From the introductory lines above translated, we see that Êridu, “the good city,” which Sir Henry Rawlinson recognized many years ago as a type of paradise, was, to the Babylonians, as a garden of Eden, wherein grew a glorious tree, to all appearance a vine, for the adjective “dark” may very reasonably be regarded as referring to its fruit. Strange must [pg 072] have been its appearance, for it is described as resembling “white lapis-lazuli,” that is, the beautiful stone of that kind mottled blue and white. The probability that it was conceived by the Babylonians as a garden is strengthened by the fact that the god Aê, and his path, i.e. the rivers, filled the place with fertility, and it was, moreover, the abode of the river-god Nammu, whose streams, the Tigris and Euphrates, flowed on both sides. There, too, dwelt the Sun, making the garden fruitful with his ever-vivifying beams, whilst “the peerless mother of heaven,” as Tammuz seems to be called, added, by fructifying showers, to the fertility that the two great rivers brought down from the mountains from which they flowed. To complete still further the parallel with the Biblical Eden, it was represented as a place to which access was forbidden, for “no man entered its midst,” as in the case of the Garden of Eden after the fall.
Though one cannot be dogmatic in the presence of the imperfect records that we possess, it is worthy of note that Eden does not occur as the name of the earthly paradise in any of the texts referring to the Creation that have come down to us; and though it is to be found in the bilingual story of the Creation, it there occurs simply as the equivalent of the Semitic word ṣêrim in the phrase “he (Merodach) made the verdure of the plain.” That we shall ultimately find other instances of Eden as a geographical name, occurring by itself, and not in composition with another word (as in the expression Sipar Edina), and even a reference to gannat Edinni, “the Garden of Eden,” is to be expected.
Schrader[5] has pointed out that whilst in Eden the river bears no name, it is only after it has left the sacred region that it is divided, and then each separate branch received a name. So, also, in the Babylonian [pg 073] description of the Eridu, the rivers were unnamed, though one guesses that the Tigris and the Euphrates are meant. The expression, “the mouth of the rivers [that are on] both sides” (pî nârãti ... kilallan), recalls to the mind the fact, that it was to “a remote place at the mouth of the rivers” that the Babylonian Noah (Pir-napištim) was translated after the Flood, when the gods conferred upon him the gift of immortality. To all appearance, therefore, Gilgameš, the ancient Babylonian hero who visited the immortal sage, entered into the tract regarded by the Babylonians of old times as being set apart for the abode of the blessed after their journeyings on this world should cease.
The connection of the stream which was “the path of Ae” with Eridu, seems to have been very close, for in the bilingual story of the Creation the flowing of the stream is made to be the immediate precursor of the building of Êridu and Êsagila, “the lofty-headed temple” within it—
“When within the sea there was a stream,
In that day Êridu was made, Êsagila was built—
Êsagila which the god Lugal-du-azaga had founded within the Abyss.”
In this Babylonian Creation-story it is a question of a stream and two rivers. In Genesis it is a question of a river and four branches. The parallelism is sufficiently close to be noteworthy and to show, beyond a doubt, that the Babylonians had the same accounts of the Creation and descriptions of the circumstances concerning it, as the Hebrews, though told in a different way, and in a different connection.
Two trees are mentioned in the Biblical account of the Creation, “the tree of life” and “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” By the eating of the former, a man would live for ever, and the latter would confer upon him that knowledge which God [pg 074] alone was supposed to possess, namely, of good and evil, carrying with it, however, the disadvantage of the loss of that innocence which he formerly possessed. Like the Hebrews, the Babylonians and Assyrians also had their sacred trees, but whether they attached to them the same deep significance as the Hebrews did to theirs we do not know. Certain, however, it is, that they had beliefs concerning them that were analogous.
The most familiar form of the sacred tree is that employed by the Assyrians, to a certain extent as a decorative ornament, on the sculptured slabs that adorned the walls of the royal palaces. This was the curious conglomeration of knots and leaves which various figures—winged genii with horned hats emblematic of divinity, eagle-headed figures, etc.—worship, and to which they make offerings, and touch with a conical object resembling the fruit of the fir or pine. An ingenious suggestion has been made to the effect that the genius with the pine-cone is represented in the act of fructifying the tree with the pollen (in an idealized form) from the flowers of another tree, just as it is necessary to fructify the date-palm from the pollen of the flowers growing on the “male” tree. This, however, can hardly be the true explanation of the mystic act represented, as similar genii are shown on other slabs not only holding out the conical object as if to touch therewith the figure of the king, but also doing the same thing to the effigies of the great winged bulls. Of course, the fructification of the king would be not only a possible representation to carve in alabaster, but one that we might even expect to find among the royal sculptures. The fructification of a winged bull, however, is quite a different thing, and in the highest degree improbable, unless the divine bull were a kind of representation of the king, which, though possible, is at present unprovable.