Gilgamesh and the Power of Narration

LlESBETH KORTHALS ALTES

GRONINGEN UNIVERSITY

Narratives, whether oral stories or forms of historiography and fiction, display ways to makesense of the world and of human experience. ' Fiction, more specifically, offers the possi-bility to explore and test alternative values and courses of conduct through the representationof hypothetical yet concrete cases. This paper rises to the challenge of reading the Gil-gamesh epic through contemporary "models" for narrative analysis.

Obviously, this is a risky undertaking. As Gadamer observed, there is no hermeneuticprocess that can enable one to jump over one's "prior understanding" {Vorverständnis), orsometimes, one's lack of it. In this case, I must confess complete ignorance as to the literarygenres and devices familiar to readers contemporary to the Gilgamesh epos during its longWirkungsgeschichte. So this paper will not claim any knowledge about the actual narrativestructure of the epic, about the way it was received, or about the role it played in the suc-cessive cultural contexts which saw its matière develop and settle. I can only present anundoubtedly anachronistic analysis of the structures of meaning I read into this "text," thanksto (among others) Foster's and Vanstiphout's compelling translations and editions.^

Two issues will be central: first, the narrative structure (the representation of action) asthe staging of a pursuit of values and of value conflict; second, the act and mode of narra-tion itself as an exemplification and performance of the use and power of the words. Myapproach is of necessity text-centered, since I lack all contextual knowledge.

But—and this is a necessary caveat at the outset of this analysis—can one even speak ofa "text" in this case? Distinguished Assyriologists have devoted much energy to the thornyissue of whether it is legitimate to associate these tablets with the notion of "text," a termthat suggests coherence and closure. Alternatively, from a poststructuralist perspective, it istempting to associate the fragmentary, fragile, and variable "textuality" of such an epic withthe contention that in any case, there is no origin nor closure to any text whatever, but onlyvariants and dijférance, as Derrida famously argued. In this view, the former issue is idle:Coherence is nothing more or less than a normative decision of the reader, who tends tonaturalize any deviant message into as much coherence as possible. Such a deconstructionistattitude may, however, appear frustrating to scholars dealing daily with gaps and variants,and with under-determination rather than over-determination. At this stage and in this case,it does seem more rewarding to see if, and how, "textual" coherence can be established,without, however, losing sight of the impact of the individual's own conventions of reading.

As for the Gilgamesh epic being literature, there is no need to recall that literature, as weknow it today, is a young notion. And it is impossible to define what counts as literature byidentifying necessary and sufficient criteria, unless one limits oneself to a very precise cul-tural setting. Texts from other cultures and times that we now read as imaginative or fictional

1. Philosophical, anthropological, psychological as well as literary research on narrative has highlighted itsethical and cognitive function. See, e.g., Paul Ricoeur, Martha Nussbaum, Mark Turner, and Jerome Bruner.

2. Quotations from the text will refer to the English translation and edition by Foster, indicating the tablet andthe lines.

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literature may have had different cultural functions than those we nowadays associate withthis notion. Anthropology, literary studies, and linguistic pragmatics, however, concur indistinguishing a kind of narrative text which fulfills a specific function, whether or not it islabeled as literature. Among all possible verbal forms of communication, some texts seem,at least to some extent, to function as display, as speech act theory calls it, calling attentionto the text itself, to the speaker, and to the process of meaning-making.

In telling, a speaker is not only reporting but also verbally displaying a state of affairs, in sucha way that he invites his addressee(s) to join him in contemplating it, evaluating it, and respond-ing to it. His point is to produce in his hearers not only belief but also an imaginative and affec-tive involvement in the state of affairs he is representing and an evaluative stance toward i t . . . .Ultimately what he is after, is an interpretation of the problematic event, an assignment ofmeaning and value supported by the consensus of himself and his hearers. (Marie-Louise Pratt,Towards a Speech Act Theory of Literature [1977], 136)

This foregrounding of the combined cognitive, aesthetic, and ethical functions applies tomany stories in daily life as well as to literary narratives. Whatever the didactic, religious,historical, community-building, or other objectives the Gilgamesh epic may have fulfilled,I will argue that it very powerfully combines these cognitive, ethical, and aesthetic func-tions proper to "display texts."

NARRATIVE AS THE REPRESENTATION OF ACTION

What kind of questions can one put to a text from the perspective of narrative semiotics,and more specifically, concerning the values and meanings involved in these actions?Notwithstanding all the critiques regarding structuralism's "scientism," Greimas' theory ofnarrative offers an interesting approach. ̂ His model relies on an anthropological theoryof action, one close to that of philosophers of intentionality such as Ricoeur, and on thesociology and psychology of action: There is action when there is a human or anthropo-morphic subject who wants to achieve a goal or object, and there is narrative when this isrepresented through verbal or other means. Like his structuralist contemporaries, Greimaswas fascinated by the idea of retrieving the grammaire profonde, the anthropological andlogical deep structures of narrative. His fascination led to a proliferation of analytical con-cepts. This may be one of the reasons that his theory was so easily forgotten. This is a pity,as his work provides some interesting insights and analytical tools. Indeed, if one dropsthe pretension of objectivity, his narrative model can be a useful heuristic grid from whichinterpretation can proceed in different directions—sociological, anthropological, ethical, orideological.

According to Greimas, the six roles involved in narrative are subject, object, dispatcher,beneficiary, helper, and opponent. More interesting but less well known is the elaboratemodel of plot that he devised. Any narrative can be described, he argues, as an encompassingnarrative program, defined by the quest for an object by a subject. Such a program oftentakes the form of a conflict between two main antagonistic programs, and can involve sub-ordinate actions. All narration representing action logically includes a four-step sequence in

3. See the various works co-edited by Courtes referred to in the bibliography. In the Dictionnaire, see mainlythe items "Action," "Narrativité," "Récit," "Sujet," "Objet," and "Valeur." Consult also the didactic exposition of theGroupe d'Entrevemes.

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which, however, not all four steps need to be explicit. First, the manipulation: before under-taking an action, the subject needs to have the will or the obligation to act ("vouloir-faire"or "devoir-faire"). In this phase, some "instance"—called by Greimas the "dispatcher" ofthe will-to-act ("destinateur de la manipulation")—sets values and goals for the subject toaccomplish. Second, the competence: before acting, the subject has to have or acquire thecompetence to act (the "savoir-faire" and "pouvoir-faire"). This often leads to subordinateactions in which this competence is—or fails to be—acquired. Third, the performance:once the will, power, and knowledge to act are secured, the subject can actually undertakeaction ("faire"). In this stage a narrative engages in descriptions of the actual performance—which can also be a failure. Fourth, the sanction: once the action is accomplished or hasfailed, there follows an interpretation, either by the subject himself, now in the role of "des-tinateur de la sanction," or by other actors. (If the narrative does not feature a sanction, theaudience will fill in the gap.) What meaning and value are to be attributed to the achievedstate, and to the role of the subject ("l'être-du-faire")?

The most interesting aspect of this model is that Greimas distinguishes between thepractical level of action—the actual performance and the acquisition of competence itrequires—and its cognitive and axiological level. Manipulation and sanction are the stageswhich provide the action with a frame of intelligibility and within which the values andmeanings at stake are formulated and often negotiated. His model relates action to valuesand to the process of the making of meaning. This is one way to explain the role of narrativein culture. In an exemplary and concrete way, calling for emotional and intellectual iden-tification on the part of the audience, narratives display human motivation, values, andmeanings hterally in action. The development and outcome of the plot can, from this per-spective, be interpreted as the dramatization of a conflict of values. Analysis along theselines can give one an idea of the values and value conflicts, and of the schemes for con-structing meaning, that a text presents. This can then be related to the cultural "imaginaire"and the social context in which a narrative originates or is received. By this I do not meanthat there is a homology between what a text represents and that which characterizes a spe-cific society and culture, but only that the text provides a basis on which to reflect on theirrelationship (which can be one of reproduction, conflict, alternative, and so on). I will nottry to equal Greimas' systematicity, nor do I share his belief in the objectivity of his model.In fact, it will be used here only very loosely, as a way to ask questions of the text, and willbe combined with whatever other narratological concepts appear useful.

One must again be aware of some difficulties. Narratives work on the basis of sharedknowledge between teller and audience. It is a thrilling experience to read a narrative likethe Gilgamesh Epic from such remote times and find oneself moved by it. But there is thedanger of "naturalizing" the strangeness of the text by too easily recognizing "common"human interests and problems. This indeed can mean neglecting, to the benefit of a generalanthropological interest, historically specific ideological and ethical issues in a text, orspecific cultural representations and practices with which it stands in dialogue. Moreover,many implied meanings and values inevitably remain obscure to us, as we do not belong tothe intended interpretive community. However, value systems tend to be expressed redun-dantly in epic narrative, surfacing in the plot by sketching an exemplary story, as well as inthe description of characters and their opinions (which features are valued, which not), in thecommentary of narrator and characters, and in valorizing or depreciating metaphors.

But the risk of anachronism remains. Stylistic devices such as repetitions may be inter-preted as narrative emphasis, whereas they may in fact have just had a poetic function.Finally, when one works with translations, however excellent these might be, these already

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form a first interpretative, and possibly naturalizing, layer. With these caveats in mind, Ipresent the following observations.

If one looks at the way the Gilgamesh Epic presents its plot, the prologue fulfils a keyfunction. It manipulates the reader into reading, promising her or him a story with a clearpoint. In defining the point, it immediately names, and thereby foregrounds, the hero and theobject of this quest, directing the reader's attention (which could also fall on the story ofthe friendship between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, for instance, leading to an interpretation ofthe entire epic from this perspective). The object of the quest here receives both a materialdefinition—the skilful building of the walls of Uruk—and an immaterial one, knowledgeand wisdom: "Full understanding of it all he gained" (I, 6), "was wise in all things" (I, 4).This combitiation is not unexpected for a mighty ruler and is frequently encountered inancient epic (as in the Aeneid). The prologue also stresses that the beneficiary of bothaspects of the quest is ultimately—beyond the individual Gilgamesh—the collectivity.

In the subsequent narrative, however, the object of Gilgamesh's quest is progressivelyqualified in a three-step definition, which prompts me to distinguish three stages, or pro-grams, in the narrative: 1) the first section (Tablets I-VII) features a double object. On theone hand this is defined as friendship with Enkidu, on the other, as fame and power. Inter-estingly, what will be the object of the second phase, immortality, appears explicitly only inthe prayer of Gilgamesh's mother, whereas the hero himself seems prepared to give uphis life for fame (II, 186-94)." 2) The second phase (Tablets VIII-XI) follows the death ofEnkidu, which means confrontation with mortality, and shows a decisive reorientation ofthe action and a redefinition of its object. Gilgamesh sets out to achieve immortality (TabletsIX-XI). 3) When this object appears definitely out of reach, with a last switch of object thefinal lines of Tablet XI imply the third phase of the action. Fame and wisdom are whatcounts, a view already explicitly announced in the prologue. Let us examine these stages insome detail.^

THE FIRST NARRATIVE PROGRAM: THE CONQUEST OF FAME AND POWER

The trigger for the action, what Greimas calls the manipulation, comes from Gilgameshhimself. There is no dispatching of the hero by any external dispatcher—gods or any humanauthority—besides himself. This autonomy of the human hero strikes me as a characteristicfeature of this epic. As for the action program, "something evil" is to be killed, a cedar treeis to be cut down, both goals on the practical level (II, 145 and 159). Both also serve anultimate goal, to obtain name and fame, which belongs to the cognitive level ("If I fall onthe way, I'll establish my name," II, 192).^

In extensive verbal exchanges corresponding to the manipulation, the value of the objectis negotiated. Gilgamesh stresses that he will liberate the world from an evil monster, whichimplies an opposition between Good and Evil, and suggests that his own undertaking is on

4. One could argue, however, that the friendship with Enkidu implies a form of immortality. Together the twoheroes form what feels like an invincible unity, defying time and imperfection. Any lack in one of them is compen-sated by the other, as with twins in some cultures.

5. I will leave out many episodes here, such as the development of Enkidu into a social human being and Gil-gamesh's friend, and the flood, although they are all very important in outlining the values at stake in the universeevoked by the text. I will also omit Tablet XII, although this model provides useful tools to analyze (dis)continuitiesin the semantics and syntax of action and values.

6. Assyriologists have explained that to cut cedar trees is a demonstration of kingly power, but these meaningsare not made explicit in the text.

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the side of the Good.^ His argument is rejected by Uruk's elders, who judge his plans to bedangerous and prompted by youthful temerity and ignorance (II, 259-61). Although thesection containing their explicit argumentation has been lost, it is implied, I feel, that theywould (themselves) represent the opposite attitude of caution and wise moderation. Gil-gamesh's argument is also rejected by Enkidu. Originating in the world of nature himself,he has a more intimate knowledge of the monster and mentions that slaying Humbabameans transgressing the order of the gods, who had appointed him as guardian of the CedarForest. But the text remains inconclusive: Neither the "evil" nor the "sacred" and protectedstatus of Humbaba is unambiguously established.

Interestingly, the later sanction of this action by the gods shows the same ambivalence.There is no immediate expression of anger at what would qualify as transgression, nor isthe action clearly labeled as such by an authoritative character. Instead, his exploit makesGilgamesh appear "sexy" to the goddess Ishtar. In the end it does turn out, however, to bea motive for punishment. Let us remark at this stage that, whereas many social values arequite strongly and redundantly affirmed in this epic, the ethical categories of Good and Eviland the role of the gods in guarding them are less explicitly established.

Let us examine the modalities of the competence for action at this stage: Gilgamesh'salready considerable "pouvoir-faire"—his legendary strength—is greatly increased by asso-ciation with Enkidu. In the world evoked by this text, support and power of course comefrom arms and physical strength, as well as from the direct support of the gods. But courage,enthusiasm, friendship, forms of individual psychological and spiritual power are at leastas crucial. In fact, the strength gained from friendship appears almost as effective as thesupport of the gods.

The quest for fame and power leads to several related performances or embedded narra-tive programs, such as the killing of Humbaba, the cutting of the cedar, and after the rejec-tion of Ishtar, the killing of the bull. All of these actions are steps towards the acquisitionof the object, fame, with the individual Gilgamesh (or the couple Gilgamesh/Enkidu) as thebeneficiary.

The performance is followed, as mentioned, by a strikingly fluctuating sanction. The textfirst gives a positive judgment, from the perspective of the two heroes: mission accom-plished, monsters slain, fame achieved, reward in the form of a woman (although, againstlater convention, she is rejected). But soon the sanction appears negative, as seen in theoutcome of the action: death for the men of Uruk, chaos for the collectivity, and most im-portantly, death for Enkidu. All are explicitly related to the actions suddenly unambiguouslypresented as transgressions.

This evaluative unsteadiness is also conspicuously displayed with respect to the dreams,which for the characters involved fulfill a crucial function in understanding events and choos-ing a course of action. Thus they correspond to what Greimas would call the sanction andmanipulation framing their actions, with the gods as sender. Enkidu is apparently enabled—by whom or what: his origin in nature, his familiarity with the gods?—to decipher dreams asmessages, but unlike Gilgamesh's mother, he fails in this interpretive performance. The textpresents a flagrant contrast between the dreams themselves and their translation by Enkidu,turning the reader into a judge of his interpretative skills. The dreams appear at first verygloomy. In awe Gilgamesh cries out, "the dream I had was very disturbing," and this not

7. Lexical and syntactic choices may be recognized by contemporaries as conveying values, but such nuancestend to get lost and replaced hy others in translation.

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once but up to five times (Tablet IV). In three concise lines, Enkidu time and again is quickto invert these premonitions into positive messages from the gods: "my friend, your dreamis favorable" (Tablet IV). One wonders how convincing this instance of wishful thinkingwould have been for the various audiences in the past, or whether they read it, as I do, assetting the stage for dramatic irony.

THE SECOND NARRATIVE PROGRAM: THE QUEST FOR IMMORTALITY

From Tablet IX through Tablet XI we have a redefinition of the object and a new narrativeprogram. The manipulation for this new undertaking seems to be motivated by the negativeoutcome of the first performance, culminating in the loss of Enkidu. The contrast betweenthe two parts is sharply drawn, displaying a skilful mastery of literary techniques. The objectof the first program, fame and power, has apparently lost its attraction for Gilgamesh. Sig-nificantly, the object of this second quest shifts from revivifying Enkidu, his lost other half(with both Enkidu and Gilgamesh as beneficiaries), to the conquest of immortality by Gil-gamesh, motivated by his own fear of dying ("Enkidu, my friend whom I loved, is turnedinto clay," X, 68, and then "I have grown afraid of death," X, 62). In this quest, Gilgameshappears to be the beneficiary.

On several occasions this section confronts Gilgamesh's motivating values with an al-ternative object, and thus an alternative action program and values. For instance, the tavernkeeper suggests another object and course of conduct. Humans cannot escape death, sheargues, so Gilgamesh should instead enjoy the boons offered to humans: food, well-being,children, sex—in brief, contentedness. Gilgamesh rejects this "manipulation" because he is"heartsick for Enkidu" (X, 96). This can probably refer to his longing for his friend as well asawe at Enkidu's exemplary fate. Similarly, in the encounter and discussion with Utanapistim,who enjoys the coveted immortality, this "wise man" argues that Gilgamesh's life is not infact so dismal (X, 285ff.). He has been uncommonly favored by the gods ("you for whom[the gods] have acted like fathers and mothers"), and should be grateful for his royal statusand accept death and the unpredictability of its arrival, as expressed in these beautifullyconcise lines:

Dragonflies drift downstream on a river,Their faces staring at the sun.Then, suddenly, there is nothing. (X, 312)

Such sections where values and meanings of life and conduct are explicitly discussedplay a crucial role in the workings of a narrative. Indeed, the audience is invited to ponderthe different perspectives and implied values, and to reflect on its own standpoint.

In his quest for immortality, which again takes the form of a journey, Gilgamesh findshelpers as well as opponents. But he himself is certainly his main opponent. This is high-lighted in the narrative by redundant embedded actions. First it is mentioned that he himselfeliminates the "stone charms" which are to help him over the waters of death, as Ur-Shanabithe boatsman does not fail to remind him, "your own hands have foiled you . . . they arewhat I had with me in order to make the crossing" (X, 189, 195). Second, when Utanapistimgives him one opportunity to demonstrate the perseverance needed for immortality, he fallsasleep instead of remaining awake. Thus Gilgamesh demonstrates what Utanapistim alreadyknew, that immortality is a gift he cannot receive, that he has the vouloir-, but not thepouvoir-faire. Third, as if to rub in the lesson, when at last given access to the plant ofimmortality, Gilgamesh is unable to keep it, being too easily distracted (IX, 213ff.).

The setting and plot elements are suddenly very down to earth: to sleep and to take a re-laxing bath in such dramatic circumstances appears quite an inadequate response, to put it

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mildly. Indeed, with his last gift, the indication where to find the plant of immortality,Utanapistim of course catches Gilgamesh's attention. The narration speeds up: "no soonerhad Gilgamesh heard this" than he jumps into the water with a stone around his foot. Hecould have died on the spot in his hunger for immortality (XI, 291ff.). Although humor andirony are difficult to establish without precise contextual knowledge, we may imagine thatthese rather extensive episodes were experienced by the ancient audience as highly comical,and served as a counterpoint to the "sublime" moments of unattenuated grief and drama;or that they belong to different generic elaborations (comical versus "noble") of the samematerial.

The sanction by Gilgamesh himself is negative. He recognizes his failure to conquer thecoveted object, immortality, but refuses to relinquish it, crying out with horror: "What thenshould I do? . . . whither should I go now that the Bereaver has seized my flesh? Deathlurks in my bedchamber" (XI, 246-49).

How is this outcry to be received? The text, in my view, allows at least two readings, onewhich shares in the pathos of the fear of death, and another which receives it as comical,because, like the authoritative characters in the narrative, one would expect the king toachieve wisdom and drop his dreams of immortality. All depends on the audience's adhesionto the viewpoints offered by the text. As we will discuss in the next section, the focalizationon—and with—Gilgamesh, as well as the pathos displayed make his experience accessiblefrom an inside perspective. But the external perspectives on him, those of the tavern keeperand Utanapistim, are also powerfully represented and open for identification. The analysisof how the tone and content of such passages vary in the different versions of the epicmight generate interesting hypotheses about the values of the respective intended readingcommunities.

THE THIRD NARRATIVE PROGRAM: THE CONQUEST OF WISDOM

The dismal sanction by Gilgamesh at the end of Tablet XI takes the form of an explicitquestioning of the value of his undertakings: "for whom, Ur-Shanabi, have my hands beentoiling . . . For myself I have obtained no benefit" (X, 315-17). A gloomy conclusion indeedfor an entire epic, hardly one which would then offer the foundation for the exemplary anddidactic working claimed in the prologue. Considering the detail of all the other stagesof the action, its end is puzzlingly abrupt, even laconic, and its meaning mostly implicit.According to contemporary literary conventions, we would now expect a coda with anoverall sanction in which the hero comes to insight, and in which the ultimately triumphantvalues are made clear. The narrator, however, leaves the final words to Gilgamesh himself,who in a sense substitutes a gesture for a lesson. By pointing to the city walls and callingto witness precisely the character who witnessed his failures, Gilgamesh implies rather thanformulates a switch in values. These are now fame and kingly pride in local constructiveachievement to the benefit of the community, instead of an anxious quest for individualimmortality. He is no longer portrayed as the haggard wandering lost soul, but speaks asthe proud king:

Go up, Ur-Shanabi, pace out the walls of Uruk . . .These and a half square miles is the measure of Uruk! (XI, 327-33).

The question remains as to why this final reversal receives such laconic treatment andlacks the psychological detail or the spectacular mise en scene we find elsewhere in theepic. Apart from the down-to-earth possibility that a section is missing, one argument couldbe that the audiences could be expected to know the outcome. Another, aesthetic, argumentcould be made that this laconism expresses a narrative distance which mirrors the beginning

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of the epic, where the audience "sees" Gilgamesh from afar: he is the king, mighty, inacces-sible above all others, free to act as he chooses. It is indeed only with the arrival on stage ofEnkidu that Gilgamesh becomes personalized and humanized, among other means throughthe narrative perspective, which hovers close above the hero, his deeds, and his emotions.Symmetrically, in the end the narrative perspective again recedes, setting Gilgamesh back inhis inaccessibility as a king, halfway between mankind and the gods. Through this technique,the narrative of his deeds can function on a double level: first, as a founding myth, presentedfor re-actualization and worship; second, as a story of human experience, offered for iden-tification, involving emotional reactions of recognition and humorous distancing of the all-too-familiar. This hypothesis would also explain the different emotional and stylistic registerswe find in this epic: elevated, if not sublime, versus familiar, even comical. Research intodifferent stages and versions of this epic, setting them in relation to contextual knowledgeabout attitudes towards gods and kings, could strengthen or weaken this hypothesis.

I conclude this rapid analysis of the narrative structure with a few remarks. First, con-cerning the characteristics of the representation of action: who in this epic defines thegoals, the meanings, and evaluations of the action (manipulation and sanction)? It is mainlythe subject himself, occasionally corrected by "wise people" he encounters, but mainly cor-rected by "life" (death) itself. There are a few authoritative norm-keepers. Gilgamesh'smother, into whose role I have not delved, seems to be one, as are perhaps the other twowomen, Shamhat and the tavern-keeper. Utanapistim is certainly another, whose authorityis guaranteed through recognition by the gods as "nearly" one of them. The king himselfis portrayed as far from the incarnation of the Law. He is rather the first to break the rules,although the narrative is precisely about his learning to respect boundaries, just as Enkidu hadto learn to be human. The law-setter is himself placed within his quest for the right values,and like the gods themselves, he is prone to mistakes and revision of his values.

As for the values that the narrative presents as centrally at stake, one could stress the mainoppositions: nature versus culture, physical force and cunning versus wisdom, personalwelfare versus communal welfare, friendship versus loneliness. But this kind of opposition israther limited. In my reading, the text does not set these values in such clear-cut opposition.There are moments of preference and clear choices, but the narrative as a whole hardlystages the definitive rejection of one of the poles. If one considers the pattern of desire thatthe text's rhetoric seems to convey,^ the narration of this journey moves its audience fromidentification with a lustful and energetic youth, through his longing for eternity, to the finalacceptance of death and the appreciation of whatever human achievement one can reach.Every stage is depicted in its own attractiveness and merit, although there is a claim of pro-gression in wisdom.

The narration exploits the two levels of action-representation. The practical level of "real"action is described in vivid detail (such as the penetration of the terrifying forest, territoryof the monster; the confrontation with him, and the slaying). But the perspective of con-sciousness and reñection is at least as well developed. The frequent evocation of perceptionsand emotions such as fright, love, or hope, gives a strong emotional and axiological coloringto the action. This is an important rhetorical aspect, since the narrative thus catches (andmay have caught) the audience's imagination as well as its emotional and moral adherence.

The analysis brings out in this narrative both the continuity in causality and temporalityand the gaps therein. The issue of narrative coherence is of course an important one for textsthat have been retrieved in fragmentary form and with variants. In this case, in Tablets I

8. An interesting notion coined by Wayne Booth, in Booth 1988.

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through XI we have what appears to be a fairly coherent narrative. The episodes are quitestrictly linked temporally and causally. Prolepses and analepses establish continuity in timeand action, the prologue gives retrospective unity to the story, dreams and premonitionsfunction as prolepses, creating expectations with respect to events and actions and theirmeaning and consequences. The same holds for the causal structure. As we have seen,sanctions, often in the form of a summary of the meaning of an undertaking, form themanipulation for a new performance. Thus the threads of various events are tied together.Even the psychological coherence seems fairly strong, an aspect which I cannot develophere, and which of course has to be approached with utmost caution, as it is again very mucha matter of the attitude of the reader, and of culturally biased interpretation. Equivalencepatterns, on the micro- and macro-structural levels, in the form of strict repetition, of opposi-tion and parallelism of themes and motives, reinforce this sense of unity. Thus the secondbig undertaking, the descent into the underworld, mirrors the first quest of the double heroin overcoming the distance to the mountains versus the distance over seas, both impenetrablefor normal beings. We may consider all the oppositions constructing the second quest as amirror of the first, and so on. And very importantly, with its cyclical structure, in which theend echoes the prologue, the text achieves a strong sense of ending, as Frank Kermodewould have called it.

STRUCTURES OE NARRATION

Just as the analysis of the representation of action can lend insight into the value posi-tions implied in a narrative, so can the examination of the act of narration, the telling itself.Rhetorical narratology is concerned with questions such as who speaks, who perceives, howvoices and perspectives are embedded, thus setting them into (evaluative) polyphonic per-spective.' How do the represented discourses insure effectiveness—aesthetically, emotion-ally, and intellectually? And, more generally, how is communication itself represented, aswell as organized, or "performed," between author/narrator and audience?

Since the epic, like the novel later, is characterized by its polyphonic structure, it isinstructive to examine whose perception, interpretation, and evaluation are consideredtellable, and what different value-positions can be constructed. (This might subsequentlybe related to other manifestations of these speaking positions in the surrounding culture.)

Let us look at the enunciation structure represented in Gilgamesh. Although it is suggestedthat Gilgamesh himself wrote down his heroic deeds ("engraved all his hardships on amonument of stone," I, 10), the epic features a narrator standing outside .of the narratedworld (what Genette would call a "heterodeigetic narrator"). After the prologue, there are fewdirect addresses to the audience, and as far as I can judge, no reference to an oral contextof performance. Quite to the contrary, as we have seen, the acts of writing/inscribing and ofreading, and the material medium on which the text is inscribed are powerfully set forward:"take up and read from the lapis tablet" (I, 28). Writing clearly is associated with thefounding gesture and has a lasting effectiveness. The text is written on clay, the same kindof material as forms the city walls, of which it constitutes iiterally and figurally the foun-dation, as it is hidden in the "foundation box of copper" (I, 25).

The function of the narrator is to tell and explain, but for the most part he refrains fromexplicit ideological comment and judgment, leaving this function to the other characters, ormore implicitly, to the ironic effects of narrative montage and of a character who exhibits

9. See, e.g., Michael Kearns 1999.

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his ethos through deeds and words. It is up to the reader to judge. What makes this text solively is the frequent staging of different voices in direct speech, not only those of the maincharacters, hut also those of secondary figures, each receiving an expressive personal style,especially in lexical register.

Like the voice structure, focalization is multiple. This has a complicating effect on char-acterization. At first, it is the narrator who tells the readers ahout Gilgamesh, describing hisdeeds and character, hut later we have the point of view of others—of his friend Enkidu, ofa goddess whose fancy he has caught, of a tavern keeper, of wise Utanapistim, whose notalways favorable perspective the text gives in detail. This results in a multi-facetted picture ofthe hero, as an object for worship as well as the hutt of laughter, an object of admiration aswell as a figure eliciting pity and compassion. He is an all-too-human superman.

This epic highlights different aspects of the power of words. '^ It features a lot of argu-ment and deliheration. In contrast to the first part, in which fighting is relied upon to solveproblems, later on conflicts and dilemmas are resolved rather hy reason and communication,illustrating the civilizing power of words. It is through the undoubtedly effective combinationof sex and words that Shamhat seduces Enkidu into becoming a member of human societyand trading nature for culture—or rather bending nature into culture. It is through reasonthat a god turns Enkidu's curse of his seducer into a blessing, by teaching him to find thejust measure in the power of words. Interestingly, the one exception is the king, who seemsincapable of listening to the voice of reason. In the Utanapistim episode, this incapacity istaken to its limits, until Gilgamesh cannot avoid admitting reason.

The gods themselves appear to share with humans this striving for rationality. The textshows them involved in a similar progressive learning of the value of reason and restraintof impulse. This is illustrated by the story of the flood, where "sweet-voiced Belet-ili," one ofthe gods, laments her own unreflective support of the angry decision by the gods to drownthe world. The text voices the gods' regrets for an action that proved too radical, and a trans-gression of their duty to protect "their/my own people," and set an example of moderation.Hence the importance of the code of conduct which is then formulated, with moderation andrational behavior as prominent values. These are precisely the values that Utanapistim holdsup for Gilgamesh.

To come to a conclusion, it is striking how well one of the first "literary" texts that havebeen found fits Robert Musil's characterization of fiction as a Morallaboratorium. It offersits audience the occasion to live out, emotionally and rationally, alternative and contradic-tory ways of experiencing different "patterns of desire," instead of simply pushing the plottowards a clear resolution. Although it does become clear that the quest for personal grati-fication must gradually give way for what is good for the community, this is not presentedas a self-evident truth, but as the result of an experience, conducted in time, a time of life, andfor the audience a time of reading or listening. The walls of the city, and, I would suggest,the contrat social, rest literally and figuratively on the narration, which is a re-enactment ofa progressive insight. Relying on a powerful narrative technique, both the beginning and theend of the narrative indeed have a strong performative dimension.

10. I lack the space here in which to analyze the discourse from a speech-act perspective, though this could cer-tainly contribute to the determination of value positions, since in this epic, as in drama, things are often donethrough words. For instance, who can talk how to whom? Apparently, women can talk freely to men, and a tavernkeeper does not change her language when she realizes that she is talking to the king. Human beings talk to the godsrespectfully, but also familiarly, on equal or even superior footing, as in the scene where Gilgamesh scorns Ishtar.But then, this is no report of actual social relations, but imaginative fiction.

ALTES: Gilgamesh and the Power of Narration 193

In the prologue, the reader is present on the spot at the walls of Uruk, next to the boatmanwho has witnessed Gilgamesh's final trials. The present and the locus of reading are sug-gestively claimed to coincide with the actual present of narration. "We" are thus to take holdof the copper box with the tablets that hold the story, and to open it. At the end, it is Gil-gamesh himself who is on the spot where the story—and its reading—started. The walls hehad erected bear concrete and historical witness to his wisdom and speak his fame, con-firming the rightness of the narration's, and his own, conclusion. Through the almost eeriesense of participation that reading offers, even over a huge gap in time we—readers of thesecond millennium CE.—cannot but confirm this conclusion, through the sheer act of readingthe claim of narrator and character. Our reading "performs" Gilgamesh's immortality, andour emotional adherence "proves" the rightness of his ethical insight.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Editions of GilgameshFoster, Benjamin R. 2001. The Epic of Gilgamesh. New York: Norton.Vanstiphout, H. 2001. Het epos van Gilgamesh. Nijmegen: Sun, 2001.

OtherBooth, Wayne. 1988. The Company We Keep: An Ethics of Fiction. Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ.

of California Press.Bruner, Jerotne. 1986. Actual Minds, Possible Worlds. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press.Greimas, A. J., and Joseph Courtes. 1975-76. The Cognitive Dimension of Narrative Discourse. New

Literary History 7: 433-47.. 1979. Dictionnaire raisonné de la théorie du langage, vol. I. Paris: Hachette.. 1986. Dictionnaire raisonné de la théorie du langage, vol. IL Paris: Hachette.

Groupe d'Entrevemes. 1979. Analyse sémiotique des textes. Introduction, Théorie, Pratique. Lyon:Presses Universitaires de Lyon.

Hamon, Philippe. 1984. Texte et idéologie. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.Keams, Michael. 1999. Rhetorical Narratology. Lincoln: Univ. of Nebraska Press.Nussbaum, Martha. 1990. Love's Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature. Oxford: Oxford

Univ. Press.Pratt, Mary Louise. 1977. Towards a Speech Act Theory of Literature. Bloomington: Indiana Univ.

Press.Ricoeur, Paul. 1984. Temps et récit, vol. Il: La configuration dans le récit de fiction. Paris: Seuil.

. 1987. Life: A Story in Search of a Narrator. In Facts and Values, ed. M. C. Doeser andJ. Kraay. Dordrecht: Nijhoff. Pp. 121-32.

Turner, Mark. 1996. The Literary Mind. Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press.