The concerns of people haven't changed throughout human history.

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Introduction
The problem of dealing with death and dying is as old as humanity, and persists to the present day -- this is made apparent in the popular culture and religion of today, as well as mythic and religious writings through the ages. The search for the Holy Grail; the quest for the fountain of youth by Ponce de Leon, among others; mythic heroes in Greek, Roman and Norse mythology (to name but a few); all these speak to an underlying hope to be able to ‘cheat’ death. The Epic of Gilgamesh also addresses this inner need, showing the paradoxical problems of life and death, and presenting a rather stark realism as its conclusion. The epic consists of several stories, and ‘...through them all runs a single idea, like the refrain of the medieval poet, “Timor mortis conturbat me”.’ (Sandars, p. 22)

One of the tasks of religion over the course of human history has been to address the issues of death and dying. Mesopotamian religion is no different in this regard. Mesopotamian religion went through several major phases of development (according to Jacobsen), the final two with greatest impact upon the Epic of Gilgamesh being the facility of gods as rulers of the cosmos, and the usefulness of the gods as personal deities, with concern for individuals.

Ruler Gods and Personal Gods
As gods ceased to be seen as impersonal essences behind forces of nature, the first images of them coincided with the emerging political structures of the times in the third millennium. ‘The new view of the gods as rulers brought the whole political context of the ruler to bear on them and thus -- since they were the powers in all the significant phenomena around -- on the whole phenomenal world. The universe became a polity.’ (Jacobsen, p. 81)

The universe became a more ordered and orderly place, for the most part, with purpose and ultimate ends, rather than a merely naturally whimsical place--if it still seemed random and unpredictable, this might be attributed to the psychology of the gods rather than mere chance. ‘The Mesopotamians conceived of civilisation as separate from nature, set in an artificial environment of man’s creation, which could insulate human society from the threats of primal nature (a contrast for example which lies at the heart of the Epic of Gilgamesh).’ (Wood, p. 48) In particular, with kingship and proto-imperial structures now a permanent feature of the human world, it made sense to see the whole cosmos as ‘...a planned, purposeful universe actively administered and ruled by gods who have broadened their concerns far beyond what we call nature: to society as upholders of the legal and moral order, and to politics, deciding about victory and defeat.’ (Jacobsen, p. 90) However, this worldview did have its shortcomings. For one thing, it did not account entirely for the continuing occasional randomness of nature and fate. It also gave a difficult conception of justice, for the world (then as now) was full examples of evil prospering and the righteous suffering.

Perhaps it was in response to this that the gods were destined to become more personal, more ‘user-friendly’ as it were. By the time of the second millennium, ‘...the individual matters to God’. (Jacobsen, p. 147) Perhaps this finds its fullest expression in the developments of Hebrew Bible; however, the personal concern of the gods translated from being merely a concern for the ruler, city or people to that of concern for individuals and their particular plight in the cosmos. In particular, gods became attributed with families. ‘The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’ in the Hebrew Bible shows this strong, continuing family tie. Even into Roman and Byzantine imperial times, families and households had particular gods. There is in this ‘...a paradoxical core in the attitude of personal religion: its tacit bridging of the cosmic world and the personal world of the individual.’ (Jacobsen, p. 152) While personal gods may give somewhat more solace to the individual, the problems of divine justice versus human justice remain, and nowhere is this more apparent than in death and dying.

Death in the Story of Gilgamesh
One of the major themes of the Epic of Gilgamesh is the human response to death. ‘The knowledge that death is inevitable had earlier proved a challenge to bold undertakings and to victorious action; but now it stultifies action and brings the new experience of defeat.’ (Sandars, p. 36, see also Jacobsen, p. 202) The brashness of youth and youthful exploits by Enkidu and Gilgamesh give way to the stark realities of death, as Gilgamesh realises upon the death of his friend that this has a permanence, a finality that was inconceivable prior to the event. ‘When he loses his friend, Gilgamesh for the first time comprehends death in all its stark reality.’ (Jacobsen, p. 217) As with many youths, Gilgamesh and Enkidu have a sense of their own immortality. This proved to be a false sense, and Gilgamesh is heartbroken.

What is this sleep which holds you now?
You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me.
He touched his heart but it did not beat, nor did he lift his eyes again. When Gilgamesh touched his heart it did not beat. So Gilgamesh laid a veil, as one veils the bride, over his friend.
(Sandars, p. 95)

Gilgamesh sense his own mortality in the death of Enkidu. Mixed in with his grief at the loss of his friend is the fear of his own impending doom.

Since he is gone I can no comfort find,
keep roaming like a hunter in the plains.
(Jacobsen, p. 204)

When may a dead man ever see the sun’s splendor?
(Jacobsen, p. 204)

Gilgamesh sets out upon a new quest -- the search for immortality. He has heard the tale of one who achieved this, and much of the epic is taken up in the journey (reminiscent of the Odyssey and the Aeneid, other epics of journeying). However, Gilgamesh’s journey is bound to fail. Physical immortality is not a realistic goal for humanity, even for the greatest.

You were given the kingship, such was your destiny, everlasting life was not your destiny. Because of this do not be sad at heart, do not be grieved or oppressed.
(Sandars, p. 118)

There is nonetheless some solace, some hope left for Gilgamesh. While physical immortality and youthful rejuvenation are both unobtainable goals, there is an immortality in human actions. The Epic of Gilgamesh completes a life-cycle circle, and Gilgamesh’s journey back home (rather like the Odyssey completes the Illiad and makes that cycle a full circle) completes the ‘...symbolic expression in the epic in a return to where we began, to the walls of Uruk which stand for all time as Gilgamesh’s lasting achievement. Man may have to die, but what he does lives after him. There is a measure of immortality in achievement, the only immortality man can seek.’ (Jacobsen, p. 208) The walls of Uruk represent Gilgamesh’s lasting achievement -- some form of immortality for him.

Dealing with Death and Dying
It is almost axiomatic among all living creatures that no one wants to die. Human beings go to extraordinary lengths to cheat death in various ways. Perhaps the longest lasting way, reflected in rulers’ grand plans, teachers’ and preachers’ hopes for instruction and influence, parents’ rearing of children, and a host of other examples is that immortality may be offered to us by our actions and achievements. Further, these need not always be selfless and unenjoyed achievements. ‘The fact that it is not our lot to share eternal life with the distant Utnapishtim need not prevent us from enjoying the advantages of our native city.’ (Gordon & Rendsburg, p. 50) We can take pride in our accomplishments (also being mindful of the gods, so as to not be so arrogant as to irritate them -- be this in Mesopotamian and other polytheistic religions with gods of varying personalities, to the Israelite God who destroys the Tower of Babel, perhaps for some of the same reasoning).

Of course, city building and dwelling was considered one of the greatest achievements -- no wonder that the walls of Uruk were considered a worthy symbol of Gilgamesh’s immortality. And this achievement impacted everyone, everywhere, it seemed. ‘The consequences of the so-called urban revolution were not limited to the inhabitants of the cities. The lives of village cultivators changed immeasurably as well. They, too, now belonged to a city, and the courses of their lives were likewise now shaped by the decisions of others, people they almost certainly never met.’ (Armstrong, in Fagan, p. 454) There is no particular advantage, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, to remaining a more ‘natural’ being -- this will not confer immortality. Enkidu’s example shows this. ‘...He [Enkidu] wishes he had never come to Uruk and curses the trapper and the harlot who brought him. The sun god, again speaking up for fairness, points out to Enkidu how much he has gained in his new life of luxury with Gilgamesh for a friend, and Enkidu then balances the harlot’s curse with a long blessing. But, reconciled or not, Enkidu is doomed and dies.’ (Jacobsen, p. 202) The ‘natural’ man Enkidu would have had no lasting achievements -- the noble savage is doomed to die in anonymity.

Both the ruler god and personal god models satisfy some of the longings in this regard -- they help the individual (either through the collective community, family survival or through personal achievements) to hope for immortality through works, family, people, culture. The struggle for immortality is in many ways seen as a personal quest, and ends in being personally related to the community, ironically dependent upon the community, for if the only immortality available to humanity is in collective memory and through achievements, the community must survive for the memory and achievements to survive with meaning. The achievements such as walls of Uruk speak to both the ruler god and personal god metaphors: the ruler god metaphor, for this is an achievement which preserves order in the chaos, gives protection and security, helps solidify community identity and safety; the personal god metaphor also works here, because it is an example of a particular achievement of a particular person (in this case, Gilgamesh), and the personal gods of Gilgamesh will keep the achievement, and thus the name and fame, of Gilgamesh in tact. The preservation of the family name over time is more in concert with the personal god metaphor -- Gilgamesh’s name will remain strong in his family, and his family will remain strong in the community, by the assistance of their personal gods.

For the purposes of ‘immortality’, it is difficult to discern if one metaphor works better than another. As the larger community or society fails, the family or personal gods likewise may not survive. Would the ‘personal god’ of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob have survived had that same god not become also the ‘ruler god’ of a nation that preserved an identity in the face of other nations, in turn to become once more a ‘personal god’ of the family of Abraham as that now extended brotherhood became a worldwide diaspora?


Bibliography

Armstrong, James A. ‘Mesopotamia: The Rise of Urban Culture’ in The Oxford Companion to Archaeology, Brian M. Fagan, ed. 1996. (New York: Oxford Univ. Press)

Gordon, Cyrus H. & Rendsburg, Gary A. 1997. The Bible and the Ancient Near East. (New York: W.W. Norton & Co.)

Jacobsen, Thorkild. 1976. The Treasures of Darkness. (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press)

Sandars, N.K. 1972. The Epic of Gilgamesh. (London: Penguin Books)

Wood, Michael. 1994. Legacy: The Search for Ancient Cultures. (Toronto: Sterling Publishing)