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The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria
By Morris Jastrow

CHAPTER XXV.

THE VIEWS OF LIFE AFTER DEATH.

The problem of immortality, we have seen, engaged the serious attention of the Babylonian theologians. While the solutions they had to offer could hardly have been satisfactory either to themselves or to the masses, it must not be supposed that the denial of immortality to man involved the total extinction of conscious vitality. Neither the people nor the leaders of religious thought ever faced the possibility of the total annihilation of what once was called into existence. Death was a passage to another kind of life, and the denial of immortality merely emphasized the impossibility of escaping the change in existence brought about by death. The gods alone do not pass from one phase of existence to the other. Death was mysterious, but not more mysterious than life. The Babylonian religion does not transcend the stage of belief, characteristic of primitive culture everywhere, which cannot conceive of the possibility of life coming to an absolute end. Life of some kind and in some form was always presupposed. So far as man was concerned, created by some god,—Bel, Ea, Aruru, or Ishtar, according to the various traditions that were current,[1112]—no divine fiat could wipe out what was endowed with life and the power of reproduction.

No doubt, the impossibility for the individual to conceive of himself as forever deprived of consciousness, was at the bottom of the primitive theory of the perpetuity of existence in some form. Among ancient religions, Buddhism alone frees itself from this theory and unfolds a bold doctrine of the possibility[Pg 557] of a complete annihilation. The question, however, whether the continuity of existence was a blessing or a curse was raised by many ancient nations. The Babylonians are among these who are inclined to take a gloomy view of the passage from this world to the existence in store for humanity after death, and the religious leaders were either powerless or disinclined to controvert this view.

Location and Names of the Gathering Place of the Dead.

We have already had occasion[1113] to refer to the great cave underneath the earth in which the dead were supposed to dwell, and since the earth itself was regarded as a mountain, the cave is pictured as a hollow within, or rather underneath, a mountain. A conception of this kind must have arisen among a people that was once familiar with a mountainous district. The settlers of the Euphrates Valley brought the belief with them from an earlier mountain home. The cave, moreover, points to cave-dwelling and to cave-burial as conditions that prevailed at one time among the populace, precisely as the imitation of the mountain with its caves in the case of the Egyptian pyramids, is due to similar influences. To this cave various names are assigned in the literature of the Babylonians,—some of popular origin, others reflecting scholastic views. The most common name is Aralû.[1114] We also find the term 'house of Aralû.'[1115] The etymology of the term is obscure. Aralû was pictured as a vast place, dark and gloomy. It is sometimes called a land, sometimes a great house. The approach to it was difficult. It lay in the lowest part of the mountain[Pg 558] that represented the earth, not far from the hollow underneath the mountain into which the 'Apsu' flowed. Surrounded by seven walls and strongly guarded, it was a place to which no living person could go and from which no mortal could ever depart after once entering it. To Aralû all went whose existence in this world had come to an end. Another name which specifies the relationship of Aralû to the world is Ekur or 'mountain house' of the dead. Ekur is one of the names for the earth,[1116] but is applied more particularly to that part of the mountain, also known as Kharsag[1117]-kurkura, i.e., 'the mountain of all lands' where the gods were born. Before the later speculative view was developed, according to which the gods, or most of them, have their seats in heaven,[1118] it was on this mountain also that the gods were supposed to dwell. Hence Ekur became also one of the names for temple,[1119] as the seat of a god. The dwelling of the dead was regarded as a part of the 'great mountain.' It belonged to Ekur, and the fact that it was designated simply as Ekur,[1120] is a valuable indication that the dead were brought into close association with the gods. This association is also indicated by the later use of Aralû as the designation of the mountain within which the district of the dead, Aralû proper, lay[1121]—synonymous, therefore, with Ekur. We shall see in the course of this chapter that the dead are placed even more than the living under the direct supervision of the gods.

A third name for the nether world which conveys an important addition to the views held regarding the dead, was Shuâlu. Jensen, it is true, following Bertin, questions the existence of[Pg 559] this term in Babylonian,[1122] but one does not see how the evidence of the passages in the lexicographical tablets can be set aside in the way that he proposes. Zimmern[1123] does not appear to be convinced by Jensen's arguments and regards the question as an open one. Jensen's method of disposing of Shuâlu, besides being open to serious objections, fails to account for the fact that Shuâlu is brought into association with various Babylonian terms and ideographs for the grave.[1124] This cannot be accidental. That the term has hitherto been found only in lexicographical tablets need not surprise us. Aralû, too, is of rare occurrence in the religious texts. The priests appear to avoid the names for the nether world, which were of ill omen, and preferred to describe the place by some epithet, as 'land without return,' or 'dark dwelling,' or 'great city,' and the like. Of such descriptive terms we have a large number.[1125] The stem underlying Shuâlu signifies 'to ask.' Shuâlu is a place of inquiry,[1126] and the inquiry meant is of the nature of a religious oracle. The name, accordingly, is an indication of the power accorded to the dead, to aid the living by furnishing them with answers to questions, just as the gods furnish oracles through the mediation of the priests.[1127] The Old Testament supplies us with an admirable illustration of the method of obtaining oracles through the dead. Saul, when he desires to know what the outcome of a battle is to be, seeks out a sorceress, and through her calls up the dead Samuel[1128] and puts[Pg 560] the question to him. Similarly, in the Gilgamesh epic, the hero, with the aid of Nergal, obtains a sight of Eabani[1129] and plies him with questions. The belief, therefore, in this power of the dead was common to Babylonians and Hebrews, and, no doubt, was shared by other branches of the Semites. It is natural, therefore, to find the Babylonian term Shuâlu paralleled by the Hebrew Sheôl, which is the common designation in the Old Testament for the dwelling-place of the dead.[1130] How widespread the custom was among Babylonians of inquiring 'through the living of the dead'[1131] it is difficult, in default of satisfactory evidence, to say. The growing power of the priests as mediators between men and gods must have acted as a check to such practices. The priests, as the inquirers,[1132] naturally proceeded direct to the particular god whose representative they claimed to be, and the development of an elaborate ceremonial in the temples in connection with the oracles[1133] was a further factor that must have influenced the gradual abandonment of the custom, at least as an element of the official cult. Moreover, the belief itself belongs in the domain of ancestor worship, and in historical times we find but little trace of such worship among the Babylonians. We may, therefore, associate the custom with the earliest period of the Babylonian religion. This view carries with it the antiquity of the term Shuâlu. Like Aralû and the designation Ekur, it embodies the close association of the dead with the gods. The dead not only dwell near the gods, but, like the gods, they can direct the affairs of mankind. Their answers to questions put to them have divine justification. From this view of the dead to the[Pg 561] deification of the latter is but a short step. It does not, of course, follow, from the fact that Shuâlu or Sheôl is the place of 'oracles,' that all the dead have the power to furnish oracles or can be invoked for this purpose. Correspondingly, if we find that the Babylonians did deify their dead, it does not mean that at one time all the dead were regarded as gods. Popular legends are concerned only with the heroes, with the popular favorites—not with the great masses. Eabani, who appears to Gilgamesh, is a hero, and so is Samuel. As a matter of fact, we have so far only found evidence that the ancient rulers whose memory lingered in the minds of the people were regarded by later generations as gods. So the names of Dungi and Gudea[1134] are written on tablets that belong to the centuries immediately following their reign, with the determinative that is placed before the names of gods. Festivals were celebrated in honor of these kings, sacrifices were offered to them, and their images were placed in temples.[1135] Again, Gimil-Sin (c. 2500 B.C.), of the second dynasty of Ur, appears to have been deified during his lifetime, and there was a temple in Lagash which was named after him.[1136] No doubt other kings will be found who were similarly honored. We may expect to come across a god Hammurabi some day. Gilgamesh is, as we have seen, a historical personage whose career has been so thoroughly amalgamated with nature-myths that he ends by becoming a solar deity who is invoked in incantations.

The tendency to connect legendary and mythical incidents with ancient rulers is part and parcel of this process of deification. Of an ancient king, Sargon,[1137] a story was related how he[Pg 562] was exposed in a boat, and, 'knowing neither father nor mother,' was found by a ferryman. The exploits of this king and of his successor, Naram-Sin, were incorporated in an omen text[1138]—a circumstance that again illustrates how the popular fancy connected the heroes of the past with its religious interests. Still, there is no more reason to question the historical reality of Sargon[1139] than to question the existence of Moses, because a story of his early youth is narrated in Exodus[1140] which forms a curious parallel to the Sargon legend, or to question the existence of a personage by the name of Abraham, because an Abrahamitic cult arose that continues to the present day.[1141]

This close association of the dead with the gods, upon which the deification of the dead rests, may be regarded as a legacy of the earliest period of the Babylonian religion, of the time when the intercourse between the gods and the living was also direct. The belief and rites connected with the dead constitute the most conservative elements in the religion of a people. The organized cult affects the living chiefly. So far as the latter are concerned, the rise of a priesthood to whom the religious needs of the people are entrusted, removes the living from that immediate contact with the gods which we note in the traditions of every people regarding the beginnings of mankind. The priests have no power over the dead. The dead require no 'mediator.' Hence, those who dwell in Aralû return to the early state of mankind when gods and mankind 'walked together.'

Another name that is of frequent occurrence in religious texts is Kigallu, which describes the nether world as a district[Pg 563] of great extent, situated within the earth.[1142] The chief goddess of the nether world is commonly known as the 'queen of Kigallu.' Furthermore, Irkalla, which was interpreted by the Babylonian theologians as 'great city' (or 'district'), is used both as a designation for the dwelling-place of the dead and for the consort of the queen of Aralû.[1143]

Beside the names for the nether world above discussed, a large number of epithets and metaphors are found in the religious texts. The place to which the dead go is called the 'dark dwelling,' 'the land from which there is no return,' 'house of death,' 'the great city,' 'the deep land,' and, since Nergal, the ruler of the lower world, was the patron of the city Cuthah[1144] (or Kutu), the name Cuthah was also used as a designation for Aralû. Lastly, it is interesting to note that in poetical usage the words for 'grave'[1145] were also employed to describe the nether world. The question raised by this metaphor as to the relationship between the grave and the lower world can best be discussed when we come to consider the funeral rites.[1146]

The Condition of the Dead and the Impossibility of an Escape from Aralû.

Among the remains of Babylonian literature there is a remarkable production, which furnishes us with an admirable view of the fate in store for those who have left this world.[1147] The composition is based upon a nature-myth, symbolizing the change of seasons. Ishtar, the great mother goddess, the goddess of fertility who produces vegetation, is, as we saw in the Gilgamesh[Pg 564] epic,[1148] also the one who brings about the decline of vegetation. The change in nature that takes place after the summer solstice is passed and the crops have ripened was variously interpreted. According to one, and, as it would seem, the favorite, tradition, the goddess is represented as herself destroying the solar deity, Tammuz, whom she had chosen as a consort. Repentant and weeping, Ishtar passes to the lower world in search of her youthful husband,—the symbol of the sun on its approach to the summer solstice. While Ishtar is in the lower world, all fertility ceases, in the fields, as well as in the animal kingdom. At last Ishtar reappears, and nature is joyous once more. In the Semitic Orient there are only two seasons:[1149] winter, or the rainy season, and summer, or the dry season. The myth was, therefore, a symbol of the great contrast that the two seasons presented to one another. Under various forms and numerous disguises, we find the myth among several branches of the Semites, as well as in Egypt and among Aryans who came into contact with Semitic ideas.[1150] A festival celebrated in honor of Tammuz by the Babylonians is one expression of many that the myth received. The designation of the sixth month as "the mission of Ishtar"[1151] is another. This myth was adapted by the theologians to illustrate the doctrines that were developed regarding the kind of existence led by the dead. The literary method adopted is the same that characterizes the elaboration of the Adapa myth and of the myths incorporated into the Gilgamesh epic. The story forms the point of departure, but its original purport is set aside to a greater or less degree, necessary modifications are introduced, and the moral or lesson is[Pg 565] distinctly indicated. In the case of the production that we are about to consider, the story of Ishtar's visit to the nether world is told—perhaps by a priest—to a person who seeks consolation. A dear relative has departed this life, and a survivor,—a brother, apparently,—is anxious to know whether the dead will ever come back again. The situation reminds one of Gilgamesh seeking out Eabani,[1152] with this difference: that, whereas Gilgamesh, aided by Nergal, is accorded a sight of his friend, the ordinary mourner must content himself with the answer given to him. But what Gilgamesh is not permitted to hear,[1153] the mourner is told. A description is given him of how the dead fare in Aralû.

The problem, however, is somewhat different in the story of the descent of Ishtar, from the one propounded in the twelfth tablet of the Gilgamesh epic. The question uppermost in the mind of the mourner is "Will the dead return?" The condition of the dead, which is most prominent in Gilgamesh's mind, is secondary. Both questions, however, are answered, and both answers are hopelessly sad. The nether world is joyless. Even the goddess Ishtar is badly treated upon entering it. The place is synonymous with inactivity and decay; and, though the goddess returns, the conclusion drawn is that the exception proves the inexorable rule. A goddess may escape, but mortals are doomed to everlasting sojourn, or rather imprisonment, in the realm presided over by Allatu and her consort Nergal. The tale begins with a description of the land to which Ishtar proceeds:

Ishtar, it will be observed, is here called the daughter of the moon-god, whereas in the Gilgamesh epic she appears as the daughter of Anu, the god of heaven. Both designations reflect the views developed in the schools, and prove that the story has been produced under scholastic influences. The goddess has her place in the heavens, in the planet bearing her name, and the designation of this planet as the daughter of Sin can only be understood in connection with the astronomical system, in which the moon plays so prominent a rôle[1158] and becomes the father of all the great gods (except Shamash) who constitute the lesser luminaries of the night.

Irkalla is one of the names[1159] for a god of the nether world, who is regarded as the associate of Allatu. The dwelling is elsewhere spoken of as a 'great palace' in which Allatu and her consort Nergal have their thrones. A gloomier place than the one described in these opening lines of the story cannot well be imagined. The picture reflects the popular views, and up to this point, the doctrines of the school are in agreement with the early beliefs. The description of the lower world is evidently suggested by the grave or the cave in which the dead were laid. The reference to dust and clay as the food of the dead shows that the doctrine taught in the Gilgamesh epic,[1160] of man's being formed of clay and returning[Pg 567] to clay, was the common one. This view helps us to understand how the words for grave came to be used as synonyms for the nether world. The dead being placed below the earth, they were actually conveyed within the realm of which Aralû was a part, and since it became customary for the Babylonians to bury their dead together, the cities of the dead that thus arose could easily be imagined to constitute the kingdom presided over by Allatu and Nergal. At this point, however, the speculations of the schools begin to diverge from the popular notions. We may well question whether the Babylonian populace ever attempted to make clear to itself in what form the dead continued their existence. It may be that the argument from dreams, as the basis for the primitive belief in the continuation of life, in some form, after death has been too hard pressed,[1161] but certainly the appearance of the dead in the dreams of the living must have produced a profound impression, and since the dead appeared in the same form that they had while alive, the conclusion was natural that, even though the body decayed, a vague outline remained that bore the same relation to the corpus as the shadow to the figure casting it. Two remarkable chapters in the Old Testament[1162] illustrate this popular view prevailing in Babylonia, as to the condition of the dead in the nether world. The prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel both portray the dead as having the same form that they possessed while alive. The kings have their crowns on their heads; the warriors lie with their swords girded about them. The dead Eabani, it will be recalled, appears to Gilgamesh and is at once recognized by the latter. What distinguishes the dead from the living is their inactivity. They lie in Aralû without doing anything. Everything there is in a state of neglect and decay. The dead can speak, but the Babylonians probably believed, like the[Pg 568] Hebrews, that the dead talk in whispers, or chirp like birds.[1163] The dead are weak,[1164] and, therefore, unless others attend to their needs, they suffer pangs of hunger, or must content themselves with 'dust and clay' as their food. Tender care during the last moments of life was essential to comparative well-being in Aralû.[1165] The person who goes to Aralû in sorrow and neglect will continue sorrowful and neglected.

The theologians, while accepting these views in general, passed beyond them in an important particular. They could not reconcile the evident dissolution of the body with a continuation of even a shadowy outline. When a man died, the 'spirit,' which, according to the animistic theory, lodged somewhere within the body and produced the manifestations of life, sought for refuge in some other substance. The ease with which birds moved from one place to another suggested these beings as the ones in which the dislodged spirit found a home. The Babylonian thinkers were not alone in developing the view that the dead assumed the form of birds. Parallels to the pictures of the dead in the story of Ishtar's descent may be found in Egypt and elsewhere.[1166] But what is important for our purposes is the consideration that, in Babylonia at least, the view in question is not the popular one, but the result of speculations about a problem that appeals only to those who make the attempt, at least, to clarify their ideas regarding the mystery of death. The next section of the story affords us a picture of the entrance to Aralû:

The entrance to the nether world is strongly guarded. From other sources we learn that there was a 'spy'—perhaps identical with the watchman—stationed at the portal of the lower world, who reports all happenings to the queen Allatu through Namtar, the god (or spirit) of pestilence. The watchman is to prevent the living from entering, and also the dead from escaping.

The violence of Ishtar is an interesting touch in the narrative. As a goddess, she resents any opposition to her desires. Her anxiety to enter Aralû indicates that the original form of the myth, which must have represented the descent as forced and not voluntary, has been modified by the introduction of a new factor,—the search for her dead consort, Tammuz. The character of Ishtar as the goddess of war[1167] may also have influenced this portrayal of her rage. In her violence, she threatens a conflict between the dead and the living. The former will destroy[1168] the latter, as a victorious army butchers the hostile host. The watchman endeavors to pacify the enraged Ishtar:

Allatu is grieved upon hearing the news of Ishtar's arrival, for Ishtar's disappearance from the world means death.[Pg 570]

The scene that follows embodies, again, views of the nether world as developed in the schools. Corresponding to the seven zones surrounding the earth,[1170] the nether world is pictured as enclosed by seven gates. Through these Ishtar must pass, before she is ushered into the presence of Allatu.

At the second gate, he removes the earrings of the goddess; at the third, her necklace is taken away, and, similarly, at each succeeding gate, a portion of her dress, the ornaments on her breast, her belt of precious stones, her bracelets, until, when the seventh gate is reached, the covering over her loins is removed, and she stands naked before Allatu. At each gate Ishtar asks the same question, why the watchman strips her, and the same answer is given.

The removal of one ornament after the other symbolizes, evidently, the gradual decay of vegetation, not, as has been supposed, that the dead enter Aralû naked.

Allatu calls upon her messenger, Namtar, to strike the goddess with disease in all parts of her body. The disease[Pg 571] expresses the same idea as the removal of the ornaments,—decay of strength. There follows a description of the desolation on earth during Ishtar's sojourn with Allatu. Productivity comes to a standstill.

Among mankind, likewise, fertility ceases. The gods lament the absence of Ishtar and the fate that overtook her. The astronomical conception of Ishtar as the planet Venus, at this point, is apparent. The gods complain.

As a planet, Ishtar's seat is in the heavens. The disappearance of the planet has been combined with the nature-myth of the decay of vegetation. As the evening star, Venus dips down into the west, to reappear after a long interval in the east. The astral character of Ishtar dominates the latter half of the story in its present form. It is not the goddess of love and fertility nor the goddess of war who is rescued from her prison by Ea, but the planet Ishtar. Shamash is informed of the disaster by his servant, Pap-sukal.[1174] The sun-god proceeds for aid to Sin and Ea. The latter furnishes relief. The sun enters Ea's domain every evening, and, since it is in the west that the planet sinks like the sun, the association of ideas becomes apparent which suggests Ea as the savior and the sun as the mediator.

Ea appears here again in the rôle of Creator.[1177] The name of the mysterious being created by Ea signifies 'renewal of light.' The incident, it will be seen, is wholly symbolical. A touch of mysticism has also been introduced. Sukhal-ziku is a compound of a word meaning 'to sprinkle' and another which may mean 'grotto.'[1178] Sukhal-ziku appears, therefore, to be the name for a mysterious fountain, the waters of which restore the dead to life.

Uddushu-namir having pronounced the name of the gods before Allatu, and having thus secured their aid, his request is in the nature of an order. But the request must not be interpreted literally, as though the waters were intended for him. It is for the sake of Ishtar that he desires to have the use of Sukhal-ziku. Allatu understands Uddushu-namir's speech in this sense, and is enraged at the order to yield up Ishtar.

The force of the curse lies in the closing words. Uddushu-namir is to be an outcast. He will not be permitted to enter[Pg 573] either city or house, but must remain at the wall or stop at the threshold. Properly prepared food and drink are to be denied him. He shall starve or perish miserably.

But the mission of Uddushu-namir has been accomplished. Allatu may curse as she pleases; the order of Ea must be obeyed.

Namtar obeys the order. Ishtar is led through the seven gates. At each one, the articles taken from her on her entrance are returned: at the first, the loin cloth; at the second, the bracelets and ankle rings, and so on, until she emerges in her full beauty.

The close of the story thus brings to our gaze once more Ishtar as goddess of fertility, who gradually brings vegetation, strength, and productivity back again. This curious mixture in the story of the astral Ishtar,—the creation of the astronomers,—and the popular Ishtar, is a trait which shows how the old nature-myth has been elaborated in passing through the hands of the literati. The various steps in the process can still be seen. In the original form, the goddess must have been forced into an exile to the nether world, the exile symbolizing the wintry season when fertility and productivity[1181] come to an end. Ishtar is stripped of her glory. She comes to Allatu, who grieves at her approach, but imprisons her in the 'great house,'[Pg 574] and refuses to yield her up, until forced to do so by order of the gods. A similar story must have been told of Tammuz, the sun-god, who is also the god of vegetation. The two stories were combined. Ishtar marries Tammuz, and then destroys him. The goddess produces fertility, but cannot maintain it. Tammuz goes to the nether world. Ishtar repents, bewails her loss, and goes to seek for her consort and to rescue him. In rage she advances to Allatu, threatens to smash the door and break the lock unless admitted. The story in this form must have ended in the restoration of Tammuz. The identification of Ishtar with the planet Venus introduced a new factor. The disappearance of the planet fitted in well with the original nature-myth. The combination of the Ishtar-Tammuz story with this factor resulted in the tale as we have it now. The enraged Ishtar is the one who seeks for her consort. The Ishtar who is forced to give up her ornaments is the old goddess who falls into the hands of Allatu. During her absence, production comes to a standstill; decay sets in. The Ishtar who is rescued by Ea through the mediation of the 'Renewal of Light' is the astral Ishtar, as developed by the astronomers, and, finally, the Ishtar who receives her ornaments back again and comes to the upper world, is once more the goddess of vegetation, rescued from her exile to new glory. Up to this point, Tammuz has not been mentioned in the story. In the advice, however, that is given at the conclusion of the tale to mourners, the consort of Ishtar is introduced.

The mourners are furthermore instructed to institute a formal lamentation. The Ukhâti,[1185] the priestesses of Ishtar, are to[Pg 575] sing dirges; flutes are to accompany the song. The thought intended, apparently, to be conveyed is that if Allatu will not give up the dead, the surviving relatives should endeavor to secure the good grace of Ishtar and Tammuz, who succeeded in subduing Allatu.

The closing lines are rendered obscure by a reference to the goddess Belili, who appears to be the sister of Tammuz. The reference assumes the knowledge of a tale in which the goddess was represented as breaking a costly vessel adorned with precious stones, in sign of her grief for the lost Tammuz. Suitable mourning for Tammuz, therefore, will secure the sympathy of Belili also. The story thus ends with a warning to all who mourn for their dead to remember Tammuz, to observe the rites set aside for the festival celebrated in his honor.

Bearing in mind the tentative character of any interpretation for the closing lines, we may mention Jeremias'[1186] supposition that it is a deceased sister who addresses her sorrowing brother at the end of the story.

The lines impress one as snatches from a dirge, sung or recited in memory of the dead, and introduced here as an appropriate illustration of the conclusion to be drawn from the tale. At all events, the consolation that the mourner receives lies in this thought,—the dead can hear the lamentation. The survivors are called upon not to forget the dead. When the festival of Tammuz comes, let them combine with the weeping for the god, a dirge in memory of the dead. Let them pray to Ishtar and Tammuz. If remembered by the[Pg 576] living, the dead will at least enjoy the offerings made to them, regain, as it were, a temporary sense of life; but more cannot with certainty be hoped for.

The outlook for the dead, it will be seen, is not hopeful. Their condition is at best a tolerable one. What we may glean from other sources but confirms the general impression, conveyed by the opening and closing lines of the Ishtar story, or makes the picture a still gloomier one. The day of death is a day of sorrow, 'the day without mercy.' The word for corpse conveys the idea that things have 'come to an end.' Whenever death is referred to in the literature, it is described as an unmitigated evil. A dirge introduced into an impressive hymn to Nergal[1188] laments the fate of him who

We must not be misled by an epithet bestowed upon several gods, Marduk, Ninib, and Gula, of 'the restorer of the dead to life,' into the belief that the dead could be brought back from Aralû. These epithets appear chiefly in incantations and hymns addressed to the gods for some specific purpose, such as deliverance of a sufferer from disease. The gods are appealed to against the demons, whose grasp means death. Ninib and Gula are viewed as gods of healing.[1191] To be cured through their aid was to be snatched from the jaws of death. Moreover, Ninib and Marduk, as solar deities, symbolize the sun of spring, which brings about the revivification of nature.[Pg 577] The return of vegetation suggests the thought that Ninib and Marduk have filled with new life what appeared to be dead. The trees that seemed entirely dead blossom forth; the bare earth is covered with verdure. Similarly, the suffering individual stricken with disease could be awakened to new life. It is this 'restoration' which lies in the power of the gods, but once a man has been carried off to Aralû, no god can bring him back to this earth.

An apparent exception to the rule, according to which all mankind eventually comes to Aralû, is formed by Parnapishtim and his wife, who dwell in a place vaguely described as 'distant,' situated at the 'confluence of the streams.' The place, as was pointed out in a previous chapter,[1192] lies in the vicinity of the Persian Gulf, and, since it can only be reached by water, the natural conclusion is that it is an island. The temptation is strong to compare the dwelling of Parnapishtim with the belief found among the Greeks and other nations, of 'an island of the blessed.' This has been done by Jeremias[1193] and others. However, we must bear in mind that the point in Parnapishtim's narrative is that he and his wife do not die. They are removed to the distant place by the gods and continue to live there. Again, we do not learn of any other person who inhabits this island. If to these considerations we add, that the name Parnapishtim signifies 'offspring of life,' that his wife's name is not mentioned, that we are not told what becomes of his family and servants, who are also saved from the deluge, it is evident that the incident of Parnapishtim's escape is an allegory, introduced into the story as a dramatic means of teaching the doctrine which we have seen dominates the tale,—that man, ordinarily, cannot secure immortal life.

If there is any connection between the island where Parnapishtim dwells and the Greek conception of 'an island of the blessed,' it is a trace of foreign influence in Babylonian mythology.[Pg 578] There is nothing to show that among the Babylonians, either among the populace or in the schools, a belief arose in a 'paradise' whither privileged persons were transported after death, nor is any distinction made by them between the good and the bad, so far as the future habitation is concerned. All mankind, kings and subjects, virtuous and wicked, go to Aralû. Those who have obtained the good will of the gods receive their reward in this world, by a life of happiness and of good health. The gods can ward off disease, or, rather, since disease (as all ills and misfortunes) is a punishment sent by some god or demon, forgiveness can be secured, the proof of which will consist in the restoration of the sick to health, but the moment that death ensues the control of the gods ends. To the Babylonians, the words of the Psalmist,[1194] "who praises thee, O God, in Sheol?" came home with terrible force. They expressed, admirably, the Babylonian view of the limitations of divine power. The dead do not praise the gods, simply because it would be useless. The concern of the gods is with the living.

We are fortunate in possessing a pictorial representation of the nether world that confirms the view to be derived from a study of the religious literature. A number of years ago, Clermont-Ganneau directed attention to a remarkable bronze tablet which was purchased at Hamath in northern Syria.[1195] The art was clearly Babylonian, and there was no reason to question the genuineness of the production. Quite recently a duplicate has been found at Zurghul, in Babylonia,[1196] so that all suspicions are removed. The bronze tablet contains on the one side, the figure of a monster with a lion-like face and body, but provided with huge wings. Standing erect, his head rises above the tablet, his fore legs rest on the edge, and the demon is thus[Pg 579] represented in the attitude of looking over to the other side of the tablet. At the side of the monster, are two heads of hideous appearance.

The illustrations on the reverse are devoted to a portrayal of a funeral ceremony, and of the general aspects of the nether world. There are five distinct divisions,[1197] marked off from one another by four heavy lines drawn across the tablet. In the first division appear the symbols of the chief gods of the Assyrian pantheon, Marduk, Nabu, Sin, Ishtar, Shamash, Ramman, etc.[1198] These gods, as inhabiting the heaven, are placed at the head of the tablet. Next come seven evil spirits figured as various animals,[1199] who, as inferior to the gods, and perhaps also as messengers of the latter, are assigned a place midway between heaven and earth. In the third section, there is pictured the funeral ceremony proper. A dead body lies on a couch. Two rather strange figures, but apparently priests, have taken up a position, one at each end of the funeral bier, performing some rite of purification. One of the priests has a robe of fish scales and is bearded; the other is smooth-faced and clothed in a long garment. Censers are placed near the priests. The latter appear at the same time to be protecting the body against two demons whose threatening gestures suggest that they are endeavoring to secure possession of the dead.[1200] These demons may be the special messengers of the gods of the nether world, who have brought about the death of their victim. Below this scene, we come to a view of the nether world. The division is much larger than any of the others. Two hideous figures dominate the scene, both of fantastic[Pg 580] shape, and evidently so portrayed as to suggest the horror of the nether world. One of these figures[1201] stands erect in a menacing attitude; the other is resting in a kneeling position on a horse.[1202] The second figure is a representation of the chief goddess of the nether world—Allatu. The demon at her side would then be the special messenger of this goddess, Namtar. The goddess has her two arms extended, in the act of strangling a serpent. The act symbolizes her strength. Her face is that of a lioness, and she is suckling two young lions at her breasts. If it be recalled that Nergal, the chief god of the lower world, is also pictured as a lion,[1203] it seems but natural to conclude that the monster covering the one side of the tablet is none other than the consort of Allatu, the heads on either side of him representing his attendants. At the left side of Allatu are a series of objects,—a jar, bowl, an arrowhead (?), a trident, which, as being buried with the dead, are symbols of the grave. The goddess and the demon at her side direct their gaze towards these objects.

The nether world reaches down to the Apsu,—the 'deep' that flows underneath the earth. This is indicated in the design by placing the horse, on which the goddess rests, in a bark. The bark, again, is of fantastic shape, the one end terminating in the head of a serpent, the other in that of some other animal,—perhaps a bull. The bark reaches into the fifth division,[1204] which is a picture of flowing water with fish swimming from the left to the right, as an indication of the direction in which the water flows. At the verge of the water stand two trees.[1205] What these trees symbolize is not known, and there are other details in the third and fourth sections that still escape us. For our purposes, it is sufficient to note: (a) that the sections represent in a general way the divisions of the universe, the heavens, the[Pg 581] atmosphere, the earth, the nether world, and the deep;[1206] (b) that the nether world is in the interior of the earth, reaching down to Apsu; and (c) that this interior is pictured as a place full of horrors, and is presided over by gods and demons of great strength and fierceness.

Such being the view of the nether world, it is natural that the living should regard with dread, not only the place but also its inhabitants. The gloom that surrounded the latter reacted on their disposition. In general, the dead were not favorably disposed towards the living, and they were inclined to use what power they had to work evil rather than for good. In this respect they resembled the demons, and it is noticeable that an important class of demons was known by the name ekimmu, which is one of the common terms for the shades of the dead. This fear of the dead, which is the natural corollary to the reverence felt for them, enters as an important factor in the honors paid by the living to the memory of the deceased. To provide the dead with food and drink, to recall their virtues in dirges, to bring sacrifices in their honor,—such rites were practised, as much from a desire to secure the favor of the dead and to ward off their evil designs as from motives of piety, which, of course, were not absent. The dead who was not properly cared for by his surviving relatives would take his revenge upon the living by plaguing them as only a demon could. The demons that infested graveyards were in some way identified with the 'spirits,' or perhaps messengers, of the dead, who, in their anger towards the living, lay in wait for an attack upon those against whom they had a grudge.[Pg 582]

The Pantheon of Aralû.

We have seen how the mystery coupled with death led to the view which brought the dead into more direct relationship with the gods. Closely allied with this view is the power ascribed to the dead to work evil or good and, like the gods, to furnish oracles. This power once acknowledged, it was but a short step to the deification of the dead, or, rather, of such personalities who in life exercised authority, by virtue of their position or innate qualities. On the other hand, the gloominess of the nether world, the sad condition of its inhabitants, the impossibility of an escape or a return to this world, necessarily suggested to the Babylonians that the gods worshipped by the living had no control over the fate of the dead. The gods, to be sure, were at times wrathful, but, on the whole, they were well disposed towards mankind. When angry, they could be pacified, and it was impossible to believe that they should deliberately consign their creatures to such a sad lot as awaited those who went down to Aralû. The gods who ruled the dead must be different from those who directed the fate of the living. A special pantheon for the nether world was thus developed. Such deities as Marduk, Ea, Nabu, Shamash, or Ashur, who acted, each in his way, as protectors of mankind, could find no place in this pantheon; but a god like Nergal, who symbolized the midday sun, and the sun of the summer solstice that brought misery and fever to the inhabitants of the Euphrates Valley; Nergal, who became the god of violent destruction in general, and, more particularly, the god of war, the god whose emblem was the lion, who was cruel and of forbidding aspect,—such a god was admirably adapted to rule those who could only look forward to a miserable imprisonment in a region filled with horror. Nergal, therefore, became the chief god of the pantheon of the lower world.[Pg 583]

In the religious texts, the cruel aspects of this god are almost exclusively emphasized. He is the one god towards whom no love is felt, for he is a god without mercy. The fierce aspects of the solar Nergal are accentuated in Nergal, the chief of the pantheon of Aralû. He becomes even more ferocious than he already was, as a god of war. His battle is with all mankind. He is greedy for victims to be forever enclosed in his great and gloomy domain. Destruction is his one and single object; nothing can withstand his attack. Armed with a sword, his favorite time for stalking about is at night, when he strikes his unerring blows. Horrible demons of pestilence and of all manner of disease constitute his train, who are sent out by him on missions of death. The favorite titles by which he is known appear in a hymn[1207] addressed to him, as god of the lower world. He is invoked as the

Another hymn[1209] describes him as a

While references to the local character of the god as patron of Cuthah survive, the name Cuthah itself becomes synonymous with the nether world. The old solar deity is completely overshadowed by the terrible ruler of the lower world. It is due to this that the real consort of the local Nergal, the goddess Laz, is rarely mentioned in the religious literature. The priests, when they spoke of Nergal, had in mind always the companionship with Allatu. But the association of ideas which thus led to assigning[Pg 584] a god who was originally a solar deity, a place in the lower world bears the impress of the schools. The popular development of Nergal ceased, when he became the local god of Cuthah. It is only as an outgrowth of the systematized pantheon that we can understand the transformation involved in making of a local deity, the head of a pantheon that is itself an outcome of the later phases assumed by the religion.

The problem suggested by this transformation was recognized by the theologians. A curious tale was found among the El-Amarna tablets which endeavors to account for Nergal's presence in the world of the dead. Unfortunately, the tablet on which the story is inscribed is so badly mutilated that we can hardly gather more than the general outlines.[1210] A conflict has arisen between the gods on high and a goddess who has her seat in the lower world. This goddess is none other than Allatu. She is described as Eresh-Kigal,[1211] i.e., queen of Kigal or of the nether world. The scene reminds us of the contest between the gods and Tiâmat, as embodied in the creation epic. The gods choose Nergal as their leader. Assisted by fourteen companions, whose names—'fever,' 'fiery heart,' 'lightning sender'—remind us again of the eleven monsters that constitute Tiâmat's assistants,[1212] Nergal proceeds to the lower world, and knocks at the gate for admission. Namtar, the plague-demon, acts as the messenger. He announces the arrival of Nergal to Allatu. The latter is obliged to admit Nergal, just as in the story of Ishtar's descent, she is forced to receive Ishtar. Fourteen gates of the lower world are mentioned. At each one, Nergal stations one of his companions and passes on to the house of[Pg 585] Allatu. He seizes the goddess, drags her from her throne, and is about to kill her when she appeals for mercy. She breaks out in tears, offers herself in marriage if Nergal will spare her.

Nergal accepts the condition, kisses Allatu, and wipes away her tears.

One cannot resist the conclusion that the tale is, as already suggested, an imitation of the Marduk-Tiâmat episode. Allatu is a female like Tiâmat. Nergal acts for the gods just as Marduk does. The attendants of Nergal are suggested by the monsters accompanying Tiâmat; the tables of wisdom which Nergal receives, correspond to the tablets of fate which Marduk snatches from Kingu.[1213] But while the conflict between Marduk and Tiâmat is an intelligible nature-myth, symbolizing the annual rainstorms that sweep over Babylonia, there is no such interpretation possible in the contest between Nergal and Allatu. The story is not even a glorification of a local deity, for Nergal appears solely in the rôle of a solar deity. The attendants given to him—heat, lightning, and disease—are the popular traits in the story; but with the chief characters in the old nature-myth changed,—Marduk or the original Bel replaced by Nergal, and Tiâmat by Allatu,—the story loses its popular aspect, and becomes a medium for illustrating a doctrine of the schools. If this view of the tale be correct, we would incidentally have a proof (for which there is other evidence) that as early as the fifteenth century, the Marduk-Tiâmat story had already received a definite shape. But the most valuable conclusion to be drawn from the Nergal-Allatu tale is that, according to the popular conceptions, the real and older head of the pantheon of the lower world was a goddess, and not a god.

[Pg 586] Allatu takes precedence of Nergal. In the story of Ishtar's descent to the lower world, a trace of the earlier view survives. Allatu is introduced as the ruler of the lower world. Nergal plays no part. Viewed in this light, the design of the tale we have just discussed becomes still more evident. It was inconsistent with the prominence assigned to male deities in the systematized pantheon, that the chief deity of the lower world should be a female. Allatu could not be set aside, for the belief in her power was too strongly imbedded in the popular mind; but a male consort could be given her who might rule with her. Another factor that may have entered into play in the adaptation of the Marduk-Tiâmat story to Nergal and Allatu, and that gave to the adaptation more plausibility, was the disappearance of the summer sun after he had done his work. Nergal did not exert his power during the whole year, and even as the sun of midday, he was not in control all day. When he disappeared, there was only one place to which he could go.

As of Tarmmuz and of other solar deities,[1214] it was probably related of Nergal, also, that he was carried to the lower world. This popular basis for the presence of Nergal in the lower world may have served as a point of departure for the scholastic development of Nergal. However, the tale of Nergal and Allatu goes far beyond the length of popular belief in making Nergal conquer Allatu, and force himself, in a measure, into her place. Before Nergal appears on the scene, a god, Ninazu, was regarded as the consort of Allatu.[1215]

The conception which gives the Babylonian Hades a queen as ruler is of popular origin, in contrast to the scholastic aspect of Nergal as the later king of the lower region. Jensen is of the opinion that the feminine gender of the word for earth in Babylonian superinduced the belief that the ruler of the kingdom[Pg 587] situated within the earth was a woman. Allatu would, according to this view, be a personification of the 'earth.' But a factor that also enters into play is the notion of productivity and fertility which gave rise to the conception of the great mother-goddess, Ishtar.[1216] Allatu is correlated to Ishtar. From the earth comes vegetation. The origin of mankind, too, is traced to the earth, and to the earth mankind ultimately returns.[1217] Hence, the receiver of life is a goddess equally with the giver of life, and indeed, Ishtar and Allatu are but the two aspects of one and the same phenomenon.[1218] Allatu signifies 'strength.' The name is related to the Arabic Allah and the Hebrew Eloah and Elohim. The same meaning—strength, power, rule—attaches to many of the names of the gods of the Semites: Adôn, Etana, Baal, El, and the like.[1219] It is interesting to note that the chief goddess of Arabia is Allat[1220]—a name identical with our Allatu.

The bronze relief above described furnished us with a picture of this queen of the lower world. The gloom enveloping the region controls this picture. Allatu is of as forbidding an aspect as Tiâmat. She is warlike and ferocious. When enraged, her anger knows no bounds. Her chief attendants are the terrible Namtar and a scribe—also a female—known as Belit-seri. Of these two personages, Namtar, the personification of disease, is a popular conception, whereas the addition of a scribe points again to the influence of the schools. Marduk, the chief god of the living, has a scribe who writes down, at the god's dictation, the fate decreed for individuals. Corresponding to this, the ruler of the lower world has a scribe who writes down on the tablets of wisdom the decrees of the goddess,[Pg 588] and, at a later stage, the decrees of Nergal as well. Belit-seri, whose name signifies 'mistress of the field,' was originally a goddess of vegetation, some local deity who has been reduced to the rank of an attendant upon a greater one; and it is significant that almost all the members of the nether-world pantheon are in some way connected with vegetation.

Tammuz, of whose position in this pantheon we have already had occasion to speak, is the god of spring vegetation. Another solar deity, Nin-gishzida,[1221] who is associated in the Adapa legend with Tammuz, is the deity who presides over the growth of trees. En-meshara, who also belongs to the court of Nergal and Allatu, appears to represent vegetation in general. To these may be added Girra (or Gira), who originally, as it would appear, a god of vegetation, is eventually identified with Dibbarra,[1222] Gil, whom Jensen[1223] regards as 'the god of foliage,' and Belili, the sister of Tammuz.[1224] Of this group of deities, Tammuz and Nin-gishzida are the most important. In the Adapa legend, it will be recalled, they are stationed as guardians in heaven. As solar deities, they properly belong there. Like Nergal, they have been transferred to the nether world; and in the case of all three, the process that led to the change appears to have been the same. The trees blossom, bear fruit, and then decay; the fields are clothed in glory, and then shorn of their strength. The decay of vegetation was popularly figured as due to the weakness[1225] of the god who produced the fertility. Tammuz has been deceived by Ishtar; Nin-gishzida has been carried off to the lower world. In the month of Tebet,—the tenth month,—there was celebrated a festival of mourning for the lost En-meshara. It is the time of the winter solstice. A similar fate must have overtaken Belit-seri,[Pg 589] Girra, and Gil. For a time, at least, they are hidden in the realm of Allatu. Of all these deities, stories were no doubt current that formed so many variations of one and the same theme, symbolizing their disappearance and the hoped-for return, the same story that we encounter in the myth of Venus and Adonis, in the myth of Osiris, and, in some guise or other, among many other nations of the ancient world. Of Girra, it may be well to remember that he is viewed merely as a form of Nergal in the later texts. Belili, it will be recalled, is associated with Tammuz in the story of Ishtar's journey.[1226] She is not, however, the consort of the god, but his sister. The antiquity of her cult follows from the occurrence of her name in the list of gods antecedent to Anu,[1227] and where Alala is entered as her consort. Whatever else the relationship of 'sister' to Tammuz means, it certainly indicates that Belili belongs to the deities of vegetation, and it may be that she will turn out to be identical with Belit-seri, which is merely the designation of some goddess, and not a real name.[1228] One is inclined also to suspect some, albeit remote, connection between Alala, the consort of Belili, and the Alallu bird who is spoken of in the Gilgamesh epic as having been deprived of her pinions by Ishtar.[1229] In the tale, Tammuz, the Alallu bird, a lion, and a horse are successively introduced as those once loved and then deceived by Ishtar. The lion is, as has been several times indicated, the symbol of Nergal; the horse appears in the Hades relief above described as the animal upon which Allatu is seated, and it seems legitimate, therefore, to seek for Alallu also in the[Pg 590] nether world. While it may be that a long process intervened, before such a species of symbolization was brought about as the representation of an ancient deity in the guise of a bird, still, if it will be recalled that Zu is a deity, pictured as a bird,[1230] there is every reason to interpret the bird Alallu merely as the symbol of some deity, just as the lion is certainly such a symbol.

Jensen would add Etana to the list of gods of vegetation who form part of Allatu's court. While the etymology he proposes for the name is not acceptable, there is no doubt that to Etana, like Gilgamesh, the character of a solar deity has been imparted. His presence in the nether world is due to the story of his flight with the eagle and the fall.[1231] If he falls from heaven, he naturally enters the realm of Allatu, and it is possible that the story in its original form was suggested by a myth illustrating the change of seasons. The question, however, must for the present remain an open one.

A god associated with the nether world who again appears to be a solar deity is Nin-azu. His name points to his being 'the god of healing.' A text states[1232] that Allatu is his consort. Such a relationship to the chief goddess of the nether world may be regarded as a survival of the period when Nergal had not yet been assigned to this place. The introduction of a distinctly beneficent god into the pantheon of the lower world, and as second in rank, shows also that the gloomy conception of the lower world was one that developed gradually. Tammuz, Nin-gishzida, and the like are held enthralled by Allatu, and remain in the nether world against their will; but if Allatu chooses as her consort a 'god of healing,' she must have been viewed as a goddess who could at times, at least, be actuated by kindly motives. The phase of the sun symbolized by Nin-azu is, as in the case of Tammuz and others, the sun of the springtime and of the morning. If it be recalled that[Pg 591] Gula, the great goddess of healing, is the consort of Ninib,[1233] it will be clear that Nin-azu must be closely related to Ninib—and is, indeed, identified with the latter.[1234] With Nergal in control, Nin-azu had to yield his privilege to be the husband of Allatu. The substitute of the fierce sun of the summer solstice for the sun of spring is a most interesting symptom of the direction taken by the Babylonian beliefs, regarding the fate of the dead. It may be that in the earlier period, when more optimistic views of Aralû were current, Gula, who is called the one 'who restores the dead to life,' may have had a place in the pantheon of the lower world; not that the Babylonians at any time believed in the return of the dead, but because the living could be saved from the clutches of death. Ninib and Gula, as gods of spring, furnished the spectacle of such a miracle in the return of vegetation. In this sense, we have seen that Marduk, the god of spring, was also addressed as 'the restorer to life.' But while the revivification of nature controls the conception of gods of healing, like Nin-azu, Ninib, and Gula, the extension of the idea would lead, naturally, to the association of these gods with the ruler of the nether world, at a time when it was still believed that this ruler could be moved by appeals to loosen her hold upon those whom she was about to drag to her kingdom. But it is important always to bear in mind that beyond this apparent restoration of the dead to life, the Babylonians at no time went.

In the Ishtar story[1235] a god Irkalla is introduced. Jeremias[1236] takes this as one of the names of Allatu, but this is unlikely.[1237] From other sources[1238] we know that Irkalla is one of the names[Pg 592] of the nether world. It is in some way connected with Urugal,[1239] i.e., 'great city,' which is also a common designation for the dwelling-place of the dead. Hence, Irkalla is an epithet describing a deity as 'the god of the great city.' The Babylonian scholars, who were fond of plays upon words, brought the name Nergal, as though compounded of Ne-uru-gal (i.e., 'ruler of the great city'), into connection with Uru-gal, and thus identified Irkalla with Nergal. But, originally, some other god must have been meant, since Allatu appears as the sole ruler of the lower world in the Ishtar story, unless, indeed, we are to assume that the name has been introduced at a late period as a concession to Nergal. It is more plausible that a god like Nin-azu was understood under 'the god of the great city.' Besides these gods, there is another series of beings who belong to Allatu's court,—the demons who are directly responsible for death in the world. Of this series, Namtar is the chief and the representative. As the one who gathers in the living to the dark abode, it is natural that he should be pictured as guardian at the gates of the great palace of Allatu. But by the side of Namtar stand a large number of demons, whose task is similar to that of their chief. A text[1240] calls the entire group of demons,—the demon of wasting disease, the demon of fever, the demon of erysipelas,[1241] and the like,—'the offspring of Aralû,' 'the sons and messengers of Namtar, the bearers of destruction for Allatu.' These demons are sent out from Aralû to plague the living, but once they have brought their victims to Aralû, their task is done. They do not trouble the dead. The latter stand, as we have seen, under the direct control of the gods.[1242]

The story of Ishtar's descent to the lower world[1243] shows us that the group of spirits known as the Anunnaki, also, belong to[Pg 593] the court of Nergal and Allatu. Ramman-nirari I. already designates the Anunnaki as belonging to the earth,[1244] though it is an indication of the vagueness of the notions connected with the group that in hymns, both the Anunnaki and the Igigi are designated as offspring of Anu,—the god of heaven.[1245] They are not exclusively at the service of Nergal and Allatu. Bel, Ninib, Marduk, and Ishtar also send them out on missions. Evidently, the fact that their chief function was to injure mankind suggested the doctrine which gave them a place in the lower world with the demons. The distinction between Anunnaki and the Igigi is not sharply maintained in the religious literature. Though Ramman-nirari places the Igigi in heaven, it is not impossible that a later view transferred them, like the Anunnaki, to the lower world. There were, of course, some misfortunes that were sent against mankind from on high—Ramman was a god who required such messengers as the Igigi, and besides the Igigi, there were other spirits sent out from above. But, as in the course of time the general doctrine was developed which made the gods, on the whole, favorably inclined towards man, while the evil was ascribed to the demons[1246]—as occupying the lower rank of divine beings—we note the tendency also to ascribe the ills that humanity is heir to, to the forces that dwell under the earth,—to Nergal and Allatu and to those who did their bidding. Probably, Lakhmu and Lakhamu were also regarded, at least by the theologians, as part of Allatu's court, just as Alala and Belili[1247] were so regarded.

The confusion resulting from the double position of Nergal in the religious literature, as the deity of the summer solstice and as the chief of the nether-world pantheon, raises a doubt whether some gods who are closely associated with Nergal are to be placed on high with the gods or have their seats below with Nergal. Among these, three require mention here: Dibbarra, Gibil, and Ishum. Of these, the first two[Pg 594] are directly identified with Nergal in the systematized pantheon[1248], while Ishum is closely associated with Nergal, or appears as the attendant of Dibbarra[1249]. These gods, symbolizing violent destruction through war and fire, are evidently related to the Nergal of the upper world,—to Nergal, the solar deity; but in the later stages of the religion, the Nergal of the lower world almost completely sets aside the earlier conception. It is, therefore, likely that deities who stand so close to the terrible god as those under consideration, were also regarded as having a position near his throne in the lower world.

The pantheon of Aralû thus assumes considerable dimensions. At the same time, we observe the same tendency towards concentration of power in this pantheon as we have seen was the case in the pantheon of the upper world[1250]. As in Babylonia there are practically only a few gods,—Marduk, Nabu, Ishtar, Shamash, and Sin,—who exercised considerable control; and, as in Assyria we find this tendency still more accentuated in the supreme rank accorded to Ashur, so in the lower world Nergal and Allatu are the real rulers. The other gods, and, naturally, also the demons, occupy inferior positions. As messengers, guardians, spies, or attendants, they group themselves around the throne of the two rulers. A noticeable feature, however, in the pantheon of the lower world consists in the high position held by the consort of the head of the pantheon. Allatu does not sink to the insignificant rank of being merely a pale reflection of Nergal, as do the consorts of Marduk, Shamash, Ashur, and the like[1251]. As a trace of the earlier supreme control exercised by her, she continues[Pg 595] to reign with her husband. In the popular mind, indeed, despite the influence of theological doctrines, Allatu continues to be more prominent than Nergal. Nergal is obliged to abide by the compact he made with Allatu. He rules with her, but not over her. The theology of the schools did not venture to set Allatu aside altogether; and this limitation in the development of the doctrine that elsewhere gave the male principle the supremacy over the female, may be taken as a valuable indication of the counter-influence, exercised by deeply rooted popular beliefs, over the theoretical elaboration of the religion at the hands of the religious guides.

The Tombs and the Burial Customs.

Our knowledge of the customs observed by the Babylonians and Assyrians in disposing of their dead leaves much to be desired. Most of the graves discovered in the ruins of Babylonian cities belong to the Persian or to the Greek period. In some cases,[1252] where we have reason to believe that older graves have been found, it is almost impossible to estimate their age. Recently, the expedition of the University of Pennsylvania to Nippur has unearthed remains that appear to belong to an older period, though nothing can be dated with any degree of certainty earlier than 2500 B.C.[1253] Still, with proper caution, even the material belonging to a later period may be used for the older periods. Burial customs, as has already been emphasized, constitute the most conservative elements in a religion. Such rites are much less liable to change than the cult of the gods. Foreign invasion would not affect the funeral rites, even where other religious customs are altered. Even so violent a change as that produced by the introduction of Mohammedanism into Mesopotamia has not removed traces of the[Pg 596] old Babylonian religion. Dr. Peters has shown that the district in the Euphrates Valley selected by the modern Arabs and Persians for the interment of their dead[1254] derives its sanctity from the days of the old Babylonian kingdom, and many of the customs observed by the modern Moslems tally with the funeral rites of ancient Babylonia.[1255] That the dead were always buried, and that cremation was practically unknown, may now be regarded as certain. The conception of Aralû, which, we have seen, belongs to the most ancient period of religion, is only intelligible upon the assumption that burial was the prevailing custom. On one of the oldest monuments of Babylonian art,—the stele of vultures,—earth-burial is represented.[1256] A few years ago, some German scholars[1257] claimed to have furnished the proof that the Babylonians cremated their dead. But, in the first place, the age of the tombs found by them was not clearly established; and, secondly, it was not certain whether the charred remains of human bodies were due to intentional burning or accidental destruction by fire, at the time that the city explored by the German scholars was destroyed. The fact that, as the explorers themselves observed, the bodies were not completely burned argues in favor of the latter supposition. The explanation offered by Koldewey[1258] for this peculiar condition of the remains—that the burning was symbolical, and, therefore, not complete—is unsatisfactory in every particular. There can be no doubt that some, at least, of the tombs discovered at Warka by Loftus[1259] belong to the period before the conquest of the country by Cyrus, and this is certainly the case with many of the tombs discovered at Nippur. Nowhere do we find traces of burning[Pg 597] of bodies.[1260] If it should turn out that cremation prevailed for a certain period, the fashion, we may feel certain, was due to foreign influences, but it is more than questionable whether it was ever introduced at all. Certainly, earth-burial is the characteristically Babylonian (and general Semitic) method of disposing of the dead.

The characteristic feature of the Babylonian tombs is their simplicity. The dead body, which was often covered with palm woods, was placed generally on the side—though occasionally on the back—on a board of wood, or wrapped in a mat of reeds or palm fibers, and covered with a tub-shaped clay dish. On the dish there was frequently an ornamental design, but beyond this, there was no attempt at decoration. The body was frequently pressed together in order to be brought within the compass of the dish. Sometimes, the knees were pulled up or the body placed in a semi-sitting posture, and there are indications that the bodies were often divided into two or three parts prior to burial. On the stele of vultures,[1261] representing the triumph of Eannatum over his enemies, attendants are seen building a mound over the symmetrically arranged bodies of the king's soldiers slain in battle. The monument belongs to the most ancient period of Babylonian history, and we are justified, therefore, in regarding this method of earth-burial as the oldest in vogue. The dead, it would seem, are placed on the ground, or near the surface, and covered with a mound. This custom would account for the use of a dish to cover the body after it became customary to place the dead in small houses or vaults built for the purpose. The shape of the dish, or tub, recalls the earth-mound over the dead, and the tenacity of conventional methods is apparent in the modern custom, even among Western nations, of raising a[Pg 598] mound over the grave, even though the body is placed at a depth of six feet and more below the surface. A modification of the form of coffin was the jar into which the body was forced. To do this, still greater violence had to be employed. Instead of one jar, two were also used, the body placed partly in one, partly in the other, and the two were then joined with bitumen. In the Persian period, a slipper-shaped coffin was used, into which the body was inserted through an aperture at one end; but there is no evidence that the Babylonians employed this method. With the bodies, various objects were interred, many of which had a special significance. Except, perhaps, at a very early period[1262] the dead were not buried naked, but covered with a garment. The seal cylinder, which, as Herodotus tells us,[1263] every person of position carried about his person, and which, when impressed on a clay tablet, served as his signature, was buried with the dead as an ornament that had a personal value. The staff which the man was in the habit of carrying is found in the grave, and also such weapons as arrowheads and spears. Various ornaments of copper, iron, gold, and stone, rings, necklaces or bands of gold were probably placed with the dead as a sign of affection, not because of any belief that the deceased needed these objects. Toys, too, are found in the graves, and we may assume that these were placed in the tombs of children. The frequent presence of shells in the tombs is still unexplained. On the other hand, remains of food, dates, grain, poultry, and fish, that have been found in graves belonging to various periods, may be regarded as a proof for the existence of the belief that the dead could suffer pangs of hunger. The closing lines of the Gilgamesh epic,[1264] where the fate of the neglected dead is portrayed, confirms this view. But such remains are more frequent in the early graves than in those of a later time. Animal sacrifices at[Pg 599] the grave appear to be very old.[1265] Offerings of food and water were made to the dead, not only at the time of the burial, but afterwards by surviving relatives. The son performs the office of pouring out water to the memory of his father.[1266] The close of the legend of Ishtar's journey suggests that the festival of Tammuz was selected as an 'All-Souls' day. The weeping for the lost Tammuz served as an appropriate link for combining with the mourning for the god the lament for the dead. The water jar is never absent in the old Babylonian tombs, and by the side of the jar the bowl of clay or bronze is found, and which probably served the same purpose as a drinking utensil for the dead. How early it became customary to bury the dead together we do not know. It may be that at one time they were buried beneath the dwellings that they occupied when alive, under the threshold or in the walls;[1267] but the conception of Aralû as a great gathering-place of the dead would hardly have arisen, unless the 'city of the dead' by the side of the 'city of the living' had become an established custom. We are, therefore, justified in assuming that as the villages grew into towns, the huddling together of the living suggested placing the dead together in a portion of the town set aside for the purpose. In comparison with the elaborate constructions in the Egyptian cities of the dead, the Babylonian necropolis was a shabby affair. Vaults, rarely more than five feet high, served as the place where the dead were deposited. These vaults were constructed of bricks, and an extended series of them gave to the necropolis the appearance of little houses, suggestive of primitive mud huts. This simplicity, due in the first instance to the lack of stone as building material in Babylonia, corresponded to the very simple character which the[Pg 600] dwelling-house retained. The one-story type of dwelling, with simple partitions, prevailed to the latest period. It was only in the temples and palaces that architectural skill was developed. In Assyria, although soft stone was accessible, the example of Babylonia was slavishly followed. It is due to this that so few traces of private houses have been found in the Mesopotamian explorations,[1268] and the almost primitive character of the graves—more primitive, by virtue of the strength of the conservative instinct in everything connected with the dead, than the dwellings of the living—readily accounts for their nearly complete destruction. Simple as the houses of the dead were, they were yet carefully guarded against the invasion of air and dust; and even after centuries of neglect the contents are found to be perfectly dry.

The explorations at Nippur show that the tub and bowl forms of the coffin continued to be used during the period extending from Hammurabi to Nabonnedos. In later times, it would appear, the custom of placing food and drink with the dead fell into disuse.[1269] We may perhaps find that, as was the case in Egypt, symbolical representations of food—a clay plate with the food modeled in clay—took the place of the old custom. Fewer utensils, too, are found in the graves of the later period; but, on the other hand, ornaments increase, until, when we reach the Persian and Greek periods, mirrors are quite common, and golden veils are placed over the dead, while handsome earrings, breastpins, and necklaces indicate the growth of this luxurious display. The clay coffins, too, are beautifully glazed and ornamented with elaborate designs. A trace of foreign—perhaps Graeco-Egyptian—influence may be seen in the human head modeled on the coffin. Naturally, at all times the different ranks occupied by the dead involved more or less modifications of the prevailing customs. The rich were placed in more[Pg 601] carefully built vaults than the poor. The coverings and ornaments varied with the station of the deceased; but in general it may be said that, during the earlier periods of Babylonian-Assyrian history, simplicity was the rule, and the objects placed in the tombs were more carefully chosen with reference to the needs of the dead and the career that he led while living, while the tendency in later times was away from the religious beliefs that gave rise to the funeral customs, and in the direction of luxury and display. This development, however, is independent of proper burial, upon which, as we have already had occasion to see, great stress was at all times laid. The greatest misfortune that could happen to a dead person was for his body to remain overground, or to be removed from the tomb and exposed to the light of day. In the early monument of Babylonian art,—the 'stele of vultures,'[1270]—already referred to, the dead foes are punished by being stripped of their clothing and exposed to the attack of vultures, who are seen carrying off human heads, legs, and arms. To emphasize the contrast, the king's soldiers are portrayed as being buried in symmetrical rows, the head of each body being covered by the feet of the body in the row above. When the Babylonian and Assyrian kings wish to curse the one who might venture to destroy the monuments set up by them, they know of nothing stronger than to express the hope

The kings punished their enemies by leaving their bodies to rot in the sun, or they exposed them on poles as a warning to rebels. Ashurbanabal on one occasion speaks of having scattered the corpses of the enemy's host 'like thorns and thistles' over the battlefield.[1272] The corpses of the Babylonians[Pg 602] who had aided in the rebellion against the king were given 'to dogs, swine, to the birds of heaven, to the fish of the sea' as food.[1273] The same king takes pleasure in relating that he destroyed the graves of Elamitic kings and dragged the bodies from their resting-place[1274] to Assyria. Their shades, he adds, were thus unprotected. No food could be tendered them and no sacrifices offered in their honor. Sennacherib, after he has crushed a rebellion that broke out in Babylonia, takes a terrible revenge upon the instigator of the opposition, Mardukbaliddin, by removing the bodies of the latter's ancestors from the vaults wherein they were deposited. The bones of an enemy are enumerated by Ashurbanabal among the spoil secured by him.[1275] The mutilation of the dead body was also a terrible punishment to the dead,[1276] and we are told that the person who disturbed a grave is not to be permitted to enter the temple. The desecration of the grave affected not only the individual whose rest was thus disturbed, and who, in consequence, suffered pangs of hunger and other miseries, but reached the survivors as well. The unburied or disentombed shade assumed the form of a demon,[1277] and afflicted the living.

Of the ceremonies incidental to burial, the bronze tablet above described affords us at least a glimpse. The dead were placed on a bier and wrapped in some kind of a cover. Priests were called in to perform rites of purification. One of the priests, it will be recalled,[1278] is clad in a fish costume. The fish is the symbol of Ea, the god of the deep, who becomes[Pg 603] the chief deity appealed to in incantations involving the use of water. The priest assumes the rôle of Ea, as it were, by the symbolical dress that he puts on. The rites appear to consist of the burning of incense and the sprinkling of water. It does not of course follow that everywhere the same custom was observed, but we may at least be certain that the priest played an important part in the last honors paid to the dead. The purification was intended to protect the dead from the evil spirits that infest the grave. The demons of disease, it is true, could no longer trouble him. They had done their work as messengers of Allatu. But there were other demons who were greedy for the blood and flesh of the dead. Though the dead had passed out of the control of the gods, the latter had at least the power to restrain the demons from disturbing the peace of the grave.

In the earlier days, when the bodies were placed on the ground or only a short distance below it, the building of the grave-mound was a ceremony to which importance was attached. In the stele of vultures, attendants are portrayed—perhaps priests—with baskets on their heads, containing the earth to be placed over the fallen soldiers.[1279] These attendants are bare to the waist. The removal of the garments is probably a sign of mourning, just as among the Hebrews and other Semites it was customary to put on the primitive loin-cloth[1280] as a sign of grief. In somewhat later times, we find sorrowing relatives tearing their clothing[1281]—originally tearing off their clothing—and cutting their hair as signs of mourning.

[Pg 604] The formal lament for the dead was another ceremony upon which stress was laid. It lasted from three to seven days.[1282] The professional wailers, male and female, can be traced back to the earliest days of Babylonian history. Gudea speaks of them.[1283] It would appear that at this early period persons were engaged, as is the case to this day in the Orient, to sing dirges in memory of the dead.[1284] The function is one that belongs naturally to priests and priestesses; and, while in the course of time, the connection with the temple of those who acted as wailers became less formal, it is doubtful whether that connection was ever entirely cut off. The 'dirge singers, male and female,' referred to in the story of Ishtar's journey[1285] were in the service of some temple. The hymns to Nergal[1286] may be taken as samples of the Babylonian dirges.

The praise of Nergal and Allatu was combined with the lament for the sad fate of the dead. Gilgamesh weeping for his friend Eabani[1287] furnishes an illustration. Gilgamesh is described as stretched out on the ground. The same custom is referred to in the inscriptions of Cyrus,[1288] and it is interesting to note that a similar mode of manifesting grief still prevails in the modern Orient. In the Babylonian dirges, it would seem, the references to the virtues of the deceased (which are prominently introduced into the dirges of the present day) were few. The refrain forms a regular feature of these dirges,—an indication that, as is still the case in the Orient, there was a leader who sang the dirge, while the chorus chimed in at the proper moment. The principle of the stanza of two lines, one long and one short, that, as Budde has shown,[1289] controls the wailing songs in the Old Testament (including the[Pg 605] Book of Lamentations, which is based upon this very custom of lamenting the dead), may be detected in the Babylonian compositions. The accompaniment of musical instruments to the dirges also appears to be a very old custom in Babylonia. In the story of Ishtar's journey the wailers are called upon to strike their instruments. What kind of instruments were used in ancient times we do not know. In the Assyrian period, the harp and flute appear to be the most common.[1290]

At the time that food and drink were placed with the dead in the grave, some arrangements must have been made for renewing the nourishment. Entrances to tombs have been found,[1291] and Koldewey[1292] is of the opinion that the clay drains found in quantities in the tombs, served as well to secure a supply of fresh water for the dead. The wailing for the dead took place not only immediately after death, but subsequently. Ashurbanabal speaks of visiting the graves of his ancestors. He appears at the tomb with rent garments, pours out a libation to the memory of the dead, and offers up a prayer addressed to them. We have every reason to believe that the graves were frequently visited by the survivors. The festival of Tammuz became an occasion[1293] when the memory of those who had entered Aralû was recalled.

While there are many details connected with the ceremonies for the dead still to be determined, what has been ascertained illustrates how closely and consistently these ceremonies followed the views held by the Babylonians and Assyrians regarding the life after death. Everything connected with death is gloomy. The grave is as dark as Aralû; the funeral rites consist of dirges that lament not so much the loss sustained by the living as the sad fate in store for the dead. Not a ray of sunshine[Pg 606] illumines the darkness that surrounds these rites. All that is hoped for is to protect the dead against the attack of demons greedy for human flesh, to secure rest for the body, and to guard the dead against hunger and thirst.

It is almost startling to note, to what a degree the views embodied in Old Testament writings regarding the fate of the dead, coincide with Babylonian conceptions. The descriptions of Sheol found in Job, in the Psalms, in Isaiah, Ezekiel, and elsewhere are hardly to be distinguished from those that we have encountered in Babylonian literature. For Job,[1294] Sheol is

The description might serve as a paraphrase of the opening lines in the story of Ishtar's journey. The Hebrew Sheol is situated, like the Babylonian Aralû, deep down in the earth.[1296] It is pictured as a cavern. The entrance to it is through gates that are provided with bolts. Sheol is described as a land filled with dust. Silence reigns supreme. It is the gathering-place of all the living, without exception. He who sinks into Sheol does not rise up again.

It is, clearly, 'a land without return,' as the Babylonians conceived it. The condition of the dead in Sheol is sad, precisely as the Babylonians pictured the life in Aralû. The dead are designated by a name[1298] that indicates their weak condition. They can only talk in whispers or they chirp like birds. Their[Pg 607] gait is unsteady. In general, they are pictured as lying quiet, doomed to inactivity. Death is lamented as an evil. The dead have passed out of the control of Yahwe, whose concern is with the living. Yahwe's blessings are meted out in this world, but not in Sheol. These blessings consist chiefly of long life and plenty of offspring. The dead need not praise Yahwe. Ecclesiastes—although a late composition—expresses the old popular view in the summary of the fate of the dead,[1299] when it is said that the dead know nothing of what is going on. Their memory is gone; they neither love nor hate, and they are devoid of any ambition. There is no planning, no wisdom, no judgment in Sheol.

Like the Babylonians, the Hebrews also believed that the condition of the individual at the time of death was an index of the condition in store for him in Sheol. He who goes to Sheol in sorrow is pursued by sorrow after death. Jacob does not want to go down to Sheol in sorrow,[1300] because he knows that in that case sorrow will be his fate after death. To die neglected by one's family was fatal to one's well-being in Sheol. Life in Sheol was a continuation, in a measure, of the earthly existence. Hence, the warrior is buried with his weapons; the prophet is recognized by his cloak; the kings wear their crowns; the people of various lands are known by their dress.[1301] Even deformities, as lameness, follow the individual into the grave. On the other hand, while the dead were weak and generally inactive, although capable of suffering, they were also regarded by the Hebrews as possessing powers superior to those of the living. As among the Babylonians, the dead stand so close to the higher powers as to be themselves possessed of divine qualities. Schwally aptly characterizes this apparent contradiction by saying 'that the dead are Refâ'îm (weak), but, at the same time, Elohîm, i.e. divine[Pg 608] beings.'[1302] Yahwe has no power over the dead, but they receive some of his qualities. They are invoked by the living. The dead can furnish oracles, precisely as Yahwe can. They not only appear to the living in dreams, but their shades can be raised up from Sheol. A certain amount of worship was certainly paid to the dead by the ancient Hebrews.

Naturally, these popular views were subjected to considerable modification with the development of the religion of the Hebrews. While many features remained, as is shown by the occurrence of the primitive conception of Sheol in comparatively late productions, in one important particular, more especially, did the spread of an advanced ethical monotheism lead to a complete departure from the Babylonian conceptions. While, in the popular mind, the belief that there was no escape from Sheol continued for a long time, this belief was inconsistent with the conception of a Divine Being, who, as creator and sole ruler of the universe, had control of the dead as well as the living. As long as Yahwe was merely one god among many, no exception was made of the rule that the concern of the gods was with the living; but Yahwe as the one and only god, could not be pictured as limited in his scope. He was a god for the dead, as well as for the living. The so-called song of Hannah[1303] expresses the new view when it praises Yahwe as the one 'who kills and restores to life, who leads to Sheol, and who can lead out of it.' Such a description of Yahwe is totally different from the Babylonians' praise of Ninib, Gula, or Marduk as the 'restorer of the dead to life,' which simply meant that these gods could restrain Allatu. The power to snatch the individual from the grasp of Sheol was also ascribed to the national god, Yahwe. Elijah's restoration of the widow's child[1304] to life is an instance of this power, and Jonah,[1305] who praises Yahwe for[Pg 609] having delivered him when the gates of Sheol already seemed bolted, may not have had anything more in mind than what the Babylonians meant; but when the Psalmist, to indicate the universal rule of Yahwe, exclaims

the departure from the old Hebrew and Babylonian views of the limitation of divine power is clearly marked. The inconsistency between the view held of Yahwe and the limitation of his power was not, however, always recognized. Hence, even in late portions of the Old Testament, we find views of the life after death that are closely allied to the popular notions prevailing in the earlier productions. It is not, indeed, till we reach a period bordering close on our era that the conflict between the old and the new is brought to a decided issue in the disputes of the sects that arose in Palestine.[1307] The doctrines of retribution and of the resurrection of the dead are the inevitable consequences of the later ethical faith and finally triumph; but the old views, which bring the ancient Hebrews into such close connection with the Babylonians, left their impress in the vagueness that for a long time characterized these doctrines, even after their promulgation. The persistency of the old beliefs is a proof of the strong hold that they acquired, as also of the close bond uniting, at one time and for a long period, Hebrews and Babylonians. What applies to the beliefs regarding the dead holds good also for the rites. Many a modern Jewish custom[1308] still bears witness to the original identity of the Hebrew and Babylonian methods of disposing of and caring for the dead.

[Pg 610] There is but one explanation for this close agreement,—the same explanation that was given for the identity of traditions regarding the creation of the world, and for the various other points of contact between the two peoples that we have met with. When the Hebrew clans left their homes in the Euphrates Valley, they carried with them the traditions, beliefs, and customs that were current in that district, and which they shared with the Babylonians. Under new surroundings, some new features were added to the traditions and beliefs, but the additions did not obscure the distinctive character impressed upon them by Babylonian contact. We now know that relations with Babylonia were never entirely broken off by the Hebrews. The old traditions survived all vicissitudes. They were adapted to totally changed phases of belief, but the kernel still remained Babylonian. Beliefs were modified, new doctrines arose; but, with a happy inconsistency, the old was embodied in the new. Hence it happens, that in order to understand the Hebrews, their religion, their customs, and even their manner of thought, we must turn to Babylonia.

Further discoveries beneath the mounds of Mesopotamia and further researches in Babylonian literature will add more evidence to the indebtedness of the Hebrews to Babylonia. It will be found that in the sacrificial ordinances of the Pentateuch, in the legal regulations, in methods of justice and punishment, Babylonian models were largely followed, or, what is an equal testimony to Babylonian influence, an opposition to Babylonian methods was dominant. It is not strange that when by a curious fate, the Hebrews were once more carried back to the 'great river of Babylon,'[1309] the people felt so thoroughly at home there. It was only the poets and some ardent patriots[Pg 611] who hung their harps on the willows and sighed for a return to Zion. The Jewish population steadily increased in Babylonia, and soon also the intellectual activity of Babylonian Jews outstripped that of Palestine.[1310] The finishing touches to the structure of Judaism were given in Babylonia—on the soil where the foundations were laid.

[Pg 612]FOOTNOTES:

Index | Next: XXVI. The Temples and the Cult