The myth of a flood destroying mankind recurs time and again in ancient Near Eastern cultures – but without the biblical emphasis on divine justice and retribution

George Smith, a low-level assistant in the Western Asiatic Department of London’s British Museum, was beside himself with excitement. As he scanned the cuneiform signs of the Akkadian inscription, Smith shouted, “I’m the first person to read this in over two thousand years of oblivion!” Leaping from his seat, he ran about like a man possessed. Then, to the utter astonishment of all present, he began stripping off his clothes.

The inscription inspiring this outburst appeared on the eleventh tablet of the Akkadian Epic of Gilgamesh, recounting the Babylonian version of the story of the flood. The tablet, long buried among the ruins of an ancient civilization in Mesopotamia, dates from the seventh century BCE.

In the late 19^th century, Sir Henry Rawlinson discovered the key to deciphering Akkadian and the cuneiform characters in which it was written. The breakthrough aroused enormous interest all over the world. In the 1850s, extensive British excavations of the ancient city of Nineveh at Tell Kuyunjiq (near Mosul, in northern Iraq) had unearthed the library of Ashurbanipal, the last great monarch of the Assyrian Empire. Densely inscribed with unintelligible cuneiform text, these thousands of clay tablets were deposited in the British Museum.

George Smith was then only twenty-one, a working-class bank note engraver with no formal education. Intrigued by the tablets whose secrets were gradually being unlocked, he began studying cuneiform to decipher them himself. Rawlinson recommended Smith to the British Museum, where he worked in his spare time for next to nothing. While poring over a cuneiform tablet from Nineveh in 1872, Smith came across a description of a storm, a boat that came to rest atop a mountain, and a bird sent out to find dry land. The biblical parallels were sensational. Unfortunately, the tablet was in poor condition, covered in dust and grime, and Robert Ready, the museum’s restoration expert, was away on business. Smith impatiently awaited Ready’s return and was rewarded in full when, some days later, he read the newly intelligible lines in their entirety.

The young man’s enthusiasm was infectious. He revealed the contents of the tablet in a lecture to the British Biblical Archaeological Society on December 3, 1872, and news of his discovery made headlines in the Daily Telegraph. The inscription of the flood narrative, however, was incomplete. Smith estimated that some fifteen lines were missing where fragments of the tablet had broken off. In exchange for exclusivity, the newspaper agreed to fund a new expedition to Nineveh, headed by Smith, in search of other tablets that might fill in the gaps.

Taking a six-month leave of absence, Smith set out immediately despite the approaching winter. Though hindered by Ottoman bureaucracy and inclement weather, his excavation uncovered tablets that remain part of the museum’s D. T. (Daily Telegraph) Collection. Remarkably fast, he’d identified the missing passage. With their scoop now assured, the paper promptly cut off the Smith’s funding, forcing him to return early. He directed two more expeditions to Mesopotamia but fell ill with dysentery in Aleppo during his third visit, dying at just thirty-six.

Today, almost 150 years after Smith’s discoveries, Assyriologists have a much better grasp of both Akkadian and cuneiform. Enough tablets have been deciphered to reconstruct the entire Akkadian flood myth. Dozens of translations, research papers, and even dramatic renditions are widely available. The first Hebrew translation, by the famous poet Saul Tchernikovsky, was based on a German version. The English translation used below is taken from the first volume of A. R. George’s The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic (Oxford University Press, 2003).

 

Hungry Gods

The Akkadian flood story, dating from the end of the first millennium BCE, is a tale within a tale, part of an account of the heroic deeds of Gilgamesh, legendary king of Uruk (biblical Erech). The death of a friend sets Gilgamesh on a quest for immortality, during which he seeks out the man who survived the flood.

The Epic of Gilgamesh wasn’t the only such legend in Mesopotamia. A century of archaeology has unearthed two similar narratives: the myth of Atra-Hasis from the 17^th century BCE (almost a thousand years before the Gilgamesh epic), also in Akkadian cuneiform, and an even more ancient Sumerian version.

In each text, the hero’s name reflects his role. In Sumerian, he’s Ziusudra, “(whose) life is until a far-off day”; in Gilgamesh, he’s Uta-napishti, “who found life.” Both appellations relate to the everlasting life bestowed on the protagonist after the flood. Atra-Hasis, in contrast, means “very wise.” The kernel of all the stories seems to be a sage named Ziusudra, son of Ubar-Tutu, who ruled the city of Shuruppak. (One of Mesopotamia’s oldest cities, it’s known today as Tell Fara.) In Gilgamesh, for instance, Uta-napishti is termed a “man of Shuruppak, son of Ubar-Tutu.”

In this epic, the gods decide to destroy mankind, swearing not to reveal their intentions to any of their victims. Yet Ea, god of wisdom and the fresh waters of the abyss, warns Uta-napishti in a dream. Turning to the reed hut in which the sage is resting, Ea advises him to build a boat and save himself and those around him:

Reed fence, reed fence! Brick wall, brick wall!
Listen, O reed fence! Pay heed, O brick wall!
O man of Shuruppak, son of Ubar-Tutu,
Demolish the house, build a boat!
Abandon riches and seek survival!
Spurn property and save life!
Put on board the boat the seed of all living creatures! (George, p. 701)

With his city’s help, Uta-napishti constructs a seven-story boat measuring 120 cubits on each side. He then brings all his family and possessions, animals and craftsmen inside. The next day, a terrible deluge begins:

At the very first light of dawn –
there came up from the horizon a black cloud,
within it Adad [the storm god] did bellow continually.[The gods] Shullat and Hanish were going at the fore,
‘throne-bearers’ travelling over mountain and land.
Errakal [god of the underworld] was ripping out the mooring-poles;
Ninurta, going (by), made the [dams] overflow.
The Anunnaki [gods] bore torches aloft,
Setting the land aglow with their brilliance.
The [paralyzing terror] of the Storm God passed across the sky,
all that was bright was turned into gloom.
Like an ox [he] trampled the land, he smashed [it like a pot,]For one day the gale […]Quickly it blew and the [Deluge …] the east wind,
Like a battle [the cataclysm] swept over the people.
One person could not see another,
nor people recognize each other in the destruction.
Even the gods took fright at the Deluge!
They withdrew, they went up to the heaven of Anu [god of the skies]. (ibid., pp. 709–11)

After six days and seven nights, the sea stills and the flood ends. The ship washes up on Mount Nimush, which some identify with Iraq’s Mount Omar-Gudrun. Uta-napishti investigates whether it’s safe to disembark:

I looked at the weather, and there was quiet
But all the people had turned to clay.
The flood plain was level like a roof.
I opened a vent and sunlight fell on the side of my face.
I fell to my knees and sat there weeping,
The tears streaming down the side of my face.
I scanned the shores, the edge of the sea,
In fourteen places emerged a landmass.
On Mount Nimush the boat ran aground,
Mount Nimush held the boat fast and did not let it move.
One day, a second day, Mount Nimush held the boat fast and did not let it move,
A third day, a fourth day, Mount Nimush held the boat fast and did not let it move,
A fifth, a sixth, Mount Nimush held the boat fast and did not let it move.
When the seventh day arrived –
I brought out a dove, setting it free:
Off went the dove …
No perch was available for it and it came back to [me.]I brought out a swallow, setting it free:
Off went the swallow …
No perch was available for it and it came back to me.
I brought out a raven, setting it free:
Off went the raven and it saw the waters receding.
It was eating, bobbing up and down, it did not come back to me. (ibid., pp. 711–3)

Upon leaving the boat, Uta-napishti offers a sacrifice.

I brought out an offering and sacrificed to the four comers of the earth.
I strewed incense on the peak of the mountain.
Seven flasks and seven I set in position,
Below them I heaped up (sweet) reed, cedar and myrtle.
The gods smelled the savour,
The gods smelled the sweet savour,
The gods gathered like flies around the sacrificer. (ibid., p. 713)

Having partaken of the offering, the mother goddess swears by her necklace of fly-shaped lapis lazuli beads, which symbolize the hungry gods descending on the gift of food but also signify man’s fleeting lifespan. She vows to remember the deluge forever. In the parallel myth of Atra-Hasis, the gods pledge never to repeat the flood, promising mankind will always endure. And in the Gilgamesh epic, the gods reward Uta-napishti and his wife with eternal life: “In the past Uta-napishti was (one of) mankind, but now Uta-napishti and his woman shall be like us gods!” (ibid., p. 717).