Epic Of Gilgamesh

Every human will share at least two experiences. Birth and Death. These central events get a lot of literary airtime, and rightfully so, they are important events. However, they are the bookends to the human experience, and what makes a human a person is every other event stacked between them. As a salute to these medial events, literary genres that focus on the development of the individual, like the Bildungsroman, have developed. Some of the most influential literature that humanity has access to, such as The Epic of Gilgamesh, follow the guidelines of a Bildungsroman. Despite not being in novel format, The Epic of Gilgamesh still tells the story of moral maturity. Our protagonist, once a tyrannical adventurer, learns how to be a good ruler

while coming to a greater spiritual understanding of life and death. His journey takes him from the boy-like tyrant, who, while physically grown, lived only to serve his own desires, to the wise king that returns from the underworld. To simplify things, Gilgamesh grows up. Gilgamesh’s newfound maturity is exemplified in the change of his views, particularly those on his adventuring and his city, Uruk; and these changes are best displayed through repetition within the opening and closing lines of the epic.

The main source of plot movement in The Epic of Gilgamesh is Gilgamesh’s drive for adventure. However, it becomes apparent with the progression of the story that Gilgamesh derives less and less pleasure from his journeys. The reader is even given the sense that Gilgamesh, despite having successfully made a name for himself by “[[learn]ing] of everything the sum of wisdom,” (I. 5, p.1), is disappointed by the ultimate result of his adventuring. Evidence of this is found in the speed of travel and amount of description on the journey to and from the underworld. Gilgamesh’s trip to the underworld to find immortality takes a whole tablet and is filled with many obstacles, but the return journey seems to only take two days and is dedicated only two meagerly lines (XI. 319-320, p. ). The quick and unenthusiastic trip home suggests that Gilgamesh is at the very least unsettled, if not outright disappointed, with the result of his long journey. Gilgamesh’s lack of interest in the accomplishment of his original goals (the quest for glory and power) also proposes

that he has grown to value other, possibly more important, things such as his mortality. This reevaluation of motivation is a signal of Gilgamesh’s new maturity. The journey home to Uruk also echoes the format of earlier travels in a way that proposes that Gilgamesh’s taste for adventure has somewhat dimmed. The original text from tablet IV reads: “[At twenty] leagues they broke bread, [at] thirty leagues they pitched camp [fifty] leagues they travelled in the course of a day,” (IV. 1-3, p. ). The ending lines both utilize and break this pattern, reading: “At twenty leagues they broke bread, at thirty leagues they stopped for the night,” (XI. 319-320, p. ). The use of this repetition sets up the return to Uruk as a backtrack, an undoing of what was just done, and this further emphasizes Gilgamesh’s feeling of fruitlessness that has already been established when he fails to triumph over his mortality. In addition, the change from using “pitched camp” to “stopped for the night” suggests to the reader a feeling of finality within the last few lines. The repetition in the epic helps the reader identify the subtle changes in the text that point to the important growth in Gilgamesh’s character, like his growing distaste for adventure and more mature values.
While Uruk itself never physically changes in Gilgamesh’s absence, it is as if he returns to a completely new and different city.

The king’s viewpoint of the city has developed and matured so as Gilgamesh comes home, he finds the unchanged Uruk born again in his eyes. The city, magnificent in both size and architecture, once an extension and a declaration of Gilgamesh’s kingly power is now a separate entity worthy of his pride and respect. This is displayed in the text primarily by a change in speaker. Uruk’s description in the beginning of the epic is in the voice of an unknown and semi-omniscient narrator, but by the ending lines Gilgamesh himself repeats the city’s description to Ur-shanabi the boatman. The reader can almost hear the pride in his words, “O Ur-shanabi, climb Uruk's wall and walk back and forth! Survey its foundations, examine the brickwork! Were its bricks not fired in an oven? Did the Seven Sages not lay its foundations?” (XI. 323-326, p. ). Furthermore, in the beginning of the epic Gilgamesh is credited with the creation of Uruk, “He built the rampart of Uruk-the-Sheepfold, of holy Eanna, the sacred storehouse,” (I. 11-12, p. ), but as the travelers return all mention of Gilgamesh’s dominion is gone as the city has gained its own identity. At the beginning of the epic when Gilgamesh saw Uruk’s greatness as his own, pride for his city was just a way to flatter his considerable ego; but now that Gilgamesh recognizes they are separate beings he can be

proud of Uruk for its own magnificence. This train of thought trends away from tyranny and urges the reader to see Gilgamesh as more of a developed and adult character. Further supporting this idea, the dimensions of the Uruk mentioned in lines 22-24 of the first tablet are used to establish the greatness of the city and its ruler, but in the closing lines, once the city is free of its tyrant, the dimensions now serve as a calming nod back to the beginning of the epic. They tie the story together and provide the reader with a feeling of serenity. As promised within the opening lines, the city, as well as its king, have found peace. As Gilgamesh gains wisdom and maturity he can better appreciate Uruk as a city and is transformed into a better, less tyrannical, ruler.
In his quest for immortality Gilgamesh unwittingly develops out of his self absorbed adolescence. Gilgamesh refocuses his interests on adult subject matter, and grows less interested in wandering the country fighting monsters. He also gains a healthy, respectful pride for his kingdom and finds both wisdom and peace. The change in Gilgamesh, emphasized by poetic repetition, from the beginning to the end of the epic is a dramatic one. Ultimately Gilgamesh matures into a more adult character. The unfortunate consequence of this growth is that in his maturation Gilgamesh takes one step closer to the inevitable bookend of his death. This further emphasizes the futility of trying to live forever. Gilgamesh in his struggle to overcome his own mortality has only moved himself closer to death. The irony of this situation is not unique to The Epic of Gilgamesh, it follows the same struggle that everyone goes through as they grow up. This resonance is, at least in part, why many Bildungsroman-esque works such as the Epic of Gilgamesh are as popular and widely read as they are today. The Epic of Gilgamesh offers its reader many interesting insights on the human experience, commentary on not just creation and death, but also aging, and what it means to grow up.