Before Buffy Summers and Indiana Jones, before Superman and Ellen Ripley, before Robin Hood, King Arthur and Beowulf, or Rey Skywalker, Achilles, and Katniss Everdeen, there was the original hero's journey and quite possibly the oldest known story ever told, "The Epic of Gilgamesh."

Written around 5,000 years ago in what is now Iraq, the Mesopotamian myth of Gilgamesh has become the gold standard against which folklore heroes have been measured.

And his story contains many of the foundational tropes of mythology.

Even if you've never read a Gilgamesh legend, his battles with monsters, squabbles with gods, journeys to other worlds, and general agonizing about what it means to be a hero will probably look familiar.

But these storytelling devices were cutting edge at the time and copied over and over again.

Even though these narrative beats hail from a time that feels so unlike our own, Gilgamesh's inner journey still feels relevant today.

When we look closely at his errors, his relationships, and his character transformations, it's clear that he's so much more than a mythical blueprint.

[bright music] We first meet Gilgamesh as the beautiful brutal leader of the Sumerian city of Uruk.

He's kind of a toxic bro who likes getting into brawls and seducing brides on their wedding nights.

The goddess Aruru finally gets sick of Gil's antics and mixes up some spit and clay to create a powerful adversary for him, Harry Wildman.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I read that wrong.

I mean a hairy wild man named Enkidu, sometimes depicted as half bull, half man with superhuman strength, but an innocent heart, like Gronk.

Enkidu skulks outside the city walls, eating grass and befriending animals, before striding into the city to challenge Gilgamesh to a fight.

The two appear to be evenly matched as they wrestle across the city, until Gilgamesh eventually triumphs.

After duking it out, their rivalry turns to mutual respect.

You're good, Gilgamesh.

I'll give you that.

You too, Enkidu.

Hoo.

Wanna truce?

Sure.

You know what?

Maybe we should, like, join up forces.

We'd probably be better together.

Oh, I love that.

You know, I've always wanted a sidekick.

Oh, great.

Wait, what?

Despite their differences, from that day onwards, the two are inseparable.

Wait, that reminds me of something.

[encouraging music] Enkidu's innocence and communion with nature make him a foil for Gilgamesh's excessive tendencies, but their relationship is more intimate than your run-of-the-mill hero-sidekick dynamic.

You could call it the original bromance.

But many have viewed Gilgamesh and Enkidu as a homoerotic or queer love story in which the two provide each other with much-needed companionship and care.

Their relationship is described as a marriage in numerous passages of the epic, and it's the first time we see Gilgamesh caring about someone other than himself.

Gilgamesh even confides his deepest desire to his new companion: to achieve lasting fame.

This was a lot harder to do before YouTube.

So together they embark on a series of rebellious escapades.

Chopping down a sacred cedar forest, murdering the many-headed guardian of the cedars, and killing the sacred Bull of Heaven.

God forbid he should try to get famous by, I don't know, planting a cedar forest or healing a sacred bull.

Well, the gods didn't like it either.

As punishment, they strike Enkidu with a terminal illness and he dies in Gilgamesh's arms.

Wait, what?

Enkidu was the nice one.

All this chopping and killing for fame was Gilgamesh's idea.

But Enkidu's death provides an opportunity for Gilgamesh to grow.

How nice for Gilgamesh.

He realizes he's been going about things all wrong.

His goal shouldn't be fame, but immortality.

Aim high, I guess.

Gilgamesh wanders across the wilderness in search of Utnapishtim, a wise man who had been granted immortality by the gods as a reward for saving humanity from a cataclysmic flood by building a giant ark.

What does that remind me of?

Deucalion?

No.

Vivos vita?

No.

Bergelmir?

No.

Forget it.

To find Utnapishtim, Gilgamesh must pass through Mashu, a mountain rooted in the underworld and towering towards heaven.

Its guardians, a pair of scorpion warriors, warn him that no light touches the passage through Mashu.

After hours of total darkness and howling winds, Gilgamesh emerges into a glittering garden.

Beyond the garden lies the Sea of Death, and there on the shore is a bar.

But instead of Tom Cruise in a Hawaiian shirt, this bar is tended by the divine alewife, Siduri.

Like any good bartender, Siduri listens to Gilgamesh's woes and gives him some smart advice.

"Quit this wild goose chase and just enjoy what's left of your short mortal life."

Does that sound like something our Gilgamesh would do?

Heck no.

He ignores her and sails to Utnapishtim's island where he begs the old man for the secret to immortality.

Utnapishtim also thinks Gil's mission is boneheaded, but, like a divine reality show host, offers him a couple physical challenges.

First, if he can stay awake for seven days straight, the gods might grant him immortality.

That's it?

This is the guy who chopped down the sacred cedars and hunted the Bull of Heaven.

Staying awake should be no problem at... Oh.

Oh yeah, he falls asleep.

Next, he must retrieve a magical youth-giving plant from the bottom of the ocean, which gets snatched right out of his hands by a snake.

Dejected and defeated, Gilgamesh finally gives up on his dreams and heads home.

But there, a profound character shift occurs.

The specifics vary depending on which version you're reading.

Maybe he settles down and starts a family.

Maybe he focuses on being a good leader and city builder, or maybe he pursues wisdom and writes about his adventures.

Whatever the details, Gilgamesh comes to accept his human limitations and, like the gods had been pushing him to do all along, make the most of his limited time on earth.

This is still a massively popular narrative device.

How many heroes set off in pursuit of fame and riches only to learn that the real treasure is the friends we made along the way?

Gilgamesh set the standard for real heroes knowing when to give up on fame and glory and just... Let it go.

Gilgamesh's decision to write about his life is also a popular hero trope with particular meaning for the Sumerian people.

Gilgamesh's domain, Uruk, was a real place that grew into a vast urban center during the 4th millennium BCE and is considered by many to be the world's first real city.

Bureaucracy and finance increased the demand for writers who kept records and tracked resources, but also put oral stories to tablet.

Written in cuneiform, the oldest known form of writing, "The Epic of Gilgamesh" is one of the earliest works of literature that testifies in numerous ways to the enduring human desire to make our mark.

In that way, Gilgamesh did kind of achieve immortality.

Maybe instead of sending him to the bottom of the sea, Utnapishtim should have just handed him a chisel and tablet and sent him home.

Now it's time for another one of our Pantheon Picks.

This is something new we're doing this season.

Dr. Z and I are each going to choose different figures from mythology that we love and we're going to join them in a united pantheon at the end of this season.

I made my first pick in the first episode of the season, and now it is Dr. Z's turn.

For a Mesopotamian mythology episode and probably the least surprising pick of all time, I'm going with Tiamat.

What?

I know!

Shocking from the monster expert.

Tiamat is considered a mother by some people now, but she was a creation deity originally.

She literally housed all of creation in Mesopotamian mythology in her womb.

And I think like a warm, squishy waterbed of creation sounds like a nice option to have to relax in the utopia.

She can create life, and also could help us defending the utopia against anyone trying to attack us.

If we need to make some kind of weird Pegasus-weather demon hybrid, she's got the experience.

Oh, brilliant choice.

I love that.

And you're right, I'm not surprised but your justification is perfect, immaculate, great choice.

(Emily) Thank you.

(director) Or, sorry.

Right.

-Okay.

-Let's start from the top.

[singing] Let it go!

(director) I mean, even though you won, Gilgamesh...

Okay, cut.