[The Unsucky English Gilgamesh series so far: 1: Dangerous Questions ~ 2: The Day I Thought Gilgamesh Would Cost Me My Job ~ 3: Adam and Eve, Backwards ~ 4. The Seven Deadly Sins, Backwards.]¹

Let me state at the outset that this lecture is about Gilgamesh, though at times it will be so only north by northwest - because this lecture will be speaking of Gilgamesh in the context of a death in the family, and that family’s attempts to make meaning of life in the face of that death.

It’s the same struggle Gilgamesh experiences in the world’s oldest religious story.

~     ~     ~

Death, Consolation, and the Problem of Evil

My wife lost her mother two weeks ago. Her mother was a good woman, and passionately Christian. Yet her life was ended at a young 64 by a stroke followed closely by a terminal cancer. My wife, on the one hand, cannot understand how the god her mother loved so much would end her life so early; and on the other hand, my wife now feels pulled to explore her mother’s religion in order to understand and, she hopes, experience the happiness this religion gave her mother.

The question my wife keeps asking is “Why?” It’s an old and bedeviling question in Christianity, one that theologians have a term for: theodicy, “the problem of evil,” in a universe purportedly controlled by a god said to be both all-powerful and all-good. If he is these things, then how could he stand by and watch this devout woman die such a slow and tragically early death?

Had this death occurred before I began this series on Gilgamesh, I probably would have offered insights about our reaction to death and loss from Buddhism and Taoism.

I’m not a Buddhist because I find reincarnation as improbable - and as devoid of compelling evidence - as I find notions of heaven and hell (though Buddhism’s lack of a permanent hell makes it a more humane metaphysics than Christianity or Islam, in my view). But the Buddha’s teachings on how we create our own suffering by letting our fear and desire master us strike me simply as psychological, not religious, wisdom.

Fearing death is unwise like fearing old age is: it’s part of the natural order - and there’s the Tao - so fearing it is unprofitable. Add to that that death is an unknown, and as far as evidence goes, most probably is nothing more than oblivion on the order of an eternal and peaceful sleep without dreams, and there seems little cause for fear. Sadness, yes, but not fear.

Desiring immortality or, more to the point, to see our deceased loved ones again in an afterlife, is equally painful. In our most honest, quiet, interior moments, I can’t help but suspect that we all harbor extreme doubts that there’s an eternal reunion of friends and family in any heaven. But our desire that this be the case, despite our secret honesty, sets the stage for inner conflict, for anguish, as hope battles skepticism and desire battles realism in our breasts. Resolution favors doubt on this question, and thus, so long as we side with our desired fantasy over the evidence of our senses, we don’t find peace.

It really boils down to a conflict between naturalism - what we guess or reason by observing nature - and supernaturalism: the teachings about unobservable things from ancient tribal books and their interpreters in today’s various priestly classes.

But to repeat: I would have offered the above perspectives had this death occurred before my studies of Gilgamesh. That’s not the case. And I am as surprised as the next person that I find myself now believing that Gilgamesh offers a wisdom about death and how it is best dealt with that is superior to that of Buddhism.

As I mentioned in my last post, the three days’ mourning and funeral for my Korean mother-in-law here in Seoul was dominated by one book: the Bible. There was one other book present during those rites, and it was my copy of Gilgamesh. As the Korean mourners and I sat on the floor with the Christian preacher leading her flock in readings, songs, and prayers - none of which I could understand, of course - I found it entirely appropriate to read this other ancient meditation on mortality and the meaning of life, since it was, after all, from a religion and a book that lived in people’s hearts for four thousand years at least - twice as long as Christianity has lived so far - and which informed and influenced the Bible as well.

When I was told that it looked disrespectful to be reading this book as the Koreans looked to their own ancient book for guidance, I put the book away. When in Rome and all of that.

But I got the chance, later, to explain to my wife why that book was profoundly relevant to the occasion. Call it a rehearsal for this post. Here goes.

A Bit of Homosexuality and a Macho Fight Scene: Ho Hum

The last lecture concluded with Shamhat - the temple prostitute who played a “holy Eve” by sexually elevating the “animal Adam” Enkidu into civilization - leading Enkidu to the city to experience its glories and to meet Gilgamesh, its king. We noted the contradiction of Enkidu’s feelings about meeting the king.  On the one hand, he looked forward to Gilgamesh satisfying his new yearning for “a true friend”; but on the other hand, he declared he would challenge Gilgamesh to a fight for two reasons: first, to stop the king’s unjust practice of taking each new bride’s virginity before her husband on her wedding day; and second, simply to show he was physically mightier than the king.

I find the story from this point to the end of the fight scene only marginally interesting.  Gilgamesh has a few dreams portending Enkidu’s arrival that disturb him, and we see the unsurprising evidence that this ancient culture, like so many others, saw dreams as possible messages from the divine.  Beyond that, we see hints that male friendship in this culture might be homosexual - which won’t surprise anybody familiar with similar hints about Achilles and Patroclus in the Iliad, practically all the Athenians of classical Greece’s Golden Age (these normal homosexuals - who gave us democracy, philosophy, tragedy, comedy, and so much more - considered straight men queer), and the Bible’s King David and Jonathan.²

Then comes the big fight scene: Gilgamesh shows up to taste his latest bride, but Enkidu blocks his way. Their fight is predictably over-the-top, half saloon-brawl in a cliche cowboy movie, half the Incredible Hulk, and finally Gilgamesh pins Enkidu. Enkidu’s a good sport: he acknowledges that Gilgamesh is his superior, that he has the right to rule, and declares his loyalty. They kiss, hold hands, and walk back to the palace.

Another WTF Plot Twist: The Quest to Kill Nature’s “Evil” Guardian

I’m intimidated at this point, because the plot turn that happens here, just a third of the way into the story, connects to everything that happens from this point forward. It’s a huge and intricate tapestry of meaning from this point on, and I honestly don’t know if I’m equal to the task of holding all the threads together. I’ll do my best, though.

The plot turn I speak of is this: After an unspecified period of time during which Gilgamesh and Enkidu cement their friendship in the city, Gilgamesh gets a wild hair up his behind and announces to Enkidu that he has a new mission: He and Enkidu are going to travel to the Cedar Forest, a sacred place which men are forbidden to enter, in order to kill its “evil” guardian, the “monster” Humbaba, and chop down the tallest cedar tree in the forest.

Enkidu, remember, was originally a semi-animal in the wild, running with the gazelles and fighting off the lions that preyed upon them. He knew the Cedar Forest, knew it was sacred to the god of the wind, Enlil, and knew that Humbaba, being appointed by Enlil to protect the forest, was thus not a creature so easy to label as “evil.” So Enkidu begs the hot-blooded young king to drop this idea.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu argue about this, and the interesting thing about the argument is this: Enkidu frames his argument in terms of the sacred. The forest is holy, Humbaba is its divinely-appointed guardian, and so to kill Humbaba would be a sacrilege. Gilgamesh, though, frames the argument not in terms of the sacred, but in terms of the heroic.

Let me assure you that, as an English teacher, I’ve always inwardly groaned at how often other English teachers trot out the unit on “the Hero’s Journey.” It’s not a bad thing, this theory. Anybody who’s read books like Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces knows how fascinating the subject is. What makes me groan is its popularity. It’s the “Hotel California” or “Stairway to Heaven” (or, god help us, the “Free Bird”) of English units, trotted out so many times that even the wormiest of us booky types must get tired of it after the thousandth listening. The other thing that makes me groan is that, in the wrong hands, it becomes as formulaic as the dreaded, crappy five-paragraph essay. There’s something dangerous about prescribing to students that they take every story under the sun and shoehorn it into the Hero’s Journey formula. By reducing stories to that framework, we can ignore what’s unique or surprising that doesn’t fit so nicely into that shoe.

So trust me, I offer the following as one of the few times I want to talk about a story in these terms.

What’s interesting about Gilgamesh to me, more than anything, is really the mind of the poets who polished and revised this story from its early Sumerian version around the 23rd century BCE to its later Babylonian version in the 12th century BCE. Unlike other ancient books that were edited and revised by countless hands over many centuries - the Bible comes to mind more than any other book I know - Gilgamesh seems to have gained in coherence and consistency of vision over time, rather than becoming, like the Bible, more contradictory and less coherent.

And the vision all these Gilgamesh poets so sharply refined is one that, contrary to appearances, is deeply anti-heroic.

You don’t realize it in the current scene. Gilgamesh answers Enkidu’s religious argument with an argument based on heroism. His motives boil down to these two: first, he wants to achieve something no other mortal has achieved, and so - since “none of us can escape death,” he says - gain immortality for his name, in stories of his exploits; and second, he wants to rid the world of “evil.” He doesn’t respond to Enkidu’s arguments at all. Instead, he chides Enkidu for being cowardly, and finally wins Enkidu over by this shaming tactic.

So the “Hero” argument wins the day. We’ll see, by the end, that it was a fool’s argument as well.

Before closing this installment, a couple more observations:

The “Double That Balances” Motif, and Another “Genesis, Backwards” Trope

To step back from the canvas for a second to take a larger view, we should review the original “wtf plot twist” so far: the god Anu’s “solution” to Gilgamesh’s oppressive behavior as king by creating Enkidu as a “double that balances” him, and “so brings peace” to Uruk.  In the first stage of this pattern, we saw Gilgamesh as symbol of the city, and Enkidu as symbol of nature; Gilgamesh as civilization, Enkidu as animal; Gilgamesh as two-thirds divine, one-third human, Enkidu as two-thirds animal, one-third human.

Now, though, we’ve seen Enkidu seem to upset that balance by crossing over to Gilgamesh’s side. Sex with Shamhat erased his original animal innocence and replaced it with full humanity; his journey to the city took him out of the realm of nature; and though he resists Gilgamesh’s urge to kill Humbaba and violate the Cedar Forest, his ultimate submission again places him now on the same side as Gilgamesh, rather than opposing him as a “balancing double.”

But look what is about to happen:  Gilgamesh is about to lead Enkidu out of the city - out of his own territory - and into Nature, the original domain of Enkidu. So in a sense, we see Enkidu cross into civilization only to - wtf - see Gilgamesh now “balance” this by entering Enkidu’s territory.

Note, further, that something is imbalanced about all of this nonetheless: because while Enkidu, when in his original state of animal innocence, protected the other animals from predators and, more significantly, human trappers, Gilgamesh is entering nature with the opposite intention: to conquer it, to kill its guardian, and to exploit its natural resources - the “tallest cedar” - for the benefit of civilization.

That was wordy, I know. I’m getting tired. But I hope you can see how very, very deep this is.

As I said in the very first lecture, this is the story of possibly the first walled city in human history. That means it’s the story of the first civilization to wall itself off from nature, and radically exploit nature in order to develop its civilization.  Since pre-civilized humans worshiped nature for hundreds of thousands of years in the paleolithic and neolithic ages, it seems quite reasonable to suspect that the people of the first city, cutting down forests for buildings and mining the earth for gold, silver, and the lapis lazuli so loved by the Sumerians, must have felt a certain fear as they violated Nature for the good of their city life.

That’s what’s so radical, to me, about the coming episode in the Cedar Forest. It’s holy to the gods. Man should not violate it. Humbaba is only “evil” from the viewpoint of the city people who want lumber for more housing, temples, markets. From the viewpoint of most of human pre-history, Humbaba is closer to an angel of the lords.

And Gilgamesh wants to kill him.

To pre-empt the type of comment that I frequently get accusing me of one-sidedness, let me make this clear: Civilization is glorious in this poem, according to its poets. They sing its praises with unambiguous adoration. And they surely understood that civilization thus required the lumber, the minerals, the precious stones, and all the other natural resources sacred to the gods.

And that’s one of the beauties of this classic: we see the earth’s first advanced civilizations rightly celebrating its achievements while at the same time worrying about its effects on the natural order around it.

In that sense, Gilgamesh feels closer to me - as I read the daily accounts of global warming’s acceleration and the death of the seas through acidification and over-fishing - than any other ancient book. If we’re the Omega of civilization, due to our unrestrained exploitation of nature in the name of civilization, then Gilgamesh is the Alpha. And that’s deep to me - and another reason this classic doesn’t suck.

And it’s just the beginning.

As for the “Genesis, Backwards” thing? We’ve seen how Gilgamesh is the opposite of “Genesis” in terms of woman and sexuality (both good), and in terms of most of the “Seven Deadly Sins” (not deadly, not sins).  Now we see another radical difference from the Judeo-Christian in this older religion: In Gilgamesh, the gods created nature and forbade mankind to violate it. In “Genesis,” though?

“And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.” Genesis 1:26

While there are various ways to interpret this text - and ReligousTolerance.org gives a nicely balanced overview of those ways - it’s beyond dispute that the Judeo-Christian-Islamic god comes nowhere close to the Sumerian and Babylonian position on nature in Gilgamesh. In this book, nature was not created for humanity at all; on the contrary, the gods defend Nature from us.

Wtf indeed. It’s an ancient wisdom never more relevant than now.

And if you haven’t noticed, let me spell it out: in my view, the Tanach (what Christians call “The Old Testament”) seems, more and more, to be the polar opposite of Gilgamesh.  Up to now, I’ve been playing with phrases like “Adam and Eve, Backwards,” and “The Seven Deadly Sins, Backwards.” But really, since both of those things come later than the culture of Gilgamesh - and the Biblical Judeans were conquered by the Babylonians, deported by them, and had their temple destroyed by them - it seems far more accurate to call the Bible “Gilgamesh, Backwards.”

More on that later too. And oh yes: death.

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If you like this post, please spread it: (But don't tag it "education." That will bury it.)

1. This series based on the beautifully poetic 2004 Stephen Mitchell translation of Gilgamesh.
2. Please note I that I speak here of “hints” of homosexuality. Google or Wikipedia will give you more info.

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19 Comments

• At September 23, 2008, Jack wrote:

  Clay,

  Another great one. I love your observation of Alpha and Omega cultures; I hadn't thought of it that way but of course it makes sense.

  On an unrelated note, Gilgamesh's shaming tactic sounds like something I've heard from politicians and pundits over the last few years. Good to know that nothing ever changes.

• At September 23, 2008, Kate Tabor wrote:

  Hi Clay,

  I am enjoying this series and the deep exploration of this story, and I'm struck by what you point out as the protection of the natural world (not subjugation) and that balance of use and destroy, sacred and utilitarian. When you wrote that "cutting down forests for buildings and mining the earth for gold, silver, and the lapis lazuli so loved by the Sumerians, must have felt a certain fear as they violated Nature for the good of their city life," it made me jump back to the beginning of the story.

  The storyteller presents Uruk, the walled city made fabulous, and directs our attention to a copper box, latched. Open the latch, lift the lid, and we see the lapis tablets that this story is recorded on. It's a story that honors friendship, humanity, nature AND is held in a precious space. I don't know how Mitchell handles this, but I've always loved the iamge of the storyteller with the copper box in her hand, sharing a beautiful thing - the story, not the box.

  Thanks, again.

• At September 23, 2008, Michael Doyle wrote:

  Again, wonderful.

  This may seem trite in the face of what you've been through the past couple of weeks, but at lunch today the issue of life (or whatever) after death came up. And in a flippant moment, I decided to hinge my bets on Hubble's constant--either the universe will continue expanding forever, the Big Bang a one time event, and eventually I will be trillions (?quadrillions) of hydrogen protons wandering about in (mostly) empty space, occasionally bumping into other particles

  OR the universe collapses, expands, collapses, expands an infinite number of times; each possible moment then occurs an infinite number of times, a mother of all Groundhog Days.

  Of course, it's unlikely the Big Bang comes remotely close to whatever reality reality happens to be, but given that's our cultural context, those were my two choices at lunch today.

  Of the two, I like the former best. Tomorrow I may like the latter.

  (I think I got my internet connection fixed--I got some catching up to do.)

  Michael Doyles last blog post..Autumnal equinox--does anybody know what time it is?

• At September 23, 2008, Kate Tabor wrote:

  I like the latter at this moment because it reminds me of the

  Hindu creation myth and how this world began with the opening of the lotus and will end when it closes - then it will open again...

  But the former speaks of Walt Whitman and his Song of Myself -

  "I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,

  And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge but the rim of the farther systems.

  Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding,

  Outward and outward, and forever outward.

  [...] There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage;

  Kate Tabors last blog post..The things we LIKE are complicit in the things we DON’T…

• At September 23, 2008, Michael Doyle wrote:

  Today I'm back to hoping for the latter (and since there's no way to know, let me rephrase that as faith in the latter).

  Not sure why I was so fond of entropy yesterday. Lunch in the faculty cafeteria can warp one's perception.

  I need to go revisit the Hindu creation myth. I have a habit of adopting various myths, depending, it seems, on my increasing decreptitude.

  (And the Whitman reference is wonderful, almost enough to push me back to yesterday's position.)

• At September 23, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Interesting, Jack. In his introduction, Mitchell makes connects Gilgamesh's moral certainty that Humbaba was "evil," and thus deserving of attack, with George Bush's similar "god-directed" certainty that invading Iraq was the unequivocally right thing to do.

• At September 23, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Wonderful comment as usual, Kate (and nice to see you and Michael settling into a chat here ;-) ).

  When I started this series, I didn't have a copy of the book, so I skipped that opening paean to the city and the wonderful device you mention of the book in the foundation-stone of the city wall. Now that I have the book (a former co-worker filched a copy for me from my old school - I'll pay for it later), it's a bit too late to discuss that. Until the very end, anyway. But let's not give that away, wink wink.

• At September 23, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Michael (and Kate), that eternal cycle of Hindu-like Big Bangs reminds me of Nietzsche's myth of the "eternal return of the same." As physics, I don't think he meant it literally, though I've seen academics argue he did. I always thought he meant it ethically: live your life like you're fated to repeat it eternally, as a way not to disgust yourself with how you're wasting or compromising it.

  But then with String Theory and parallel universes and extra dimensions, maybe we're all living infinite lives right now without knowing. I can't wait for an interdimensional skype. (And this sounds far dorkier than anything I've written since my hazy college days ;-) ).

  I've been up and down the ladder of ecstasy and misery enough times to want to choose life every time, but eternal sleep is okay too. Buddhism would be okay if it's right, since it gives second chances. And I see no way in hell that the universe has such evil in it that there would be an eternal burning-place for people who thought differently or lived botched lives.

  Now I'm going to shut up and drink in the Whitman Kate left us. Damn he's fine. And young Oscar Wilde, I think I recall, once sat, all 6 foot 4 of him, in old Uncle Walt's lap, and gave him a kiss. (Let's forget that they both got petty and attacked each other later.)

• At September 24, 2008, diane wrote:

  Clay,

  I haven't read Gilgamesh - yet - but find your summary and analysis fascinating.

  It sounds like Enkidu & Gilgamesh exchange roles, with the "animal" advocating morality and the "hero" desiring destruction.

  If this world is an anti-Eden, would the protagonists start with the knowledge of good & evil, then surrender this knowledge and sink to ignorance when they taste the forbidden fruit?

  There is much to ponder here.

  dianes last blog post..Float Like a Butterfly

• At September 24, 2008, Alexandra wrote:

  I am totally riveted by these series about Gilgamesh. I read it a couple of months ago, as part of my self-inflicted rediscovering of school-literature. I loved it even then, I can remember, but it was for the things like sex (which at 15 is an excellent topic all by itself) and religion in a very nighttime telly type of way, as E. Izzard would say. Now that I've read it again, I noticed things about it that were even more interesting then the sole idea of sex socially acceptable and even celebrated (I had outgrown the hormonal stage of my life) or religion as being only an interesting, new thing. This series comes as a confirmation that I had not imagined all of the symbolism and connections to both other ancient and modern literature. Bravo! I applaud this attempt at making Gilgamesh more approachable.

• At September 24, 2008, Kate Tabor wrote:

  Clay and Michael - talk about the universe expanding! Just imagining that meeting between Wilde and Whitman - might have learned something about more than poetry!

  "Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,

  For me those that have been boys and that love women" (Song of Myself - sect.7)

  It is, indeed, all about sex.

  Kate Tabors last blog post..The things we LIKE are complicit in the things we DON’T…

• At September 24, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Diane, that's an interesting riff on the Adam and Eve, Backwards idea I played with earlier.

  I can't help but hope that we'll learn, after fully digesting the consequences of unrestrained use of knowledge that we see around us in the dying modern world (it does seem like it's dying, doesn't it?), that we'll gain a wisdom that allows us to use science in a way that's more wise and less greedy.

  Have you seen the old Mad Max movies? I think of them often these days.

• At September 24, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Thank you, Alexandra. The funny thing is - and it's the premise of this entire intended series, about most schooly books we slept through in high school - most of these books are explosively mind-altering challenges to the simple beliefs at the foundations of our culture today.

  And we sleep through them because, while we're no longer burned at the stake for attacking false idols, we're still often fired for it. So we only teach the safe parts.

  I can't wait to get to Romeo and Juliet, for example.

  Anyway, thanks again.

• At September 25, 2008, Alexandra wrote:

  You're welcome.

  Ooooh, I look forward to your Romeo and Juliet analysis. My peers found it excruciatingly boring, I enjoyed it immensely. Can't wait to see what you have to say.

  On a different note, I've often heard it said that teachers have less freedom to, as you say, attack false idols in America than elsewhere. I don't believe that. I'm a chip off the old Eastern block, Eastern Europe is where I went to school. And our teachers also slept through various parts of really interesting literature because they were afraid, not of the parents, but the regime altogether. Some classical works were omitted, and some still are.

• At September 25, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Alexandra, you've got to tell us more. Where in the Eastern bloc? When? Have things changed since '91-'93?

  But your point is well-taken. Ideologies, whether religious or political, lead most of us to put on muzzles.

• At September 25, 2008, Alexandra wrote:

  I don't think I've ever been considered to be so interesting as I am here. *chuckles*

  To answer your question of where: in South Eastern Europe. I grew up in what was Yugoslavia, and now is the Republic of Croatia. I went to high school in the 80s, and things were slowly going downhill even then. It was difficult being a teenager, especially one that was brought up to be free-minded and modern by an extremely liberal family. It was a time when you got punished in school for simply asking a question, not to mention what would happen if you had the gall to openly disagree with the school's policy. Then, in '88 and '89 the tensions in the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY) escalated. The Yugoslav wars started in 1991 after the secession of most of the constituent entities. The Croatian war of independence lasted for 4 long years (1991-1995), and we were finally able to build our new independent country, if from scratch.

  So yes, things have changed since I went to school, and they changed a lot. But still, given that Croatia is a conservative country, with a lot of pressure coming from the Christian Church (especially in the matters of sexual education - which has been the point of many heated debates for the last two years), schools aren't permitted to teach what they'd like to, and what, by all accounts, they should teach children. There has been some effort to change the way education here works, but it's laughable, if you ask me. There are tons of inconsistencies and some things just don't work like they did before, what with the new age of electronics and Internet.

  The new school-reformations barely scratch the surface of the problems our teachers and students face. Things have changed, yes, but there is room for change still. Hopefully, for the better.

  I hope I didn't bore you with this long comment, but it's difficult to describe the current state of schooling here if you don't understand the background.

• At September 26, 2008, Kassi wrote:

  Clay,

  I would like to thank you for sharing this series. You have shown more interest and passion in just one entry than I remember any teacher ever showing me in the years of my education. I would have loved to have you as a teacher or professor. Though, so often, students in college are more dedicated and appreciate their education more than in high school, so appreciate professors more as well.

  All in all, you have made learning about this ancient, classic Gilgamesh most enjoyable. Thank you again.

• At September 26, 2008, Mikey wrote:

  Clay,

  Today we learned about Mesopotamia in school and slightly touched on the subject of Gilgamesh. But, from what my teacher said, which wasn't a lot, I knew that I would like it. So today I set out on the Internet and found this series.

  Just let me say one thing; WOW!!!! This is simply awesome. That’s basically all I can say. Right now I want to read the 2004 translation. But, sadly my town has no copies of it, or any alternate form, within its boundaries. Trust me, I've been checkin'.

  Anyway this is a simply marvelous series. I can’t wait for the next entry.

  *applause begins*

• At October 2, 2008, Mark wrote:

  I've read all the posts in this series, and I have to say it's refreshing to see somebody with such insight and passion for literature. It made me feel a little embarrassed when I thought that high school students were making such deep analytic comments in their class, whereas I remember just talking about what the symbols and metaphors were in each story. I was marginally relieved to find out that it was all just a dream, but I still love your analysis of the story. I might just have to go out and get a copy of Gilgamesh after reading your posts.

[Rarely in the last 21 months have I let more than two days go by without writing in this space. It's been a full week, though, since my last post. There are a number of reasons, and I just want to explain one of them by telling this story:]

~     ~     ~

New readers might not know this, but I’m somewhat of a newlywed, having married my Korean wife on March 8 of this year.  One Sunday morning five weeks after the wedding, my wife’s mother suffered a catastrophic stroke from which the doctors doubted she would recover at all - though she did pull through, that tough woman.  Six weeks after that, though, still in the hospital, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  For the following nine weeks, we received regular urgent calls to rush to the hospital to say goodbye.  All of them were false alarms, until another Sunday morning two weeks ago, when my wife’s mother finally passed away.

My wife’s family, though Christian, is still deeply Confucian in its devotion to family. You Westerners and Anglos who think you know what a close family is would probably agree, after living in China or Korea, that Confucianism takes family ties to depths unknown in the West. And because I’m married to the oldest child in the family, I was a bit shocked to discover that I was now looked upon as the “oldest son” of my wife’s family, outranking her two brothers - in theory, anyway. My inability to speak Korean soon made it clear that I could not play that role, so I receive much honor from my brothers, but little of the burden they’re having to bear.

This became clear, especially, during the three days’ mourning at the funeral home. Korean Confucianism dictates that the sons of the deceased spend two full days in black mourning suits, welcoming all who come to pay their final respects. (The daughters are not allowed to do this, but instead linger outside the altar room in their own black mourning dresses.) The visiting hours extend from roughly 8.00 a.m. to midnight, and the sons spend that entire time seated next to the altar, until a visitor arrives, at which point the sons stand shoulder to shoulder.

At first, my brothers-in-law insisted I welcome guests with them in this fashion, and I did my best - but it was confusing. Sometimes, visitors would come, we would bow, and then the visitors would turn to my mother-in-law’s portrait, place a white chrysanthemum on the table in front of it, then bow their heads and pray. They would then turn back to us, and we would both bow to each other from the waist, shake hands while exchanging a few words of thanks, and say goodbye.

At other times, though, guests would come in and go through the same process up to placing the flower - but then, instead of bowing their heads and praying, they would stand upright, fall to their knees, then place both hands on the floor in front of them, and touch their foreheads to the floor between their hands for a few long seconds.  Then they would stand up, and repeat that ritual a second time, and stand back up, bow toward the portrait from the waist, slowly, then turn to us.

The first time this happened, I thought my brothers-in-law and I would bow from the waist the way we had with the earlier guests. So I was surprised to see them instead spread out a bit, face the guests, and then, together with the guests, do the two full head-to-the-floor genuflections all over again, followed by the final bow from the waist.

I thought this second form of reverence was beautiful. I couldn’t understand why it was performed less frequently than the first.

Anyway, after we and the visitors performed that rite, the visitors would then shake my brothers-in-laws’ hands down the line, and usually, when they got to me, look quizzically at me and either ask my brothers-in-law a polite “who’s the foreigner” question in Korean and then shake my hand, or else look at me coldly, turn their backs without a word, and leave.

To digress for a second, I can’t recommend highly enough that second experience to any white Anglo, because it was the first time in my life I had experienced what it feels like to be looked down upon and rejected because of your race. I’m fully aware, in retrospect, that my interpretation of these people’s reactions to me could be wrong, that possibly it was just discomfort, confusion, or any number of other reasons that they didn’t treat me as equal to my brothers-in-law. But the feelings I experienced during those moments were new. I felt a new appreciation for the experience of people of color, or in interracial marriages, in the U.S. and other white-dominated countries.

My brothers-in-law noted the awkwardness, and seemed to come to grips with the fact that I was not Korean, that I was a somewhat distracting presence for all, and gave me permission to basically come and go as I pleased while they kept the stricter vigil.  I pretty much did that for the rest of the mourning.

Back to the story, though: After a few hours of sometimes kneeling - kow-towing, to give it its Chinese name - and sometimes only bowing, I asked my brother-in-law: “Why do some people kneel and touch their heads to the floor when paying their final respects, while others don’t, but instead only stand, pray, and bow?”

His answer saddened me: “The ones who kneel are traditional Koreans. That’s the way we’ve always done it. But the ones who don’t kneel are Korean Christians. They were taught by the missionaries not to kneel to their ancestors, because that was worshiping them, and the First Commandment in the Bible forbids that, so it would displease God.”

My wife had told me, in the first days of our courtship, that her childhood was marred by family fights over whether to pay respect to ancestors the traditional way or, in following the teachings of their new Christian faith, to refuse to do so. It’s an issue that has caused a lot of strife and discord in many Korean families since the missionaries came, and continues to do so. The funny thing is, though, that as I watched this custom being enacted by mourners toward my mother-in-law, it never entered my mind that they were “worshiping” her. They were paying respect, they were honoring, they were expressing reverence for this woman they loved and her path on this earth, as far as I could see - and doing it in a very touching, beautiful, humbled way. And now, because some long-ago foreign man of a foreign god had interpreted their culture in terms of his own, they were fighting about it.

My wife’s family, again, being Christian, themselves did not pay their final respects to their mother in this traditional way. Instead, they constantly pulled out their Korean translations of the English (King James) translation of the Hebrew/Aramaic/Greek Bible, read verses from it, prayed to its god, and droned Western hymns (again in Korean translation) from its hymnal. I found that sad.

On the third day, we were called to watch the Korean undertakers wrap my mother-in-law’s body in the traditional silk binding-cloth, from head to toe, layer after layer, each layer tied tightly across her body with silk ties, until in the end she looked as if enclosed in a silk cocoon. A few hours later, we were at the funeral grave-site. The Christian preacher read a few verses from the Bible, they sang a few more hymns, the Korean grave-diggers covered the coffin with dirt and trotted in a circle of four to pack it down, in a cheerful way that made the children laugh and me think of the wry grave-digger in the Yorick’s skull scene in Hamlet. They said one last prayer - I kept my eyes open, as always when people pray, and took in the beautiful view of nature from this hilltop site, thinking appreciative thoughts the whole while about nature’s beauty, my in-laws’ decency, my mother-in-law’s well-meaning life - and then we all left.

We were all exhausted. I thought that was the end of it. But soon I learned that Korean Chusok - “Thanksgiving” - began two days later, and we would be spending another three or four days with the family at my father-in-law’s apartment on the outskirts of Seoul.

During Chusok, I learned that families visit the graves of their ancestors to have a meal “with them” there - so back we went to the gravesite, only three days after the burial. For some reason, my wife’s family didn’t bring a meal to the grave, but at many of the neighboring graves speckling the rolling hills of the massive cemetery, families were all picnicking by the burial mounds with rice and chopsticks and kimchi and the whole Korean spread. It was a cheerful sight on a beautiful, sunny, late-summer day.

We kept our visit short. Father-in-law now read from the Bible instead of preacher. I noticed he read from Revelation, the last book of the Christian New Testament, which Martin Luther himself rejected and opined should not be included in the Protestant Bible because he “saw no God there.”  More hymns were sung and prayers said, as I again surveyed the view of nature, and mentally surveyed the path of all our lives, and its common destination.

I found myself wondering again, as I had many times over the past week, if anybody in the family found it sad that all the words being spoken were not from the hearts of the family members, but the pages of a foreign book; that no words at all were being spoken by any but the elder men - preacher, then father; that the words were not about this kind woman in the ground at the end of her good life, but were instead about a “jealous God” and a crucified teacher in that foreign book. Even the tombstone inscription was not the family’s words, and its subject not the family’s mother and wife: instead, it was a cliche verse glorifying the god of that book. It seemed so impersonal to me.

I remembered, too, all those rushed “last visits” to the hospital bed, the family thinking so many times they were sharing their last moments with her, and each time wishing that someone would simply speak to her - would tell her she had been a good mother, a good wife, that she was loved, that her life was well-spent - instead of incessantly weeping and praying above her to the god they hoped would save her. I don’t think she ever got to hear her family express such things. Religiosity kept getting in the way.

The final Chusok prayer was said, and the family turned to leave. My wife stayed, and so did I. I told her I didn’t want to offend anybody, but that I wanted to pay my respects to her mother in the most beautiful way I could. After I explained what I meant by that, I was surprised that my wife approved.

So, though it felt slightly foolish, this foreigner - whose culture’s book and customs had dominated the life and death of this woman - he faced his mother-in-law’s fresh grave, went to his knees, touched his head to the earth at her feet, lingered, stood. Did the same thing again, stood again. Then he bowed his head, inwardly thanked her for her selfless life as a good mother and wife and neighbor - she really was all of these things - and rejoined his family.

~     ~     ~

Thanksgiving is over now, and we’re back home. But things are fragile, and it’s hard to concentrate. I’m almost ready to tackle the next three books of Gilgamesh, but not quite. To complicate matters more, I’m both job-hunting and writing a non-fiction book proposal, which is about a 40-page task.

So bear with me. I hope to be the regular old writer soon.

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14 Comments

• At September 19, 2008, Tim wrote:

  It is strange to hear that Christians decided to stop ancestor worship since the whole religion is based on a form of ancestor worship (from a certain point of view). I understand that feeling of being outside the situation and not truly understanding what is going on. At the funeral for Aysem's uncle, I was very lost. Some of the actions at the mosque for quite moving and the grave side was very sad. It was also the day I found out that not everybody does all the prep work for funerals that we do in the US.

  Tims last blog post..Classical Literature — The Tao Te Ching

• At September 19, 2008, AllanahK wrote:

  I had tears in my eyes as I read your last tribute to your mother-in-law. I lost my own mother recently and found it a comfort to be able to tell her how much I appreciated and loved her before she passed- in NZ funerals are very customisable and we were able to do a iPhoto slideshow before the service which allowed people to share in many great moments of Mum's life- visually picking up many threads that we couldn't do by telling her story orally- thanks for sharing.

  AllanahKs last blog post..Now It Seems More Real

• At September 20, 2008, Kate Tabor wrote:

  I will remind you, master storyteller, that the spirits of the great and lovely souls who have gone before us stay alive in the now through story. Tell the stories of your mother-in-law. It is in those stories that she lives on for you, your family, and anyone fortunate enough to hear/read them. You have a gift.

  Kate Tabors last blog post..Itchy Friday…

• At September 20, 2008, diane wrote:

  Clay,

  Thank you for sharing these mourning traditions with us. Your respect and love for your mother-in-law is obvious. In honoring her, you honor your partner; in cherishing your partner, you cherish the woman who helped form her character.

  My deepest sympathy to you, your wife, and your Korean family.

  dianes last blog post..Promises to Keep

• At September 21, 2008, chandra wrote:

  As i finished reading your story, i was brought to tears. i am a young Korean female with a family much like yours. my stepfather is a white man who came into our family and married the eldest daughter/child of the Pak family, where he too held the same role you held in your family. the only difference is that he was married to my mother for 10 years before the tragedy occurred. i happen to be the oldest child from a line of 5 generations of firstborns. you can imagine the type of expectation and responsibility has been placed on my shoulders by birthright.

  several years ago, my grandmother passed away. and i never once stopped to think about how my dad felt around that time. you have just made me look at it from the perspective of my dad. and it hurts my heart that i never once thought of it in the way you so eloquently wrote.

  my family still does the bowing ritual on certain occasions. that is a tradition that has been unmarred by Christianity, however most of my family does claim to be Christian. so the concept of Christianity wiping out some of our traditions hasn't really had an impact on us. besides we "kids" love to bow on new years to receive money from our elders. [I'm not a kid anymore but i still bow to my family]

  basically, thank you so much for opening my eyes to the fact that maybe my dad had it a lot harder than i thought he did. and maybe he cared a lot more than he let on... but was silenced by the intimidating koreans he was constantly surrounded with. after 16 years, he still doesnt know a lick of korean, but i know he loves our family. thank you for showing me his perspective.

• At September 21, 2008, Jonathan wrote:

  There's a pervasive peace in your writing that overcomes both awkward and staggeringly solemn moments, Clay. As you may remember, my parents were Christian missionaries in the highlands of Papua New Guinea. When I was in middle/high school their work was to replace the culture of the Huli clans ( http://www.gabelomas.org/huli/htms/huli1.htm ) with "Christianity", which included the observances and rituals that went along with their particular breed of faith.

  Regardless of how much impact my parents and their colleagues had on the local culture, there were always beautiful rituals that would literally rise above the influence of the proselytizers. If a tribal elder passed away, families would rise up into the mountains and light fires as they gathered around the body of their beloved, and in a way that only true oral cultures are still capable, members of the tribe would begin to wail the story of the deceased. These stories could go on ceaselessly for day, and night, and day, and night... literally days of non-stop recollections of the lives of those who'd passed.

  It used to bother me that sometimes I couldn't sleep at night because somebody was mourning up on a mountainside - and even when we're mourning we can be selfish about the way other people mourn around us.

  Sometimes people need to wail on the top of a mountain, or they need to place their head on the ground because that's just what they're moved to do.

• At September 21, 2008, Robert Swier wrote:

  You say that you thought it was sad that Christianity, a religion that does not have Korean origins, was incorporated into a Korean funeral. In particular, you mention the mourners being too devoted to the text of the bible and the lack of a wide variety family members (and friends, I suppose) saying a few words of their own.

  It is true that Christianity is not of Korean origin, but do not discount the decision of competent adults to choose their own religion. It's also worth remembering that the style of Christianity practiced in Korea is actually quite Korean. Had you married into an Irish family rather than a Korean one, I'm sure you would have found their wake and funeral rather different. Korea and Ireland have different cultures, and that is reflected in many ways, including how they practice Christianity. (And remember, Christianity isn't of Irish origin either.)

  Christian missionaries went to Korea with the goal of getting Koreans to change their religion and behavior. You may want to remember that before you suggest (even implicitly) any changes to the religion or behavior you find in Korea.

• At September 21, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Christian missionaries went to Korea with the goal of getting Koreans to change their religion and behavior. You may want to remember that before you suggest (even implicitly) any changes to the religion or behavior you find in Korea.

  That's such a given, Robert, it's impossible not to remember. But it doesn't make them right. And it's precisely what I find unfortunate.

  "Competent" adults in Africa right now, in AIDS-stricken regions, are deciding to believe similar missionaries who tell them not to use condoms, and so exacerbate - or at least don't ameliorate - the epidemic.

  Further, most adults of the first generation to convert in this country were farmers with no education. They were hardly on the same educational level as the Jesuits.

  I'm all for "competent adults" choosing their religion. The reality is, though, that most religions are never "chosen," since the indoctrination begins before the adherents even have their full set of baby teeth. That's parents choosing the religion for their children, rather than adults choosing their religion themselves.

  I'm told China has a law that minors may not enter religious institutions until they're adults (18, I think) able to reason as adults. Decisions made under those circumstances fit what you're talking about more than is the case in lands in which children are plunged into a creed without the mental capacity to question it.

  Finally, if you're implying that I made any attempt to change my family's religion, I'd ask you for evidence. This narrative is personal. It reflects my experience, and stops there.

• At September 22, 2008, Charlie A. Roy wrote:

  @ Clay

  I'm glad to see the distinction made between the Jesuits and the more modern missionaries. One interesting thing to be noted in the history of many nations with large groups of Christians is how the native believes have been incorporated into the Christian faith while preserving the dignity of the ancient belief when compatible.

  Some historians argue that the initial success of the Jesuits in Asia had to do in large part with the blending of the Catholic belief in the Communion of Saints and Purgatory with the Confucian beliefs of honoring one's ancestors. Christianity comes in various forms. Certain missionary groups are much more tolerant than others.

  On an off note one thing I don't understand is the need to evangelize already Christian nations. In college my protestant friends spoke of their mission trips to Haiti. When I pointed out that Haiti is Christian with a population that is 98% Roman Catholic I was laughed at. I suppose a trip to help build schools, provide clean water etc is harmless enough but to presume that these people are ignorant of the Gospel is a bit much to swallow.

  Thanks again Clay for a wonderful post!

  Charlie A. Roys last blog post..The Debate on Drug Testing

• At September 22, 2008, speroni wrote:

  I'm sorry for your loss.

  speronis last blog post..Spore

• At September 22, 2008, Robert Swier wrote:

  Thanks for your reply. I'm not sure why Christianity was attractive to Koreans after the arrival of the missionaries. I agree that the missionaries had more education, but I don't how or whether that helped them get more converts. At some point, the missionaries must have simply made their case and large numbers of people choose to agree.

  As for whether adults choose their religion or not, I have to say that they do, even if the religion they practice was first taught to them as children. Adults are under no obligation to continue believing the same things they believed in childhood, even if there is pressure from friends and family for them to do so.

  I'm not sure how the Chinese law you cite could be implemented. Does that mean that Christians in China cannot bring their children to church? Buddhists cannot bring their children to a temple? China does not guarantee broad religious freedom, so perhaps there are better examples.

  I didn't mean to imply in my original post that you had taken any action to change anyone's religion. But it did seem quite clear that you wished for some changes in their religious practices. You called them "sad" after all. Of course, there is a big difference between wishing for something and taking steps to make it happen, so I didn't mean to come across as critical.

  But anyway, the most interesting thing here is what makes something "Korean". One issue you have with Christianity is that it's "foreign" in Korea. But, it's a dominant religion in Korea and among Koreans worldwide. In my view, that makes it as Korean as anything else.

• At September 22, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Conversion to foreign religions throughout history have rarely, if ever, been "simple." North and South America were converted (if they weren't killed by disease or slavery) by force, primarily; Charlemagne converted most of Northern and Western Europe by force as well. The Roman Empire, when Constantine and his successors supported Christianity as a state religion, converted citizens through preferential treatment for jobs in the bureaucracy and so forth. If you wanted a good job, you had to be a Christian. The government also finally physically destroyed the pagan temples, thus eliminating the competition. Reason had little to do with it. Politics had almost everything to do with it.

  We can't discount, either, the self-interest of some converts who notice that the missionaries are wealthier and more powerful, and perhaps attached to a conquering army - another incentive to side with the winner for reasons that are rational, yes, but only in terms of enlightened (and materialistic) self-interest.

  Many missionaries today use health care or other social work to attract converts (secular ones like Medicins sans Frontiers do the good works by attributing it to ethical good will instead of the religion of one of the major tribes).

  Reason - especially when dealing with illiterate populations - is surely one of the least-used methods of conversion.

  Don't you find it sad that thousands are dying unnecessarily in Africa of AIDS because foreign men (and women) of a European god are telling them that condoms are against god's will? Don't you wish it weren't so?

  Unnecessary suffering - family divisions, diseases, more - caused by missionary activity should make us all feel sad, shouldn't they?

  Most children reach adulthood without ever receiving an opportunity to question the teachings of their childhood. Schools don't touch that taboo, generally (though I'm hearing more and more that IBO and, surprisingly, Catholic schools allow skepticism and reason to question articles of faith about unproven metaphysics from this or that religion).

• At September 23, 2008, Good, Evil, Nature, and the Hero - Backwards: Unsucky English, Lecture 5 (Gilgamesh, cont’d) | Beyond School wrote:

  [...] wife lost her mother two weeks ago. Her mother was a good woman, and passionately Christian. Yet her life was ended at a young 64 by a [...]

• At September 29, 2008, Ann Oro wrote:

  Clay, it is certainly difficult being the foreigner in a relationship. I am glad that you were able to share your tribute to your mother-in-law with your wife on Thanksgiving. It's interesting to see the different traditions at work within the same family. My condolences to you and your wife.

[I can't write about Gilgamesh right now. The funeral needs time to recede into the past before things here are stable enough for that type of writing. What I want to write about now is the weirdness of being an American abroad - a "stupid foreigner" - for the last 12 years. Don't worry, it's not bitter. It's funny to me, and an interesting window into the hazards of cross-cultural living.]

Don DeLillo wrote in some novel or other about how world travelers are, by the very nature of being an outsider bumbling through strange daily transactions the natives find normal, largely forgiven by the locals for being “stupid foreigners.”  DeLillo’s term was different, and his paragraph about this reality was typically smart and droll, but I’ve forgotten his term and long since lost or sold the book.  Personal libraries tend to lose weight when you have to pay for their transport from country to country. And since most fiction is always available (and who am I kidding? I won’t re-read most novels anyway), novels are the first to be tossed.

Anyway, I adopted the “stupid foreigner” nickname a couple of years ago here in Korea because DeLillo kept coming to mind every hour or two as I bumbled through one faux pas or another. Like the morning I took the elevator down to the parking garage for my daily drive to work, and discovered someone had parked behind my car and blocked me in, making me late to work. I honked, called out, got increasingly angry at the insensitive jerk who would do such a thing. Discovering the car was in neutral ten minutes later didn’t cool my temper. I pushed the car back a few meters, got in my car, and as I backed out, expressed my disapproval not by kicking a dent in the car or breaking a window, both of which crossed my mind, embarrassingly enough, but they would have crossed yours too (we’ve all got an Id) - but by instead resorting to a civilized revenge, in my book, which would only inconvenience the offender in rough proportionality to his/her offense of me.

I spat on the car several times, aiming particularly for the driver’s window and windshield. You’ve never seen a grown man spit with such passion.

When I arrived late to work, I saw the (Korean) business manager of the school, told him the story of the shocking offender and how angry I was, and he said: “No, that’s the Korean way. We don’t have enough parking here, so we leave our cars in neutral so people can push them out of the way.”

I wish my school would have told me that during orientation week for new hires.  And if you’re Korean and drive a black four-door Sonata, I really am sorry. I try not to be an Ugly American, but it’s almost impossible to avoid being a Stupid Foreigner sometimes.

And I owe you a car wash.

End of stupid foreigner story one.

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12 Comments

• At September 11, 2008, wmchamberlain wrote:

  A post that reminds my of Twain's Innocents Abroad. You obviously have much more insight into the bumbling tourists than Clemens, though. I think I should get out my copy and read it again.

  wmchamberlains last blog post..Making Aluminum Foil Boats Float

• At September 11, 2008, Paul C wrote:

  Entertaining post. Thinking of Bill Murray in Lost in Translation with Scarlett Johansson. A film about emptiness and disconnect in a foreign country. You must feel that way sometimes.

  Paul Cs last blog post..Anne Hathaway: Pretty Adorkable

• At September 11, 2008, Michael Doyle wrote:

  Gilgamesh can wait.

  Glad to hear your voice again--great story! We all do have an id, but in my travels, seems the American id is more, um, glorified here than in most parts of this orb.

  Take care of your clan, as I know you will. My last post was an old piece about the last few weeks of my mother's life. And I just realized why.

  Strange how "strangers" online can influence one's life, but I guess no stranger than dead strangers (such as Yeats) influencing me through paper from the grave.

  Michael Doyles last blog post..Bee

• At September 12, 2008, John Larkin wrote:

  So, it was YOU that clagged on my car window, Clay! Beware the flaming edgar!

  My wife Shao Ping has taught me a selection of choice Mandarin phrases designed to express one's frustration. I also learnt some colloquial Singaporean phrases from my colleagues and friends in Singapore.

  One day on a bus in Singapore I utilised one of those rather colourful expressions after the bus driver sailed through a red light and nearly collected cross traffic. The expression intimated that the bus driver was fatherless. Everyone in the bus turned to look at me, shocked, that such an expletive had come from a meek and mild looking foreigner. I alighted at the next stop.

  On another occasion I was waiting for a bus on Singapore's Bukit Timah Road. It is a rather wealthy area of the city. I had been walking home from the city, where I had been hanging out at my wife's workplace drinking with her boss, to our place in the suburbs when I decided the humidity was all too much that afternoon. It was time to take a bus. There was a reasonably elderly local also sitting at the bus stop. I was casually dressed.

  Well, a bus turned up, and being a polite fellow I allowed the elderly gentlemen to hop on the bus before myself. On the second step of the crowded bus he stopped, turned around, and waving towards me in an agitated manner said in a mix of English and a local mix, "You rich ang moh (white man), you take taxi, not catch bus. Piss off. F*ck off!" He spat in my direction too.

  I realise that some of the older generations in Singapore had been exploited by expats in the 'colonial' days so initially I adopted a diplomatic approach.

  I was both surprised and amused at the same time. He was determined not to let me on the bus and the passengers on that side of the bus were watching with interest see how the 'ang moh' would react. The gentleman persisted and carried on.

  I then thought to myself that I had been in Singapore for quite a few years, and I did want to catch that bus, and I was hot and sticky and, bugger it, I am now going to return fire with fire. I responded in a manner not unlike a local.

  I let loose with a variety of colourful colloquial Singlish, Hokkien and Mandarin expressions that surprised him and amused the crowd on the bus. I utilised some elaborate hand and arm signals as well. This also generated some bemused looks in the bus windows. I love an audience.

  He concluded his tirade in a mix of languages something to the effect, "You ride this bus, you might as well ride my cock!" I didn't quite follow that but I waved on the driver as there is an endless supply of buses in Singapore.

  As the bus pulled away the gentleman continued on with his hand signals through the window so I gave him the most elaborate 'bird' that I could muster and, in Mandarin, suggested he do something to himself that biologically is not actually possible, all the while with a smile on my face.

  I felt quite a sense of achievement and also okay with that because, over the years, I had been spat at and abused by elderly locals from time to time. Perhaps I unwittingly resembled a horrible expatriate boss from a bygone era. I had met some arrogant and rude, dismissive expats in Singapore and it is no wonder that some are resented by the locals.

  Cheers, John

• At September 12, 2008, John Larkin wrote:

  As an additional note to the above account... that feeling of 'being okay' with my response was because I was in some ways a 'local myself' with my colleagues even calling me the 'Singaporean Australian'. It is hard to describe. Probably why I miss Singapore so much. I meshed with the place.

  I had immersed myself in the local life, history, environment, and we lived locally, participated in local volunteer activities and ate and shopped locally. We did not live or hang out in the expatriate 'ghettoes' if you get my drift. I felt uncomfortable there.

• At September 14, 2008, Charlie A. Roy wrote:

  Great story. A priest friend of mine began his vocation as a missionary in the jungles of south america. He was instructed by his mentor that upon entering the village to "eat" whatever is offered as to not offend the people.

  On a Sunday evening the village organized a feast to honor the arrival of the new priest. He was given a place of honor and as each dish was brought to not offend his hosts he ate and ate.

  More dishes kept coming and even though the priest was stuffed he continued to eat as to not offend.

  The next day his mentor priest reported to him that he had greatly angered the entire village. Confused and saddened the young priest asked, "What had gone wrong?". The mentor then informed the priest that the custom is for the priest to sample the dish then bless the food so it could be distributed to the entire the village. The young priest then realized he had consumed the entire supply of food for the celebration.

  Charlie A. Roys last blog post..The Debate on Drug Testing

• At September 15, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  William, it's funny you mention the Twain book. It's sitting on my shelf, unread, and I love that man. Maybe I should dust it off too. I remember reading a snippet from it from a travel book in Florence. Twain condescended to Florence's River Arno, noting that it's not a bad "little river," as rivers go, but is a runt compared to the great Mississippi. Gotta love that.

• At September 15, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Interesting, Paul. Maybe I do, I'm not sure. Having this space, Twitter, and other connections online to the west really changes the face of expat alienation for the better.

  That is a nice movie, though.

  And come to think of it, when I do have to mix with the locals - especially my in-laws, whom I love, but still... - there is a hint of what you describe.

• At September 15, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Michael, I've been away at the in-laws for the last week - funeral, then Thanksgiving vacation - so I just got the chance to read your post. It's so beautiful, as I said in the comment, I'll just stop there. (After adding that the whole online influence thing is indeed a mind-blower.)

  As for papers from the grave? I've long said most of my best friends were long dead before I ever lived. For me it's Keats, Blake, Nietzsche (I've read his entire works carefully, and have my own interp of him, which I think is different from the hint you dropped of yours recently), and Wilde. And Homer. And the Gilgamesh poets, more and more.

  Yeats has hit me at times, but I think I need to look at him more. Did Ellmann do a biography of him?

• At September 15, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  I do get your drift. I avoid the expat places too. I left America to avoid that world, after all - though it's becoming less and less possible.

  And I understand your foreigner story too. Assholes deserve the occasional wipe, whether from local or foreigner. The guy was clearly racist (and yes, I too have dealt with the sympathy for anti-Anglo racism's causes in Asia).

• At September 15, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Hi Charlie,

  a) I totally love that story. It still cracks me up as I type.

  b) It anticipates a post I need to write about an experience I had at my mother-in-law's funeral and, a few days later, grave-site.

• At September 21, 2008, Stupid Foreigner in her own country wrote:

  I can totally empathize with you. I travel to another country frequently. Not across the globe, but a simple 7 hour drive to Tampa, Fl, where my Korean mother lives. I am an American Korean. My mother is Korean, but I was raised by my American (white) father. I am the only one of my mother's side of the family that does not speak Korean. I was raised as American as apple pie and my Sicillian grandpa's spaghetti.

  Imagine the discomfort of being in my aunt's Korean restaurant...with friends of my mom's and hers....being presented with a meal. With my outspoken, golden curled three year old daughter in tow, no less.

  "Ew, Mama. That looks like dog poop. I don't want to eat that!" (Okay, and yes, I agreed with her assessment of the intestines of some unnamed creature)

  And the sypmathetic looks my mom recieves for having such an American daughter and granddaughter from those in the group who understood my daughter perfectly.

  One woman asked, "How can you let her say that? Children eat what they are served!"

  This began an arguement between my mother this other woman. Then between my mother and my daughter that ended only when I took my poor kid out for a hamburger....

  a foreigner in "my" own land

[The Unsucky English Gilgamesh series so far: 1: Dangerous Questions ~ 2: The Day I Thought Gilgamesh Would Cost Me My Job ~ 3: this post~ 4. The Seven Deadly Sins, Backwards ~ 5. Good and Evil, Nature and the Hero - Backwards]

~     ~     ~

So there I was: caught, before all my new 14-year-old students’ eyes, with Enkidu’s pants down - and his mythic Sumerian wee-wee in hoo-hoos I knew nothing of.¹ And because so many of these Korean kids were evangelically Americanized, I wondered if it would cost me my job.

When we would come to Genesis later in the semester, I knew I’d be walking the netless tightrope over the heads of the many 14-year-olds who had predictably swallowed whole, since before their first teeth, their literalist childhood teachings about Adam, Eve, and the Six Days’ Creation.

But I had no idea I’d be dealing now, in tender Week Three of their high school careers, with this whopper of a sex scene between Shamhat, the temple prostitute, and Enkidu, the innocent, half-neanderthal and half-Adam “wild man” - and his jaw-dropping seven days’ erection: ²

Shamhat stripped off her robe and lay there naked,
with her legs apart, touching herself.
Enkidu saw her and warily approached.
He sniffed at the air. He gazed at her body.
He drew close. Shamhat touched him on the thigh,
touched his penis, and put him inside her.
She used her love-arts, she took his breath
with her kisses, held nothing back, and showed him
what a woman is. For seven days
he stayed erect and made love with her,
until he had had enough.³

Again, in the schooly translation I read when I was in high school, somebody had forgotten to include that part.

But the alley cats were out of the bag. Since we were all reading this translation for the first time together that night, half of my students were surely at that very moment in pop-eyed sync with me, “wtf?”-ing their margins and asking the same questions:

Would the “good people” students tell their parents? Were those parents emailing or calling the principal at the very moment we were all sitting there gawking at these lines? Tomorrow, when the monster lumbered into the school-building to corrupt their young, would a mob of torch-bearing parents send this poor, misunderstood Frankenfreak to his tragic end?

All that monster wanted was to give their kids the deepest, most relevant, coherent, and beautiful year of literary studies they would ever receive. And now, because of an unexpectedly graphic scene about what birds, bees, and each of these parents do - or did, at least once, when they made the shiny-eyed wonders brightening my classroom - would it all come down in flames?⁴

And would they make allowances for the fact that I first found the book in the school library? If I went down, should I bring the librarian with me? (Joking. Joking.)

I was jealous, suddenly, of math teachers. They never had problems like this.

But there was nothing to be done, for now, but finish the homework by finishing Book One. In the end, I realized, it all depended on whether these three-week-old high schoolers could handle it. I couldn’t wait to check the chapter annotations I’d assigned.

I finished the chapter and went to sleep.

The Next Day

“Beautiful.”

“Profound.”

“Deep.”

“Lovely.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. All the students’ annotations sang this section’s praises. Not a single immature reaction.

I was so proud of them. And I was saved.

The class discussion was even better.

“It’s a different culture, so it’s not surprising that sex would be treated with a different outlook,” said one.

Answered another: “The sex scene itself is wonderful for its simple narration of the events we study in biology - the voice is so objective, it’s almost scientific.”

A third: “And that shows how radically different this culture saw sexuality. It’s just another thing in life, described as simply as the weather, or a flower, or a beautiful sunset. It’s not pornographic or anything. It’s just part of life.”

A fourth: “But it’s more than that.”

“Explain that,” I said. “What do you mean?”

This student went on to give the most perfect explication of what happens after the sex scene, and what a deep, beautiful, mysterious, and alien point of view the world’s earliest civilization had, 2,000 years before King David and 3,000 years before Jesus, about the meaning of sexuality.

Before Shamhat

“Look at what happens to Enkidu after the sex scene,” he said, “and compare it to who he was before it.

“Before it, Enkidu was this weird wild man, created by the goddess Aruru - in exactly the same way, by the way, that the later god of Genesis created Adam - from clay - which makes me wonder if this isn’t another Judeo-Christian-Islamic borrowing from the older Sumerian/Babylonian culture.

“He was ‘one-third man, two-thirds animal,’ remember: the perfect ‘double,’ just as the god Anu ordered, for the ‘one-third man, two-thirds divine‘ Gilgamesh. And I mean ‘perfect’ in the ‘balancing’ sense too. Remember, Anu said Gilgamesh’s ‘double’ should ‘balance’ him - to bring ‘peace’ to Uruk by making Gilgamesh stop snatching all the new brides from his subjects’ beds.

“But the ‘balancing’ doesn’t stop there,” he continued. “It gets deeper.”

“How?” asked another.

“Setting, basically. Gilgamesh is the king of the first city in the world, and he knows that and is proud of it. He’s proud of civilization.  I would argue he sort of symbolizes it.

“But the setting associated with Enkidu?  ‘Wilderness’ - Nature. Enkidu drinks with gazelles at watering holes, runs with them (and as fast as them), and knows nothing, literally, about cities and civilized humankind.

“So Enkidu ‘balances’ Gilgamesh by symbolizing Nature - the opposite of the city, and its civilization, which literally has a wall to keep Nature out.

“But it gets deeper still, this ‘balance.’ Because contrary to what we’d expect, ‘civilized’ Gilgamesh is not superior to ‘wild and natural’ Enkidu. We see that because Enkidu saves the other animals from the ‘civilized’ hunter’s traps. He’s compassionate, this natural man. And he’s innocent. Gilgamesh, though, is screwing the brides of every groom in town. The civilized king is glorious, yes - he built Uruk’s walls and is semi-divine, after all - but he’s also really flawed by his heartlessness. Enkidu ‘balances’ this, too.

“Finally,” he continued, “Enkidu ‘balances’ Gilgamesh in his physical strength. It’s like Achilles and Hector in the Iliad - perfectly matched superhero types. So that’s it: Aruru did a bang-up job of creating exactly what Anu ordered - a ‘balancing double’ to Gilgamesh.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Who was this kid? I had to break in: “Did you steal my annotations?” I asked. “Who are you? I haven’t memorized all of your names yet.”

“Not now, Mr. B.,” he said. “I’m on a roll. Don’t interrupt. I’ve only covered the ‘before Shamhat’ Enkidu. I want to get to the ‘after Shamhat’ stuff now.”

Could I adopt this kid? Buy him from his parents? He was too good to believe.

“Wow. My apologies. Go for it.”

After Shamhat

“I’ll keep it short. It’s this: Gilgamesh’s mysterious ’solution’ to the ‘problem’ of the wild man worked brilliantly - though I don’t quite get why. Sex with this prostitute from the goddess Ishtar’s temple transforms Enkidu. And it does it in clear stages. I numbered them when I annotated.

“First, this sacred sex lifted him above the other animals that he used to hang out with. He doesn’t realize it - this is the weird thing - but the other animals do. They all run away from him when he tries to rejoin them at the watering hole.

“It’s mysterious, for sure,” he said, while I fought back exultations over this kid’s genius. “But the best guess I can give is this: All animals have sex, so it can’t be the simple sex that makes the other animals realize he’s no longer like them. So the only thing I can figure is that the poet is trying to say that sex seen as a holy thing - initiation into Ishtar’s mysteries, maybe? - is what separates man from animal. Seen this way, it’s not a brute act with Shamhat.

“And did you notice,” he went on, “that thing where Enkidu tries to run after the fleeing animals - before Shamhat, he was as fast as them, remember - but now he can’t catch up with them? Where is it . . . . yeah, here:

He tried to catch up
but his body was exhausted, his life-force was spent,
his knees trembled, he could no longer run
like an animal [he emphasized this line], as he had before.

–doesn’t that remind you of the story of Samson and Delilah in the Bible? It did me. I tell you, Mr. B., you’re right about that one. You see a million things in Gilgamesh that you thought were unique to the Bible. My preacher says the Bible is ‘the word of God.’ Well if that’s true, God sure seemed to plagiarize a lot from the Sumerians and Babylonians.

“But he also reverses them. Because in the Bible, Delilah is bad for Samson, while in Gilgamesh, Shamhat is good for Enkidu.”

“I never thought of that,” said another. “I think I see what you’re saying.”

“Yeah. It’s all there. The next thing that happens because of Shamhat is deeper still: Enkidu realizes - where is it -

‘his mind had somehow grown larger.
He knew things now that an animal can’t know.’

“So what are these things he ‘knew’? It doesn’t say. But it reminds me of the scene in Genesis where Adam and Eve eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and it doesn’t tell us what they learned either. All it does is show us that they covered their private parts.

“But here, they don’t cover anything, and no god gets angry. Instead, Enkidu just keeps transforming. Since the bell’s about to ring, I’ll rush: the next thing he learns sitting ‘at Shamhat’s feet’ is language and communication:

‘He understood all the words she was speaking to him.’

“And man, those words were interesting:

‘Now, Enkidu, you know what it is
to be with a woman, to unite with her.
You are beautiful, you are like a god.’

“‘You are like a god‘” he repeated. “So what’s happening here? Gilgamesh is ‘two-thirds god,’ remember. Is it okay, Mr. B., to read into this that sex with Shamhat maybe makes Enkidu less of a ‘balance’ to Gilgamesh now?”

“It’s okay to read anything you want into it, as long as you can justify your interpretation with good evidence. And you’re doing fine so far.”

“Because I was thinking that again, it was Gilgamesh that sent Shamhat in the first place. He wants to bring Enkidu over to his ‘civilized’ side. And it seems like it worked.”

“How?”

“Because the next thing that happens is that Shamhat tells Enkidu that he should not ‘roam the wilderness and live like an animal,’ but should instead come with her to Uruk, to Ishtar’s temple, and to Gilgamesh’s palace. And he goes. Because of Shamhat, a temple prostitute, Enkidu is no longer an animal. He’s closer to the gods now; and because of Shamhat, Enkidu is about to become civilized.

“And that’s like Adam and Eve upside-down and inside-out.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s obvious,” he said. “Eve seduced Adam and the result was God’s curse. Shamhat seduced Enkidu and the result was Ishtar’s blessings of godliness and civilization for Enkidu.”

“Strictly speaking, weren’t Adam and Eve cursed for disobeying their God?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s still pretty opposite. After all, the gods here aren’t giving any orders at all - the absence of orders is the opposite of their presence, right? - and the result of the seduction is a blessing, the opposite of a curse.”

“Maybe,” I said. “We’ll see what happens. It’s been ten years at least since I read this story, remember - and I’ve never read this version, either. I’ve forgotten most of it. So I’m as clueless as you about what will happen next.”

“There’s just one thing I wanted to ask, though,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“The plot’s really weird. The gods create Enkidu to make Gilgamesh change his ways.  But now, instead, we see Enkidu changing, not Gilgamesh. What’s going on?”

“It’s a mystery to me, too. We’ll see. But you left one thing out.”

“What?”

“You didn’t mention the last way that Enkidu changed: when Shamhat described Gilgamesh to him, isn’t his reaction confusing? The narrator tells us Enkidu ‘felt‘ something ‘deep in his heart . . . . the longing for a true friend.’ So that’s one more point for your theory that Shamhat civilizes him - he wants to escape his solitude and join human society, enjoy friendship.

“Again, that’s what he felt. But what he says is totally unexpected:

‘Take me with you
to . . . the palace of Gilgamesh the mighty king.
I will challenge him. I will shout to his face:
I am the mightiest! I am the man
who can make the world tremble. I am supreme!’

“Those hardly sound like words of friendship to me,” I said. “So maybe the gods’ plan for Gilgamesh is not as off-track as it seems.”

End of Class

The bell rang.  I turned off the alarm, and rose to get ready for work. An interesting bit of fantasy that was. “Too good to believe” indeed? I could only hope. I’d find out after the shower and drive to work.

~     ~     ~

Just kidding. I wouldn’t pull that on you. Here’s the real story:

Most of the annotations from the girls in the class were minor variations on: “ewwwww.” Sometimes three w’s, sometimes ten.

The boys? Smiley faces in the margins.

I wonder if those gender reactions for this age group are cross-culturally similar, or different. And I don’t know.

I imagine I tried to elicit discussions like the points made by the dream student above.

When I explained to them that I was as shocked as they were to read the scene, and was afraid they wouldn’t be able to handle it, they all assured me it was unexpected, yes, but nothing they hadn’t seen before online, on TV, in the movies.

“But it was weird to see it in English class.”

~     ~     ~

Can You Take a Minute?

If anybody has made it this far, I’d appreciate feedback on the three approaches I’ve tried so far in this Gilgamesh series. Number One was straight lecture style; Number Two was told as a “teacher story,” but in the second-person “you” point of view - I wondered if that would make the experience more immediate for readers, but also feared it might get old, especially if I continued it for months. This one was still a “teacher story,” but told in first person, with heavy Socratic dialogue.

If any of you care to share which of the three you think I should stick with, I’d be very appreciative.

Photos:
Belly-Dancer by macwagen
Bizarro World © DC Comics,
used under Fair Use Law

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If you like this post, please spread it: (But don't tag it "education." That will bury it.)

1. I stole this “wee-wee/hoo-hoo” line from Bill Maher’s brilliant “New Rules” rant about how American Puritanism silenced John Edwards, the most important voice for the poor “since Robert Kennedy,” per Maher. It’s very relevant to the discussions we’re having in this series.
2. And did I later joke in class, “This guy’s a walking Viagra commercial”? Or, “And you thought the Six Days’ Creation was impressive”? Or, “Talk about needing a rest on the seventh day”?  I don’t remember. But if asked, please say that I did.
3. all excerpts taken from Stephen Mitchell’s admirable 2004 translation of Gilgamesh.
4. If you think I’m exaggerating, check out this and this from readers who have seen it happen to other teachers.

---

33 Comments

• At September 4, 2008, The Day I Thought Gilgamesh Would Cost Me My Job | Beyond School wrote:

  [...] [The Unsucky English series so far: Gilgamesh 1: Dangerous Questions ~ 2: This Post ~ 3: Adam and Eve in Bizarro-World] [...]

• At September 4, 2008, Unsucky English, Lecture 1: On Gilgamesh | Beyond School wrote:

  [...] [This post had major problems in its original draft. I heavily edited it for all you stumblers. Subsequent posts in this series: 2. The Day I Thought Gilgamesh Would Cost Me My Job, a serious farce ~ 3: Adam and Eve in Bizarro-World] [...]

• At September 4, 2008, Narro87 wrote:

  Your posts on this topic are absolutely wonderful! It's a highlight of my day to see another ready to be read. Keep up the amazing work! And as for your style, simply do what's more natural in your mind--all of them are very effective and very engaging.

• At September 4, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Thanks for that. Please spread the word. I'm possibly losing a lot of readers uncomfortable with this series. I'd love to find new ones who might appreciate it. :)

• At September 4, 2008, Jack641 wrote:

  Came across your site quite by accident but I've read up on the Gilgamesh series you've had going here. This is some really great stuff; everything so far has been easy to read and fascinating at the same time. I had a teacher in high school who would teach a bit like this, and he really opened my eyes to a lot of things. Surprisingly, no one ever gave him any trouble for challenging us and making us uncomfortable with our preconceived ideas, even though we went to a catholic high school.

  Anyway, reading stuff like this makes me think about a career change. Keep it up; I'll be reading.

• At September 4, 2008, Alyce wrote:

  I stumbled upon the first lecture in this series and have since added your blog to Google Reader. I am loving it!

  I must say that I enjoyed the first post's format the most. With the latter two, the story of Gilgamesh seemed to get lost in the story you were creating of the classroom. We are the students, and I think your brilliance has a better chance of standing out if your writing takes the form of a lecture. Believe me: your thoughts can stand on their own!

  My two cents. :)

• At September 4, 2008, Louise Maine wrote:

  I particularly cared for the third followed closely by the first. Love the posts and will be coming back to them when life is less hectic to digest further. Religion, science... great fuel for the mind...

  Louise Maines last blog post..Wiki woman?

• At September 4, 2008, Hannah wrote:

  Hello!

  I particularly liked the writing style of this one. The first one was enjoyably readable as well, but the second I couldn't finish - wayyyy too much teacher-jargon on how to teach a subject. I was lost.

  I guess I should actually get a copy of this book before continuing... :D

  Hannahs last blog post..What I'm Going To Do With My Life

• At September 4, 2008, Jazzyblueteach wrote:

  The third was definitely my favorite of the three, but you killed me when that alarm went off! Don't ever ruin a perfectly good dream again! I was in awe of this boy wonder and then you had to go and wake up. For shame!!

  Ok, I can say this much. The version I am being forced to read for this Babylon class is not even close to as much fun. I am tempted to suggest a text change. Of course I can read what I want and no one will ever be the wiser. :)

• At September 4, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Your teacher was a lucky person.

  If you're thinking of going into teaching because of me, that's ironic - I just left it :)

  School-teaching, anyway.

• At September 4, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Thank for that, Alyce.

  I hear you on diluting the message with stories from the classroom.

  I think I just wanted to paint a picture of the silly but very real fears teachers have because of all these social forces at play in schools.

  Now that I've got that out of my system, I'll probably do as you suggest for most future posts.

  Thanks again.

• At September 4, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

  Louise, Hannah, Jazzy,

  Thanks for the feedback.

  Without being defensive at all (I'm really not), it's ironic that my own favorite so far is the second one - "The Day I Thought Gilgamesh Would Cost Me My Job."

  I think it has something to do with the set-up via the Sedaris stories. That "seeing with your ears" syndrome is so real, and Sedaris proves it with "Us and Them" (and what a pregnant title).

  But I know, anyway, that I'm pulled in two directions at least when writing these: to write for the old "edublogger" audience that I said (and meant) I was bored writing for; versus to write for students anywhere.

  I'll figure it out (or not).

  Hey, Jazzy, what translation are you reading? A.R. George? Mitchell has taken some heat for his liberties. He claims to have based them on the most accurate translations - and George's is acknowledged to be that - but others charge him with too much lassitude at times.

  It would be interesting to hear what your prof thought of the Mitchell translation - would love a report back if you do :)

• At September 4, 2008, Tim wrote:

  Hi Clay.

  All of the posts so far are fascinating, but I have to say the first was my favourite, stylistically-speaking, but then I'm neither a student (currently) nor a teacher so maybe I'm not your intended audience.

  In any case, I'm loving this series and can't wait to see where you take it next. Keep up the good work!

  Tims last blog post..http://caananite.stumbleupon.com/review/24728827/

• At September 5, 2008, Michael Doyle wrote:

  I loved all three, but I enjoyed the second the most. I could analyze all the reasons why I love blueberries, too, but I come here to be entertained.

  (I enjoyed the third, and maybe I am too naive, but I've had the rare kid take off in thought in science, and I was going to compare notes, then you woke up. That hurt.)

  Any sort of well-crafted Socratic dialogue is always welcome. (Works well in the class once kids get used to it, but it leaves them a bit exposed. I have to work hard to erase any hint of "aha!" when using it--but if I can get the dialogue going on in their heads after class, I've done my job.)

  Michael Doyles last blog post..