Carving the Heaven and Earth
BY ALPER ÖZKAN (MBG/IV)
d_ozkan@ug.bilkent.edu.tr
When the sky above was not named,
And earth beneath had yet to bear a name …
In my recent quest to introduce more interesting epics to Bilkent's Cultures, Civilizations, and Ideas classes, I'll be covering a few ancient texts in the following weeks to draw some interest to them (and hopefully I'll soon find the time to make an appropriate thread on the newly opened suggestions forum on Moodle). The rationale behind this attempt is mostly that, to my knowledge, the texts covered can be rather boring - for example, the only fun parts of the Illiad involved Diomedes scaring off Ares and Achilles by building a dam out of corpses. I don't think anyone enjoyed reading Achilles sulk over nothing (and unfortunately a substantial part of the Illiad consists of Achilles sulking over nothing). At any rate, it can do no wrong to add some of the more peculiar texts into the mix, such as Journey of the West, the Poetic Edda, Mahabharata or the Epic of King Gesar (only parts of the last two can be covered, I suppose, since those are incredibly long - the last one is the longest literary piece in the world, totalling some 120 volumes in one compilation). Another good candidate is Enûma Eliš, the Old Babylonian creation myth, and this column will tell you why you should read it, hopefully without spoiling too much.
As you already know by now, Enûma Eliš is a creation myth; and it is also an example of chaoskampf - struggle of a hero or deity against a primordial force. The primordial in Enûma Eliš takes the form of a serpent of immense size, a popular motif in ancient myths, seen in the conflicts of Zeus and Typhon, Teshub and Illuyanka, Ra and Apophis, and perhaps even Thor and Jörmungandr and Susanowo and the eight-forked Orochi. As befitting its nature, it dispenses remarkably quickly with introductions, and you're only briefly told about the principal set of characters by name before the conflict begins. Take note of those, because quite a few are going to die. Anyhow, the story concerns Tiamat and Apsu, who create the gods but cannot bear their clamor, having noticed how precious the silence of primordial chaos is only after the newfangled gods have all but destroyed it. Apsu, unable to sleep and understandably angry due to the gods' constant chattering, suggests that they kill them off so that the quiet can be restored. Tiamat is opposed to the idea of destroying what she has created, but Ea, one of the gods, learns of Apsu's intentions and wants to make sure no evil can be done against his kin. He does this by slaying Apsu after luring him into sleep with a spell; and to add insult to injury, Ea also takes over Apsu's domain.
Now, killing the husband of an all-powerful force of creation is not a good idea. Tiamat responds swiftly and decisively by spawning a number of ferocious beasts (which ultimately prove themselves to be utterly worthless) and elevates one of his sons by the name Qingu to the rank of their commander, equipping him with the Tablets of Destiny, which grant their owner the authority as a king. Qingu eventually proves himself worse than worthless, since not only does he almost faint at the sight of Marduk (who was recently created back then), he also loses the Tablets to him. Anyhow, Ea and Anu try to handle Tiamat, but the very sight of her terrifies them, so they decide to send Marduk in their stead. Marduk, ever the crafty deity, makes them promise that they'll accept him as their ruler should he succeed in his efforts. As fate would have it, he does, and that's where the interesting part begins - he starts utilizing the corpse of Tiamat and his newfound powers of creation in rather unusual ways.
Well, I'm out of space! I suppose you'll need to read the text itself if you want to learn what comes next (and this was my intention all along). I'll probably be writing on epics until graduation, so if you wish for any particular text to be covered, please do notify me - my mail address is conveniently located above.