the moral, the symbol, is still the same as regards final immortality. For if summer answers to the heyday of noon, autumn to the milder glow and the extinction of evening, and winter to the joyless dreariness of night, spring, like the morning, ever brings back the god, the hero, in the perfect splendor of a glorious resurrection. It was the solar-year myth with its magnificent accompaniment of astronomical pageantry, which took the greater hold on the fancy of the scientifically inclined Chaldeans, and which we find embodied with such admirable completeness in their great epic. We shall see, later on, more exclusively imaginative and poetical races showing a marked preference for the career of the sun as the hero of a day, and making the several incidents of the solar-day myth the subject of an infinite variety of stories, brilliant or pathetic, tender or heroic. But there is in nature another order of phenomena, intimately connected with and dependent on the phases of the sun, that is, the seasons, yet very different in their individual character, though pointing the same way as regards the suggestion of resurrection and immortality—the phenomena of the Earth and the Seed. These may in a more general way be described as Nature’s productive power paralyzed during the numbed trance of winter, which is as the sleep of death, when the seed lies in the ground hid from sight and cold, even as a dead thing, but awaking to new life in the good time of spring, when the seed, in which life was never extinct but only dormant, bursts its bonds and breaks into verdant loveliness and bountiful crops. This is the essence and meaning of the Chthonic or Earth-myth, as universal as the Sun-myth, but of which different features have also been unequally developed by different races according to their individual tendencies. In the Chaldean version, the “Descent of Ishtar,” the particular incident of the seed is quite wanting, unless the name of Dumuzi’s month, “The Boon of the Seed” (“Le Bienfait de la Semence.” Lenormant), may be considered as alluding to it. It is her fair young bridegroom, the beautiful Sun-god, whom the widowed goddess of Nature mourns and descends to seek among the dead. This aspect of the myth is almost exclusively developed in the religions of most Canaanitic and Semitic nations of the East, where we shall meet with it often and often. And here it may be remarked, without digressing or anticipating too far, that throughout the ancient world, the Solar and Chthonic cycles of myths have been the most universal and important, the very centre and groundwork of many of the ancient mythic religions, and used as vehicles for more or less sublime religious conceptions, according to the higher or lower spiritual level of the worshipping nations.
8. It must be confessed that, amidst the nations of Western Asia, this level was, on the whole, not a very lofty one. Both the Hamitic and Semitic races were, as a rule, of a naturally sensuous disposition; the former being, moreover, distinguished by a very decidedly material turn of mind. The Kushites, of whom a branch perhaps formed an important portion of the mixed population of Lower Mesopotamia, and especially the Canaanites, who spread themselves over all the country between the great rivers and the Western Sea—the Mediterranean—were no exception to this rule. If their priests—their professed thinkers, the men trained through generations for intellectual pursuits—had groped their way to the perception of One Divine Power ruling the world, they kept it to themselves, or, at least, out of sight, behind a complicated array of cosmogonic myths, nature-myths, symbols and parables, resulting in Chaldea in the highly artificial system which has been sketched above—(see Chapters V. and VI.)—a system singularly beautiful and deeply significant, but of which the mass of the people did not care to unravel the subtle intricacies, being quite content to accept it entire, in the most literal spirit, elementary nature-gods, astronomical abstractions, cosmogonical fables and all—questioning nothing, at peace in their mind and righteously self-conscious if they sacrificed at the various time-honored local shrines, and conformed to the prescribed forms and ceremonies. To these they privately added those innumerable practices of conjuring and rites of witchcraft, the heirloom of the older lords of the soil, which we saw the colleges of learned priests compelled, as strangers and comparative newcomers, to tolerate and even sanction by giving them a place, though an inferior one, in their own nobler system (see p. 250). Thus it was that, if a glimmer of Truth did feebly illumine the sanctuary and its immediate ministers, the people at large dwelt in the outer darkness of hopeless polytheism and, worse still, of idolatry. For, in bowing before the altars of their temples and the images in wood, stone or metal in which art strove to express what the sacred writings taught, the unlearned worshippers did not stop to consider that these were but pieces of human workmanship, deriving their sacredness solely from the subjects they treated and the place they adorned, nor did they strive to keep their thoughts intent on the invisible Beings represented by the images. It was so much simpler, easier and more comfortable to address their adoration to what was visible and near, to the shapes that were so closely within reach of their senses, that seemed so directly to receive their offerings and prayers, that became so dearly familiar from long associations. The bulk of the Chaldean nation for a long time remained Turanian, and the materialistic grossness of the original Shumiro-Accadian religion greatly fostered its idolatrous tendencies. The old belief in the talismanic virtues of all images (see p. 162) continued to assert itself, and was easily transferred to those representing the divinities of the later and more elaborate worship. Some portion of the divine substance or spirit was supposed somehow to pass into the material representation and reside therein. This is very clear from the way in which the inscriptions speak of the statues of gods, as though they were persons. Thus the famous cylinder of the Assyrian conqueror Asshurbanipal tells how he brought back “the goddess Nana,” (i.e., her statue) who at the time of the great Elamite invasion, “had gone and dwelt in Elam, a place not appointed for her,” and now spoke to him the king, saying: “From the midst of Elam bring me out and cause me to enter into Bitanna”—her own old sanctuary at Erech, “which she had delighted in.” Then again the Assyrian conquerors take especial pride in carrying off with them the statues of the gods of the nations they subdue, and never fail to record the fact in these words: “I carried away their gods,” beyond a doubt with the idea that, in so doing, they put it out of their enemies’ power to procure the assistance of their divine protectors.
9. In the population of Chaldea the Semitic element was strongly represented. It is probable that tribes of Semites came into the country at intervals, in successive bands, and for a long time wandered unhindered with their flocks, then gradually amalgamated with the settlers they found in possession, and whose culture they adopted, or else formed separate settlements of their own, not even then, however, quite losing their pastoral habits. Thus the Hebrew tribe, when it left Ur under Terah and Abraham (see page 121), seems to have resumed its nomadic life with the greatest willingness and ease, after dwelling a long time in or near that popular city, the principal capital of Shumir, the then dominant South. Whether this tribe were driven out of Ur, as some will have it,BJ or left of their own accord, it is perhaps not too bold to conjecture that the causes of their departure were partly connected with religious motives. For, alone among the Chaldeans and all the surrounding nations, this handful of Semites had disentangled the conception of monotheism from the obscuring wealth of Chaldean mythology, and had grasped it firmly. At least their leaders and elders, the patriarchs, had arrived at the conviction that the One living God was He whom they called “the Lord,” and they strove to inspire their people with the same faith, and to detach them from the mythical beliefs, the idolatrous practices which they had adopted from those among whom they lived, and to which they clung with the tenacity of spiritual blindness and long habit. The later Hebrews themselves kept a clear remembrance of their ancestors having been heathen polytheists, and their own historians, writing more than a thousand years after Abraham’s times, distinctly state the fact. In a long exhortation to the assembled tribes of Israel, which they put in the mouth of Joshua, the successor of Moses, they make him say:—“Your fathers dwelt on the other side of the flood” (i.e., the Euphrates, or perhaps the Jordan) “in old time, even Terah, the father of Abraham and the father of Nachor, and they served other gods.” And further on: “... Put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the flood and in Egypt, and serve ye the Lord.... Choose you this day whom you will serve, whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell; as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua, xxiv. 2, 14, 15.) What more probable than that the patriarchs, Terah and Abraham, should have led their people out of the midst of the Chaldeans, away from their great capital Ur, which held some of the oldest and most renowned Chaldean sanctuaries, and forth into the wilderness, partly with the object of removing them from corrupting associations. At all events that branch of the Hebrew tribe which remained in Mesopotamia with Nahor, Abraham’s brother (see Gen. xxiv. xxix. and ff.), continued heathen and idolatrous, as we see from the detailed narrative in Genesis xxxi., of how Rachel “had stolen the images that were her father’s” (xxxi. 19), when Jacob fled from Laban’s house with his family, his cattle and all his goods. No doubt as to the value and meaning attached to these “images” is left when we see Laban, after having overtaken the fugitives, reprove Jacob in these words:—“And now, though thou wouldst needs be gone, because thou sore longedst for thy father’s house, yet wherefore hast thou stolen my gods?” (xxxi. 30), to which Jacob, who knows nothing of Rachel’s theft, replies:—“With whomsoever thou findest thy gods, let him not live” (xxxi. 32). But “Rachel had taken the images and put them in the camel’s furniture, and sat upon them. And Laban searched all the tent, but found them not” (xxxi. 34). Now what could have induced Rachel to commit so dishonorable and, moreover, dangerous an action, but the idea that, in carrying away these images, her family’s household “gods,” she would insure a blessing and prosperity to herself and her house? That by so doing, she would, according to the heathens’ notion, rob her father and old home of what she wished to secure herself (see page 344), does not seem to have disturbed her. It is clear from this that, even after she was wedded to Jacob the monotheist, she remained a heathen and idolater, though she concealed the fact from him.
10. On the other hand, wholesale emigration was not sufficient to remove the evil. Had it indeed been a wilderness, unsettled in all its extent, into which the patriarchs led forth their people, they might have succeeded in weaning them completely from the old influences. But, scattered over it and already in possession, were numerous Canaanite tribes, wealthy and powerful under their chiefs—Amorites, and Hivites, and Hittites, and many more. In the pithy and picturesque Biblical language, “the Canaanite was in the land” (Genesis, xii. 6), and the Hebrews constantly came into contact with them, indeed were dependent on their tolerance and large hospitality for the freedom with which they were suffered to enjoy the pastures of “the land wherein they were strangers,” as the vast region over which they ranged is frequently and pointedly called. Being but a handful of men, they had to be cautious in their dealings and to keep on good terms with the people among whom they were brought. “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you,” admits Abraham, “bowing himself down before the people of the land,” (a tribe of Hittites near Hebron, west of the Dead Sea), when he offers to buy of them a field, there to institute a family burying-place for himself and his race; for he had no legal right to any of the land, not so much as would yield a sepulchre to his dead, even though the “children of Heth” treat him with high honor, and, in speaking to him, say, “My lord,” and “thou art a mighty prince among us” (Genesis, xxiii.). This transaction, conducted on both sides in a spirit of great courtesy and liberality, is not the only instance of the friendliness with which the Canaanite owners of the soil regarded the strangers, both in Abraham’s lifetime and long after his death. His grandson, the patriarch Jacob, and his sons find the same tolerance among the Hivites of Shalem, who thus commune among themselves concerning them:—“These men are peaceable with us; therefore let them dwell in the land and trade therein; for the land, behold it is large enough for them; let us take their daughters for wives, and let us give them our daughters.” And the Hivite prince speaks in this sense to the Hebrew chief:—“The soul of my son longeth for your daughter: I pray you, give her him to wife. And make ye marriages with us, and give your daughters unto us and take our daughters unto you. And ye shall dwell with us, and the land shall be before you; dwell and trade ye therein, and get you possessions therein.”
11. But this question of intermarriage was always a most grievous one; the question of all others at which the Hebrew leaders strictly drew the line of intercourse and good-fellowship; the more stubbornly that their people were naturally much inclined to such unions, since they came and went freely among their hosts, and their daughters went out, unhindered, “to see the daughters of the land.” Now all the race of Canaan followed religions very similar to that of Chaldea, only grosser still in their details and forms of worship. Therefore, that the old idolatrous habits might not return strongly upon them under the influence of a heathen household, the patriarchs forbade marriage with the women of the countries through which they passed and repassed with their tents and flocks, and themselves abstained from it. Thus we see Abraham sending his steward all the way back to Mesopotamia to seek a wife for his son Isaac from among his own kinsfolk who had stayed there with his brother Nahor, and makes the old servant solemnly swear “by the Lord, the God of heaven and the God of earth”: “Thou shalt not take a wife unto my son of the daughters of the Canaanites among whom I dwell.” And when Esau, Isaac’s son, took two wives from among the Hittite women, it is expressly said that they were “a grief of mind unto Isaac and Rebekah;” and Isaac’s most solemn charge to his other son, Jacob, as he sends him from him with his blessing, is: “Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of Canaan.” Whithersoever the Hebrews came in the course of their long wanderings, which lasted many centuries, the same twofold prohibition was laid on them: of marrying with native women—“for surely,” they are told, “they will turn away your heart after their gods,” and of following idolatrous religions, a prohibition enforced by the severest penalties, even to that of death. But nothing could keep them long from breaking the law in both respects. The very frequency and emphasis with which the command is repeated, the violence of the denunciations against offenders, the terrible punishments threatened and often actually inflicted, sufficiently show how imperfectly and unwillingly it was obeyed. Indeed the entire Old Testament is one continuous illustration of the unslackening zeal with which the wise and enlightened men of Israel—its lawgivers, leaders, priests and prophets—pursued their arduous and often almost hopeless task, of keeping their people pure from worships and practices which to them, who had realized the fallacy of a belief in many gods, were the most pernicious abominations. In this spirit and to this end they preached, they fought, they promised, threatened, punished, and in this spirit, in later ages, they wrote.
12. It is not until a nation is well established and enjoys a certain measure of prosperity, security and the leisure which accompanies them, that it begins to collect its own traditions and memories and set them down in order, into a continuous narrative. So it was with the Hebrews. The small tribe became a nation, which ceased from its wanderings and conquered for itself a permanent place on the face of the earth. But to do this took many hundred years, years of memorable adventures and vicissitudes, so that the materials which accumulated for the future historians, in stories, traditions, songs, were ample and varied. Much, too, must have been written down at a comparatively early period. How early must remain uncertain, since there is unfortunately nothing to show at what time the Hebrews learned the art of writing and their characters thought, like other alphabets, to be borrowed from those of the Phœnicians. However that may be, one thing is sure: that the different books which compose the body of the Hebrew Sacred Scriptures, which we call “the Old Testament,” were collected from several and different sources, and put into the shape in which they have descended to us at a very late period, some almost as late as the birth of Christ. The first book of all, that of Genesis, describing the beginnings of the Jewish people,—(“Genesis” is a Greek word, which means “Origin”)—belongs at all events to a somewhat earlier date. It is put together mainly of two narratives, distinct and often different in point of spirit and even fact. The later compiler who had both sources before him to work into a final form, looked on both with too much respect to alter either, and generally contented himself with giving them side by side, (as in the story of Hagar, which is told twice and differently, in Chap. XVI. and Chap. XXI.), or intermixing them throughout, so that it takes much attention and pains to separate them, (as in the story of the Flood, Chap. VI.-VIII.). This latter story is almost identical with the Chaldean Deluge-legend included in the great Izdubar epic, of which it forms the eleventh tablet. (See Chap. VII.) Indeed, every child can see, by comparing the Chaldean cosmogonic and mythical legends with the first chapters of the Book of Genesis, those which relate to the beginnings not so much of the Hebrew people as of the human race and the world in general, that both must originally have flowed from one and the same spring of tradition and priestly lore. The resemblances are too staring, close, continuous, not to exclude all rational surmises as to casual coincidences. The differences are such as most strikingly illustrate the transformation which the same material can undergo when treated by two races of different moral standards and spiritual tendencies. Let us briefly examine both, side by side.
13. To begin with the Creation. The description of the primeval chaos—a waste of waters, from which “the darkness was not lifted,” (see p. 261)—answers very well to that in Genesis, i. 2: “And the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.” The establishment of the heavenly bodies and the creation of the animals also correspond remarkably in both accounts, and even come in the same order (see p. 264, and Genesis, i. 14-22). The famous cylinder of the British Museum (see No. 62, p. 266) is strong presumption in favor of the identity of the Chaldean version of the first couple’s disobedience with the Biblical one. We have seen the important position occupied in the Chaldean religion by the symbol of the Sacred Tree, which surely corresponds to the Tree of Life in Eden (see p. 268), and probably also to that of Knowledge, and the different passages and names ingeniously collected and confronted by scholars leave no doubt as to the Chaldeans having had the legend of an Eden, a garden of God (see p. 274). A better preserved copy of the Creation tablets with the now missing passages may be recovered any day, and there is no reason to doubt that they will be found as closely parallel to the Biblical narrative as those that have been recovered until now. But even as we have them at present it is very evident that the groundwork, the material, is the same in both. It is the manner, the spirit, which differs. In the Chaldean account, polytheism runs riot. Every element, every power of nature—Heaven, Earth, the Abyss, Atmosphere, etc.—has been personified into an individual divine being actively and severely engaged in the great work. The Hebrew narrative is severely monotheistic. In it God does all that “the gods” between them do in the other. Every poetical or allegorical turn of phrase is carefully avoided, lest it lead into the evil errors of the sister-nation. The symbolical myths—such as that of Bel’s mixing his own blood with the clay out of which he fashions man,(see p. 266)—are sternly discarded, for the same reason. One only is retained: the temptation by the Serpent. But the Serpent being manifestly the personification of the Evil Principle which is forever busy in the soul of man, there was no danger of its being deified and worshipped; and as, moreover, the tale told in this manner very picturesquely and strikingly points a great moral lesson, the Oriental love of parable and allegory could in this instance be allowed free scope. Besides, the Hebrew writers of the sacred books were not beyond or above the superstitions of their country and age; indeed they retained all of these that did not appear to them incompatible with monotheism. Thus throughout the Books of the Old Testament the Chaldean belief in witchcraft, divination from dreams and other signs is retained and openly professed, and astrology itself is not condemned, since among the destinations of the stars is mentioned that of serving to men “for signs”: “And God said, let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons, and for days and years” (Genesis, i. 14). Even more explicit is the passage in the triumphal song of Deborah the prophetess, where celebrating the victory of Israel over Sisera, she says: “They fought from heaven: the stars in their courses fought against Sisera” (Judges, v. 20). But a belief in astrology by no means implies the admission of several gods. In one or two passages, indeed, we do find an expression which seems to have slipped in unawares, as an involuntary reminiscence of an original polytheism; it is where God, communing with himself on Adam’s trespass, says: “Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil” (Gen. iii. 22). An even clearer trace confronts us in one of the two names that are given to God. These names are “Jehovah,” (more correctly “Yahveh”) and “Elohim.” Now the latter name is the plural of El, “god,” and so really means “the gods.” If the sacred writers retained it, it was certainly not from carelessness or inadvertence. As they use it, it becomes in itself almost a profession of faith. It seems to proclaim the God of their religion as “the One God who is all the gods,” in whom all the forces of the universe are contained and merged.
14. There is one feature in the Biblical narrative, which, at first sight, wears the appearance of mythical treatment: it is the familiar way in which God is represented as coming and going, speaking and acting, after the manner of men, especially in such passages as these: “And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day” (Gen. iii. 8); or, “Unto Adam also and to his wife did the Lord God make coats of skins and he clothed them” (Gen. iii. 21). But such a judgment would be a serious error. There is nothing mythical in this; only the tendency, common to all mankind, of endowing the Deity with human attributes of form, speech and action, whenever the attempt was made to bring it very closely within the reach of their imagination. This tendency is so universal, that it has been classed, under a special name, among the distinctive features of the human mind. It has been called Anthropomorphism, (from two Greek words Anthropos, “man,” and morphê, “form,”) and can never be got rid of, because it is part and parcel of our very nature. Man’s spiritual longings are infinite, his perceptive faculties are limited. His spirit has wings of flame that would lift him up and bear him even beyond the endlessness of space into pure abstraction; his senses have soles of lead that ever weigh him down, back to the earth, of which he is and to which he must needs cling, to exist at all. He can conceive, by a great effort, an abstract idea, eluding the grasp of senses, unclothed in matter; but he can realize, imagine, only by using such appliances as the senses supply him with. Therefore, the more fervently he grasps an idea, the more closely he assimilates it, the more it becomes materialized in his grasp, and when he attempts to reproduce it out of himself—behold! it has assumed the likeness of himself or something he has seen, heard, touched—the spirituality of it has become weighted with flesh, even as it is in himself. It is as it were a reproduction, in the intellectual world, of the eternal strife, in physical nature, between the two opposed forces of attraction and repulsion, the centrifugal and centripetal, of which the final result is to keep each body in its place, with a well-defined and limited range of motion allotted to it. Thus, however pure and spiritual the conception of the Deity may be, man, in making it real to himself, in bringing it down within his reach and ken, within the shrine of his heart, will, and must perforce make of it a Being, human not only in shape, but also in thought and feeling. How otherwise could he grasp it at all? And the accessories with which he will surround it will necessarily be suggested by his own experience, copied from those among which he moves habitually himself. “Walking in the garden in the cool of the day” is an essentially Oriental and Southern recreation, and came quite naturally to the mind of a writer living in a land steeped in sunshine and sultriness. Had the writer been a Northerner, a denizen of snow-clad plains and ice-bound rivers, the Lord might probably have been represented as coming in a swift, fur-lined sleigh. Anthropomorphism, then, is in itself neither mythology nor idolatry; but it is very clear that it can with the utmost ease glide into either or both, with just a little help from poetry and, especially, from art, in its innocent endeavor to fix in tangible form the vague imaginings and gropings, of which words often are but a fleeting and feeble rendering. Hence the banishment of all material symbols, the absolute prohibition of any images whatever as an accessory of religious worship, which, next to the recognition of One only God, is the keystone of the Hebrew law:—“Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.—Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them” (Exodus, xx. 3-5).
But, to continue our parallel.
15. The ten antediluvian kings of Berosus, who succeed the apparition of the divine Man-Fish, Êa-Oannes (see p. 196), have their exact counterpart in the ten antediluvian patriarchs of Genesis, v. Like the Chaldean kings, the patriarchs live an unnatural number of years. Only the extravagant figures of the Chaldean tradition are considerably reduced in the Hebrew version. While the former allots to its kings reigns of tens of thousands of years (see p. 196); the latter cuts them down to hundreds, and the utmost that it allows to any of its patriarchs is nine hundred and sixty-nine years of life (Methuselah).
16. The resemblances between the two Deluge narratives are so obvious and continuous, that it is not these, but the differences that need pointing out. Here again the sober, severely monotheistic character of the Hebrew narrative contrasts most strikingly with the exuberant polytheism of the Chaldean one, in which Heaven, Sun, Storm, Sea, even Rain are personified, deified, and consistently act their several appropriate and most dramatic parts in the great cataclysm, while Nature herself, as the Great Mother of beings and fosterer of life, is represented, in the person of Ishtar, lamenting the slaughter of men (see p. 327). Apart from this fundamental difference in spirit, the identity in all the essential points of fact is amazing, and variations occur only in lesser details. The most characteristic one is that, while the Chaldean version describes the building and furnishing of a ship, with all the accuracy of much seafaring knowledge, and does not forget even to name the pilot, the Hebrew writer, with the clumsiness and ignorance of nautical matters natural to an inland people unfamiliar with the sea or the appearance of ships, speaks only of an ark or chest. The greatest discrepancy is in the duration of the flood, which is much shorter in the Chaldean text than in the Hebrew. On the seventh day already, Hâsisadra sends out the dove (see p. 316). But then in the Biblical narrative itself, made up, as was remarked above, of two parallel texts joined together, this same point is given differently in different places. According to Genesis, vii. 12, “the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights,” while verse 24 of the same chapter tells us that “the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days.” Again, the number of the saved is far larger in the Chaldean account: Hâsisadra takes with him into the ship all his men-servants, his women-servants, and even his “nearest friends,” while Noah is allowed to save only his own immediate family, “his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives” (Genesis, vi. 18). Then, the incident of the birds is differently told: Hâsisadra sends out three birds, the dove, the swallow, and the raven; Noah only two—first the raven, then three times in succession the dove. But it is startling to find both narratives more than once using the same words. Thus the Hebrew writer tells how Noah “sent forth a raven, which went to and fro,” and how “the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot and returned.” Hâsisadra relates: “I took out a dove and sent it forth. The dove went forth, to and fro, but found no resting-place and returned.” And further, when Hâsisadra describes the sacrifice he offered on the top of Mount Nizir, after he came forth from the ship, he says: “The gods smelled a savor; the gods smelled a sweet savor.” “And the Lord smelled a sweet savor,” says Genesis,—viii. 21—of Noah’s burnt-offering. These few hints must suffice to show how instructive and entertaining is a parallel study of the two narratives; it can be best done by attentively reading both alternately, and comparing them together, paragraph by paragraph.
17. The legend of the Tower of Languages (see above, p. 293, and Genesis, xi. 3-9), is the last in the series of parallel Chaldean and Hebrew traditions. In the Bible it is immediately followed by the detailed genealogy of the Hebrews from Shem to Abraham. Therewith evidently ends the connection between the two people, who are severed for all time from the moment that Abraham goes forth with his tribe from Ur of the Chaldees, probably in the reign of Amarpal (father of Hammurabi), whom the Bible calls Amraphel, king of Shineâr. The reign of Hammurabi was, as we have already seen (see p. 219), a prosperous and brilliant one. He was originally king of Tintir (the oldest name of Babylon), and when he united all the cities and local rulers of Chaldea under his supremacy, he assorted the pre-eminence among them for his own city, which he began to call by its new name, Ka-dimirra (Accadian for “Gate of God,” which was translated into the Semitic Bab-Il). This king in every respect opens a new chapter in the history of Chaldea. Moreover, a great movement was taking place in all the region between the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf; nations were forming and growing, and Chaldea’s most formidable rival and future conqueror, Assyria, was gradually gathering strength in the north, a fierce young lion-cub. By this newcomer among nations our attention will henceforth mainly be claimed. Let us, therefore, pause on the high place to which we have now arrived, and, casting a glance backward, take a rapid survey of the ground we have covered.
18. Looking with strained eyes into a past dim and gray with the scarce-lifting mists of unnumbered ages, we behold our starting-point, the low land by the Gulf, Shumir, taking shape and color under the rule of Turanian settlers, the oldest known nation in the world. They drain and till the land, they make bricks and build cities, and prosper materially. But the spirit in them is dark and lives in cowering terror of self-created demons and evil things, which they yet believe they can control and compel. So their religion is one, not of worship and thanksgiving, but of dire conjuring and incantation, inconceivable superstition and witchcraft, an unutterable dreariness hardly lightened by the glimmering of a nobler faith, in the conception of the wise and beneficent Êa and his ever benevolently busy son, Meridug. But gradually there comes a change. Shumir lifts its gaze upward, and as it takes in more the beauty and the goodness of the world—in Sun and Moon and Stars, in the wholesome Waters and the purifying serviceable Fire, the good and divine Powers—the Gods multiply and the host of elementary spirits, mostly evil, becomes secondary. This change is greatly helped by the arrival of the meditative, star-gazing strangers, who take hold of the nature-worship and the nature-myths they find among the people to which they have come—a higher and more advanced race—and weave these, with their own star-worship and astrological lore, into a new faith, a religious system most ingeniously combined, elaborately harmonized, and full of profoundest meaning. The new religion is preached not only in words, but in brick and stone: temples arise all over the land, erected by the patesis—the priest-kings of the different cities—and libraries in which the priestly colleges reverently treasure both their own works and the older religious lore of the country. The ancient Turanian names of the gods are gradually translated into the new Cushito-Semitic language; yet the prayers and hymns, as well as the incantations, are still preserved in the original tongue, for the people of Turanian Shumir are the more numerous, and must be ruled and conciliated, not alienated. The more northern region, Accad, is, indeed, more thinly peopled; there the tribes of Semites, who now arrive in frequent instalments, spread rapidly and unhindered. The cities of Accad with their temples soon rival those of Shumir and strive to eclipse them, and their patesis labor to predominate politically over those of the South. And it is with the North that the victory at first remains; its pre-eminence is asserted in the time of Sharrukin of Agadê, about 3800 b.c., but is resumed by the South some thousand years later, when a powerful dynasty (that to which belong Ur-êa and his son Dungi) establishes itself in Ur, while Tintir, the future head and centre of the united land of Chaldea, the great Babylon, if existing at all, is not yet heard of. It is these kings of Ur who first take the significant title “kings of Shumir and Accad.” Meanwhile new and higher moral influences have been at work; the Semitic immigration has quickened the half mythical, half astronomical religion with a more spiritual element—of fervent adoration, of prayerful trust, of passionate contrition and self-humiliation in the bitter consciousness of sin, hitherto foreign to it, and has produced a new and beautiful religious literature, which marks its third and last stage. To this stage belong the often mentioned “Penitential Psalms,” Semitic, nay, rather Hebrew in spirit, although still written in the old Turanian language (but in the northern dialect of Accad, a fact that in itself bears witness to their comparative lateness and the locality in which they sprang up), and too strikingly identical with similar songs of the golden age of Hebrew poetry in substance and form, not to have been the models from which the latter, by a sort of unconscious heredity, drew its inspirations. Then comes the great Elamitic invasion, with its plundering of cities, desecration of temples and sanctuaries, followed probably by several more through a period of at least three hundred years. The last, that of Khudur Lagamar, since it brings prominently forward the founder of the Hebrew nation, deserves to be particularly mentioned by that nation’s historians, and, inasmuch as it coincides with the reign of Amarpal, king of Tintir and father of Hammurabi, serves to establish an important landmark in the history both of the Jews and of Chaldea. When we reach this comparatively recent date the mists have in great part rolled aside, and as we turn from the ages we have just surveyed to those that still lie before us, history guides us with a bolder step and shows us the landscape in a twilight which, though still dim and sometimes misleading, is yet that of breaking day, not of descending night.
19. When we attempt to realize the prodigious vastness and remoteness of the horizon thus opened before us, a feeling akin to awe overcomes us. Until within a very few years, Egypt gloried in the undisputed boast of being the oldest country in the world, i.e., of reaching back, by its annals and monuments, to an earlier date than any other. But the discoveries that are continually being made in the valley of the two great rivers have forever silenced that boast. Chaldea points to a monumentally recorded date nearly 4000 b.c. This is more than Egypt can do. Her oldest authentic monuments,—her great Pyramids, are considerably later. Mr. F. Hommel, one of the leaders of Assyriology, forcibly expresses this feeling of wonder in a recent publication:BK “If,” he says, “the Semites were already settled in Northern Babylonia (Accad) in the beginning of the fourth thousand b.c., in possession of the fully developed Shumiro-Accadian culture adopted by them,—a culture, moreover, which appears to have sprouted in Accad as a cutting from Shumir—then the latter must naturally be far, far older still, and have existed in its completed form in the fifth thousand b.c.—an age to which I now unhesitatingly ascribe the South-Babylonian incantations.” This would give our mental vision a sweep of full six thousand years, a pretty respectable figure! But when we remember that these first known settlers of Shumir came from somewhere else, and that they brought with them more than the rudiments of civilization, we are at once thrown back at least a couple of thousands of years more. For it must have taken all of that and more for men to pass from a life spent in caves and hunting the wild beasts to a stage of culture comprising the invention of a complete system of writing, the knowledge and working of metals, even to the mixing of copper and tin into bronze, and an expertness in agriculture equal not only to tilling, but to draining land. If we further pursue humanity—losing at last all count of time in years or even centuries—back to its original separation, to its first appearance on the earth,—if we go further still and try to think of the ages upon ages during which man existed not at all, yet the earth did, and was beautiful to look upon—(had there been any to look on it), and good for the creatures who had it all to themselves—a dizziness comes over our senses, before the infinity of time, and we draw back, faint and awed, as we do when astronomy launches us, on a slender thread of figures, into the infinity of space. The six ages of a thousand years each which are all that our mind can firmly grasp then come to seem to us a very poor and puny fraction of eternity, to which we are tempted to apply almost scornfully the words spoken by the poet of as many years: “Six ages! six little ages! six drops of time!”
Footnotes
BJ Maspero, “Histoire Ancienne,” p. 173.
BK Ztschr. für Keilschriftforschung, “Zur altbabylonischen Chronologie,” Heft I.
BL Matthew Arnold, in “Mycerinus”:
“Six years! six little years! six drops of time!”
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VII.
Professor Louis Dyer has devoted some time to preparing a free metrical translation of “Ishtar’s Descent.” Unfortunately, owing to his many occupations, only the first part of the poem is as yet finished. This he most kindly has placed at our disposal, authorizing us to present it to our readers.
ISHTAR IN URUGAL.
Along the gloomy avenue of death
To seek the dread abysm of Urugal,
In everlasting Dark whence none returns,
Ishtar, the Moon-god’s daughter, made resolve,
And that way, sick with sorrow, turned her face.
A road leads downward, but no road leads back
From Darkness’ realm. There is Irkalla queen,
Named also Ninkigal, mother of pains.
Her portals close forever on her guests
And exit there is none, but all who enter,
To daylight strangers, and of joy unknown,
Within her sunless gates restrained must stay.
And there the only food vouchsafed is dust,
For slime they live on, who on earth have died.
Day’s golden beam greets none and darkness reigns
Where hurtling bat-like forms of feathered men
Or human-fashioned birds imprisoned flit.
Close and with dust o’erstrewn, the dungeon doors
Are held by bolts with gathering mould o’ersealed.
By love distracted, though the queen of love,
Pale Ishtar downward flashed toward death’s domain,
And swift approached these gates of Urugal,
Then paused impatient at its portals grim;
For love, whose strength no earthly bars restrain,
Gives not the key to open Darkness’ Doors.
By service from all living men made proud,
Ishtar brooked not resistance from the dead.
She called the jailer, then to anger changed
The love that sped her on her breathless way,
And from her parted lips incontinent
Swept speech that made the unyielding warder quail.
“Quick, turnkey of the pit! swing wide these doors,
And fling them swiftly open. Tarry not!
For I will pass, even I will enter in.
Dare no denial, thou, bar not my way,
Else will I burst thy bolts and rend thy gates,
This lintel shatter else and wreck these doors.
The pent-up dead I else will loose, and lead
Back the departed to the lands they left,
Else bid the famished dwellers in the pit
Rise up to live and eat their fill once more.
Dead myriads then shall burden groaning earth,
Sore tasked without them by her living throngs.”
Love’s mistress, mastered by strong hate,
The warder heard, and wondered first, then feared
The angered goddess Ishtar what she spake,
Then answering said to Ishtar’s wrathful might:
“O princess, stay thy hand; rend not the door,
But tarry here, while unto Ninkigal
I go, and tell thy glorious name to her.”
ISHTAR’S LAMENT.
“All love from earthly life with me departed,
With me to tarry in the gates of death;
In heaven’s sun no warmth is longer hearted,
And chilled shall cheerless men now draw slow breath.
“I left in sadness life which I had given,
I turned from gladness and I walked with woe,
Toward living death by grief untimely driven,
I search for Thammuz whom harsh fate laid low
“The darkling pathway o’er the restless waters
Of seven seas that circle Death’s domain
I trod, and followed after earth’s sad daughters
Torn from their loved ones and ne’er seen again.
“Here must I enter in, here make my dwelling
With Thammuz in the mansion of the dead,
Driven to Famine’s house by love compelling
And hunger for the sight of that dear head.
“O’er husbands will I weep, whom death has taken,
Whom fate in manhood’s strength from life has swept,
Leaving on earth their living wives forsaken,—
O’er them with groans shall bitter tears be wept.
“And I will weep o’er wives, whose short day ended
Ere in glad offspring joyed their husbands’ eyes;
Snatched from loved arms they left their lords untended,—
O’er them shall tearful lamentations rise.
“And I will weep o’er babes who left no brothers,
Young lives to the ills of age by hope opposed,
The sons of saddened sires and tearful mothers,
One moment’s life by death eternal closed.”
NINKIGAL’S COMMAND TO THE WARDER.
“Leave thou this presence, slave, open the gate;
Since power is hers to force an entrance here,
Let her come in as come from life the dead,
Submissive to the laws of Death’s domain.
Do unto her what unto all thou doest.”
Want of space bids us limit ourselves to these few fragments—surely sufficient to make our readers wish that Professor Dyer might spare some time to the completion of his task.
A.
Abel, killed by Cain, 129.
Abraham, wealthy and powerful chief, 200; goes forth from Ur, 201; his victory over Khudur-Lagamar, 222-224.
Abu-Habba, see Sippar.
Abu-Shahrein, see Eridhu.
Accad, Northern or Upper Chaldea, 145; meaning of the word, ib.; headquarters of Semitism, 204-205.
Accads, see Shumiro-Accads.
Accadian language, see Shumiro-Accadian.
Agadê, capital of Accad, 205.
Agglutinative languages, meaning of the word, 136-137; characteristic of Turanian nations, ib.; spoken by the people of Shumir and Accad, 144.
Agricultural life, third stage of culture, first beginning of real civilization, 122.
Akki, the water-carrier, see Sharrukin of Agadê.
Alexander of Macedon conquers Babylon, 4; his soldiers destroy the dams of the Euphrates, 5.
Allah, Arabic for “God,” see Ilu.
Allat, queen of the Dead, 327-329.
Altaï, the great Siberian mountain chain, 146; probable cradle of the Turanian race, 147.
Altaïc, another name for the Turanian or Yellow Race, 147.
Amarpal, also Sin-Muballit, king of Babylon, perhaps Amraphel, King of Shinar, 226.
Amorite, the, a tribe of Canaan, 133.
Amraphel, see Amarpal.
Ana, or Zi-ana—“Heaven,” or “Spirit of Heaven,” p. 154.
Anatu, goddess, mother of Ishtar, smites Êabâni with death and Izdubar with leprosy, 310.
Anthropomorphism, meaning of the word, 355; definition and causes of, 355-357.
Anu, first god of the first Babylonian Triad, same as Ana, 240; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Anunnaki, minor spirits of earth, 154, 250.
Anunit (the Moon), wife of Shamash, 245.
Apsu (the Abyss), 264.
Arali, or Arallu, the Land of the Dead, 157; its connection with the Sacred Mountain, 276.
Arallu, see Arali.
Aram, a son of Shem, eponymous ancestor of the Aramæans in Gen. x., 131.
Arabs, their conquest and prosperous rule in Mesopotamia, 5;
Baghdad, their capital, 5; nomads in Mesopotamia, 8; their superstitious horror of the ruins and sculptures, 11; they take the gigantic head for Nimrod, 22-24; their strange ideas about the colossal winged bulls and lions and their destination, 24-25; their habit of plundering ancient tombs at Warka, 86; their conquests and high culture in Asia and Africa, 118.
Arbela, city of Assyria, built in hilly region, 50.
Architecture, Chaldean, created by local conditions, 37-39;
Assyrian, borrowed from Chaldea, 50.
Areph-Kasdîm, see Arphaxad, meaning of the word, 200.
Arphaxad, eldest son of Shem, 200.
Arphakshad, see Arphaxad.
Asshur, a son of Shem, eponymous ancestor of the Assyrians in Genesis X., 131.
Asshurbanipal, King of Assyria, his Library, 100-112; conquers Elam, destroys Shushan, and restores the statue of the goddess Nana to Erech, 194-195.
Asshur-nazir-pal, King of Assyria, size of hall in his palace at Calah (Nimrud), 63.
Assyria, the same as Upper Mesopotamia, 7; rise of, 228.
Astrology, meaning of the word, 106; a corruption of astronomy, 234; the special study of priests, ib.
Astronomy, the ancient Chaldeans’ proficiency in, 230; fascination of, 231; conducive to religious speculation, 232; degenerates into astrology, 234; the god Nebo, the patron of, 242.
B.
Babbar, see Ud.
Babel, same as Babylon, 237.
Bab-el-Mandeb, Straits of, 189.
Bab-ilu, Semitic name of Babylon; meaning of the name, 225, 249.
Babylonia, a part of Lower Mesopotamia, 7; excessive flatness of, 9; later name for “Shumir and Accad” and for “Chaldea,” 237.
Baghdad, capital of the Arabs’ empire in Mesopotamia, 5; its decay, 6.
Bassorah, see Busrah.
Bedouins, robber tribes of, 8; distinctively a nomadic people, 116-118.
Bel, third god of the first Babylonian Triad, 239; meaning of the name, 240; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246; his battle with Tiamat, 288-290.
Belit, the wife of Bel, the feminine principle of nature, 244-245; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Bel-Maruduk, see Marduk.
Berosus, Babylonian priest; his History of Chaldea, 128; his version of the legend of Oannes, 184-185; his account of the Chaldean Cosmogony, 260-261, 267; his account of the great tower and the confusion of tongues, 292-293; his account of the Deluge, 299-301.
Birs-Nimrud or Birs-i-Nimrud, see Borsippa.
Books, not always of paper, 93; stones and bricks used as books, 97; walls and rocks, ib., 97-99.
Borsippa (Mound of Birs-Nimrud), its peculiar shape, 47;
Nebuchadnezzar’s inscription found at, 72; identified with the Tower of Babel, 293.
Botta begins excavations at Koyunjik, 14; his disappointment, 15; his great discovery at Khorsabad, 15-16.
Bricks, how men came to make, 39; sun-dried or raw, and kiln-dried or baked, 40; ancient bricks from the ruins used for modern constructions; trade with ancient bricks at Hillah, 42.
British Museum, Rich’s collection presented to, 14.
Busrah, or Bassorah, bulls and lions shipped to, down the Tigris, 52.
Byblos, ancient writing material, 94.
C.
Ca-Dimirra (or Ka-Dimirra), second name of Babylon; meaning of the name, 216, 249.
Cain, his crime, banishment, and posterity, 129.
Calah, or Kalah, one of the Assyrian capitals, the Larissa of Xenophon, 3.
Calendar, Chaldean, 230, 318-321, 325.
Canaan, son of Ham, eponymous ancestor of many nations, 134.
Canaanites, migrations of, 190.
Cement, various qualities of, 44.
Chaldea, the same as Lower Mesopotamia, 7; alluvial formation of, 37-38; its extraordinary abundance in cemeteries, 78; a nursery of nations, 198; more often called by the ancients “Babylonia,” 237.
Chaldeans, in the sense of “wise men of the East,” astrologer, magician, soothsayer,—a separate class of the priesthood, 254-255.
Charm against evil spells, 162.
Cherub, Cherubim, see Kirûbu.
China, possibly mentioned in Isaiah, 136, note.
Chinese speak a monosyllabic language, 137; their genius and its limitations, 138, 139; oldest national religion of, 180, 181; their “docenal” and “sexagesimal” system of counting, 230-231.
Chronology, vagueness of ancient, 193-194; extravagant figures of, 196-197; difficulty of establishing, 211-212.
Chthon, meaning of the word, 272.
Chthonic Powers, 272, 273.
Chthonic Myths, see Myths.
Cissians, see Kasshi.
Cities, building of, fourth stage of culture, 123, 124.
Classical Antiquity, meaning of the term; too exclusive study of, 12.
Coffins, ancient Chaldean, found at Warka: “jar-coffins,” 82;
“dish-cover” coffins, 84;
“slipper-shaped” coffin (comparatively modern), 84-86.
Conjuring, against demons and sorcerers, 158-159; admitted into the later reformed religion, 236.
Conjurors, admitted into the Babylonian priesthood, 250.
Cossæans, see Kasshi.
Cosmogonic Myths, see Myths.
Cosmogony, meaning of the word, 259;
Chaldean, imparted by Berosus, 260-261; original tablets discovered by Geo. Smith, 261-263; their contents, 264 and ff.;
Berosus again, 267.
Cosmos, meaning of the word, 272.
Cuneiform writing, shape and specimen of, 10; introduced into Chaldea by the Shumiro-Accads, 145.
Cush, or Kush, eldest son of Ham, 186; probable early migrations of, 188; ancient name of Ethiopia, 189.
Cushites, colonization of Turanian Chaldea by, 192.
Cylinders: seal cylinders in hard stones, 113-114; foundation-cylinders, 114; seal-cylinders worn as talismans, 166;
Babylonian cylinder, supposed to represent the Temptation and Fall, 266.
D.
Damkina, goddess, wife of Êa, mother of Meridug, 160.
Decoration: of palaces, 58-62; of walls at Warka, 87-88.
Delitzsch, Friedrich, eminent Assyriologist, favors the Semitic theory, 186.
Deluge, Berosus’ account of, 299-301; cuneiform account, in the 11th tablet of the Izdubar Epic, 314-317.
Demon of the South-West Wind, 168.
Diseases conceived as demons, 163.
Divination, a branch of Chaldean “science,” in what it consists, 251-252; collection of texts on, in one hundred tablets, 252-253; specimens of, 253-254.
Draining of palace mounds, 70; of sepulchral mounds at Warka, 86-87.
Dumuzi, the husband of the goddess Ishtar, 303; the hero of a solar Myth, 323-326.
Dur-Sharrukin, (see Khorsabad),
built in hilly region, 50.
E.
Êa, sometimes Zi-kî-a, the Spirit of the Earth and Waters, 154; protector against evil spirits and men, 160; his chief sanctuary at Eridhu, 215; second god of the first Babylonian Triad, 239; his attributions, 240; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Êabâni, the seer, 304; invited by Izdubar, 304-305; becomes Izdubar’s friend, 307; vanquishes with him the Elamite tyrant Khumbaba, 308; smitten by Ishtar and Anatu, 310; restored to life by the gods, 314.
Ê-Babbara, “House of the Sun,” 215, 248.
Eber, see Heber.
El, see Ilu.
Elam, kingdom of, conquered by Asshurbanipal, 194; meaning of the name, 220.
Elamite conquest of Chaldea, 219-221, 224-225.
Elohim, one of the Hebrew names for God, a plural of El, 354.
See Ilu.
Emanations, theory of divine, 238-239; meaning of the word, 239.
Enoch, son of Cain, 129.
Enoch, the first city, built by Cain, 129.
Epic Poems, or Epics, 298-299.
Epic-Chaldæan, oldest known in the world, 299; its division into tablets, 302.
Eponym, meaning of the word, 133.
Eponymous genealogies in Genesis X., 132-134.
Epos, national, meaning of the word, 299.
Erech (now Mound of Warka), oldest name Urukh, immense burying-grounds around, 80-82; plundered by Khudur-Nankhundi, king of Elam, 195; library of, 209.
Eri-Aku (Ariokh of Ellassar), Elamite king of Larsam, 226.
Eridhu (modern Abu-Shahrein), the most ancient city of Shumir, 215; specially sacred to Êa, 215, 246, 287.
Ethiopians, see Cush.
Excavations, how carried on, 30-34.
F.
Fergusson, Jas., English explorer and writer on art subjects, 56.
Finns, a nation of Turanian stock, 138.
Flood, or Deluge, possibly not universal, 128-129.
G.
Gan-Dunyash, or Kar-Dunyash, most ancient name of Babylonia proper, 225, 286.
Genesis, first book of the Pentateuch, 127-129;
Chapter X. of, 130-142; meaning of the word, 353.
Gibil, Fire, 173; hymn to, 16; his friendliness, 174; invoked to prosper the fabrication of bronze, 16.
Gisdhubar, see Izdubar.
Gudêa, patesi of Sir-burla, 214.
H.
Ham, second son of Noah, 130; meaning of the name, 186.
Hammurabi, king of Babylon and all Chaldea, 226; his long and glorious reign, ib.; his public works and the “Royal Canal,” 227.
Harimtu (“Persuasion”), one of the handmaidens of Ishtar, 305.
Hâsisadra, same as Xisuthros, 303; gives Izdubar an account of the great Flood, 314-317.
Heber, a descendant of Shem, eponymous ancestor of the Hebrews in Genesis X., 131, 222.
Heroes, 296-298.
Heroic Ages, 299.
Heroic Myths, see Myths.
Hillah, built of bricks from the palace of Nebuchadnezzar, carries on trade with ancient bricks, 42.
Himâlaya Mountains, 188.
Hindu-Cush (or Kush) Mountains, 188.
Hit, ancient Is, on the Euphrates, springs of bitumen at, 44.
Hivite, the, a tribe of Canaan, 133.
Hungarians, a nation of Turanian stock, 138.
I.
Idpa, the Demon of Fever, 156.
Igigi, three hundred, spirits of heaven, 250.
Ilu, or El, Semitic name for “god,” 232.
India, 188.
Indus, the great river of India, 188.
Intercalary months, introduced by the Chaldeans to correct the reckoning of their year, 230.
Is, see Hit.
Ishtar, the goddess of the planet Venus, 242; the Warrior-Queen and Queen of Love, 245; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246; offers her love to Izdubar, 308; is rejected and sends a monstrous bull against him, 309; causes Êabâni’s death and Izdubar’s illness, 310; descent of, into the land of shades, 326-330.
Izdubar, the hero of the great Chaldean Epic, 303; his dream at Erech, 304; invites Êabâni, 304-305; vanquishes with his help Khumbaba, the Elamite tyrant of Erech, 308; offends Ishtar, 308; vanquishes the divine Bull, with Êabâni’s help, 309; is smitten with leprosy, 310; travels to “the mouth of the great rivers” to consult his immortal ancestor Hâsisadra, 310-313; is purified and healed, 313; returns to Erech; his lament over Êabâni’s death, 313-314; solar character of the Epic, 318-322.
J.
Jabal and Jubal, sons of Lamech, descendants of Cain, 129.
Japhet, third son of Noah, 130.
Javan, a son of Japhet, eponymous ancestor of the Ionian Greeks, 134.
“Jonah’s Mound,” see Nebbi-Yunus.
Jubal, see Jabal and Jubal.
K.
Ka-Dingirra, see Ca-Dimirra.
Kar-Dunyash, see Gan-Dunyash.
Kasbu, the Chaldean double hour, 230.
Kasr, Mound of, ruins of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar, 42.
Kasshi (Cossæans or Cissians), conquer Chaldea, 228.
Kerbela and Nedjif, goal of pilgrim-caravans from Persia, 78.
Kerubim, see Kirûbu.
Khorsabad, Mound of, Botta’s excavations and brilliant discovery at, 15-16.
Khudur-Lagamar (Chedorlaomer), king of Elam and Chaldea, his conquests, 221; plunders Sodom and Gomorrah with his allies, 222; is overtaken by Abraham and routed, 223; his probable date, 224.
Khudur-Nankhundi, king of Elam, invades Chaldea and carries the statue of the goddess Nana away from Erech, 195.
Khumbaba, the Elamite tyrant of Erech vanquished by Izdubar and Êabâni, 308.
Kirûbu, name of the Winged Bulls, 164.
Koyunjik, Mound of Xenophon’s Mespila, 14;
Botta’s unsuccessful exploration of, 15; valuable find of small articles in a chamber at, in the palace of Sennacherib, 34.
Kurds, nomadic tribes of, 8.
L.
Lamech, fifth descendant of Cain, 129.
Larissa, ruins of ancient Calah, seen by Xenophon, 3.
Larsam (now Senkereh), city of Shumir, 215.
Layard meets Botta at Mossul in 1842, 17; undertakes the exploration of Nimrud, 17-18; his work and life in the East, 19-32; discovers the Royal Library at Nineveh (Koyunjik), 100.
Lebanon Mountains, 190.
Lenormant, François, eminent French Orientalist; his work on the religion of the Shumiro-Accads, 152-153; favors the Cushite theory, 186.
Library of Asshurbanipal in his palace at Nineveh (Koyunjik); discovered by Layard, 100; re-opened by George Smith, 103; contents and importance of, for modern scholarship, 106-109; of Erech, 209.
Loftus, English explorer; his visit to Warka in 1854-5, 80-82; procures slipper-shaped coffins for the British Museum, 36.
Louvre, Assyrian Collection at the, 17;
“Sarzec collection” added, 89.
Louvre, Armenian contrivance for lighting houses, 68.
M.
Madai, a son of Japhet, eponymous ancestor of the Medes, 135.
Magician, derivation of the word, 255.
Marad, ancient city of Chaldea, 303.
Marduk, or Maruduk (Hebrew Merodach), god of the planet Jupiter, 241; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246; special patron of Babylon, 249.
Maskim, the seven, evil spirits, 154; incantation against the, 155; the same, poetical version, 182.
Maspero, G., eminent French Orientalist, 197.
Medes, Xenophon’s erroneous account of, 3-4; mentioned under the name of Madai in Genesis X., 135.
Media, divided from Assyria by the Zagros chain, 50.
Ménant, Joachim, French Assyriologist; his little book on the Royal Library at Nineveh, 105.
Meridug, son of Êa, the Mediator, 160; his dialogues with Êa, 161-162.
Mermer, see Im.
Merodach, see Marduk.
Mesopotamia, meaning of the name, 5; peculiar formation of, 6; division of, into Upper and Lower, 7.
Mespila, ruins of Nineveh; seen by Xenophon, 3; now Mound of Koyunjik, 14.
Migrations of tribes, nations, races; probable first causes of prehistoric migrations, 119; caused by invasions and conquests, 125; of the Turanian races, 146-147; of the Cushites, 188; of the Canaanites, 190.
Mizraim (“the Egyptians”), a son of Ham, eponymous ancestor of the Egyptians, 133; opposed to Cush, 189.
Monosyllabic languages—Chinese, 136-137.
Monotheism, meaning of the word, 238; as conceived by the Hebrews, 344-345.
Mosul, the residence of a Turkish Pasha; origin of the name, 6; the wicked Pasha of, 20-23.
Mound-Builders, their tombs, 335-338.
Mounds, their appearance, 9-10; their contents, 11; formation of, 72; their usefulness in protecting the ruins and works of art, 74; sepulchral mounds at Warka, 79-87.
Mugheir, see Ur.
Mul-ge, “Lord of the Abyss,” 154.
Mummu-Tiamat (the “Billowy Sea”), 264; her hostility to the gods, 288; her fight with Bel, 288-290.
Mythology, definition of, 331; distinction from Religion, 331-334.
Myths, meaning of the word, 294;
Cosmogonic, 294;
Heroic, 297-298;
Solar, 322, 339-340;
Chthonic, 330, 340-341.
N.
Nabonidus, last king of Babylon, discovers Naram-sin’s cylinder, 213; discovers Hammurabi’s cylinder at Larsam, 218-219.
Namtar, the Demon of Pestilence, 156, 157; incantation against, 167;
Minister of Allat, Queen of the Dead, 328, 329.
Nana, Chaldean goddess, her statue restored by Asshurbanipal, 195, 343-344; wife of Anu, 245.
Nannar, see Uru-Ki.
Naram-Sin, son of Sargon I. of Agadê; his cylinder discovered by Nabonidus, 213.
Nations, gradual formation of, 125-126.
Nebbi-Yunus, Mound of, its sacredness, 11; its size, 49.
Nebo, or Nabu, the god of the planet Mercury, 242; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon; his palace, now Mound of Kasr, 42; his inscription of Borsippa, 72.
Nedjif, see Kerbela.
Nergal, the god of the planet Mars, and of War, 242; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Niffer, see Nippur.
Nimrod, dams on the Euphrates attributed to, by the Arabs, 5; his name preserved, and many ruins called by it, 11; gigantic head declared by the Arabs to be the head of, 22-24.
Nimrud, Mound of, Layard undertakes the exploration of, 17.
Nin-dar, the nightly sun, 175.
Nineveh, greatness and utter destruction of, 1; ruins of, seen by Xenophon, called by him Mespila, 3; site of, opposite Mossul, 11.
Nin-ge, see Nin-kî-gal.
Ninîb, or Ninêb, the god of the planet Saturn, 241; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Nin-kî-gal, or Nin-ge, “the Lady of the Abyss,” 157.
Nippur (now Niffer), city of Accad, 216.
Nizir, Mount, the mountain on which Hâsisadra’s ship stood still, 301; land and Mount, 316
Noah and his three sons, 130.
Nod, land of (“Land of Exile,” or “of Wanderings”), 129.
Nomads, meaning of the word, and causes of nomadic life in modern times, 118.
O.
Oannes, legend of, told by Berosus, 185.
Oasis, meaning of the word, 118.
P.
Palaces, their imposing aspect, 54; palace of Sennacherib restored by Fergusson, 56; ornamentation of palaces, 58; winged Bulls and Lions at gateways of, 58; sculptured slabs along the walls of, 58-60; painted tiles used for the friezes of, 60-62; proportions of halls, 63; roofing of, 62-66; lighting of, 66-68.
Papyrus, ancient writing material, 94.
Paradise, Chaldean legend of, see, Sacred Tree and Ziggurat.
Meaning of the word, 277.
Parallel between the Book of Genesis and the Chaldean legends, 350-360.
Pastoral life, second stage of culture, 120; necessarily nomadic, 121.
Patesis, meaning of the word, 203; first form of royalty in Chaldean cities, ib., 235.
Patriarchal authority, first form of government, 123; the tribe, or enlarged family, first form of the State, 123.
Penitential Psalms, Chaldean, 177-179.
Persian Gulf, flatness and marshiness of the region around, 7; reached further inland than now, 201.
Persians, rule in Asia, 2; the war between two royal brothers, 2;
Persian monarchy conquered by Alexander, 4; not named in Genesis X., 134.
Platforms, artificial, 46-49.
Polytheism, meaning of the word, 237; tendency to, of the Hebrews, combated by their leaders, 345-350.
Priesthood, Chaldean, causes of its power and influence, 233-234.
R.
Races, Nations, and Tribes represented in antiquity under the name of a man, an ancestor, 130-134; black race and yellow race omitted from the list in Genesis X., 134-142; probable reasons for the omission, 135, 140.
Ramân, third god of the second Babylonian Triad, his attributions, 240-241; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246.
Rassam, Hormuzd, explorer, 247, 248.
Rawlinson, Sir Henry, his work at the British Museum, 152.
Religion of the Shumiro-Accads the most primitive in the world, 148; characteristics of Turanian religions, 180, 181; definition of, as distinguished from Mythology, 331-334.
Religiosity, distinctively human characteristic, 148; its awakening and development, 149-152.
Rich, the first explorer, 13; his disappointment at Mossul, 14.
S.
Sabattuv, the Babylonian and Assyrian “Sabbath,” 256.
Sabeism, the worship of the heavenly bodies, a Semitic form of religion, 232; fostered by a pastoral and nomadic life, ib.
Sabitu, one of the maidens in the magic grove, 311.
Sacred Tree, sacredness of the Symbol, 268; its conventional appearance on sculptures and cylinders, 268-270; its signification, 272-274; its connection with the legend of Paradise, 274-276.
Sargon of Agadê, see Sharrukin.
Sarzec, E. de, French explorer; his great find at Tell-Loh, 88-90; statues found by him, 214.
Scorpion-men, the Warders of the Sun, 311.
Schrader, Eberhard, eminent Assyriologist, favors the Semitic theory, 186.
Semites (more correctly Shemites), one of the three great races given in Genesis X.; named from its eponymous ancestor, Shem, 131.
Semitic language, 199; culture, the beginning of historical times in Chaldea, 202, 203.
Sennacherib, king of Assyria, his palace at Koyunjik, 34;
Fergusson’s restoration of his palace, 56; his “Will” in the library of Nineveh, 109.
Senkereh, see Larsam.
Sepharvaim, see Sippar.
Seth (more correctly Sheth), third son of Adam, 131.
Shamash, the Sun-god, second god of the Second Babylonian Triad, 240; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246; his temple at Sippar discovered by H. Rassam, 247, 248.
Shamhatu (“Grace”), one of the handmaidens of Ishtar, 305.
Sharrukin I. of Agadê (Sargon I.), 205; legend about his birth, 206; his glorious reign, 206;
Sharrukin II. of Agadê (Sargon II.), 205; his religious reform and literary labors, 207, 208; probable founder of the library at Erech, 209; date of, lately discovered, 213.
Shem, eldest son of Noah, 130; meaning of the name, 198.
Shinar, or Shineâr, geographical position of, 127.
Shumir, Southern or Lower Chaldea, 145.
Shumir and Accad, oldest name for Chaldea, 143, 144.
Shumiro-Accadian, oldest language of Chaldea, 108;
Agglutinative, 145.
Shumiro-Accads, oldest population of Chaldea, of Turanian race, 144; their language agglutinative, 145; introduce into Chaldea cuneiform writing, metallurgy and irrigation, ib.; their probable migration, 146; their theory of the world, 153.
Shushan (Susa), capital of Elam, destroyed by Asshurbanipal, 194.
Siddim, battle in the veil of, 221, 222.
Sidon, a Phœnician city, meaning of the name, 133; the “first-born” son of Canaan, eponymous ancestor of the city in Genesis X., ib.
Siduri, one of the maidens in the magic grove, 311.
Sin, the Moon-god, first god of the Second Babylonian Triad, 240; one of the “twelve great gods,” 246; attacked by the seven rebellious spirits, 291.
Sin-Muballit, see Amarpal.
Sippar, sister city of Agadê, 205;
Temple of Shamash at, excavated by H. Rassam, 247, 248.
Sir-burla (also Sir-gulla, or Sir-tella, or Zirbab), ancient city of Chaldea, now Mound of Tell-Loh; discoveries at, by Sarzec, 88-90.
Sir-gulla, see Sir-burla.
Smith, George, English explorer; his work at the British Museum, 102; his expeditions to Nineveh, 103; his success, and his death, 104; his discovery of the Deluge Tablets, 301.
Sorcerers believed in, 157.
Spirits, belief in good and evil, the first beginning of religion, 150; elementary, in the primitive Shumiro-Accadian religion, 153-155; evil, 155-157; allowed an inferior place in the later reformed religion, 236, 250; rebellion of the seven evil, their attack against the Moon-god, 290, 291.
Statues found at Tell-Loh, 88, 214.
Style, ancient writing instrument, 94, 109.
Synchronism, meaning of the word, 212.
T.
Tablets, in baked or unbaked clay, used as books, 109; their shapes and sizes, 109; mode of writing on, 109-110; baking of, 110; great numbers of, deposited in the British Museum, 110-112;
Chaldean tablets in clay cases, 112; tablets found under the foundation stone at Khorsabad, 113, 114;
“Shamash tablet,” 248.
Talismans, worn on the person or placed in buildings, 164.
Tammuz, see Dumuzi.
Taurus Mountains, 190.
Tell-Loh (also Tello), see Sir-burla.
Temples of Êa and Meridug at Eridhu, 246; of the Moon-god at Ur, ib.; of Anu and Nana at Erech, ib.; of Shamash and Anunit at Sippar and Agadê, 247; of Bel Maruduk at Babylon and Borsippa, 249.
Theocracy, meaning of the word, 235.
Tiamat, see Mummu-Tiamat.
Tin-tir-ki, oldest name of Babylon, meaning of the name, 216.
Triads in Babylonian religion, and meaning of the word, 239-240.
Tubalcain, son of Lamech, descendant of Cain, the inventor of metallurgy, 129.
Turanians, collective name for the whole Yellow Race, 136; origin of the name, ib.; the limitations of their genius, 136-139; their imperfect forms of speech, monosyllabic and agglutinative, 136, 137;
“the oldest of men,” 137; everywhere precede the white races, 138; omitted in Genesis X., 135, 139; possibly represent the discarded Cainites or posterity of Cain, 140-142; their tradition of a Paradise in the Altaï, 147; characteristics of Turanian religions, 180-181.
Turks, their misrule in Mesopotamia, 5-6; greed and oppressiveness of their officials, 7-8; one of the principal modern representatives of the Turanian race, 136.
U.
Ubaratutu, father of Hâsisadra, 322.
Ud, or Babbar, the midday Sun, 171; hymns to, 171, 172; temple of, at Sippar, 247-248.
Uddusunamir, phantom created by Êa, and sent to Allat, to rescue Ishtar, 328, 329.
Ur (Mound of Mugheir), construction of its platform, 46; earliest known capital of Shumir, maritime and commercial, 200;
Terah and Abraham go forth from, 201.
Ur-êa, king of Ur, 215; his buildings, 216-218; his signet cylinder, 218.
Urubêl, the ferryman on the Waters of Death, 311; purifies Izdubar and returns with him to Erech, 313.
Urukh, see Erech.
Uru-ki, or Nannar, the Shumiro-Accadian Moon-god, 240.
V.
Vaults, of drains, 70; sepulchral, at Warka, 83, 85.
W.
Warka, see Erech.
X.
Xenophon leads the Retreat of the Ten Thousand, 2; passes by the runs of Calah and Nineveh, which he calls Larissa and Mespila, 3.
Xisuthros, the king of, Berosus’ Deluge-narrative, 300.
See Hâsisadra.
Y.
Yahveh, the correct form of “Jehovah,” one of the Hebrew names for God, 354.
Z.
Zab, river, tributary of the Tigris, 17.
Zagros, mountain range of, divides Assyria from Media, 50; stone quarried in, and transported down the Zab, 50, 51.
Zaidu, the huntsman, sent to Êabâni, 305.
Zi-ana, see Ana.
Ziggurats, their peculiar shape and uses, 48; used as observatories attached to temples, 234; meaning of the word, 278; their connection with the legend of Paradise, 278-280; their singular orientation and its causes, 284-286;
Ziggurat of Birs-Nimrud (Borsippa), 280-283; identified with the Tower of Babel, 293.
Zi-kî-a, see Êa.
Zirlab, see Sir-burla.
Zodiac, twelve signs of, familiar to the Chaldeans, 230; signs of, established by Anu, 265; represented in the twelve books of the Izdubar Epic, 318-321.