Introduction

This chapter deals with ethical aspects of human-animal relations in the second- and third-millennium Mesopotamian literature that emerged in Sumer in southern Mesopotamia (present-day Iraq). Non-Semitic Sumerian culture developed at the end of the fourth millennium BCE, forming the home of literacy—the first script appearing therein ca. 3200 BCE. The earliest literary sources in Sumerian date from ca. 2600–2500 BCE, although some scholars push this back to 2800 BCE. They were closely followed by Semitic document in Akkadian (since 2450 BCE) (Holm, 2007, p. 269; Richardson, 2019, p. 13).Footnote 1 As is well known from earlier stages of traditional agricultural societies and in contrast to the modern world, human beings lived in close proximity to the animal kingdom (Taylor, 2013, pp. 15–21). Literary sources from this period thus provide us with a fascinating glimpse into human-animal relations, including their ethical dimensions.

Mythic and Epic Literature

Sumerian, and Akkadian (Assyrian and Babylonian) literature falls into diverse categories: (a) mythological narratives; (b) epics, tales, and legends; (c) laments and prayers; (d) wisdom and didactic literature; (e) autobiographies; and (f) love songs (Holm, 2007, pp. 269–270; Foster, 2016, p. 31). Written anonymously, most of these genres continued to exist in Babylonian and Assyrian literature, heirs to Sumerian culture (ca. 2000 BCE) (Crawford, 2004, p. 13). Sometimes copied into Akkadian as school learning exercises, the Sumerian documents joined other original Akkadian works (Klein, 2011, 2:524; Demsky, 2012, pp. 78–84). A large part of the material examined in this chapter derives from the mythic and epic literature composed in Sumerian and Akkadian in Mesopotamia. We shall thus first briefly review these two genres.

Myth is an anonymous plotted story that focuses primarily on the gods or figures possessing divine attributes. Of great importance to its author and his audience, it was part of ancient religious and tradition, (Segal, 2004, pp. 13–14). Giving meaning to religious ideas and to the question of how something becomes what it is, it addresses the creation of the world, humanity, human beings and animals, and the plant world, also giving an account of social order. Myths often begin as oral tales passed down from generation to generation (Freedman, 1999, p. 555; Baldick, 2001, pp. 163–264; Hillington, 2006, pp. 146–147), the events to which they refer occurring before the beginning of human history (Berlin, 1983, p. 23).

Because they are not true in a scientific sense, myths sometimes contain diverse and/or conflicting rationales (Bolle, 2005, p. 9:6360). Their verisimilitude being inapposite in societies that believe in them, the verification and refutation that play such a significant role in critical/academic thought was irrelevant in the ancient world (Ohana, 2010, p. 48). Although closely associated with the imagination, mythic thought is not divorced from reality or reason. Seeking to understand actuality without subjecting it to universal scientific laws that meet the standard of logic, it sets out to explain phenomena with the help of tales of the gods and personified animals, plants, and even inanimate objects. While created by a specific culture, myths are simultaneously shaped by the latter (Frankfurt, 1977, pp. 3–5, 14–17; Ohana, 2010, p. 49; Van De Mieroop, 2016, pp. 5–12).Footnote 2 Mythic thought has therefore served as a lens through which to observe the universe (Johnson, 2021, p. 70).

Epics are lengthy narratives that describe the deeds of legendary hero(ine)s who lived in the remote past. They frequently incorporate parts of myths, popular tales, and history, the protagonists customarily being protected by or even descending from the god(s). They thus wage miraculous battles or campaigns, found cities, and save people. Epics generally have some religious content, also conveying philosophical lessons linked to the meaning of life. Like myths, they develop orally (Baldick, 2001, p. 82; Knipe, 2005, p. 4:2813; Louis, 2007, p. 8; Cuddon, 2013, p. 239).Footnote 3

The Role Animals Play in Mesopotamian Creation Stories

We shall look first at the animals represented in the Mesopotamian (Sumerian and Babylonian) creation stories. The Sumerian Gilgameš, Enkidu and the Underworld describes the initial stages of An and Enlil’s formation of the world—the separation of the earth and sky (lines 8–13; Black et al., 2004, p. 32; Schwemer, 2007, p. 126). Other sources evince that the sky and the earth formed a single entity in the form of an ancient mountain. When the gods divided them, they created a space in which life—and death—could emerge (Kramer, 1963, p. 113; 1982, pp. 135–137). According to the epic, the world was forged out of already existing material rather than ex nihilo as in Genesis (Long, 2005, p. 3:186). The first gods then made younger, minor gods, male gods coupling with their female counterparts (EkNg, 70–185; EkNh, 5–7; ElNl, 41–142).

Bowing under the weight of the agricultural tasks necessary for their survival, they created human beings to help them. In most of the Mesopotamian myths, the creation of human beings is associated with Enki, the god of the earth and sweet water—and also responsible for laying the foundations of human civilization (Kramer, 1970, pp. 103–7; Moran, 1971, pp. 52, 55; Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 55). Humankind was thus created in response to a problem rather than pre-planned (Keel & Schroer, 2015, pp. 21, 111). In this regard, it contrasts with the biblical account, in which God had no need of assistance, the world being created for humanity’s sake (Gen 1:28–30; Klein, 2011, p. 540; Keel & Schroer, 2015, pp. 109–111; cf. Sparks, 2007, pp. 629–632).

The myth of Enki and Ninmaḥ, for example, recounts that the gods labored arduously in digging channels and other agricultural tasks, all the while complaining about their bitter fate. The goddess Ninmaḥ thus asked the Creator-god Enki—responsible for creating the rivers, vegetation, and, as becomes clearer later in the plot, the animals (Pettinato, 2005a, p. 4:2791; Espak, 2010, p. 98)—to form a creature to bear their heavy burden. Enki created two goddesses, in whose womb lay the first two creatures made of clay. With the aid of Ninmaḥ, the Mother-goddess, and seven other divine midwives, the first human couple (male and female) was thus fashioned (lines 8–40; Shifra & Klein, 1996, pp. 80–81).

During the second millennium BCE, this early creation story evolved, re-surfacing in two later Akkadian myths—Atrahasis and Enūma-Eliš (Jacobsen, 1976, p. 116). According to the first (which also contains the Babylonian Flood account), human beings were created by Ea, the Wisdom-god, and Mami, the Mother-goddess—Akkadian incarnations of the Sumerian gods (Jacobsen, 1968, pp. 106–7; cf. Muffs, 1978, p. 81; Thompson, 2002, pp. 166–167, 186, 193). Designed to shoulder the tasks of the gods, human beings were created from clay and the rebel god Ilamela’s blood (Atrahasis, I 204–354).

The Babylonian Enūma-Eliš tells how Marduk rose through the ranks of the divine hierarchy (Frymer-Kensky & Pettinato, 2005, pp. 4:2809–2810; Tamtik, 2007, pp. 65–73).Footnote 4 He created human beings from Qingu’s blood to serve the gods, the latter suggesting that all the minor gods be wiped out (V 135–156, VI 1–34).Footnote 5

In contrast to Genesis 1 and 2, none of these creation stories explicitly recounts the creation of the animal kingdom (Gen 1:20–31; 2:19–24; Kikawada, 1983, p. 44; Dalley, 2000, p. 4; Averbeck, 2003, p. 760; Keel & Schroer, 2015, pp. 116–117).Footnote 6 Some allusions to it nonetheless occur in Mesopotamian mythology. The Debate between Sheep and Grain adduces a primal scene in which only the gods exist, the plant and animal kingdoms not yet having been created:

With no sheep appearing, there were no numerous lambs, and with no goats, there were no numerous kids, the sheep did not give birth to her twin lambs, and the goat did not give birth to her triplet kids; the Anuna, the great gods, did not even know the names of Ezina-Kusu or Laḥar. (DSG, 6–11; Black et al., 2004, p. 226)Footnote 7

Later on, agriculture, clothing, and the gods responsible for human beings and their welfare—Dumuzi, the Shepherd-god, and Šakkan, the god of wild animals—still not having been created (DSG, 12–19; cf. Jacobsen, 1985, p. 45), human were thus vegetarians:

The people of those days did not know about eating bread. They did not know about wearing clothes; they went about with naked limbs in the Land. Like sheep they are grass with their mouths and drunk water from the ditches. (DSG, 20–25; Black et al., 2004, p. 226)Footnote 8

According to the Sumerian Flood Story (SFS), the animal kingdom was created after humanity:

After An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag had fashioned the black-headed people [i.e., the Sumerians], they also made animals multiply everywhere, and made herds of four-legged animals exist on the plains, as is befitting. (SFS, A 11–14; Black et al., 2004, p. 213; see also Espak, 2010, p. 194; 2019, p. 307)

The Debate between Bird and Fish contains a lengthy account of how Enki created the animals and took care of their needs:

In those ancient days, when the good destinies had been decreed and after An and Enlil had set up the divine rules of heaven and earth, then the third of them … the lord of broad wisdom, Enki, the master of destinies, gathered together … and founded dwelling places; he took in his hand waters to encourage and create good seed; he laid out side by side the Tigris and the Euphrates, and caused them to bring water from the mountains; he scoured out the smaller streams and positioned the other watercourses … Enki made spacious sheepfolds and cattle-pens, and provided shepherds and herdsmen; he founded cities and settlements through the earth and made the black-headed multiply. He provided them with a king as shepherd, elevating him to sovereignty over them; the king rose as the daylight over the foreign countries. … Enki knit together the marshlands, making young and old reeds grow there; he made birds and fish teem in the pools and lagoons … he gave … all kinds of living creatures as their sustenance …place[d] them in charge of this abundance of gods. When Nudimmud [Enki], august prince, the lord of broad wisdom, had fashioned … he filled the reed-beds and marshes with fish and birds, indicated to them their positions and instructed them in their divine rules. (DBF, 1–21; Black et al., 2004, pp. 230–231)

We find a similar picture of Enki creating the ecological environment of plants and human life in The Heron and the Turtle (lines 1–21) and Enki and the World Order (lines 1–16, 50–60, 221–237) (Black et al., 2004, pp. 215–217, 220, 236). According to the latter, Enki gave cattle to the Martu—nomads in the region between the Tigris and Euphrates: “Enki presented Animals to those who have no city, who have no houses, to the Martu/Mardu nomads” (EWO, 248–249; Black et al., 2004, p. 221; cf. Kramer & Maier, 1989, p. 49; Averbeck, 2003, pp. 762–764).

In general, Enki takes pains to care for animals in distress. In The Heron and the Turtle, for example, when the “turtle, the trapper of birds, the setter of nets, overthrew the heron’s construction of reeds for her, turned her nest upside down, and tipped her children into the water. The turtle scratched the dark-eyed bird’s forehead with its claws, so that her breast was covered in blood from it” (HaT, A 60–66), the heron appealed to Enki in desperation. Heeding her cry, he asked his aide to erect a reed barrier and net to protect her from the evil turtle (ibid, A 67–B 9).

According to The Debate between Sheep and Grain, Enlil, the powerful Storm-god who both destroys and makes the land fertile, was also involved in the creation of animals:

At that time Enki spoke to Enlil: “Father Enlil, now Sheep and Grain have been created on the Holy Mound, let us send them down from the Holy Mound.” Enki and Enlil having spoken their holy word, sent Seep and Grain down from the Holy Mound. Sheep being fenced in by her sheepfold, they gave her grass and herbs generously. (DSG, 37–44; Black et al., 2004, p. 227; Jacobsen, 1976, pp. 97–103; 1977, pp. 140–144; McCall, 1990, p. 25; Marcus & Pettinato, 2005, p. 4:2799)

Responsible for creating winter and summer, he thereby further tends to animal fecundity:

Winter made the ewe give birth to the lamb, he gave the kid to the goat. He made cows team together with their calves, he provided butter and milk. On the high plain he made the deer and stag glad of heart. He made the birds of heaven set their nests in the broad spaces. The fish of the lagoons laid eggs in the reed-bed. In all the orchards he made honey and wine drip? to the ground. (DWS, 50–56 [ETCSL];Footnote 9 cf. Kramer, 1963, p. 145, 266; 1982, pp. 186–187)

Other minor gods were also in charge of animal welfare and procreation—Dumuzi, the Shepherd-god (for whom see below) and Ninurta, the Warrior and Protector-god associated with agriculture and rain (Leick, 1998, pp. 31–34, 135–137; cf. Annus, 2002, pp. 145–148; Schwemer, 2007, p. 127):

My King, ewe give birth to lambs, ewes give birth to lambs, the sheep of the fold are born; I shall call upon your name. My King, goats give birth to kids, goats give birth to kids, billy goats are born; I shall call upon your name. My king, cows give birth to calves, cows give birth to calves, cows and breed-bulls are born; I shall call upon your name. My King, she-asses give birth to foals, she-asses give birth to foals, donkeys … are born; I shall call upon your name. My King, humans give birth to children, My King, humans give birth to children. Ninurta, King … (A Balbale to Ninurta, 8–21; Black et al., 2004, p. 187)

KAR 4, copied from a much earlier source in Assyria ca. 1100 BCE, relates how the first two human beings, male and female, were created in order to take care of the animal kingdom: “Ullegara and Annegara they shall be called; (to make) cows, sheep, cattle, fish and birds (and) the prosperity of the land abundant” (lines 52–56; Espak, 2010, p. 195).

Mesopotamian mythology thus represents animals as having been created by Enki and Enlil, the two gods linked to water and fertility, lesser gods such as Dumuzi, Ninurta, and Šakkan being responsible for their welfare.

The Functioning of the Primal World and the Gods’ Attitude Towards the Animal Kingdom

At the beginning of creation, peace and harmony prevailed between the gods and the animal world. Set in the Sumerian “Garden of Eden” located in Dilmun, the origin-myth of Enki and Ninhursag describes how the earth was pure and virginal:

In Dilmun the raven was not (yet) cawing, the flushed partridge not cackling. The lion slew not, the wolf was not carrying off lambs, the dog had not been taught to makes kids curl up, the colt had not learned that grain was to be eaten. When a widow had spread out malt on the roof, the dove was then not tucking the head (under its wing) [in fear]. (lines 13–21; Jacobsen, 1987, p. 186; Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 57 n. 5; Dickson, 2007, p. 5)

This text indicates that animals were not created as predators or with any tendency to do harm.Footnote 10 The scene recalls that painted in Genesis, in which all those whom Adam named, including himself and his wife, were vegetarians (Gen 1:29–30).Footnote 11 According to the latter, however, God supplied all his creatures with sustenance rather than just the animals (Westerman, 1984, pp. 162–164; Wenham, 1987, p. 33). The Hymn to Amun-Re similarly depicts humans as vegetarians: “He who made herbage (for) the cattle, and the fruit tree for mankind” (IV 4; ANET3, 366 [Wilson]).

The epic Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta contains a spell that presents a fascinating picture of creation, no animal hurting any human being (albeit without any mention of vegetarianism):

In those days, there being no snakes, there being no scorpions, there being no hyenas, there being no lions, there being no dogs or wolves, there being no(thing) fearful or hair-raising, mankind had no opponents (lines 136–140; Jacobsen, 1987, p. 289; cf. Kramer, 1943, p. 193; Alster, 1973, p. 103)Footnote 12

The Mesopotamian gods nevertheless happily ate the sacrifices offered to them, human beings similarly taking from the meat on the altars without any concern for the fate of the animals sacrificed (Larsen, 2005, p. 14).Footnote 13 While the Hebrew Bible permits the eating of flesh after the Flood, however, it imposes certain restrictions (Gen 9:3–4; Keel & Schroer, 2015, p. 146).

The question of divine and human ethical attitudes towards animals also arises from the diverse versions of the Mesopotamian Flood story. Some scholars maintain that the background of this narrative lies in the torrential rain storms from which Mesopotamian settlements frequently suffered, which threatened human and animal life, the myths thus resting on a kernel of historical truth (Leick, 1998, p. 93; cf. Segal, 2004, pp. 12–13). Although the original Sumerian source (SFS) has only been preserved in corrupt form (Black et al., 2004, pp. 213–215), it serves as the core of two later expanded versions from the Old Babylonian period.

In the eponymous Babylonian Flood story Atrahasis, humankind grows at an uncontrolled rate, the commotion people make disturbing Enlil’s rest.Footnote 14 He thus seeks to “cull” the population through plagues and famines. Enki heeds humanity’s cries, however, and thwarts Enlil’s schemes (I 352–413, II 265–330; cf. Frymer-Kensky, 1977, pp. 148–149). Not justifying Enlil’s treatment of either human beings or animals, this text is not a theodicy in any sense (Moran, 1971, p. 56). It thus contrasts with the biblical Flood account, in which the deluge is due to human sin (Gen 6:5–8; Frymer-Kensky, 1977, pp. 149–150; Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 88). The Mesopotamian version may reflect a measure of criticism against the gods’ arbitrary decision-making processes (Moran, 1971, pp. 59–60), these not being governed by the ethical principles of good and bad (Simoons-Vermeer, 1974, p. 33).Footnote 15

Enlil’s plot having been stymied, he determines to wipe out all life on earth through a flood. Enki informs his colleague Atrahasis of Enlil’s intentions, however, advising him to build a boat to save all those threatened (Atrahasis, III 1–37).Footnote 16 In order to prevent his companions from interfering with the project or trying to board the boat, Atrahasis gathers together the city elders and misleadingly tells them that he is seeking to escape Enlil’s clutches. They thus extend their aid to him (apparently at his request), assisting in the marine construction—the poor and children also participating in the enterprise (III 38–69).

The myth addresses two ethical issues—Atrahasis’ disinformation and the exploitation of children and the poor. Atrahasis employs a type of lie (Bok, 1989, pp. 13, 18; Ekman, 1992, p. 28). While the more egotistical a lie the more it is generally considered a graver offence (Cantarero & Szarota, 2017, p. 322), in certain circumstances it is may serve as a form of defense, thus not being regarded as immoral (Elaad, 2007, pp. 34–37; Vrij et al., 2010, p. 90). In such cases, truth is subject—albeit only temporarily—to a higher value or principle (Singer, 1999, p. 292; Rotenstreich, 2014, p. 256).Footnote 17 Here, Atrahasis may be attempting to protect the person elected to preserve humanity and the animal world.

Exploitation of weak sectors of society was viewed as a seminal sin in the ancient Near East (Weinfeld, 1995, pp. 29–38). In Gilgameš, Enkidu and the Underworld, for example, Gilgamesh of Uruk rides on the shoulders of orphans as part of his game- playing, thereby causing them great pain (GEU, 154–155; Black et al., 2004, p. 35). Atrahasis may thus be said to have been saved due to his close relations with Enki—in contrast to Noah, whom God delivers because of his righteousness (Gen 7:1).Footnote 18 In Sumerian-Babylonian culture, the saving of human and animal life via deception is condoned by the gods. Despite its selfish aspects, Enki’s act is not a misdeed (Kramer & Maier, 1989, p. 132; Klein, 2011, p. 548).

Atrahasis loads everyone onto the boat to save their lives:

Everything there was […] everything there was […] pure once […] fat once […] he selected [and put on board.] [The birds] that fly in the sky, cattle [of Šak]kan, wild animals? […] of the open country, [… he] put on board. (III 32–38; Dalley, 2000, p. 31)

After all have disembarked, Atrahasis offers thanksgiving sacrifices to the gods.Footnote 19 According to Shifra and Klein’s reconstruction of the corrupt text, these were meal (plant-based) rather than animal offerings (III 252–254; Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 127).Footnote 20

Another version of the Flood story occurs in the eleventh tablet of the Gilgamesh Epic. The first great epic, comparable to Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, this was written in the second millennia BCE in Babylonia and is based on earlier third-millennium Sumerian epics.Footnote 21 Gilgamesh (ca. 2600 BCE) was the fifth king of the first Uruk dynasty, apotheosized after his death. Two-third god and one-third human (I 45–46), he is a tragic heroic protagonist who, in the wake of his companion Enkidu’s death, goes in search of eternal life because he regards the sentence of mortality imposed on all creatures as blatantly unjust (Jacobsen, 1990, p. 243; Shifra & Klein, 1996, pp. 183–184; Dalley, 2000, pp. 39–45; Millard, 2000, p. 128).Footnote 22

On his peregrinations, he seeks out the hero of the Flood episode, Utnapištim—who, with his partner, were given eternal life by the gods after the Flood—in order to ask him how to gain this status (Veenkler, 1981, p. 201). Utnapištim tells him that all the creatures (with the exception of himself and his wife) are mortal (Pruyser & Tracy Luke, 1982, p. 189). To demonstrate this, he recounts a Flood narrative that closely corresponds to Atrahasis. This version preserves an important section in better form than the latter, however, according to which, when the Flood subsided, the ark came to rest on the Nişir/Nimuš mountains, the birds helping the protagonist ascertain that the waters have indeed receded:

But the seventh day when it came, I brought out a dove, I let it loose: off went the dove but then it returned, there was no place to land, so back it came to me. I brought out the swallow, I let it loose: off went the swallow but then it returned, there was no place to land, so back it came to me. I brought out the raven, I let it loose: off went the raven, it saw the waters receding, finding food, bowing and bobbing, it did not come back to me. I brought out an offering, to the four wings made sacrifice, incense I placed on the peak of the mountain. Seven flasks and seven I set in position, reed, cedar and myrtle I piled beneath them. The gods did smell the savour, the gods did smell the savour sweet, the gods gathered like flies around the man making sacrifice. (Gilg. XI 145–161; George, 1999, pp. 93–94)Footnote 23

Here, the birds’ physical attributes are superior to those of human beings (the ability to fly). In contrast to Atrahasis, however, Utnapištim offers thanksgiving offerings to the hungry gods from the animals who survived the Flood à la Noah (Gen 8:4–22; Keel & Schroer, 2015, p. 28).Footnote 24 As a sort of “consolation prize” for his efforts, Utnapištim’s wife reveals their secret to him—namely, a plant that keeps one young even if it does not impart eternal life.Footnote 25 Gilgamesh sets off to find this, locating it after much searching. Being distracted for a minute, however, a snake sneaks off with it:

Gilgameš found a pool whose water was cool, down he went into it, to bathe in water. Of the plant’s fragrance a snake caught scent, came up [in silence], and bore the plant off. As it turned away it sloughed its akin. Then Gilgameš sat down and wept, down his cheeks the tears were coursing. … [he spoke] to Ur-šanbi the boatman: “[for whom,] Ur-šanbi, toiled my arms so hard, for whom ran dry the blood of my heart? Not for myself did I find bounty, [for] the ‘lion of the earth’ I have done a favor!” (IX 303–314; George, 1999, p. 97)Footnote 26

While Gilgamesh’s encounter with the pair helped him come to terms with his mortality (despite being two-thirds god), it also prompted him to change his ethical views. When he returned to his homeland, instead of continuing to be a tyrannical ruler he began aiding his subjects. According to the long (Old Babylonian) version, he first tested it on the elders of the city, then ate of it himself (XI 295–300/272–281). The epic therefore deals with morality as well as mortality, demonstrating that life is not only a matter of heroic individual struggle but also cooperation and the building of families and cities (Vulpe, 1994, pp. 279–283; Abusch, 2001, pp. 621–622; 2015, pp. 130–136; Pettinato, 2005b, p. 5:3488). According to the Mesopotamian Flood story, the animals were thus saved primarily on the basis of the gods’ interest rather than any divine or human ethical compassion.

Unethical treatment of animals is also reflected in the behavior exhibited by Inanna, a Sumerian goddess known in Babylonian-Assyrian culture as Ištar. A complex figure, she served as the goddess of love in the sense of physical sexual attraction rather than romance and the goddess of war, also being associated with the storms and rain responsible for fertility and damage. She was thus regarded as a powerful embodiment of both life and death (Jacobsen, 1976, pp. 135–137; Abusch, 1999, pp. 452–455; Green & Black, 2000b, p. 156; Leick, 2004, pp. 55–110). According to the Gilgamesh Epic, she had numerous lovers, to all of whom she caused great harm. Some being human, they bridged the divine and earthly realms (Pettinato, 2005c, p. 7:4403).

Gilgamesh himself eludes her courting, telling her that she hurts those she delivers—including animals:

You loved the speckled allallu-bird, but struck him down and broke his wing: now he stands in the woods crying ‘My wing!’ You loved the lion, perfect in strength, but for him you dug seven pits and seven. You loved the horse, so famed in battle, but you made his destiny whip, spur and lash. You made his destiny a seven-league gallop, you made his destiny to drink muddy water, and doomed Silili his mother to perpetual weeping. (VI 48–57; George, 1999, p. 49)

In similar fashion, she turned the shepherd into a wolf, thereby disturbing the order of creation determined by the gods, who separated the divine, human, and animal realms from one another (VI 58–62; Harris, 1991, p. 272). In Innana and Ebiḥ, the goddess seeks to dominate Ebiḥ, the mountain, where many animals make their home:

Fruit hangs in its flourishing gardens and luxuriance spreads forth. Its magnificent trees are themselves a source of wonder to the roots of heaven. In Ebiḥ … lions are abundant under the canopy of trees and bright branches. It makes wild rams and stags freely abundant. It stands wild bulls in flourishing grass. Deer couple among the cypress trees of the mountain range. (lines 121–126; Black et al., 2004, p. 337)

 The goddess attacks the mountain and the creatures that dwell in it and severely damages them:

Mountain range, because of your elevation, because of your height, because of your attractiveness, because of your beauty, because of your wearing a holy garment, because of your reaching up to heaven, because you did not put your nose to the ground, because you did not rub your lips in the dust, I have killed you and brought you low. As with an elephant I have seized your tusks. As with a great wild bull I have brought you to the ground by your thick horns. As with a bull I have forced your great strength to the ground and pursued you savagely. I have made tears the norm in your eyes. I have placed laments in your heart. Birds of sorrow are building nests on these flanks. (152–165; Black et al., 2004, p. 338)

Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld likewise portrays her mistreating animals. Apparently linked to a fertility rite, this text describes her as descending into the underworld, the kingdom of her older sister Ereškigal, the goddess of death and gloom (McCall, 1990, p. 71; cf. Noegel, 2017, pp. 119–144). Here, too, she seeks to take charge, despite the fact that the gods had placed a clear boundary between the land of the living and that of the dead that could not be crossed in either direction.

Caught, she is supposed to remain in the netherworld, only being allowed to return to earth if she finds someone to take her place. In her egotism, Inanna has no qualms about doing so, suggesting her husband/lover Dumuzi. The demons thus kidnap him and bring him down (IDNW 1–403), thereby dooming the earth to infertility (Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 350; cf. Kramer, 1950, pp. 361–363).Footnote 27 The Shepherd-god who guards the flock against predators and robbers with his faithful hound (DD, 96–97; McCall, 1990, p. 26), Dumuzi is the complete antithesis of Inanna in this respect. His descent into Sheol symbolizes the arrival of the dry season (summer), in which little grows.Footnote 28

In light of his great importance, his sister Geštinanna volunteers to take his place in Sheol six months out of the year (IDNW, 404–409; Kramer, 1966, p. 31). This Mesopotamian fertility ritual associated with Dumuzi then spread to Syro-Canaan, its echoes also being heard in the Hebrew Bible (Ezek 7:13; Scurlock, 1992, pp. 53–67; Black, 2000a, p. 96).

A broken tablet contains a passage from a myth in which Dumuzi, his flock, and dog are all beaten so severely that he appeals to Utu, the god of the sun and justice to save them:

“Oh and woe! Utu, Utu, pray be my friend. Oh and woe! Nanna, Nanna, pray be my companion. From my snake-(menaced) ewe, make the snake go away. From my scab-(afflicted) mother-goat, make the scab go away. From my lot expropriate the miqlu-disease, let it whirl about in heaven. From my dog remove the seizures, let him follow the sheepfold. As for me, fashion a divine hand against the treacherous Kurgarra. In my holy sheepfold I will pronounce your name on prime cheese.” (BM 96692:18–25; Kramer, 1990, pp. 146–147)

The gods heed his plea and heal him and his furry friends (BM 96692:26–46; Kramer, 1990, p. 147).

The Dream of Dumuzi reports a nightmare the god had one night that his flock had been seriously injured (lines 34–40). His sister Geštinanna interprets it for him as predicting that he and his flock will be attacked by bandits. These transpire to be the demons of Sheol who drag him down to the underworld (lines 58–264). This episode also appears in Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld: seeking to escape the demons, Dumuzi asks Utu to turn his hands and feet into those of a snake (IDNW, 368–380) or deer (DD, 170–179). Although this allows him a temporary respite, he is eventually recaptured and taken down to Sheol.Footnote 29

In the later Babylonian-Assyrian myth Ištar’s Descent to the Netherworld (beginning of the first millennium BCE), Inanna’s descent halts human and animal procreation as well as Dumuzi’s (lines 76—90; Foster, 1993, p. 1:406). The Hymn to Inanna likewise customarily depicts her as threatening the gods and animal kingdom: “Inanna a falcon preying on the gods, Inanna rips to pieces the cattle–pens” (lines 30–32; Black et al., 2004, p. 94).

The Sumerians also composed love poems in honor of the “holy marriage” ritual ceremony designed to foster fertility. During the rite, the king, representing Dumuzi, wed a priestess symbolizing the fertility of the agricultural fields and animals (Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 333; Tinney, 2000, p. 25; Rubio, 2001, pp. 268–269). These songs were paralleled by laments to the dead Dumuzi in which the god is portrayed as a lamb or kid deserted by its mother (cf. My Heart is a Reed Pipe, 10–15; Jacobsen, 1987, p. 51). Others describe the birth-giving Mother-goddess as a cow grieving over her calf (cf. In the Desert by the Early Grass, 98′–99′, 114′, 147′, 170′; Jacobsen, 1987, pp. 66–70). The Wild Bull has Lain Down likewise compares Dumuzi to a dead wild bull (lines 1–3), his dwelling now being inhabited by jackals and his paddocks by ravens (lines 38–39; Jacobsen, 1987, p. 49). Hereby, the wild animals replace the sheep and goats.

A similar motif occurs in a historical context in The Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur: “In the rivers of my city, dust has gathered, foxholes are made therein” (line 269; Samet, 2014, p. 69).Footnote 30 The lament known as For Him of the Faraway notes that “wailing is verily for the reed thicket; the old reeds may not give birth to (new) reeds. That wailing is verily for the woods; they may not give birth to stag or deer” (lines 16–17; Jacobsen, 1976, pp. 68–69).

In light of these sources, gods such as Enki, the Creator-god, and Dumuzi, the Shepherd-god, appear to have loved and taken care of animals—in contrast to Inanna and Gilgamesh, who had no qualms about treating them badly in order to further their own interests, ignoring their suffering. The latter also acted abusively towards other creatures, Inanna torturing her lovers and not hesitating to send Dumuzi down to Sheol and Gilgamesh maltreating the inhabitants of his city.

The Treatment of Animals by Hybrid Creatures

Before looking at hybrid creatures and human beings who lived in the wild and their treatment of animals, let us first examine the relationship between settled and nomadic Sumerians. Mesopotamian society existed in two territorial frameworks—the outer, threatening, lawless circle vs. the inner, civilized one (Avraham, 2011, pp. 45–50). The nomads who inhabited the frontier spaces were greatly feared:

The [nomads(?) and the] mountaineers, [who do not] eat [grain like (civilized) men], who do not build [houses like (civilized) men], who do not build cities like civilized men—At [midnight(?)] they come down (from the mountains): [When the workers] have finished their work, and the sheep are returned (to the stall), [when the men] have finished ploughing the fields, [they … and] take(?) the collected sheaves of corn. (Instructions of Šuruppag, V, b, 268–275; Alster, 1974, pp. 49–51; Fagan, 2015, p. 80)

Located west of the Euphrates and living in close proximity to wild animals, the Sumerians referred to nomads as Martu, attributing animal qualities to them:

The Martu, a destructive people, with the brains of a beast, who like wolves [ravage] the stalls and sheepfolds, people who do not grain, people who are [on the move] who are […never] peaceful! (Šu-Sin’s Historical Inscriptions, collection B v:24–31; Klein, 1996, p. 85)

In The Marriage of Martu, a young girl seeks to persuade her companion not to marry a Martu man by adducing the nomads’ “destructive hands” and “monkey-like features” (lines 131–132; Klein, 1996, p. 89). A Sumerian lament similarly recounts how the Gutians invaded and destroyed the city of Agade:

Enlil brought out of the mountains those who do not resemble other people, who are not reckoned as part of the Land, the Gutians, an unbridled people, with human intelligence but canine instincts and monkeys’ features. Like small birds they swooped on the ground in great flocks. (The Cursing of Agade, 150–158; Black et al., 2004, pp. 121–122; cf. Espak, 2019, p. 304; Verderame, 2021, p. 15)

The nomads living close to nature, the Sumerians often depicted them in animal terms.

The contact between people and wild animals is also clearly reflected in the Gilgamesh Epic. An energetic ruler, he was accustomed to abusing his subjects. In order to restrain him, the gods created Enkidu from clay. Initially living in the wild (I 1–104), the latter also seems to have been a hybrid creature:

All his body is matted with hair, he bears long tresses like those of a woman: the hair of his head grows thickly as barley, he knows not a people, nor even a country. Coated in hair like the god of the animals, with the gazelles he grazes on grasses, joining the throng with the game at the water-hole, his heart delighting with the beasts in the water. (I 105–112; George, 1999, p. 5; Ponchia, 2019, pp. 187, 200)

“Enkidu” means “Lord of the good place” (Leick, 1998, p. 44; 2004, p. 255), suggesting the ancients’ evaluation of this location.Footnote 31 The hunter was astonished by the creature, complaining to his father that Enkidu was aiding the animals and interfering with his activity:

Over the hills he [roams all day,][always] with the herd [he grazes on grasses,] [always] his tracks [are found] by the water-hole, [I am afraid and] I dare not approach him. [He fills in the] pits that I [myself] dig, [he pulls up] the snares that I lay. [He sets free from my grasp] all the beasts of the field, [he stops] me doing the work of the wild. (I 126–133; George, 1999, p. 6)Footnote 32

When his father advises him to send a woman to seduce Enkidu so that the animals will shun him, he chooses Samhat the harlot:Verse

Verse For six days and seven nights Enkidu was erect, as he coupled with Shamhat. When with her delights he was fully sated, he turned his gaze to his herd. The gazelles saw Enkidu, they started to run, the beasts of the field shied away from his presence. Enkidu had defiled his body so pure, his legs stood still, though his herd was in motion. Enkidu was weakened, could not run as before, but now he had reason, and wide understanding. (I 193–202; George, 1999, 8)

Not only is he ostracized by the animals but he also converses with Samhat during intercourse, in deviation from normal animal custom (Leick, 2004, p. 266).Footnote 33

Setting out off to cut cedars—one of the symbols of kingship in the ancient Near East— the two protagonists kill Huwawa, Guardian of the forest, on the way (Schaffer, 1983, p. 307). The purpose of the adventure, however, was to gain experience and fame, killing animals (even if in their dreams) being neither in self-defense nor for sport, food, or clothing (IX 8–27′).Footnote 34 Gilgamesh even boasts to Siduri the tavern-keeper of having killed lions, the bull of heaven that sent Inanna, and Huwawa (X 30–34, 55–58; Abusch, 2015, pp. 168–170). While his slaughter of the bull may be explained as an act of defense, protecting the inhabitants of his city, it is particularly gruesome, the two companions removing its heart and then prostrating themselves before Šamaš (VI 147–148).

Although Huwawa, Guardian of the forest, was an intimidating “superhuman” figure legitimately appointed to his role by Enlil (III 55′–62′; Jacobsen, 1976, p. 202; van der Toorn, 1999, pp. 431–432), Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s slaying of him was an abhorrent act (Feldt, 2016, pp. 358, 371). In both versions, the earlier Sumerian (Gilgamesh and Huwawa) and later Babylonian, Huwawa pleads for his life (GaH, 153e–187; Gilg., V 148′–159′). Enkidu has no compassion, however, killing him with his bare hands according to the Sumerian version and encouraging Gilgamesh to undertake the task and then immediately joining in according to the Babylonian (GaH, 179–180; Gilg., V 160′–343′; Empson, 1976, pp. 246, 250; Schaffer, 1983, p. 308). Harming a person who entreats mercy compounds the severity of such an act in ethical terms. In the Joseph cycle, for example, the brothers acknowledge that they have been punished for their sin: “They said to one another, ‘Alas, we are paying the penalty for what we did to our brother; we saw his anguish when he pleaded with us, but we would not listen. That is why this anguish has come upon us’” (Gen 42:21).

This discussion evinces that although Enkidu had earlier been a man of nature, protecting the animals, he is now swept up in Gilgamesh’s violence. For his part, up until his encounter with Utnapištim, Gilgamesh had been a cruel tyrant and possibly even a predator (Fleming & Milstein, 2010, p. 456). Their slaying of the Guardian violating the order the gods had imposed, they had to be punished. Gilgamesh’s hybrid (man-god) nature may have meant that he was not killed with Enkidu (Lord, 1990, pp. 372–374).

As we noted above, however, his meeting with Utnapištim, who protected the animals in the ark—together with Enkidu’s death and his coming to terms with his mortality—changed something in his character, transforming him from an egotistical hero into a person who treated others well. Enkidu—possibly also originally a hybrid creature—underwent the reverse process, his “humanization” alienating him from the animal kingdom and ultimately costing him his life.

Human-Animal Relations

Finally, we turn to the human plane. Here, numerous epics present exemplary friendships between human beings and animals. The Cursing of Agade, for example, depicts the city in its days of glory as characterized by warm mutual relations between human beings and wild animals. Knowing that they would not be harmed. the latter had no fear of entering human settlements:

…that monkeys, mighty elephants, water buffalo, exotic animals, as well as thoroughbred dogs, lions, mountain ibexes, and alum sheep with long wool would jostle each other in the public squares. (lines 18–24; Black et al., 2004, p. 118)

Etana and the Eagle similarly recounts the tale of a poplar tree that grew close to a temple, in the top of whose branches the mythological Anzu-bird nested and in whose roots a snake made its home.Footnote 35 Although the two animals make a pact, the eagle blatantly breaks it and carries off the snake’s offspring. Significantly, the snake—represented as a dangerous animal in numerous mythologies—plays the role of innocent victim here. The ancients being very wary of snakes, they appear as poisonous in many myths (Teeter, 2002, p. 253; Lewis & Llewellyn-Jones, 2018, p. 758).Footnote 36 From a human perspective, they also possess positive attributes, helping farmers cope with vermin (Cool Root, 2002, p. 176).

Here, the snake appeals to Utu/Šamaš, who also served as the god of justice (McCall, 1990, p. 26). The latter tells him to capture the eagle by cunning, cut off his wings, pluck his feathers, and cast him into a deep pit to meet his death. The snake following these instructions, the eagle then pleads with Utu/Šamaš to grant him mercy. The god finally determines to divert Etana—on his way to find the plant of birth for his barren wife (EaE I–II)—to give aid. According to Shifra and Klein’s reconstruction of the corrupt text, the eagle asks Utu/Šamaš for permission to communicate with human beings (EaE III 1–8; Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 152). Etana meets the eagle on route and inquires as to whether he will aid him to find the plant. The eagle giving his consent, Etana nurses it back to health:

When Etana heard this, he covered the front of the pit with juniper, made for it and threw down […] thus he kept? the eagle alive in the pit. He began to teach it to fly again. For one [month], then a second [month] he kept? the eagle alive in the pit and began to teach it to fly again. For third [month], then a forth mo[nth] he kept? the eagle alive in the pit and began to teach it to fly again. [Etana] helped it for seven months. In the eight month he helped it out of the pit. The eagle, now well fed, was as strong as a fierce lion. The eagle made its voice heard and spoke to Etana, “My friend, we really are friends, you and I.” (EaE III 25–26; Dalley, 2000, p. 197; cf. Foster, 1993, p. 1:445)

When the eagle recovered, he took Etana on a journey across the heavens, even aiding him in finding the plant of birth (EaE II 27–IV 44; Horowitz, 1990, p. 517; Leick, 1998, p. 60; cf. Winitzer, 2013, pp. 450–451).

Ethically speaking, the eagle was justly punished for his abominable act—ultimately receiving mercy from the god of justice who sent Etana to save him. Etana’s motives for helping the bird stemmed from self-interest, however, the eagle promising to join in the search for the plant of birth. This accords with the fact that human beings generally act in their own interests (Singer, 2004, p. 82). In order to comprehend animal suffering, people must understand that creature also have interests of their own (Singer, 1975, p. 9; Linzey & Linzey, 2014, p. 10).

Here, there is no principled recognition of animal interests or any attempt to balance human-animal interests (Epstein, 2004, p. 158; Gruen, 2011, pp. 74–75; Calarco, 2015, p. 13). Nor is there any pure act of compassion in which a human being sacrifices his own interests in favor of those of an animal—a form of altruism from the perspective of intention rather than consequence alone (Linzey, 2009, p. 3; 2013, p. 35, 55). Even if his act does serve his own interests, Etana nonetheless helps the bird. We might even go so far as to say that the eagle was changed for the better in ethical terms: after committing an awful sin and being severely punished for blatantly breaking his pact with the snake, he keeps his word and aids Etana in finding the plant of birth.

Close human-animal relations also appear in the Lugalbanda and Anzu-Bird epic. Lugalbanda was the third king of the first dynasty that ruled Uruk (ca. 2700–2600 BCE). In the epic, however, he is still his predecessor Enmerkar’s chief of staff.Footnote 37 The text portrays Lugalbanda’s virtues as making him fit for leadership—as well as the human desire to fly. In the first part, the protagonist falls ill during a journey from Uruk to Arata, his companions leaving him in a cave in the mountains with a supply of food (cf. Vanstiphout, 2003, p. 139). When he recovers, he ascends to the Anzu-bird’s nest in the tree tops on one of the highest mountains. The eagle and his partner not being there, Lugalbanda takes care of their offspring:

Lugalbanda is wise and he achieves mighty exploits. In preparation of the sweet celestial cakes he added carefulness to carefulness. He kneaded the dough with honey, he added more honey to it. He set them before the young nestling, before the Anzud chick, gave the baby fatty meat to eat. He fed it sheep’s fat. He popped the cakes into its beak. He settled the Anzud chick in its nest, painted its eyes with kohl, dabbed white cedar scent onto its head, put up a twisted roll of salt meat. He withdrew from the Anzud’s nest, awaited him in the mountains where no cypresses grow. (LAB 50–62; Black et al., 2004, pp. 23–24; Shifra & Klein, 1996, p. 164; cf. Vanstiphout, 2003, p. 139; Verderame, 2021, pp. 17–18)

When he returns to the nest, the Anzu-bird greatly appreciates the gesture, blessing Lugalbanda: looking down in flight, he explains to him how to catch up with his companions (lines 63–219). When he does so, they ask him how he survived:

Holy Lugalbanda replies to them, “The banks of the mountain rivers, mothers of plenty, are widely separated. With my legs I stepped over them, I drank them like water from a waterskin; and then I snarled like a wolf, I grazed the water-meadows, I pecked at the ground like a wild pigeon, I ate the mountain acorns.” (lines 238–243; Black et al., 2004, p. 27; cf. Vanstiphout, 2003, p. 149)

Lugalbanda’s behavior here recalls that of Enkidu before he is civilized: he cares for the eagle’s nestling, despite leaving it when he has to return to duty (Falkowitz, 1983, p. 104). It is thus difficult to ascertain whether his treatment of it is based on pure compassion or whether he secretly anticipated some recompense from the Anzu-bird.

In Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave, in contrast, the hero hunts and captures animals in abundance, including those that are wounded, offering sacrifices in honor of the gods, who delight in the feast:

As the sun was rising … Lugalbanda, invoking the name of Enlil, made An, Enlil, Enki and Ninhursag sit down to a banquet at the pit, at the place in the mountains which he had prepared. The banquet was set, the libations were poured––dark beer, alcoholic drink, light emmer beer, wine for drinking which is pleasant to the taste. Over the plain he poured cool water as a libation. He put the knife to the flesh of the brown goats, and he roasted the dark livers there. He let their smoke rise there, like incense put on the fire. As if Dumuzi(d) had brought in the good savours of the cattle pen, so An, Enlil, Enki and Ninhursag consumed the best part of the food prepared by Lugalbanda. Like the shining place of pure strength, the holy altar of Suen … On top of the altar of Utu and the altar of Suen … he decorated the two altars with the lapis lazuli … of Inana. Suen … He bathed the a–an–kar. When he had bathed the … he set out all the cakes properly. (lines 371–392; Black et al., 2004, pp. 19–20; cf. Vanstiphout, 2003, p. 125)

In everything related to the gods, he thus has no compassion for the animal world, happily offering sacrifices in the hope of advancing his own interests (Jacobsen, 1989, p. 85; Larsen, 2005, p. 14).

The abuse of animals outside ritual contexts is reflected in an epic known as Enmerkar and En-suḥgir-ana. When Enmerkar of Unug (Uruk?) seeks to subject to the far-off city of Arata in the region of the Iranian plateau (Majìdzedeh, 1976, pp. 105–113; Hansman, 1978, pp. 331–336; Black, 2000b, p. 105), a competition is arranged between the cities. Ur-Girnuna, the wizard of Arata, makes the cows and goats speak and the animals infertile, thus interfering with the divine order:

In that day the animal pen and the byre were turned into a house of silence; they were dealt a disaster. There was no milk in the udder of the cow, the day darkened for the calf, its young calf was hungry and wept bitterly. There was no milk in the udder of the goat; the day darkened for the kid. The kid and its goat lay starving, its life … The cow spoke bitterly to its calf; the goat … to its kid. The holy churn was empty … was hungry … lay starving. On that day the animal pen and the byre were turned into a house of silence; they were dealt a disaster. (EEs 198–208; Black et al., 2004, pp. 8–9)

Here, not only the adult animals but also their helpless offspring are injured. Their appeal to Utu/Šamš for help is immediately followed by a contest between Ur-Girnuna of Arata and Sagburu of Unug.Footnote 38 The wizard and enchantress send fish eggs down the river, the wizard creating another type of animal from them each time and the enchantress a stronger predator who kills them. Winning the contest, she condemns Ur-Girnuna to death in the river on account of the catastrophe he brought upon the animals (lines 210–273; cf. Shepperson, 2012, p. 58).

Conclusion

This chapter has examined the ethical dimension of human-animal relations in Mesopotamian literature. According to the conventional Sumerian view, the world was created by two of the first gods, Anu and Enlil, who separated the sky from the earth. Other minor gods subsequently being created, human beings were fashioned due to the gods’ wish for somebody to take care of their needs and shoulder the burden of their hard work. In contrast to the Hebrew Bible, the early versions do not mention the creation of the animal world. According to the creation stories, Enki, the god of the earth, wisdom, and sweet water, forms the animals. In other sources, Enlil, the Storm-god, was also involved in the process, minor gods being responsible for taking care of the animal kingdom.

As in Genesis, a number of myths evince that the primal world was one of peace and harmony. The Mesopotamians believing that human procreation disturbed Enlil’s rest, however, the god determined to wipe out everything on earth. In contrast to the biblical Flood story, this decision did not derive from any ethical considerations, even the survival of humanity and the animals being due to Enki’s deception and personal interests. In one version, the Mesopotamian Flood hero was even unprincipled.

Inanna, the goddess of physical love and war, did not hesitate to harm animals in order to fulfill her desires, also causing Dumuzi, the Shepherd-god, the animals’ benefactor, to be taken down to Sheol.

With respect to the attitude of hybrid creatures to the animal kingdom, Gilgamesh—two-thirds god and one-third human—acts cruelly towards both his fellows and the animals. The death of his companion Enkidu and his meeting with Utnapištim and his partner who save him from the Flood make him realize that he will never become immortal, however. This recognition leads him to change his approach to others. For his part, Enkidu—originally a hybrid human-animal creature of some sort—undergoes the reverse process: from living harmoniously in the wild with the beasts of the forest and protecting them from hunters, he becomes a human being they shun. Instead of restraining Gilgamesh, he joyfully joins him in harming the animals and Huwawa, Guardian of the forest. Punished for these sins, he pays with his life.

Two cases of a warm and close relationship between human beings and animals were adduced. Etana nurses the Anzu-bird back to health and Lugalbanda takes care of the eagle’s offspring when its parents leave the nest—in exchange for which the eagle aids him in finding his companions who had continued on their way after he fell ill. Despite the fact that in both cases human interest plays a part, they both involve compassion. Lastly, we observed how Enki was punished by Ur-Girnuna of Arata for hurting the animals.